It was time to march, and not to soon. The caravan, for what else was it now but a ragtag bunch of ex-soldiers, civilians, and lost souls seeking greener pastures, clung together as one. Better security in numbers after all and it would allow their supplies to be shared and centralized. Balgruuf and Hrongar had forgone their Legionary armor and uniforms. Their service was over after all. That did not exactly mean they need not fight. The road was still dangerous and the Jerall Mountains had its share of nastiness that awaited travellers.
Irileth shivered pitifully, the fur cloak she had bought at Bruma proved insufficient for her. The merchant who sold it to her had sworn that it could protect her from the cold. She should have latched onto that word.
Could.
She blinked when suddenly, another cloak was thrown over her. She turned to see Balgruuf had unclasped his own fur cloak for her. She felt warm, figuratively and literally, at his gesture. Still, she had her pride and she wasn't going to let Balgruuf live that act down.
"I could handle it," she muttered.
"Right," Balgruuf said, not entirely believing her. "You should have bought a little bit more. Skyrim's winters are not gentle, Irileth,"
"The Divines are cruel for making such a cold place." Irileth replied, huddling deeper into her layer. And that was all she did. She would never be so gauche as to take in the scent of Balgruuf. She would never.
"I rather thank the Divines for it also forged a strong and hardy people," Balgruuf shamelessly praised. The Dunmer rolled her eyes, leaning forward to pat her horse on the head. Shadowfell, she named him, snorted in appreciation.
"Well, good thing that my people are known for humility," Irileth replied, earning a choking snort from Balgruuf. Irileth took no offense to it however. Everyone knew of the Tribunal, the Dunmer who dared to mantle divinity and in turn, earned the spite of Azura. Now, they were no longer revealed and the Dark Elves returned to the worship of the Daedra who had enticed them to leave their old kin behind. Irileth however, did not revere them.
For in her hour of greatest need, they did not come.
Balgruuf did.
She glanced down, towards her arms. Below her armor and under the gauntlets were scars. Scars that were not going to go away, no matter what she did. Images flashed in her mind of a dark and dreary cell, her skin exposed as she was hung in a fetal position, stinging pain on her back. The laughing of a sadist ringing in her ears.
No.
No.
Her tormentor was dead. She was free now.
But why was it she was still so afraid?
"You're shaking again," Balgruuf observed her quietly. Irileth's eyes shot up as she turned towards him. She quickly took a breath, turning away.
"It was cold," Irileth lied.
Balgruuf said nothing however. Instead, he spurred his own horse forward next to her, quietly riding alongside her. His stallion was a handsome creature, a Nordic-Redguard steed he purchased a long time ago. The endurance of a Nordic breed alongside the speed of the Redguard breed made a deadly combination. Balgruuf called him Felarof. A name which Balgruuf insisted meant 'very strong'.
The caravan continued on, hiking on the mountain roads. The air was getting thinner now as they ascended and sometimes, Irileth had to admit that she was feeling light-headed at times. But still, they had to push on. Staying in the Jerall Mountains for too long was dangerous. Eventually, they had to go and set up camp. Daylight was running out and to travel at night was far too risky even for a group as big as theirs.
The cooks were getting ready to prepare the camp their shared dinner. Judging from the smell, it was going to be a rich and hearty meal of potato soup made with cream. A few enterprising men had success in bringing in some mountain goat for extra protein. Balgruuf was happy enough to offer them a few gold pieces for their time. Extra protein never hurt anyone after all.
Speaking of Balgruuf, Irileth found him in his tent, talking animatedly with a few people she did not recognize. They were already at the end of their conversation as she entered. Balgruuf stood, shaking the hands of each one of them and patting them on their backs. They bowed as they slowly made their way out his presence.
"What was that?" Irileth asked, a single hand falling on her hip. Balgruuf chuckled as he leant down and picked up a few papers on the table in front of him and placed them into a strong box.
"The speakers for the refugees. We were just finalizing some details on what will happen to them when we return to Whiterun. They will work the land for me with my methods. Whoever shows the most aptitude, I will be making them into Thanes." Balgruuf said, closing the strong box. He gently patted it. "This here are the contracts we signed."
"Thanes..." Irileth repeated. "You will turn them into nobles?"
Balgruuf nodded. "Aye. The Imperial equivalent would be a Baron." He grunted as he stretched his tired arms. "I intend to build a better Whiterun where not just the warriors become nobles but men and women who show merit."
