Sprawling.
That was the first word that came to mind when I first saw Whiterun in all it’s glory, as we finally left the cover of the trees and trotted onto the plains of the Hold’s heart for the first time, and it was a word that fit the city to a T. It sat atop a hill, as it had in the game, and while the hill was quite a bit taller than it had been in the game, it was far from what could be called a mountain.
Maybe.
I’d have to measure it from sea level to find out for sure, but it certainly wasn’t steeply slopped enough for most to call it a mountain, and if it was shorter than seven-hundred feet to the foundation of Dragonsreach I’d eat nothing but Legion rations for a month.
But the point was that, as tall as the not-mountain beneath the jarl’s palace was, the city was wide. Built in tiers, in a way the game had tried to emulate but struggled to deal with given the limited scope of the engine, with fortifications between each tier that I could see even from here, though I was willing to bet that those fortifications would be a bit run-down once I was close enough to see them in detail. It’s walls had certainly been in poor shape in the game, with large gaps shored up with palisades and wooden barricades. At a guess, and it was just a guess since I could only see a fraction of it, and not from any real elevation at that, I’d have to say it was at least a couple of hundred acres, maybe -probably- more.
Then it occurred to me that I was riding side by side with the beautiful and intelligent niece of the city’s ruler, and I could just ask her. Which I did, promptly, and received an equally prompt answer.
“Not counting the fields themselves, nor the outlying farms, but only the land that is considered part of the three districts, Whiterun is some 350 tunne. By the Imperial system of measure, it would measure 341 acres.” Lydia’s pride as she told me that information was unmistakeable and eminently understandable. That was a truly enormous amount of territory, and while it was likely a bit deceptive -much of that was markets, workshops, and the portions of the river that ran through the city, no doubt- that still doubtlessly made it one of the largest cities in Skyrim, and possibly the Empire. Which made sense, really. While Solitude was the capitol, and I’m sure it was enormous, Whiterun wasn’t constricted by terrain the way that Solitude was, and had the benefit of being the Hold’s main crossroads and trading hub. Trade, as they say, builds cities, and the evidence of that was more than clear to my eyes. God, the sheer size of it…no wonder the city was so influential, no wonder both Empire and Stormcloak wanted it on their side before they would kick off their war in earnest.
"And how many people live here?" I asked, my eyes still taking in the sprawling expanse, on the small figures coming and going and crawling along the walls. So many of them that I could see the movement even at this distance, though in fairness I had the unfair advantage of being a supernatural predator with supernatural eyes. Even if an open field in broad daylight wasn’t exactly the environment that vampires were made for, I still possessed traits beyond what a regular mortal could hope for.
Lydia shifted in her saddle, considering the question carefully, which told me it wasn’t as straight-forward an answer as the land involved had been. "In the proper city? Perhaps fifteen thousand souls, on average, with many living here part of the year, or owning property but often being abroad. It swells greatly during market days and festivals, of course, but I imagine that that goes without saying for a man as intelligent as you seem to be proving. And if you count those who dwell in the surrounding farmsteads and smaller settlements, it climbs higher still. Technically, everything outside of the three districts isn’t part of Whiterun the City, but of other härad."
Fifteen thousand. The game had shown what, maybe thirty NPCs in the entire city, without mods? Maybe forty or fifty? Another reminder of how much Bethesda had compressed reality to fit their technical limitations, I supposed, just like the city’s size itself. I tried to imagine the bustle of thousands of people going about their daily lives within those walls, which I was about to find myself immersed in. Merchants haggling, children playing, craftsmen working, guards patrolling, animals running underfoot...it was going to be such glorious chaos, and probably a bit of culture shock as well. I was really rather looking forward to it, if I was going to be honest.
I'd spent the vast majority of my life in cities, both before and after my transition into what I was now, but I hadn't been in a truly living medieval city before. Riverwood had been small, quaint, practically a village despite its importance to the local economy, and while I'd spent time in the cities of Cyrodiil, those were Imperial constructions, ordered and planned and regulated. This promised to be something else entirely, a Nord city that had grown organically over centuries, shaped by necessity and culture rather than central planning.
