Lydia stood in Dragonsreach, arms crossed, her steel armor gleaming faintly in the torchlight. She had been waiting for what felt like hours, yet no one had bothered to tell her much of anything. The halls were quiet save for the occasional murmur of the Jarl’s court, and she found herself growing impatient.

She had heard whispers—rumors that she was to be assigned a new Thane.

"Probably another pampered noble or some highborn who’s never swung a blade in their life," she mused, exhaling sharply. The thought of another arrogant lordling expecting her to carry their burdens did little to improve her mood.

Then, with a resounding crash, the great doors of Dragonsreach burst open. A gust of cold mountain air swept through the hall as all eyes turned toward the newcomer.