"Would the landed nobles of your Hold accept it?" Irileth asked as Balgruuf made his way back onto his seat, leaning back into it.
"They will. It is not exactly uncommon to award Thanage to people who do the city a great service. And besides, it is not like I am wholesale promoting them into the full Peerage. As a Jarl to be, I can award small titles under me to those I deem worthy. But to truly elevate someone, I must become the High King."
"And you aren't going to try for that, are you?" Irileth questioned. Balgruuf however smiled at her unknowingly.
"All in good time, Irileth. All in good time," Balgruuf declared. He then cocked his head as he regarded her. "So, anything I can help you with, Iri? Or is this just a social call?"
The Dunmer shook her head. When they had first met, she thought of him as a standard Nord serving in the Imperial Legion; brash, rough, and full of boasts. His brother certainly was the type. As they served together, Irileth realized that her opinions of the man was based mostly on the popular image that Nords liked to cultivate.
Balgruuf had virtues that were common to his people. He was stubborn, prideful to a point, and possessing a sense of honor, something which Irileth respected. Then, there was the other traits. He was open, personable, and warm. He had a curious and...unorthodox mind. And unlike other Nords, he did not disdain magic, more fascinated than outright dismissing it. If she had to put it into a simpler manner, the man was damn infuriating mix of a thief and a warrior.
"I just wanted to report that dinner will be served soon. And that the guards report that we are in the clear," Irileth said, crossing her arms. Balgruuf nodded gracefully.
"I see. Hrongar will be pleased, then." the Nord said. "Actually, where is Hrongar? There is a little project I want to introduce him into."
"A project?" Irileth asked. Balgruuf nodded as he stood up and turned to a chest. He knelt down before it and opened it, revealing a stack of books. Leaning in, he ran a single finger on the books, mentally counting before pulling out a book. He offered it to Irileth who had to step closer to pick it up. She glanced down at its title.
"The Ysgramoric Kings," she read aloud.
"Ysgramor's line ended with him," Balgruuf narrated. "He perished in battle alongside that which signified rulership over Skyrim, the Jagged Crown. I intend to reclaim it."
Irileth thought of his proposal. In the context of Nordic politics, that would surely rally the Jarls to his side. To rediscover such a famed artifact would surely boost his prestige. But the thing was, he still needed to find it. "As you say, you wish to reclaim it. However, you need to find it first."
"I already know where it is. It lies in a hidden tomb in the Pale called Korvanjund," Balgruuf revealed. "I do not want to stop there however. There are other artifacts I wish to re-claim. Artifacts of power and prestige which will not just profit me but Whiterun too."
"You speak as if you know of these places. Are you going to tell me how you found them?" Irileth asked.
"No," Balgruuf replied neutrally. He then asked. "Do you need to know?"
Irileth thought about it. Then, she shook her head. "What will be my place then?"
"To be at my side, of course." Balgruuf answered with a smile. He clasped his arms, still leaning back. "Unless you have other plans?"
With thin lips, Irileth said nothing as she simply sat on Balgruuf's lap. She leaned in, pressing herself and her breasts against the man, her arms wrapping around his neck. They locked eyes, Nordic Blue with Dunmeri Red. "I thought about leaving you, you know. That was what we agreed on. You rescued me from captivity, I repay the favour."
"Yet here you are, sharing your body and soul with me," Balgruuf quipped, his own hands wrapping around her waist.
"Yes, you insufferable man," Irileth said, shivering. But not from the cold. "Here I am."
They shared a kiss. A unchaste clashing of lips and tongue. Her breath hitched in her throat as they lost themselves in each other, the urge to just rut like animals increasing in Irileth's core. However, she pulled back first, hopping off Balgruuf's lap. A groan of frustration left his lips.
"You cannot just walk in here, set me on fire, and leave," Balgruuf growled.
"Yes I can," Irileth said smugly. "Behave yourself, my lord. For we are still at camp and the walls have ears. You would not want to offer children nightmares, will you?"
"I hate you," Balgruuf groaned.
"And I adore you, my lord," Irileth said with a low bow, her voice teasing and sultry.
