Okay, journal, I have a lot to catch you up on since I last wrote. It’s been a while, and a lot has happened; I just haven’t had the chance to stop and write about it, I’ve been so busy.
Last time, I was about to enter Dragonsreach to tell Jarl Balgruuf about the dragon that seemingly everyone already knew about, but that I’d promised Alvor I would warn them about anyway, in the hopes that Whiterun would give a crap about Riverwood and send guards to offer some meager protection against a giant hovering scaly fire dispenser of legend. Though they needn’t worry, since Ulfric had already said, “Legends don’t burn down villages.” So they’ll be fine, yes?
As I entered Dragonsreach, I realized this could be problematic for me, as I was still technically a “wanted” Khajiit, despite not having done anything technically wrong. Okay, so I suppose breaking out of prison is considered “wrong” by many, but in my defense I shouldn’t have had to be there anyway. At any rate, I made a point to stay as far away from any guards as I could, just in case.
No sooner had I reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the vast throne area, when I heard an argument already in progress. “What would you have me do, then? Nothing?” This seemed to be coming from the man on the throne, who I presumed was the Jarl. I walked up the stairs, admiring the vast wooden-ness of it all. A Khajiit could really sharpen their claws in here, if so inclined. Fortunately for the decor, I was not.
A balding man wearing pajamas seemed to be advising the Jarl. “My Lord, please. This is no time for rash action. I just think we need more information before we act. I just–“
“–Who’s this, then?” said the Jarl, cutting him off. Good, so he didn’t recognize me. This was an improvement over previous Whiterun encounters. An elven woman with a sword was stealthily pursuing me, though not too stealthily, since I could see her plainly. I guessed she was one of the Jarl’s bodyguards. I kept my distance from her as best I could, in case she recognized me from my wanted fliers or whatever it was they did to get the word out around here about misunderstood good deed doers.
After keeping a table between me and the elf for about twenty seconds, it dawned on me that I was not going to be able to deliver my news this way, so I stopped avoiding her and let her approach me, silently praying to the Nine that she didn’t know about my bounty.
She scowled at me and said, “What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”
I considered telling her what I knew, but I have an inherent distrust of high elves, so I ignored her and decided I would talk to the bald advisor man instead. She grumbled, “I’ve got my eyes on you.” Yeah, no kidding, lady. Hard not to notice. I suddenly realized that I was still wearing my prison rags, which might have explained her animosity toward me. Or maybe she was like that to everyone.
As I approached the pajama man, he turned to me and said, “I serve Jarl Balgruuf as steward.” That’s nice.
I was about to tell him about the dragon, but curiosity once more got the best of my increasingly fleeting attention span, so instead I found myself asking, “Why is the keep called Dragonreach?” (I wondered if my random questions were a side effect of being knocked unconscious.)
He replied, “That is an old tale. Blah, blah, blah…” Okay, this isn’t really what he said. I don’t remember what he said, I just know it was really long and boring and I totally regretted asking him. Once he was done, the elf lady spun me around again and said, “What’s the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.” She needed to work on her tough-talk repertoire.
I wanted to say, “Well, clearly I’m proof that you’re wrong,” but instead I just said, “Alvor sent me. Riverwood is in danger.”
She replied, “As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers that threaten the Jarl or his people, so you have my attention. Now explain yourself.”
Enjoying the attention a little bit, I folded my arms defiantly and said, “I was told to give the message directly to the Jarl.” Not true, but she didn’t know this.
She growled, “Whatever you have to say to the Jarl, you can say to me.” When I didn’t respond, she squinted her eyes and said, “I’m starting to think–” but before she could actually think, the Jarl interrupted her.
“It’s all right, Irileth,” said the Jarl, “I want to hear what he has to say.”
Irileth sheathed her sword and walked up to the Jarl’s side. I guessed that was my permission to approach. As I did, the Jarl said, “What’s this about Riverwood being in danger?” The Jarl sounded concerned, but his slouched posture was that of a man who was bored.
Deciding not to moonsugar-coat it, I said, “A dragon destroyed Helgen. Alvor is afraid Riverwood is next.”
The Jarl may have raised an eyebrow, unless it was a trick of the candlelight. “Alvor? He’s the smith, isn’t he? A reliable, solid fellow. Not prone to flights of fancy…” I don’t know, putting all his hope in a random Khajiit seemed close enough to me, and I was the random Khajiit. He looked at me pointedly and asked, “And you’re sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon? This wasn’t some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?”
I found that question most curious, since I remembered thinking there were an awful lot of Stormcloaks in Helgen’s keep when it happened. So maybe it was, in part, a Stormcloak raid gone wrong. But that didn’t rule out the dragon, so I said, “Yes, I had a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head.” Might as well put all my cards on the table.
The Jarl didn’t move a muscle (that I could see), but his tone was that of surprise. “Really. You’re certainly… forthright about your criminal past.” Yes, but please don’t ask me about my criminal present. Or my criminal future, if it comes to that.
