The return to Dragonsreach was done without particular fanfare. The high of their Jarling returning had now settled onto a certain familiarity. There was due respect of course, the salutes and the parting of ways to let him and his party pass but nevertheless, life was due to return to normalcy. Well, what normal that could be captured. By now, news of the Concordat had been spread by returning soldiers. If there was any discontent, it was kept remarkably reserved. The people merely went along their way, as if the Concordat wasn't particularly world changing.
"Take the prisoner to the cells," Balgruuf ordered his riders. "If she so much tries to use a spell, stuff her full of arrows."
"Yes, my lord," his riders nodded, taking the Altmer away. She looked remarkably unconcerned about the whole affair. It seemed she was going to make do with her promise of behaving, wanting to live for as long as she could. Irileth could sympathize with that desire. Who wanted to die anyway? As she was dragged away, Balgruuf turned to Irileth, his face grave.
"I have been thinking," Balgruuf muttered.
"I am surprised you can," Irileth deadpanned, crossing her arms.
Her lord and master rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I have been thinking about threats, and how easy it is for people like that Altmer to set up shop. We need better security, clearly. We shall start with Dragonsreach. Hence, Irileth, I am taking you with me to explore the castle." He declared with utter surety.
Irileth's stomach growled in protest. Her head still pounded from her hangover. Today was supposed to be an easy day. "...Can we eat breakfast first? I'm starving, my lord."
The Jarling clicked his tongue. "Breakfast, then. Afterwards we are going exploring."
And thus, they marched off to raid the kitchens. The staff there were more than happy to feed them. Compared to the food at Cyrodiil, the fare was simple. It was however hearty and to the hungover Dark Elf, a hearty meal was what her stomach and mind needed. She ate her fill, ignoring the judging looks the kitchen staff sent her way as she devoured bread, eggs, and sausages at a fine pace. As far as she was concerned, she was paying respect to the Nordic way of dining, that is eating like a unrestrained beast.
She was hungry and her head pounded. She had an excuse.
Sufficiently satisfied, she pushed her plate away and turned to Balgruuf. "Ready," she declared, her mood slightly lifted now.
"You know, you didn't have to chew your food so violently. No one's taking your bread away, Irileth. Don't worry," Balgruuf said, eyeing her empty plate.
"You never know that. A hidden thief might steal your food as a emergency snack," Irileth said seriously.
"You're paranoid," Balgruuf said, amusement flickering in his eyes. The Dunmer however shrugged her shoulders.
"It was a Khaljit," she motioned and Balgruuf immediately understood her words.
"Well let's make sure this castle is secure enough that a Khaljit would struggle trying to enter," the Jarling declared as he stood up. Irileth followed immediately, wondering where his desire to see the basement came from but she served him long enough to know not to question it when he had his fits of fancy. It was a pttern she had gotten used to in her service and the less she tried to question the erratic but harmless choices he made, the better it was for her sanity.
It wasn't as if they were going anywhere particularly dangerous anyway. What were they going to find in the basement other than dust, cobwebs, and nothing?
"Aha, found it!" Balgruuf cackled with glee. They had been wandering the underdark of Dragonsreach for a while, cutting through dust, cobwebs, and nothing just as Irileth expected. She held a torch to offer them light, the underdark not particularly well-lit. Balgruuf passed through the halls and paths easily. It made sense to Irileth since he did grow up in the castle. His eyes though, it spoke of him searching for something.
And found it they did.
They rounded into a corner and found what looked to be a simple oak door. It's hinges had long since rusted away and the wood looked ready to rot. The only interesting tidbit about it was the single paper nailed against it. The paper was damp and musky, a sign of its age. Balgruuf knelt to inspect it, reading the script. "Do not enter. There is only death and darkness inside. Leave, turn back, and forget this place." he read aloud.
It was also then Irileth heard a voice whisper in her head. "He is only using you, child. Trust not this Nord."
Irileth quickly turned around in a flash, her eyes narrowed as she scanned the area. Her action did not go unnoticed as Balgruuf looked over his shoulder, a questioning look on his face. "Are you alright?"
