Chapter 4 - Not Magic, "Magic"
The gates of Whiterun appeared far from welcoming. The Lone Courier supposed he couldn't be surprised considering the civil war that apparently engulfed the country. Still, the tall iron-shod doors were firmly closed, which complicated matters. If the city was locked down, talking to the Jarl might not be so simple as it seemed. He approached the gate warily. He remembered how Mr. House had treated those who tried to get to the Strip. While all he could see was a couple men standing on either side of the gates, he was cautious. Nervous men were dangerous.
"Halt!," said one, whom he identified by his tabard as a guard, "City's closed with the dragons about."
The Courier raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest. He heard a note of self-importance in the guard's proclamation. Clearly he enjoyed the power to deny people entry. He could use that trait to his advantage.
"You heard there was a dragon about… so you shut the gates," he questioned.
The guard nodded slowly, seemingly unsure of where he was going with this. Six emphasized his point.
"Your plan to keep out a flying fire breathing lizard was to close the door."
The guard nodded again, more hesitantly this time. The Courier edged into his personal space and clapped him on the shoulder chummily.
"I'll tell you what, you open that gate and I'll not mention how you took it upon yourselves to lock everyone out to the Jarl when I see him, how's that sound?"
The guard nodded a final time, mollified. He strode back over to the gate, his pace quickened by apprehension, and said something to his comrade that Six couldn't overhear. He watched with some amusement as the expression on the other guard's face changed from bored annoyance to hasty worry.
While he was misleading this pair of guards, the Lone Wanderer hadn't lied to them. Closing the city was a ridiculous thing to do in response to a dragon being about. The dragon's method of approach wasn't likely to be through the front door. As he had promised, he wouldn't mention their ill advised reaction to the Jarl either. Assuming he could get access to the ruler of this place. His strategy had been to let the guards believe he was a little more important than he really was. Their eagerness to please their superiors that had gotten them into this mess also served to get him through it.
With his way now clear, he followed the cobblestone road and passed through the arch of the gate into the city. He looked up to where Dragonsreach overlooked the lower tiers of the city. At least his objective wasn't hard to find. The streets of the city were busy, but not crowded. There were a variety of storefronts as well as wood fires burning in braziers, despite the bright sunlight. Most people he saw were going about their business in an easygoing manner, either unaware or unconcerned about the reports of a dragon. He supposed that there wasn't much else they could have done in the face of a dragon other than flee to the hills. Keeping calm and carrying on was probably the best course of action, even if it was predicated on ignorance of the true danger they were in.
The Courier found his way upwards without much difficulty. The stones from which the foundations of Whiterun's many buildings had been hewn were well weathered. The city as a whole felt old. The timber buildings he passed were well crafted, with high peaked roofs that looked suited for any amount of snow that might fall. While the plains of Whiterun felt more temperate than around Helgen, even on a bright day such as this he could feel a chill. As he followed the street he passed larger houses that were more manorial in style until he found that he had emerged onto a rotunda of some kind, with a circular pergola surrounding a large dead tree in the center. Beyond, he saw a set of stairs hewn into the living rock that led all the way to the gates of Dragonsreach.
Another exit to the plaza led to a building with a roof that looked much like an up-turned longship. He suspected this was the Jorrvaskr mentioned by the companions he had met, though he couldn't be sure. His suspicion was based purely on Jorrvaskr sounding Scandinavian and the building looking very-viking. A street corner preacher was raving about Talos, in front of a shrine that had a depiction of the god. Talos himself was depicted as a mail-clad man with winged helm, crushing a serpent under-foot as he prepared to bring down a sword for a death blow. Very viking.
The Lone Courier left both the blabbering preacher and the boat-building and climbed the steps to Dragonsreach. There were a lot of new things here to explore, but a dragon took priority. Despite personally witnessing the destruction that one could cause the concept still gave him a little thrill. Dragons! What were they? How did they work? Why were they gone for so long? Why had they come back now? He burned with questions.
He saw two guards on either side of the doors to Dragonsreach. He did not look at either of them, but instead strode purposefully towards the doors. He didn't know whether it was usual or even permitted for ordinary citizens to enter the palace so he relied on the time honored strategy of appearing too important to justify his actions. In his mind, his task of relaying Alvor's request made him important enough to see the Jarl. Whatever the case, the guards made no effort to stop his entrance. The large doors were suspended on their well-oiled hinges, swinging easily and allowing him into the voluminous interior. A throne sat at the far end of the room, fires burned in the center, flanked by banquet tables. Marvelous high vaulted timber ceilings gave the Courier a feeling that he thought must be what it was like to be in an old world cathedral. He walked more slowly but nevertheless purposefully towards the throne.