"The scale is... impressive," I admitted aloud after several long moments of silence, unable to keep the wonder from my voice entirely, and honestly not trying very hard to do so. "I've seen White Gold Tower from a distance, of course, but there's something about Whiterun that feels more... alive."
"It is, yes." Lydia agreed, her tone softening with affection and with pride. "Some call Solitude the crown of Skyrim, and perhaps it is, but Whiterun is its heart. We feed the province, we trade with all corners of Tamriel, and we welcome all who come in peace." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "At least, we did before this foolish war began brewing."
I nodded grimly, understanding her meaning all too well, remembering a few things from my old life, and plenty from my new one. "Wars tend to make people suspicious of outsiders, especially those who might have ties to the 'wrong' side. I imagine trade has suffered as a result?"
"More than you might expect, less than you might fear." she replied, a shadow crossing her features. "Merchants from both Imperial and Stormcloak territories face scrutiny and sometimes outright hostility when they arrive, and it is not uncommon for fights between they and their guards to be broken up by the city watch. My uncle works tirelessly to maintain neutrality, but the people have their own opinions." She gestured toward the distant walls, to the city as a whole. "You'll notice the farms are still being worked, the mills still turning. We've maintained our prosperity where others falter, but for how long? We maintain our neutrality, but how much longer can that last?"
The question hung between us, neither rhetorical nor requiring an immediate answer, and I knew -perhaps, sharp and well-informed as she was, she might know almost as much as I did- that it would all boil over sooner rather than later. Instead, we simply rode on in silence, getting closer with every ground-devouring stride of our mounts, farmers and field hands and travelers on the road stopping and watching as their jarl’s beautiful niece leading a train of obviously-important guests. That would only get worse when we reached Whiterun itself, I had no doubt, there was nothing people -regardless of race- liked to do more than watch strange passersby. God, I could already imagine the whispers that would spread through the city once we arrived, or even were already spreading depending on how much the messenger and Hod had opened their mouths around town. An Imperial merchant and his sisters, riding alongside the Jarl's niece, the widowed Queen of Solitude, and the Legate of the Ninth? That would be fodder for gossip for weeks to come. Perhaps months, depending on what came of the Thing, and the fact that it would come with word of dragons was only going to make things juicer.
Or, perhaps, given the subject matter, I should say spicier?
I would say hotter, but that had entirely different connotations.
Though, now that I thought about it, I was positive half the city would have me in bed with Elisif before the Thing was over. God knew that half of Riverwood and Helgen were convinced I was comforting the grieving widow on a nightly basis after heroically carrying her to safety in my arms during the attack. So I suppose the gossip would qualify as hotter as well, wouldn’t it?
I almost laughed at my own thoughts, but managed to keep the sound behind my teeth, a low bark in the back of my throat. The Nord rumor mill was already grinding away at full capacity, and I hadn't even arrived yet. The irony wasn't lost on me that the one woman I had actually slept with amongst our group –Rikke– wasn't part of those rumors at all. At least not that I'd heard, which was strange. Soldiers loved to speculate on the romance of their superiors, and the two of us had had more than a few ‘moments’ as well, though not nearly so song-worthy as Elisif and I, of course.
"You seem amused, Constantine. Why?" Lydia observed, her ice-blue eyes studying me with that same measured curiosity she'd displayed throughout our journey, no hint of insult to be seen. Which meant either that she recognized I wasn’t laughing about the imminent collapse of Skyrim, or she had exquisite self-control.
Best not to find out which.
"Just contemplating the nature of gossip and how quickly it spreads, milady." I replied honestly. "I imagine by sunset tomorrow, half the city will be convinced I'm either a hero of legend or a dangerous charlatan. Possibly both. No, probably both, for the sake of extra drama."
Her lips curved in a small, knowing smile, genuine amusement gleaming faintly in the deeper parts of her gaze. "That's rather optimistic of you, sir. I'd wager it'll be by midday at the latest."
