Whiterun was truly a city alive - men and women dashing here and there, talking in loud voices in the street, beside merchant stands, children playing tag or sword fighting with sticks. It seemed that word of the dragon had already made it to some - perhaps they had seen it when it flew over the mountains to the south - and the city was on alert and locked down. In fact, the town guard had barred Drego access to the city until he told them of the task given to him from Gerdur. When Ralof had commented on the aggressiveness of Skyrim, Drego hadn’t thought it would apply to cities as well. Deeming it best to do the job he came to do and move on, he made his way through the crowds and up to the highest, biggest building he could find - no doubt home to Jarl Balgruuf.
The interior was warm - a large, roaring fire set between two long tables in the main hall - but was anything but inviting. He managed to ascend the first set of steps with ease but as he approached the fire, a Dunmer woman drew her sword and approached him.
“Halt!” she commanded, holding out a hand. Drego cast a glance over to the Jarl who sat on his throne, opposite the fire. He was talking to a man beside him, though he met Drego’s gaze for a moment before returning to his conversation. “I am housecarl to Jarl Balgruuf. What is the nature of your business?”
“I’ve been sent by Gerdur, of Riverwood, who begs the Jarl’s aid against the dragon,” Drego answered, his gaze shifting between the Jarl and his housecarl.
“Many of the citizens outside Whiterun have come seeking the Jarl’s aid,” she answered, sheathing her sword. “I will inform him of Riverwood’s need.” With that, the dark elf turned and began walking back to her Jarl’s side.
“With all do respect,” Drego said, calling after her and taking a few more steps, “I’ve seen the destruction this dragon can bring - has brought, even. This is not a matter to be shelved!” The room fell silent, all eyes fell unto him, and Drego suddenly felt squeamish.
“You say you we’ve been to Helgen?” The Jarl asked, his tone barely concealing the hint of disbelief. Perhaps people assumed everyone that had seen it had died which, in all honesty, was the proper assumption.
“No, my Lord,” Drego said, slowly approaching the Jarl’s throne. The housecarl seemed a bit offput by his unrequested advance. “I’m saying that I was at Helgen. I watched the dragon come and burn it’s buildings and people to the ground, and it will do the same to your lands and people if you do not take this seriously.”
“Oh, rest assured, I take this very seriously,” the Jarl answered, “and now perhaps some of advisors will as well.” This time he glanced over at the man he had been speaking with earlier, a scrawny man who so very clearly appeared as some sort of book keeper. “By Ysmir, Irileth was right,” he said, shaking his head. There was a pause before his disdain turned to anger as he turned towards his advisor. “And what would you have me do now, Proventus? Will our walls hold against a dragon?”
“My Lord,” Irileth interrupted, pulling the heat of the Jarl’s words away from Proventus, his demeanor changing immediately. “We should send a detachment to Riverwood at once. It is in the most immediate danger.”
“The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!” Proventus exclaimed. “He’ll think we’re preparing to join Ulfric’s side and attack him!”
“Enough!” Balgruuf slammed his fist against the arm of his throne, and once more the room fell silent. “I will not stand idly by while a dragon burns my homes and slaughters my people!” The fire in his eyes burned as hot as those that turned Helgen into ash and, in that moment, Drego understood why he was Jarl. “Irileth, send that detachment at once.”
“If you’ll excuse me,” Proventus said, bowing to the Jarl while Irileth made towards the door, “I’ll return to my duties.”
“That would be best,” replied Balgruuf, but his advisor had already turned to leave. The Jarl let out a sigh, lowering his head so that he could massage his temples as his anger died down. When had calmed, he leaned back in his throne, returning his gaze once more to Drego. “You’ve done Whiterun a great service, giving me the proof I needed to act. I won’t soon forget that. Here,” he said, waving for a guard with a rather large pouch to step forward, “take this, a small token of my appreciation.” The guard reached into the bag and pulled out a beautiful, purple gemstone. Drego took it, nodding his thanks. “May I ask, what will you do now?”
“To be honest, I’m not sure,” Drego replied, putting the gemstone in his own bag. “I suppose I’ve been given a fresh start.” He did not know what else to say. He surely confess how he came to be in Helgen - how he couldn’t remember anything before and how he was most likely wanted by the Empire.