A woman in leather armor standing on the left of the Jarl drew her sword and approached him slowly. Courier Six stopped his advance once she began to move, waiting for her to close the distance. As she got closer he noticed with shock that it was not a trick of the light but that her skin was in fact gray. Was this an elf? Gray skinned people? Her skin color reminded him of Nightkin.
"What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."
No longer unsettled by the strangeness of the woman's appearance, the Courier had to restrain a withering gaze at her curtness. Instead, he contented himself with looking to her weapon, then meeting her red eyes unblinking and with total calm. While he understood why she would react this way to some guy waltzing into the palace, he didn't appreciate being treated like an ignorant rube.
"Helgen's been destroyed by a dragon," he dryly, "I figured the Jarl should know."
She sheathed her weapon.
"Come on then," she said, turning her back to him, entirely unapologetic, "The Jarl will want to speak to you personally."
Sans having a weapon pulled on him, this was going swimmingly so far. Speaking to the ruler of this region personally was a good start to getting an understanding of the situation. As he and the grey skinned woman approached the throne and the man sitting on it, he realized he wasn't sure what the etiquette was for interacting with a Jarl. Before he had the chance to make a decision one way or the other, he was addressed by the Jarl himself.
""So. You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"
The Lone Wanderer sized-up the Jarl. He was a middle aged man, sprawled casually on his throne, a gold tiara with a ruby at its center adorned his head. The robes he wore left his arms exposed, showing the wiry muscle of a fighter. From appearances, Six judged him a man of action, not one likely to be a fan of petty politics or the formalities of rulership. His first assessments of people were rarely wrong, but he knew better than to rely on assumptions. In this case, he considered honesty the best policy. In his experience, when speaking to authority, especially those of the military variety, candidness was appreciated.
"I was at Helgen. The dragon torched the town then flew off in this direction."
"By Ysmir, Irileth was right," he exclaimed. He questioned a balding man to his right named Proventus in a chiding manner before agreeing with Irileth, as the gray woman was apparently named, to send guards to Riverwood, despite Proventus's warnings that the Jarl of Falkreath might take that as an aggressive move. The Lone Wanderer considered mentioning that from what he had seen, a few extra guards were not going to be any help if the dragon showed up, but since he didn't have any better ideas, he kept his mouth shut. He had accomplished the task Alvor had set for him. Hopefully that would at least give the people of Riverwood some peace of mind. He felt that he had been vindicated in his assessment of the Jarl when the man chose to ignore the political risks of reinforcing Riverwood in favor of protecting his people. The Lone Wanderer had to admit that he was impressed by the genuine concern that the Jarl showed for the wellbeing of his people. With the matter resolved, the Jarl dismissed his advisors.
The Courier remained standing there somewhat awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed from here. Fortunately, the Jarl wasn't quite finished with him. Balgruuf stood up from his throne and beckoned for him to follow him.
"Well done," he said, as they walked into the back area of Dragonsreach. Here a map table and bookshelves lay before two doors that were of a similar size to those of the entrance. The Courier couldn't quite figure where they led, unless the palace was larger than he thought it was from the outside. Balgruuf led him over to a chest against the wall and removed something from it. "You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it," he turned to the Courier and handed him a leather bundle, "Here, take this as a small token of my esteem."
He peeked inside and saw the glint of steel. Armor. Good, he was uncomfortable without protection. No matter how tough his skin had become from mutations and augmentation, being unarmored left him always one false move away from death. This was a serious gift. Before Six had the chance to thank him, the Jarl spoke again, and he better understood the transaction.
"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps. Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard."
Wizard? What did that mean? Perhaps it meant something similar to shaman or councilor.
"He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."
That was more interesting to the Courier. Dragons not just one. And rumors of them. If there were more creatures like the one he had encountered humanity was in for a rough time. Still, the term "wizard" had thoroughly disturbed him.
""I'll introduce you to Farengar," said the Jarl casually as they walked, "He can be a bit... difficult. Mages. You know."
Six nodded in mock comprehension. He had seen and experienced lots of unbelievable things in the wastes and probably twice as many in the last day or two but magic was still a bridge too far. A bridge too far was a woefully inadequate expression. It was an ocean or two too far. Magic meant the inexplicable. It meant that the world could not be known, that there was no universal truth to be found. He couldn't accept that. So he waited for a rational explanation.
Farengar was wearing blue hooded robes, looking as much like a magician in terms of attire as one could. In terms of appearance, he looked more a disheveled professor than a mythic wielder of magic. The Jarl introduced him as someone who could help with the "dragon project" and left him to the wizard. The wizard spoke.
