The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 2

As the odd trio continued their perilous journey further into the keep to hopefully find an escape, the dragon still wreaked its havoc upon the building from the outside. Its sheer might shook the keep's foundation. The dragon was relentless and tore away at the stone walls, towers and battlements before it spat flames at whatever was in its way until only ashes remained.
The three of them dove for cover when the top of the building collapsed and came crashing down to the lower levels where they were. "There's no stopping to that damn thing!" Ralof exclaimed. "We need to get going before the dragon sends the whole building crashing on our heads!"

They ran down the corridor and down a series of stairs when Ganir pulled the both of them back in time and out of view. They heard battle-cries and the clatter of steel. All the more reason for them to be cautious as they had no means of telling who was down there; Stormcloaks or Imperials.

Ralof clenched his hands into fists as he could look into the room below from his hiding spot. "So the rumours are true then…" he grit out. "There is a torture chamber down here."

"Auri-El that stench…" Cirilonde covered her nose with the sleeve of her robe to ward off the unwelcome, putrid and coppery stench of blood and death. She reluctantly followed the two men, sticking close to Ganir, when the Nord motioned for them to follow him.

Ralof carefully peered around the corner, expecting to be ambushed by the Imperials any moment but instead found other Stormcloaks who had made their way there before them and had slain the Imperial Legionnaires after a brief skirmish.

Cirilonde couldn't tear her eyes away from the horrid devices. Metal, spiked bars with chains and cuffs were bolted to the walls. Metal cages stood secure in the centre of the room and there was a long table, tainted red with old blood where a gruesome array of horrible, rusty torture tools lay spread out.

"Ralof! It's safe. Come on out!" Said a burly, red-haired Nord when he saw his comrade, but his eyes narrowed at the two elves that followed. He then furrowed his brow and looked past them as if he'd been expecting more people. "Where's Jarl Ulfric?"

"He'll be here shortly with Wodan and Igritte. He wanted us to clear a path ahead of him." Ralof answered. "Don't worry about these two, Eswold. The High Elf actually saved Igritte's life."

When Eswold nodded at the three other Stormcloaks, they sheathed their weapons. "That's good to know. We'll stay here and wait for the Jarl. You should go on your way and clear the path for us." Eswold then looked at Ganir. "You look like the sort. Know how to use one of these?" Eswold removed the bow and quiver with an odd dozen arrows or so from his shoulder and held it up for Ganir to take. When the Dark Elf nodded, Eswold threw them Ganir's way. "Make yourself useful then and don't get us killed. There's an old tunnel up ahead. I suspect it will lead you out of this shithole."

Ganir bit back a snide remark and the two elves followed Ralof once more, just eager to get out of here as fast as possible. They ventured further with caution, but all they came across were frostbite spiders (large arachnids the size of a dog that could spit chilling venom) that Ganir skilfully disposed of with his bow and arrows.

When they finally made it out, they were greeted by Skyrim's icy wind. They brought their hands to their eyes to shield them from the glaring, bright sun, which was also reflected in the untouched snow. But when a sudden roar came overhead, the three of them dove back into the cave and watched how the enormous, black dragon flew overhead towards the distant mountains. Its head craned from the left to the right as if looking for something.

Ganir signalled for them to stay put and he carefully emerged from the cave to make sure it was safe with his bow and arrow at the ready. Cirilonde and Ralof waited, breathless as the Dark Elf disappeared from sight and for a moment, Cirilonde feared that he'd abandoned them, but he returned. "Clear," he said. "Come on out. It's safe."

Back outside again, Ralof looked around to get his bearings so he could determine where they were. The journey through the tunnels had taken quite some time and the sun's position indicated it had to be about mid-noon. He then turned to the two elves. "I don't know what got either of you to Skyrim in the first place, but we were lucky that dragon came when it did."

"I'm not so sure yet." Cirilonde said. "We're not out of the woods either, they will be looking for us."