"You think you can hurt me? Hunt me? Fool!" cackled the Altmer. Lightning crackled as he-
"NO!" Irileth yelled, shooting up. Her breathing was fast, hitched. Her eyes darted around wildly, fully expecting to find herself in a dark and dank prison, her naked form stinging from torture. But no, she was no longer in prison, no longer under a sadist's mercy. She was on her cot, under the tent-flaps of Balgruuf of Whiterun. In another corner, Balgruuf slept on his side, sleeping peacefully. On one corner, Hrongar snored mightily, his great-sword just right under his bed.
Irileth forced herself to calm down, to slow her breathing and her heart. The fire burned still though its flames needed more fuel. She threw open her blankets and slide off to the side. She stood and quickly tossed in more wood to feed the flames. Orange-red light flashed in her eyes as the campfire accepted the offering, filling the tent with its warmth.
She was free, damn it. Her captor was dead, his body rotting under the Cyrodillic sun and torn apart by carrion birds.
But why was she still so afraid?
She glanced down, at her arms and body. Her armor was form-fitting, highlighting her graceful and lithe form. Nightblades such as her needed to be in peak physical shape to do their duties after all. And the ideal type was to be lithe. They struck from the shadows, not announce their presence like a orc. But despite that, Irileth felt anxiety for her body for it was scarred and ugly, the wounds earned from her captivity.
Who would love her, when she was gashed and sliced?
She sighed. She needed some fresh air. Fresh air would always clear her mind.
And so, she found her boots and donned her cloaks. She stole a quick glance at Hrongar and Balgruuf to confirm if they were still sleeping and indeed, they still were. With the coast clear, she left. The campsite they chose offered a dominant view on the roads they had passed. Quickly, she found a seat to support herself and admire the view. Above, the skies were clear of clouds and afforded Irileth a view of Masser and Secunda, the planet's two moons.
"Can't sleep, eh?" came Balgruuf's voice.
With wide eyes, Irileth turned to see Balgruuf poking his head out of the tent flaps. She stood quickly. "Balgruuf? What are you doing still awake?"
"Hrongar," Balgruuf said simply and Irileth quickly understood. Grunting, he glanced at her side. "Care to let me join you?"
"Uh, of course." Irileth muttered. Not a second later, Balgruuf was sitting next to her, the light of the moons and the twinkling of the stars flashing on his eyes. They stayed quiet, merely enjoying the serenity of the night.
"In Skyrim, the highest point is called the Throat of the World. There lies a monastery called High Hrothgar where its monks, the Graybeards, make their homes." Balgruuf explained. "To get there, one must ascend the Thousand Steps. It is tiring work but such is the way of pilgrimage. It is worth it however for once you arrive, you will find a sanctum of total peace. A place where the chaos of the world is away."
His stance was relaxed as he spoke, his legs spread apart as he leaned back on his chair. "This place is not the Throat of the World but it gives a feeling similar to it."
"Have you ever been there?" Irileth asked. Balgruuf shook his head.
"Oh no. I was focused more on building my body and being a rascal than entertaining religion," Balgruuf chuckled. "But I would like to be. A peaceful life, it is tempting."
Irileth tried to imagine Balgruuf living the life of a ascetic.
She giggled at the image.
"What?" Balgruuf asked, smiling.
"I imagine you as one of those Graybeards. It is not an image that suits you," Irileth said, finding her lips curling upwards.
"Pfft. I enjoy wine, food, and power too much. I would make a poor Graybeard." Balgruuf said, shaking his head. "I cannot lie, though. It takes great strength to give up what makes one themselves."
Irileth hummed. Balgruuf was never one to start a conversation unless there was something in for him. And so, she asked. "Is there a point to all these stories, Balgruuf?"
"Yes," replied Balgruuf. He turned from looking at the moons to look at her. His voice turned soft, gentle. "Is there something bothering you, Irileth?"
Her smile faded as she looked away. Her hands gripped the hems of her pants. She sighed, finding no point in hiding her feelings. "Nightmares, Balgruuf. I thought that I would no longer dream of my captivity. I was wrong."
"I see," Balgruuf said, glancing at her from top to bottom. His tone earned a spike of fear in Irileth.
"It will not stop me from being your night-blade, Balgruuf. I swear it," She quickly added.
"I am not worried about that. Your skills are second to none. I am worried about is your well-being," Balgruuf spoke up. His tone was without judgement and ever as gentle as the morning breeze. "You are hurt, Irileth. But that does not make you any less of a woman in my eyes."
