Balgruuf the Great, Chapter 23 preview (Patreon)

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The Firemanes/ Baltafarian

She was off in deep and blessed sleep, encased in a umbrella of warmth. She dreamed of the things that she enjoyed the most, heart-pumping battle and the rush of adrenaline as she brought low her enemies on the field and made them scarce as she...

Awoke suddenly, her ears getting barraged as the roosters outside let out their morning crow. She found herself staring into the wooden ceiling and tucked tightly inside her bed. She was warm, the fur covers doing wonders to keep out the bitter chill but the one thing which warmed her the most, the one that made her too damn comfortable was the bigger and muscled form of her beloved that slept away peacefully like a babe, his body wrapping around her.

As much as Nurya wanted nothing more but to have them both be encased in their embrace, they still had duties to attend to, such as making sure their store was run well.

"Wulfrik, wake up you lug," Nurya whispered gently. The Nord stirred in his slumber, mumbling under his breath. As much as Nurya loved her husband, he was a deep sleeper, and needed a bit more prodding to wake up.

"Wulfrik!" Nurya said, a bit more volume this time. This did the trick and the Nord groaned as he woke up.

"Ugh," slurred Wulfrik. "W-whut time is it?"

"Time for us to wake up and prepare for work," Nurya whispered again. The Nord groaned again in protest but her prodding did its job of getting the lug to wake up. Sleepily, he pushed the covers away and made his way out of bed. He stood to his full height and grunted as he stretched his muscles. Nurya was still on the bed, and watched the bigger Nord flex at their bedside. Slowly, the Dunmer ran her eyes at his back, and trailed down to his rear.

"Nice arse," complimented the Dunmer. Wulfrik turned around, a bemused expression on his face. Nurya's eyes widened slightly, before grinning and whistling.

The Nord rolled his eyes.

They then descended from their bedroom, both to prepare for the day although in different ways. Wulfrik prepared breakfast, being the better cook, while Nurya busied herself with menial chores. When Nurya was finished, food had already been set out and Wulfrik had seated himself, munching on flatbread. Nurya joined him, and helped herself to a plate of buttered flatbread, fluffy and thick scrambled eggs that smelled faintly of herbs, a cut of goat cheese and honey-cured bacon that Wulfrik had fried so well, it crunched with every bite.

As they ate, they conversed.

"I have been thinking, on what we should work on for the next chapter," Wulfrik said. Nurya glanced at her husband.

"We can have Arnulf get injured because he had taken a hit protecting Iryana. From this, Iryana feels guilty about that and offers to attend to Arnulf, to thank him for taking the hit and to atone for having her commander having to do it in the first place," Wulfrik suggested, becoming and more excited. "And from this, we can put in a scene of Arnulf requiring a healing salve on himself but since he is injured, he needs to have Iryana do it for him. I am sure you know exactly what I mean happens next?"

"They proceed to copulate?" Nurya wagged suggestively. Wulfrik snorted.

"They are going to lay together, but not so early in our series. This chapter is meant to bind the two together even deeper, and of course, increase the heat and tension between them. Iryana having to sit on Arnulf and apply the oil over his chest, while the two lock eyes." he continued. Nurya thought about it, and concluded that it indeed looked like a steamy scene.

This conversation Nurya and Wulfrik had many times, for the two were writers. Their love for writing and books had brought them together, and agreed that if they survived the war, they would open a bookstore to of course, sell books but also offer their services as scribes for hire. It was a sight their neighbors found strange, former legionnaires running such a service like theirs, possibly for the absurdity of a massive man like Wulfrik writing raunchy novels but the two did not care for it, as they enjoyed what they did. Besides, it was all for a good cause. The people needed some joy in their lives after the war. In times such as this, people would either turn to religion or to distractions to give meaning to their lives. And their distractions were great enough to let people live the coming days.

"I'll get to writing the battle scenes first then," Nurya announced. Wulfrik nodded. "It's what you do best."

They then finished their breakfast and Nurya moved to clean the dishes and table while Wulfrik went to open their store. The house they had bought had been a lucky find. A two-story building that had a partition in the first floor, the outside of it could be used as a store while the inside could be a private space. And to make it even better, it was located on one of the busiest avenues of the Plains District in Whiterun. It was a costly purchase but it was proving to be a good one as their little store called "Sword and Pen" was fast becoming a good business. Every city big or small had needs and their skills were fast becoming recognized as valuable.