"A voice spoke in my head," Irileth reported, still looking around. She lifted a finger and cast Detect Life. If someone was down here with them, she would see whichever fool thought it was wise to lurk in the dark. She found nothing however. It was only her and Balgruuf.
"There is no life here. Only death, darkness, and me," the voice whispered tenderly, as gentle as a mother would in comforting their offspring.
"What is this voice? Who is this voice?" Balgruuf asked, all humor in his face gone. He was treating this seriously and with dignity, not calling her a madwoman for hearing voices in her head. Irileth replied quickly.
"It is a woman's voice. I do not know her," Irileth responded, her fingers still wrapped around the hilt of her sabre. Then, Irileth felt something enter her mind. It was a foreign, violent invasion of her inner thoughts. As if something was poking at her mind yet she could not perceive it being done. Mephala was here...or at least a portion of her.
"But you do, Morag Tong. You, your people, you know me. One in three, the one who taught you how to murder and murder, righteously," the voice ended with a sweet hiss. Immediately, Irileth understood. An image of webs flashed in her mind, spiders chittering and chattering in the shadows. The smile of loved ones in the light, the glint of a steel dagger in the dark. Betrayal, murder, sex.
"Mephala...Lady of Whispers," Irileth whispered, her eyes widening in recognition. At that, Balgruuf's gaze hardened.
"Talos above," he swore. Then, his eyes widened as Mephala too began to speak to him, her voice a sultry and low gasp that tugged at his heart and his loins. Her voice was seduction incarnate, temptation made heard.
"Talos will not save you. Talos will not rescue you. You and your precious Empire, it has abandoned him. And he in turn has abandoned them...and you," Mephala cackled. "Dutiful mortal, I know of your designs. I can help you. Undo the seals of this door and take up my blade. And you will be powerful."
Balgruuf was only human. His body burned with desire the more Mephala spoke to him. However, he was also stubborn. And spiteful. "I have seen how you treat your followers. I am not interested," he spat, glancing around the dark.
Mephala however laughed, making herself heard both now to Irileth and Balgruuf. "My wayward child has so little faith in me! I am the Lady of Whispers, I do not march into castles to break them down. I tug, and pull, and whisper. It was thanks to my plots that she was rescued by you."
Irileth narrowed her eyes. "You did not save me. Balgruuf did. Your plots did not stop the whip from tearing my flesh. Your schemes did not stop the violation done to me." she hissed. "I obeyed your tenets. I fulfilled my oaths. I do those no more."
"Oh, my sweet child. Do you truly think so?" Mephala asked, amused. "Every plot you make, it has my blessing. Every murder you plan, my guidance. The knowledge you use to kill, to scheme, it all came from me. You may stop worshipping me, you may curse my name. But no matter what you do, I shall always be there with you."
Irileth had enough. She turned to Balgruuf, her eyes flashing with anger. "Let us get out of here, my lord. I have heard enough."
"Not before we rid of whatever's inside," Balgruuf muttered as he turned around and took out his sword. "I should have brought an axe for this," he muttered again as he raised his sword to hack and slash at the door.
Irileth however walked up, holding her hand out against his chest. "Or I can lockpick it," she deadpanned. Balgruuf pursed his lips before stepping aside. The Dunmer did so, examining the keyhole. Producing a lockpick, she quietly went to work in getting the door open. To her dismay, her lockpick broke.
"Again," Balgruuf said gently and with that, Irileth attempted once more to open it with a fresh lockpick. And again, it snapped. From the shadows, Mephala tittered.
Irileth's blood threatened to boil over.
"The doors are sealed by a strong ward, child. You cannot open this without the original key. A key that is in possession of the Jarl," Mephala revealed. "Even then, what do you and your Nord plan to do once this door is opened? Burn whatever is inside? His ancestor tried with that quaint forge. It did not work. Use it instead. Take it in my name, sow murder. Plot the downfall of your enemies. In this, we can be allies."