"She's right…" Ganir looked around. They cave they had emerged from was a good distance away from Helgen and the roads. They could afford to linger for the time being. "Where exactly are we?"

"Well…Bleak Falls Barrow is over there..." Ralof pointed to the mountain north-west of them in the distance where the silhouette of a snow-covered ruin could be seen. "Helgen and Riverwood aren't far apart…I have family there."

The sudden realization that Helgen had just been ravaged by a dragon and that Riverwood was nearby, deeply troubled Ralof. "We should head there." He decided. "You can come with me, if you like. My sister Gerdur and her husband, Hod, run the sawmill. We can lay low there."

Ganir looked at a hesitant Cirilonde. The High Elf was more than relieved they had managed to escape with their lives, but there was no guarantee for either of them that they weren't wanted by the Imperials and they would no doubt encounter them, or in the worst case scenario, more Thalmor agents. But if she wanted to get to the College, she would have to risk it and then just maybe, they would forget all about her; the scared little she-elf. "I'd hate to push myself on your family, Ralof, as grateful as I am, but I should be on my way to the College."

"Though I'm sure we could use the food and rest before we're on our way," Ganir said. "We'll leave for the College first thing in the morning and part ways."

Cirilonde furrowed her brow because there was no way or indicator that Ganir was a mage as well, so why would he-? "I owe you that much, Cirilonde and that's final."

Cirilonde knew there was no point in arguing it and she was far too tired to do so. He would keep her safe as he had done in spite of getting her into danger in the first place. No! That was not fair. She had chosen to help him and the Thalmor had been as ruthless and merciless as she known they were able to be! She looked back at the cave. "What about Jarl Ulfric and your comrades though, Ralof?"

"He'll be fine, lass. We're talking about Jarl Ulfric here, not some milk-drinking fool like Tullius," Ralof assured her. "Besides, I don't want to stick around and run into any Imperials, so let's go."

They followed Ralof's lead but didn't stick too close to the roads just to be certain. Ganir walked by Cirilonde's side, who attempted to find a distraction from her thoughts in their surroundings.

Skyrim was a land of raw, cold beauty. She could smell the pine trees and hear the rustle of the birch-tree's leaves. Mountain flowers dotted the landscape where snow hadn't fallen or where the icy cold river and creeks made their way through the land. The terrain was uneven and rough, and it showed in the hole-ridden roads, which were rarely paved as they had to wind around rocks, hills and other obstacles.

"Forgive me for prying," Ganir started, initially hesitant. "But just what made you think you could reason with the Thalmor, even if you are a High Elf?"

"Does it even matter?" Ganir's eyes showed he didn't like her evasive and dismissive response. But what would they think of her if they knew not only who she was, but also her betrothed? Though he'd saved her life, could he really be trusted to that extent? "And I know why they were after you. And even if I hadn't helped you, they still would've attacked me no doubt."

"I know we didn't have the best start and I nearly got you killed. It was never my intention to endanger you-,"

"I just…don't want to talk about it anymore." Cirilonde interrupted him irritably. She was exhausted and after all they'd been through she was not in the mood for a conversation like this. "Not now."

"I just hope you let me set things right," Ganir said after a moment of silence, understanding her but he looked somewhat hurt and offended by her choice of words.

Cirilonde felt bad, but no doubt they would be able to talk everything through later. Shaken as she was by everything that had transpired, she was even more so shook by the fact that the Thalmor had made no attempt to hear her pleas and had almost gotten her killed! If Taurmillan heard of this!

But would that even be wise to let him know of this? After everything that had happened back at home… No, she had to make sure that he never heard a word of this!

This seemed a strange train of thought for someone like Cirilonde, given her heritage and betrothal to an esteemed man such as Taurmillan. But this would eventually become clear to Ganir, who studied her expressions as she thought hard and deep.

