Chapter 3

Saqho-yol woke at dawn. Nobody was in the house. That suited her just fine, as she gathered what little belongings she had, donned the Stormcloak's cuirass, and buckled the sword belt around her waist. Then, she set out for Whiterun.

It wasn't too long of a jog, particularly since she took a wrong turn and ended up skidding her way down the far side of a hill. It wasn't steep, but she'd rather not have a repeat of the incident with the Alik'r. She found the road again easily, and followed it toward what she presumed was Whiterun. She stopped at a carriage, parked just outside of the stables, and examined the horse. It seemed a good way to get some information about Whiterun from a resident before she tried to deal with a Jarl.

"Do you need a ride?" the carriage driver asked.

"Actually, no. It just struck me what a beautiful horse this is." Saqho-yol said, "But, this is my first time in Whiterun, what can you tell me about the place?"

"Well," the driver leaned back in the seat, thinking, "I know the Companions make their home here. Their mead hall, Jorrvaskr, is the oldest building in the city. Oh, and there's a nasty feud between two families called the Grey-Manes and the Battle-Borns. You'll want to be careful there. The rest you can find out by asking the townsfolk. I'd start with the barkeep at the Bannered Mare, or the castle steward."

Saqho-yol nodded, taking it all in. "Well, thank you for the information. Be seeing you around, I think."

"Until next time."

Saqho-yol jogged up the road, over a drawbridge, and up to the gate. However, a guard stopped her just before she went in.

"Halt! City's closed with dragons about. Official business only."

There wasn't a lot on Saqho-yol's mind, and she said the most prominent matter of business. "I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack." She hoped that would fly.

The guard nodded. "Fine, but we'll be keeping an eye on you." He walked up to the gate and unlocked it, and Sahqo-yol entered Whiterun.

Immediately, she felt safer. Just being inside a wall was enough. Having grown up just outside the hot sands of the Alik'r desert, walls were a symbol to her – they kept the sand out.

"We'll pay whatever it takes. But we must have more swords for the Imperial soldiers," said a man in Imperial livery. He was talking to a wiry woman who was either a Redguard or covered in some kind of smelter debris.

"I just can't fill an order of that size on my own." The woman sounded almost desperate. "Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Grey-Mane for help?"

"Ha! I'd sooner bend my knee to Ulfric Stormcloak." The man said. Saqho-yol raised an eyebrow. This must have been one of the Battle-borns that the carriage driver had been talking about. They must be on different sides then; Battle-Borns were Imperials, and the Grey-Manes were Stormcloak sympathizers. Given that the Imperials had tried to behead her not one day ago, Saqho-yol was wary of helping them.

"Besides," the man continued, "Gray-mane would never make steel for the Legion."

Sounds like a disease.

"Have it your way," the woman nearly spat, "I'll take the job, but don't expect a miracle."

The guard Saqho-yol had been standing next to shook his head and turned to her.

"They say Helgen got hit by a dragon. One of those horrors comes here, we'll be ready."

"I hope so. Oh! Helgen! The dragon!" Saqho-yol took off down the street. She came to what would have been a market, and turned left, circumnavigating a tree, and dashed up a long set of stairs. At the top was a set of double doors. Inside, eight columns formed an isle down the middle of a large room. Saqho-yol jogged up the stairs, and stopped just short of the fire pit in the middle of the floor. From the right, a red headed Dunmer approached cautiously, sword drawn. Saqho-yol stood her ground, but held her hands up, palm out.

"What's the meaning of this interruption?" She said. Her command presence was astonishing, but lacked any kind of hold on Saqho-yol. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."

Saqho-yol put her hands down, realizing that the Dunmer was about half a foot shorter than she was, and she didn't want to appear any bigger than she really was.

"I have news from Helgen. About Aldu – er – the dragon attack." She said.

The Dunmer's red eyes grew wide. "Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak with you personally."

She sheathed her sword, and Saqho-yol followed her up the steps. Immediately, the Jarl's attention turned from his adviser to her.

"So," he said, "You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

Memories of black wings, red eyes, and fire, and the name, all came back to her in a single moment. Alduin. She said the first thing she could think of through the flashes of remembered flame on her eyes.

"Yeah... I had a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head..."

The Jarl looked slightly nonplussed by the outburst. "Really? You're certainly... forthright about your criminal past."

The moment passed, and Saqho-yol looked up sharply. "Uh, oh... wait... I didn't..."

The Jarl must have seen the look on her face, because he smirked. "But, it's none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now. What I want to know is what exactly happened at Helgen."

Saqho-yol took a deep breath, pushing back the thought of black wings again.

"The dragon destroyed Helgen. And last I saw, it was heading this way." She said.

The Jarl leaned forward in his seat, staring into Saqho-yol's eyes. He was silent for a few moments.

"By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" He sat back again, and turned to his adviser

"What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

Proventus, a dark skinned man, probably a Breton by the facial features, went absolutely bloodless. He never moved his head from it's nose-up position, which annoyed Saqho-yol slightly.

The Dunmer, who she assumed was Irileth, broke in.

"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once." Saqho-yol mentally kicked herself for not thinking of that herself. After all, that was the reason she'd come to Whiterun in the first place.

"It's in the most immediate danger," she said, "If that dragon is lurking in the mountains..."

Proventus finally spoke up, and Saqho-yol could tell, she really didn't like the man. Too much of a politician for her tastes.

"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" He said adamantly, "He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him."

Saqho-yol felt the unnatural urge to shout at the man. She was a quiet person, most of the time. Mostly because she always sounded like a young girl when she tried to shout someone down. With as deep a voice as she had, she tended to just lure people into arms reach of her instead.