I laughed at that, appreciating her dry humor and, better still, the delivery. "You have more faith in the speed of Whiterun's gossips than I do, it seems."
"You've never seen the Cloud District matrons at work, have you?" she replied, the question a rhetorical one and her tone still light but with an undercurrent of something like fond exasperation. "They could teach the Thieves Guild a thing or two about gathering and distributing information."
My laugh in response would have been fairly called a cackle if it hadn’t been so deep a pitch, and her teeth flashed briefly in the sun as she grinned at me. God, she was beautiful, but all the more so when she was actually showing emotion, especially a smile.
Our conversation lapsed into comfortable silence as we approached the stables outside the city walls, which seemed more like a small settlement of it’s own than the handful of pens that had depicted them in the game, complete with a pallisade wall. A settlement that was fairly crawling with people, grooms and stable hands and laborers caring for the multitude of horses that roamed the paddocks. Hell, there was a dedicated blacksmith shop for forging horseshoes and reparing stirrups, from the looks of things.
"We'll leave the horses here, lords and ladies." Lydia announced to the group at large, reining in her mount as a cluster of men and women filtered through the controlled chaos towards us. "The main streets of Whiterun have little need for a party of our size trotting through them mounted. Guardswoman,” she directed her attention to the same guardswoman that had been the focus of Cammy’s attention for the entirety of the trip. Poor girl, I’d have to buy her a drink or something to make up for it, I imagined. “Go ahead to the city gates. I want the crowds pushed back to ensure the safety of Elisif jarlskona. And send word to Dragonsreach.”
“Aye, Lady Lydia.” the woman acknowledged, and I frowned faintly even as I dismounted. There was something familiar about her voice, but why?
I didn’t have the time to think about it, busy as I promptly was with helping Elisif dismount her own steed. Something that wasn’t likely to help any rumors, as she leaned against me and ended up half-cradled in my arms as I put her on her feet.
"Thank you, Constantine. I appreciate you." she murmured, her face flushing slightly as her hands lingered on my shoulders a moment longer than strictly necessary. The way her emerald eyes met mine sent a jolt through my system that had nothing to do with hunger and everything to do with the way those riding pants and her simple shirt hugged her form. I found myself, not for the first time and not for the last, clubbing my own self rather aggressively over the head and reminding it that she was still a mourning widow and was not for wifeing right now.
"My pleasure, jarlskona." I replied, my voice pitched low enough that only she could hear it. I stepped back reluctantly, conscious of the many eyes upon us, including Lydia's thoughtful gaze, before turning to see who else might need a hand. Camilla had already dismounted herself and helped her twin to the ground, and the rest were either soldiers or had enough experience riding to manage the feat by themselves. Feeling at odd ends and having far more enjoyable things to look at than a milling crowd of horses and stablehands, I turned my attention back to Elisif, who was straightening herself up a bit with an almost self-conscious air. The borrowed riding pants still clung to her form in ways that would doubtless scandalize the nobles of her court, and I found myself both amused and charmed by her evident discomfort -or, perhaps, it would be better to say unfamiliarity- with the circumstances at hand.
"I'm afraid I must look a fright, fresh from the road." she murmured, brushing at the dust of the road that had accumulated on her sleeves, her voice soft enough that I knew I was the only one that could hear her. "Hardly the image of a queen that Whiterun will expect, am I?"
"On the contrary. This is Skyrim, not the Empire. And this is Whiterun, not the Blue Palace." I replied, keeping my voice just as low for the same reason, resisting the urge to tuck her wind-tussled hair behind her ear. “Heartland of the North, a place famous for it’s horse-breeding and horsemanship. You, widow of the High King, someone looked down on for being a ‘beautiful flower from the South’, aren’t arriving wearing a magnificent gown whilst riding in a horse-drawn carriage. You rode here, yourself, alone on a mount and wearing the same sort of traveling clothes anyone else would wear. I think you’ll be making a spectacular impression, and on more than just Balgruuf’s people once word spreads.”