Even back home the Thalmor were heralded as the saviours of her people and would restore the Altmer kingdom to their former glory. But after what the Valanockes had been through and what Cirilonde had all been through, she understood why many reviled the Thalmor and rebelled against them. Of course this was knowledge not known outside of Alinor, but there was unrest. The slaughter or 'disappearances' of entire Altmer, Bosmer families or Khajiit tribes the like had certainly made people question themselves and the Thalmor's motives.

It was difficult for her as she was fully aware of her race's superiority on a variety of matters, but her mother's friends, her own friends and the mentors at the Arcane University and Cyrodiil had not all been High Elves. They had been excellent, skilful magi, friends and people in their own right. On top of that, there had been countless scenarios she'd either read about, if not witnessed, that showed humans proved to be remarkably resilient where most elves would have surrendered or perish.

Her father did hold a firm belief in High Elven superiority, but hadn't been as extreme or adamant with good reason. But the Valanocke family had been forced to keep appearances; Falintaor's position as an ambassador and diplomat of the Dominion for the Thalmor had not only permitted for his daughter to pursue a career in arcane studies abroad, but also keep the family safe...or so they'd thought.

"I'm sorry," she finally apologized to the Dark Elf. "I've just been through worse than Oblivion and I want to blame you. I really do, but I just…can't."

The Dark Elf only gave a small nod. "We'll talk about it another time when you're ready. For now, know that I'll keep you safe. You have my word. And I'll make sure you make it to the College of Winterhold in one piece."

"Thank you," she said softly but the both of them shot to attention when Ralof signalled for them to come closer. Though the Nord had absentmindedly picked up some of the elves' conversation, he'd been more focused on their surroundings while lost in his own thoughts.

A dragon in Skyrim, just when they were all about to be executed... What did it mean? But his tired body and mind didn't permit for him to think straight. Right now, all he craved was a warm, safe bed to sleep in with his belly full of mead.

"Look…" Ralof looked at the two elves who'd joined him in hiding in the bushes behind a rotten, fallen tree. They both looked as miserable, hungry and tired as he was. "If you look over there, you'll see we're almost there and for so far, it seems we're the first to actually make it here."

Cirilonde peered over the dead, rotting tree at the small village in the distance. The river parted in smaller creeks, which all wound their way around and through the path and the village where a sawmill had been built on a small islet. The village consisted of a blacksmith, tavern, shop and maybe three or four houses made of claystone and wood. She choked back a startled shriek when Ralof pulled her back down by the sleeve of her filthy, tattered robes. "Let me do the talking and try to not attract unnecessary attention," Ralof looked at the both of them. "Don't. Talk. To. anyone."

They nodded and followed Ralof into Riverwood. It was near the end of the noon by the time they made it into the village and most villagers were either still at work in Whiterun's fields or out hunting and chopping wood in the nearby woods. An elderly woman about sixty years old or so swept the entrance to the Sleeping Giant Inn. She caught Ganir's attention, for her discreet, keen gaze was not one of mere curiosity.

They crossed the rickety, wooden bridge that permitted them to walk over the river to the saw mill, which was powered by the river's stream. A large, broad Nord operated the sawblades and loaded massive logs onto the bench before pushing them through the saw that tore away at the wood with ease.
"Oi, Hod!" When the man, obviously deafened by the racket from the sawmill, didn't react, Ralof raised his voice. "Hod!"

"What?!" Hod turned to see who was calling him, furrowing his bushy brows when he saw the odd trio. "Ralof! What are you doing here?! Gerdur, come, look!"

"I swear, if Sven has been taking one of his 'naps' again…." Gerdur came from behind the mill, holding an axe she'd used to cleave the smaller logs into firewood. She was as tall as Cirilonde, but also twice as broad and tough. Her thick, coarse and blonde hair was bound back and sweat dripped from her brow from the hard work. "Ralof!" She dropped the axe into the grass and pulled her brother into a tight hug.