"If what Mephala says is true then we need your father in this, my lord." Irileth said, dusting herself off as she stood up. Balgruuf instead turned to the door, his face visibly pondering on something. After a moment's thought, he frowned.
"I need to think on what to do about this damn thing. Now that I know a bloody daedric artifact is under here, I cannot just let it stay there and influence people." Balgruuf said. "Considering we are dealing with Lady Mephala here, the Daedric Prince of Murder and Betrayal, this is a danger to myself and to my family. Praise the Divines that the wards are still holding up at least. I do not recall hearing voices even when I was younger."
"Holding...for now," Mephala tittered sweetly before finally, she and Balgruuf felt her presence vanish. The Jarling growled in dismay.
"Fucking Daedra," he swore. "Now we have to figure out what in Oblivion should we do about this. Come, we need to think."
Jarl Heorot's morning could never have been better. His Hold was good and prosperous, the roads were relatively safe and secure, his family was whole again with his boys finally back after five years of war and Skyrim was out of the chaos in the south. There was food aplenty to eat, mead and ale to drink, and music to listen and enjoy. The skies were ever blue and his lands rich with game to hunt, hostile creatures to fight, and women to bed. Not that he would actually do the latter anymore or his wife would have both of his heads, the one on his shoulders and the one between his legs.
All in all, what more could a man want?
And thus, he was munching on a wonderful breakfast on the Great Porch with his Housecarl Wiglaf standing watch behind him, his wife had decided to take a walk in the markets with Hrongar and Freydis. He was happily eating away an oatmeal filled with berries and nuts when the other of his aforementioned boys marched up, his Dunmer night-blade in tow. Heorot could sense her and his own housecarl exchanging a glance. Hers was glaring, his was amused. He set aside his spoon and smiled as Balgruuf came close.
"Ah, Balgruuf! Have you eaten breakfast yet? Come and join me," the Jarl greeted his boy. His smile faltered slightly when he saw the expression on his firstborn's face. Balgruuf, he had a look of concern on him. "What's wrong?" he promptly asked, getting down to the meat of it. From behind, Wiglaf and Irileth shared steely looks with each other.
Balgruuf replied quickly. "Father, I found something in the basement. The one with the seals. Do you know what I am talking about?"
Immediately, Heorot's expression fell. His mind thought of a long dark hallway and a quaint door at the end that reeked of malice and spite.
"...Yes, I know what you are talking about." the Jarl said, taking a breath. "Mind telling me how and why you found it?"
"I thought about exploring Dragonsreach to find security flaws and I began with the basement," Balgruuf replied with a tone that suggested it was normal to take walks in dark hallways. "That's how Irileth and I found the door. Now, we know what lies behind that. Father, why is it still there?"
"We couldn't get rid of it," Heorot said bluntly. "We tried. Fire, tossed it into the sea, flattened it, tried to break it...the list goes on and on. It simply came back. So, the next best thing we could think of was just sealing it in the deep and dark."
"It needs to be out of Whiterun, Father. We cannot just let that thing stay under us for too long," Balgruuf asserted, walking over to his father's table and sitting next to him. He leaned in, eyes glittering with haste.
"You know who exactly is under there. The longer that it stays there, the more I am confident it will somehow find a way to slip through the cracks and affect anyone of us. It needs to go."
"As I said, we tried everything. It did not work," Jarl Heorot said bluntly.
"Not even banishing it back into Oblivion?" Balgruuf tried. His expression faltered as his father shook his head.
"We tried that too. Imagine our surprise when the damned thing appeared in the same place a day later," Heorot sighed.
"We need a mage," Balgruuf said, palming his face. He looked up and turned towards Irileth. "Irri, can you go downstairs and fetch the Court Mage for us?" Irileth nodded and turned on her heels, having received a quest from her lord. As she walked away, Balgruuf could feel his father's eyes boring onto him.
"You are fond of her," Heorot said simply. His tone suggested more. Balgruuf wheeled back and nodded.
"Aye," he said simply.