"Enough!" The Jarl interrupted whatever Saqho-yol was about to say. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!"

Proventus sniffed at the affront to his august person. Jarl Balgruuf turned to Saqho-yol and Irileth.

"Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Yes, my Jarl." She replied, and jogged out of the keep.

Proventus glared at the Jarl from the corners of his eyes. "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties."

Saqho-yol almost blurted, "What duties?" but the Jarl just said, "That would be best." She cheered him on mentally as Proventus sauntered off. The Jarl turned to her.

"Well done," he said. "You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I wont forget it." Saqho-yol smiled, a bit sadly perhaps. Had it not been for the Imperials, she might not be here. Ironic.

"Here," the Jarl tossed her a twine-bound package from the side of his throne, "Take this as a token of my esteem."

Saqho-yol stuck the package into the traveling bag she'd picked up from Gerdur, without really looking at it, but she smiled and nodded her thanks.

"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone with your particular talents, perhaps." The Jarl said, grinning. "Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

Jarl Balgruuf stood up from the throne and started off toward a room on the east side of the keep. Saqho-yol followed, and had to jog a few times to keep up. Walking in sand required small steps, so she wasn't used to the long strides of the Nords.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill her in on all the details." The Jarl said, and stopped in front of a desk with all sorts of magical artifacts and strangeness laid out on it. Saqho-yol followed him in, and stood off to the side of the desk.

A guy in a blue robe, with the hood pulled up, turned to her. "So, the Jarl thinks you could be of use to me?" Saqho-yol hoped her surprise at his unidentifiable accent didn't show on her face. "Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons." He nodded, and Saqho-yol raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," he continued, "I could use someone to fetch something for me." The word 'fetch' grated on Saqho-yol's nerves, but she listened.

"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."

"And what in Tamriel does this have to do with dragons?" If she was going to "fetch" anything, she was at least going to find out why she was doing it.

Farengar smirked – not a good look for him. "Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker – perhaps even a scholar?" Saqho-yol smirked and nodded for him to go on. "You see, when the stories of dragons started 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. But I began to search for information about dragons – where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?"

"Alright... so what do you need me to do?"

Farengar's eyes darted around a bit. "I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow – a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of ancient burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet – no doubt interred in the main chamber – and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

Saqho-yol eyed him warily. She remembered Ralof pointing out the barrow when they were making a run for Riverwood. She hadn't a clue as to the history of the place though. She sighed.

"Okay, tell me what you can about Bleak Falls Barrow." She said.

Farengar shrugged. "An old tomb, built by the ancient Nords, perhaps dating back to the Dragon War itself. Ah, maybe you just want to know how to get there. It's near Riverwood, a miserable little village a few miles south of here."

Saqho-yol stopped listening to him at that point. The urge to shout a man down came back again, and she just tuned him out, fuming. Miserable little village my ass.

The Jarl broke her out of her funk. "This is a priority now. Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly. Before it's too late."

Saqho-yol nodded, not speaking, and dashed out of the keep. Whatever either of them said after that, she didn't really care. It was about an hour after dusk outside, if the color of the sky was any indicator. She blew out a breath, which fogged away from her in the wind. The anger and the day's walk caught up to her, and she figured that a rest and a write would do more for her than immediately heading back out to Riverwood.

As she was walking down the long flight of stairs from the keep, Dragonsreach, as she'd heard someone inside say, she about got run over by a brown haired Nord, hell bent for leather. She fell over of course; she was tall but not bulky. The Nord stopped and helped her up.

"Sorry about that. Are you alright?" Saqho-yol nodded. She hadn't recognized the face, but she definitely new the voice. Apparently, the Nord knew her too.

"Hey..." he said, "You're that Redguard. You were at Helgen, weren't you?"

Saqho-yol nodded, and was about to say something when a guard with a torch walked by.

"No lollygagging'." He said.

The Nord rolled his eyes, and patted her shoulder once. He was about to move past, but Saqho-yol stopped him.

"Hang on, weren't you headless the last time I saw you?" She asked.

The Nord snorted a laugh.

"Not in the least. Last you saw me, I was trying not to get my ass torched." He took another step up the stairs, but turned to her.

"Hey, if you're looking for a mug and a bed, the Bannered Mare is just down that way." He said.

"Thanks. Don't let the dragons bite." Saqho-Yol said with a smirk. The Nord chuckled and jogged the rest of the way up the steps.

Tirdas, 18th of Last Seed, 4E 201, Whiterun

I swear, if I hear that damned bard sing "Ragnar the Red" one more time, I'm going to be humming it in my sleep. I'm at the Bannered Mare in Whiterun.

It took me a little while longer than it might have to find the city, because I took a wrong turn out of Riverwood and ended up about having a repeat of my encounter with the Alik'r when I had to slide down the side of a hill. Two close shaves with Sovngarde per week is my limit, I think.

Jarl Balgruuf was... thankful, I suppose, for the news from Helgen. His housecarl has already sent reinforcements to Riverwood. Meanwhile, I get to go crawling around in some dusty, old, probably spider infested crypt, looking for a stone tablet that might not actually be there, thanks to the Court Arrogant bas- I mean wizard. Joy.

On a lighter note, I ran into that Nord from Cyrodiil. Apparently, he wasn't the one who got his head cut off. I find it rather strange that he speaks like a Nord, but doesn't have the Skyrim accent. Of course, I don't know how long he'd been in Cyrodiil, so, no room to judge. I probably sound like I'm from Hammerfell. Either way, I definitely want to get to know that guy. I've never really been in Cyrodiil, and it's my grandmother's home. I want to know what it's like.

Time to go. Bard's playing "Ragnar the Red" again.

Saqho-Yol