The stone walls of Dragonsreach stand tall and quiet in the midmorning light, beams of sun streaking through narrow windows and pooling across the long red carpet that stretches toward the throne. Above, the great wooden beams of the ceiling groan softly in the wind, echoing like distant voices in a high hall that has seen peace—and storm—in equal measure.

Jarl Balgruuf the Greater sits upon his throne, one hand curled thoughtfully beneath his chin, the other resting on the arm of the great carved chair. His fur-lined cloak drapes behind him like the weight of his rule, and his sharp hazel eyes are locked on some distant thought.

Proventus Avenicci stands to his right, holding a scroll with a wax seal broken just minutes ago.

Proventus: "More reports from the Pale. Their patrols have thinned, and the traders passing through Riverwood speak of wolves bold enough to prowl the roads in daylight. No sign of organized trouble, but the people grow uneasy."

Balgruuf: gruffly “They always grow uneasy at the first chill of winter. Next they'll be saying it’s an omen, or that Talos is angry with us.”

He exhales through his nose—half tired amusement, half weary tension. He shifts in his seat, looking not at Proventus now, but toward the hall beyond.

Balgruuf: “And what of the Stormcloaks? Have any of their little firebrands been seen stirring in the east?”

Proventus: “Not openly. But Ulfric’s silence is not peace—it’s planning. That much I’ll stake my name on.”

There is a long pause. The guards flanking the hall shift subtly, chainmail creaking. The fire pops. Somewhere outside, a raven calls once and goes still.

Balgruuf: quietly, more to himself “I tire of waiting for trouble to knock. I’d rather meet it at the gate.”

Then, as if on cue, the great oaken doors of Dragonsreach groan open. A cold gust spills into the hall, curling around the fire like the breath of something long-traveled. The guards stiffen. Proventus looks up, brows furrowing in confusion.

Balgruuf rises slowly from his throne, cloak brushing the steps behind him.

Balgruuf: calling out with measured curiosity “You there. That’s no merchant’s step, nor a courier’s haste. What brings you to Dragonsreach, unannounced and with such purpose in your stride?”