Balgruuf the Great ch 38 preview (Patreon)

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Cecilia

She was a proud daughter of the Tullius clan, a descendant of a line that had served from Potentates, Tyrants, Kings, and Emperors. Their blood had marched all over Tamriel, serving ever dutifully and faithfully to their lords and would continue to do so for a thousand years. They hadn't met a foe that they wouldn't eventually triumph over.

Until the ancient enemy of their family leapt out of the shadows and Cecilia found herself struggling against it. She had been prepared for such a thing, learning from the best that money and Imperial education could afford. But she feared that despite her preparations, it couldn't be enough. It would never be enough for their ancient enemy was a power that defied all, bringing peasant and Emperor alike to their knees.

That ancient enemy...

Paperwork.

Cecilia had figured that with Balgruuf due to inherit Whiterun and if things went well, get the High Kingship, she would have to insert herself into the stewardship  business sooner rather than later. She fully intended to make herself useful as his wife be it in stewardship, in the fields of battle, or in...other areas. That was her duty after all. She was not some pompous Breton Lady that listened to songs or wrote poetry. No, she was first and foremost, a soldier.

And good soldiers did their duty.

"And here are the latest reports coming from the Guilds'' A deep and mature voice spoke up. A stack of papers were deposited on her desk. Cecilia bit back the urge to frown. She glanced up and Nord Blue eyes met with her own.

The Steward had introduced her to Helga of Falkreath after she broached her desire to get plugged into the Whiterun bureaucratic machine. She was swiftly taken to another part of Dragonsreach where a small army of pencil pushers attended to stacks of papers, some were as tall as a man fully grown. Seeing that, Cecilia understood that this was not going to be as simple as she thought.

''I've compiled them from total output and from descending order. That will make it easier for review,'' the blonde explained. "All you have to do now is confirm it. Below all those reports are letters of thanks to the guilds. Simply sign it with your name and the guilds will receive their thanks.''  Cecilia nodded as she glanced down at the papers and scanned one to pick. She pulled out the one marked with the plow of the Farmer's Guild. This one ought to be interesting, Cecilia thought. Skyrim wasn't exactly known for produce thanks to it being a mountainous country and the fact that frost made farming intensely difficult. She brought the paper close.

...

...

...

She blinked.

"Helga?'' she called out to the blonde, her eyes still glued to the paper. Said blonde had turned away to leave when she called out to her. She reared back, her steps echoing in the room. Cecilia had decided to seat herself in Balgruuf's office as her husband was noticeably absent. Hearing Helga approach, Cecilia set the paper aside and tapped on it, momentarily taking in the Nord's buxom form before speaking.

''These yields from the Farmer's Guild....how accurate are these?'' she asked. Clearing her throat, Helga replied. ''To the latter. It's only been a year since Whiterun adopted the Cyrodiilic System but the yields have been very promising.''

Cecilia blinked. "Cyrodiilic System?''

It was Helga's turn to look confused. ''Forgive me, my lady, but I was under the belief that an Imperial like yourself would be familiar of such a thing. Lord Balgruuf claimed that it was all the rage back in the Cyrodiil.''

She would know immediately what it was considering she grew up in the damn place. But it was the very first time she had heard of it. ''What is this System?'' Cecilia asked, leaning forward. A thoughtful look came upon Helga's face.

''I do not know the exact details but crops are rotated every planting season. It would be better for you to ask the farmers themselves however.''

Cecilia stood up. ''Then we mustn't waste anymore time. I have to inspect my husband's lands anyway. I would like to ask you to join me,"

Helga raised a bushy eyebrow. ''Join you, my lady?''

''I'm going to need your help with local matters as well as to bring me to speed with how things are run here,'' Cecilia answered. Helga thought for a moment before nodding. ''I will have to change into riding leathers,'' she said, gesturing to her dress that hugged and accentuated the buxomness of her body. Cecilia resisted the urge to smile.

Riding leathers, 1. Dresses, 0.

It was there that they later descended from Dragonsreach, accompanied by guards and Helga's own handmaidens. While she was dressed in her usual clothes, Helga wore a red and gold doublet. Knee high boots hugged her legs, worn over tight riding leathers. A thick fur coat was draped around her to keep her warm. While the sun was out and its yellow rays warmed her face, the cold Skyrim wind swept them up and chilled them.

''At this hour, I would be riding by the Niben River,'' Cecilia remarked, their horses clip-clopping down the path into the Wind District. the premier residential district of Whiterun. Nordic architecture made heavy use of wood and stone, multi-layered domiciles occupying their own little plots.  Dominating the Wind District was the magnificently colored Gildergreen tree in its own little shrine, supplicants of Kynareth surrounding it, the nearby Temple of Kynareth no doubt making coin from the pilgrims and devotees making their way to visit.

