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Chapter IV: Path to the Dragon's Hill
20th-25thth of Last Seed, the Year of Our Divine Sovereign 4E 81
"This first of many, this crew of the Jorrvaskr, heathens and ancestors to us all, feared no stories or gods. Indeed, if there was something the elves feared, they would have it for their own. Thus began the labors, once more, of Menro and Manwe, whose eager hands again laid to the Atmoran wood which had born them all across the sea, and what was their ship became their shelter as this valley became their purview until the end of all their days.
Thus began the building of the Great City, circled by the running of the White River, as brought forth by these beloved of Ysgramor, yet but twenty-two of the glorious Five Hundred Companions."
Songs of the Return, Volume 7 – The Tale of Jorrvaskr
Hunger woke Sebastien up before the sun did. After he finished pulling on his new undershirt and pants, he let himself into the common hall. Delphine was behind the bar, and he approached with a weariness in his step that was all too familiar.
The inn keep looked him over, brow raised. "Rough night?"
"In a manner of speaking."
Delphine shrugged. "Well, sorry to say, but your morning may not be any better."
He frowned at her. "Is there a problem?"
"Perhaps. I took your horse around back earlier while you were sleeping. I would suggest you take it and head for Whiterun at first light."
His frown deepened. "I had planned on spending the morning here, perhaps leaving at midday. What's the hurry then, Delphine?"
"A carriage came in from Falkreath while you were asleep last night and a High Elf came with them, with the kind of accent and clothing that makes folk around her nervous. He was asking about anyone who may have escaped from Helgen. By the sound of it, he wasn't looking to inquire about their well-being."
"And what did you tell him?"
"The truth, or enough of it. By the time he got to me, he knew he was looking for a Breton, among others. I told him that you spent a night here, and left before dawn. I also mentioned that you had headed up in the direction of Bleak Falls Barrow. Nothing he wouldn't have already heard, since Camilla couldn't stop talking about it. He left immediately, so its unlikely he heard that you had returned Its fortunate that you slept so long; no one's seen you today. However, he may have already discovered that you're no longer there and you'd be wise not to be here when he comes back."
"Why did you lie for me?" He appreciated her concealing the fact that he had been asleep not twenty yards from a Thalmor, but no innkeeper he had ever known would jeopardize their own safety for that of their patrons.
"I didn't. I told him the truth. Just not all of it. You're not from here, so I'll say this simply. You want to make friends in Skyrim? Then spit in the Thalmor's face, and you'll have people buying you drinks from here to Windhelm. But you need to be gone. Say your goodbyes, and be on your way. Get your message to Whiterun, bring news of the dragons, and then you'll vanish, head back home, and keep your head down for the rest of your days if you're smart."
"I will consider it." As if I haven't been trying for nearly two decades now. The innkeeper's behavior made little sense to him as well, even if she did dislike the Thalmor. She had lied to them, concealed him while he was completely helpless, and was now pushing him out the door to be safe. Do dragons frighten her so, or does she have some other reason to hate the Thalmor? She was no Nord, but perhaps she had fought or lost family or friends in the Great War. She looked to be maybe ten or so years older than him, so perhaps. "Thank you again."
He finished garbing himself and gathered his pack and what few belongings he had garnered these past three days. Just as Delphine had said, he found Phoebus leashed behind the inn, lazily chewing on some wildflowers. Sebastien swiftly undid the knot and took the horse by the head. "Come, mom ami, we must leave." He kept a wary eye out as he quickly led Phoebus out of town, as he was nearing the bridge, a voice called out from behind him.
"Sebastien, you're leaving already?"
It was Camilla. To his relief, she looked more confused than upset, certainly not as despondent as he found her before he left for Bleak Falls. At least he did not contribute to any further heartache for her. "I have to I'm afraid."
She looked away from him for a moment, and asked quietly. "Because of me?"
"No! Not at all." He was quick to assure her, putting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "Delphine warned me that a Thalmor agent came in from Falkreath last night looking for anyone from Helgen. He was asking about me in particular."
Her wide eyes met his and she drew back in alarm. "That High Elf? I saw him, but I didn't pay him much mind. But if he's after you…"
"I'm leaving for Whiterun." He genuinely liked Camilla and wished he had more time to properly explain himself, but he had no desire to find out what the Thalmor wanted with him. He started to mount Phoebus. "I wish I could stay, but-"
"You need to be gone." She leaned up and pressed a sweet kiss to his cheek. "Good luck, Sebastien and please, for my sake, don't believe such awful things about yourself." She smiled at him radiantly. "You have far more than a briar heart, I am sure of it."
He returned her smile. "Goodbye Camilla, I wish you the best." With a whip of the reigns, Phoebus started off and Sebastien left Riverwood behind as he started on the path toward Whiterun.
After three nights of traveling and six wolves that required him to put them down, Sebastien was at Whiterun. Or so he assumed. Having only heard stories of the city, he had expected something different than…this.
The geography was impressive, to be sure. The city rose out of the cold plains on a high hill, crested at the top by a massive structure that he presumed to be the jarl's palace. In a way, it vaguely reminded him of Sentinel, the so-called 'Mountain of Cities'. Around it though…
The walls of the city had been impressive once, perhaps, but now they were half in ruins, and the buildings peeking over them were all of wood. Painted and beautifully carved, to be sure, but from a grand trade city that he had once heard described as the "Crossroads of Skyrim", he expected more splendor.
