Black stone, dark wood, and living tradition. There was no better way to describe Windhelm but as the beating cultural heart of Skyrim. If the capital Solitude represented its Imperial present then Windhelm was its far-reaching past. Its walls, its houses screamed Nordic with their corner-posts and frameworks of timber with wall planks standing on sills. A great bridge led to and from the city, the White River underneath it. As their horses and men crossed it, Balgruuf could see Windhelm's port at the bottom of the bridge where longships, knarrs, and other trading ships were rolling up onto snow-covered quays. Trade was returning. A good sign for both Lord and Merchant. They then passed under the shadow of Windhelm's gates, mighty blackwood portals with wood engravings of old Nordic heroes and symbols. Above, the banner of the Hold fluttered in the chilly wind. The guards quickly let them in, the gate opening with a slight tremble.
The streets of Windhelm were busy. Snow-capped streets were trodden upon by the common citizen and travelers. Despite its strong Nordic spirit, Windhelm was still a major hold and it was not uncommon to find other races of Men walking around its streets. They were wide and clearly planned but certain narrow alleys kept moving in them difficult. To stave off the frost, large communal fires burned from massive stone pots constantly fed with fuel every now and then. Balgruuf would note with interest as he spied armored Redguards in their turbans standing before crowds, harping about potential employment. As they passed, they were met by salutes and welcomes. Respectful but not entirely bombastic compared to Balgruuf's own homecoming. He quickly figured that they already spent their energy when Ulfric had his homecoming. He didn't mind it however. Balgruuf wanted nothing more but to get everything done and over with. There was still work to do in Whiterun after all.
"Jarl Hrolfdir of Markarth and his entourage are staying in the Palace of Kings," Ulfric informed Balgruuf as they rode together. "Lord Balgruuf, I invite you to stay there. You may even discuss business with him there if you would like," The Windhlem heir said formally and official-like.
Ever since they had their conversation, Balgruuf had noted Ulfric's silence in their ride. He seemed withdrawn, contemplative. Balgruuf had a feeling that the Jarling was thinking about their little whispering, of what they could do in the strange new world they were in. He approved of it since it meant Ulfric was thinking for once. He had no idea what his original self meant to accomplish by demanding the return of Talos worship when it was not even Hrolfdir and Igmund's place to make it legal. "I would be honored, Lord Ulfric. Though, is it really alright? I am more than happy to stay at an inn with my men," I offered.
"The laws of hospitality demand I offer you succour and aid. You are a guest in my land, Lord Balgruuf. It is more than enough," Ulfric nodded. It seemed that he would not budge on this. And thus, Balgruuf nodded, thinking about offering his hosts a gift or two as thanks for their hospitality.
"Then I accept. My men and I will share a drinking horn with you, Lord Ulfric," Balgruuf said as he dipped his head. Ulfric looked pleased, clearly enjoying the idea of hosting a fellow noble and a war-hero. Balgruuf had no doubt in his mind that Ulfric also had some designs for him as well. Perhaps to talk about trade or some other politicking business. He didn't care much for that since such talk was always welcome to him.
And so they rode on through the streets of Windhelm. Balgruuf took note of the health of the city. Skyrim did not have to bear the brunt of the Great War, but its effects were still felt. His keen eye noticed men and women walking with injuries. A limp here, a scarred eye there. Less younger folk as well. That fact earned a frown from Balgruuf, a reminder of what Skyrim had lost. The most obvious loss, however, did not come later when they rode under the shadow of a recently abandoned building. Every good Nord or devotee of him would recognize that it was a Temple of Talos.
Before the doors, two orange-clad priests were arguing before the lone guard stationed in front of it. Balgruuf could only catch snippets of conversation from them but it was clear they were both unhappy at being kept out of the building for obvious reasons. At his side, Balgruuf felt Ulfric tensing.
"Lord Ulfric," he called out quietly. Ulfric turned towards Balgruuf, face scrunched in conflict. Balgruuf thought about what to say to him that felt appropriate. He nodded as he found it. "They may have taken our temples but they cannot take our faith. We can carry that with us at least...until the time is right," Balgruuf spoke candidly.
