Chapter 4 – Crossroads on the Plain

Skyrim Thalmor Embassy, Office of Intelligence, Official Dossier

Report of Tuanthel, Agent 3rd tier Office of Intelligence

Subject: Velandryn Savani

Race: Dunmer (probable Morrowind origins)

Age: Unknown (Estimated under 50 years)

Affiliation: Unknown (Possibly Govt. of Morrowind)

Associates of Interest: Unknown

(15th Last Seed 4E201) Subject encountered north of Pale Pass. Heightened security around rebel prisoner transport led to confinement of Subject with rebels.

(17th Last Seed 4E 201) Subject arrived in Helgen on prisoner cart 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 201) Arrived in Riverwood accompanied by Imperial soldier [Hadvar of Falkreath] 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 Valentina] possible sexual liaison and potential point of ingress should pressure need to be exerted on Subject.

(19th Last Seed 4E 201) Travelled to Bleak Falls Barrow, large numbers of corpses found within by Agent. Burned remains of elven corpse found within arranged in ritual pyre, alongside numerous [Draugr-designation Nord]. 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 has displayed signs of possible connections to Dunmer intelligence-gathering apparatus. Bleak Falls pyre remains possibly consistent with Dunmer funereal practices, indicates death of ally, potentially another member of Dunmer Intelligence. 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.

The carriage rolled to a halt. "Out. We're here." The driver handed Velandryn a sovereign and five drakes, and the Dunmer grabbed his pack and disembarked. "Safe travels, elf."

"And you, human." He still did not like the man, but he had held up his end of the unfair bargain. Six wolves, thirty drakes, and Velandryn 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 hall. 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 eye 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 look of things, news of the dragon had spread, and the farmers and wanderers of Whiterun District were taking refuge at what they hoped to be safe. If the dragon comes, 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 had been informed, Velandryn's part was done. There were a dozen carriages clustered around the post where the roads met, and he was willing to wager that one of them was bound east soon enough. For now though, my road leads into the city.

The crowd parted easily enough around him. Closer to the walls, Velandryn realized that much of this collection of humanity might not be caused by the dragon, but simply be business as usual for the market city. Most of the permanent structures here were stalls for 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 yards of ground. He saw a Redguard with a great curved sword accosting random passers-by and asking if they had seen a certain woman. A pair of Nords who wore naught but blue paint and loincloths were selling huge hairy slabs of meat and fantastically carved tusks from the back of a wagon made of bones. A cluster of robed and masked wizards hawked soul gems and enchantments to any who would listen, while a priestess in a scaled cloak alternated between shouting in some harsh language and demanding that people repent in the face of the dragon god who had returned. He even saw a clan 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. Velandryn 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 losing his potions and various sundries would be a great inconvenience. Besides which, I still want to read that book. When a child bumped into him, he glared at it suspiciously, but the little human only stared at him with wide eyes, some sort of sugared treat sticking out of its mouth. Velandryn snorted and moved on.

Besides the stalls in which the merchants had set up shop, there were a few businesses catering to the travelers and traders. In front of one inn, a trio of Orsimer 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. These beasts were terrifying the horses, and the inn was refusing to let them stay. As Velandryn watched, one of the Orcs erupted with a string of brutish yells in his rough tongue, and the stable-hand lit up her hands with lightning. Moving along before things got any further out of hand, Velandryn's eye was caught by a garish red lantern swinging above an expansive two-story structure. On the second story landing, a Nord woman wearing nothing above the waist and a Bosmer man wearing nothing below it were waving to passersby. A decent trickle of folk was going in and out of the building, so Velandryn had to assume that their crude promotion was successful. As he moved on, the two of them began coupling brazenly in full view of the world. Savages, though I doubt many here would defend them. It made sense though; a market town could alleviate many issues by making houses of earthly delights available. Past the brothel, a tavern with no walls was hosting far more custom as another carnal need was met. Going by the drunken singing from the patrons, there was never a bad time to be drunk in Whiterun. Or Skyrim. Might make the whole place stop smelling like Nord.

It would have been all too easy to lose himself here. Velandryn had always loved markets and meeting-places; it was exciting to be amongst so many bartering and passing, and each merchant sold their story along with their goods. As a child he would spend hours drinking in the sights and sounds of the Cauldron Hold, the great outlander dock in Blacklight where any merchant could do trade. Ducking around a pack of Bretons in fur and bone armor he watched a cackling seamstress display a scrap of transparent silk to a blushing young woman one stall over from a Bosmer fletcher who spoke with his hands as he showed off the bows and arrows he had for sale.