Elisif stared at me for a moment, startled surprise giving way to thoughtful consideration before a warm, genuine smile lit up her features.
"You have a way of seeing things differently than most, don't you?" she murmured, that smile warming her eyes in a way that made my chest tighten. "Thank you. I hadn't considered it that way."
"Elisif dróttning?" Rikke's voice cut in, her tone respectful but firm, and both of us turned our attention towards her. She inclined her head slightly, far more to my companion than to myself, and continued. "The escort is ready to move into the city."
Taking a look around, it was clear to even the meanest intelligence that she was right. While Elisif and I had talked, Lydia had organized our party into something resembling a proper procession, with she and the Household Guard at the front and my sisters, Ralof, and Hadvar at the rear. Understandably so. We weren’t anyone of particular rank nor authority, and while the Thing had been called via Gerdur at my urging, I had no doubt that Balgruuf didn’t want to advertise any such fact. Elisif nodded in understanding and acceptance of the silent request, squaring her shoulders with a new confidence, hopefully genuine and unfeigned, before moving to take her place. I followed, finding my place beside my sisters, who were watching the whole affair with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Camilla looked ready to burst with excitement, while Lucia seemed more reserved, her eyes darting nervously between the city walls ahead of us and the curious onlookers that were already gathering.
"Quite the reception, huh?" I murmured to them both, keeping my voice light. "Ready to our jarl’s home up close?"
"More than ready!" Camilla replied, practically bouncing on her toes, eyes bright with excitement, craning her neck as if she expected to look past the walls themselves to see the interior faster. "Do you think we'll get to see Jorrvaskr? Or the Gildergreen? Oh! What about the Skyforge?”
"I'm sure we'll get to see all of it eventually, little sister." I replied, patting her shoulder with a fond smile, resisting with some difficulty the urge to ruffle her hair instead. "Though I doubt our first stop will be the Companions' mead hall. Balgruuf will want to meet with us directly, for information of this magnitude there’s no way he’ll rely on second-hand reports."
Lucia fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve, her eyes still darting between faces in the crowd, half hiding behind Camilla and myself. "Will we be staying in Dragonsreach itself, then? Or is there an inn we'll be housed in? And…and Cammy and I won’t have to go to the meeting with you, will we?"
"A fair question, Lucy." I admitted, glancing toward Lydia's back as our procession began moving toward the gates, admiring the way she moved even as I considered how best to answer the question. "I imagine accommodations have been arranged, though whether in the palace or elsewhere remains to be seen. Either way, we'll have proper beds tonight. And I very much doubt the two of you will be required to speak at the meeting, even if the jarl wants you there to take our collective measures. After all, you didn’t actually witness anything of significance. Or at all, really."
Lucia's shoulders visibly relaxed at my reassurance, while Camilla looked almost disappointed that she wouldn't be required to recount dramatic tales to the Jarl of Whiterun. I couldn't help but smile at their contrasting, and entirely typical, reactions. Of course Lucia would prefer to stay out of the spotlight, and of course Camilla would want to play the part of the bard telling a great epic.
"I'll handle the talking, girls, other than specific questions you might get asked. Though, again, I don’t think that’s likely to happen." I promised them both, keeping my voice low as we approached the massive gates of the city. "Though I imagine both of you will be the talk of Whiterun's young men and women before long."
Camilla preened slightly at that, while Lucia's cheeks flared red. Adorable reactions both, and I reminded myself that little sisters were not for seducing, as difficult as remembering that had proven on occasion. All the more so given that I was quite sure neither one of them would have objected too strenuously if I did make a move on them.
I put those thoughts firmly out of my mind as the city gates, massive wooden panels reinforced with steel and engraved with spell-runes, loomed before us with guards flanking it. Guards that straightened to a rigid attention as they recognized the group, in particular the two blonde young women that led us. They immediately rapped the steel-shod butts of their spears on the stone beneath them, the sound ringing sharply through the murmur of the crowd.