What drew his eyes as he approached, however, was the city beyond the walls; dozens of wooden structures and countless tents and haphazard shacks sprawled out around the city gates. Hundreds of people milled about, cooking food over firepits or bartering what they had brought with them for coin or other goods. By the looks of things, news of the dragons had spread, and the farmers and wanderers of Whiterun hold were taking refuge at what they hoped to be sanctuary. If the dragons come, wooden houses will not save them. Perhaps there were tunnels and halls within the hill proper. It would make sense, and offer greater security in times of war.
For now, though, the only thing that mattered about this city was that he could bring to its leaders news of Helgen. Once the jarl was informed, Sebastien's part was done. What came after would certainly be more of the same. Wandering, helping, and praying. He clenched his right fist, digging his fingers into the Mark. One of these days it would happen. For now though, my road leads into the city. Leaving Phoebus in the hands of the nearest stable, along with a handful of septims to see him fed and watered, Sebastien moved on into the fold.
The crowd parted easily enough around him. Closer to the walls, Sebastien realized that much of this collection of humanity might not be caused by the dragons, but simply be business as usual for the market city. Most of the permanent structures here were stalls for the merchants to rent, and those who could not find space in one of them had set up shop wherever they could find a few square meters of ground. He saw a Redguard dressed in the style of the Alik'r accosting random passer-by and asking them if they had seen a certain woman. A group of Nords who were clad in furs and blue paint similar in appearance to that of the Skald Faltur Thunder-Singer were selling huge hairy slaps of what may have been mammoth meat and fantastically carved tusks from the back of a wagon made of bones and logs. Sebastien frowned in distaste as he passed a cluster of Reachmen dressed in animal hide and bone barking like wild hounds in their guttural language. They glared at him as he passed, and his hand lingered on the hilt of his sword, but they didn't start trouble. Still, he felt their eyes on him as he walked by. Pagans, he thought derisively. A priestess in a scaled cloak ranted and demanded that the people repent in the face of the dragon god who had returned while he walked by a caravan of Khajiit sitting amongst colorful patchwork tents, their leader deep in conversation with a young Nord woman.
A cry went up from the crowd, and guards waded in, eventually emerging with a wriggling boy and a bulging purse. Sebastien had stored the better part of his coin and all of his gems in a pouch beneath his armor, but he did check the small bag he was wearing on his belt, where some loose drakes for food or bribes were jingling. I should buy a sturdier pack as well. His repurposed sack would not last long, and he wasn't in the mood to lose all of his various sundries for a second time. A glint of light glared harshly in his eyes, and he turned in the direction of the annoyance only to freeze in place.
Standing a head taller than any other member of the crowd was a figure completely covered in midnight black armor. Ebony armor. Unconsciously, Sebastien clenched his right hand, his nails digging into the Mark, close to drawing blood. The Ebony Warrior, their face hidden beneath their dark helm, tilted their head at him. Sebastien stared, frozen and wide eyed, at the figure only to be broken out of his reverie by a meaty hand clapping onto his shoulder.
"Man-Elf."
Sebastien turned away from the ebony-clad figure and saw Faltur Thunder-Singer looking down at him. "Faltur," he said, surprised and dimly aware of the steadily slowing pace of his once racing heart. The Clan-Nord looked down at him with something that may have been concern.
"You alright, Man-Elf? You look like you've seen the Old Knocker himself."
"I'm fine, Faltur. I just…" Sebastien turned back to the crowd, his eyes scanning for any trace of gleaming ebony. There was none. The Ebony Warrior had been swept up in the crowd, if they had ever been there at all. Sebastien shook his head and sighed. "Never mind." Perhaps I'm going mad after all. He turned back to face the Clan-Nord. "I must admit that I'm surprised to see you here, I would've thought you'd have returned to your Clan by now".
"I don't leave until tonight," The giant said. He gestured back toward the crowd, pointing out the painted Nords from before, now seemingly haggling with the woman the Khajiits had been talking to over a piece of mammoth tusk. The conversation didn't seem to be going well, seemingly due to the language barrier. "I return with my karls when the outer market closes in the nightfall."
They walked as they talked, beside the stalls in which the merchants had set up shop, there were a few businesses catering to the travelers and the traders. In front of an inn, a trio of Orcs in scaled armor argued fiercely with a stable-hand. The cause of the argument was plain, as the Orcish wagon was loaded up with weapons and armor, and being pulled by a pair of huge, snuffling boars. The beasts were terrifying the horses, and the inn was refusing to let them stay. As Sebastien watched, one of the Orcs erupted with a string of brutish yells and curses in his rough tongue, and the stable-hand lit up her hands with fire. Moving along before things got any further out of hand, Sebastien turned to the Clan-Nord.
"Has any more news of the dragon come up since yesterday?"
The Skald shook his head. "No, but the quiet won't last long. Sooner or later, it will come." The Nord's expression darkened. "Some already know it. You say that fanatic in the cloak, didn't you?" Sebastien nodded, knowing he was speaking of the woman who had preached of the End Times. "Already the Dragon Cult is returning and with it all the fear and misery from the Dragon War."
"The Dragon War?" Sebastien asked.
"Aye. There was a time long ago when all of Skyrim lied under the shadow of their wings. Alduin World-Eater had usurped Shor's throne and made slaves of all of mankind. That madwoman preaches of his return and the end of days."
"What happened then?" Sebastien asked. The idea of an empire ruled by Dragons seemed impossible, yet Faltur spoke of it like it was fact. Was it tribal ignorance or wisdom that made the Skald so certain?
"Alduin, the Bane of Kings and Twilight God, was banished from this realm at the summit of the Throat of the World by the Clever-man Felldir the Old. Without their king, the dragon threw themselves upon each other and were slain by the armies of man." They stood under the shadow of the ruined walls that led to Whiterun city. Faltur turned to face Sebastien, his expression grave. "Watch the skies, Ciero. This is only going to get worse, mark my words."