"Keep your voice down!" Ralof hissed, but he couldn't deny his sister's hearty embrace and laughed, so glad to see her.

"By Talos, boy, you look like you took a beating!" Gerdur held his face when she pulled back. "What happened?!"

"Not. Here." Ralof motioned for them to join him behind the sawmill which made a far more safe and discrete spot for conversation out of sight from prying eyes and ears.

"What are you doing here?" Gerdur asked, trying her best to keep her voice down. "You look like you wrestled a bear and lost! And who are these people? Friends of yours?"

"We've wrestled something far worse, but I need this kept quiet." Ralof told his family that the Stormcloaks had received an important tip about an Imperial supply caravan they had intended to raid. Sadly for them, they ended up being ambushed. Thinking it was all over for them, assuming they'd be paraded into Solitude for execution. Instead, they were brought to Helgen for execution, where the dragon showed its face and destroyed everything.

"A dragon?!" Hod didn't believe what he was hearing. "Are you sure you didn't take too hard of a noggin' to the head after a tankard of mead or ten too many?" And where did these two elves come in? They were obviously not Stormcloaks, nor the sort of company that Ralof would keep, but they looked about as roughed up as his brother in law.

"I can assure you there definitely was a dragon," Ganir confirmed. "We were fortunate to escape with our lives and make our way here."

"I know it is a lot to ask for, but these two haven't just saved my life, but also of Jarl Ulfric and his men. They require but to stay for the night and will be on their way…I myself, however, may have to lay low a little longer."

"You know I have no problem with this. However…" Gerdur then turned to Ganir and Cirilonde. "If you leave tomorrow, I will need the two of you to go to Whiterun and inform Jarl Balgruuf. I still find it hard to believe, but if a dragon is out on the loose, he definitely needs to know so he can send his men to protect us and perhaps salvage what remains of Helgen."

"Jarl? But Ulfric…" Cirilonde furrowed her brow, rather confused.

"There's multiple Jarls that rule their Holds across Skyrim," Ralof explained. "Jarl Ulfric rules over Eastmarch from Windhelm whereas Balgruuf rules from Whiterun over the White Hold. He's a decent, honourable man who looks out for his people rather than his own interests. He's tried to remain neutral despite this Civil War. I wouldn't worry about him ratting you out to the Imperials or the Thalmor for that matter."

Ganir nodded. "Very well, I promise you that when we leave tomorrow, we will drop by your Jarl."

"You'll find him in his palace, Dragonsreach, in Whiterun," Gerdur said. "Make sure that only he receives word to avoid causing panic."

"Very well, sera, we shall." Ganir was reluctant to make the promise, but these people kept them safe with free shelter and refuge, so it was the least they could do.

"Let's get inside, it's a good time as any to get a proper meal to end the work day," Hod said. The three of them followed Gerdur and Hod across the bridge.

They walked down the path between the General Trade Store and Sleeping Giant Inn to a large, stone and wooden house with a thatched roof that was larger than the others. Upon entering, they bathed in the warmth that lingered in the house from the hearth and Gerdur served them a thick, delicious mutton stew that had been simmering over the course of the day. All of it was devoured, along with anything else Gerdur served them as the lot of them were outright famished.

Once she'd eaten her fill, Cirilonde's mind seemed to have energy to process everything that had happened. Absentmindedly, she picked at her robes, pouting slightly because it would definitely take some work to fix them, when Gerdur laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Not to sound harsh, lass, but you look like you could use a wash and change of clothes. You can use one of my old dresses to keep you warm. By the time its morrow, your robes should be well and dry…"

She was happy to accept and though she felt somewhat awkward receiving such warm hospitality from a complete stranger, she and Gerdur made some small talk while she washed up. "I'll be honest, it's nothing compared to what you were wearing, but it'll have to do." Gerdur hung her dress over the crude screen and chuckled when Cirilonde emerged, clad in her old work dress. Though they were about each other's length, Gerdur was a fit, broad and strong woman whereas Cirilonde was slender and lithe so the dress slumped about her frame. "Such a shame about your robes," Gerdur said as she held Cirilonde's tattered, dirty robes out. "But I'm sure given the right needle work, they can still be saved. I'll wash them for you."