It did not take away the conflict in Ulfric but he felt some comfort in Balgruuf's words. He sighed, letting himself relax as he glanced up ahead, towards the Palace of Kings.
"So we do, Lord Balgruuf," he lamented bitterly.
The Palace of Kings stood as a monument to humanity's architectural talents even before the influence of Elves in their culture, as well as the price of betrayal against the friendship of men, for it like the rest of Windhelm was built upon the backs of snow elf slaves. A fitting punishment for those which had made war against the first Nords unjustly. Like the rest of the city, black-grey stone made its base and its foundations, a grand courtyard at its front kept alight and warmed with massive braziers. At the sides of the courtyard were plinths detailing the deeds of past Kings and Jarls, candles and offerings left before them. The warmth, as well as the fact that he was home, lifted Ulfric up visibly as stable hands appeared to relieve them of their horses.
"The men can stay at the barracks, Lord Balgruuf," Ulfric said as he urged the Whiterun Jarling to accompany him. "For now, let us see to my father."
Balgruuf nodded, allowing himself to be lead by Ulfric. Irileth shadowed him quietly and with the Ebony Blade sheathed on her back. She refused to be away from it lest some foolish Nord touch it and allow Mephala to drive them to misery. As far as she was concerned, she was the best equipped to deal with her former Prince's whispers. Even now, the Dunmer had to contend with sultry invitations and dark seductions. She ignored them. There was nothing Mephala could offer her that would work. She was content in her lot.
"Let us see how content and loyal you are when what you have will be taken away from you," Mephala tittered.
And so, they entered the Palace. Massive dark doors groaned as the guards pushed them open to let them in. Flying banners, ancient stones, and a spacious throne room beheld Balgruuf's eyes. A part of him felt lifted as centuries of history and tradition touched his skin. Windhelm was the oldest city of men on the continent and to walk through it was a great honor. Whiterun was rich and had a storied past, yes. But compared to Windhelm?
It was not hard to see why the Jarls of Windhelm commanded respect and reverence especially among the more conservative Nords.
At the end of the hall was the throne of Eastmarch, It was a stone throne set on a plinth. Above the throne was a carved image of a bear set in stone and a massive banner of the Hold flying above. On it sat a man who could only ever be Ulfric's father, Hoag Stormcloak. The man was someone Balgruuf could well describe as powerful and kingly. His features were strong, with a sharp jaw and high cheekbones. His face was clean-shaven though his hair was long and greying, reaching up to his shoulders. And as they drew closer, he could see that the man's gaze was piercing.
His attention was set at first towards the group before his throne. The group Balgruuf quickly identified as the Markarth men he was trying to find. If not for the impassioned plea Jarl Hrolfdir was giving then the bronze-tinted armor they wore and the ram-skull emblem of their Hold identified them. The speech was cut short however as Hoag lifted his head and smiled.
"I beg for your patience my lord as we welcome the return of my son," Hoag began as eyes turned towards the approaching Ulfric. Balgruuf halted, keeping his distance away as attention focused on the two reuniting. Hoag was not shy of affection as he stood from his throne and embraced his boy, patting Ulfric on his back. The embrace continued for a minute before Hoag pulled back, grasping Ulfric's shoulders. "And how fares your mission?" He asked eagerly.
"Amol is ours, my lord," Ulfric answered, keeping his face straight under the looks of the court and his own father. "The foolish mages and their bandit lackeys tried to summon Dremora to bolster their ranks. Our fifty men and assistance from Lord Balgruuf made short work of them."
Hoag nodded as Ulfric regaled him on their conduct. "Fine work! Eastmarch has no greater man fit to lead it next," Hoag praised him. His eyes then turned towards Balgruuf and immediately, the Whiterun Jarling felt like he was being appraised. Releasing Ulfric, Hoag took a step forward. "Lord Balgruuf," greeted Hoag. "If you had told us you were coming, we would have prepared a finer welcome."
"I assure you, my lord, that I did not seek to eat from your larders. I intended to come and see your city privately. I had heard battle at Amol and what good Nord would throw away a chance of a good fight?" Balgruuf said respectfully, bowing his head slightly at the more storied man. "Lord Ulfric led his men well and fought with the strength of ten men. Eastmarch will have a bright future ahead under him," he then added, a little flattery not exactly hurting anyone.
