By dusk, the caravan had reached the gates of the city. The sky had turned a beautiful orange and pink, which reminded Frolfjorn very much of home in Bleaker's Way. The city of Whiterun, however, was much larger than Bleaker's Way, and was nearly the size of Bruma.
The caravan pulled off the side of the road just outside the walls. A decent sized empty plot, devoid of grass, was beside their wagons. Ri'saad hopped down from the seat of the wagon, and all the other Khajiit followed him. They started unloading crates and setting up tents with an alarming skill and speed.
Frolfjorn jumped down from the wagon he was in, holding his shield and battleaxe. He figured he probably looked odd, a massive man in small clothes wielding a shield and a battleaxe. He would not be holding onto those things for long, though, because he had already made a trade with Ri'saad to exchange his battleaxe for a sword and clothes that fit him.
The clothes he got were sizeable, probably made for an orc. Frolfjorn had never seen an orc but once or twice in his life, but he knew they were massive. The sword, which was made of good quality steel, came with a leather sheath that fit his belt nicely. The shield did not look too outlandish either, its hide matching in color to his shirt and pants.
"You'd better hurry up, Frolfjorn." Atahbah called to him from the tent she was setting up. "They will be closing the city soon."
"Why don't you set up inside the city? Surely it would be better for business." Frolfjorn inquired, adjusting his sheath. From what he could tell, the roads of Skyrim were not exactly a friendly place, and he doubted the outside of a city would be safe, or profitable.
Atahbah let out a small chuckle, before turning around to face Frolfjorn. "You see, your brothers here in Skyrim are not welcoming of Khajiit. They see us to be thieves and smugglers, and will not allow us into their cities."
Frolfjorn nodded his head at this sadly, and Atahbah turned back to her tent. He had heard his kinsman in the north were racist, but he didn't think it would be this bad. Back home, anyone of any race was allowed just about anywhere. But, Frolfjorn thought, Cyrodiil was much more diverse and accepting in many ways than Skyrim. And safer, too.
Bidding goodbye to his Khajiit companions, Frolfjorn made his way into the city. Several other people were doing the same, most of which were merchants with cartloads of goods ranging from food to lumber. When Frolfjorn made it inside the gates, he was greeted with quite the sight. Blacksmiths, carpenters, tailors, and several people making last minute purchases.
Frolfjorn looked up and saw the top of the large wooden building, which he guessed was the Jarl's keep. He couldn't exactly tell how to get there, as he had never seen such a winding road in a city before. It was nothing like Bruma, where the roads were straight and orderly.
Frolfjorn approached a man in yellow dyed armor, who he assumed was a member of the city guard. His helmet masked his face, and the large muscles on his crossed arms made him look all the more intimidating. Frolfjorn, however, was still a bit taller than him.
"Need something?" The guardsman inquired when Frolfjorn approached.
"Yes." Frolfjorn replied. "How do I get to the Jarl's keep?"
The guard uncrossed his arms, putting them at his sides. "You mean Dragonsreach? Go left." The guardsman said, pointing towards a road that went off to the left. "Go up the stairs, and then take a right." He said, pointing at the route. "When you see the Gildergreen, that's the big tree, take another left, and go up the stairs." He finished, crossing his arms again. Thanking him, Frolfjorn turned to his left, and began through the city.
The guardsman's directions were useful, and soon afterwards Frolfjorn was standing at the stairs of Dragonsreach. It was night now, and the braziers were the only source of light in the city besides the moons. Hoping he was not too late to tell the Jarl his news, Frolfjorn started the trek up the stairs towards the great building.
When he reached the top, he was greeted by a set of doors just as large as the doors to the city. They were at least two stories tall, and dominated the front of the building. Frolfjorn approached them, and pushed them open just enough for him to get inside.
The building was just as big on the inside as it was on the outside. The main hall was simply massive, and was decorated with lavish carved pillars, all carved out of wood. The hall was lit by braziers and torches along the walls and walkways.
Here goes nothing. Frolfjorn thought as he took his first steps towards the staircase that went to where he figured the throne was. Back home in Cyrodiil, Frolfjorn had never met any counts or members of the high nobility, and as he understood, a Nord jarl was the equivalent of a king. However, here he was, in Skyrim, on the run from both the Empire and the Thalmor, talking a Nord king.
As he got close to the throne, he saw the Jarl was speaking to another man, and a woman was standing beside him. The woman turned and drew her sword, approaching Frolfjorn. Frolfjorn stopped, and put his hands up. He was not looking for trouble, he was just looking to deliver a message.
"What is the meaning of this?" The woman asked. She was a Dunmer, with red war paint across her face. "Jarl Balgruuf is not accepting visitors."
"Riverwood calls for the Jarl's aid." Frolfjorn answered uneasily. The woman's face was stone cold, and she gently waved her sword back and forth as she stood.
"As Housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers that threaten the Jarl of his people, so you have my attention. Now explain yourself."
"Let him through, Irileth." A voice said from in front of them. The Jarl had stopped talking with the other man, and had now turned to face them. "I want to hear what he has to say."