Sebastien bowed his head to the Nord. "May the Court protect you and yours, Faltur." He said amicably.
Faltur accepted the blessing for what it was and nodded his head at Sebastien in turn. "May Kyne keep you under her wings." He started to return to the buzzing chaos of the market only to turn back to Sebastien. "Sky above, Voice within." He said. The words had no meaning to Sebastien, but seemed to be some kind of parting. In any case, Faltur disappeared shortly after, lost to the sea of merchants and travelers. Sebastien watched him go for a time, before setting off uphill, under the old stone arches that led to the main gate.
"City's closed with the dragon about." Sebastien wasn't sure he had heard the guard correctly, but fortunately the man had been kind enough to repeat it when he did not immediately leave.
"May I ask why? Do you suspect it might sneak itself in disguised as a refugee?" The frightened people camped outside the city gates clearly had their share of unsavory folk among them, but dragons seemed to be entirely lacking from their number. Sebastien himself was not indifferent to their plight, but he did want to get into the city before too much longer. "I am here about Helgen. I witnessed the dragon attack, and need to speak to the Jarl."
"Truly? We haven't seen any survivors from there yet. The korpral did say to keep an eye out for someone like you. Might be you're lying, but I suppose she'll sort you out either way." He gestured, and another guard, this one shorter and in full-face helm, came forward. Sebastien followed him through a small door set into the main gate, and into the fabled crossroads city of Whiterun.
Sebastien's first impression was one of height. The city climbed the hill; a second wall girded the area closer to the palace. His second impression was of placid prosperity. The gate they had come through opened on a small plaza; a blacksmith had set up shop on the right side, while a guardhouse dominated the left. The winding roads leading off from the square vanished amongst houses and small shops. Where the woodwork was carved, the theme was horses. Their wooden likeness adorned roofs and banners alike. At the blacksmith's a Nord in fine clothing was arguing with a Cyrod woman in a leather apron while another Nord worked the forge. A pair of guards casually leaned on long spears and the overall atmosphere was markedly calmer than the hectic barter and press beyond the walls. When Sebastien remarked on this, the guard was more than happy to show off his home. "We're in the Plains District now, but it's not the same as the outer market. The Jarl only allows a certain number of shops and stalls within the city, and every vendor has to be a citizen in good standing of the hold. Anyone can trade outside the walls, but most of what goes on in here is local. Plenty of farmers come here to do business, but most people you'll see inside the walls actually live here."
As they made their way along one of the roads, the guard pointed out shops in passing that he was particularly fond of. Sebastien soon got the impression that this man was not the most hardened veteran of the city's defenders. When asked, the guard happily confirmed. "Oh, aye, my da's a farmer to the east of here, works for ol' Rorik up in Rorikstead. We have a few acres, grow food for the city and feed for the livestock. I came to town a few times with my da or brothers to sell, though truth be told once was enough. Once I saw Whiterun, I knew I'd be here for good. I signed on with the guard the day I turned sixteen. I get three meals a day, good pay, and I meet new people every day. Like you!" He removed his helm, and Sebastien was confronted with a lightly-bearded youth. The guard grinned. "Did you really see a dragon at Helgen? That's all anyone in the city's been talking about!"
"I did, closer than I may have liked." He wanted to keep conversation on the topic to a minimum until he had spoken with whoever would handle the issue, so he tried to change the subject. "I don't I ever caught your name, friend."
As he had hoped, the garrulous guard snapped at the bait. "I'm Hroldr Goldenhill." He looked vaguely embarrassed. "That's the farm my family owns. Not very heroic, is it?" He brightened up. "Soon though, I'll do great deeds and earn a hero's name! Just you watch, friend. Ah, and yours? Your name, I mean."
"Sebastien Ciero de Wayrest. I'm afraid I have no heroic deeds to add to my name either." None that he felt were worth mentioning, anyway. Something about the young guard's enthusiasm was endearing. He vaguely reminded Sebastien of High Rock's infamous Knight-Errants, or 'Hedge Knights' if you were feeling derisive. The young man was clearly bright and friendly, a good choice to the feel of visitors who could possibly be of import but did not require formality. They were coming up on another square, this one lined with stalls selling what looked like various types of food. "A place like this is where you sold your wares, I imagine?"
Hroldr shook his head. "Farmers sell to the vendors, who sell in the city. We unload in the outer market; it'd be a nightmare trying to get those wagons up here." As they entered the square, the guard turned to look at an Imperial woman who was selling fruits and vegetables from a stall. Or, she would have been, but at the moment she was arguing with what looked to be a very well-groomed bard. The guard sighed. "Mikael is bothering Carlotta Valentina again. Most like we'll be called in when he gets too free with his hands or she snaps his lute over his head again." He took a left turn, and the path they were on began to climb. The next bend in the road revealed that they were approaching the inner wall. Helm under his arm, Hroldr waved to the pair of guards standing under the stone arch leading through the wall.
As they passed beneath the arch, the city opened up before them. Where the Plains District had been a sprawl of buildings punctuated by a few plazas and narrow winding streets of rough cobbles in dirt, this middle area was defined by broad thoroughfares of finely fitting stones, with elegant, paved paths leading to impressive mansions of richly carved wood. Although they had the same general style of construction as the Plains District below, here foundations and adornments of the houses were more likely to be gilded or carved of some pale white stone. The larger streets were flanked by well-groomed greenery and open gutters running with water. Hroldr told him that this was the Wind District, and Sebastien could see why. The height and broad spaces up here meant that the chill winds off the plains scythed between buildings and gave the whole place a frigid feel that had been lacking below.