""So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."
The man spoke about how he expected him to based on his appearance. The mission he described was old hat for the Courier. He'd definitely retrieved more things than he'd delivered. Though he could never be sure, an unfortunate side effect of Benny's botched execution was that he didn't remember much of working for the Mojave Express. Still, he had questions.
"What do you want a stone tablet for? How's that going to help with the dragons?"
"Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker - perhaps even a scholar? You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible," he said.
The Courier felt that this wizard was calling him out on his skepticism. His rightful skepticism, he would be keen to point out. If there was anything he had a right to be skeptical of, it was magic. But if he had betrayed any sign of how he felt Farengar did not notice as he continued on undeterred, relishing the opportunity to detail his research.
"But I began to search for information about dragons - where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from? I began to search for information about dragons - where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from? I learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."
Knowing where the dragons had been buried when they had died before might give some insight into what killed them and how and why they were buried. It wasn't the best lead-it wasn't some kind of anti-dragon weapon-but it was something. He asked Farengar where exactly Bleak Falls Barrow was located and had its location pointed out to him as directly adjacent to Riverwood. That made the job of finding it much easier. With that resolved, Farengar moved to return to his work, but the Courier waylaid him with another question.
"So what does a court wizard do, exactly?"
"Whatever the Jarl requires, whether that potions, enchantments, or research into dragons."
While the Courier realized his question might have come across as rather childish he nevertheless did not appreciate the patronizing tone of Farengar.
"So you do magic for the Jarl?" He asked innocently.
"That is a rather simplistic way of describing what I do… but yes, I do magic for the Jarl. Now," Farengar said testily, "If you have no more questions about Bleak Falls Barrow, I'll ask that you leave me to do my work. I'm a busy man. Good day."
With that, as Courier Six stood still as stone, Farengar walked over to a runed table of some kind and performed magic.
Magic. The gears in the Courier's mind whirred at record speed and then ground. Magic was a contradiction. Despite the insanity that led him here, he still had held faint hope that there was some kind of rational explanation, no matter how unlikely. Aliens and teleportation were concepts he had experience with, those they remained on the fringes of his world. This though, this was something that was harder to reconcile. If these people had access to some kind of technology that they did not understand they would consider that magic. The answer could still be scientific even if he didn't have a clue what it was. Just because it's unexplained doesn't mean it's inexplicable, he reminded himself. But there was still a strong, nagging sense of doubt. The Courier couldn't even conceptualize a hypothesis for how this was possible. His rational side told him that for the time being, at least, it didn't matter. How things were physically possible was something he did not need to know-a luxury, for when he had the time to indulge his curiosity. What was relevant were the practical implications of what was known as magic here. He needed to know its applications and its forms. Until he did, he was at what was likely to be a lethal disadvantage to anyone who knew more.
For the time being, more as a comfort for himself than with rational basis, he considered it "magic" rather than magic. That is to say, he believed that there was a force here that these people called magic, but he still refused to accept that this force was fundamentally antithetical to science. He realized he had been standing in the place, unmoving for over a minute now. He glanced over a Farengar, but he was still absorbed in his work, his magic, and too engrossed to notice. He left out a deep sigh and made to leave the palace. If he wanted to know more about this "magic" he would find someone less condescending to ask about it.
As Courier Six stood outside the doors of Dragonsreach he paused for a moment and considered what he ought to do next. He was sorely tempted to immediately head to Bleak Falls Barrow and retrieve the Dragonstone. More than anything, he wanted to know what the deal was with the dragon. Beyond curiosity, it seemed the best way to fight the Good Fight. As Three Dog had said in one of his more serious moments, "If it wasn't for the Good Fight, I think I would have gone crazy by now." Six considered that no less true for himself, it was why his devotion to it was so single minded. He didn't need to worry about himself if there was the Good Fight to fight. There was just one problem. The Good Fight didn't fund itself. If he was going to go up against a dragon, or delve a dangerous barrow, he needed real weapons and armor. Hell, in order to just survive here he would need funds unless he was planning on poaching his way through life. He could start looking to see who was hiring, but in his mind, he had a lead already. As it stood, he knew a local group of mercs who owed him a favor. Now he just needed to find someone to tell him where Jorrvaskr was.
AN: The Courier's going to have some trouble adapting to his changed circumstances. While this chapter's been plot heavy, now we'll start getting into the goodness that is character interactions. Make sure to leave reviews about what you think or how you'd like this story to go. Definitely let me know if there are any Skyrim characters you'd really like the Lone Courier to encounter.