My feet dragged on the cobblestones as I walked up the road to the main gate of Whiterun. Already, I felt the fool, and I hadn’t yet seen my father. I had left Whiterun intending to join the freedom forces, but now I was returning without having officially fought in a single battle. Yet, I reminded myself that the news I carried was important to the people of Riverwood. If he did not sit up and take notice of what I said, it would be his failing, not mine.
I barely noticed the guard at the gate until he stepped in my way. “By order of the jarl, the city is closed on account of the dragon. No one may enter.”
Several thoughts flowed through my head in rapid succession. First, I was disappointed that news of the dragon had already reached the city. Second, barring the gates against a foe that can fly was asinine. The only effect of barring the gates was to prevent his subjects from reaching shelter. Third, I wondered if that was his intent. If so, I was prepared to drop my opinion of my father another several notches.
“I come from Helgen with word of the dragon attack,” I informed him, coldly.
“Very well, I shall let you pass, but be warned! We will be watching you,” he told me. If I had not had other things on my mind, I might have called him on this slight. This man should have known me. I could not see his face behind his visor, but I had trained with most of the younger guards. Was I so forgettable that a short absence and a change of clothes could disguise the city’s heir?
As I stepped through the gate, I overheard an argument between Adrienne Avenicci and one of her clients. Avenicci was a Southlander who ran the smithy next to the city gates. Her father was Imperial advisor to mine and probably the reason he would not declare for Ulfric. I had vowed to myself that when I took my father’s seat, I would replace him with Eorlund Gray-Mane or Kodlak Whitemane of the Companions. Whoever the younger Avenicci’s clients were, they had hired her to produce arms and armor for the Legion. Guess I can’t blame her for supporting her people, but she can go home and do it, and leave Skyrim for the nords.
On my way through the Wind District, I found Fralia Gray-mane in an argument with Olfrid and Idolaf Battle-born. She was tongue lashing them furiously, and the two large men looked on the verge of beating her. I would not have put it past them; the Battle-borns were little more than thugs with money. I stepped between them, and led her away, saying, “Dame Gray-mane, how are you this fine day?”
“Oh Balgruuf, it is a relief to see you again,” she told me. “I feared you had been taken with my Thorald.”
“Thorald?” I asked in alarm. Thorald had been a friend of mine since we’d been toddlers. “Taken? Taken where? By whom?”
She led me back to her home, where Avulstein—Thorald’s older brother who had never had time for either of us—told me that Thorald had disappeared after expressing support for Ulfric Stormcloak, and that they were sure the Battle-borns knew something about it. Avulstein was hiding in his own house to avoid the same fate. “Perhaps you could get the truth from them?” Fralia pleaded. “I’m sure you could charm it out of them.”
My imagination was running more toward violent confrontation, but being honest with myself, I had to admit her approach was the better. I promised her I would approach the Battle-borns right after taking an important message to my father. I then inquired after her husband, Eorlund. “I’ve acquired quite a collection of weapons and armor in my travels, and I need to lighten my pack. I believe he’d be interested in a few of the items.”
“He’ll be at the Skyforge. I’ll tell him to look for you,” she said. She then asked me, “Have you any word on my son?” I realized with some sadness that Fralia was showing the first signs of dementia.
Unable to avoid it any longer, I headed up to Dragonreach. As I walked across the Great Hall, my father’s housecarl, Irileth, stopped me brusquely. “How dare you disappear without leave and then interrupt the jarl while he holds court?”
Irileth has been rude to me since the first time she bothered to notice me. Not that I can claim innocence. Often times, I respond to her disdain with insults, and I realize that has never helped me gain her respect. Today I knew I had important business by anyone’s standards, so I skipped the verbal dueling. “I bring word of the dragon attack at Helgen.”
Her eyebrows rose. She considered me silently for a moment and then stepped aside. Score one point to the Lesser.
“Father, I witnessed the dragon attack on Helgen,” I began.
“What were you doing in Helgen?” he asked me, slouching against the right arm of his throne as though already disappointed in my answer.
“Nearly getting my head chopped off by the Imperials, “ I said curtly, hoping to get a reaction, at the least to get him to sit up straight.
“At least you are forthright about your criminal activities,” he said, hardly even looking up. I felt my cheeks flush.
Irileth interrupted. “My lord, we should consolidate our troops to protect the city.”
“I will not abandon my subjects to their fate. Send a small contingent to Riverwood immediately.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“That… that was what I was going to say,” I mumbled. He had stolen my fire.
“There is something I need from you,” he told me, rising from his seat. “Follow me.”
He walked past me as I stared dumbfounded at his empty seat. Mechanically, like a dwemer artifact, I turned and followed him into the side chamber where my eternally strange alchemy teacher, Farengar, kept his laboratory and office.
“Farengar, my son is a witness to the dragon attack at Helgen. I believe he would make a worthwhile assistant for you.”
“I will appreciate such an assistant,” said Farengar. “I have been studying dragon lore since I first began hearing the reports. Records and artifacts are few and hard to acquire. What I need you to get…” He went on to describe an obscure wizardly artifact buried in some barrow that he wanted for his research.
“The country at war and dragons in the skies, and assistant to the court fool is the work you feel worthy of your son?” I muttered to my father, not looking at him.
"This takes priority now," my father insisted. "Anything we can use to fight the dragons, we need it quickly, before it's too late." What he left unsaid, but I heard clearly enough was, "You are the heir to Whiterun. Leave whatever foolish errand you have been pursuing, and take some responsibility."
I left my father’s hall knowing it would take something far greater than a trip to Helgen to make him take me seriously.
Comments