"And I daresay, it has earned him a feast tonight. In his honor and for your visit," Hoag offered.
"You honor us, father," Ulfric whispered.
"Indeed," agreed Hoag. "And with your sister returning from Solitude, I daresay it is good that the family will share our bounty alongside our friends, no?"
At that, Balgruuf did a double take.
Sister?
Freyja Stormcloak hopped off the keel of her ship, the Foehammer, with particular flair. The second child of Hoag had plenty of reasons to be happy. She had, after all, successfully managed to convince the East Empire Company to purchase select Easmarch goods with prices equitable for the Hold and Divines above, persuading the monopolists to play fair was a battle of its own. Her shoulders sagged, her brain feeling squishier than normal. She needed a bath, a good piece of bread with meat and cheese, and a good night's sleep. Around her, Windhelm Harbor was awash with commerce, ships sailing to deliver goods from all over Tamriel, and then leaving the docks to hawk Eastmarch's wares around the continent in turn. Argonian dockworkers tended to their duties quietly, following around their Nordic bosses diligently. Freyja moved on, frowning slightly at the stuffiness of the traditional dress she wore. As much as she would have liked to simply negotiate with the East Empire Company in her usual wear, the Company's agents would have probably thought she was trying to intimidate them by showing up in armor.
"Stick close to me, my lady," came the worried voice of Skadi, her housecarl. The heavily-armored warrior increased her pace, eyeing an Argonian dockworker as they passed by him. The lizard looked at them quizzically, before shrugging his shoulders as he returned to work. For her part, Freyja rolled her eyes.
"We're home, Skadi. You don't have to worry about me now," Freyja giggled, patting her faithful housecarl on the shoulder.
"Still, there could be threats, you know. Assassins, thieves, murderers, drunkards..." Skadi began to list off the potential threats to her person. Freyja giggled at her housecarl's joke that she knew had a hint of seriousness on it, tapping a closed fist on Skadi's chestplate.
"Stop worrying. You're making me anxious too, you know? We're home. We are safe," Freyja said calmingly. Skadi was a tall red-head, with curly strands of hair that reached to her shoulders. Her face was covered by a spectacled helm that covered her face but those spectacles did highlight her bright green eyes. Freyja on the other hand was slightly shorter than her housecarl, with the blonde-hair-and-blue-eye combination typical to most Nords. Her features were strong and beautiful, a testament to her genetic heritage of Shield-maidens and Queens.
"Yes, my lady," Skadi said hesitantly. Freyja smiled lovingly at her housecarl and friend before turning for the palace. She had much to report to her father. Chiefly, the success of her deal with the East Empire Company as well as other less than savoury things happening outside of their borders. Thinking about such only made Freyja walk faster.
She found the Palace of Kings awash with excitement, servants coming to and fro like worker bees in a hive. She halted one and asked what was the commotion all about. The servant responded quickly, "Your brother has returned, victorious in the battlefield. He has also returned with a guest, Lord Balgruuf of Whiterun. He is speaking with your elder brother and father, my lady, as well as the Jarl of Markarth and his son."
Freyja raised an eyebrow. The Jarl of Markarth being here was no surprise since he had gone around Skyrim asking for aid to reclaim his home. The Jarling of Whiterun visiting Windhelm was a surprise however. What business could he even have coming to Eastmarch of all places? "Where are they now?" Freyja asked.
"In the Jarl's study, my lady," the servant informed her before Freyja thanked him and sent him away. She then turned towards Skadi, rubbing her chin in contemplation. "So. what possible purpose do you think the Jarling of Whiterun has in coming here, Skadi?"
Skadi craned her head to Freyja, her face serious. "I have heard that Lord Balgruuf is unmarried. You, my lady, are now an eligible bachelorette. I feel you understand what I am getting at?"
Freyja's mouth went agape, as fish would in water, before she closed it again. Freyja had been married, however, it went nowhere as her husband became one of the earliest casualties in the war. She hadn't really spent much time with him as it was an arranged marriage and she only saw him a few times before the war took him away. She had thought about marrying again, but there were only a few men that could match up to her pedigree, some of them even a tad beyond her reach. It was floated that she marry Torygg but it was rendered moot with his betrothal to Elisif of Solitude. Now, marrying Balgruuf? That was certainly an idea to consider, the advantages present in her mind.
