The Disgrace of Lydia

A cautionary tale for young Nords

Once upon a time, not so many years ago, there was a little Nord girl named Lydia. She was a good, obedient child, and studied well, and learned all there was to learn about our people's century-old traditions and bonds of honour - and, among other things, about the main enemy of every true son and daughter of Skyrim. The accursed elves.

Little Lydia was told, time and again, by those who were older than her (and, thus, of course, knew all there was to know about the ways of this world) that 'elf' is just another word for 'evil' (these words even share two letters! That should be proof enough, shouldn't it?). That you should never, ever trust a creature with such a strange - nay, abnormal - face shape and ridiculous pointy ears; and especially eyes that do not have whites in them. That the only language these freaks of nature can understand is the clamour of steel, and if our ancestors did not wipe them all out an age ago, it was certainly not for lack of trying (the world would have been such a wonderful place if it was swept clean of elven filth, do you not agree?).

And Lydia sat and listened and took in all that her betters taught her, like the good girl that she was. And when she was old enough to speak, she asked her parents to give her a wooden sword so she could train to be a warrior. A cause to rejoice for any self-respecting Nord family, for certain - for after a wooden sword, there comes a real one, shaped by forge fire and the hammer of a skilled smith, and, of course, untainted by any of those so-called enchantments, which are just as against the natural order of things as the very existence of the elves that invented them.

Ah, by wielding this true steel, Lydia could have brought so much honour to her kin! She could have slain so many elves! But she chose a different path - a path of disgrace and treason. And this is why I tell you this tale - so that none of you follows in her footsteps.

Time went by, and soon, the little girl called Lydia was no more - she had turned into a strong, valiant young woman, and the Jarl of the city where she lived deemed her worthy of serving as Housecarl to the new Thane. And this is where her downfall began, lads and lasses. For the impostor that had wormed her way into the Jarl's heart and mind, and used her vile, snake-like charms to steal a title that was not meant for her - she was an elf. An elf of the most abhorrent, wicked kind there is, with a yellow face and serpent eyes, taller than the mightiest warrior among mankind, and disgustingly bony at the same time, with none of the iron muscle that makes our battle-hardened women stand out among pitiful milk-drinkers - as she did not use noble weapons in battle, resorting instead to magical trickery, like all of her kind do.

I ask you, young Nords, what Lydia should have done when she discovered how the Jarl had deceived her? How she should have reacted upon learning that, instead of serving a true Nord (or, at any rate, some lesser human that had accepted Skyrim's ways), she was to pledge herself to a corrupted, evil being? The answer should be obvious to all of you: she should have turned her back on the hapless Jarl (you will agree that it is truly a hapless fate, having your head fogged by elven magic). She should have refused to mar her sword and shield in the name of a false Thane.

And what did she do instead? She agreed! That same Lydia, who had always been such a good child, such a proper Nord, agreed to accompany the yellow viper on her travels, and to keep her safe! But, you may tell me, what if this was part of a cunning plan? What if Lydia intended to follow the elf around for a while, feigning loyalty, and then reveal her true evil nature when the right moment came?

Ah, if only it were true.!.. But no, Lydia never performed her Nordic duty; she never exposed the taint inside the false Thane's heart. She followed her willingly, into every adventure and every battle - and she still does. She still does, lads and lasses, and seems completely unaware of the burden of shame weighing down upon herself and her entire family - for in her befuddled mind, the so-called Thane of hers appears to be doing good deeds, and bringing light and happiness into the lives of people all across Skyrim.

But that is not true - it cannot be. For one simple reason: Lydia's false Thane is an elf. And just like a wolf cannot eat grass, and a crow cannot become a songbird, an elf cannot do good. It goes against the very nature of these creatures; a heart that burns with a desire to make Skyrim a better place will never beat in the chest of a pointy-eared abomination.

And woeful is the fate of those poor souls that the viper has ensnared on her travels, along with her Housecarl. They may think they are safe - they may think they have been rescued from a ferocious dragon, or a merciless bandit clan, or a blood-thirsty coven of vampires; they may sing happy songs and praise the gods... But what they really must do, lads and lasses, is weep and count the hours till their own end. For they are doomed. They are doomed because their supposed salvation came from an elf. Woeful is their fate - but even more woeful is the fate of Lydia.

Yes, my good young Nords - for whatever the elf's true motives are, they must be far from pure; the people of Skyrim condemn themselves to a horrible end by allowing her to save them from their hardships. Lydia fails to see this - and in her blindness, she walks towards the edge of a precipice, steadily drawing closer and closer to the sheer drop into cold, unforgiving darkness. And when she reaches it, the story that started out so innocently, with a little child that obeyed her parents and learned Nordic lore, will end with a woman that has let a tainted being lure her to her destruction.

I hope you have marked me well, lads and lasses - and I beg you: if you are true sons and daughters of Skyrim, spare yourselves from the disgrace that Lydia has suffered, even though she herself may deny it. Never trust an elf.