"Thank you very much again for your help and hospitality, Gerdur," Cirilonde gave a small smile. "It's most appreciated after what we've been through."

"No worries, lass. Come, let's join the lads upstairs before they drink all my mead." The two of them went upstairs again and sat by the fire while the men talked in hushed voices at the table. Though her keen ears could catch some of it, she could tell that Ganir was only listening with half an ear while he sharpened his daggers. Hours passed as they all talked, rested and let everything that had transpired sink in.

As much as she tried to suppress it, Cirilonde's mind began to wander once more. Of all things, a dragon had appeared out of seemingly nowhere at the exact right time and location. Had dragons been in some sort of long slumber they only now awoke from? Had they always existed to begin with or? And then there was the whole matter with Ganir and the Thalmor. She was no longer angry with him. She had seen someone in need of help and had rushed to his aid. It was the Thalmor who had jumped to conclusions and never gave her a chance to even explain herself!

Absentmindedly she played with the golden necklace Taurmillan had gifted her. Would he ever find out about this? Surely not! How was she going to even explain this to Ganir in the long run? What would he think? How would he react? And above all else, why did she care so much about his opinion? Was she after all not doing the right thing by marrying this man to protect her family?

"You should get some rest, lass." Gerdur's voice startled the High Elf from her thoughts. Frodnar, Gerdur and Hod's son, played with carved figurines by the hearth. "You've been through a lot. Get some rest. You can use Frodnar's bed. He'll sleep with us tonight."

Cirilonde glanced over her shoulder to the table where the men had been seated, but they were gone. Judging by the sound of it, they were downstairs to wash up as well. "I probably should. Thank you, once again, Gerdur."

The High Elf had half the mind to wish Ganir a good night, but she was so tired she chose to climb into Frodnar's bed. It seemed to be only a matter of seconds that she fell fast asleep.

Ganir woke her the in the earliest hours of the morning. He still bore the fatigued expression he'd had from the moment they met and wondered if he'd even eaten anything at all…or if it'd help in his case. "We should be on our way."

Gerdur and Hod were already up as well and after a meal, the two elves said their thanks and goodbyes and set out on their journey. Early as it was, with the sun barely up, they were surprised to find that many locals were already up as well. Merchants drove their carts with wares to the cities of Skyrim while farmers herded their cattle to the fields.

This was a good thing, because it helped the two elves blend in to a certain degree as Cirilonde wore Gerdur's dress over her robes. Ganir wore one of Hod's tunics over his armour, making the pair of them look much like peasants or another sort of common folk.

They made their way down the road from Riverwood, across the bridge, to Whiterun according to Ralof's directions, following the flow of the daily humdrum.

"What's bothering you?" Cirilonde slowed her pace to walk by Ganir's side. He's either not a morning person or… "You heard what most people said; Helgen was destroyed and 'no one could possibly have survived'. And they still don't even know what happened."

"They'll find out soon enough, though, and there's no telling if we're really the only ones to get away." Ganir's lips barely moved. While Cirilonde hadn't, Ganir had noticed that while they blended in from a distance, the local folk knew one another and try as they might have, their faces were not familiar and judging by the stolen glances and hushed whispers, they had more attention than he would've liked. But…circumstances…He thought, glancing at the female High Elf at his side.