Sometimes though, there were slow days. Such as today as the couple attended to their store. Nurya was seated behind their counter, writing scenes of blood and battle into their book which had found a core fan base while Wulfrik went and sorted through their catalogue when the door opened. Nurya looked up, expecting to see another farmer or merchant needing an advertisement written for his business but instead, a man in Whiterun livery strode in.

"Welcome to the Sword and Pen!" Wulfrik greeted the man, as soon as he turned and saw him. "Whatever you need written, we will see it done quick and clean. What do you need, kinsman?"

The man saluted. "I am here representing my lord, Balgruuf. You are both former members of the Nordic Legion, Wulfrik Firemane and Nurya Rallain, correct?" He said, his accent thick like most Nords.

"Yes, that is us," Nurya answered, dropping her quill. "What do you want?"

"My lord wishes to call upon former comrades who have served that the city of Whiterun is expanding the Guard. With that expansion, there is a need for skilled men and women to fill its ranks not as soldiers but as skilled officers," the man explained. "You two have served with skill and honor and my Lord notices this. He invites you both and many others to come meet him at noon for a discussion. He also wishes to inform you that if you choose to not accept, there are no penalties and such."

Wulfrik and Nurya shared a glance. Unspoken words were said and ended with Iryana shaking her head. With that, Iryana turned back to the man. "While we appreciate Tribune Balgruuf for approaching us, my wife and I are content with what we have now. Our serving days are quite done, we feel."

The man stood and listened. When Wulfrik finished speaking, he nodded. "As I said, there are no penalties if you do not wish to attend. My Lord also wishes to add that if there is anything you need from him, do not at all hesitate to visit Dragonsreach. While a man may be out of the Legion, the Legion will never be out of the man," he finished. It was then that Nurya noticed a Dragon tattoo, right around the man's neck, hidden behind his clothes.

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Balgruuf

The duties of a Jarl are plain. To keep his oath with their King and their Emperor. To defend their Hold, their Kingdom, and their Empire, and finally, to uphold the rights and well-being of their people.

To start, I was going to begin with defending my Hold. Studying the war in Markarth revealed to me on how over-specialization was a crippling thing. Oh, cavalry was going to be Whiterun's creme of the crop but to neglect the infantry would only serve us nothing. Specialization was for insects, Men on the other hand can multi-task. And so, a infantry corps would have to be expanded from the already existing force that was present in Whiterun and for that, I needed both officers and non-commissioned ones.

Luckily, I already had an existing body in the form of former veterans from the war.

This expansion would be good for not only would it mean the strength of arms of Whiterun would be increased, it would also lead to other expansions as well. The reforms would require more scribes to do clerk work and such, and the bigger army would require equipment to arm and clothe the soldiers, and it would mean more needed supplies to feed them. Overall, a benefit for Whiterun.

And it was because of that, I strolled out of Dragonsreach to pursue my agenda for the day. I was not alone however as Irileth followed my closely, a hood obscuring her face.

For the scribe expansion, it was up to Aeschere to oversee it, seeing as he was the steward and that bureaucracy work was under his purview. For the rest, the arms and the food, I was going to see to it myself. I was going to meet up first with the Blacksmith's Guild then the Farmer's Guild, to negotiate with them regarding the reforms. These sorts of things of course did not exist in the game, it was redundant to have to get a weapon made and had to go through Guild bureaucracy before it was done. But I was not in a game world, I was in a living, breathing one, and that meant I had to deal with both the good and the bad parts of it.

Guilds are sort of like proto-unions. They served to protect the interests of specific groups as to shield themselves from the predations of Lords and Ladies. If you were on good terms would them, guilds would provide for you their service, no questions asked and on time. But with the new order I wanted to bring to Whiterun and eventually Skyrim, they would have to go with me or get side-lined. Guilds do protect its members but they stifle growth, what with their tendency to shut down competition and interfere with the market. I had no hopes I was going to shut down guilds overnight but I was going to lay down the foundations for it.