That last one actually interested Velandryn, and he made his way to the little mer, who first gave a revolted shudder when he saw the bow Velandryn was currently carrying and then insisted on showing him a variety of alternatives, from a huge longbow made of ebony and ironwood that would require a giant's strength to use to a gaudy moonstone monstrosity inlaid with gems and gilded scrollwork. In the end, Velandryn settled on a fine shortbow made of Heiroc yew, and the vendor threw in some catgut strings from Elsweyr, "Just don't tell the Khajiit, it might be their cousins, hmm?" Velandryn paid for his new bow, and handed the other over. The Bosmer accepted it with disdain, and assured him he would break it apart and burn it so nobody would ever risk having to use it again.

The sun was still above the mountains to the southwest, but having spent the last three nights on the road with a provincial carriage driver, Velandryn had no desire to spend this one outside as well. There were a number of traveler's inns and taverns he had seen already, but they looked full to bursting. Inside the walls might be better, but in truth Velandryn was hoping that news of Helgen would rate him a bunk in the jarl's palace atop the hill. Lords ate well and kept their halls warm and bright, and the wind off the plains was already starting to chill him. He readjusted his pack to account for the new bow, checked his hip for the balance of his quiver and blades, and set off uphill, under the old stone arches that led to the main gate.

"City's closed with the dragon about." Velandryn was not sure he had heard the guard correctly, but fortunately the man had been kind enough to repeat it when he did not immediately leave.

"Might I ask why? Are you afraid it is going to sneak in dressed 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. Velandryn 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 with the jarl."

"Truly? We haven't seen any survivors from there yet. Might be you're lying, but I'll have someone take you up to Dragonsreach, they'll sort you out." He gestured, and another guard, this one shorter and in full-face helm, came forward. Velandryn followed him through a small door set into the main gate, and into the fabled crossroads city of Whiterun.

Velandryn'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 woman in a leather apron while another 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 Velandryn 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 lower 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. Velandryn soon got the impression that this man was not the most hardened defender of the city. When asked, the guard happily confirmed. "Oh, aye, my da's a farmer to the east of here, my whole family really. We have a few acres, grow food for the city and feed for 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. So, when I turned sixteen, I signed on with the guard. I get three meals a day, good pay, and I meet new and interesting people every day. Like you!" He removed his helm, and Velandryn was confronted with a beardless youth whose olive skin and sharp features showed him to be Imperial despite his Skyrim accent. The guard grinned. "Did you really see the dragon at Helgen? That's all anyone in the city's been talking about!"

"I did, closer than I might 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 topic. "I don't think I ever caught your name, friend."

As he had hoped, the garrulous guard snapped at the bait. "I'm Kenrik Green-Bend." 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."

"Velandryn Savani, of…Baan Malur, I suppose. I'm afraid I have no heroic deeds to add to my name either." Something about the young guard's enthusiasm was endearing, and Velandryn found himself interested in the young human's story. "If you do not mind the question, you have a Nord's name and speech, but look to be Imperial."

The guard grinned again. "Aye, noticed did you? That one takes a bit of explaining. My ma's ma, she was an Imperial, so my ma was too. Only thing is, my grand-ma came up to Skyrim years and years ago from The City, working out on the farms with her family. She married a Nord, and my ma did too, that'd be my da, Ulmar, see. So, I'm three parts Nord, but the Imperial comes out true in me and all my brothers and sister too. My ma found a book years ago, says there that the mother's look always comes out. I'm more Nord than not, though. Cold never was a problem, and I can down an ale with the best of them. Only thing Imperial about me's my talking, and me liking to meet new people. It's why they picked me to show you the way. They don't have to hear me jabber their ear off, and I get to walk the streets instead of just standing at a gate."

Velandryn had to admit that his choice of escort had been apt. The young man was clearly bright and friendly; a good choice to get 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?"

Kenrik shook his head. "Farmers sell to the vendors, who sell in the city. We unload in the lower 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 should 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, Kenrik 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. Where poles and beams had ended in carved horses below, here every carving of wood or stone was dominated by birds, either in flight on a flat surface, or in profile capping wooden beams. Kenrik told him that this was the Wind District, and Velandryn 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, Kenrik 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 cared much 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 Velandryn. "Er, maybe don't go spreading that about though. No Thalmor here, but still best not to be too open about Talos these days."