''If I was in Falkreath, I would have to contend with an army of men looking to gain my hand in marriage,'' Helga said, her voice dripping with slight disdain. Cecilia would have to make a note of asking Helga about that. She seemed to be a woman still in marriageable age. They passed through without incident as most of the citizens wished to simply go about their day. She received greetings and salutes from a citizen or two. it was going to change however once they descended into the Plains District, the economic center of the city. Nay, Cecilia could smell it even a mile away.

Breads, spices, perfumes, and more. The Plains District was where merchants exchanged goods for septims and what goods there were. Game hunted from the bountiful plains outside were sold for their meat and hides. Cheeses and fish and casks of ales and mead. Jewellers peddling everything from simple golden bands to more intricate pieces of rubies, and opals, and sapphires. Bakeries and streetmongers sold their baked and cooked goods, wafting the air with wheat breads, rye breads, black bread. Stews, primarily beef and cooked with onions and cheese, Cecilia could smell. Soups. a creamy potato potage. Roasts and other meats served in skewers.

She made a mental note to come and visit that streetmonger with Balgruuf.

They then passed through the Plains District and out of the gates where a endless line of people awaited their turn to be inspected by the guards before being allowed inside. The guards saluted her as she and Helga passed by, a courtesy afforded to her as Balgruuf's wife.

At this point, Cecilia found married life to be unlike what she expected. Well, it wasn't as if she expected that her husband was going to make a play for the throne of Skyrim.

''Something on your mind, my lady?'' Helga asked her, curious on what she could be thinking about. Cecilia smiled at her.

''Please, just call me Cecilia. We aren't in court at the moment. We can afford to relax our niceties,'' said Cecilia. There was always a time and place for everything and she found it grating to be addressed with niceties every single waking moment.

Helga coughed. ''I see...well then. Call me Helga.'' She then looked expectantly at her. Cecilia then deigned to answer her. ''Well, I just found my start to married life...interesting to say the least. I was under the belief I was to marry a Jarl, not a High King.''

The blonde seemed to look amused at her. ''I've heard about that, the swearing in of oaths. It was hard not to, with all of the men yelling at the top of their lungs.'' She shook her head. ''So, how does it feel like to be married to the High King?''

Cecilia snorted, holding up the reins of her horse. ''He is not High King yet. Let's wait for the results of the Moot then I'll say.''

''You've studied our customs,'' Helga remarked. Cecilia nodded. "As I said to Balgruuf myself, I was going to marry into a Nordic House. I ought to familiarize myself into the customs of his people so that I can learn to live among them. To his people, I am a stranger. If I was going to stand at Balgruuf's side, I ought to be seen as a Nord in custom if not in appearance. I find Nords accept strangers if they try to be one of their own.''

''You aren't wrong with that,'' nodded Helga, glancing at a distant tower where the horsehead banner of Whiterun flew proudly. ''My people are proud of our customs, our traditions.  You will be hard-pressed to find a Nord that is not happy of who and where they came from.''

Cecilia nodded, listening along. She could relate to that. She was proud of her clan, of her people and Empire. Admittedly, it had not been an easy or bloodless journey for the Empire to spread out as far and as wide as it did. But the results speak for themselves, didn't they? Thanks to the Empire, the Provinces had law and order. Thanks to the Empire, they had roads, and trade, and futures for their young. While she was willing to accept Nordic customs, she would never forget where she came from.

A thought came to her mind, a note that she had promised to pick up on from earlier. ''Say, Helga, do you mind if I would ask you a question?'' Cecilia began.

''Of course,'' the blonde nodded.

"You mentioned that you had an army of suitors that awaited you in Falkreath. What exactly did you mean by that?'' Cecilia asked, curious. To anyone, that would have sounded like a boast. Helga herself did not look like anyone who would boast thought did have plenty to boast of. She had a mature sort of look about her, a buxom beauty with eyes that sparkled with intelligence. Her lips were a bright cherry red and her face pleasing to the look.

Helga laughed. ''Oh, that?" She shook her head then, she sighed. ''I am the niece to the Jarl of Falkreath. My son, he is the heir to my Uncle's seat. If I marry anyone of my suitors back home, they would be able to control my son's education and upbringing.'' A disgusted look came to her face. ''And if get married again, I will be expected to make another child with them. My boy, his position as heir would be threatened if I gave him a sibling.''

