Dragon of the East - Arc 2, Chapter 8

• Posted by Okan-Zeeus March 11, 2015 - 1,275 views

  Falura
  

  ~ ~ ~

  Loredas, 31st of Last Seed 4E 201

  I steadied my horse to a trot and took in the sight of Dragonsreach. The great porch of the palace faced northern plains, towering high atop a natural rock formation. It was an architectural wonder. Guards standing in a lonely watchtower eyed me as I rounded the paved roads of Whiterun’s outskirts.

  The journey south had been long and tiresome. Winterhold had no horses to sell, which forced me to walk the distance to Windhelm. I procured a young chestnut mare from an Altmer stable master and continued on my way in earnest. The weather was not accommodating but far from unbearable, rife with strong gales and the occasional flurry of snow. Few dangers were encountered along the way.

  At last I entered the walls of Whiterun. The city and its populace spoke silently of a great catastrophe. Many buildings displayed damage and hasty repairs. Skies were grey and cloudy. Chill winds blew intermittently through the streets, ushering sounds of fluttering banners and creaking market signs swinging on their hinges. People gathered around fire pits lit for warmth rather than light.

  I spoke with several of Whiterun’s citizens. Their accounts painted a harrowing picture of the dragon attack. Instead of finding answers, though, I was left with more questions. Why did the dragon attack such a heavily fortified city all by itself? It largely ignored the surrounding landscape, including farmlands. Did it choose to disregard these easy targets?

  I knew too little to guess the nature of its motives, but the dragon was dead and Whiterun was still intact. Whatever its goal might have been it failed to achieve it. Unless it meant simply to strike terror…

  While questioning witnesses, I was surprised to hear repeated mentions of a dragon killer. The details and stories were too conflicting for me to reach a clear conclusion, though this much was certain: the death of the dragon was instigated not by the city guard but by the intervention of a single man. There were many wild claims about who exactly this man was. ‘Dragonborn’ was a word mentioned more than once.

  I needed to investigate this. After spending my morning in the lower districts, I sought an audience with the Jarl’s court wizard. There were hints that he was conducting research into the dragons. The thought of conversing with a fellow colleague had its appeal. I hoped that a more intellectual perspective on the attack would offer clarity.

  Stepping into the great hall of Dragonsreach, I admired its scale and structural design. The palace sported exquisite woodwork and stone masonry. Indeed, even the bricks had their charm; this coming from a woman who spent decades of her life living in a mushroom tower. At the end of the great hall, a sight caught my breath.

  A dragon’s skull was on display above the Jarl’s empty throne! I thought at first that it belonged to the dragon that attacked the city, though I would soon be corrected.

  A conversation in one of the hall’s adjoining wings prompted my ear.

  “You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier…”

  The court wizard spoke excitedly from his laboratory. His back was turned and I couldn’t see who he was speaking to. Against my better judgment I eavesdropped on the conversation, approaching the edge of the doorway, staff clutched in both hands against my chest.

  “…I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other later texts.”

  “Good,” replied the stern voice of a woman. “I'm glad you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers.”

  “Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research.”

  “Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back.”

  “Yes, yes. Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable...”

  I felt it was time to make my presence known, worrying the guards might find my behavior suspicious. I stepped inside. The laboratory was full of research materials stacked high on tables; old tomes, textbooks, notes, and a handful of alchemical alembics. Candles provided light instead of windows, for the clouded sun had little to give.

  Farengar stood perusing a book in his hands, dressed in simple blue robes. The woman with him wore tight-fitting travel clothes and hid herself inside the shadow of a brown cloak. She was leaning over a table, hands spread apart, inspecting some sort of large stone slab riddled with markings.

  The mage continued speaking. “Now, let me show you something else I found... very intriguing...”

  “You have a visitor,” the woman declared, standing upright. She was quick to see me enter. Farengar followed her gaze.

  “Hmm? Yes? And who are you?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth to speak.

  “Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a conversation?” Farengar interrupted. He turned to the woman. “Please excuse this disturbance. The guards assured me we wouldn’t have any visitors. I’ll fetch someone to send her away.”

  The cloaked woman monitored my movements closely.

  “I think I’ll take my leave,” she said. “You know where to find me. Just send a copy when you’ve deciphered the stone.” She left the mage’s presence without another word, walking past me on her way out. I glanced at the woman and she at me.