Velandryn shrugged. "I've no quarrel with your gods. They aren't mine, to be sure, but you seem a decent sort. So, let me keep my gods, and I do the same for you." I may not know much about Nord gods, but I know we killed Shor at Red Mountain. Best I don't bring that up though. His gods will never love 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 bird seemingly carved out of the mountain. Kenrik'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. Kenrik sighed and leaned in to speak quietly to Velandryn. "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 Talos 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, Velandryn looked out over the city. It might not have the size and grandeur of Blacklight or Mournhold, but it was several miles to the outermost fringes of the lower market, and not a step of the journey here had been dull. Velandryn Savani was willing to accept that his initial assessment had been wrong; Whiterun was an impressive city, and possessed a fearsome command of the plains. Besides which, not one person had looked twice at a Dunmer in their midst, a welcome novelty in human lands.

Kenrik 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. Velandryn doubted he would ever forget how they looked, and either the carpenters had seen dragons in the flesh, or they had had a very good reference from which to draw. The heads that capped the huge wooden beams looked as though they would come to life and spit fire, and looking at them gave Velandryn 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 into a charnel-field, and a few dedicated warriors could hold only stair against far superior numbers. Velandryn wondered how many times in history this landing they now crossed had been stained with blood. Kenrik was going on about the first time he had seen Dragonsreach, and how it had gotten its name, but Velandryn 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 were of fine make and heavy cast; clearly these were the jarl's household guard that Kenrik aspired to. Just as clearly they were cut from different cloth than the ones below. He had best learn to school his face, and perhaps gain a few span of height as well. The man was not the largest Nord Velandryn had ever seen, though he came close; he stood with a great halberd in one hand and a pair of swords crossed on his back. The woman was of slightly more reasonable size, standing only half a foot taller than the Dunmer, but had a disapproving look on her severe face and moved to block their way with the haft of her spear. "What brings you and your guest to Dragonsreach, guardsman?" Her manner was brusque and professional, and Velandryn found himself hoping that Kenrik's love of people extended to a rapport with the Dragonsreach guards. Otherwise, a Dunmer would have to try to talk his way into the hall of a Nord jarl, which could end very badly indeed.

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 thought it best to bring him to the jarl at once, sir." Man, is it? My mother would weep to hear. And you and the gate guard thought it best to bring me here? Such clever guards they have in Whiterun, able to take credit so easily.

Korpral Lydia, who was clearly in charge, turned to regard Velandryn. "Is this true?"

"It is. I was present for the dragon attack, and thought my testimony could be useful in defense of the city, should it come this way."

Her manner changed at once. Her cool disdain vanished, replaced with intense focus as she closed with him, urgency flaring in her eyes. "Do you believe it will move on Whiterun? Why come here in the first place? Speak quickly, lives could be at stake!"

"No! It headed northwest, not directly towards the city. I know for a fact that both the Empire and Stormcloaks have been alerted by those who were there. My understanding is that Whiterun is neutral in this conflict, and the smith in Riverwood thought I should bring my story here to assist the jarl with the defense of the District."

She relaxed back into her professional stance, passion submerged as though it never was. "Very well. House Guard Gulf, you have the watch." The big Nord saluted, hand over chest. "Guardsman, you are dismissed. Report back to the gate." Kenrik turned to leave, giving Velandryn a wave as he went. "You." She looked down at Velandryn. "Follow me." She rapped three times on the great wooden doors to Dragonsreach, and one slowly creaked open. She vanished inside, and Velandryn 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 had only added to his worries. If this elf could help, she would see him to the jarl personally. Inside the main doors, House Guard Silga took his weapons into a side chamber; he handed them over without protest, if not happily. As they climbed the steps that led to from the lower antechamber to the jarl's hall, she heard heavy breathing from the elf beside her. Glancing over, she noted his eyes fixed on the steps in front of him and the weight of each footfall. If he climbed from the plains in one go, he is likely exhausted. Foreigners are never prepared to ascend to Dragonsreach. This was not High Hrothgrar, but the summit of Whiterun demanded a fearsome climb, as the elf was now learning. They stopped at the landing; they were hidden from the view of the dais, and could prepare for the final approach. She spoke in a low voice as he caught his breath. "Are you ready to face the jarl?" She would not humiliate a supplicant. If his claims were true, then he was to be commended for coming all this way. If he was a liar, he would be punished accordingly.

