Skyrim - The Song Of The North (FanSong)

SKYRIM – THE SONG OF THE NORTH The fire burns low in the Bannered Mare, while snow fills the streets outside. A traveler rests by the old wooden hearth, with a sword and a story beside. The bard takes her place in the candlelight, and softly she touches the strings. She sings of the roads through the mountains of Skyrim, and all of the legends they bring. Oh, sing me a song of the North tonight, where the snow meets the mountains high. Where the rivers run cold through the ancient stones, and the dragons return to the sky. Sing of the forests, the valleys, the roads, of the fires that guide us home. For wherever I wander through Skyrim's lands, in the North I am never alone. From Whiterun's walls to the fields beyond, where the tundra lies open and wide, the mammoths move slowly beneath the stars, with the giants walking beside. Through Falkreath's woods where the pine trees grow, and the mist hangs low on the ground, old ruins sleep underneath the earth, where forgotten kings can be found. And high on the mountain the Greybeards wait, where the cold winds endlessly blow. Their voices roll over the frozen peaks, to the valleys far below. Oh, sing me a song of the North tonight, let the old wooden tavern ring. Sing of the heroes who walked these roads, and the tales the travelers bring. Sing of the moon over Winterhold, of the stars over Solitude. And somewhere beyond all the mountains and snow, a dragon is calling to you. The road leads east into Riften at dawn, where the autumn leaves cover the way. Then northward again through the ice and the wind, where the sea meets the cold winter day. Some travel for gold. Some travel for glory. Some seek an old forgotten name. Some follow the whisper of ancient words, and some simply follow the flame. But every road has a story to tell, every inn has a tale of its own. Of warriors lost in the depths of the earth, and wanderers searching for home. So pour one more drink and remain by the fire, there's no need to leave here too soon. Outside there are wolves on the snow-covered road, and Masser is high by the moon. The bard smiles softly and plays one last song, while the fire turns slowly to red. The travelers listen without saying a word, as an old Skyrim legend is said. Oh, sing me a song of the North tonight, while the cold wind is crossing the land. Let the fiddle cry softly, the old lute play, and raise one more cup in your hand. For kingdoms may rise and kingdoms may fall, and heroes may fade into stone. But the mountains remember the songs that we sang, and the North will remember its own. The last candle fades. The old tavern sleeps. Snow falls beyond the door. One final chord. One final flame. And somewhere high above Skyrim... a dragon roars.