But until then, I had to play nice with them. I wasn't the Jarl.

Yet.

Iri and I descended the steps of Dragonsreach and onto the Wind District. At its very center was the Gildergreen, a great tree whose flowers were a relaxing shade of pink. Unlike in the game, it was still in full bloom and pilgrims travelled far and wide to see it. Personally and privately, I tried to keep to my old Earth faith but in a world of gods and monsters, it was hard to keep to it. But syncretism was a hallmark of it and that had helped to mellow out my crisis of faith.

We passed by the tree, and made our way down into the Plains District. The Wind District was quieter, a place reserved solely for housing, temples, and of course Jorrvaskr, the Hall of the Companions. It was a place I was going to visit as soon as my other agendas were done. Compared to it, the Plains District was noisy as all hell. It was the place for business and commerce and the amount of times Iri flinched under her hood due to some loud noise cemented its reputation. Merchants hawked and raved, urging passers-by to browse their goods. Guards were posted in specific places or patrolled in groups, each man and woman making sure no funny business of thievery was taking place. While the noise was something to deal with, the smell of it was rather pleasant. The markets of Whiterun was rich and it showed. Bakeries oozing the inviting and mouth-watering scent of baked goods, hearty Nordic bread, Breton pastries, and Cyrodiilic treats. Spices of cinnamon, pepper, nutmeg, and others imported from Hammerfell. Perfumes and Jewelry, crafted from the veins of Nirn. There were ruby necklaces, gold rings, silver earrings and the like. Wines, from the vineyards in High Rock. The most expensive ones were from Cyrodiil. The reason for which was because of the war, only a few bottles could be made and those bottles were rapidly rising in price due to their scarcity.

I'm going to have to make sure to purchase some later. Despite Iri and I keeping a low profile, people did take notice of us passing by and while most kept a respectful distance, some were brave enough to go forward to present a petition. I accepted it, of course, and promised to review it. Others simply just wanted a simple favour, like them showing me their babies.

"Oh he's a strong one," I exclaimed as I glanced down at the bundled form of a infant, his mother proudly showing him off.

"Aye," the Nord smiled. "I named him Harald, after his father."

"Harald," I tested. "It is a strong name, kinswoman."

"A strong name for a strong man," said the woman, the smile on her face turning bittersweet. I glanced up and saw the loss in her eyes.

"He served, hadn't he?" I asked softly. She nodded.

"And did not come back," she sighed.

"I am sorry," I offered. And I meant it. "I do not think he served with me, I would have known."

"It is alright, my lord." she smiled fully again. "I would like to think that in his last moments, he thought of nothing but home."

"He may not have served with me but he is still Legion, and if you ever need anything, then do not hesitate to go to Dragonsreach and seek aid from the Steward." I said. "Someone may have left the legion but the legion has not left them."

"Thank you, my lord." thanked the woman. "Truly,"

I smiled at her. "It is alright, kinswoman. I would have your name, if I may?"

"Sigurd," the blonde-haired woman introduced herself. We chatted for some more before I excused myself and went on our way. At my side, Irileth poked me.

"That was the fifth solicitor you have spoken today, my lord," frowned the Dunmer. "Please keep in mind I cannot scan everyone for hidden weapons. It's a taxing thing."

"They are my people, Irileth. I cannot be given to paranoia at every man and woman that comes my way," I replied.

"Just...just be cautious at least," sighed Irileth. Before long, we found ourselves staring at our quarry. Just outside of Whiterun, by the river,  a new building was being established. IT was not quite so artful like some we had passed in the city, a drab complex that was in the middle of construction but by the time it was finished, it was going to be a magnificent thing to behold. At the entrance, a crowd of men were standing, each one talking amongst themselves. They stopped when they saw Irileth and I approach. A Nord with the typical blonde hair, braided in the usual style, stepped forward.

"Lord Balgruuf," the man greeted me. I had met him before, well technically. Eorlund Graymane here wasn't the old man we saw in the game but slightly younger. Still, his skill as a smith was godly and because of that, he was pretty much the head honcho for the Blacksmith's Guild in Whiterun.

