Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim or any of the characters featured in the game. I just decided I had to pen down my love for Lydia since I have decided I like Skyrim. Two years certainly changes a person, huh? Inspiration and lyrics come from the song "Somebody to Die For" by Hurts. The band is phenomenal and one of my favorite right now.
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Because no matter where they take me
Death I will survive
And I will never be forgotten
With you by my side
Cause I don't need this life Somebody to die for
I just need…
Somebody to cry for
When I'm lonely
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Armadeus was not sure when, or how, it happened. The feeling was gradual; slow. Lydia came to him when the high elf was just starting his journey, going through a veritable hell to get to the point. The fair-haired man had been nearly executed for no reason other than the Imperials were a bunch of arrogant bastards wanting to take the lands from the Nords. Armadeus barely survived the would-be killing, escaping with Ulfric Stormcloak. He owed the man much it was true and he fully intended to make good on the promise that bound them as surely as his own honor did. A high elf was nothing without his honor.
The Jarl of Whiterun granted Lydia to him as a gift of sorts for slaying the dragon that threatened the wonderful city. Armadeus fervently hoped that the kindly warrior would not side with the Imperials, otherwise…well. Armadeus liked the man surely, but if it came down to it he would not betray the Stormcloaks, no matter the cost. Thankfully, he knew Lydia would follow him despite the dangerous path the dragonborn walked. It was one of the reasons he respected the warrior so much, the reason his feelings morphed from a platonic relationship, purely business-like, into a wonderful friendship and then into a warmth that stole the elf's very breath from his lungs and stabbing his heart worse than any blade or arrow.
Armadeus had been faced with looking at his feelings, despite his reluctance and utter confusion with dealing with the opposite sex. He had never lain with one of his own people, and knew little of what went on between a man and a woman beyond the most basic of physical urges. He did not want a floozy or to be entertained for a night at a tavern; he wanted the kind of union the old tales spoke of and the bards sang about softly as Armadeus went about his meal. The flaxen-haired, scarred warrior had fallen madly in love with the longest and most trusted friend he had.
He was not a stranger to the allure of a woman. Aela the Huntress was certainly pleasing to look at and formidable in battle. They were also kin through their blood now, as the dragonborn had decided to join the Circle and now had lycanthropy as well. The two worked well as a team and Aela had commented on the very thing many times. But despite the fissure of raw desire the huntress evoked in him, Armadeus knew that the passion had nothing on the calm, easy companionship Lydia provided. Lydia was safe and familiar, an equation that would never vary and a shield that would never break. She was his, and he hers.
Jordis had grown fond of Lydia, the two bonding over the strong sense of morality and justice residing in their souls. Jordis had been to Lydia what Aela was to him; best friends and comrades-in-arms. There had even been a time that he worried Lydia would fall in love with the swordswoman, the soft golden-brown eyes and her Nord heritage better suited to Lydia than a scarred and broken high elf. When he did join the Stormcloaks officially, any Imperial friends he had once had would despise him or be killed. Lydia had family in with that faction; could she really stay by his side and watch as her family might be slaughtered? This was not Lydia's fight but his, so why should she suffer beside the man especially when he was too much of a coward to confess his own feelings?
Armadeus was always worried the dark-haired warrior who had so stolen his heart would get hurt because of him. The path he traveled was not for the faint of heart and he did not wish it on his worst enemy. As much as it would pain him, he tried to convince Lydia to be a regular housecarl and watch over their home. She would be safer under a roof than out in the open in troll territory, fighting off wolves and all manner of creature and man distorted by the world. But, true to form, Lydia would not budge. He job was to aid him in his quests, and she would follow him to the end no matter the consequence.
Now, looking at her whittling away at her sword and whetting it to sharpen the dulling silver, his golden eyes could not look away. Her dark hair flew unbound, the strands soft and silk to the calloused fingers. Dark blue eyes the color of a fast moving river at night watched the blade with fascination, unaware of the burning molten pair gazing at her perform such a mundane task. Armadeus knew he needed to confront his feelings head-on. He wanted to feel the courage his followers always associated him with.
The muscles in his broad shoulders flexed as he pulled the Amulet of Mara from against his brawny chest, hidden under the shining armor he wore. Armadeus had a house, plenty of coin, and now the amulet with which to marry any woman of his choosing. He knew exactly what woman he wanted for his bride, if only the elf could spit it out….
He sighed softly as he put the amulet back in its rightful place, pressed against his heart. He scratched the light dark beard he had been growing, the crimson tattoo painting his right eye glistening in the fire of the camp. It did not matter at the moment, he surmised. The current quest took immediate importance, and all else could wait for a time. But, Armadeus resolved to come clean of his feelings as soon as the twosome made it back to Whiterun. Then…then he would make his move and see where destiny led him.
Friend or lover, Lydia was everything the elf had hoped for all his life, even when the man did not know a whit about tender feelings or women in general. He had found his soulmate, his other half. Lydia might not appreciate his advances, nor wish to marry him as he did for her, and that would be fine. Well, it wouldn't truly but he would get over it eventually for her. Lydia was the one constant in his life that did not need a task done of an errand run. He was not the dragonborn to her, he was just Armadeus. Armadeus finally found somebody worth dying for, and he would give his life in a moment if it would save Lydia. No quest and no hold was worth her life, and never would be. Armadeus hoped the Stormcloaks never needed him to pick between their cause and Lydia, as he would fall back on his unspoken promise every time.