"You realize you will have to take a wife someday. Your fondness will have to end," Heorot said. Balgruuf's expression morphed briefly into anger before he schooled himself.
"I shall have to go without wife then," he shrugged. Heorot frowned at his son's seeming nonchalance.
"You are my firstborn. Whiterun and everything in it will be yours. You must wed, sooner or later. And from that, you must have an heir," Heorot said seriously, his easy-going aura gone. In this moment, he was no longer the air-headed and joy loving drinker. He was now the Jarl. Balgruuf met his gaze unflinchingly.
"I already have an heir," Balgruuf bit back, his eyes glowing with fire. "And he too already has a child. Our family is secure, Father."
"Balgruuf. The people will accept it better in knowing the firstborn has a child, not the second one. Hrongar is a mighty warrior but you and I know that he is too hot-headed, too warlike." Heorot said, his voice one of counselling. "Being war-like is natural to our people. But there is a limit to it. Whiterun cannot have a berserker lead it. You know it as well as I do."
Balgruuf's clicked his tongue in annoyance. Yet he understood his father was telling the truth. He had fought with Hrongar for five years. That was more than enough time to know his brother would be too passionate to be an effective Jarl. Passion was well and good, he himself flirted with it. There was such a thing as having too much of it however, and if Hrongar had his way which Balgruuf knew would happen, rasher decisions would be made that would affect the Hold negatively. He leaned back.
"I'll just marry her instead," he offered. "If that is what you are so concerned about."
"And what advantage will that give for Whiterun?" Heorot quizzed him. "What lands and titles does she have? Will Whiterun gain allies? Boons?"
"I love her," Balgruuf said firmly.
Jarl Heorot sighed as he regarded his firstborn. It was clear enough that Balgruuf would not budge on this. He understood that the bond his son and the Dunmer shared was forged through war. Fighting together established a unique bond that not many would understand. It made something stronger than steel, enduring longer than the best armor. He scratched the underside of his beard as he looked into Balgruuf's eyes and saw nothing but determination. He had one final question to ask. "And what about your duty, Balgruuf? What about your duty to the Hold?"
"I see no reason why I cannot mix duty with love," Balgruuf scoffed. He leaned in, his hands on the table. "Raising my Housecarl as my wife is not unheard of, father. In time, Irileth will prove her worth to our people and she will be accepted as one of our own. That is our way of things. Eventually, they will accept that."
"And what of our peers? The merchants of the Plains District? The Thanes and nobles of the Wind District? Do you think they will accept a foreign Dunmer over their daughters or sisters?" Heorot asked. He and Wealhtheow had already received interesting offers from the best families in Whiterun. Some of the offers were already noted with great interest.
"They'll have to just cope and seethe, then," Balgruuf said dismissively. "Irileth can do things they can't. And I will not accept having a grocer sit beside me or a scheming Thane. I will not be beholden to a wife whose family will no doubt ask me to watch over their business or political interests."
"Your own mother is from such a family, Balgruuf." Heorot said, his voice having a bit of warning in them.
"I did not mean to disrespect mother, my lord," Balgruuf raised his hands placatingly. "We both know though that her blood transcends that of the grocers and the petty-nobles of our city."
"And you would impart such blood to, in the eyes of our nobility, a nobody." Heorot said. As soon as he finished his sentence, Balgruuf's face darkened.
"A nobody?" Balgruuf scoffed. "She was the one that had my back when we were bleeding and sweating in Cyrodiil. She was the one that fought at my side from the worst times of the war to the victory at the Red Ring. She is Irileth, she is not a nobody. If they cannot accept my choice of lover and if demanded, wife, then they can take their preening and shove it up their-"
It was then that footsteps echoed against wood. Irileth had returned with a man at her side. He looked old but he had meticulously kept good care of himself. His shoulder-length hair was gray and around his right eye, which was covered by a eyepatch, were runic tattoos of some type. He was clad head to toe in olive and brown robes that reeked of magicka, the hood of the robes lowered.
"The Court Mage," Irileth introduced.
"Ah, Seiðr," Jarl Heorot greeted the Court Mage.