Directly in front of them was a great circular plaza dominated by a withered tree. When asked about the tree, Hroldr pointed at a building across the way. "That's the temple's business. They say the tree is sacred to Kynareth, so they keep it. I'd think Kynareth would want a new tree, if it were me. Truth be told, I never much cared for Kynareth. She's good to us, but for real Nords, we get our blessings from Tsun, Shor, Akatosh, and Talos!" He lowered his voice and glanced around. "Ah, I mean, just those first three, right?" He glanced nervously at Sebastien. "Er, maybe don't go spreading that about though. No Thalmor here, but still best not be too open about Talos these days."
Sebastien shrugged. "I have no quarrel with your gods. They aren't mine, to be sure, but you seem a decent man. So, let me keep my gods, and I do the same for you." I may not know much about Nord gods, but I know Sheor was killed at Adamantia by Trinichant and only Boethiah wept for him. Best not to bring that up, though. His gods have no love for me, but no need to antagonize him.
As they crossed the plaza, he noticed a huge hall in the shape of an overturned ship on a bluff to the right, overshadowed by a great stone raptor seemingly carved from the mountain. Hroldr's words pulled his gaze onward, however, to where the road turned into a long stair, climbing through a series of stone landings up to the palace above. "That's where we're headed. The Cloud District, Dragonsreach Hall, and the Jarl. He'll hear your story and know what to do."
As they approached the stair, they passed a man in robes who was ranting about something or other. Hroldr sighed and leaned in to speak quietly to Sebastien. "Heimskr. Remember what I said before about Talos? I can't fault a man for loving him, but Heimskr does more harm than good. Annoys people with his ranting, and if the Thalmor ever get power here, his head is the first on the block."
Leaving the disciple of St. Tiber to his ministrations, they began to climb the carved stone steps to Dragonsreach. When they reached the second landing, which was surrounded by cool clear water, Sebastien looked out over the city. It might not have the size and grandeur of Wayrest or Daggerfall, but it was several miles to the outermost fringes of the outer market, and not a step of the journey had been dull. Sebastien Ciero was willing to accept that his initial assessment had been wrong; Whiterun was an impressive city, and possessed a fearsome command of the plains.
Hroldr stood beside him, one hand shading his eyes as he gazed out over the city. "Gods, best view in the world, isn't it? One day, I'll make it to the Jarl's personal guard, and be able to patrol up here every day."
By the time they finally summited the steps, the sun still shone on the steps and the Cloud District, but the rest of the city was in shadow. They had arrived on a landing that stood before another pristine pool, this one crossed by a sheltered wooden walkway that led to the grand front doors of the palace. The palace itself eschewed both horses and birds for an entirely different aesthetic. But for the banners of Whiterun, dragons dominated the crest of Whiterun's hill. Sebastien doubted he would ever forget how they looked, and either the carpenters had seen dragons in the flesh, or they had a very good reference from which to draw. The heads that capped the huge wooden beams looked as through they would come to life and spit fire, and looking at them gave Sebastien a thrill of apprehension.
By the look of things, the Cloud District was composed entirely of the palace and its attendant buildings, and commanded a significant tactical advantage over the rest of the city. Should Whiterun ever fall under siege or turn against its lord, archers and mages could turn the approach below in a charnel-field, and a few dedicated soldiers could hold only stairs against far superior numbers. Sebastien wondered how many times in history this landing they now crossed had been stained with blood. Hroldr was going on about the first time he had seen Dragonsreach, and how It had gotten its name, but Sebastien was distracted by the view and his own thoughts of dragon's fire, and heard only one word in three.
The sun was low behind them as they approached the front doors of Dragonsreach. A pair of guards stood at the door, but where the city guards below had worn light leather and mail in the city's colors, these wore heavy steel covered with a golden tabard bearing the horsehead emblem of the city. Their weapons too were of fine make and heavy cast, clearly these were the Jarl's household guard that Hroldr aspired too. Just as clearly, they were cut from a different cloth than the ones below. The boy may wish to learn to school his face, I doubt I've seen Dunmer more dour than these two, and perhaps gain a foot or two in height. The man was hardly the largest Nord Sebastien had ever seen, Faltur took that title with ease, but he did come close, standing with a great halberd in one hand and a pair of swords crossed on his back. The woman, however, Sebastien recognized.
"Korpral Lydia," Sebastien began pleasantly. "I'm glad to see your journey was uneventful."
"Ciero," the Korpral acknowledged in her familiarly brusque and professional manner. "I see that you've finally decided to show up. I hope Valerius's bounty was worth the delay." Sebastien found himself hoping that Hroldr's love of people extended to a rapport with the Dragonsreach guards. Otherwise, he wasn't convinced that the korpral wouldn't simply throw him back down the stairs.
The city guard looked nervous, but stood tall and reported with a voice that quavered only a little. "Ah, this man brings news from Helgen about the dragon attack, Korpral Lydia. We though it best to bring him to the jarl at once, sir." Did you now? Such clever guards they have in Whiterun, able to take credit so easily.
"I know why he is here, guardsman." Her cool disdain remained unshaken, but she did relax her grip on her spear. Slightly. "House Guard Aud, you have the watch." The big Nord saluted, hand over chest. "Guardsman, you are dismissed. Report back to the gate." Hroldr turned to leave, giving Sebastien a wave as he went. "You." She glowered at Sebastien. "Follow men." She rapped three times on the great wooden doors to Dragonsreach, and one slowly creaked open. She vanished inside, and Sebastien followed.