Cecilia offered her a sympathetic look. "I'm...I'm sorry to hear that, Helga. Your child...what is his name?''

For the first time today, Helga smiled. ''Siddgeir. His father was a mighty warrior, Thors.'' Upon seeing the look on her face, Helga continued. ''My husband is now in the mighty company of his fathers and their fathers. I lost him to the war, alongside so many other wives and children.''

Cecilia gripped her reins. Between her legs, the horse she rode on snorted nervously. She took in a breath, leaning down to give the animal a pat. She leaned back, sighing. ''Damn the elves. We lost so much to those bastards.'' she cursed. "I swear, we will return to them the tender mercies that they gave us in the war.''

''That we will, Cecilia,'' Helga's smile turned ghost-like. ''That we will.''

Finally, their destination got them into a quiet little corner of the Hold. Quiet as there was not much people save for farmers busy tending to their fields, horses pulling plows on fields with soil as dark as night. The plows Cecilia spied were being pulled by the horses with little to nor effort. Cecilia took the lead, spurring her horse to turn into a track road, flanked by the fields. In the distance, she spied rows upon rows of green plants bathing in the suns warm rays.

''Those crops...potatoes?'' she asked as her ears picked up on Helga riding up next to her. The blonde glanced around and found called out to the nearest peasants. ''Kinsmen!'' Helga called out to them. ''What crops are being planted here?'' Nearby, two men were tending to their bounty when Helga called out to them. They seemed to discuss with each other before the first man trudge through the field. He would salute Helga and Cecilia briefly before answering. ''Gourds,'' he would gesture at the field he stood on. ''Potatoes,'' he then pointed into the direction where Cecilia glanced at. ''Barley,'' he stated at the field where they saw the peasant till earlier. He then pointed at a field further back. ''Clover.''

Cecilia glanced back at the field. ''How does your Cyrodiilic System work, Nord?'' she asked, still confused on why they called it that way. The peasant's eyes followed Cecilia's. ''I don't know the specifics, my lady,'' he said, scratching his head. ''But we rotate the crops we plant. The guild says that rotating the crops with different ones nourishes the soil. The guild says it works and it does so we trust it.''

''And what use is the clover?''

''It's for our livestock, my lady.'' the farmer answered. ''Makes them nice and fat.''

So that would explain the constant usage of meats in their diet, Cecilia mused as she spurred her horse foward again. As she examined the fields, she began to think. Whiterun was the largest of all the holds, most of it being grassland. Even despite the threat of frost, it was still quite suited for agriculture and logically, all the crops being planted in Skyrim had to be the tough and hardy sort as to survive in the chilly environment on where they grew. If Whiterun would continue in its path of expanding its agricultural practices, it could easily sit itself as a premier supplier of food for the other Holds. No wait...it had already done so, Cecilia remembered, thinking back on the reports she had read. It spoke of sending vegetables to Windhelm for a good sale...

Cecilia did not know how to feel on this. On one hand, she was proud to know that the Hold she had married into would have a bountiful future in the coming years. On the other, she was still an Imperial noblewomen whose family made their fortune mostly on agricultural products and exporting them to the Provinces. Skyrim was a big market for Cyrodiil and admittedly, it hadn't been able to produce as much as the land was still recovering from the war, the elves not being gentle to the farms and their farmers.

Thinking about it some more, it wasn't as if Whiterun would totally replace Cyrodiil. Even with its methods, it was still constrained by its size and the Skyrim weather did not exactly allow for the same yields as produced in Cyrodiil.

She would have to study it some more.

Cecilia then reared her horse back, turning for the road. Helga caught up with her. ''Where to next, Cecilia?'' the blonde asked her.

''The other paper...it mentioned a fabricae,'' Cecilia said, remembering the other paper she skimmed through. ''I would like to see it.''

''Then follow me,'' Helga declared, taking the lead. Cecilia rode up next to her, contemplative. Helga saw her look. ''What's on your mind?''

''The population rises and falls according to the availability of food,'' Cecilia muttered. ''Cyrodiil at its height included incredibly bountiful harvests. With such a plentiful supply, Emperors did not need to worry about feeding their subjects and allowed them to pursue other projects.''

''And in due time, Whiterun will see many, many more children,'' Helga surmised, her eyes brimming with calculations. ''It makes sense. If the people are happy and well-fed, unrest is non-existent since there will be plenty of food for everyone.''

Ah, children. ''Speaking of children,'' Cecilia coughed. ''How is your son, Siddgeir?''

Helga smiled, the wind picking up slightly, letting her hair fly in the breeze. ''He is well and growing fast. He will grow strong and tall, like his father.''