The mage bent his head slightly in obeisance. "You called, my lord?" he spoke, his voice a rumble. The Jarl nodded.
"Aye, my adventurer of a son is in need of your skills," said Heorot. Balgruuf leaned back on his chair, lounging freely as he offered the Court Mage a smile.
"There you are, you old dog! Where were you? I did not see you at the feast. Don't tell me you don't miss me?" said Balgruuf. The mage offered him an apologetic look.
"I am sorry, my lord. I was busy conducting an experiment," Seiðr said.
"An experiment? What kind?" Balgruuf asked, raising an eyebrow.
"I am obligated to your father not to reveal it, my lord. It was a task he had asked me to do," Seiðr said apologetically yet again. Balgruuf shrugged, not really interested in the meticulous workings of mages. Seiðr then continued. "Now, you had in need of me, my lord?"
Balgruuf nodded. "Aye. I know of that thing that sits in the basement." At that, the mage's expression shifted from polite disinterest to alarm. Balgruuf continued to speak. "I am not keen to have such a thing under there any longer. Do you have any ideas on how to get rid of the damn thing?"
"That thing, my lord, is the Ebony Blade. And the blade is not something so easily discarded," the Court Mage revealed, earning a look of recognition in Irileth.
"So that is what actually lies behind the door," Irileth trailed musingly. "I had ideas on what could be behind it. I did not expect it to be the actual blade."
Seiðr turned to Irileth. "You know of the Blade?"
Irileth nodded. She paused for a moment to think on how best to explain herself. She settled on a modified truth. "My training included an education. I know that the Blade is ancient and powerful. But it will corrupt those who will wield it. It cannot be used."
"At risk to myself, its actual power now is weak. It has not tasted treachery in awhile, locked underground as it is. It can only whisper." Seiðr revealed. "However, a whisper is more than enough for treachery and dark thoughts to start."
"Which is why that needs to go. It is unwanted and unneeded. Question is, how?" Balgruuf said.
"Those before me have tried to banish it, it simply appeared again." Seiðr said. "Daedric artifacts can only be removed if its owner deigned it to be removed. Its continuous re-appearance in the basement suggests that the Lady of Whispers has a web here and only time will tell what her interest is."
"So we can't fucking get rid of it?" Balgruuf said with a tick, annoyance in his voice.
"A suggestion, my lord. If we can piece together what sort of desire the Lady of Whispers has and fulfill it, perhaps we could get rid of it that way." Seiðr suggested. It however earned a look of ire from Balgruuf.
"I am not having anyone of us here do something sordid and please a Daedric Prince of all people," Balgruuf trailed. He turned to Irileth, his eyes shining as an idea popped into his head. "Irileth, out of all the people here, you are more than capable of dealing with such a thing. You know people. Would these people be interested in such an artifact?"
Irileth lips quivered in displeasure. She had already sworn off doing anything even related to her past. The last thing she wanted to do was to send them word of her whereabouts and let them know she was alive. But if this meant getting rid of the Blade, she was willing to put up with it. Better that than letting it stay under their feet and influence weaker minds. She answered after a moment's thought. "They would be, my lord. Though I am not aware of any such contacts here in Skyrim."
"And by people...I can only think of one group who would be interested in a artifact of Mephala," Wiglaf spoke, silent as he was most of the time. He levelled a look towards Irileth. "Were you one of them, nightblade?"
"No longer. My allegiance is with Balgruuf now." Irileth said firmly, meeting the Housecarl's gaze and not backing down. "I fought with him for five years, Housecarl. My loyalty is more than earned."
Wiglaf hummed at that and let the matter rest. Irileth was savvy enough to detect a hint of mistrust from the housecarl. 'We are watching you' was left unsaid.
"In all of Skyrim, there are two places where such people could be found. Windhelm or in Solstheim though it is no longer part of Skyrim," Jarl Heorot said, rubbing his beard once more.
"Speaking of parts of Skyrim, father," Balgruuf spoke up. "Do you know where the Jarl of Markarth is?"