He adjusted himself, fully turning his body towards Irileth. "I do not exactly know what sort of pain you are going through. I did not live the horrors you did. But I understand you went through them and you will not be alone in making sense of it." He leaned in, reaching for her hands. He held them up, making eye-contact with her.
"These hands have seen horror. But they see horror no longer," Balgruuf continued. "Your torturer...he sought to make you his. To ruin you and debase you...yes?"
"...Yes." Irileth replied simply.
With as much tenderness he could muster, Balgruuf leaned in and kissed her palms. His hand held her fast, but with grace. His gesture made her feel warm.
Unnaturally so.
"Yet here you stand, surviving. He may have left a mark in your soul but it is still your own. You are still you, scars be damned." Balgruuf continued. "And that is something I do not mind or do not care. I do not care if you have scars, or if you are afraid. I am not looking for a perfect nightblade because, Irileth, you are all I need you to be. Yourself."
He then stood up, planting a soft kiss on her forehead. He leaned back, smiling. "And do not ever forget that, alright?"
Irileth watched as Balgruuf yawned, releasing his grip on her. "I am going back to sleep. Good night, Iri." he declared, retreating back into the folds of his tent. Irileth sat in silence, still feeling the warmth of his lips on her forehead. She glanced down at her arms, her scarred hands.
They were still warm.
The morning would find them eating their leftovers from last night. No use in cooking new batches of food when plenty still remained. They marched, Balgruuf leading the column and Irileth riding by his side, snug under Balgruuf's fur cape.
"Oh," Hrongar groaned. "We are almost home. We are almost to Skyrim."
"And what makes you say that, my lord?" Irileth asked, shivering despite the extra layers of fur.
"You're feeling it, Dunmer. The air, it's getting colder, no?" Hrongar asked, grinning.
Just as Hrongar spoke, the road became less treacherous and the snow-tipped peaks of the Jerall mountains were to be a a distant memory as they climbed a steep road that gave her a good view of the horizon.
It was beautiful.
A land surrounded by mountains, but with green forests and winding rivers. A land of history, tradition, rebirth, and rebellion. Once the home of the Dwemer and long lost Chimer, now dominated by a race of Men whose resolve was strong, whose strength was unwavering. The homeland of the Nords.
Skyrim.
The descent onto Skyrim was gentle and taper-light, as if the very land came alive to bring them welcome. The spirits of Balgruuf and the Nords of his Company rose greatly for in the fires of the Great War, their hearts and souls long to return to their homelands. They missed the icy chill that their bodies felt at their birth. They longed again for Whiterun Hold, to ride their horses freely without worry of attack, to taste once more good mead to warm their bones. To hunt, and sing songs of their fore-fathers and their glories in the battlefield which were money.
Balgruuf himself was called the Elfsbane, a title earned from the slaying of many elves particularly of cruel and spiteful Elf-Lords that brought slaughter to hapless civilians. He did not particularly mind that title and earned it properly from the bodies of soldiers and lords, not from the killing of civilians.
Their caravan pressed on, eager to be home. Among the trails they used, Balgruuf had decided to follow the path that would bypass Falkreath for he was eager to be home. There was not much complaint of this as many of the Nords that went to war with him were from Whiterun itself or living close to it. Some Nords were from the Stag Jarl's domain and left the caravan with the blessings of Balgruuf. There was no emnity there for he would not stop a man from earning his due rest.
Irileth breathed in the free air of Skyrim. The road they travelled was weathered by time but it was not so terrible that she would suffer saddle-sore. Flanking the road and the caravan were trees, oak and pine. They were mighty specimens, kissing the sky as the mountains of Skyrim. Their leaves were brown however for it was autumn in Skyrim and Winter was soon to set in. The songs of birds echoed through the forest canopy, the cries of deer and harts and other fauna joining in here and there.
"Falkreath and Riften to the west have the most beautiful forests, I admit," Balgruuf said wistfully, Felarof's trots under him were happier and livelier, happy to back at home at least. "Whiterun Hold is more plains, as wide as the eye can see. On Dragonsreach, my home, there is a Great Porch rear to the castle where we dined often. The Porch overlooked the Plains and the mountains in the far distance."
Irileth tried to imagine that, of a mighty Nordic fortress built atop a hill, overlooking ever-expanding plains that would just stretch onto the horizon. And surrounded by tall mountains with peaks jutting out into the heavens. It was frankly a magnificent sight, the Nightblade had to admit.