She shook her head. It was useless to speculate when the subject matter was present. All she had to do was get to her father and find out what was going on.
"We'll see, Skadi. Let's pay the men a visit and find out ourselves," Freyja declared as she went off to visit her father. Skadi followed dutifully.
The study of the Jarl was connected to his bedchambers. And very much like the rest of the palace, the entire thing reeked of history. Some past kings of Skyrim dwelt and planned here, Balgruuf thought, as they were shuffled into it by Jarl Hoag and his son. He rubbed shoulders with the Jarl of Markarth, Hrolfdir as well as his son, Igmund. The Jarl walked over to behind his desk and sat on it, his crown he took off his head and laid it on his desk. Ulfric took his place behind him dutifully while the guests helped themselves to the available chairs in the room.
As was his right, Jarl Hoag began the conversation.
"Here, there is no court to impress. We can speak plainly so let us do it," Jarl Hoag began, his lips thin as he regarded Balgruuf and his Markarth guests. Jarl Hrolfdir, stress-lines and eyebags on his face, took his chance and spoke.
"Jarl Hoag. Your Hold has the finest infantry in our kingdom. I promise you, there will be great rewards for your help in reclaiming Markarth." Hrolfdir said simply, relief on his face that he could cut the needless theatrics reserved for court.
"Jarl Hrolfdir, you have seen my city and the harbor which it has. I am in no need for gold and silver," Hoag replied candidly. From behind, Ulfric watched the proceedings quietly and saw the hope drain from Hrolfdir's face. He was personally glad that of all the Holds, he didn't have to deal with a restless native population once it was his turn to lead. Oh, he had the Dunmer refugees to deal with who were arrogant as ever. But even despite their smugness, the elves recognized that should they start something, they would have to go wandering again. Back to his father however, Ulfric knew that he wasn't going to be motivated by silver and gold. No, Windhelm was a trade port and already enjoyed the benefits of being connected to the sea.
No, his father would be motivated by something else entirely.
He could demand that Hrolfdir agree to restore Talos worship.
But before he could whisper to his father about that, Balgruuf spoke up.
"You are in luck, then, Jarl Hrolfdir that I came here to Windhelm just for that."
Jarl Hrolfdir turned to meet Balgruuf who had now stood up from his chair, his housecarl watching quietly from the shadows. He met Hroldfir eye to eye. "My own lord father will not move his Hold to support you. As he himself had told me, he is unwilling to move his armies when a bigger war has just ended. Could you afford to wait?"
Hrolfdir shook his head. "No, Lord Balgruuf. I cannot. Time is moving fast and the damned Reachmen are trying to convince the Imperials that they can be better stewards to Markarth and the Reach. I have no doubt that the Empire will not commit political suicide by agreeing to them, but the danger is there all the same." Despite the confident tone, Balgruuf could sense a hint of fright. The Empire had already thrown their people under the proverbial cart by agreeing to the Concordat. Could the Empire be trusted to hold Skyrim's best interests by refusing to let the Reachmen take de jure Nordic territory or would their desire for peace and stability outweigh the interests of the Nords?
With this in mind, Balgruuf could understand Hroldir's anxiety. "The Empire is busy in repairing the damage done to it from the Great War. So, I can understand why they cannot spare the Legion to restore your throne. However, I am currently not busy and I know plenty of veterans who might not be opposed to making some extra cash to spend."
Hrolfdir glanced at Balgruuf, eyeing the young Jarling critically. The war had made plenty of heroes and Balgruuf was one of them. If he could rally veterans to his banner then he could create an army of battle-hardened and experienced men. Adding to what remained of his forces and mercenaries under his employ, it would certainly add an edge in reclaiming his home. Hroldfir wasn't a fool however. By relying on others, he was allowing himself to be influenced by them. His own Hold guards wanted to go home. The mercenaries wanted money, as was their lot. What would Balgruuf want?
"And your conditions for your help?" He asked plainly.
"How much silver do you have?" Balgruuf quizzed him. Hrolfdir hesitated, turning to his son Igmund. His heir sighed and nodded.