Jarl Balgruuf the Greater of Whiterun was a man who bore the burden of rulership heavy on his shoulders. Lydia knew that he had been up into the early hours of the morning every night since news of the dragon had reached them and the rumors of Helgen's destruction and the events of Bleak Falls only added to his worries. If the Breton mercenary could help, she would she him to the Jarl personally. Inside the main doors, House Guard Buram took his weapons into a side chamber; Ciero handed them over without protest. They stopped at the landing; they were hidden from the view of the dais, and could prepare for the final approach. "Are you ready to face the Jarl?" she asked in a low tone.
"I am." He sounded apprehensive, but he schooled his face in a way that didn't betray any hesitance. It reminded her of the Jarl's Dark Elf housecarl Irileth in a way. The Dunmer warrior could be difficult to read as well.
She tapped her spear on the floorboards, and pointed onwards. "Approach from the left of the firepit, slowly. Speak only the truth and with respect, but do not act the lickspittle. Nords have no liking for such things. When Irileth challenges you, do not move your hands. With the situation in Skyrim as it is, many fear an attempt on the Jarl's life." She let him take the lead, and, as he approached the dais, took up a position two steps behind him. If he tried anything, her spear would pierce through, and then she could close with sword and shield and lop off his head. Not that she expected him too, but she was trained to be prepared.
When Irileth challenged him, he answered well enough, speaking of Helgen and his intent to aid the Jarl. When the Jarl beckoned him forward, he moved with confidence, bowed before the throne, and spoke in his low, accented voice. "The Imperials were about to execute of separatists that included Ulfric Stormcloak, when a dragon appeared, and… disrupted the execution. Numerous Stormcloaks used the opportunity to either escape or attack the Imperials. I managed tor each the keep, and escaped using a series of cellars and tunnels that exited out of the city. I made my way to Riverwood, where Alvor, the smith there, suggested that I bring this to you. He helped me while under no obligation to do so, and I thought it best to bring what news I could to you."
He fell silent, and the jarl sat back in his throne, thinking deeply. His brother, however, did not. Hrongar stepped forward, face hard and suspicious. "Breton, what were you doing in Helgen?"
Only now did Lydia realize that she too never asked just why Ciero had been in Helgen the day the dragon attacked. Ciero's stoic façade broke for a fragment of second, looking more put out and worried. "I was…I had been seized by the Empire for being too near the path that the rebels took. I was entering Skyrim on my own business, unrelated to the Stormcloaks. It seemed the Empire did not want to risk anyone interfering with their triumph." Well, at least he is likely being honest. Nobody would make up a story that stupid.
Hrongar disagreed. "Brother, we have no reason to trust him. He could likely be here for any number of purposes. The Thalmor would like to see Whiterun weakened, I have no doubt."
The Jarl stirred "It seems an odd thing to make this story up, but you are not wrong." He fixed the Breton with his gaze. "Are you willing to swear to the truth of your words?"
"I am. By the Court of Heaven, I swear that I, Sebastien Ciero, Son of Sir Marcel and the Cojuress Cassandre, speak nothing but the truth here today, by the Sovereign of Sovereigns, by the Mother of Mercy, and by the Lord Justice, may they abandon me to wander without law or purpose at the mercy of the Wild Kings if by my lie I break my word." Lydia knew nothing of Breton gods, but that seemed a strong oath.
Hrongar, however, was unimpressed. "Swear by real gods, Breton. Swear by gods who will break you if you lie to us."
Sebastien Ciero raised an eyebrow. "With all due respect, my lord, I swear by my gods. It is they who hold dominion over my soul, not the Gods of Skyrim. I would not demand you to swear by Oriel Akatosh, Estenne, or Julius."
Hrongar opened his mouth, but Balgruuf cut him off. "Enough, brother!" Lydia started slightly when the Jarl gestured to her. "Korpral Lydia, step forward." She approached and knelt before the throne. Balgruuf gestured to the Breton beside her. "This man, Sebastien Ciero, can you confirm that he is who you spoke of in your report of Bleak Falls Barrow?"
Lydia momentarily glanced to the side at Ciero, but the Breton kept his gaze unwaveringly forward. "Yes, my Jarl. This is the man the Thunder-Singer and I encountered."
"And can you give testimony to the nature of his character?"
Lydia paused for a moment, before she answered. "…He fought alongside us, behaved respectfully in a place of the hallowed dead, and kept his word to the letter." Lydia swallowed and lifted her head, her gaze meeting Jarl Balgruuf's. "I believe his word can be taken as fact."
The Jarl sat back in his throne once more, taking in Lydia's testimony. "Sebastien, did you say your name was?" He said at last. "I thank you for brining this news to me." He turned to his housecarl. "Irileth, I need you to send some men to Riverwood and the outlying settlements. The town must be protected from further attack. In truth, I should have done this long ago."
Proventus, the steward, interjected, as he always seemed to be doing. "My Jarl, the reasons not to send troops are still valid. The Jarl of Falkreath has stated numerous times that-"
"I don't care for what that upjumped child has to say, Proventus! My people are sending messengers to me about dragons! Any political concerns are secondary, I will provide them the protection they need! Irileth, see to it."
The housecarl bowed. "At once, my Jarl." She turned to Hrongar. "You have the Jarl's defense until I return." Without another word, she turned and strode quickly down the length of the hall, descending the steps. After a moment, the great front doors boomed, signaling her departure.
Jarl Balgruuf looked back to the only remaining non-Nord in the room. "And as for you, you have my thanks for what you have done, and a chance to aid the people of Whiterun. My court wizard, Farengar, has been researching dragons since word reached us that one had been sighted. I want you to go to him and offer him whatever help you can. Perhaps it will be nothing more than telling him what you saw at Helgen, but I know in my bones that this dragon will return. I want every advantage we can have when it does."