Something flashed in his red eyes that might have been gratitude. He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths "I am." He looked apprehensive, though the strange angles of his face and red of his eyes made it difficult to tell. Lydia had felt apprehensive around the Jarl's Dark Elf housecarl Irileth when she had first joined the guard and met the Dunmer warrior, but had come to know her as a brave soldier and true servant of the Jarl. Irileth could be difficult to read as well, though Lydia had grown much better at it as time went on. This one though, was a stranger.

She tapped her spear on the floorboards, and pointed onwards. "Approach from the left of the firepit, slowly. Speak only 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 thrust would pierce him through, and then she could close with sword and shield and lop off his head. She thought he was likely telling the truth, but vigilance was the watchword of the guard.

When Irileth challenged him, he answered well enough, speaking of Helgen and his intent to aid the Jarl. If he felt anything at seeing a Dark Elf as a Housecarl, he hid it well. When the jarl beckoned him forward, he moved with confidence, bowed before the throne, and spoke in his low gravelly voice. "The Imperials were about to execute a group of rebels that included Ulfric Stormcloak, when a dragon appeared and…generated some chaos. Numerous Stormcloaks used the opportunity to either escape or attack the Imperials. I managed to reach the keep, and escaped using a series of cellars and tunnels that exited outside of the city. I made my way to Riverwood, where Alvor, the smith there, suggested that I bring this account 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. "Elf, what were you doing in Helgen?"

Both the Dark Elves' faces tightened. Irileth was clearly bothered by Hrongar's mode of address, while the bowing Dark Elf whose name Lydia was just realizing she did not know looked 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 seems 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 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 elf with his gaze. "Are you willing to swear to the truth of your words?"

"I am. By the Three Reclaimed I swear that I, Velandryn Savani, speak nothing but the truth here today, by the Spinner of Eight, by the Revelation Fire, and by the Dawn and Dusk, may they abandon me to wander without law or purpose at the mercy of Four Corners if by my lie I fail their Test." Lydia knew nothing of Dark Elf gods, but that seemed a strong oath.

Hrongar, however, was unimpressed. "Swear by real gods, elf. Swear by gods who will break you if you lie to us."

The Dark Elf—Velandryn Savani seemed to be his name—raised an eyebrow. "I have heard the Three disparaged many ways, by methods both clever and crude. However, this might be the first time that someone has accused them of being too merciful for an oath. If Daedra are not enough for you, pray tell, which gods should I invoke?"

Hrongar opened his mouth, but Balgruuf cut him off. "Enough! Brother, I believe him. Velandryn, did you say your name was? I thank you for bringing this news to me." He turned to his housecarl. "Irileth, I need you to send some men to Riverwood. The town must be protected from future 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 all still valid. The jarl of Falkreath has stated numerous times that—"

"I don't care what that upjumped child says, 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 remaining Dark Elf 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 elf stood. "Very well. I shall give whatever assistance I can to your court wizard." He paused as something seemed to occur to him. "If I am to render aid as requested, I would be far more effective if not hungry and worrying about where I will lay my head. Might I have permission to secure food from the kitchens and a place to sleep when the hour grows late?"

Lydia shared a look with Hrongar. The elf had nerve, or did not know what he asked. Asking to shelter beneath a jarl's roof was asking for their protection, and to be considered a member of their household until they left. It was a mark of trust which this elf was still far from earning.

The jarl considered. "Speak with Farengar first. There are inns in the city below, but if you give good aid, I will allow you a place in Dragonsreach until our business is concluded." Lydia gestured to the elf, who followed her to the wizard's rooms, not far off the main hall.

Once she had deposited the elf with Farengar, she turned to go. She had barely reached the door, however, when an exclamation rang out. "That's it! That's the Dragonstone! It seems the jarl finally sends me someone who isn't a mindless brute!"

She could not make out the elf's response as she was due back at her post. She hoped, however, that Farengar might finally have made a friend.

Many hours after meeting Farengar, Velandryn reluctantly pulled himself away from his desk and allowed a servant to lead him to a spare room near the kitchens. It was a few hours until dawn, and he had been up since the previous sunrise, but he honestly wanted nothing more than to return to the wizard's workshop. It was small and crude by Dunmer standards, but it had the basics necessary for research. The wizard's interest in dragons bordered on an obsession, and his initial reception of Velandryn had been less than perfectly welcoming. That all changed when the Dragonstone entered the picture. When the wizard started going on about an ancient stone tablet that depicted the province of Skyrim and the location of dragon burial sites, Velandryn began to suspect that the relic he had removed from Bleak Falls Barrow could be more useful than he had anticipated. By the time he had produced a map showing ancient Dragon Cult burial sites, Velandryn was enjoying himself immensely. He got the wizard to agree to give him unrestricted lab and library access in exchange for one of these stones, then produced it with a flourish and handed it over. After hearing about Bleak Falls and the draugr, Farengar had returned to his books, feverishly searching for some half-remembered tome that posited a connection between the old Dragon Cult and draugr. Velandryn, meanwhile, occupied himself with perusing a catalog of the 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 of the ingredients he had scrounged to mix up a few experimental potions, by which time Farengar had returned.

