Balgruuf the Great Chapter 21 preview (Patreon)

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Irileth

Their return to Whiterun was as expected, triumphant.

Men, women, and children all crowded together to greet the returning army. The banner of Whiterun proudly hung and swayed in the breeze, colorful garlands of flowers fluttered on window stills, and flowers were tossed at the marching soldiers. Irileth felt a headache as her hearing, twice as sensitive than men, endured the cheers and roars of the crowds who only got louder and louder as the Jarl and his entourage passed through the city gates.

The man was lively, waving to his people like a Nordic conquerer of old. So mighty was his stride that he didn't even looked crippled. By now, it had been an open secret that something had happened to the Jarl but the specifics, the common soldier did not now. All they knew was that he had suffered a grave injury and that was it. Irileth on the other hand kept her profile minimal, a dark hood covering her face as she spurred her horse next to her Lord, who like his father, was also waving and laughing at the cheering crowds.

Ever since that Jarling from Windhelm had left, Balgruuf had been quiet and kept a stone face as they rode for home. Only now was he smiling and brightening himself in the face of the crowds. It was a skill to have, Irileth supposed, to put on public faces. But then again, being a ruler was also like being an actor as well.

They passed through the streets, and Irileth tried and failed to keep the blasting migraine she felt down. All she had to do now was simply endure it until they returned to Dragonsreach. They halted briefly, as Balgruuf and some important officials gave their thanks at the Temple of Kynareth and also offering gifts before the statue of Talos, soon to be the statue of Tiber Septim, the first Emperor.

Balgruuf's solution to the ban of Talos worship was now rapidly spreading through the army and the Jarl wanted to implement the system as soon as they returned home. The man himself had added his own touch, saying that there should also be symbols and busts of their ancestors alongside the statue as to make it look like they were not just honoring Talo-no, Tiber Septim, but also their ancestors.

Irileth approved, as her own people also venerated their ancestors. And she smiled briefly as Balgruuf laid down captured arms before the feet of Talo-, no Tiber Septim.

She shook her head, she should remember to call him Tiber Septim, not Talos.

Personally, she was ambivalent to the Divines. Like all good Dunmer, she venerated the Daedra more though her faith was more in line with tradition than any real zealotry. Still, she recognized the importance of religion especially to the lives of people and she wasn't one to judge.

Eventually, Balgruuf and the officials returned back to their saddles and soon, the Jarl's entourage stopped before the steps of Dragonsreach and there, Irileth saw the Jarl's wife, the important men of the city and to her displeasure, that fetcher with the hindquarters of a guar that hitched with them in Falkreath and that s'wit that tried to get Balgruuf to break his bonds of brotherhood.

She would have to watch the two of them...carefully.

The Jarl's wife, alongside other noblewomen, made their way to the Jarl and offered him a crown of flowers that bloomed during the season. "Welcome home, sons of Whiterun!" the woman cried out, her voice loud enough to be heard from the towers. "The women of the Hold greet you, take our crown and be full in your victory!"

Gingerly, the Jarl bent down from his horse to retrieve it. He pulled back and made a show of wearing it, before he turned his horse around and spoke. "The crown belongs not to me, but to someone else, to the man who had lead our forces to victory. We were ambushed, and instead of running away, he took the fight to the enemy! When automata born from disgusting tinkering marched forth, he ran headfirst into danger! I present this crown of victory to my son, Balgruuf, and the brave men and women that marched with him!"

Gasps broke out as he urged his horse close towards Balgruuf and presented him the crown, to which Balgruuf accepted.

"Tonight, we feast!" he declared and to that, the world erupted in great cheer.

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"For someone that's wearing the victor's crown, you look sullen,"  Irileth commented from the shadows, one eye closed and the other looking at her charge, a overgrown nordic lummox seated on a chair and clad in a fluffy white bathrobe.

Earlier, Balgruuf had excused himself and immediately went to get a bath and some sleep, she of course joined him. She awoke much earlier than him however, she had to make sure his quarters were secure. When she had come back to his room, she found him there on his chair, looking like he was about to make the biggest decision in his entire life.

"I'm thinking," Balgruuf professed, his head resting on his fist, bushy blonde brows furrowed.

"That is new," said Irileth but the man only rolled his eyes. Irileth pressed. "What are your thoughts, my lord?"

"Now you decide to respect my station, didn't we agree to use only first names while in private?" Balgruuf spoke up, a grin on his face. He then patted his lap and Irileth knew immediately what the man wanted. Without hesitation, she strode forward, her hips sashaying as she walked, and planted herself on Balgruuf's lap, slowly. Gingerly, she wrapped her arms around Balgruuf, and leaned in.

"What's wrong, Balgruuf?" she whispered.

"It's Ulfric, and what he proposed," sighed the man.

The dunmer thought back to the Windhelm's Jarling, and of the conversation that he and Balgruuf had after his declaration.

"Absolutely not," Balgruuf flatly refused. Confusion broke out on Ulfric's face.

"And why not?" Ulfric questioned, no, demanded to know.

"Torygg is set to be High King, is he not? I will not taint the succession when everyone has agreed that he will become High King when the Moot is called," pointed Balgruuf.

