Work Text:
In seven years, the Dragonborn would fight Alduin, and she would be no more. That was what the woman said. “The Dragonborn will be no more”. Olava, an older woman who lived in Whiterun was dealing with a skeever problem in and around her house.
The Dragonborn offered to deal with the rodents in exchange for having her fortune told, though Lydia suspected she would have dealt with the pests whether there was a reward or not. She hated the things.
The older woman clasped her hands over the Dragonborn's and closed her eyes for a long while before revealing what she saw. The Dragonborn did not act surprised or angry or even sorrowful when Olava told her what her future looked like. She only asked, “And you're certain?”
Olava held the woman’s hands gently and nodded, before sending them away, claiming she felt dizzy.
Lydia tried to ask her if she was okay, she tried to tell her that the woman was probably crazy, but she didn't seem to care either way. But, instead of heading toward Breezehome, the Dragonborn led Lydia out of the city to a grassy hill facing the setting sun.
She dropped herself into the grass and folded her arms behind her head.
“I suppose if I'm going to die in a few years I should appreciate the sun a little more. Vampires really don't have it easy, do they?” She looked up at Lydia and grinned, “Sit down with me, won't you?”
Lydia complied, sitting down in the grass next to her Thane. “You really aren't bothered by this in the slightest?”
The Dragonborn closed her eyes and said, “No, not really. Do you have any idea how long the Altmer live?”
Admittedly, Lydia didn't. She knew Elves lived far longer than any Nord would, but any actual number was lost on her.
“No,” She joined the younger woman, lying flat on her back in the cool grass. It was damp, but they'd been so busy that morning Lydia couldn't remember if it had rained. “How long?”
“Five hundred years, give or take. That's really too long, don't you think?”
“Most people would kill to live half that long, you know.”
“Not me,” She opened her eyes and propped herself up on one arm. “I've been thinking about this for a while, actually.”
“About your death?” It was a genuine question, but the Dragonborn cracked a smile and suppressed laughter.
“Close. I've been thinking about your death.”
Lydia raised her eyebrows and said, “Have you? Whatever for?”
“Any other elf my age would long outlive you. That's very unfortunate, you know. By the time you died, I would have to live just over four hundred years without you.” She was still smiling, but there was a glint of sadness in her eyes. “My point is, I'd rather die in seven years than have to live four hundred without you. Unless you'd be willing to become a vampire for me,” she flicked Lydia's forehead and dropped back down into the grass.
Lydia rolled her eyes and said, “Well, I am sworn to your service.” The Dragonborn snickered. Lydia's voice took on a more serious tone, “But you don't mean that. We've only known each other for a year, you'd do just fine without me.”
She shrugged, “Maybe you're right. I suppose it doesn't matter, though.”
Lydia sat upright and firmly grasped the Dragonborn's shoulder, “Stop talking like that, for all we know the woman could have been dead wrong.”
“You're more upset about this than I am.”
Lydia furrowed her brow and said, “Because I'd rather not see you die before you even reach your twenty-eighth year. I care about you.”
“But we've only known each other a year, Dove,” she threw Lydia's words back at her matter-of-factly.
Lydia turned away and moved to stand up, “You're impossible.” Before she made it to her feet, the girl caught her arm and pulled her back down.
“You're right. I'm sorry.”
Lydia looked back at her and sighed, “Don't be.”
“I'll be a bit more optimistic, alright?” She dropped Lydia's arm and stood up. “You know, that does mean you'll have to consider becoming a vampire for me. If I'm going to live for five hundred years I'm not going to do it alone.”
Lydia rolled her eyes and hoisted herself to her feet, “I'll consider it.”