"5000 tons of silver are mined from the Reach in a year, my lord. Multiply that amount with how long my family has controlled Markarth." Hrolfdir said, pausing to let the number sink in with Balgruuf and the Windhelm men. As the men did their calculations, Balgruuf was the first to speak.
"Ysmir's beard," Balgruuf swore.
"That is no small sum," Hoag muttered. He had to agree with Balgruuf's swearing. Everyone knew and heard of Markarth's riches in terms of ores. Cidhna Mine for example produced most of Skyrim's silver.
"And you are all willing to let the Reachmen control that?" Hrolfdir muttered. "My family has served Skyrim and the Empire faithfully for so long. Jarl Hoag, are you really going to let our kingdom's wealth fly off to a realm of savages? Reclaiming it is not just in the best interest of my family but for Skyrim as well!"
"How has the Reach not made silver worthless?" Ulfric asked, his curiosity taking ahold of him.
"Through strict control of the flow of silver, Lord Ulfric," Igmund answered for his father. "We meticulously make sure that a steady export of silver leaves the Reach. If we even let a more than the appropriate amount leave, it could debase the worth of silver not just in Skyrim but also in Tamriel. The effects could be disastrous."
"I suppose I must commend your family's sense to not be consumed by greed," Balgruuf praised the Markarth men.
"There is a reason why my House has remained Jarls of the Reach for many generations, Lord Balgruuf," Hrolfdir said, shrugging his shoulders. "Ask what you wish of me, I will reward twice over."
As the men continued to discuss, there was a knock on the door. Jarl Hoag turned to it. "Enter," he commanded, thoughts of silver ingots hidden behind his mind. It swung open carefully and his heart warmed as soon as the face of his daughter peeked into the study.
"Father, I've returned," Freyja entered the room. The other men quickly stood a little straighter in the presence of the lady. His daughter acknowledged them with a nod, her gaze on Balgruuf a little bit longer than on the others. This, Hoag saw and took note of with interest. His daughter continued to speak. "My mission to Solitude was a success, my Jarl. I also bring news from outside Skyrim as well."
The Jarl of Windhelm nodded. A favourable trade deal with the East Empire Company was good for his city and people. As for news from outside the kingdom, he would love to hear it. He gave the men in the room a quick glance. "Would you men like to hear of it as well? It could be important for all of us." He offered. And they could use quick respite from all their politicking.
The Markarth men nodded.
"Go ahead, my lady," Balgruuf gently prodded.
Freyja gave Jarl Hrolfdir and his son a pitying look. "The Emperor will be dispatching his son, Prince Castor Mede, as well as a delegation from the Elder Council to Skyrim, Jarl Hrolfdir. Apparently, it is to oversee the Markarth issue."
Silence fell in the room.
"I see..." Jarl Hoag muttered. His face showed no external reaction other than quiet acceptance. It made discerning his mood difficult. The reactions of Hrolfdir and Igmund were more pronounced however.
"An Imperial Prince is coming here?" Hrolfdir blinked, surprise on his face. "Why were we not told of this? Why was I not told of this?"
"But is the Empire here on our behalf...or the Reachmen's?" Igmund muttered, earning a frown from his father.
"Prince Castor must be on our side. If the Empire accepts the Reachmen as a new kingdom, it establishes a dangerous precedent!" Hrolfdir argued. "The Lizardmen have long since deserted the Empire, Morrowind is in ashes. Valenwood and Elsweyr are under the Dominions thumb and the Empire has sold off the Redguards to be brutalized by the elves! Will the Emperor be so foolish as to sign off on Skyrim?"
"Only one way to guarantee that it does not happen, my lords," Balgruuf spoke up. "Markarth must be retaken before the Prince arrives. The Reachmen have revolted against Nordic rule, our rule, and Skyrim's ownership of it must be restored." Balgruuf saluted Hrolfdir, his voice turning grand as he proclaimed. "I offer you my help, Jarl Hrolfdir. Payments of silver and gold, as well as supplies of dwarven ingots and the technical expertise on how to use them."