“Make way! Make way for the Lady Lydia and Elisif jarlskona! Make way for the guests of Balgruuf jarl!” the one on the left bellowed.
“Let the guests of the jarl of Whiterun be welcome in our streets and in our halls!” declared the one on the right, no quieter than his compatriot, as the gates began to swing open, revealing the interior of the city at last. The crowd that had gathered pressed back obediently as Lydia stepped forward, creating a corridor through which we could pass, their faces a mix of curiosity and respect, though I wasn’t blind to the dark looks that some shot in the direction of Rikke and Elisif. Nor was I blind to the size of the perimiter our flanking guards created, and briefly I feared that someone might take advantage of the situation to take a shot with a bow at either woman. But no, I’m sure there were guards watching the rooftops, and with crossbows not being commonplace quite yet, nothing easily concealable was on hand either.
As we crossed the threshold into Whiterun proper, I was once again struck by how accurate, and yet minimalistic, the game had portrayed it’s world.
The main thoroughfare was wide enough for ten men to walk abreast, paved with worn, ancient stones that had been polished by countless feet and wagon-wheels over the centuries that Whiterun had stood here. Buildings rose on either side, not the handful of dull, uninspired cookie-cutter structures the game had shown, but dozens upon dozens of homes and shops, their Nordic architecture distinct with steep-pitched roofs designed to shed snow and elaborately carved wooden posts supporting overhanging second stories. Banners in Whiterun's colors fluttered from poles and balconies, often flanked by those bearing the symbols of the clans or families that lived there, while smoke curled from countless chimneys despite the warmth of the day.
The streets were alive with activity as well, merchants -far larger in number than in the game- calling their wares from stalls that lined the edges of the thoroughfare, children darting between the legs of adults on mysterious errands of their own, craftsmen working in open-fronted shops where passersby could watch their skill on display. In fact, there was Adrienne, just past the gate-bridge, leaning against one of the posts supporting her workshop overhang. She was beautiful, more beautiful than one would stereotypically expect from a blacksmith, but at this point I was getting used to people looking more attractive than they had in game, even with mods like Bijins installed. I didn’t recognize her out of hand, though, so if she was in the image of a character from a different fandom or franchise, like Lydia, Elisif, and Rikke were, I hadn’t seen it. Our eyes met, briefly, and I couldn’t resist the urge to shoot her a smile and a wink as we passed Warmaidens and headed deeper into the city.
Her eyebrows rose slightly at my attention, but I thought I detected the ghost of a smile playing at her lips before we moved past. I made a mental note to visit her forge later – quality armor and weapons would be essential in the days to come, and establishing a relationship with a skilled blacksmith was never a bad idea. And depending on her backstory in this particular world, it could end up being a very close relationship indeed.
After all, it wasn’t cuckolding if the wife was a beard.
The procession continued up the winding path through the central marketplace, passing Belethor’s General Store and The Bannered Mare, the gradient of the ascent becoming more pronounced as we ascended into the Wind District, and I heard Lucia’s breath catch at the sight of the massive tree that dominated the central plaza, one that was clearly ancient but, unfortunately, just as obviously suffering.
"The Gildergreen, it’s…it’s really the Gildergreen. Gerdur told me about it, but…it’s not the same as seeing it." I heard her whisper reverently, and I smiled to myself. My healing-inclined sister would naturally be drawn to the sacred tree of Kynareth, that seemed suitable, and I watched her eyes narrow slightly as she took in it’s almost sickly appearance. Before she could comment on it, however, Lydia spoke instead.
"Not quite what it once was, I’m afraid. It was struck by lightning some years ago, and though it didn’t die outright, it has been suffering slowly since. Nothing anyone has been able to do has restored it.”
I suppressed a smile, knowing exactly what would need to be done to restore it. Another quest I could undertake, or perhaps direct someone else toward with gold or a few careful words. Though I suspected Lucia would insist on being involved once she learned of a possible solution. She really did have the mindset and the heart of a healer, even for things that were not ‘living’ in the same way she or I was. Her expression of dismay at seeing the sacred tree in such a state confirmed it.