"Last I heard, he had been travelling all over Skyrim trying to raise support to reclaim his home." Jarl Heorot muttered as he racked his memory. "He had visited here a week ago but I said no."
"And where did he go next?" Balgruuf asked.
The Jarl paused to consider. After a moment, he answered. "Windhelm," said Heorot.
There was much ground for them to cover. Balgruuf wished to get to the Jarl of Markarth before the Jarl of Windhelm did for in his words, "It will create a devastating and catastrophic course of events that will screw us all." And Irileth, ever dutiful, went along for the ride. But it was not just her, however. For as they were riding out, Balgruuf, Irileth, and their party of riders chanced along his brother, his wife, and their mother ascending the steps towards Dragonsreach. Hrongar hailed his brother on where they were going and Balgruuf promptly yelled out Windhelm, to the east. Hrongar immediately wished to go with his brother for he always welcomed a chance to see more of Skyrim but Freydis simply placed a hand on his shoulder, smiled, and told him no.
The matter was settled thusly and so, they left Whiterun swiftly with a small company of loyal riders. "When we arrive, we shall be staying at the Candlehearth Inn. Irileth, you go make your inquiries for your people while I go and try to secure a talk with the Jarl of Markarth," Balgruuf ordered. Irileth nodded, glancing briefly at the Ebony Blade hanging securely on her horses's pack. It was secured with wrapping as well as numerous charms and wards that kept it hidden and safe. If unwelcome hands would try to touch the thing, they would find themselves with far less fingers. As they went on, Irileth thought about how to contact her Guild. When Red Mountain erupted, the Morag Tong flew in all corners of the wind. Trying to find a safehouse would not be too hard for her, if she knew where to look.
And so, they continued. Their journey went without issue. The roads were returning to normalcy and finding caravans of merchants plying the roads wasn't uncommon. Their path was easier when the obvious Whiterun colors they wore marked them as VIPs and not many were going to stop a noble and his retinue, unless they were bandits.
In Skyrim's interior, both local lords and the Empire had established mighty bulwarks and fortifications to provide a presence for their soldiers, offer security to the land, and hold important strategic positions. Such was their speed that the party chanced upon one such bulwark, the Valtheim Towers. These towers were built in the First Age by the ancient Nords to watch the lands east of the White River. A great bridge connected the towers together with the White River and a roaring waterfall below. On the towertop, twin banners of Whiterun flew proudly. As the party neared, Irileth spotted men on the walkways and the towers, careful eyes watching the road. Activity on the towers increased when they themselves were spotted in the distance. From the base of the towers, a trio of men stepped out onto the road. When they neared, the men stood at attention.
"Hail, my lord!" the lead man shouted, his armor sturdier and richer than his fellows. Balgruuf halted Felaróf and loomed down at the man.
"Hail, Kinsman," Balgruuf greeted him neutrally. "What news from the East?"
"Eastmarch is quiet, my lord. Caravans come and go safely enough. There are rumblings of bandits on the road however, by way of Fort Amol." reported the guard.
Balgruuf raised an eye at that news. "Bandits have taken over Fort Amol?" He asked with bemusement. The guard nodded.
"Aye. some alliance of mages and common thugs," spat the guard. He did not approve of such people, bandits and mages alike.
"If I remember correctly, there was an Imperial Prison nearby though I doubt the guards have fighting bandits as part of their duties," the Jarling rumbled.
"Neither is it ours, my lord. I doubt the Jarl of Windhelm would appreciate it if we crossed into his borders to deal with them," the guard said, a slither of disappointment in his voice. Balgruuf nodded.
"Neither would my father appreciate his troops crossing over without orders," he said with approval. "Keep to your post, happy guardsman." Balgruuf ended with a salute.
"I would be a lot warmer and a lot happier with my belly full of mead, my lord," the guardsman replied cheekily, a chest salute in the Nordic fashion as he stepped back to let the party continue on. And they did so, quietly save for the snorting of the horses. Irileth watched Balgruuf and saw that he was contemplating something. She knew his looks when he was considering an idea. She trotted alongside him, her lips curled.