Hrolfdir knew this was coming. What he did not expect however was the desire for the dwarven metals that Markarth was abundant in as well. There was a reason why his Hold troops were armored in the thing. It was tough, more so than the strongest Nordic steel. However, it was a difficult metal to work with as trying to get the thing was a chore in itself, melting dwarven artifacts to form a single ingot. If the Whiterun men wanted to play with metal, he wasn't going to stop them. "Done," he said with a clap. "Gold and silver abound will be yours, Lord Balgruuf. As well as all the dwarven metal you desire."
At that, Hrolfdir turned towards the Jarl of Windhelm, expecting him to offer help but the Jarl simply took on a reflective look, eyes taking on a calculating shine. He glanced up and turned towards Hrolfdir. "Give me a moment to speak with my children, Jarl Hrolfdir. Then, I shall tell you Windhelm's price."
At that, Hrolfdir nodded as Hoag's children went to him, hushed whispers exchanged between them. Hrolfdir and Igmund turned towards Balgruuf, relief in their eyes. "Lord Balgruuf," Hrolfdir began, his tone respectful. "We must talk plans."
"I can raise an army of veterans and volunteers," Balgruuf said as he faced the Jarl and his son. "In this campaign, Jarl Hrolfdir, speed is essential. We cannot afford to besiege your city with the Prince due to arrive. I assume that you have plans?"
"We know secret ways to enter Markarth," Igmund revealed. "We send in a party of brave men to seize control of the gate then we can storm the city."
"I haven't fought Reachmen before. What can be expected of their forces?" Balgruuf quizzed. He needed to know their fighting style, if they were heavily armored or not. To know one's enemy was the best way to win the battle after all.
"They rely heavily on magic like their Breton cousins," Hrolfdir spoke. "You can expect many spellswords in their ranks as well as mercenaries which they have also hired. Orcs mostly." And so they continued their quiet discussion, Balgruuf thinking on his force composition to bear upon Markarth. He knew that with its narrow hilly paths, cavalry was going to be severely limited operating there as cavalry needed space to manoeuvre. More foot then.
"I assume the main roads will be watched. How likely do you think will the Reachmen intercept us?" Balgruuf asked again.
"I think the Reachmen would not bother," Igmund surmised. "Firstly, they know that a direct confrontation with us will not end well. Secondly, they have time on their side. Why risk open battle and lose their army when they can withstand a siege until such time Prince Castor arrives to negotiate with them?"
Balgruuf thought about it. The city had a grace period of five years to run itself. That implied that it also would have prepared for a eventual Nordic reprisal which meant the stocking of food and arms. The Nords however would be fresh out of war and low on resources and energy as the Great War consumed most of it. A siege was expensive and time consuming. Would the Nords really tax and drain their own Kingdom just to retake Markarth?
"I think Lord Igmund's logic is sound," mused Balgruuf. "I would be happy to sit and wait for Imperial negotiators to arrive rather than risk my forces to face an army of angry and veteran Nords."
"We mustn't let our guard down however. The Reachmen would still try and harass us as we go through the Reach," Hrolfdir warned. Balgruuf nodded. He wasn't going to let himself nor his army be complacent in their march. He survived the Great War by being paranoid. He would have to think about every possible avenue of attack the Reachmen might have.
"My lords!" Jarl Hoag announced. "My children and I have discussed what we desire."
At that, the three men turned towards the Bear of Windhelm, looking smug and pleased with himself. At his side, Ulfric looked uncertain and Freyja failed to keep a look of irritation off her. Not good omens. Balgruuf felt stomach churn as the old Jarl leaned back and smiled. "Jarl Hrolfdir, Windhelm would be happy to lend its men to you. In exchange, I want you to declare your Hold as a haven for the worship of Talos."
"Father, we do not have the authority to-" Ulfric began but the Bear of Markarth frowned.
"The Emperor himself does not have the authority to declare the worship of Talos illegal!" snapped Hoag. His chair groaned as the Bear of Windhelm stood to his full height. He was broad-shouldered, tall, and despite his age was heavily muscled. His shadow was cast over the table, over the assembled men. "Who is he, a Mede, to render judgement over Talos as if the Ninth Divine was a common man? Talos, Son of Atmora, is a god and anyone who declares it not so is a fool and worse, a traitor to mankind!"