The wizard wanted someone to go dig up dragon bones, and he had just the mer in mind. Velandryn was not opposed on principle, but he wanted a chance to delve deeper into this library. By the time the servant came to offer him his bed for what was left of the night, he had learned the basics of several spells that he suspected would help shore up some of his weaknesses in battle. These Nords lacked subtlety in most of their magic, but the configurations described in these spellbooks, while crude, hinted at levels of strength that would be far above what equivalent Dunmer spells could produce. 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. As he stretched out on his cot and let sleep claim him, he decided that risk was worth it. After all, those who risked nothing could gain nothing in return.

"Come, the court wizard has need of you." Someone was intruding on Velandryn'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 one of the servants, with some sort of nervous-looking expression on his face. Either that, or the human just looked like that normally. Humans aged rapidly, and Velandryn suspected that this one was elderly.

"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 on a carriage.

"You must come now. Farengar has asked for you, and the Jarl wishes you to be present as well."

Velandryn pulled on his boots and clothing, and followed the servant up some narrow stairs. "What happened to cause them both to need my presence?" They left the stairs and hurried down hallways that all looked the same. The servant said not a word, and Velandryn was left to wonder. The light was streaming in through the windows, and Velandryn 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 aptitudes. He could almost be Dunmer; a Temple elder or Sadras mystic. He finds himself surrounded by mundane warriors and ignorant commoners, and his relief at 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; I could turn a healthy profit if I return to Morrowind after taking what I can. And yet, he knew he would not. The wizard had taken him in in good faith, rewarded him with coin and knowledge for the Dragon Stone and offered him interesting and honest work. It would be unworthy to take advantage for mere coin. Spells and knowledge though? Those he would take without regret or second thoughts. 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 Velandryn had met the jarl the day before. The jarl himself was there, as was his Dunmer bodyguard, and those two humans who had also been present yesterday. A number of his household guard in their steel armor were present, including the woman who had escorted him into Dragonsreach; he was reasonably sure her name was Lydia. 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, Serjeant Freya is trapped inside. I was on patrol, Korpral Grallius 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 on the verge of 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 other Dunmer spun on her heel and addressed an older Nord in steel armor trimmed with gold. "Kaptain Hrun, assemble third and fifth rotations. Bring Lydia, Gulf, Kemming and Bolli 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 Velandryn, who was still standing there taking it all in. "You're coming too."

"Am I?" He had seen the dragon once. It had burned down a town and incinerated several hundred soldiers and civilians. "What good do you think I will be?" He could barely fight, and he was fairly certain that even if his spell of rage worked on the dragon, making it angry probably wouldn't improve their situation. "Or am I acting as bait?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she fixed him with a glare. "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 made it evident that she felt it was solidly for the worse, "the sole person in the city who has faced the dragon and lived." She snorted. "Most like, you do nothing, and we are no better off. But, while you might not care about them, those are my men and women going out there to fight and maybe die. If I can save even one of their lives with some scrap of something you remembered, I will take it. So, get yourself down to the armory and grab what you need. You are coming."

He could not argue with that. She wasn't wrong. Had these been his people, he would have used every hope, every trick, to save them. He could not even begrudge her distaste for having him along. Were I in charge of killing a dragon, I am the last person I would bring! He had suspected yesterday that she was more Nord than Dunmer, if she was willing to kneel to one of these jarls. An outlander in truth, but not without honor, in her way.

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 overjoyed at the prospect of seeing a dragon in the flesh.

His 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 face fell, and even Velandryn could see the heartbreak etched on his face. As the soldiers moved around the room preparing to move out, the wizard came over to Velandryn, and dropped his load on the table before him.