"I was born in Morrowind," Irileth began, recalling memories of her childhood. "My memories of home...I cannot recall much. I lost my family when the Red Year happened. I fled west, towards Cyrodiil when I found a new family there." She smiled bitterly. "The Forrester's Guild."
Forrester's Guild they called their organization. The accurate name for it however was the Morag Tong, a primarily Dunmer run group of cut-throats and murderers. Balgruuf had known of this since they met, Irileth easily confessing to him of her true allegiance when she recovered. If he was concerned about having a Morag Tong aligned Nightblade in his employ, he did not care too much for Irileth had long since left that life, her Guild abandoning her when she had failed.
"I serve them no longer, however." Irileth quickly added. Balgruuf nodded gracefully. "And I will be sure to take good care of you, Irileth."
The caravan passed by a heavy wagon laying by the side of the road, its driver halting the horse that pulled it. He turned around and urged his sleeping passengers with a nod. "Hey, you! You're finally awake," his voice was loud, enough to awaken them and for Irileth's ears to hear. Such was the blessing of mer, to have superior instincts than men. "We've crossed the border. Time to pay up, you and that thief over there."
Irileth shook her head as the other passenger sputtered his protests. The passenger turned over to his friend and cursed him.
"Is this how one gets welcomed to Skyrim?" Irileth asked aloud.
"Pretty much. it is what everyone hears when they open up to Skyrim," Balgruuf said cryptically, hidden meaning in his words. He chuckled suddenly, laughing at a joke that he only knew inside his mind. Sighing, he glanced up. "Well, we shall bypass Helgen, a town close to here, and head North through Riverwood. Then, we shall be at Whiterun."
The clip-clops of the horses continued on as the forest gave way to more bounties of nature. Her ears picked up the sound of rushing water crashing against rock. A waterfall was nearby. But that was not what caught her attention the most. It was there in the distance and on-top a hill stood a mighty structure, it's bones rushing out like the the remains of a felled beast. The aura it gave to Irileth however was not hope or awe but an ill-foreboding feeling.
This, Hrongar chuckled. "First time, eh?" he laughed harshly. "Don't worry, nightblade. That is what Nordic Barrows were designed for."
She turned to him, preening freely on his horse. "To be utterly morbid?" she asked.
The giant Nord grinned mightily, please at the Dunmer's observation. He leaned in, face set, as he began to tell a tale. "Aye. To guard our honored dead from necromancers, to scare foolish adventurers from trying to steal its treasures, and to frighten children children from being foolish adventurers in the first place." He sighed wistfully, his face pleased. "Alas, men become more foolish with age."
"Have you descended into one, sera?" Irileth asked.
Hrongar hummed, rubbing his beard. It had grown significantly now and braided with a green band. "I haven't, no. I haven't had a reason to descend into one. I have fought some draugr here and there. Usually creatures which have wandered far from their burial."
Draugr, Irileth remembered, were reanimated Nordic warriors that wandered barrows and burial grounds. They were often temperamental and violent creatures that would attack anyone they would come across. "Hold on," Irileth paused her thoughts to ask. "If your people were so against the idea of your dead being used by necromancers then why do draugr exist?"
Hrongar's expression changed from preening to utter seriousness. He sent his brother a look. A sign for Balgruuf to explain the story himself. "Draugr are ancient, back into a time when the Nords worshipped dragons. For their treachery, their bodies were cursed with undeath."
"Nords used to worship dragons?" Irileth asked aloud. She hadn't read about this in her studies of monsters. Though, it seemed a detail that was unimportant. For assassins in the Morag Tong, lore was unimportant. Details on fighting monsters were.
"Aye. Revered them," Balgruuf said. "When the dragons still flew in Skyrim, the ancient Nords worshipped them for our forefather's were awed by their power. Through the Priests, men the Dragons granted some power with, we were their slaves. The Priests grew too tyrannical however and there was only so much abuse my people could take."
"So we rebelled!" Hrongar announced with a proud clap.
"Rebelled and died by the thousands," Balgruuf regaled, remembering the stories told to him in his youth. "Our ancestors were brave but there was only so much bravery when faced against the Dragons. It was only when blessed Kynareth granted us the power of Dragons did we manage to win."
