My Son,
Word’s reached us all the way in Windhelm of your glories in battle. Heard you cut your way through twenty Orcs and drove the rest of ‘em to flee when you took the head of their warlord in one swipe! I always knew you’d take after me, leading the charge. Makes an old Nord proud. I’d be right there next to you cleaving through those Covenant dogs but for this damned leg of mine. Keep count for your mother and me!
I’ve sent you my old axe, Snow-tusk. I even paid the courier extra to be sure it ends up in your hands. It hasn’t seen blood in some years, but it’s sharp as the day it was forged and longing for the battlefield. Give it the action it deserves!
Kyne watch over you. We’ll be ready for great feasting on your return.