  The glare of her blue-grey eyes spoke a clear message: ‘You and I have nothing to say to each other.’

  That left me alone with the court wizard. I felt some concern. Would he still speak with me? I must have interrupted something sensitive. My staff clopped in step with my feet as I entered the laboratory. Farengar frowned disapprovingly.

  “What are you still doing here?” he said. “Away with you! I am a very busy man.”

  “A wizard is always busy,” I replied. “I’m sorry for the interruption, but there is a matter I wish to–”

  “You have interrupted enough for one day. Perhaps you didn’t hear me. I wish to be left alone. Now be gone!”

  Before I could say any more, I caught the glint of a glossy object at the back of the room. I stared at it and gasped.

  “For gods’ sake! What are you doing!?” I exclaimed, rushing over to an enchanting table. A crystal rested on its lip. It was triclinic, larger than my fist, reflecting tints of blue and purple.  I snatched it away and marched up to Farengar with a look of ire.

  “You would leave a filled soul gem inches away from an unwarded pentacle?” I scolded, holding the crystal up to the mage’s face. “Are you insane!?”

  He backed away, flabbergasted. “What? I would never–”

  “I should hope not! Even a novice ought to know the basic properties of morpholiths and catalytic enchanters! Why, you could have destroyed this entire laboratory!”

  A guard out in the hall walking by poked his head through the doorway. I shall stand in defense of my outburst. That wizard was an imbicile! Soul gems are not to be carelessly tossed about one’s work space. They are volatile conduits, especially in the presence of enchanting runes. Without a ward over the pentacle to act as a safeguard, that soul gem could have triggered the enchanting table’s melding process, without a receiving object for the gem’s soul to meld with. The result would be a destructive dispersal of magicka, like pulling apart the walls of a water trough.

  I set the crystal down on the table and awaited the wizard’s excuse.

  “I… can see you are a fellow enchanter,” Farengar said begrudgingly. “I must have been lost in my research when I set that aside. An honest mistake. Try reprimanding less loudly next time.”

  Not likely to happen, I thought. I really should scold with less volume and more composure, but nothing peeves me more than a lack of respect for the arcane. Magical artifacts are dangerous! They demand the respect they deserve. In the interest of transparency, I shall mention that my peers love to assert that I am over cautious. Some go so far as to call me a ‘Betty Netch.’ I don’t find the comparison as amusing as they do.

  “Yes, well… I am sorry, for this and the interruption earlier,” I said. “I had no intent to disturb you.”

  Farengar folded his arms. “If you insist on being here, I would like to know your name.”

  “Falura Telvanni Andrilo,” I replied, staff held upright with a hand behind my back. “I presume you are Farengar Secret-Fire, the Jarl’s court wizard.”

  “Ah. House Telvanni. I had you figured for a mage,” he remarked with self-satisfaction. Really! Did the guise of my staff and robes suggest a tavern wench? The nerve of that man…

  “You are conducting research into the dragons. Is this correct?” I asked.

  “Technically speaking, yes. Why? You are not here to plagiarize my work, are you?”

  “Certainly not! I do share an interest in dragons, though. I don’t expect you to take my word on that.” I retrieved my notes on the white dragon from my satchel and rested them on the table near the soul gem. “Have a moment to read these, if you would. Tell me if you should find their contents useful to your research.”

  The court wizard hoisted the bundle into his hand and began skimming pages. He flipped through hurriedly at first. Then, little by little, he slowed his pace. Farengar’s expression relaxed as he took his time perusing my work.

  “Is this your writing?” he asked. Again with that damnable wizard! As though my mother would have written those documents.

  “They are my recorded observations,” I said. “I have come here to propose a collaboration, in the hope that we may learn from one another.”

  “These are impressive field notes,” the mage mused aloud. “You leave out no details. I would very much find these useful. Though the sketcheds leave something to be desired.”

  “I am afraid I can’t much help that,” I replied. I’m a scientist, not an artist. Not to suggest that the two are mutually exclusive. “I won’t be in town for long, but I will allow you time to copy my work for yourself. In return I would ask a small favor.”

  Farengar laid the papers on a table. “As you wish. I won’t turn down a seeker of knowledge. What is it you want?”

  “Information about the dragon that attacked this city. I was hoping you might have some recordings of your own.”