The Dunmer woman, Irileth, with a reluctant action, sheathed her sword and turned around to escort Frolfjorn to the throne. When he got to the top of the short staircase, he was face to face with the Jarl.
Jarl Balgruuf was of average build for a Nord. He wore finely embroidered blue robes, and wore a golden circlet upon his brow. His beard was well kept, unlike Frolfjorn's that had overgrown in the last weeks. His blond hair was relatively long, much like Frolfjorns.
"So, what is this about Riverwood calling for my aid?" The Jarl asked.
"Gerder, the own of the lumbermill, worries that the unguarded village would be a target for the same dragon that destroyed Helgen, sir."
"Ah yes, this dragon business." The Jarl said, rolling his eyes. "I have heard about it, but I've yet to meet anyone who actually saw the dragon."
"Sir, I have seen the dragon. I was at Helgen."
"Really?" The Jarl asked, showing interest. "Is it true that it swooped down and destroyed the whole town? And that Ulfric was about to be executed right before it showed up?"
"Yes, my Jarl. The whole town, destroyed. And yes, Ulfric was going to be executed right before it showed up."
"I should have known Ulfric would get mixed up in all of this." The Jarl said, adding hate on the name of Ulfric. Although Frolfjorn had heard that Whiterun was officially undecided, he could tell the Jarl didn't like Ulfric at all.
"Irileth, send a detachment of guards to Riverwood at once." The Jarl said, turning to the Dunmer woman. She saluted, and turned to the door.
"My lord, the Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" The man who had so far been standing silently next to Balgruuf spoke. He was an Imperial, and a shrewd looking one at that. He wore fine blue overcoat, and had a balding head. "He will assume you are preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We should not-"
"Enough!" The Jarl yelled, making Frolfjorn jump. "I will not stand idly by as a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! If Jarl Siddgeir thinks I am marching against him, he is a fool."
"Understood, my lord. If you need me, I will be retiring to my office for the night." The man said, walking away. The Jarl turned his attention back to Frolfjorn.
"You look to be quite the mercenary. What is your name?" The Jarl asked him.
"Frolfjorn, my lord. Frolfjorn Steel-Arm."
"You look like the mercenary type, Frolfjorn. You are quite the large individual. Maybe you would be interested in doing a task for Whiterun?"
"Certainly, Jarl Balgruuf."
"Good, then. let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He has been looking into these dragons, and rumors of dragons."
The Jarl then stood up from his throne, and made his way to a side chamber in the keep, with Frolfjorn following behind.
Inside the chamber was the laboratory of a mage. There was what looked to be an alchemy table, with a nearby shelf holding a host of ingredients. There was also a blackened-stone table with several runes and evil looking items carved into it, that Frolfjorn assumed was an arcane enchanter. At a nearby table, a hooded wizard in blue robes sat, eating a peice of bread and reading a book.
"Farengar, I think I found someone to help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in with all the details." The Jarl said, catching the wizards attention. He looked up, slightly annoyed, but then put down his book and stood up.
"So the Jarl thinks you could be of use to me?" Farengar said, in a mocking tone. "Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into some ancient Nord ruin to find some stone tablet that may or may not be there."
"What does this stone tablet have to do with the dragons returning?" Frolfjorn asked, intrigued. He had always been interested in history, and he wondered what a stone tablet had to do with dragons.
"Ah, not a mere mercenary brute, but perhaps a scholar?" Farengar replied. "The tablet is known as the Dragonstone, and it is said to hold a map of ancient dragon burial sites. It should be interred in the grand chamber of the ruins, which are known as Bleak Falls Barrow. The ruin itself was an ancient temple, dedicated to the dragon overlords."
"Sounds… dangerous."
"It likely is, hence why the Jarl chose someone he figured he could get the job done." Farengar said, looking at Frolfjorn. "You, you do have armor somewhere, correct?"
"That might be a slight oversight…" Frolfjorn said, looking down at himself. Sure, he had a shield and sword, but that wouldn't protect him from everything. He would need armor, if not simply thick clothes, if we was going to do any mercenary work.
"I'm sure I could spare some low-cost armor." The Jarl spoke up, turning to Frolfjorn. "I might have something in your size."
A few minutes later, the Jarl returned with a servant bearing thick fur clothing. Although it was hardly considered armor, it would deflect some minor blows if it had to. Frolfjorn tried it on, and it fit nearly perfectly, much to his joy.
"Remember, this is a priority now." The Jarl said, after Frolfjorn had donned his armor. "Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. Succeed in this, and you will be rewarded."
"It will be done, my Jarl." Frolfjorn answered, saluting. And with that, Frolfjorn exited Dragonsreach and stepped outside to the chilly night air of Skyrim. He was still without a coin to his name, and after a bit of wandering, Frolfjorn found a suitable spot behind what looked like one of the various inns in the city. Suppressing a growl in his stomach, Frolfjorn settled in for a somewhat warmer night under the stars of Skyrim's sky.