She was hiding something. She wasn't with the Thalmor, but had thought herself able to reason with them. As if…he thought. But her robes were far too refined for a travelling, seasoned mage of any kind. Not to mention she had immediately been able to tell…yet hadn't betrayed him. And if anything, both she and the prospect of travelling to Winterhold was of interest to him. Perhaps even…He cleared his throat when the High Elf raised a brow at him as he'd been staring at her from the corner of her eye. "Sorry, I was thinking," he explained. "Given the situation, I think it might be best for you to stay out of sight once we get to Whiterun. Try to blend in with the crowd and lay low while I deliver my message to this Jarl. After that, we'll leave right away to Winterhold. The further away from here, the better."

Cirilonde bit on her tongue because she didn't like the idea of being left on her own but at the same time it was perhaps for the best she wasn't seen at a Jarl's court. She nodded and tried to enjoy the view as they had yet about an hour of walking ahead of them. She missed feeling the lush grass or warm sand under her feet and the glow of the sun on her face, but Skyrim, with Whiterun at its centre, definitely held a rough and unkempt beauty.

It was the first, large city of Skyrim she would visit and from this distance, it looked so impressive! A river ran past and through the city which was secure behind thick walls. Small farms surrounded the hills where cattle grazed on the lush, high grass. And all of it was under the watchful eye of Dragonsreach; a palace certain to be large enough to house a dragon. Though she couldn't distinguish it clearly from the distance, the woodwork of Whiterun's houses, shops and palace were carved with elaborate, ornate decorations and markings, all of its rooftops painted yellow.

But as they came closer to the city's gates, they came to a halt. Furrowing their brows at another, uncertain as to what was going on, they walked past the countless carts and merchants as they heard a commotion near the city's gates.

"These goods must be delivered today to be sold at the market!" A frustrated merchant pointed at his cart that was loaded with cabbages, carrots and sacks of potatoes. "If this food slows even the slightest sign of wear or rot, Nazeem will have my head! You know who he is, don't you?"

Five guards in total stood at the gates, clad from head to toe in chainmail armour with their faces hidden from view by helmets. Their shields and tabards donned the weapon of Whiterun; a white steed's head. The guard that had to endure the farmer's outburst let out an annoyed sigh, "Look, the Jarl's orders were clear." He then raised his voice so everyone else would hear. "No one gets into Whiterun while we look into the whole dragon attack business on Helgen." He then angrily prodded the merchant in the chest. "So go home, or anywhere else as long as you don't bother me. I'm just doing what I'm told to do, so scram and no lollygaggin'."

"Well, so much for the discretion Gerdur was hoping for," Cirilonde muttered. "Looks like we have a problem then though, Gan-,…Ganir?" The High Elf looked around as the Dark Elf had disappeared completely and no matter where she looked, she didn't see him anywhere. "Where in Oblivion…? Ganir?"

As impressive as the exterior of Dragonsreach was, the interior was even more so. Carpets, hunting trophies and weapons were hung from the walls or banisters. Thick, ornate pillars and beams supported the walls and roof of the palace. One could then walk up the stone steps to the Court Hall where the flames crackled in a rectangular firepit at its centre. Long tables surrounded the firepit, normally occupied by the local nobles or other guests. Jarl Balgruuf sat on his throne, which stood on a raised dais so he had a clear view on all that went on in his court. Today, however, he had no idea what to think; either the people had gone mad, or…

He rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger before removing the golden band that rested on his brow. He swore that sometimes, it felt so tight around his head, like a burden. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and peered up at his brother; Hrongar. Though both the Jarl and his brother were strong and honourable men, his brother was the warrior whereas he himself was the diplomat. The steel shoulder guards of Hrongar's armour were skilfully crafted into the shape of horse heads and a wolf's hide kept his tattooed and shaven scalp warm. A two-handed war axe was slung over his back.