The Breton stood. "Very well, I will give whatever assistance I can to your court wizard."
The Jarl waved a hand. "Go, speak with Farengar." Lydia gestured to Ciero, who followed her to the wizard's room, not far off the main hall.
They walked in silence for a moment before the Breton spoke up. "Korpral, I…apologize if I caused you any distress. I gave my word to the Valeriuses that I would return the Claw to them before sundown, and I had every intention to keep it."
Lydia paused and turned to the Breton, surprised. He kept his gaze downcast, not fully looking at her. She didn't say anything for a moment, but remembered Faltur's words. After a moment, she sighed. "You don't need to apologize, Ciero. I shouldn't be angry that you chose to keep your word." The Breton didn't say anything, and Lydia struggled to find something else to fill the silence. In the end, all she could come up with was. "Come on, let's go see Farengar."
Farengar Secret-Fire was the Court Wizard of Whiterun, and his chambers reflected his status and occupation appropriately. The large, high-ceilinged room held tables, desks, and bookshelves with very available surface taken up by a variety of tomes, and apparatuses of various subjects and natures. It was small and crude by Breton standards, but it had the basics necessary for research. Sitting amidst this organized chaos was an unusually scrawny Nord in dark blue robes sitting at a desk. He was stooped over a vast sheet of parchment, carefully copying down every line and detail off a great stone tablet sitting by his side. His hand flew across the paper rapidly, only pausing at the sound of the korpral rapping smartly at the door. "Farengar!" She entered the room without waiting for the wizard's response, Sebastien following behind her.
"I am quite busy right now, korpral," Farengar didn't look up from his work, only taking a moment to quickly glance at the stone tablet before returning to the parchment.
"I'm aware of that, Farengar, but this is important." Lydia's voice was equally terse and wary, clearly familiar with the Court Wizard's mannerisms in a way Sebastien wasn't yet. "Jarl Balgruuf wants this man to help with your dragon project."
That managed to attract the wizard's attention. Finally stepping away from his work, he approached Sebastien curiously. Sebastien bowed deeply. "Greeting, Master Wizard, Sebastien Ciero at your service."
"Ciero? Ah, yes, you must be the one that helped the korpral retrieve the Dragonstone. You have my thanks, I'm not the type for such brute work." Sebastien decided to ignore the social faux pas. If Lydia's reaction was anything to go by, the wizard was like this most of the time. Farengar continued, oblivious. "Come, see this map?" He gestured to the table and upon closer inspection, Sebastien saw that the parchment was in fact a map of Skyrim, fresh ink marked places that synced with the carvings on the Dragonstone. "You see, the Dragonstone is no mere tablet, but a map of dragon burial sites. A… 'colleague' of mine, has a theory that might explain the return of the dragons that involves these cairns."
"And you wish for me to investigate their graves and see how whether or not this theory is valid?"
Farengar snapped his fingers. "Precisely. The nearest burial site is to the west of here in a hamlet called Rorikstead. All you have to do is unearth the dragon's remains and bring back samples, eh-bones probably, but also possibly armor or anything else of interest."
"What happens after I return with the samples?" Sebastien was genuinely curious despite himself. He wondered just what kind of theory involved digging up the remains of long dead dragons.
To his slight disappointment, Farengar only waved the question away. "That is where your work ends and mine begins. The work of the mind, a sadly underappreciated thing in Skyrim these days."
They talked further for many hours, Korpral Lydia left early on, realizing that her talents might not be applicable here and perhaps slightly overwhelmed by talk of magical theorems and applications of it to researching dragons. Farengar's interest in the dragons bordered on mania, but Sebastien found he was enjoying his time immensely. It wasn't often that he could speak with others on matters of magic, the practice not being particularly welcome outside of High Rock and he found both the Synods and College of Whispers depressingly dull and petty. After he showed the wizard the masque of Krosis, Farengar had returned to his books, feverishly searching for some half-remembered tome that posited a connection between the ceremonial masques of the priests and the temporal magics of dragons. Sebastien, meanwhile, occupied himself with perusing a catalogue of flora and fauna of the area surrounding Whiterun and decided that the alchemical potential of the region was significant, and this would be a very good field of study. He used some ingredients he had harvested along the road to produce a few experimental potions, by which time Farengar had returned.
By the time he left it was late in the evening and the streets of Whiterun were far quieter and emptier. The masque he had left in the care of Farengar for the night, the wizard being more than eager to test the ancient relic, but he traded the steel staff once wielded by Krosis in exchange for books on Nordic approaches to combat magic. These Nords lacked a great deal of subtlety in their spell-craft and their approach to warding was hopelessly primitive. Still, the knowledge gained, while crude, might prove useful in the future. If I have time, analysis and integration of these principles into other spells could yield interesting results. Or, I could consume myself in a tide of rogue magicka. The risk might well be worth it. He paid for a meal and a bed at the Bannered Mare, Whiterun's premier inn it would seem. The Innkeep, Hulga, was more hospitable than Delphine had been, if a bit overworked, even with the help of a Redguard serving girl.
He stretched out on the cot and let sleep claim him. He would need the rest if he was to ride to Rorikstead in the morning.
"Come, the court wizard has need of you." Someone was intruding on Sebastien's sleep, and he had a horrible suspicion that it was a Nord. Opening his eyes only confirmed it, and he held back a shudder. Nobody should be forced to deal with a Nord so soon after waking up. It was Lydia, naturally, with the familiar hawkish look on her face. He was coming to suspect that was just her normal expression.
"Did he say why?" A yawn threatened to eat the last word, and it occurred to him that perhaps one decent night's sleep did not make up for three spent fitfully atop a horse.
