With a sword held to his face, Vaenyr raises his hands in surrender, trying to explain his presence to the Dunmer.
"Could you please move your sword out of my face, lady? I am here with a message for the Jarl."
The Mer looks him up and down, pausing for a second after seeing his eyes before lowering her weapon.
"Why are you covered in... giant's blood?"
Vaenyr drops his arms back down, nodding at the woman's question.
"Yes, giant's blood. I ran into one when I came here; I guess we had a disagreement?"
The Dunmer raises an eyebrow, then turns around as Jarl Balgruuf calls out from behind her.
"Let him through, Irileth."
The woman sighs, then steps aside, allowing Vaenyr to approach the Jarl. The man leans back on his throne and speaks.
"You are a messenger, are you not? Your armor appears to be Imperial; have you been sent by General Tullius? I already told him I would remain neutral."
Vaenyr shakes his head.
"No, I am not part of the Legion. I am here on behalf of Riverwood; Alvor asked me to inform you of something."
The Jarl tilts his head to the side, seemingly trying to remember who Alvor was, before answering.
"The village smith, right? What message are you supposed to convey then, Son of High Rock?"
With a small chuckle, Vaenyr answers the man.
"A dragon destroyed Helgen. Alvor is afraid Riverwood might be next."
Balgruuf recoils slightly, gripping his armrests as he thinks aloud.
"Alvor is a reliable, solid fellow, not one prone to flights of fancy... And you're sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon? This wasn't some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?"
Vaenyr shakes his head, motioning to himself.
"No, I was there with Alvor's nephew Hadvar; it was definitely a dragon."
Cursing, the Jarl turns to his housecarl Irileth.
"By Ysmir, you were right. Inform one of the guard captains; he shall send another detachment of guards to Riverwood quickly."
The Dunmer woman nods and walks away, leaving Dragonsreach through the large doorway.
After the door slams shut behind her, Jarl Balgruuf speaks up again.
"Well done, my friend. You have done Whiterun a service, one I shall not forget."
Standing up from his chair, the Jarl motions towards the side of his keep, walking towards the open chamber to the left of his throne.
"There is another thing you could do for me. Considering your current appearance, I would guess it suitable for you. Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to dragons for a friend of his anyway."
Vaenyr follows the man to the other room, where another Nord man, wearing a set of blue robes, is currently leaning over a table, reading an opened scroll and marking down things on another. Balgruuf calls out to the man, crossing his arms.
"Farengar, I found someone who might be able to help you."
As the Court Wizard looks up at the two, the Jarl is already turning away again, leaving the room. Farengar watches his liege depart, then turns to Vaenyr.
"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."
Vaenyr nods, motioning for the man to continue.
"Sounds fun. What am I getting for you?"
The man turns around, looking through the small mountain of scrolls to his side before pulling one free and showing it to Vaenyr.
"On this scroll, there is a poem that, when interpreted, leads to Bleak Falls Barrow. Based on the translation I made, it speaks of a certain stone tablet said to be housed there—a so-called 'Dragonstone,' which is said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet—no doubt interred in the main chamber—and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."
With a grin, Vaenyr pulls out the Dragonstone he already got from his back, placing it on the table in front of him.
"Do you mean this old stone? Because I did just explore Bleak Falls Barrow before coming here."
With an excited expression, the court wizard picks up the stone, moving his fingers over the engravings.
"Ah! The Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! You already found it! You are cut from a different cloth than the usual brutes the Jarl foists upon me."
After carefully placing the stone back down on the table, Farengar looks back up at you.
"You can talk to the Jarl about receiving a reward; I will translate this first."
The man turns his attention back to the stone, grabbing a few books from under his desk and spreading them out over the table. Noticing that the Wizard is about to be otherwise occupied, Vaenyr knocks on the desk to regain his attention for a moment.
"Wait, before you're preoccupied, do you have any books on magic I could read? I need to look something up."
The man sighs slightly, then points to one of the bookshelves behind him. "As long as you put them back, you can take a look through my collection. Just don't damage any of them."
Vaenyr gives him a grateful nod, then leaves him to his work, walking around the table to examine the contents of the bookshelf. After pulling out a few books and glancing at the titles, he eventually finds one called 'The Art of War Magic,' which makes him let out a slight chuckle before he decides to read it. He sits down in a chair in a corner of the room and flips open the first page.