The woman at Balgruuf's left stood out like a sore thumb as she was the only Dunmer. The woman's red eyes burned as fierce and sharp as a sabrecat's. Her thick, brown hair was bound back and made the claw-like scars across her face stand out. They had known one another for years and he couldn't imagine a more loyal and suitable person to serve as his House Carl. "If the reports about Helgen are true…"

"My Lord, please…" The lilt of the balding man who'd gotten up from the long table only aggravated Jarl Balgruuf. But he bit his tongue to hear what his advisor from Solitude, Proventus Avenicci, had to say on the matter. His patience with the Imperial snob had been running rather thin as of late. The man had proven to know and understand very little to nothing of his land or people. But, for the sake of maintaining good ties with Solitude, he'd let the man take a seat on his council as requested. Proventus was a balding man with a neatly trimmed, greying beard. Like most Imperial men, his jawline was smooth but his nose a bit hooked and angular. "Surely you don't believe this…nonsense of dragons returning? They're a myth!" Proventus' eyes shot from the Jarl to his brother and Housecarl who did not look too amused by his statement. "My Jarl, we cannot afford any such rash actions with no tangible information on the matter. I just-,"

Balgruuf slammed his fist down on the armrest of the throne. "So you would you rather have me do nothing?" His eyes shot fire at his advisor when Irileth unsheathed her sword. At first he made to chide her, thinking she'd drawn the blade on Proventus, but then followed her gaze and only then did other, nearby guards spring to alert and unsheathed their weapons.

"You have a lot of nerve coming in here, stranger…" Irileth said to the Dark Elf who somehow had made his way in here and remained undetected until now. He stood in the shadow of the pillars near the long tables but close enough to the fire for his face to be visible. His hair was bound back in a ponytail and golden rings pierced his ears. Aside from his ragged, filthy attire there was something else Irileth couldn't quite pinpoint about him…and she didn't like it one bit. "Speak up. How did you even get in here?"

"I'm only here to deliver a message from Gerdur of Riverwood to the Jarl of Whiterun. Then I'll be on my way," said the Dark Elf. His voice held a rough, silken charm and he didn't seem phased in the slightest by the potential penalty he could face for intruding.

Irileth's eyes shot towards her Jarl, who signalled for her and the guards to sheathe their weapons. She reluctantly did so without ever taking her eyes of the other Dark Elf. "Approach then, stranger and tell me what Gerdur of Riverwood wants."

"She calls for the Jarl's men to come protect Riverwood." The statement alone immediately peaked all of their interest. "Helgen was attacked and destroyed by a dragon. It was last seen flying near village's mountains."

"Tell me, Proventus, would you still rather call for your damned 'caution' while a dragon burns down my Hold before the Stormcloaks or Imperials do?" Balgruuf asked in a sharp tone.

"But Sir, we don't know this man! Let stand if we know he speaks the truth!" Proventus exclaimed in protest. The Dark Elf raised a brow. Are you calling me a liar, fetcher? "If you were to send your men to Riverwood, the Jarl of Falkreath could assume-,"

"Enough!" Balgruuf snapped. "First, the rumours and now this stranger here. You keep assuming while I choose not to ignore this. Irileth."

Irileth tore her gaze from the stranger. "See to it that some of my men are dispatched immediately."

"Yes, my Jarl." Irileth shot Proventus a glare in passing as she went on her way to follow her Jarl's orders.

"As for you…"

Ganir suppressed the urge to groan. He had only come here to do as Gerdur asked him for the sake of repaying their hospitality. Not to get caught in the middle of a problem that wasn't his. But, given the situation he had found himself in because of it, he wasn't about to offend a Jarl who could incarcerate him for his trespassing.

"You're clearly not from around here, yet you've come to warn me to protect my people." The Jarl then grinned wide. "Don't take me for a lazy, old fool, my good man. I'd not be fit to rule this Hold if I couldn't tell you're wearing armour beneath those shoddy clothes. And no common peasant would manage to sneak past my guards so easily. I may have further need of your assistance, if you will."

"Balgruuf." Hrongar stopped his brother in his tracks by grabbing hold of his shoulder. He kept his tone hushed. "Are you sure we can trust this…outsider?"