"I assume you are thinking about storming a fort and killing those bandits?" Irileth asked. A look of mock scandal came upon Balgruuf.
"That would be a violation of the business of other Jarls, Irileth!" Balgruuf said with a gasp. He then snorted, shaking his head as he continued. "If we acted as adventurers then we could go. Alas, we are obviously dressed in the colors of Whiterun. Besides, our business is in the city and not solving every single issue we come across."
Irileth cocked her head. "I'm surprised. I thought you would jump at the chance to crack bandit skulls, my lord."
Balgruuf laughed merrily. "Of course, if we do get attacked then we are in full rights to send them to Oblivion, where they belong." He then leaned in, patting Felarof's head as he sighed. "I hope we get attacked. I hate bandits."
"Only a Nord would ever wish that," Irileth sighed, gripping the reigns to her horse.
"Any good men and women who enjoy orderly roads would wish that!" Balgruuf said sagely.
And thus they continued on, the road had become hilly and winding down a slope. To their right, ever-expanding forest. To the left, the White River bubbling and foaming from the waterfall rocks. And to the distance, a view towards Eastmarch. From where they were, Irileth enjoyed a scene that ought to be captured in a painting. She could see geysers bubbling amidst pools of water, snow-capped hills and mountains, as well as Windhelm itself. The city was a shadow on ice, a monument to mankind's tenacity in the face of those trying to kill it.
"Enjoying the view, eh?" Balgruuf hummed.
"Tamriel is beautiful, I am not ashamed to admit it," Irileth said neutrally. "This ought to be captured by a painter."
"Who knows? Perhaps in the future, we could have devices that would allow us to capture moments of pure beauty and immortalize it there," Balgruuf said with a shrug. Irileth scoffed at that.
Eventually, their road became flatter as their descent finished. Her ears twitched as she registered the song of birds, the cries of deer, and the bubbling of the White River to their side. Irileth took the moment to take in a breath of air. She sighed wistfully, enjoying the pureness of it. Here was just nature. No smoke, no war, no blood. Just untouched and untapped beauty. Oh, she did not have the senses of the Bosmer, the more nature-attuned elves, but that did not mean she couldn't appreciate what was around her.
"I can see why you Nords love Skyrim so much," Irileth remarked, looking to the side.
A chorus of ayes broke all around.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" Balgruuf nodded, speaking for the party. He glanced over to her, humming. "I don't imagine Morrowind has such a view."
"Morrowind has trees and rivers too, my lord. Well...had rivers and trees. Most of the province is under ash by now," Irileth sighed. She could still remember bits and pieces of her childhood there. A loving family, friends. All gone however when the Red Year happened and she was forced to strike out for herself. Balgruuf offered her an empathetic look. A look that Irileth rejected as she shook her head. "Do not offer me pity or soft words, my lord. I have long accepted what has happened. I do not even think I will see anyone I know from there ever again. Let us continue on with our mission."
And with that, she ended discussion on that, content in simply glancing across. And just as she looked, they chanced upon a bridge. And in the distance, she could see the outlines of a fortification. That was the Fort Amol Balgruuf and the guard was discussing about.
And it was on fire. Forts normally aren't aflame.
Balgruuf and the other riders caught sight of what Irileth was staring at not a second later, their reflexes slower than the Dunmer's.
"Looks like the fort is being attacked," Balgruuf said aloud. He glanced over at his men. "Anyone of you interested in helping out?"
The Nords of his company said nothing. They merely donned their helmets and unsheathed their blades. Balgruuf grinned, taking out his own. "Well then! Let's get to it!" He roared as he spurred Felaróf forward. "Onward, Men of Whiterun! Ruin to our enemies!" And thus they sped off, the hooves of their horses thundering against stone towards the smoke of Fort Amol, towards the sound of blood-letting and battlecries, and billowing blue banners.
A/N: Taken from my QQ account
If ya likey and for faster updates, please consider supporting me on : pastah_farian