  “The Jarl kept me here in the palace, unfortunately. I envy you the chance to have witnessed a dragon up close. It must have been an amazing experience.”

  “Amazing isn’t the word I would use. I’m not sure how I would have handled a dragon sieging a city, let alone a troupe of soldiers…”

  “Well, there is always the aftermath. Less violent at least. Perhaps you would like to see what became of the dragon?”

  My curiosity was piqued, as was my excitement.

  “I certainly would,” I said, trying not to smile too broadly.

  We walked together to an upper section of Dragonsreach. Scents of stew and garnish strayed from a kitchen. Coal pits were left unlit, as few people were about. The hall was nearly void of sunlight and color. What ought to have been a bright and dazzling palace felt more like a dull crypt.

  Farengar explained that we were heading to the Jarl’s war room. Before I could ask why, we reached the top of a staircase where I saw, resting on a table, another dragon skull. Its mouth was propped open in menacing fashion, revealing a full set of sharp teeth. Other assorted bones were on display along with charcoal sticks and sketch paper. A guardsman was stationed on watch nearby.

  “This is everything we were able to collect,” Farengar said, gesturing toward the remains. “Looters and thieves sadly made off with the rest.”

  My anticipation suddenly insatiable, I hurried to the bones and hovered over them with keen eyes. I rubbed my hand on the skull, admiring the marrow’s complete lack of brittleness. The surface was smooth yet subtly granular. By contrast its dark horns were gritty to the touch.

  “Long weathered horns… distinct jawline… The form is completely unmistakable!” I began inspecting other samples. “And this… This must be a segment of tail bone. Along with a set of ribs, and… Is that a wing? Goodness I can’t tell, but these bones are remarkable!”

  The wizard seemed proud of his collection. Yet something struck me as odd…

  “Farengar, weren’t any efforts made to preserve the dragon’s corpse? Are there no skin or scale samples? Why only bones?”

  He rubbed his temple. “I, uh, only know what the Jarl’s housecarl told me. When the dragon was slain, the Dragonborn absorbed some sort of power from it. This caused the dragon’s body to burst into flames, burning away its flesh.”

  I halted my inspection briefly, unable to fathom the inner workings of such a process.

  “Why… that screams of powerful magic,” I said. “If what you say is accurate, I would wish to observe this absorption process for myself. And you’re telling me the dragon slayer was Dragonborn? The stories are true?”

  “The Greybeards summoned him to High Hrothgar. Perhaps you heard their call. It happened about a week ago.”

  “How could I forget? I was in Winterhold at the time,” I said, hurrying to think of another inquiry. “This Dragonborn… did you meet him, by chance?”

  “Oh yes. As a matter of fact, he was tremendously helpful with my research. The Argonian managed to–”

  I baulked at the wizard.

  “Argonian?”

  “Hm? Of course. You spoke with others about the attack, didn’t you? Surely someone corroborated this.”

  Yes, someone had. There was a woman who claimed the dragon killer was a red scaled Argonian. She said that he had frightened her, though I dismissed her story.

  “That’s… impossible,” I said, brow lowered in doubt. “There is no such thing as an Argonian Dragonborn.”

  “You speak out of ignorance,” Farengar scoffed.

  “I have done my research. All known Dragonborn in recorded history have been of either Nordic or Imperial descent. The trait is hereditary. Its last known ancestry ended with Martin Septim. Do you mean to suggest that the royal dragon blood somehow survived its way into Black Marsh?”

  The wizard scratched his beard. “Well, when you put it that way…”

  “Even if the bloodline somehow reached those lizards and stayed dormant for hundreds of years, numerous studies on racial phylogeny have discounted–”

  “You are missing the point,” Farengar interrupted. “When the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible.”

  I hesitated.

  “I… Yes… Yes, yes, I see what you mean. I am spouting conjecture.”

  Scientific assumptions are never fixed. They are changed and revised and new data is compiled. I needed to be reminded of that, though I found it no easier to accept this information.

  An Argonian Dragonborn… I couldn’t even imagine such a terrible thing…

  “Let’s change the subject,” I said. “Do we know anything more about why the dragon attacked this city?”

  “No.”

  “What do we know, then?”

  “Very little, I’m afraid.”

  “You were showing something to that woman earlier…”

  “The Dragonstone? Or the translated ‘Holdings of Jarl Gjalund?’”

  Does he presume I know what those are?