"You must come now. Farengar has asked for you, and the Jarl wishes for you to be present as well."
Sebastien pulled on his boots and clothing, - arms and armor included at Lydia's insistence - and followed the korpral out of the Bannered Mare and up the stone steps to Dragonsreach. "What happened to cause them both to need my presence?" They entered the palace and hurried down the great hall. Lydia said not a word and Sebastien was left to wonder. The light was streaming in through the windows, and Sebastien realized he must have slept through half the morning. His excited studies last night might have gone on a bit too long, in hindsight.
He rather liked Farengar, he had decided. The wizard was arrogant and opinionated, disdainful of those who did not share his interests and attitudes. He could almost be a Breton. He finds himself surrounded by mundane warriors and ignorant peasants, and his relief in finding a worthy associate should allow me to access what I need from his workshop. Ingredients, soul gems, spell tomes and books on Skyrim's magical and religious traditions; if I wanted, I could turn a hefty profit if I ever return to High Rock. And yet, he knew he would not. The wizard had taken him in good faith, rewarded him with coin and knowledge for his work and companionship. It would be dishonorable to take advantage for mere coin. Spells and knowledge though? Those he would take without regret or second thought. I hope this meeting, whatever it may be, is over quickly. I want to get back to things that matter.
The hallway emptied into a war room on a balcony overlooking the huge main hall where Sebastien had met the Jarl the day before. The Jarl himself was there, as was his Dunmer bodyguard, and his brother and steward who had been present yesterday. A number of his household guard in their steel armor were present, with Lydia swiftly re-joining their number as soon as he was present. Farengar and several of the town guard rounded out the assembly. A Nord who looked somewhat younger than the others was describing something.
"…came from the mountains, hit the watchtower early in the morning. Three are dead, Sergeant Tyra is trapped inside. I was on patrol, Korpral Buron and I broke for the city. The dragon…it…breathed fire! I heard his screams, and I…I kept…I had to reach the city!" His eyes were wide; he looked close to tears. "I didn't want to leave them, but I had to reach the city. I had to tell you, didn't I?" His words were tumbling out of his mouth now, and the Jarl intervened before the guard could devolve further into hysterics.
"Go, son, and get yourself a hot meal and a rest. You've done well." Nearly weeping, the guard was escorted out of the hall, and the Jarl turned to those assembled around the maps of Whiterun and the surrounding plains. "My friends, the dragon is upon us. Irileth, assemble a dozen of my personal guard, and the best of the town watch. Farengar, find me anything you can on how to kill a dragon. I want the group ready to move out to the western watchtower within the hour."
The Dunmer spun on her heel and addressed an older Nord in steel armor trimmed with gold. "Kaptain Carth, assemble third and fifth rotations. Bring Lydia, Broki, Eimld, and Hesif as well." Next, she regarded the group of town watchmen. "Find Commander Caius. Have him assemble ten of his best archers and ten of his best with the spear. Arm them with atgeir and javelin, and the archers with bodkin shafts." She turned to Sebastien, who was still standing there and taking it all in. "You're coming too."
"My sword is yours." He had seen the dragon once in Bleak Falls and another in Helgen. Whether it was one and the same or two, a dragon had burned down a town and incinerated several hundred soldiers and civilians. It seemed a good enough cause to him. "Though I fail to see how one more sword could make any difference." In a fairy tale, maybe…
"The last dragon in Skyrim died so long ago that I can't even tell you when it happened. Nobody has fought a dragon in thousands of years, at least! You are, for better or worse," her tone didn't betray whether she thought him the former or latter, "one of the sole three people in the city who has faced the dragon and lived."
He could not argue with that. She wasn't wrong. Even if these weren't his people, he would use every hope, every trick, to save them.
Farengar reappeared, arms full of scrolls and a travel cloak hastily thrown around his shoulders. "I'm ready to go! Let's be off!" He looked positively giddy at the prospect of seeing a dragon in the flesh.
Hid joy was short-lived, however, as the Jarl put a hand on his shoulder and told him the sad news. "My friend, you must stay here. I cannot risk my court wizard on the field of battle." Farengar's expression fell, and the heartbreak etched on his face was palpable. As the soldiers moved around the room preparing to move out, the wizard came over to Sebastien, and dropped his load on the table before him.
"Alright, listen up," Sebastien listened; it was possible the wizard's advice could be of some help, and while Sebastien wasn't entirely certain that the wizard knew his name, the two of them had a fairly good rapport. Sebastien had helped as he could on the dragon research, and Farengar had provided him with some excellent clues as to interesting spells and alchemical recipes. He had also provided a large number of soul gems and his own expertise at enchantment, and all of Sebastien's armor was now imbued with fire resistance that, while it would likely not resist a dragon's breath, might keep him alive for a few seconds more. "These are scrolls of ice and lightning. This dragon is of fire, so it might slow it down."
The wizard kept giving him advice, pointing out passages on flight patterns and diagrams of how certain parts of the wing were more vulnerable to being pierced. Sebastien tried to absorb as much as he could, but he had a sinking feeling that in the heat of battle, most of this information would be as good as useless. As the wizard wound down, korpral Lydia stomped up the steps and confronted him.
"We are assembling at the lower gates. Irileth wonders where you are."
"I am here. Trying to learn anything of use for the fight, korpral and-"
Her hand closed around his collar, and she pulled him bodily out of the chair. "Get moving!"
Sebastien's expression was one of cold apathy. "Remove your hand, korpral."
She did, and with his armor on, a satchel full of Farengar's scrolls hanging off his shoulder, his sword at his hip, and the Ciero crest proudly displayed on his shoulder, Sebastien followed Lydia and together they made their way out of Dragonsreach.
