…
-Da?
-Yeah?
-Did you really see the Dragonborn?
-Aye, son, I saw 'im once. Long ago.
-Can you tell me 'bout it?
-You've heard the story a hundred times already.
-Not from you, Da. Only from uncle Groggin. And he's always drunk and weepy when he tells it, goin' on about all his dead friends.
-They were my friends too...
-Please?
-You haven't gone out to look for that chicken yet. I heard Ma tellin' ya to go find 'er this mornin'.
-I already found it. The dog was chewin' on it under the porch. He killed it, I say.
-Yer Ma said that it was just a couple of old bones from a chicken dinner.
-She don' know, Da. Risker's been trying to get at the chickens since we got 'im from Mirra's family.
-Hey, now. Yer mother's always right, e'en when she's not. Important lesson to learn. Took me long enough.
-Yes, Da.
-Y'know, though, now that you mention it, the Kalzinkril don' come round into the highlands 'round here much anymore. Figure the dragons'll take care of stuff like trolls and stuff, bein' so close. Back in the old days, the trolls'd come down from their caves and eat yer livestock. If you'er lucky, that is. They might choose to eat ya instead...
-Da...
-Sorry, sorry, son, I know. I know you don' like it when I talk about monsters.
-No, no, I meant... please tell me the story.
-I didn't mean to scare ya...
-Da.
-Alright, alright. Fine.
…
-Twas late in the afternoon, on the dark, cloudy day before the battle o' Solitude, that I saw 'im. We'd been fighting for hours- men, good Nords, died around me. My squad and me, our hearts were filled with sorrow and anger at the loss of our captain, but we pressed on, and the elven front began to crumble.
-Front?
-Er, their group of soldiers. The smaller army that was a part of the big army.
-Oh.
-Anyways, the front began to crumble under our furious attack. We pursued 'em doggedly, we did. I was just about to cleave an elven-helmeted head from my opponents shoulders...
-Cool.
-...when I felt a blinding agony in my side, and I found myself tumbling through the air and landing hard on the rocky mountain dirt. Through my pain, I saw the one that had struck me- A Thalmor wizard, hood over his long, ugly face, cloaked in shadowy robes. I remember the way the fire trembled in his hands, lookin' like it was trying to find its way out and eat at me some more. He looked at me with one of those creepy elven smiles- I've heard that elves don' show emotions on their faces- in their eyes or somethin' stupid like that- and that they make expressions like ours to unnerve us. After that day, I believed it.
I struggled to my feet, favoring the scorched mess of flesh n' metal that was my breastplate.
-Were you hurt real bad, Da?
-Oh, yeah. I doubt I would've made it had the Dragonborn not been there.
-He fixed you?
-Hey, now. Shh. We haven't gotten to that part yet.
-Sorry.
-Now, I tried not to look at the wound- I didn't dare- 'cause I couldn't afford to pass out. I reached for my sword and my shield, but to my surprise I couldn't find the shield. I found it later, though. It must have been flung way far away from me when I went flying.
The Thalmor started eagerly towards me, readying another fireball. He knew that without my shield to protect me, I was easy pickin's. I knew that I wasn't goin' ta make, so I did what any good Nord would do- I rushed 'im, bellowing at the top o' my lungs. I figured that if I took him down with me, I might have better chances o' gettin' on to Sovngarde.
In the blink of an eye, I was on the ground again. Someone had pushed me. Before me, clad in a suit of gleaming dragonbone, was the Dragonborn. He was huge, and tall, even for a Nord. He held a massive shield, which he used to block the fireball that had been about to finish me off, and then he charged at the sorry elf, faster than I've ever seen one of his size go, before or since. The knife-eared son-of-a-horker barely had time to flinch in terror before Dovahsos was in his chest.
-You really saw his sword?
-You better believe it.
-What did it look like?
-Well, y'know, I didn't get a great look at it, seeing as most of it was already buried inside the wizard's chest, but it looked pretty shiny. Dragonbone too, I believe.
-Just like the stories?
-Just like the stories. It was enchanted, too- I remember how the elf burst aflame when he got stabbed. Taste of his own medicine, eh?
-Wow! How did Groggin never mention that?
-Because he's an idiot. A lovable idiot, sure, but an idiot. Why he saves all his best stories to when he's on the verge of passin' out is beyond me.
-Keep going!
-Alright, alright!
So, er, where was I... Lets s- oh right.
With a brisk yank, The Dragonborn unsheathed his blade from the Thalmor and let his toasted body fall limply to the ground.
With a jerk, he hurried quickly back towards me. I wasn't thinkin' too clearly at that point, but I remember how his helmet, mask, whatever, had these big old horns that threw shade over my eyes. It was clearin' up a little by then.
I held out an arm, too weak even to thank him, tryin' to tell him that I was gonna plan a feast for when he finally joined us in Sovngarde (not too soon, I hoped). He didn't really say anything, just gripped my hand hard and yanked me to my feet. The golden glow o' restoration magic flowed through my body, and I felt my wounds heal and smooth over with new skin, which luckily stopped me from screamin' at the feeling of being torn in two when he dragged me up.
"Go get your shield, friend," he said, "we're not done yet." That's all he ever said to me. And before I could say anything, he was gone, charging back into the fray with a Shout that nearly burst my eardrums. He ran into the fleeing mass of soldiers, hackin' and slashin'. And I never saw him again
-He was alright though, right?
-O' course he was. He's the Dragonborn.