I am a disgrace.
A disgrace to the Mundbyrdians,
A disgrace to my father,
A disgrace to my entire family.
I haven’t a sliver of my brother’s strength, nor a fraction of my father’s wit. I am bright, you may say, but not in the likeness of my father. I, myself, possess useless knowledge, while my father, on the other hand, is cunning in the ways of war, crafty with weaponry, and skillful in strategy.
I am unworthy to be called a Mundbyrdian.
I am undeserving to be called Havardir’s son.
I am unfit even to be considered a man; for, I am merely a lad as ever I was and ever I shall be in the sight of my father and brother, so long as I am ill-suited for armor, unwilling to fight, affrighted of war, and a despiser of bloodshed. Nay, not a lover of peace, for, if I were, my father says I would be man enough to fight for it.
Nevertheless, I do fight for it. Not using the manner of fighting that my father and brother partake in. No. But I wage a different war. A pitiful one where words are my weapons and my armor is of The Spirit.
My father sees me silly for refusing to pick up a sword. For, alas, he says I must combat in that way when necessary. I know such is true, but my boundaries of necessity differ from that of his and my brother’s.
Despite all, I will never be like them. Never. It is surely my fate, for even my father has said he has given up hope. They all think me a lost cause. My brother tells me there is a chance that I may come around, but even he shall soon face the fact that nothing can be done to change me.
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