A crowd had gathered at the lower gates of Whiterun. Twenty of the town guard, a dozen of the Jarl's household plus his housecarl and an unknown Breton was odd enough to draw a crowd. As they made their way to where the outer market ended and the western road began, many curious merchants and bored travelers followed to see what madness required so many to deal with it. As they reached the western stables and Sebastien saw the open road before them, an idea occurred to him, Irileth might go for it, it's not particularly honorable, but it would save some of hers. He approached the housecarl from atop Phoebus, and voiced his suggestion. She did not like it, but she agreed to give it a try.
The crowd was rumbling. Sebastien heard mutters, and the word 'dragon' more than once. He saw Hroldr in the crowd, who grinned broadly and gave him a cheerful wave. Irileth leapt onto a nearby hillock, and raised her voice to be heard by all. "People of Whiterun, traders and adventurers, brave warriors all, hear me! You have heard of the dragon, now we go to slay it! Those who would be safe, stay here. But, those who would kill a dragon, who would do a deed that had noy been done in ten thousand years," the crowd's murmurs grew louder as those within realized what she was saying, "come with us, and fight for Whiterun, fight for Skyrim, fight to show this dragon that it may have lasted this long, but on this day it dies!"
From the crowd, two Orcs stepped out. One had a huge bow on his back and a quiver of barbed arrows, the other a great spear with a gleaming black head. Behind them came Faltur and his karls in blue paint and fur, hefting roughly forged iron mauls and yelling war cries that shook the earth beneath their feet. Reachmen clad in animal hide and wielding crude weapons made from bone and flints came forth, hollering blessings of Hircine in their tongue. An Argonian hefting a a mace made from obsidian followed three Bosmer arches, and a Dunmer in some strange plate armor who carried a slim spear that was taller than she was. The dam broke then, and many and more streamed over. Some were hardened warriors, others looked to be green boys. Hroldr saddled up beside Sebastien, and grinned up at him, whispering "Don't let the Commander see me here. I'm supposed to be off my watch, and my free day is starting. I'm not missing this!"
They left Whiterun, nearly sixty strong, cheering and boasting, armed and armored in a score of styles and fashions, ready to do battle with a legend given flesh. Sebastien was in the midst of them, but his focus was on Irileth, telling her some of the more pertinent tips that Farengar had passed on. As he spoke, he realized how insane this all was. They were going to attack a dragon, a beast literally out of myth, and kill it. Sheor's laughing in his grave, I'm sure of it. At the very least, they had a small army. And with it, maybe a fighting chance.
Skyrim Thalmor Embassy, Office of Intelligence, Official Dossier
Report of Aicamen, Agent 3rd tier Office of Intelligence
Subject: Sebastien Ciero
Race: Breton (probable Altetone origins)
Age: Unknown (Estimated under 50 years)
Affiliation: Unknown (Possibly Kingdom of Wayrest)
Associates of Interest: Unknown
(15th Last Seed 4E 81) Subject encountered north of Pale Pass. Heightened security around rebel prisoner transport led to confinement of Subject with rebels.
(17th Last Seed 4E 81) Subject arrived in Helgen on prisoner cat with rebels including [Ulfric Stormcloak] slated for execution. Arrival of Dragon prevented execution of Subject, who vanished in chaos following attack.
(18th Last Seed 4E 81) Arrived in Riverwood accompanied by Imperial soldier [Hadvar of Blackmoor] and rebel soldier [Ralof of Riverwood] made contact with numerous individuals in Riverwood. Possibility of transfer of intelligence cannot be ruled out. Testimony of two locals [Sven/Faendal] indicates likely contact and collusion with [Camilla Valerius] possible sexual liaison and potential point of ingress should pressure need to be exerted on Subject.
(19th of Last Seed) Travelled to Bleak Falls Barrow, large numbers of corpses found within by Agent. Numerous pre-Alessian artifacts found, consistent with Dragon Cult ruins found throughout province. Evidence of return to Riverwood and subsequent departure, likely for Whiterun.
Office of Intelligence Official Notes
Subject's presence at Helgen during Incident concerning, but we cannot rule out happenstance. Thus far had displayed signs of possible connections to Breton intelligence-gathering apparatus, possibly Crown of Thorns Nightblade Coven. Possible contact made in Riverwood, Whiterun prime location for information drop-off.
Verdict: At this time, unlikely to be of direct interest. Any further reports that include Subject should be appended below. Status may be reevaluated should new information come to light.
AN: Not much action here, but the next chapter is the Mirmulnir fight, I promise. A warning: dragons are nearly God-tier beings, and bringing down one-to-one is damn near impossible. This first fight, Sebastien will get lots of help from the crowd, but Mirmulnir has been around for a while, and is not some punk kid dragon that just woke up and wants to go burning. Expect carnage.
I was planning on ending this chapter with the fight, but I got caught up in Whiterun and the people therein, and figured a little scene-setting is worth it to establish the character of the city. If this really bothers you, then I have to regretfully inform you that you may be reading the wrong fic. I like world-building, and trust me, this fic is going to indulge in that a lot. In my defense though, every one of those characters encountered in the outer market and at the end of the chapter has backstory that is not only lore-consistent but also pretty interesting.
With regards to Whiterun, I have heavily modified the city from how it appears in-game. I will do the same with any major city. These are hubs of a province dating back thousands of years. I refuse to believe that the place where three major trade routes converge does not have some sort of exchange. I would appreciate thoughts on the city, and how the descriptions worked. Too much? Too unclear?
Until next time, however, take care folks. - Bones