Balgruuf the Great ch 47 preview (Patreon)

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Irileth

"It has been far too long since Whiterun was the first among equals," Balgruuf spoke, standing tall and proud, resplendent in his robes and cloak, before all of Dragonsreach, a goblet in his hand. The nobles of the city, far and wide, were assembled in their places of honor and in their finest clothes. Reds, and yellows, mahogany brown jackets or the brighter fur and cotton combination. Irileth was at her place, on the second floor rafters looking down at the feast below. 

"But now, a High King sits upon Dragonsreach. This is not just a victory for me but for all of Whiterun," he continued, making sure to look at every noble in the eyes, even briefly. "This represents opportunities for our prosperity to reach new heights, a prosperity which my House and I have brought forth even before the Jagged Crown came to me." 

A reminder to the nobles that it was him and his family which brought the Cyrodiilic system, the reforms of bureaucracy that has made them even more rich, and the fabricae which were now churning out curious devices and trinkets for them to use. It was also a compliment to his father and himself, his father having stepped down but still, he sat at the high table. He lowered his head at the praise, to the polite applause of the crowd. The High King let the applause go on then, it stopped as he spoke. 

"Starting today and until the final days, we shall be in a new world, my friends. I shall lead you and your sons through the highest rocks, to the most fertile plains, through the sands and glittering islands of the world. Today I find you a cobbler, a farmer, a fletcher or even a beggar. Tomorrow and to Sovngarde, you shall be leaders, conquerors, the richest of all men, the lords of lands and kingdoms." 

He then lifted his goblet up high into the air. "To prosperity, to Skyrim, and the Empire!" 

The nobles lifted their cups. "To the High King! To Skyrim! To the Empire!" 

With their toasts made, the men and women in the Hall drank. Irileth continued to watch silently, making note of what he had spoken. By making that promise, Balgruuf was sure to put the prosperity of Skyrim as his first national priority. While it was rather tame compared to what he promised to men such as Ulfric Stormcloak, it was very much a need for well, everyone that ruled. The Empire was anxious to rebuild and by putting that as a priority, he ought to calm Cyrodiil as well as most of the nobility who wished for peace. Irileth had little doubt the men and women below hated the Concordant and the loss of their God but the fact remained that not much warring could be done when you were poor. 

Briefly, she took a glance at an open balcony and in the distance, she could see the fires of Whiterun's fabricae in the distance, filling the sky with its red-orange glow. She had seen the rates Cyrodiil's very own fabricae had in terms of production. If Skyrim could reach that amount of production, it would very well prove to be a supplier of arms and other equipment for war, all so far away from the prying eyes of the Dominion. 

Her ears perked as the sound of music filled the air, and the laughter of the many guests down below. She turned and peeked over the railing. Indeed, the feast had started in all its splendor. At the High Table, Balgruuf and Cecilia charmed and spoke with their guests while mead, wine, and ale flowed freely. The air was filled with the scents of rich food. Stag, freshly caught from the plains and roasted with herbs and spices. Flattened egg noodles filled with spiced beef and cheese. Scallops baked in butter, cheese, and garlic. Bread of various shapes and sizes, baked until golden to the look and crunchy to the touch. Fruits served as they are or with tortes and pies and other deserts. 

Irileth had to admit that the food was inviting, mouth watering even but she had a job to do and frankly, she could enjoy having to eat her food without having to put up with other people. 

And so, she quietly slipped away from the party, her path leading into the residential chambers. Immediately, her training kicked in and she immediately put a invisibility spell on her. Her steps were light and stealthy, making her a shadow, a blade in the dark whose presence could only be seen when she deemed it. But now, her skills were not being used to execute a target or eavesdrop on an enemy but to steal an artifact sacred to her old guild. 

Irileth had long since admitted her faith was more for keeping up with tradition more than actual faith but having quite literally spoken to the Daedric Prince her ancestors would kill to have a conversation with, she had to be honest that her beliefs were rather...shaken. 

Her family, her people, had long since worshipped the Good Daedra, that being Boethiah, Azura, and Mephala. Yes, there was a time that they had also came to worship the False Tribunal when they were at the height of their power but Irileth had it on good authority that her family never stopped believing in the True Tribunal. Yes, worshipping and maintaining the tradition of her family and people was fine for her but actively believing in it, to resist the God that would have demanded her murder a man she respected and loved?