After reading the book for a while, Vaenyr finishes it, closing it with a sigh. It turns out the book is just 'The Art of War,' but written in a different world. Still a great read, but not what he had hoped to find. He stands up and walks back to the shelf, returning the book and looking through the other brackets until he finds one filled with what he recognizes as Spell Tomes. Guessing they won't instantly dissolve like in-game, he picks up one of the thin booklets, its cover marked with the burning hand that signifies destruction magic. On the first page, the name of the spell is written, in this case the novice spell 'Flames,' followed by a few pages that hold a short description, an explanation of who created this spell, and finally an array of images that look similar to a star chart.
While Vaenyr didn't receive any education on how magic in Skyrim works, based on what he has now, he would guess that casting spells requires shaping the magicka in one's body according to the instructions on the chart. Not wanting to accidentally damage Farengar's collection, he places the book back on the shelf, grabs another tome, and examines the charts in it, so he has more than one example. After memorizing both charts, he turns to look at Farengar again, who is scribbling notes onto a scroll as he translates the Dragonstone.
"Hey, do you have a test chamber for spells or something around here?"
The Wizard pauses, stands up straight, then turns to him with an annoyed expression. "No, I don't have a test chamber. If you really need to try a new spell, you should go up to the Great Porch."
With that, the man turns back to his work. Vaenyr nods, then leaves to follow the man's advice, moving up the stairway that leads to the war room and walking through the large doors that lead further. After stepping out onto the Great Porch, Vaenyr moves to its end, taking a look over the battlements, out to the fields covered by the hold. After enjoying the view for a few seconds, he sighs, cracks his knuckles, and holds out his left hand, closing his eyes and recalling the chart for the Flames spell. Rebuilding it in his head, he tries to push the magicka he can feel in his body through the chart he is imagining, then channel the transformed energy out of his hand.
As he does, he can feel a soft heat travel through his skin, then intensifying in his palm, before suddenly erupting from his hand in a burst of flame. The sudden change in temperature has him open his eyes, but it also breaks his concentration, the flame disappearing again as he stops concentrating on the chart.
"...right, should have chosen a spell that is not continuous."
With a small chuckle, he tries to concentrate again, this time with open eyes, once again sending magicka through the chart in his mind, letting his hand shoot up another stream of flames.
He grins and lifts his other hand, imagining the transformed magicka to split and travel into both his hands, resulting in both shooting out magical flames into the air. After a minute of just enjoying the feeling of casting magic, he drops his concentration on the flames, the chart in his mind breaking down and disassembling. The stream of flames in his hand dies down, completely disappearing as if nothing happened.
With his confidence at its peak since coming here, Vaenyr shakes his head once, then concentrates on the magical chart for the 'Healing' Spell. This time, the energy the spell transforms his magicka into feels cold, but not in a frosty way, instead feeling more numbing. As it erupts from his palm, the magic manifests as soft golden light. Vaenyr has no wounds to see if the spell worked and how effective it was, but watching the light dance around in his hand makes him feel a lot better than before. As he is about to think he might have been addicted to the spell, the strange excitement suddenly drops, the light shining from his hand no longer seeming to have any effect other than taking up concentration.
Dropping the spell, Vaenyr cracks his neck, then shakes his hand to get rid of the numbness, before turning around to walk back into the keep. Learning magic was definitely fun, but he probably should prioritize a bit to minimize casualties. Leaning over the war table in front of him, he memorizes the map of Skyrim while ordering the importance of quests in his mind.
"Dealing with Alduin takes priority, then probably the Civil War. Miraak wouldn't have even been noticed if he hadn't tried to have the player killed, and Harkon won't be able to get Auriel's bow without the third Elder Scroll that I should have at the time. Afterwards, I can go to the College and master some magic."
Giving the map one last look, Vaenyr stands up straight and turns to walk down the stairs to the great hall again as he spots a flicker on one of the balconies. Silently walking towards the area, he hears very soft breathing coming from there, even though his eyes don't pick up anything yet. Drawing the dagger he looted from his back, he reaches out, feeling some fabric in his hand, and grabs hold of whatever was in front of him, pulling off the hood from a surprised Bosmer, who was holding a bow partially drawn, the arrow aimed at the Jarl, who was speaking with his steward, unaware of the danger.
As the assassin tries to pull back the arrow further in an attempt to accomplish his mission, Vaenyr quickly pushes him down, holding the dagger to his neck and subduing the man easily. "Seems like you chose a bad day for an assassination." The man grits his teeth, then lets out a laugh before his eyes roll back suddenly, foaming at the mouth.