Work Text:
Nothing should be able to surprise Lydia at this point, given that the housecarl is in the service of the famed Dragonborn of Nordic legend. Yet, one Loredas night, when Lydia had just been about to doze off in front of the crackling fire, she hears a banging that startles her awake within a few seconds. Her right hand goes to the steel sword on her hip, the well rehearsed motion seamless due to her extensive years of training at Dragonsreach and due to all her adventures of late trudging across Skyrim with the Dragonborn. Lydia jumps to her feet with all the grace of a cat, barging into the alchemy room where she heard the banging originate. She swings the wooden door open with a crash, the doorknob slamming heavily against the wall in the process. The beleaguered housecarl deeply groans regarding the sight before her eyes in the small expanse of Breezehome.
“Ah, Lydia!” Asta the Dragonborn smiles widely at her dear friend, a thick plume of smoke and ash trailing suspiciously through the air behind the brunette woman. “Nothing to worry about!” she continues, her piercing blue eyes not quite able to fully hide the embarrassment or suspicion the newest Companion feels.
“My Thane, I think your definition of nothing to worry about varies quite differently from my own,” Lydia deadpans, sheathing her sword now that she has determined the only threat present in the nearby vicinity of Whiterun is the young Thane herself.
“Everything’s fine, I promise,” Asta insists, turning around quickly to fan at the smoke dissipating behind her, needing to confirm that a secondary fire hadn’t started at the alchemy table. “I’ve got it all under control,” she continues, knowing that Lydia would worry after her like a mother hen until completely satisfied with an answer.
Her friend and housecarl has seen her nearly dismembered by too many a Draugr Overlord and dodging seemingly random dragon attacks, after all. She is within her right to worry.
“I have several questions,” Lydia insists, finally pushing herself into the room and observing the practically destroyed space. “Namely, what was all that banging I heard from the hearth and why is there smoke in the air which you’re doing an extremely poor job of hiding?”
“Oh,” comes the eloquent response from the Dragonborn’s lips. “That,” she acknowledges, a slight crimson blush appearing on her cheeks.
Lydia places her calloused hands on her hips, eyes narrowing in the glare Asta learned to fear.
“I was practicing my Destruction magic,” Asta practically whispers, her azure gaze downcast where she doesn’t have to see the disappointment on Lydia’s face.
“Indoors?” comes Lydia’s nearly instantaneous response. “My Thane, why---?” the housecarl trails off, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger.
“Farkas isn’t a fan of my Destruction magic. He says it’s too unpredictable,” Asta admits, the blush growing ever deeper on her face while picturing the hulking man. “So, I’m practicing until I’m better.”
Lydia sighs.