"Is there truly nothing that can be done?" Lucia asked, her distress and displeasure obvious from her words, and Lydia shrugged with a tired sigh.
“The acolytes of Kynareth have done everything that they can, and everything that others have recommended. If you want to know more, I would speak to Danica Pure-Spring, the high priestess of the temple. She’d be able to answer any questions that you might have and offer guidance from there.”
"Thank you, Lady Lydia," Lucia replied, her gaze lingering on the ailing tree as we moved past it, eyes bright and dark in equal measure. "I'll be sure to visit her as soon I can."
The ascent continued, climbing the stone steps that led to the Wind District's upper reaches, and I heard Camilla’s breath catch as the towering form of Jorrvaskr came into view, its ancient upturned hull forming the distinctive roof that had sheltered generations of Companions. We had to be a dozen yards away, but even at this distance the sound of sparring, laughter, and clashing steel was easily audible.
Camilla's eyes widened at the sight, of course, and I could practically see her planning her first visit to the mead hall. I'd have to keep an eye on her; the last thing I needed was my sister challenging Vilkas to a duel on her first day in the city. Or, worse, her getting dragged into their feud with the Silver Hand. She was a capable fighter, but Skjor and Kodlak had both been killed, and the Silver Hand had been skilled enough -and, it must be said, numerous enough- to storm Jorrvaskr itself and escape not just the hall but Whiterun itself with the fragments of Wuuthrad. Though outside of the Silver Hand, the Companions might not be a bad way to make sure that my sisters were kept quite safe as I ran hither and yon across Skyrim. Even if they ended up living in Breezehome, having them build friendships with the most respected neutral party in Skyrim -outside of Balgruuf himself, of course- could only be a good thing. Not to mention that being around the Companions would give Camilla the opportunity to experience the life of adventure she was so enamored with in a relatively safe, controlled environment, surrounded by very, very dangerous people who would keep her safe.
Then a thought occurred, and I resisted the urge to grimace, because I found myself wondering if The Circle would notice what I was.
If their enhanced senses, their lycanthropic natures, would alert them to the fact that a vampire walked among them. It was a concern I'd need to address sooner rather than later, especially if my sisters were to spend time there. The last thing I needed was Aela or Skjor deciding I was a threat to be eliminated, or spreading my nature around to the world at large. Especially not before I had made a name for myself, because it would be rather hard to deal with Alduin -not to mention everything else!- if 90% of Skyrim wanted my head on a platter because I wasn’t entirely human any longer.
I was pretty sure I’d be safe with Elisif. Sybille was a vampire, after all, and it hadn’t seemed much of a secret amongst the higher echelons of her court, either, from some of the idle NPC conversations you could hear in the Blue Palace. Plus, you know, I was Elisif’s personal hero right now, which bought me a lot of leeway with her, I was sure. Balgruuf was another matter entirely, however. I didn't know his stance on vampires, and I'd need to tread carefully until I did. Being the Dragonborn would help, of course, once that became known, but until then I'd have to be cautious.
I sighed internally as we finally approached the sprawling magnificence that was Dragonsreach.
Just one more thing for me to worry about…
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Lydia Hrongarsdottir was a lot of things. Beautiful, intelligent, clever, as devoted to her people as she was loved by them, and talented with ice magic and the blade alike. Oh, she might be accused on occasion of being frosty to those she didn’t know, with the ignorant and the easily-offended -or, more often, a combination of the two, if it wasn’t a rejected would-be suitor- assuming that her reserved nature meant she thought herself above others and looked down on them, but anyone that truly knew her was wiser than that. She showed affection, love, to those she was most comfortable with, and for those she didn’t know? She was the niece of a jarl, one raised in his household as a daughter while her father had spent years wandering from campaign to campaign and battle to battle. Everything she did, every word she spoke and every gesture she made, reflected upon the man that raised her, and she would be damned to forbiddance from the halls of Sovngarde before she would have that reflection be a poor one.