  “Either… Or both.”

  “I’ll put it simply. My associate is investigating ancient dragon burial sites. It was her intelligence that allowed us to recover a map of their locations – the Dragonstone. She seems to be interested in matters related to the Dragon War.”

  “Dragon War?”

  “Indeed. I’m not surprised you’ve never heard of it. Even I used to think it was just a myth. But not anymore. The Dragon War was a real event, although only the barest glimmer of the actual events has come down to us.

  “Far back in the Mythic Era, the dragons were worshiped as gods in Skyrim. Many of the monumental ruins that still dot Skyrim’s landscape were, in fact, built as temples to the dragons. The details are lost, but at some point the Nords rebelled. After a long and terrible war, the Nords overthrew their dragon overlords.”

  “You’re confident the burial grounds date back to that period?” I interjected. “The Nords couldn’t have killed every last dragon.”

  “Oh no. Many were killed, of course, but many others survived into historical times. Why, this very palace was built by one of Balgruuf’s ancestors to hold a captive dragon. Hence its name. Dragonsreach.”

  “What’s this? Capturing a dragon? How is that possible?”

  Farengar motioned me to follow him. We walked to the other side of the room toward a set of large double doors, which he briefly opened to look through. They led to the palace’s great porch as I had seen from the road. My eyes gazed upon an enormous contraption in the shade of a vaulted chamber. Thick iron chains suspended a curved board of wood up to the ceiling. The mechanism was reinforced with metal and could contain a dragon in similar fashion to a pillory, locking the board to the dragon’s neck.

  I never would have suspected such engineering to come from the Nords, let alone from those in ancient times. There was some doubt as to whether the device had ever actually kept a dragon captive, but the dragon skull above the Jarl’s throne seemed sufficient proof.

  “Will you look at that,” I whispered. “If only we could lure one here...”

  “Perhaps some hero will find a way, like old Olaf One-Eye once did,” Farengar chuckled, closing the door. “Can you imagine talking to a live dragon? What a fascinating conversation that would be! Ah well… I suppose we will have to settle for the company of bones.”

  A disgruntled drone began my reply.

  “Bones are well and good,” I said, “but these dragons are a serious threat. I’m not willing to settle for half an understanding. We need to study the full physiology of these creatures if we want to fight them properly.”

  The wizard snorted. “And how will we do this?”

  I looked Farengar straight in the eye.

  “If we can’t study one alive, we must study one dead. That’s all there is to it. Killing a dragon is the next step.”

  Farengar coughed.

  “An interesting fantasy. Perhaps you can wait and see if another one attacks Whiterun.”

  He thinks this task is beyond me…

  “Why bother with tedium? I already know where to find one,” I asserted. “The dragon I recorded in my notes was spotted near Mount Anthor. If I return there, I am confident I could track it down. More than that. I will.”

  The mage could see I was being serious. Still he doubted.

  “I… commend your ambition,” he said. “I also question your good sense. We can’t capture a dragon, but killing one won’t be much easier.”

  …and he may be right.

  “Agreed,” I sighed. “I certainly can’t kill the dragon alone.”

  “I don’t think the Whiterun guard is up for hire,” Farengar quipped matter-of-factly, “unless, that is, you plan on finding an army somewhere else.”

  “I don’t want an army,” I said. “A company of legionaries couldn’t stand up to the beast. This task will require more than sheer numbers. I need the assistance of experienced warriors. It’s a shame that Dragonborn is no longer here. He could have made a useful recruit.”

  The wizard coughed again. I assumed he wouldn’t volunteer himself.

  “Well, I’m afraid I don’t have much advice to give you. If you think you have the coin for it, I suppose you could try hiring the Companions.”

  I turned to the mage. “Come again? Who are the Companions?”

  Farengar shrugged. “A bawdy group of mercenaries. They call themselves warriors of valor. I’m not sure what people see in them, but they’re well renowned in Skyrim. For what that’s worth.”

  It wasn’t worth much, not the way he phrased it. Renown can come from many things legitimate or otherwise. It would not hurt, though, to investigate these Companions further.

  “Interesting,” I said. “Tell me more about them.”

  AUTHOR'S NOTE

  Yay! More made-up magic mumbo jumbo. The stuff Falura talks about in regards to enchanting is mostly of my own invention, though I've attempted to use lore-established terminology where appropriate.

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