Cecilia nodded, listening. Slowly, she began fidgeting with her fingers, a particular question on her mind. Helga saw this however, laughing. ''Go on, don't be afraid to ask.''

Her cheek reddened. She sat up on her saddle, coughing into a closed fist. ''S-so,'' she stammered. Oh, bgy the Divines. ''W-when you had, Siddgeir. Was it...?'' she trailed. Helga's eyes brightened in understanding.

''Ah, well,'' Helga began thoughtfully, putting up a finger on her cheek. ''He was large boy so I had some trouble in pushing him out." The blonde glanced at her, her eyes taking note of her body. Cecilia felt naked under her gaze. She nodded, as if taking in some sagely wisdom. ''You have wide hips so you shouldn't worry too much thought you will have to take into account the size of your babe. It will be painful of course but women have their own little ways of reacting to the pain."

''I see...'' Cecilia trailed off, her voice unsure. A gloved hand found its way to her womb, stroking gently. Helga was still looking at her however. ''Are you...?'' the blonde asked gently.

Cecilia shook her head vigoursly, her hand retreating back to hold at the reins. "N-no! Not yet!''

"Yet?'' Helga smirked.

The next Lady of Whiterun coughed into her fist again, the very picture of grace and nobility. ''Well...we....we..did...'' Her voice trailed off.

"Did what?'' Helga asked sweetly.

''We...consummated.'' Cecilia hated how she squeaked. She was a Tullius damn it, a soldier! Soldiers do not squeak!

''Ah,'' Helga nodded. ''So, was he good?''

Cecilia turned redder than red. ''Helga! T-that is highly inappropriate!"' she stammered, scandalized out of her mind. Helga simply laughed. ''That does not answer my question. So, how was he?''

Cecilia shook her head, her cheeks still burning. ''T-this is not a topic for ladies,'' she cleared her throat.

"Not for ladies perhaps, but perhaps among friends?'' Helga supplied, her voice hopeful.

Cecilia allowed herself to smile at that, despite the redness on her cheeks. "Perhaps,'' 

They came down the road and came upon a bridge, a great waterfall on its flank that fed into a river downstream. Her senses smelt the foam, the crashing of water upon rock. It felt therapeutic to her soul. 

''Most of the new fabricae are constructed by the banks of the White River,'' Helga explained as their party crossed the bridge. ''They harness the power of the river to fuel the mills.'' 

And sure enough, she spied a compound with high walls and tall furnaces that billowed out great big black clouds of smoke. The closer that they came  to the building, the more her ears picked up the sound of industry. The striking of hammers against hot steel, the hiss of iron hot slag as it was doused in water. A pair of guards stood before the compounds entrance, clad in the usual brown and yellow plate of Whiterun. They saw them approach and after not so subtly trying to straighten themselves, saluted her and Helga. Cecilia would have to make a note of rotating the guards often.

''Hail, Kinsmen!'' Helga called out to them, directing her horse to halt before the guards. ''Lady Cecilia wishes to inspect the fabricae.'' 

They nodded and called out for the gate to be opened. Not a second later, the great gates swung inward and the party continued in. 

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The sun was bright orange by the time they finished their little inspection. Silence gripped Cecilia, the wind breezing by and the clopping of horse hooves on cobbled  roads. The fabricae, the farms. It did not take long for her to grasp the outcomes from everything that she had seen today. With the introduction of the Cyrodiilic System, a system she had no idea existed in the first place, there was bound to be a plentiful supply of food not just for people but for livestock. Thus, the Hold would have a varied supply of grains, tubers, vegetables, and animal products such as butter, milk, cheese, and their meat. The food supply would ensure a growth in population. 

She glanced back, the smoke-billowing form of the fabricase slowly vanishing in the distance.

And in time, the new generation would grow. Should anything happen in the near future, say a continental war that would consume nations and entire generations, Whiterun would be ready to arm its soldiers twice over. Cecilia alongside anyone with a lick of sense knew that the White Gold Concordant did not resolve the Great War. Too much blood had been spilt, too much resentment; a feeling that grew day by day. There was going to be another war in the horizon. 

And Balgruuf, with his reforms, was preparing for it.

''Cecilia, are you alright?'' the concerned tone of Helga broke her out of her thoughts. Shaking her head, Cecilia put on a smile though it was unconvincing. ''Y-yes. I am fine. Just...coming to terms with something.'' 

''Go on...?'' Helga urged her. 