"Alright, listen up." Velandryn listened; it was possible the wizard's advice could be of some help, and while Velandryn was reasonably certain that the wizard did not know his name, the two of them had a fairly good rapport. Velandryn had helped as a 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 huge number of soul gems and his own expertise at enchantments, and all of Velandryn's armor was now imbued with fire resistance that, while it would likely not resist a dragon's breath, might keep him alive for few seconds more. And now, he seemed eager to give Velandryn yet more help against the dragon. "These are scrolls of ice and lightning. This dragon is of fire, and you said that your element is fire as well. Your spells won't do anything to it, so use these." He pulled out a vial of a thick blue liquid. "I made this from an ancient recipe I found in an old journal. It should poison the dragon's blood and slow it down." Velandryn tucked that one away, doubtful that the tiny vial could do much against the massive bulk of the dragon.

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. Velandryn tried to absorb as much as he could, but he had a sinking certainty that in the heat of battle, most of this information would be as good as useless. As the wizard wound down, the guard from before, who he was more than half certain was the Lydia that Irileth had mentioned, stomped up the steps and confronted him.

"We are assembling at the lower gates. Irileth wonders where you are."

"I am here. I was thinking about spending the rest of the day reading, and maybe going out in the evening for some—"

Her hand closed around his collar, and she pulled him bodily out of the chair. "Get your armor on and get moving!"

"It's downstairs. Would you like to come watch me put it on, to ease your mind?" He had no idea where this was coming from. It seems that certain death brings out the cynic in me.

As he strapped on various pieces of armor, with an unamused Lydia standing behind him, arms crossed, he chanced upon his fine grey tunic, emblazoned with the triumphant hand of his faith and nation. His armor's emblem had mostly faded, whipped by wind, scored by battle, and worn by enchantment. The tunic would serve to place Ghartok proud upon his chest again. He slipped it over his armor like a tabard; it was too snug to hang properly, but it would serve. IT was a shame to put Camilla's handiwork in danger like this, but he felt it was the right choice. If I'm going to die surrounded by Nords, I will wear Dunmer red to the end. He stood, and left the rest of his gear less a few choice potions on his bunk. Lydia led him out, and after retrieving his weapons at the main gates, 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 warriors plus his housecarl and an unfamiliar Dunmer was odd enough to draw a crowd. As they made their way to where the 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 Velandryn saw the open road before them, an idea occurred to him. Irileth might go for it. It's dishonorable, but it would save some of hers. He approached the housecarl, and voiced his suggestion. She did not like it, but she agreed to give it a try.

The crowd was rumbling. Velandryn heard mutters, and the word 'dragon' more than once. He saw Kenrik in the crowd, who grinned broadly and gave him a cheery wave. Irileth leapt up 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 has not 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 cruel black head. Behind them came the two Nords in blue paint and loincloths, hefting crude weapons carved from bone and yelling war cries that shook the earth beneath their feet. A mage so swathed in robes that nothing was visible save its eyes from behind an ebony mask leading a pair of heavily armored goblins was next, and a half-dozen disreputable looking humans in piecemeal armor followed them. A Redguard carrying three swords and dressed in flowing robes walked over beside a trio of archers, Bosmer all, and a Dunmer in chitin armor who carried a slim carved staff 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. Kenrik sidled up beside Velandryn, and grinned 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. Velandryn 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. Alvor had been right, this was Hero's work. Well, I managed to wrangle up a crowd of assorted fodder, so maybe it will all balance out. At the very least, the dragon should have plenty of more attractive targets now. And with this, we can kill it, and I can be done with this madness. At last.

A/N Not much action here, but next chapter is the Mirmulnir fight, I promise. A warning: dragons are nearly god-tier beings, and bringing one down one-to-one is damn near impossible. This first fight, Velandryn will get lots of help from the crowd, but Mirmulnir has been around 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 now 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 will indulge myself occasionally. In my defense though, every one of those characters encountered in the lower 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 appeared 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?

Velandryn will get more competent, but he is not a fighter at heart. I don't want to spoil character development, but Housecarls do exist for a reason. (It's meat shields. They exist to be meat shields and smack things with their thumpy sticks)

Firelordzuko: Thanks for the reviews! To answer some questions, Ralof is not the most diplomatic on distinctions between races of mer. Dunmer are fair archers, Bosmer are phenomenal; Ralof has heard both of these things but won't let facts mess up a chance to tweak Velandryn's nose. With regards to Riverwood, yeah, made an ally (maybe), a 'friend' and two enemies. I still have several cards to play in that town, some stories need to be wrapped up eventually. You can see Velandryn meet Irileth here. Arvel showed him that not all Dunmer are kin, and Irileth basically acts like anybody else here and does not acknowledge their shared heritage. It hurts, but he's not going to let an outlander's indifference wound him for too long.