Gods, I'm tired. I've only had a couple of hours of sleep. At least I didn't dream this time. Neither do I have to struggle to put armour on – yet, anyway. I'd better get going though – it's later than it usually is when I wake up.
As I walk down the road and across the bridge, I read the little book that I didn't yesterday. The one about Ulfric Stormcloak.
Status: Asset (uncooperative), Dormant, Emissary Level Approval. Description: Jarl of Windhelm, leader of Stormcloak rebellion, Imperial Legion veteran. Background: Ulfric first came to our attention during the First War Against the Empire, when he was taken as a prisoner of war during the campaign for the White-Gold Tower. Under interrogation, we learned of his potential value (son of the Jarl of Windhelm) and he was assigned as an asset to the interrogator, who is now First Emissary Elenwen. He was made to believe information obtained during his interrogation was crucial in the capture of the Imperial City (the city had in fact fallen before he had broken), and then allowed to escape. After the war, contact was established and he has proven his worth as an asset. The so-called Markarth Incident was particularly valuable from the point of view of our strategic goals in Skyrim, although it resulted in Ulfric becoming generally uncooperative to direct contact. Operational Notes: Direct contact remains a possibility (under extreme circumstances), but in general the asset should be considered dormant. As long as the civil war proceeds in its current indecisive fashion, we should remain hands-off. The incident at Helgen is an example of where an exception had to be made – obviously Ulfric's death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position in Skyrim. (NOTE: The coincidental intervention of the dragon at Helgen is still under scrutiny. The obvious conclusion is that whoever is behind the dragons also has an interest in the continuation of the war, but we should not assume therefore that their goals align with our own.) A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed.
None of that looked very good. I think I'd better try and stay un-involved with this civil war business. Tucking the little book back into my bag, I continue by journey.
The rest of my trip is quiet, as is the road. Through Rorikstead and past the fort at the crossroads. A little closer to the Western Watchtower, however, an Argonian leaps out of the bushes and attacks me. This one doesn't stink of wine, but there is an insane glint in his reptilian eyes. The nearby guards take no notice of our battle – good thing I can handle myself then. Soon, the Argonian is lying at my feet, his belongings in my bag. I carry on towards Whiterun.
After a short stop at Belethor's, I head up the hill towards Dragonsreach. I can't think of anywhere else Lydia could've gone. As I wander up the long carpet, I spot her sat at one of the banquet tables.
"Honour to you, my Thane." She says when she sees me.
"Follow me, I need your help."
"Lead the way." She rises from her seat and accompanies me out of the city and along the road towards Riverwood, discovering along the way that the contract on my head still hasn't gone away. Ducking into the Sleeping Giant, we make our way through the common room and down the hidden steps into the basement room, where Delphine waits at the enchanting table.
"You made it out alive, at least. Your gear's safe in my room, as promised. Did you learn anything useful?" She says, straightening up.
I consider showing her the dossiers, but decide not to. "The Thalmor know nothing about the dragons."
"Really? That seems hard to believe. You're sure about that?" Why did she send me in if she wasn't going to believe me?
"I'm sure. They're looking for someone named Esbern."
"Esbern? He's alive?" Delphine gasps. "I thought the Thalmor must have got him years ago. That crazy old man… Figures the Thalmor would be on his trail though, if they were trying to find out what's going on with the dragons."
"What would the Thalmor want with Esbern?" Lydia asks behind me.
"You mean aside from wanting to kill every Blade they can lay their hands on? Esbern was one of the Blades' archivists, back before the Thalmor smashed us during the Great War." Seems each side has their own name for it. "He knew everything about the ancient dragonlore of the Blades – obsessed with it, really. Nobody paid much attention back then. I guess he wasn't as crazy as we all thought."
"They seem to think he's hiding out in Riften…" I mention.
"Riften, eh? Probably down in the Ratway then. It's where I'd go. You'd better get to Riften. Talk to Brynjolf – he's… well –connected. A good starting point, at least." Delphine suggests. This Brynjolf sounds a little shady to me. Even I can remember some of the stories the refugees in the hut told about Riften.
"Oh, and when you find Esbern – if you think I'm paranoid…" Continues the Blade. "You may have some trouble getting him to trust you. Just ask him where he was on the 30th Frostfall. He'll know what it means." With that, she turns and climbs the stairs back into the common room.
Crossing the room to the chest against the left hand wall, I retrieve everything I need. Donning my armour, I pull out of my bags the notes and other things I want to keep – as curiosities – and put them into the chest along with the empty satchel. Then I turn and leave the inn, Lydia trailing behind.
As I walk down the road, I pull out the baked potato and the wedge of cheese I saved and munch on them. I'm licking the last crumbs off of my fingers when we catch up with a group of bandits – who decide we look weak enough to attack. After proving them oh-so-very wrong, and looting them of their previous prizes – along with a helm that is better than the one I currently wear – I continue along the road, only to be stopped by the group at Valtheim.
I manage to haggle them down to fifty gold pieces again, and jog on down the road towards the trio of revellers who look suspiciously familiar. That's it – they're the people from before! Instead of talking to them much though, I toss the leader the bottle he had given me before – I had been wondering why I was keeping it – and in his gratitude, he gives me an amulet that shines with more than just polish.