As if to assuage my fears, the Jarl added, “But it’s none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now. What I want to know is, what exactly happened at Helgen?”
One version I seriously considered saying was that they were about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak when the dragon attacked, but in all honesty it was me they were about to execute when it attacked, so I said, “The dragon destroyed Helgen. And last I saw it was headed this way.” This last part was a lie. I was too busy cowering with Hadvar behind a boulder to see which direction it went. In all honesty, I hadn’t even checked to see if Helgen was totally destroyed. But it seemed like a safe assumption.
Still slouched down in his throne with his arm draped lazily across one armrest, the Jarl shouted, “By Ysmir, Irileth was right!” He turned to his advisor with the boring Dragonsreach story and said, “What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?” Despite how passive he seemed, he was also a bit aggressive. They needed a term for that.
Irileth stepped forward and said, “My Lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It’s in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains.” Can dragons even ‘lurk’?
I decided I had done my part, and that it was my cue to leave. As I walked away, I heard Proventus The Bald saying, “The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He’ll assuming we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him!”
I thought to myself, Well, good luck with that, all you Skyrim big wigs. I don’t envy you this mess. Glad my part was pretty small. Time to go back to Alvor, let him know I took care of this for him, and start reaping the benefits of his indebtedness. Maybe he can get me a ride back to Elswyr…
I stood by the front door, listening to the tail-end of their plans. I heard the Jarl say, “Enough! I’ll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.” She nodded and went off to do that, while Proventus excused himself to go do whatever. So everything seemed fine, yes? And with that, I left.
I saw Irileth head out the front door as well, and since she was sending a detachment of soldiers to Riverwood, I decided there’d be safety in numbers, so I followed her to wherever she was getting soldiers from. Hopefully they weren’t also guards, as they currently all had it in for me, probably.
As we passed by a Redguard couple, I heard the woman say, “I know your family’s honor is important to you, but we can’t afford it!” I hear ya, both literally and figuratively. But then the man said, “It took me weeks to find that Thieves’ Den. I can’t stop now.”
Thieves’ Den? Was this where I might find a fence for my well-gotten gains? I paused to listen some more. He continued, “And I can’t get the sword on my own.” Oh. He wanted something retrieved from thieves. I’ll pass. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, also shame on you. Fool me three times, what are you, some sort of merciless fooling machine?
I started to continue on my way, until I heard the woman counter with, “So you’re willing to starve your wife and daughter to reclaim some rusty old sword?” I stopped again. I had to hear how this resolved.
The man pleaded, “I just need to hire one, maybe two good men. You won’t starve.”
She retorted, “I’ll put it plainly. You can claim your sword, or you can keep your wife. If you set foot outside that gate, I won’t be here when you return.” And she stormed off. Ouch. Sucks to be you, sir.
He called after her. “Saffir! Wait! I…“
Suddenly I realized I’d fallen far behind Irileth, so I rushed to catch up, passing by some children, one of whom appeared to be extorting money from the other. Fun little town, this Whiterun. When she reached the soldiers, they were already waiting for her, as if they knew somehow. She told them, “The Jarl has finally agreed to send you back to Riverwood.” This further confirmed my suspicions that I hadn’t told them anything they didn’t already know, or at least suspected.
“Yes, Housecarl,” said one soldier. “We’ll leave immediately.” Another one said, “It’s just us against a dragon, is that it?” Good question, I thought.
Irileth said, “I can’t afford to send anyone else. And we don’t know where the dragon is. Your main job will be to keep an eye out and get the people to safety if the town is attacked. I don’t expect the three of you to fight off a dragon by yourselves. But I do expect you to do your duty.”
“Of course,” said the first soldier again. “We’ll keep Riverwood safe. You can count on it.” He then turned to the other two soldiers and said, “Let’s move out! Time’s a-wasting.” I couldn’t agree more. As we headed to the city gates, I thought I should chat with the soldiers whom I was victoriously accompanying back to Riverwood, but when he turned around, I suddenly recognized it was one of the Whiterun Guards who had recognized me the day before, as he said, “Wait, I know you.”
ARGH. “You’re making a mistake…“
“The only mistake was you showing your face. You’ve committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. It’s time to face the Jarl’s justice.”
With a sigh, I paid my fine, which was now 125 septims. To which he replied, “Good enough.” Well I should hope so!
Then he added, “I’ll just confiscate any stolen goods you’re carrying, then you’re free to go.” Wait, what?
And then he proceeded to take everything I’d taken from the barracks. How did he even manage that? I mean, how did he know that it was official barracks cheese, and not some cheese I’d bought from a cheesemonger? How did he know the apples were stolen apples? Did they have some sort of invisible tag that he could recognize? I didn’t understand it at all. On the bright side (I guess?) he didn’t take the claw. He said, “I’ll take my leave then,” and went out the gate.
Not knowing what else to do, I followed him, though the trip was going to be totally awkward now. I’ll tell you how that went next time. For now I must nap. It is long overdue. - Steve
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