"Eorlund," I greeted him back. "I see you've brought the full guild out,"

"Aye," he answered gruffly. "You wanted the Whiterun branch of the guild, my lord. You got em,"

"Excellent," I beamed. "Now let us go inside, and you shall all see what I plan to happen."

And so, we went on inside the complex. The entrance to it still yet needed a gate but it had a pair of guards keeping eyes out. There was a great courtyard in the middle, and skeletons of buildings that were yet to be completed. "As you know, I plan to expand the guard of the city. For that, we need weapons and armor for the lads and lasses for obvious reasons. They cannot fight trolls or bandits with shoes,"

"But it won't stop some from trying," a blacksmith joked. Some laughter came from that but Eorlund stayed quiet. I chuckled a bit before continuing.

"Yes, quite. But as I said, we need arms and armor, and we need more volumes of it," I said.

"And the guild would be more than happy to supply the city with it, my lord," the same joker said, this time seriously.

"What is your name?" I asked.

"Regin, my lord," the man said. I nodded while in the inside, I smiled a bit. Regin was also the name for the Norse God for the forge and craftsmen. Inside joke aside, I continuedl

"Well then, Regin. I am aware that the Guild could supply us with it, but we need those arms quick, soon, and cheaply. And so, new methods would have to be needed," I revealed. Immediately, the collective blacksmiths frowned, particularly at the word cheap. Craftsmen prided themselves on their works and to hear the word cheap was anathema to them as it also had the word 'Poor-quality' attached to it. Eorlund however still remained silent. I continued. "This method I speak of will be used in complexes like these, which will be built all around the rivers of our hold. This method called the assembly line will ensure a quicker and faster way for making arms and armor."

I pointed at one building right by the water, where a great wheel was being constructed. "Those water-powered wheels shall be used to power the furnaces here, allowing for greater output than traditional ones. And with that, we come to assembly. We can have workers whose job it is to simply maintain the smelting of ore then have the responsibility of crafting it to weapons to another group who will then pass along the next responsibilities to another one. With this assembly line, iron ore will start as scrap, then when it passes its journey in the line, it will end as a tool of war,"

"Labor then becomes cheap, and untrained whelps work the same as craftsmen," Eorlund concluded.

"B-but, that goes against the traditions of the Blacksmith's Guild! Our skill as masters of the forge is cheapened!" stammered Regin. Already, some of the assembled men and women looked outright rebellious.

"Not exactly," I shook my head. "As this process is simply for the purpose of supplying the army. There will always be men and women serving in the guard who would wish for a specialized weapons and in the new agreement I wish for the city and the guild, the guild's masters shall have the exclusive rights to forge for the weapons and arms of the officers. Furthermore, the Guild itself will be the ones to oversee and run these new foundries, we do have to ensure that the items produced are of quality. And besides, you are all aware of the Empire's fabricae?"

"Aye," they all chorused.

"Massive armories, making and storing arms and equipment. Consider this as bringing the methods and techniques of Cyrodiil into Skyrim," I smoothed out. Some of the smiths looked contemplative while others were still harboring a face that looked as if they sucked on a bad lemon.

"Eorlund, we simply cannot accept this!" Regin turned to the man, whose face was set.

"You misunderstand, Regin," I said slowly. "Eorlund had already accepted."

The blacksmiths turned to me, their eyes wide. "What?" some stammered.

It is idiotic to go present something in public then have the people you negotiate with slam your face in, even more foolish to go challenge a guild, powerhouses of the day. And so, diplomacy first. I had already contacted Eorlund way before this public show and offered a new deal with the guild. Of course, Eorlund had told me to fuck off, telling me to never bring in this proposal ever again. But I explained to him that if the guild would not accept this, then I had no issue in simply hiring blacksmiths outside the guild to oversee the entire thing for me. Workers only needed to be trained in one thing and did not need an entire tutelage in smithing. And besides, the Guild itself would benefit from the entire thing being its overseers than operating out of it.

And there was also the special thing which I dangled in front of Eorlund.

Already, Freydis and a couple of Companions, men and women whose honors were without question, had set out from Whiterun in the night, their minds set in one thing.

Retrieving the fragments of Wuuthrad and letting the man re-forge it himself.