All of that together, however, meant that one thing she most certainly was not, was experienced with romance, or even with feeling something more than friendly affection for any man or woman. Whether she’d never met someone she liked or had simply never put much thought into the matter, it would be difficult even for she to say, but she knew that no one had caught her attention the way that Constantine Valerius was.
It wasn’t his looks, she was no stranger to good-looking men and women, not living in the same city as the Companions the way she did. Rough and rugged as many of them were, she didn’t think any reasonable person could claim that the likes of Vilkas or Farkas or Aela were ugly. Not to their interests, perhaps, but certainly not objectively unappealing. Granted, she’d never met anyone who was quite as attractive as Constantine was, nor with some of the unique traits that he possessed, but the point was she wasn’t a sheltered, foolish girl to be swayed by looks alone.
It certainly hadn’t been flattery. Oh, he’d been complimentary, of course. Calling her ‘worthy’ had been as surprising as it was pleasant, since most suitors tended to compliment her looks or reference her bloodline instead of speaking of her own nature, and so having someone reference something about her was as unique as it was enjoyable. But that had been all he’d said that wasn’t simple and sensible.
Maybe…maybe that was it. Maybe what she found so interesting about him was his own nature. He had been respectful, but not submissive. Proud, but not self-aggrandizing. He had spoken to her not as if he was speaking to a noble, to someone above him in rank, but he hadn’t spoken to her as if she was a pretty bauble to impress with his deeds until she fell into his bed, either. She’d never truly been treated as an equal by anyone in her life, her birth and position made such an impossibility, and even he had obviously been taking her position into account when they had spoken. But it was the closest thing she’d ever gotten and…well, she’d found herself rather fond of it. She’d liked how it felt, to be -near enough, at any rate- treated simply as Lydia. As a person.
And she could hardly say that she disapproved of his obvious affection for his sisters, or the genuine way he seemed to interact with her uncle’s cousin-by-marriage. She had watched them carefully when he had helped her dismount and they had spoken at the stables, and it had not struck her as posturing or an effort to ingratite himself with Elisif. She had heard his words as well, at least in part, and found herself approving of the sense in them. Just as when he had spoken to her, there had been no flattery or flim-flam, simply logical, sound supposition and reassurance.
And yet, despite all his mannerisms and the genuine respect he'd shown since the moment she had met him, there was something about Constantine that felt... dangerous, to Lydia. Not in a way that made her fear for her safety or that of her companions, she didn’t think that he was about to draw his sword and start swinging or some such nonsense, but in a rather more primal way. Like watching a storm roll down from the Throat and across the plains, or watching a pack of wolves slink through the forest. Like power and grace and change made manifest. She’d seen so much in his eyes, his tone, the way he shifted and moved and sat when he’d talked about the threats that Skyrim and it’s people now faced, and though she had had little enough chance to observe him move -never mind fight- she couldn’t help but think predator when she looked at him. Again, not in a malicious or wicked or threatening way, but instead as if she was…well, he reminded her a great deal of Irileth, actually. Like a knife sheathed in silk. Deadly, extremely dangerous, but that danger was restrained by choice, not necessity or an outside force.
The thought was an unsettling one, one that made her skin tingle and her scalp itch, especially given that she rather felt that she was one of very few people who had actually noticed. She'd observed Ralof and Hadvar and even her guards interacting with the man as they traveled, and none seemed to sense the same undercurrent that she did. Perhaps it was her magic that made her sensitive to it, or perhaps simply her own nature, something unique to herself. Whatever the case was, though, she found herself intrigued rather than alarmed. After all, dangerous men could be the most useful allies in dangerous times.
And these were, without question, dangerous times. Even more so if all that Constantine claimed was true was, in fact, true.
As they climbed the final steps to Dragonsreach, Lydia pushed these thoughts aside, squaring her shoulders and focusing on what came next: the Thing.
She had little doubt Constantine Valerius was going to upend her world even more than he already had…and in spite of everything, part of her was still looking forward to exactly that.