I'm still a bit tired when I get up, but I'm ready to talk to the Jarl. I make my way up to Dragonsreach past the still silent market stalls and the dead tree in the centre of the next courtyard. The priest who is always yelling about Talos is preparing for today's rant, but I ignore him and continue on up the steps.
Inside, the Jarl is sat at one of the banquet tables waiting for his breakfast to be brought to him. I stop opposite and grab his attention away from his empty plate.
"May the gods watch over your battles, friend." He greets me.
"I need your help. I need to trap a dragon in your palace."
"I must have misheard you." Balgruuf replies, once he's finished choking on his own spit. "I thought you asked me to help you trap a dragon in my palace!"
"You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important." I try to persuade him.
"I'm sorry, but I can't do it. We'll just have to keep fighting the dragons as best we can."
"Please." I'm almost begging now. "It has to be here."
Balgruuf shakes his head. "What you're asking for is insane. Impossible! You want me to let a dragon into the heart of my city, with the threat of war on my doorstep?"
"It's the only way to stop the dragon attacks."
"There must be another way; the risk is too great." Balgruuf stubbornly cries.
"The threat is worse than you know." Lydia says from behind me. The Jarl glances at her, then turns back to me, a quizzical glint in his eye.
"Alduin has returned." I say, simply.
"Alduin? The World Eater himself?" Balgruuf reels back, righting himself as a servant delivers a platter full of fruit in front of him. He grimaces at it, then continues. "But… how can we fight him? Doesn't his return mean it's the End Times?"
"It's only hopeless if we give up." Upon uttering this, I get a vague sense of Déjà vu. Didn't I make the same argument to Esbern in the Ratway?
"I didn't say anything about giving up. Now what's this nonsense about trapping a dragon in my palace?"
"It's the only way to find Alduin before it's too late."
"I want to help you, Dragonborn. And I will; but I need your help first. Ulfric and General Tullius are both just waiting for me to make a wrong move. Do you think they will sit idle while a dragon is slaughtering my men and burning my city? No! I can't risk weakening the city while we are under the threat of enemy attack. I'm sorry." Balgruuf reluctantly takes a bite of one of the apple slices on his plate.
"What if you didn't have to worry about an enemy attack?" I ask, thinking quickly.
"Then I would be glad to help you with your mad dragon trapping scheme. But getting both sides to agree to a truce will be difficult at this point. The bitterness has gone too deep. Maybe… Hmm… What of the Greybeards? They are respected by all Nords. High Hrothgar is neutral territory. If the Greybeards were willing to host a peace council, then maybe Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen."
"Leave that to me." I say confidently, while inside dreading the climb back up the mountain. At least we are extremely unlikely to be attacked on the way up. "I'll talk to Arngeir about hosting a peace council."
"Aye, Dragonborn. Maybe you can stop the dragons – and this war into the bargain." With that, Balgruuf steadfastly continues to munch on his breakfast, occasionally muttering about 'women and their silly "healthy" ideas'. Men!
On the way out of the city I stop by Belethor's to top up on potions, buying a little food as well after realising I haven't eaten properly in days myself. The journey back to High Hrothgar is so quiet I'm starting to worry that we've already killed off all the vicious wildlife left in Skyrim. Not that that is an entirely bad thing; but I don't want to knock nature out of balance – Kynareth's worshippers at least would definitely have something to say about that!
We reach the doors of Hrothgar as the sun reaches about three-quarters of the way to its zenith. Inside we find Arngeir meditating in the middle of the stone entry hall.
"Alduin… We heard the Dragonrend Shout from here. You defeated him?" He asks as my shadow falls over his hooded face.
"Yes, but he escaped." I explain. "I need to find his portal to Sovngarde."
"I feared as much." Arngeir rises from his squat, bones creaking. "I thought it was him we saw flying east after your battle."
"I need your help. I need to capture a dragon."
"We are not warriors." The Greybeard interrupts before I can explain further. "What is overlooked in the Dragonborn is not permitted to any other followers of the Way of the Voice."
I stifle an exasperated sigh. "I'll worry about capturing a dragon. I need your help to stop the war."
"You misunderstand our authority. The Greybeards have never involved themselves in political affairs." I think Arngeir is the one misunderstanding. My father was a quiet, unassuming man, yet whenever the Councillors of House Hlaalu had a problem they couldn't solve, they would turn to him. Skyrim seems to hold these Greybeards in the same esteem.
"Jarl Balgruuf won't help me while the war rages."
"I see. The dragon will lead you to Alduin, but without the Jarl's help…"
"Both sides respect the Greybeards." I practice my silver tongue again, in the hopes of more success than my last attempt. "They will listen."
"Paarthurnax has made the decision to help you. This is the road we have to walk. Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of Change, it seems." Arngeir must have never heard of the old wives' tale of the oak and the willow. "So be it. Tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards wish to speak with them. We will see if they still remember us."
Back down the mountain we go, off to Windhelm. Again. All this up and down is getting really tiring.
Along the road towards Windhelm we pass a trio of Imperial soldiers flanking a ragged man, and further on a trio of Stormcloaks. I hope the two groups don't meet; I doubt that that would be an encounter the prisoner at least would survive. Just past Mixwater Mill, an Argonian emerges from the bushes, daggers drawn.
"All right, hand over your valuables, or I'll gut you like a fish!" Do all thieves have to follow a script or something?
"Walk away. Right now." I say as intimidatingly as possible, flexing my arms and loosening my sword in its scabbard.
"Nice try, but you don't scare me. I'm not going to ask again."
"I don't have time for this." I mutter, but the lizard hears me.
"Don't you walk away from me!" With that, the thief slashes at me with his daggers.
"Yol!" I Shout in reply, bathing the foolish reptile in fire, at the same time Lydia fires an arrow into his eye. The arrow hits him with such force that he is flung backwards along the road, and he dies almost immediately.
After confiscating the daggers – not that the Argonian will ever need them again – we continue along the now snowy road, and past an Orc who is very obviously high. Crossing the bridge into the city, the sun finally sinks below the horizon – did it really take that long? – so we head into the inn, renting the room from the sullen innkeeper.
A/N: The story of the oak and the willow mentioned above is basically an extension of the old saying. The oak fights the wind and so falls and dies; the willow bends with the wind, and so survives. This is used as a metaphor to inform people that it is better to go along with change – be the willow – than to fight against it – be the oak.