This, Irileth knew. Dunmer knew their lore, of their ancestors contending against the war-like Nords and their powerful tonal magic, the Thu'um. Or as it was commonly called, "The Voice," Irileth mused. "Magic so powerful that it made the ancient Dunmer ally with our enemy, the Dwemer, just to defeat the Nords."
"Looks like there is a brain inside your skull after all," Hrongar mused. "We shall make a good Nord out of you yet!"
There was great deal of distance to be travelled, Irileth realized, as they made camp at nightfall. The village Balgruuf spoke of was very small, the only notable structure to speak of being the woodmill established by the river. The village was a far-cry from the urban like dwellings of Cyrodiil. Built in the Nordic fashion, the dwellings had a base of rock with a thatched roof that kept the elements out and the interior warmth in. The village folk welcomed them easy enough. Balgruuf was going to rule over them soon and it was important to make sure their relationship with the next Jarl was solid. And the gifts of gold that Balgruuf gave them were sure to warm their welcome more.
Of course, the dwellings were not big enough to house everyone and so, most of the men had to pitch tents both in and out of the hamlet. The house they shacked in belonged to the millers who were gracious to surrender their home for Balgruuf to sleep in. Balgruuf refused at first for he did not want his future vassals to be kicked out of their own home. The millers however insisted and told him that they would sleep in the home of their neighbor, the local blacksmith.
Balgruuf watched with amusement as a pair of youths were presented before him. The first was the typical Nord, blonde haired and blue-eyed. The other one had brown hair and green eyes. "Go on, introduce yourselves," one of the millers said gently. Gerdur, her name was.
The youths were clearly trying their best not to stumble on themselves and their words. The blonde came first, braver than his fellow youth. "I am R-Ralof, m-my lord. W-welcome to Riverwood." he attempted, trying his best not to stare at Balgruuf.. For his part, he smiled graciously at him then turned to the other youth who finally find his courage from his friend.
"Hadvar, of Riverwood," he squeaked, uncaring of the chuckles that broke around.
"Well met, Ralof and Hadvar," Balgruuf greeted them with a nod. "I hope you do not mind if we stay here for a night? We have travelled long and are tired. By tomorrow, we will be off." The answer was yes already, it being being negotiated between the millers and Balgruuf but still, the blonde Lord wanted to be closer to his people and no better way than to appeal to the youth.
"O-of course!" Hadvar stumbled, horrified that the next Jarl would even stoop so low as to ask his permission. Ralof added with wide eyes. "Stay for as long as you want!"
"I would love to stay, little warriors. But I must return to Whiterun and not too soon," Balgruuf confessed, a certain unhappiness in his face. This the two youths saw. "You are sad, my lord?" Hadvar asked.
"Aye. There is much for me to do, much for me to improve upon," Balgruuf said. He glanced towards Gerdur and Hod, her husband. "For one, Riverwood does not even have a guard."
"The village is too small to deserve guards, my lord," Gerdur quickly added.
"Too small. For now," Balgruuf smiled cryptically.
And so they wined and dined on the best that Riverwood had to offer. It was a simply meal. Another soup made with potatoes and cabbages alongside salted fish caught from the River. Balgruuf made sure to eat his fill as a complement to Gerdur and Hod. The boys, Ralof and Hadvar, offered to sing and dance for Balgruuf. An offer he accepted. And so they did, Hadvar plucking away at a string as Ralof sang,
"There once was a hero named Ragnar the Red,
who came riding to Whiterun from ole Rorikstead!
And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade,
as he told of bold battles and gold he had made!
But then he went quiet, did Ragnar the Red,
when he met the shieldmaiden Matilda who said...
Oh, you talk and you lie and you drink all our mead!
Now I think it's high time that you lie down and bleed!
And so then came the clashing and slashing of steel,
as the brave lass Matilda charged in full of zeal!
And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no moooooree...
when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"
As Ralof finished singing, Balgruuf made sure to smile and clap though Hrongar did it the hardest, a tear in his eye. To Irileth however, it sounded morbid. Nords, always so caught up with bloody songs and songs of blood. Did they not spend a single second without thinking about their swords or honor?
"Bravo, bravo!" Balgruuf praised as Ralof and Hadvar bowed. His expression was the very definition of pleased. "You sing well, Ralof. And Hadvar, you play the lute with great talent. You would make fine bards"
"Thank you, my lord, but..." Hadvar trailed.