He took a quick breath, stifling the rage he felt. He glanced towards Hrolfdir. "That is my price for Windhelm's help, Jarl Hrolfdir." Hoag declared, finality in his voice.
Quiet settled in the Jarl's private study as Hrolfdir debated internally. He knew he had no way of granting this without stepping on the Concordat's toes. It would irritate the Imperials and the Elves so far away. But he needed help, all the help he could get. But he already had the support of Balgruuf. What did Windhelm possess that was so valuable that he had to give his support for Hoag's zealotry? His eyes settled on Ulfric Stormcloak and he understood why the price was so steep.
"Jarl Hoag, a suggestion if I may." Balgruuf began. Hoag turned to him and grunted.
"Speak," he gave his assent.
"I am sure that we are all aware that if Jarl Hrolfdir allows this then the Empire will surely be forced by the Elves to fully enact the measures of the Concordat. We all know that the Thalmor have granted themselves the right to investigate parts of the Empire for Talos worship. We all have read the details of the treaty, yes?" Balgruuf said, calmingly. The Jarls all nodded, with Hoag a little bit more hesitant. "However, ever since the treaty was signed, have we all have legionaries molest our people for Talos worship? Have we all magically lost the right to worship Talos in the privacy of our own homes?"
Hoag clicked his tongue. "Get to the point. We aren't in court."
Balgruuf wasted no time. "Asking for Hrolfdir to make Talos worship legal in his Hold will bring the wrath of the elves on us. Thalmor Justiciars will prowl our cities and our lands, hunting down the secret places where Talos may be worshipped. That will drive a wedge between Skyrim and the Empire. From that wedge, tensions will rise and may even one day inspire Nords to rebel. A civil war will come and the Dominion will profit from it."
The idea of a Civil War in Skyrim earned sick looks from the Nords, Ulfric in particular. He went to war for Skyrim, not to murder his brothers and sisters. "And what do you propose then, Lord Balgruuf? That we simply accept Talos be made into a memory?"
"No, Jarl Hoag," Balgruuf impressed diplomatically, hiding his irritation with a serene and understanding look. "A compromise, something which can still remember Talos as he was to us, as he was to the Empire, and as a measure to stick it to the elves as well."
The tension on Hoag's face cracked for a second as intrigue set in. Igmund, recognizing that this could be a measure to soothe the Bear of Windhelm, played his part. "What is this compromise, Lord Balgruuf?"
"Jarl Hroldfir could perhaps fund for the construction of a monument of Talos in Markarth," Balgruuf suggested. "It must be grand and impressive as to capture the glory of the Son of Atmora. It will be Talos to us, of course, but we can simply call it a monument to Tiber Septim for the Imperials. After all, the city has suffered a period of rule from rebels. It would be important for this monument to be established to remind the people that they belong to a great Empire and not to the rule of rebels."
"We could even add further things to it too. Perhaps we could commission artworks and frescoes that followed his life. A tapestry from his childhood here in Skyrim, to his victory in Old Hroldan, and more," Freyja added, grasping at what Balgruuf was suggesting. It was a stroke of good sense, she felt. It would be a strong sign of defiance for the Nords, it would soothe the wounded image of the Empire, and the Elves could seethe at a monument to the Empire's founder.
Now, the only thing left was for Jarl Hoag to accept that as a compromise. All eyes turned towards the old Jarl who was quietly thinking about the proposal. The quiet was disheartening and worrying as a severe look came upon Hoag's face. Then finally, he gave his answer.
"Talos is a god, not a museum piece. This is my final answer. He must be restored to full legal status or you will find no help from Windhelm." He declared.
Balgruuf tried to speak but the Jarl only gave him a look. Balgruuf bit his tongue as Hoag turned his attention back to Hrolfdir. "Think on my demand, Jarl Hrolfdir. I have all the time in the world. In the meantime, prepare yourselves for the feast. This discussion has made me hungry." Hoag declared as he walked off. Ulfric's lips were thin as he walked after his father, exchanging heated whispers. Freyja too walked after them but not before giving Hrolfdir a pitying look...and a uncommonly long glance at Balgruuf.
This look, Irileth quietly noted...as well as the tittering laugh of Mephala.
A/N: Taken from my QQ account
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