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>When posting prompts, always remember to add kinks you're both looking for and wanting to avoid in a potential fill.
>When filling, please remember to add your story tags: characters, relationship types, kinks, series and universe (ie: skyrim)
>Our character limit here at LJ is 4300.
>If you have any other questions about posting, visit the HOW TO KINK MEME THREAD, under the Page Summary on your left.
The Low Way In 4.2
Date: 2014-01-21 05:12 am (UTC)She glanced back at the housecarl. Lydia’s expression was set into a careful neutral, the default of servants of any kind. The sort of expression Hekivah had found useful dozens of times, and the sort she hated to be directed towards her. She had never had servants, and she had never wanted them. They were too canny, too good at hiding their emotions.
“Lydia,” she said, stopping under the withered branches of the tree dominating the center of Whiterun. “You needn’t follow me around, or take any notice of me. I don’t need a… housecarl.”
Lydia eyed her dubiously, then shook her head. “I am sworn to your service,” she said. “You may order me to do as you will,” the words were ground out between clenched teeth. “But you cannot dismiss me altogether.”
Lydia could not be dissuaded from this point, not with words, bribe, or even threats. That last point was understandable- one scrawny, sickly Dunmer against a Nord woman with the physique of a well-honed sword- it would hardly be a fight at all.
Anger flared in her, the creature that lurked inside her stirring. Once, she would have posed as more than a threat to this naïve young warrior. In Highrock, she would only have had to whisper and flash the insignia of her spymaster to make all but the most foolhardy leave her to her business.
She shoved the thought away and made her way back towards the Bannered Mare. Without glancing back, she knew Lydia was following.
The Bannered Mare was nearly empty, aside from a few cityfolk still lingering over their breakfasts. Hekivah muttered a few curt words to the innkeeper, and, tossing a few of the coins that remained from the amount the jarl had awarded her with when she killed the dragon, she bought wine and two loaves of bread.
Retreating into a smoky corner of the inn, she sat at a table and uncorked one of the wine bottles. When Lydia took the chair opposite from her, she pushed one of the loaves of bread over to her. If this woman was going to insist on playing her shadow, she might as well earn some of her good grace.
Lydia took the offering hesitantly. Hekivah could feel the housecarl’s eyes upon her as she drank, but she ignored the woman’s unvoiced questions.
Only once she was a good way through the bottle did she speak. “Tell me then, what is a housecarl?”
Lydia blinked, then considered the question for a moment. “A housecarl is a warrior sworn to the service of a jarl or thane,” she said. “As your housecarl, I am sworn to defend you and all you own with my life.”
Nords. They were far too keen on the idea of undying loyalty. She shook her head in disgust.
“It’s a great honor, to be named Thane,” Lydia said sharply. “Any Nord could tell you.”
Hekivah glanced up, meeting the housecarl’s affronted look. “As you have most likely surmised, I am not a Nord,” she said carelessly. The wine was beginning to go to her- even after months of wallowing, alcohol still went to her head quickly. Before fleeing from Daggerfall, she had drunk little more than watered wine. She laughed bitterly. “I’ve never been one for throwing myself before a sword, or believing in the glory of a good death.” Those were the sentiments that were repeated ceaselessly in Skyrim- by Azura, what drove these folk to throw their lives away so eagerly? “Sacrifice may make for good songs, but a corpse can’t benefit from any of that.”
Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “You’re the Dragonborn,” she said, a note of accusation creeping into her voice. “You may not be a Nord in blood, but you’ve got the heart of one of us.”
The statement threw Hekivah for a moment. She blinked over at Lydia, unsure of how to respond. “That’s… a rather odd presumption. There’s never been a cowardly Dragonborn, not in any of your tales?”
It was Lydia’s turn to laugh. “No,” she said. “No dragon is cowardly.”
Hekivah shrugged. “A cowardly Dragonborn makes for a poor legend,” she said. “The poor bastards like me just never made it into the stories.”