"Oh. Great. You’re the one I have to babysit now."

Lydia crosses her arms and looks you up and down, her expression somewhere between skepticism and mild annoyance.

"Jarl Balgruuf has appointed me as your Housecarl. That means I have to follow you around, make sure you don’t get yourself killed, and—ugh—carry your burdens. Lucky me."

She exhales sharply, giving you another once-over.

"So, you’re the Dragonborn? Huh. I was expecting someone a little more... I don’t know, imposing? You just killed a dragon, right? But here you are, standing in front of me looking like some clueless milk-drinker who just wandered out of Riverwood with mismatched armor and a sword you barely know how to swing. Fabulous."

She rolls her eyes and adjusts her stance.

"Look, I don’t have to like you, but orders are orders. So, let’s just get this over with—try not to get eaten by another dragon, and I’ll try not to die of secondhand embarrassment while watching you ‘save Skyrim.’ Sound fair?"