I was going to ask her to marry me.
For aiding his city (I killed a dragon, nbd) the Jarl of Whiterun made me a thane, a title of nobility, and gave me the opportunity to purchase a home in the Plains district. He also assigned me a housecarl – essentially a bodyguard. What use the apparent last in a line of born dragonslayers would have for a bodyguard seemed limited, but I was not about to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Even if this particular gift horse happened to be a surprisingly attractive Nord named Lydia. Shield and sword in hand, she set off dutifully alongside me, and together we explored the vast and snowy countryside. She seemed born for this kind of adventuring, and was clearly thrilled to be far away from the predictable safety of the Jarl’s palace.
If we stumbled upon something truly remarkable, like the ancient Eldergleam tree, Lydia would comment on its splendor. And her intuition about imminent danger was impeccable. I came to rely on her company – as well as her sword – at my side.
While practicing my craftsmanship at a blacksmith’s forge one afternoon, I made a simple silver necklace, and on a whim, gave it to Lydia. It had no enchantments, no special protections or enhancements would be bestowed by its use, but she put it on anyway. That’s when I knew.
And then.
We had together just slayed a Blood Dragon atop Skyborn Altar, and we had scarcely caught our breath when the summit decided to punish us further. From a hitherto-unnoticed casket nearby, a long-dead Dragon Priest punched its way out and attacked us relentlessly. I’d never seen such powerful magics before. I fought like a coward, peppering it with arrows and shouting fire at it for probably a good 10 minutes, depleting nearly all of my support resources in the process. when it was over, all that remained was it’s golden helm, which I dared not put on for fear of turning into one of those things. And that’s when I saw Lydia’s sword on the ground.
I searched frantically for her. Perhaps she’d retreated, or had been gravely injured. Suddenly, behind a felled tree I found her, collapsed in a heap. She was dead.
I want to explain something to you, whoever is reading this: I’ve owned this game for just over a week. All of those things happened. None of it, outside of the first paragraph, is considered part of “the story,” i.e. the game’s central plot. All of it, however, resonated more deeply than any other “story” in any other game I’ve played. Ever.
Here is the moment where games show their hand as a truly unique storytelling medium. There are countless other films, books, and even games that have utilized the trope of “the sudden death” to emotionally engage the audience. The important distinction here, what sets Skyrim apart – in this regard at least – was that Lydia’s death was not a planned emotional manipulation. It was not “supposed to” happen at a given plot point. Rather, circumstances that I dictated through my actions and decisions led me to that snowy mountaintop, standing over the body of a close companion. In other words: it was my fault.
That we are at a point where a game can make you, as a player, feel truly responsible for your actions, is almost incomprehensible. Especially in light of the fact that some games – other recent releases, in fact – are scripted to the point where you almost feel the game would be better off without your interference.
In Skyrim, there often is no correct way of doing something. Lydia’s death wasn’t a “mistake,” I cared only for my own safety and neglected her’s. If I had acted differently, she might still be alive. This wasn’t an “error” or a “glitch,” it was an honest-to-goodness bad decision. Of course I have an out: I could just reload my last save, bringing Lydia back from the dead. It literally would have never happened. But that feels inauthentic; insulting to the genuine effect that that turn of events had on me, and how it will color my adventures going forward. Skyrim is not about doing something “the right way.”
It’s about doing something.
game of the fucking year.
I’m not sure how I ended up at this page, but your story is one to which I can relate.
Lydia had, much as you found, become a vital companion, saving me from more than one bandit ambush as I was finding my feet. She even got me all the way to end of Red Eagles tomb, only to fall to some unexpected blue on blue in the last desperate bid to bring him down. We won, but the vitory was hollow. I laid her to rest in the tomb we had plundered together before sealing the door and destroying the only key, Red Eagles Bane.
R.I.P. Lydia
(Since then Faendal has totally been in the wrong place when I shot him in the face with my bow of freezing. Last I saw of him he was floating off, face down in an icy stream. Uthgerd the Unbroken is, errm, broken. I needed her Armour back she she’s kind of naked in the under growth somewhere. Fingers crossed my new dudes fares better).
Volunteering to help the children at a local orphanage, Miss Evelyn Ruddick comes head to head with its director, the Marquis of St. Aubyn, who thinks Evelyn is just another flighty female pretending to do good deeds. Cynical, arrogant and sinfully handsome, “Saint” prefers woman with more experience than this naive chit. However, Evelyn might be just the thing to chase away his boredom and offer him some amusement in his game of seduction. But he gets more than he bargained for: Evelyn looks him straight in the eye (though she quakes in her shoes) and doesn’t back down from his sexually outrageous remarks. What will become of them when Evelyn can no longer ignore the feelings this virile man awakens in her.