"Torygg is set to be High King simply because no other candidates have been proposed," countered Ulfric, "Torygg himself, he is unworthy. He has no victories to his name, unremarkable and mediocre. In the coming dark days, we need a High King that will lead Skyrim through its darkest moment, and prepare us for our vengeance."

"And you...believe that I can do that?" Balgruuf asked, incredulous.

Ulfric nodded, his eyes all but set.

"He seems to have been taken in by you," Irileth concluded. "Even then, what seems to be the problem with becoming High King? You can do more for Skyrim, not just Whiterun."

In her mind, Irileth kicked herself slightly. She had been to focused on Balgruuf and Whiterun that she forgot that Skyrim is large and with the rise of the Hold, as well as its leaders, there would be many eyes watching them. As soon as she was able, she was going to use everything in her disposal to have an eye and ear in every shadow and crevice.

If someone was planning something, she will know about it too.

"It's...a massive responsibility, Irileth," Balgruuf sighed. "It was so easy, to think and plan about changing Skyrim for the better, but thinking about it now, and all the lives that would count on me, it's...mind-boggling."

Irileth listened, and in her heart, knew what she had to do.

She leaned forward, resting her head on his shoulder. She warmed a little, when she felt Baglruuf's hands wrap around her.

"Balgruuf," she whispered into his ear. "I know that this sounds beyond you, but you have lead men into battle, you have lead an army to victory, nothing happens to anyone unless they are equipped to endure what comes their way. And you, my love, can do this."

She pulled back, locking her eyes with his.

"And when you do this, you will not do this alone. I will be with you, and so will this city, until the end." she vowed, and she meant it with every inch of her heart.

Baglruuf listened, and as she finished speaking, smiled. A certain fire blazed in his eyes, one of the many things that drew her to him in the first place. "Then becoming High King doesn't sound so bad after all, and with you at my side, I need not worry."

As Irileth was about to say something, a knock was heard against the door. "My lord? Your father calls for you," a male voice said through the door.

Irileth nearly jumped, but her training had stopped her from doing so. She turned back to Balgruuf who spoke aloud, "I am on my way!" 

Irileth resisted the urge to pout, not exactly happy at the thought of their moment together getting interrupted but duty was duty. However, and as if sensing her mood, Balgruuf pulled her closer and brought their lips in a fierce kiss. 

For a few seconds, they shared in their passions, before pulling back.

Irileth smiled.

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Minutes later, she and Balgruuf found themselves standing before the door of the Jarl's chambers, a pair of burly guardsmen stood before it. They saluted when they saw her and him approach and opened the door, revealing a brightly lit room decorated with ornaments fit for a Jarl.

Seated by a lit fireplace was the Jarl, long bereft of his armor and now in his rich robes. He wasn't alone however. At his side was his wife, standing at his side, looking over a brown robed Priest of Kynareth tending to the Jarl's crippled legs that were held up on a stool. There too was his housecarl, stone-faced, as well as the Steward of Dragonsreach, Aeschere, looking as if he had just finished weeping.

"You had summoned me, father?" Baglruuf asked.

Jarl Heorot greeted and said cheerily, "Balgruuf! See now that the Divines have deemed me too mighty for our foes, and have decided to take away my legs, for if I had them, the fights would not have been fair!"

Despite herself, Irileth snorted. And so too did the others in the room. Balgruuf's mother, Wealhtheow, scandalized, cried out, "Heorot!"

The Jarl chuckled, looking quite pleased with himself, hummed. "I suppose it is quite alright to be fair for our enemies. They need a leg up in their chances."

Wealhtheow tried to look scandalized, but a smile threatend to break out on her face. The others were openly giggling however. The blonde woman resorted to shaking her head. "And you are supposed to be the Jarl of Whiterun,"

"Not for long," Heorot said seriously.

And like that, the joyful mood was replaced with a heavy one, as the Jarl put on an uncharacteristic look of seriousness.

"Balgruuf, with our victory in Markarth, Whiterun is on the rise. In the next few years, we are bound to grow in wealth, thanks to the silver from Cidnha Mines and our political power will also be sure to grow, Skyrim does not forget the deeds of its heroes," Jarl Heorot recounted. "But in order for all these gains to be realized, an image of strength and will must be present,"

Already, Irileth had a feeling on where this conversation was going and quick glances to Balgruuf indicated that he also knew as well.

Jarl Heorot continued. "As you can see, I am presently crippled and the best healers of Whiterun and the Temple of Kynareth also agrees that I might not be able to walk again."

From where he sat, the lone Priest of Kynareth nodded.

"A cripple is difficult to respect. It is a sad thing, but it is also true," said the Jarl, motioning to his still legs. He then glanced back to Balgruuf, his eyes set. "We here have discussed it, and we have all agreed. You have been strong, stead-fast, and proven. You have never been more ready than you already are."

From where he stood, a lump formed in Balgruuf's throat as Jarl Heorot sighed.

"Later, tonight. I shall announce to the Hold that I will step down from my position as Jarl, and abdicate in your favor. Of course, it will not be immediate, you will still be prepared after all, but in the coming months...you will be the new Jarl of Whiterun," Jarl Heorot declared, his voice booming in his chambers.

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A/N: And here's Chapter 21! So, what do ya'll think?