Writing to the Harbinger about my intentions had been simple, letting the man know that I was quite interested in old lore and I wanted to assist in reclaiming pieces of our legacy. I made no mention of the secret pact they had with Hircine, only that I was a Jarling interested in history.  Of course this meant earning the ire of the Silver Hand, themselves an established group of Werewolf hunters, not bandits like in the game, but they would be suicidal if they would declare against a Jarl.

"I-if that is so...then why are we here, my lord?" Regin turned to me.

"For you to see one of the many foundries I wish to establish along key places in the White River. This compound here is the first. I want you all to see what needs to be added, improved, or whatnot. After all, you will run the place," I answered.

In the end, the Blacksmith's Guild went along with it albeit begrudgingly. The final discussion was nothing more but some discussions on ownership and the like. With that out of the way, Iri and I headed out to meet the representatives of the Farmer's Guild who all had gathered themselves in the Bannered Mare.

Before that though, Iri suddenly grabbed my hand and lead me to an alleyway. I wondered why the hell she dragged me there before I saw the look on her eyes.

"Drop them," she demanded huskily. My mouth was agape for a moment, before I shrugged my shoulders and undid my belt. A second later, I sighed as Irileth went on her knees and wrapped a hand around my length. Slowly, she began to stroke it, her eyes glaring at me.

"I noticed you looking at that woman earlier, Balgruuf," growled the Dunmer.

"That I did," I did not deny. I moaned as she squeezed a little bit.

"Interested?" she asked dangerously.

"Only in you," I whispered. Her grip weakened as a victorious look came on her face. "Good," she said before she lowered her head and wrapped her lips around my cock. I moaned again as my length was grasped on the warmness of her mouth. Eventually, she fully encased my length in her and she began to bob her head up and down, her tongue coiling itself on me.

"Ooooo," I sighed as Irileth increased her pace, wet slurping noises echoing in the dark alleyway. The elf placed her hands on my hips, giving her better grip as she fully went about milking me. Then she increased her pace as she felt me twitch inside of her. A second later, I gave up as I came, my cock blasting thick cum inside her. All the while, Irileth kept her mouth in me, taking all of it in as I came. When I had finished, she pulled back, a wet trail of saliva and cum on her tongue. She opened wide, showing me how full her mouth was, before swallowing it all.

"Against the wall, now," I growled. But instead of doing that, Irileth simply stood up and wiped her mouth with a scarf.

"Later, my lord," Irileth said, a dark grey blush on her cheers. "You still have two meetings, do you not?" Before I could say anything in protest, the dunmer had already left the alleyway, her hips sashaying as she walked. I groaned as I went back to getting myself presentable again.

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"Welcome, my lord Balgruuf," a Nord greeted me as I strode into a room deep in the Bannered Mare. The room was reserved for meetings as it looked. A simple room with a long table and chairs, mugs of mead foaming or half drunk alredy. And on those chairs, other men and women stood to greet me.

"Olfrid Battle-Born," I replied in kind, keeping my voice level. "It is always a pleasure to meet you again."

The Nord preened, pleased at the praise. "You have asked for the Farmer's Guild, my lord, and we all are here for you. We are always ready to service Skyrim and the Empire."

"Then let us all be seated and let's discuss how your Guild will assist Whiterun," I replied and the assembled men and women all returned to their seats. Now, Olfrid Battle-born was still like his game self and again, younger. He owned the largest farm in all of Whiterun, the aptly named Battle-Born farm. It was only natural once more that he would be the head of the Farmer's Guild here. Now between Eorlund and Olfrid, I preferred Eorlund simply because he was a man of a few words and did not waste his time. Olfrid on the other hand was a tad bit pompous.

But at least he wasn't a bitch cunt like Nazeem.

I glanced around the table, taking note of the different clothing worn by the members here. Of course, not all farms were equal and some were more important than others and had at least came in their best clothing. Serfdom wasn't exactly a thing here in Skyrim, as seen with the high mobility that people had when it came to options but it cannot be denied that things certainly weren't equal.

I hoped to remedy that, even a little.