"We would like to be soldiers instead of bards," Ralof finished, boldly speaking from the praise Balgruuf had given them. "I hope we aren't too bold, my lord, that we would like to join you."
For a moment, there was a flash in Balgruuf's eye. It was something that Hrongar and Irileth spotted, so obviously close to Balgruuf. It was pain, they realized. It vanished quickly as Balgruuf leaned back and hummed. "Would it be too much, kinsmen, if I ask you to play another song?"
"Of course, my lord! Any!" Ralof started with utter excitement., Hadvar quickly prepared his lute, ready to pull at them.
"The Dragonborn Comes," Balgruuf requested. Ralof and Hadvar's eyes widened at the request but they nevertheless played. Irileth watched with interest as Hadvar plucked the strings, playing a tune of softness. Unlike the gauche and lively Ragnar the Red, this song was nobler, hopeful. And sacred. As Hadvar reached a particular crescendo, Ralof sang softly.
"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.
With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art.
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.
It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.
You'll know, You'll know the Dragonborn's come."
The song ended on a moment of calm. It was only it was over that Irileth found herself feeling lifted. She longed to adventure out into Skyrim and delve deep into its nooks and crannies. She felt in her heart to fight monsters and bandits and the evils of the world, to climb the Thousand Steps Balgruuf told her about, and to drink mead and sing songs of battle.
She paused her un-Dunmer like thoughts. No wonder the Nords were so proud of their culture. it quite literally made one want to be a barbarian.
Balgruuf had closed his eyes, listening closely to the song Ralof and Hadvar played for him. He finally opened his eyes, looking at both of them. "You play very well, kinsmen." he praised them. "But now, you two are still yet too young for the soldier's life. When you are all older and if your guardians permit, I will allow you to join my army. Until then, train and eat aplenty to become strong. And do not neglect your education and your friendship with each other."
Irileth realized that Balgruuf was giving them advice. But to the youths, it might as well be a order and a quest. They stood up, nodding with steadfast sincerity. "We will, my lord!" Ralof promised.
"We will be your best warriors, we promise!" Hadvar swore.
"Alright, little warriors. You have stayed awake for too long. Time for bed. You heard what our lord said. You must become strong." Gerdur announced, to the disappointment of the boys.
"Fine songs. Fine boys," Irileth would later remark as the millers retreated. Irleth elected to sit on a chair by the door of the mill. Hrongar had fallen fast asleep on his own bed while Balgruuf lied on a finely-crafted bed. She turned her attention from Hrongar however back to Balgruuf. "You had a look of pain in your eyes, earlier. What was that about?" she asked.
With exhausted eyes, Balgruuf glanced up at the roof.. "It would seem that news of the Concordat has yet to reach this place. Once it does, it will breed resentment and tension. Loyalties will be torn between those who love the Empire more and those who hold tradition sacred. From there, civil war."
A Skyrim Civil War. That was not a pleasant thought. "Unpleasant and wasteful," Irileth said simply, crossing her legs on her chair.
"Aye," Balgruuf nodded as he sat up, sitting on the bed. He looked a look with Irileth, his face contemplative. "How likely do you think that the Dominion is plotting to destabilize the Empire just as we are speaking at the moment?"
Irileth thought of it. The Morag Tong knew how much the Thalmor relied on intrigue and subterfuge. Through their agents, Valenwood and Elsweyr opened itself up for annexation. They also famously found every single agent of the Blades that was in their homeland, depositing their heads to the court of the Emperor five years ago. "It is likely. They often plot and scheme to achieve their goals."
Balgruuf leaned back on his bed. "I am willing to bet my life's savings that the Thalmor knew what they were doing when they had the Empire ban Talos worship. They knew it would anger my people and drive a wedge in Imperial-Nordic relations. Skyrim had always provided the Empire with soldiers. By causing a civil war, it would ruin Skyrim and deprive the Empire of resources." His fists tightened. "They could not hurt Skyrim during the war, it being too far for them to reach. And so they resort to skull-drudgery."
"But you will stop this? Stop them?" Irileth asked. Balgruuf nodded resolutely. "I must. For if Civil War starts, something worse than the Elves will come."
"Worse? What is worse?" Irileth asked. And so Balgruuf told her, of the Dragonborn.
And Alduin.
A/N: Once more bringing Skyrim to the masses as our Lord Todd Howard intended.
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