Parting ways, the next few miles of the trip is quiet, except for being attacked by a wandering mage, that is. Leaving his body for the sabre cat that prowls nearby, we follow the road as it twists and turns – away from our destination. We encounter a hunter's track though, so following that, we come across a small pool, with a cave in an opening in the rock beneath. Curious, I enter the small opening.
Inside there is a single troll, surrounded by fungi. Shooting the troll is easy – it never even suspected we were there, and it only took a couple of arrows from the shadows to kill. Behind it, a bow sits on a rather elaborate stand, and beneath that is a chest containing a couple of potions and a handful of gold. The bow glimmers with enchantment, so I tuck that into my bag along with my loot and samples of all the fungi growing in the cave.
Emerging from the cave, I find that night has fallen. Following the track, it fades out a little further on. Judging my position from the stars and my map, I head in a south-south-westerly direction until I come across a farm, outside which a Dark Elf man is still working at a grindstone, and grumbling to himself about thieves and bows.
"Who in the name of Azura are you?" He cries when he spots us. "Do you know where my bow is?"
"What happened to your bow?" I ask.
"A few days ago, some thieves from Riften broke in here and stole it. Can you imagine? Took the only thing of value we had. If you have the guts to head into the Ratway and get my bow back, I'll pay you what I can."
"I'll see what I can do."
"Thanks." The farmer seems relieved. "It would be nice to have it back… means a lot to me." He returns to grinding the wheat in the grindstone well.
Yawning, I follow the dirt track to the road leading up to the front gate into Riften. Before I can get near the wooden doors, however, one of the gate guards stops me.
"Hold there. Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor's tax."
"What's the tax for?" This sounds very suspicious to me.
"For the privilege of entering the city. What does it matter?" Yep. Definitely a rip-off.
"This is obviously a shake-down."
"All right, keep your voice down. You want everyone to hear you? I'll let you in, just let me unlock the gate." The guard trudges to the gate and fiddles with a great lock in one of the doors. "The gate's unlocked. You can head inside when you're ready."
As I pass through the gate, I stop to listen to a conversation going on nearby. I probably shouldn't, but I might learn something about this dank looking place.
"I had another run-in with the Thieves' Guild." An armoured woman was saying to the seated fellow opposite her.
"Be careful, Mjoll. The Thieves' Guild has Maven Black-Briar at their back. One snap of her fingers and you could end up in Riften Gaol, or worse." He replies.
"They represent the reason I'm here. I can't just ignore them, Aerin."
"I know, I just don't want you to leave; you're the only good thing that's happened to this city in a long time."
As I walk up the street, I'm stopped again by a man leaning against a support post for a balcony running around the houses lining the right hand side of the street.
"I don't know you. You in Riften looking for trouble?" He says gruffly.
"Just passing through." I respond.
"Yeah? Well, I got news for you; there's nothing to see here. Last thing the Black-Briars need is some stranger sticking their nose where it doesn't belong."
"Who are the Black-Briars?" The name rings a bell, albeit a quiet one.
"The Black-Briars have Riften in their pocket and the Thieves' Guild watching their back, so keep your nose out of their business. Me? I'm Maul. I watch the streets for them. If you need dirt on anything, I'm your guy – but it'll cost you." Before I can ask anything, though, Maul runs off towards a commotion going on at the market – which turns out to be caused by a great back dog attacking the citizens. I'm too late to lend a hand though – the guards finish it off before I can even draw my sword.
Ducking into the Bee and Barb, I'm just in time to catch a speech made by a robed man standing in the middle of the common room.
"People of Riften!" He cries. "Heed my words! The return of the dragons is not mere coincidence! This is one of the signs – the signs that Lady Mara is displeased with your constant inebriation! Put down your flagons filled with your vile liquids and embrace the teachings of the Handmaiden of Kyne!"
"No, no, Maramal." Murmurs the Argonian innkeeper. "We talked about this. Talen…"
"Keerava," Says Maramal. "Certainly we can come to some sort of understanding. These people must be made aware of the chaos they've sown."
"Enough, Maramal." Growls the male Argonian who had approached the priest as he talked. "We've all heard of the dragons and their return. There's no need to use them as an excuse to harass our customers."
"Very well, Talen. I'll remove myself from this den of iniquity." The priest sulks.
"We're not kicking you out; just keep the sermons at the temple and let us all sin in peace." With that, Maramal leaves, and everything returns to the peaceful drinking that is tavern life.
I approach the bar, and am given a not-so-warm welcome by Keerava.
"If you've got the coin, you're welcome here. Otherwise, hit the road."
"I'm looking for an old guy, hiding out somewhere in Riften."
"Never heard of anybody like that." The lizard responds. "But if you want to hide out in Riften, the Ratway's where you'd be. There's a sort of tavern down there, the Ragged Flagon; where all the lowlifes in Riften get drunk and knife each other. You might try there, if you can get through the Ratway alive."
Yawning again, I hire a room and follow the innkeeper up the wooden stairs. This Esbern can hold out one more night.