Stallion of Whiterun (Skyrim Balgruuf SI) Chapter 17 (Patreon)

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 lead to and fro 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 travellers. 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 He seemed withdrawn, contemplative.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 their 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 a inn with my men." I offered.

"The laws of hospitality demand I offer you succour and aid. You are a guest to my land, Lord Balgruuf. It is more than enough," Ulfric nodded. It seemed 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 lost 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 srunched 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 alit 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 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 it 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 fool 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 finer 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 lead 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?

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A/N: Updoot.