Hello, heroes of Skyrim. This is the story of not only my Dragonborn, but of his friends and foes. I've never been good at talking directly to my audience, so I'll simply begin our tale.
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As Ifgar enters his home, he squeezes his parcel once more, feeling the hard corners of the book he purchased only hours before. It's said to reveal how the Dragonborn truly was, not what the rumors and songs made him to be. It cost him nearly fifty Septims, a whole month's pay, but he wanted to learn more of the legendary man, with the soul of a Dragon, the body of a man, and a heart stronger than an ox's.
His wife turns to him, standing by the hearth, smiling at his return. As her eyes lay upon his treausure, she asks: "What have you got there?" Ifgar answers the question. His spouse's features twist into one of scorn at your large purchase. "We needed those Septims to buy food! Now what will we do?"
"I'll put in extra time at the mine." He replies. He did feel a bit foolish for spending such a pretty penny, but he's sure some good will come of it.
"You had better! Just because the War's over doesn't mean you can slack off!" Freda shouts at him, with the wrath of a dragon, and storms into another room. Ifgar sits on his favorite chair, and sighs his remorse. He hated it when she brought that up. He fought in the Civil war, and since it had ended, there was a diminished need for soldiers. With his bad shield arm, he just didn't make the cut.
It wasn't his fault. Enemy had him four to one. If he hadn't have been rescued by-
"Father?" A small voice questions hesitantly. "Why is mum so angry?" He walks over, hands wringing. He blamed himself, the poor child.
"Aye, child, 'tis not your fault." He motioned his son over, picked him up, and sat him on his knee. "'Tis mine, and mine alone. I bought a book today. A story book. The ones you like. Want to see it, Lanjar?"
His darling son, Lanjar, perked up at this. He beamed at his father, and begged to see the new book. "Please, da! What is it?"
Ifgar chuckled warmly. At least someone appreciated his kind thought. "The title is "The Taciturn Tale". Written by...Soliriil The Wise." Ifgar had heard of him before. The old Elf was one of the most powerful mages on Tamriel.
"Open it, open it!" Lanjar pleaded, bouncing on his knee. Ifgar laughed and conceited, opening and reading aloud the words.
"I have heard every song and tale regarding Lanjar the Taciturn. While it is true, that in each there is a grain of truth, most are comprised of bravado, making the Dragonborn seem like a Paragon his whole life. He has confessed to me very horrible things he had done. However, this is not to make him seem like a villain, either. What he is, is a hero. He rose above his past, above adversity the likes of which are unimaginable, even above his own flaws, to save the world at least thrice.
"If you ever questioned Lanjar about his deeds, he would deny his importance. Say that he merely stood in the background while we, his shield-siblings, fought the battles. That is humility in it's truest body. He fought with all his might, mind, and spirit, not only on the battlefield, but where bargains must have been made. Deals with Daedra to achieve victory. He would've sacrificed everything for his cause. Freedom, sanity, even his own life.
"I write this on my own will. To the Dragonborn, to have his past told is irrelevant. So long as no one must bear the burden he had, his name could fade from memory, and he would care nothing of it. I do this to ensure that this man, my friend, my shield-brother, and his story do not fade to time.
"This is the story of the Dovahkiin. Of the Harbinger of the Companions. Of the Qahnaarin. The story of a man trying to escape his past. Of the Hero of Skyrim.
"This is the tale of Lanjar the Taciturn."
A/N (Author's Notes)
I hope you'll bear with me, as updates may eb far and few. I'm focusing more on my Fallout fic.
Talos be with you.
Chubs out.