"I will cut to the heart of it then, kinsmen and kinswomen," I said erstly. "The Hold and the Guild have had a long-standing agreement, for you all to supply us and the armies with food and the Hold in turn, pays for it. I come here to negotiate with you all that the Hold needs more food as we wish to expand the Guard. This expansion isn't simply just for our kinsmen in armor but also for the hold. More food means more for hungry mouths, and hungry mouths aren't limited to soldiers,"

A few of the guildsmen leered, clearing having an idea on how that process would go.

"With the influx of new immigrants, current methods of farming is simply not enough. Newer methods would be needed and some new reforms introduced. These I shall show to you now." I declared as I turned to Irileth who nodded and stepped outside the room for a moment. She later returned with a pair of scribes carrying stacks of paper with them. The scribes went in and offered the papers to the men and women who accepted them and glanced at them.

"The Cyrodiliic System?" Olfrid read aloud, looking up from his paper. I nodded.

"Aye. Tis a method used by Cyrodiilic farmers to increase crop yields. In Cyrodiil, wheat would be grown in the first year, turnips in the second, followed by barley, with clover and ryegrass in the third. The clover and ryegrass were grazed or cut for feed in the fourth year. The turnips were used for feeding cattle and sheep in the winter. This system have many uses, for the fodder crops eaten by the livestock produced large supplies of previously scarce animal manure, which in turn was richer because the animals were better fed. When the sheep grazed the fields, their waste fertilized the soil, promoting heavier cereal yields in following years. This system, I wish for us to emulate," I explained. Now, the Cyrodiliic System was just the in-universe name for the Norfolk Four-Field Rotation system. Cyrodiil wasn't the breadbasket for the Empire simple because its fields were fertile. Why the rest of Tamriel wasn't using it was beyond me.

Olfrid was silent as he processed what I said and read through the papers, which were more detailed in terms of explaining what I had wanted for the Hold. Then, he spoke. "My lord, the Farmer's Guild are more than happy to assist you in this endeavour, but surely you understand that this system is unfamiliar to many, our methods having been the same since the days of Talos. Skyrim too is different compared to Cyrodiil and our crops are for the cold,"

I nodded. "Which is why I wanted you all to be on board with me. Your expertise in agriculture outstrips mine and you all understand this land far better than me. I want you and your guild to lead this, Olfrid. I can trust no one else but you," I added with a bit of brevity.

People were much more inclined to do work if they feel it is important. And Olfrid was certainly someone who puffed himself up at praise.

"Then the Guild will take on the challenge, my lord," huffed Olfrid. "However, we need assurance from the Hold that we will be compensated, should the results prove lacking."

"Of course we will. The Hold will not ask you all to do things that it itself will not do. In my own land and the Jarl's, I have instructed for this system to take place and they are doing it as we speak. If this fails, the Hold shall pay you all twice the price."

"Then we at the Guild sees no issue. We shall see it done," Olfrid declared. The other farmers nodded, though some less than others. But they simply had no choice. The Battle-Borns were the biggest land-owners in Whiterun and had a bad tendency of lording over the smaller ones. Either they went with the Guild, or nothing.

And just like with Eorlund, this meeting's outcome was decided before it started. It was not hard to meet with Olfrid, always making himself easy to access for the sweet Dragonsreach brownie points. Privately, he was assured of recompense, to be the first to receive agricultural equipment to be produced from the foundries, as well as keeping a place for his son Idolaf at my side when he would come of age.  

And so, we all toasted and just like that, the new age for Whiterun would come and in time, for Skyrim and the Empire.

When the next Great War comes, the Elves will not find scared and witless Men, but an Empire united. And with new prosperity, the Empire will triumph and bring to the Thalmor what they had wrought to us. They will suffer just like we did with their land, their people, and their blood.

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In one of the many rooms of Dragonsreach, I strode in, dressed in newer clothing and after a bath. Men and women stood tall, saluting me.

"Hail, Tribune!" they greeted me. I noticed two particulars lagging behind in the salute though the other one was a tad bit crisper. I shrugged my shoulders at that, since many have been out for months now.

"Set yourselves at ease, my friends," I said. "I'm no longer your Tribune and we are no longer legionnaires."

I still had many more guilds to meet, to bring into my new order, but there was so much I could do in a single day and the meetings with the heads had taken me awhile to accomplish. I would have to meet with the other guild heads before setting a public meeting with them. Until then, I had to meet up with former veterans to get them onside to be officers and NCO's for the new Guard.

