A Dragonborn by any other name

Trouble in Whiterun

"So let me get this straight. You want me to walk in, convince a sceptical man I am there for pest control, kill a bunch of skeevers and poison a vat, which he may have already taken the mead out for tasting anyway?" Guenevere was not pleased. After bumping along in the carriage to Whiterun, she had met her contact at the Bannered Mare, and heard this absurd plan. "That isn't a job for a thief, pull the other one. I have a better plan. I disgrace him by speaking to the Jarl, I have information that will let him trust me, and then YOU let me in and I get what I need." She could tell the Imperial sitting across from her wasn't happy, but it really was a harebrained scheme. And she disliked skeevers anyway. "Then you can have a guard go through and clear out the skeevers for you. Doesn't that sound more sane?"

"And how do I know you won't just betray me to the Jarl?" In the opinion of the guild member, Mallus Mallarcius was annoying, and couldn't think of a good plan to save his life.

"I'm Guild. Not Brotherhood." Not currently anyway. "It would be bad for business."

Another hour of argument had Gwen succeeding, and she was on her way up to Dragonsreach, rolling her eyes at the shouts of the Talos 'priest' by the statue. She knew that Man and Mer could ascend to godhood, there was the case of her mother after all, and she had actually met Talos for a few moments, in passing, a response to a desperate plea. She knew if not for this civil war, however, the Thalmor would not have as much of a presence in this Province, and everyone would still have their little shrines. Instead there was a bloody, raging war instigated by those who had an interest in making the Empire fall.

Her contemplation finished, she stepped through the grand doors to the Jarl's keep, taking in her surroundings. With purpose, and a slight look of disdain for the dunmer who attempted to stop her, she stood in front of the Jarl, one hand on her hip. "I bring news, and I'll be damned if I don't deliver it. Riverwood begs their Jarl's aid, fearing the dragon will hit there. The town is nigh on defenceless, and the safety of your people is worth more than any posturing, civil war or not. On that note, I have a complaint against the owner of Honningbrew meadery. After finding skeever scat in my mead, I approached the owner politely, and he refused to talk to me. My mother is a noble of Alinor. My father has a statue in the Imperial city. If I get sick from that poor excuse of a mead and nothing is done about it I could simply call poison and bring a whole Thalmor battalion upon your hold." She spoke with authority, the ease of one who was used to getting their own way, and it was only partially an act. She had pulled out a dress for the occasion, looking every part the haughty Altmer she played, but for her colouring.

The Jarl appeared shocked at being spoken to in such away, the Housecarl near growling. Curiously, though, the Steward gave her a short nod. An imperial, she supposed he must have some idea to the workings of the Empire, and that she could very well be right. Quiet words were spoken between said Steward and Jarl, as she waited impatiently, and finally he spoke.
"While the tone you use is not appreciated, you have brought valuable information. The owner of the Meadery will be arrested for attempted poison. As to Riverwood, Irileth, send a detachment of guards there at once. My apologies for your experiences in my hold madam, but may I trouble you to speak to my Court Wizard? He is aching for more knowledge about dragons, and if you have seen one with your own eyes…" He trailed off as Gwen gave a small smirk, and curtsied, before whisking herself into the side room where she could smell reagents, and feel the crackle of magic.

The robed inhabitant did not even look up as she approached, examining a golden dragon's claw, a stone on the bench beside him. Drawn to the stone, her skirt swished as she moved to look at it, eyes drinking in the scratches, so much like the dragon walls around the province which sang to her. "A translation and… map? In the Dovah tongue?" Her fingers drifted out to touch it, as the mage looked up, startled.

"A map I caught, but translations as well?"

"Yes, here, see, it's in Akaviri, and then here," She traced a line underneath the one she had just pointed to. "This is the scratches that are on the dragon walls around Skyrim, and actually, to think of it, a few other provinces as well. I call it Dovah because, well, it feels right. It sings to me." The mage was looking on in disbelief, and was about to reply when a guard ran past the room, all jangling armour.

"Dragon! Attacking the Western Watchtower!"

The voice of the Housecarl came quickly, calling the mage. Gwen tagged along, at a nudge from the warmth nestled against her chest. Her appearance drew a few looks, but no comments. She had, after all, actually seen a dragon, unlike the rest of them. Before too long, however, she had slipped away, running through a list of spells in her mind as she left the keep, moving in the direction of the flashes of light she could see. She wasn't running, no, but not far from. It was simple to get through the gates, and she streaked across the countryside to crouch near a rock, watching the dragon fly off towards the mountain. She wasn't so stupid as to go in alone, but she could scout the area where she may have to fight.