“Well, perhaps you can help me further,” the Jarl said, the tone of a man who had this response planned all along. “Farengar, my court wizard, could use some assistance. He’s been looking into matters related to these dragons.” Drego simply nodded and the Jarl rose from his chair, holding an arm out to usher Drego with him into a room just off the main hall. The room was dominated by two large desks in the center, a map of Skyrim so large that it might as well have marked individual trees just to the side, a man dressed in blue robes, bent over two more tables littered with candles and potions along the far wall. “Farengar!” Balgruuf called, the man jumping slightly and turning, a vial in each hand. When he saw the pair entering the room, he placed the vials on the desk and approached. “Farengar, I believe I found someone who may be able to help you with your… dragon project.” At first, the court wizard looked at him a bit puzzled before it settled in.
“Oh, yes,” he said, waving away his confusion. “So the Jarl thinks you’ll be of some use to me then?”
“He seems to be under that impression,” Drego said, smiling. “My name is Drego Vass, at your service.” He paused for a moment; Vass? The name had simply come to him, the same way his given name had when Ralof asked back in Helgen. Perhaps parts of his memory were slipping back through the cracks?
“Drego here was at Helgen,” the Jarl said, reassuringly. As if being in the presence of a calamity and surviving were all the credentials Farengar were need. Apparently, they were.
“Well, I do need someone to collect something for me: an ancient stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow. Are you familiar with it?” His tone was monotone, dull, as if this was a line he had rambled off before.
“It was pointed out to me when I passed through Riverwood, yes,” Drego replied, thinking back to that horrible looking structure atop the mountains Ralof had pointed to. How the blackened stone looked like the rotted rib cage of some ancient monster. It was not exactly a place he fancied going. “With all do respect, what does a stone tablet have to do with dragons?”
“Ah!” Farengar exclaimed, suddenly excited. “No mere brute mercenary, but a thinker!” He turned away from the pair, opening drawers on his desk to produce books and scrolls. “You see, when rumors first began circulating about dragons-”
“Wait,” Drego said, cutting him off. “There were rumors of dragons before today?”
“Oh, yes, yes, quite a few,” Farengar said, as if it was absurd to think anyone didn’t know this. “Far off settlements in the mountains and marshes, but nothing anyone took seriously. It was cast off as an impossibility.” He looked up from his desk and out the door into the hall a moment before returning to his books. Drego cast a glance behind him and saw whom he had looked at - Proventus stood nearby the far table, watching the three of them. “A sure mark of a fool is one who is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as impossible.” He produced a large scroll from his desk, unraveling it for Drego and the Jarl to see. It was an old scroll, worn and torn, covered in crude drawings of what was no doubt dragons, decorated with strange runes comprised of dots and slashes. “But I began to research the dragons: where had they gone all those years ago, and where were they coming from now?” When he was satisfied with showing them the scroll, he rolled it up and returned it to his desk. “This tablet in Bleak Falls Barrow, I’m told, would be of great importance in answering both of those questions. Will you get it for me? No doubt the Jarl will see you are rewarded well.”
“I’ll certainly try,” Drego answered, after seeing the Jarl give him a nod of agreement. “May I ask one more question?”
“Oh, of course,” Farengar said with another wave of his hand. “You probably need to know how to get there. When you get to Riverwood-”
“No, no, that’s not it, “ Drego said, this time taking his turn to wave away words. “That scroll - those runes - what were they?”
“Oh, those markings?” Farengar said, glancing at his desk drawer. “Those markings can be found all over Skyrim. Some ancient Nords used to worship the dragons as Gods, and now many crypts and shrines are decorated with those runes but sadly, there are few that can read them. It’s an ancient script for the dragon’s language.”
“Thank you. I’ll be off then,” Drego said, turning towards the door.
“This is our priority now,” the Jarl said as Drego turned to leave. “Anything we can use to fight these dragons.”
As Drego made his way out of Dragonsreach, the sun beginning to set now over the plains to the west and his stomach made low rumblings, reminding him of how skipped the meal at Gerdur’s, he was convinced that helping Farengar find this stone tablet, going to Bleak Falls Barrow, was the right choice. The people of Whiterun, perhaps even all of Skyrim, needed all the help they could get… anything they could use to fight these dragons… but that wasn’t what motivated him. As he turned his heads to the sky, watching it fill with hues of orange and purple as a raven sailed overhead, dread began to fill the pit of his stomach. There was something he hadn’t told Farengar back there, with that scroll. Something he didn’t think anyone should know.
He had recognized those dragon runes.