"He would be a fool to try anything and he could have." Balgruuf whispered back to his brother and then walked down the steps to meet the Dark Elf half way. "When we heard these stories about dragons, my court wizard, Farengar, immediately dove nose-first into his books and seems to have stumbled on some sort of trail that there indeed might be truth to all of this. However, he's come across a minor issue a man of your skills could perhaps solve."

The Dark Elf bowed his head. "I would be glad to be of help if it wasn't for the urgency I be on my way to the South by carriage as soon as possible." It was for the best he lied about the direction they were headed.

"Then I'm afraid you're out of luck, friend," the Jarl said. "With the situation as it is now in this land, after a series of raids on our trade caravans, we've taken the necessary precautions to ensure it will not happen again so they now all travel in groups on set days. The next carriage to arrive won't be until two or three days from now, if you are lucky. However, if you were to help, I could perhaps arrange a horse for you."

Ganir wasn't sure whether he was impressed with the Jarl's skill to convince him, or dismayed that his excuse to bail out had backfired. But if it meant they could get a horse…Or perhaps two, depending on the severity of this 'problem'. "Very well then…"

He followed the Jarl to another room adjourned to the Main Hall. In the middle stood a large table that was littered with a pile of tomes, books, scrolls and soul gems. Against the left wall stood a stone table with alchemy tools and a cupboard filled to the brim with ingredients. The backwall was largely covered with bookshelves that threatened to crack under the weight of all kinds of tomes and encyclopaedia. He took a look at the scribing table for enchantments and it explained the 'crackling' smell that he'd picked up earlier; magical residue. A large map of Skyrim was pinned on the right wall, studied by a hooded figure in robes who scribbled notes down near the places he'd marked. "Yes…that all would make sense. But the books mentioned…" he muttered to himself.

"Farengar." The robed figure took a sharp breath, clearly annoyed his research was interrupted, even if it was his Jarl. Farengar had to be about thirty years old or so. His face and nose were long and framed by messy, thin and blond hair.

The mage made no attempt to veil the scrutiny with which he regarded the Dark Elf that accompanied his Jarl. Armor underneath shoddy clothes. Definitely not from around here. Some kind of mercenary or…? "What would you require of me, my Jarl? I mean no disrespect when I say I am very busy still."

"I'm aware, which is why I've found you someone who may be able to help you with that little problem of yours you mentioned a few days ago. Until now, we thought it but drunkards' tales that dragons were being sighted. This man comes from Helgen; it was destroyed by one and he could perhaps help you."

If Farengar was even slightly impressed, he didn't show. Instead, he regarded the Dark Elf with the same scepticism as before. "A nameless survivor or a hero? Either way, if my Jarl thinks you can be of help, then I might as well make use of it."

"Then I will leave you to it, Farengar." Balgruuf said and he left the Court Mage alone with the Dark Elf.

"I shan't burden your mind too much with the complex details of my research, but in order to progress, I require a certain… 'ancient tablet' of sorts which is rumoured to be stored in what now is known to be a dangerous ruin. If you were to even manage to survive delving into its depths, I cannot even guarantee it will even still be there."

Pompous git…This had better pay off. Ganir bit his tongue but crossed his arms over his chest. "Care to explain what a stone has to do with dragons?"

"Leave the thinking to the schooled mind on the matter, friend. You see, this whole research seemed like a waste of time at first until I came across…information. I consulted my contacts or obtained new ones. Their resources pointed me in the direction of…" Farengar turned to tap his finger on the map. The more he talked about it, the more excited he got. The idea that dragons still existed or had returned somehow! "…Bleak Falls Barrow where a 'Dragon Stone' of sorts should be stored. It should contain a 'map' of the ancient dragon burial mounds that dot Skyrim's landscape. If you can retrieve this for me, it would be of great help to my efforts."

The Court Mage then turned to see if the Dark Elf had understood any of it but found that much to his annoyance that the Dark Elf had disappeared.