A private room in Dragonsreach had already been prepared for this and they had all amassed themselves, enjoying some food and drink before I arrived. I strode towards the front where all eyes could see me. Irileth trailed me all the way, taking a place by my side as she was used to do.

"Welcome, my friends," I said aloud for all the room to hear. "It's good so many of you have come. It warms my heart that you would come all this way to visit me,"

"Of course, Tribune. We came all this way to Skyrim just for you!" one legionnaire shouted and some of them laughed. I saw that it was the one who was lagging behind earlier. From my side, Irileth glanced at him strangely.

"Thank you, but anyway, I will cut to the heart of it. As you know by now, Whiterun is going to be increasing its Guard and for that, we need officers. Now, I know that you have built new lives here but hear me out, my friends. Your purpose is to train the new expanded Army. You shall all be given ranks and privileges befitting your new stations. Whip the pups into shape as you will. When enough of them have been trained, you can choose to surrender your rank or continue serving."

A legionnaire raised his hand. An Imperial who I quickly recognized as Caius, the future Commander of the Guard of Whiterun. He had his hair cut short, and his eyes were set.

"Legionary Caius!" I barked. He stood, ramrod straight. If he was surprised that I knew his name, he did not show it.

"How are we to train them, my lord?" He asked.

"They shall be trained in unit tactics, to serve as one. You shall all be responsible for instilling in them discipline, and foster in them a new fighting spirit, for Whiterun and the Empire," I answered. The Imperial nodded. "And for their equipment?"

"The very same as you see with the current guard, though with better weapons and armor to be supplied locally." I finished. He seemed satisfied with my answer and sat down. Another legionary, another Imperial raised her hand.

"Legionary Castus?"

"And what of their duties, my lord?" She stood up from her chair. She had short brown hair, and a black eyepatch covered her right eye.

"To be the infantry arm of Whiterun. As you have all known, Markarth was a hard fought campaign and while our cavalry did well, the infantry we did have did mediocre work at best. Simply put, they shall go to places our cavalry cannot go, to maintain outposts at important roads in Whiterun as well as helping in their maintenance, doing garrison work and the like."  

She nodded and went back to her seat. I waited for another legionary to ask another question and soon enough, another one raise his hand. I glanced to him and saw that it was the slower legionary. This one though, I did not recognize. At my side, Irileth narrowed her eyes.

"And your question, legionary...?" I trailed. The man stood up and haruumphed.

"What shall be the position of mages in your army, my lord?" he questioned, his tone thick. The men and women seated next to him bristled at the disrespect shown. Irileth looked near murderous. I raised an eyebrow at the man.

"Mages shall be the hammer to the infantry anvil. They shall be in charge of defending the troops from magical based attacks and also to hammer our foes with spells," I answered, comparing them in my head to be organic artillery pieces that could lob Destruction spells at the enemy, provide Restoration to those that needed it, and put some Alteration spells whenever we met a magical-based enemy. "I shall be honest however and admit that my knowledge in this would be lacking and I would have to coordinate with you spell-slingers. My experience is with puny mortals, not walking spellbooks."

"In that case," the legionary said darkly, "Allow me to enlighten you on what a mage can do."

With speeds possible beyond men, the man then lifted his fingers, and with hate filled eyes, cried out. "For my father!"

The world then slowed, as flames poured forth from his hands, and a ball of fire came from him like a speeding bullet, and this fireball, was coming all it's way to no one else.

But me.

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A/N: Hello my friends! Here is a preview for the next chapter in Balgruuf the Great. In this chapter, we shall have a down-to-earth perspective from the normal Joes and Josephines. For Balgruuf's part, he will have a small discussion with some veterans regarding the need for skilled officers to staff the expansion of the guard. Balgruuf has decided that the first thing he is going to tackle is setting up a dedicated infantry core for Whiterun. Over-specialization gets crippling, the campaign in Markarth has seen to that.

Oh and the elf that has been hunting Balgruuf since the beginning is attending the meeting, disguised of course, and tries to assassinate the man. 

EDIT 1: I finally fucking finished it ahhhhhh. So, what do ya'll think?