Cecilia looked back into her memories, oi seeing the haunted look in Balgruuf's face. She could never forget that, the paleness of his face, the sheer emptiness in his eyes. Balgruuf had seen war, in its basest and unrestrained obscenity. And this...this was a world that she was going to bring children into? Was she just going to raise children in one second then hold their bleeding forms in her hands? 

Silently, her hand trailed off once more at her womb. 

Cecilia felt fear. A fear that gripped at her soul. But there was something else to her as well, something that languished at the injustice, the unfairness of it all. A fire perhaps, a flame whose intensity grew as her fear dwindled, replaced by anger. 

She would forever hate the Dominion, for plunging the world into disorder and chaos. She would despise them, for bringing war and its degeneracy into their lands. She saw no redeemable virtue in their warmongering, their aggression. What could possibly justify their...

Their...

Suddenly, her rage fizzled for a moment as a thought came into her brain. 

Then, she laughed. 

''What's so funny?'' Helga asked, a little off-put by the sudden giggling from Cecilia. 

''Oh, just....just having a thought,'' Cecilia admitted. Helga raised a bushy eyebrow. ''That thought being?'' 

''If a man committed a great crime, does his children share any of the blame?'' Cecilia questioned. Helga thought about it for a moment before shaking his head. ''No....I think not. The children are innocent and it would be unjust to attack them for the sins of their father.'' 

''Not to the elves,'' Cecilia said, shaking her head. ''The Empire has given much to Tamriel; law, order, infrastructure, and unity. But these things were brought about over the corpses of the guilty and the innocent. The Redguard fleet was burned, High Rock was conquered and when Tiber Septim turned to the High Elves, he unleashed the Numidium upon them. As much as we hate the elves for starting this war, the elves themselves have as much reason to want war.'' 

Everyone knew of Tiber Septim's conquest, the founder of the Empire. Skyrim saw him as one of their own and submitted quickly. High Rock, the homeland of the Bretons, long divided among each other fell swiftly as well, the Breton Kings and Princes unable to mount a effective defence. The Redguards of Hammerfell committed themselves well, even beating the nascent Empire in many battles but they fell as well. Black Marsh was a simple matter of occupying their outskirts and Morrowind fell in through negotiation. 

It was from that negotiation the Empire was gifted the Numidium. They did not use the Brass Goliath against Elsweyr and Valenwood but they did against the High Elves. The Brass Goliath laying waste their fleets, their armies, and their cities. It was only then and there the High Elves submitted and the Empire was born, from the thousands of corpses it left in its wake. 

''Are you sympathizing with the elves?'' Helga asked frostily. Cecilia shook her head. 

''No, I am trying to grasp why they would want war. And I feel I know the answer,'' Cecilia sighed. ''To us, the sins of the fathers may not apply to the sons but the High Elves do not see it that way. They will not stop until they can have their measure of justice, their pound of flesh from us.'' 

The continued to ride in silence, returning to the shadow of Whiterun. They passed through the gate and into the Plains District. It was just as lively as they left it, the markets and the stores and the stalls taking in customers and their coin. New smells were registered by Cecilia, the breads of midday now replaced by pies and snacks. The bakers of Whiterun followed a menu it seemed as she spied a stall being stocked with the enticing goods. Apple pies, snowberry pies, boiled creme treats, juniper crostatas, meat pies, the famous Skyrim sweet rolls. Cecilia smiled as children ran to and fro, some being chased by their parents. She took in the sight and smell of the city; citizens enjoying mugs of ale and mead. Mothers haggling for meats and vegetables and cheeses. Daughters and sons begging their parents for this toy, or that sword, or that flower. 

Despite his preparations for war, Balgruuf's reforms were not just solely for that. It ensured that everyone from the oldest greybeard to the youngest tot could eat. No one was ever going to go hungry, not in his watch. The expansion of the city meant newer services, newer blood, newer opportunities for anyone to prosper. He had brought with him legionnaires who wished for a better life for themselves and their families, a better life they will attain in the world that he was building. 

A world of plenty. 

How could she let such a word slide away? How could she not want that world for her children, should the Divines bless her and Balgruuf so? How could she not stand up, shield and saber in hand, to defend that? The citizens which looked to them? The fathers, the mothers, the daughters and sons who made up the city?

Finally, she spoke up to Helga. ''The elves have their reasons for war. They will not find it easy however. Men and women tend to fight even harder, until death, when they fight for what is behind them.'' At that, they ascended into the higher districts, the Plains District at their backs. 

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A/N: A little Cecilia chapter. Then, we can get back to business. For all ya'll Iri fans, ya'll might get a W or an L, depending on how things go.