She...she could not in good conscience do such worship. 

Not to Balgruuf. 

Mephala, Azura, or Boethiah did not rescue her from a Thalmor dungeon. The Morag Tong did not break into prison to free her from chains and torment. 

Balgruuf did. 

And for that, he would have her loyalty, until either of them died. 

It was with those thoughts, Irileth carefully and silently entered Freydis's chambers. She made sure to mask the door opening and closing with a quick illusion spell, making it look as if it was never opened to begin with. The door closed behind her, she turned to examine the room and found it surprisingly Spartan in appearance. Then again, Freydis and her husband were a couple that prized strength over form. It did look rather tasteful, Irileth had to admit. There were twin spears crossing each other over a fireplace, the flames in it still quite burning and warming the room. A good thing to have as Irileth noticed a cradle where an infant silently slept. 

Lydia, Irileth realized. Looking down, she was a copy of her mother, a tuft of black hair over her tiny head. Irileth never thought much of children or infants, considering her lifestyle of moving and hunting and murder masked as executions but seeing the infant below, sleeping silently, it had made her wonder what sort of mother she could be. 

Well, better than her own mother, she supposed. She wasn't going to give up her child to the Morag Tong and train her to be a killer. 

And so, she turned from the baby and went to her work of burglary. Casting clairvoyance, she scanned the room for her quarry. A bright blue line appeared on the floor, leading her to a secondary chamber adjacent to the room she was in. Walking inside, it was an armory, she saw. 

Dotting the walls were weapons, from small daggers to massive warhammers and the like, each one meticulously cleaned and maintained. Irileth found some amusement to this because of course, the Nord has a armory with weapons to use. And smack dab in the middle, on a mantlepiece was the sword she was looking for, the Ebony Blade. 

Irileth's eyes were drawn to the Akaviri style sword, looking harmless as it was but she knew the chaos and wrath this thing could bring. And so, she walked forward and gingerly held up the blade with both her hands. 

"And you've found my sweet artifact," the blade sang with Mepahala's voice, making Irileth drop it back in its place. "The mortal wielding it was strangely resistant in harming her family, picking up idiot men and innocent waifs, only to murder them afterwards. Still, she serves her purpose in the grand design." 

"You will not harm anyone here," Irileth spat back, her fear of Mephala being set aside with bravado and loyalty to Balgruuf. She then picked it back up, hauling it over her shoulder. She left the armory, back into the main room. "This blade shall be where it belongs, in the hands of your little cult and you can do nothing to stop me."

"Oh, I cannot," Mephala sighed. Then her voice became a smirk. "But there is someone that does posses hands to fight and feet to move,"  

Irileth's ears perked at the sound of running feet outside the room. Her eyes widened as the door suddenly burst open, a wild=eyed Freydis walking in, scanning the room. Immediately, her eyes settled on Irileth standing by the cradle of  Lydia. 

"You will not harm my baby! Not while I live!" Freydis yelled. Her tone was wild, manic, and protective. In her eyes, insanity mixed with maternal instinct. Her hands balled into fists as her posture turned murderous. "My husband was taken away from me...now you take away my sword and my child?" 

"You are not well," Irileth tried to reason with Freydis. She cursed when the woman's eyes narrowed. "This sword...this blade is poisoning you...making you see things which are not there. If you love your daughter, you must allow me to take this away." 

"Poisoning me?" Freydis laughed. "Who was my comfort? My source of strength while Hrongar and Balgruuf were away? No...you are stealing it because you want it for yourself. My lady told me about you." She startled to chuckle. "I see it now...you are stealing it to use on Cecilia then take her place as Balgruuf's wife!" 

Her fists were raised. "Only I am worthy to use that blade! It came to me! If My Lady demands a proof of my loyalty and skill, I shall do so!" 

She charged forward, her fists gleaming. She swung her fists downward but they met only empty air. Irileth had ducked, turning herself insivible as she did so. Her heart pounded in her chest as she noiselessly tried to sneak out. Freydis was taller, more muscled. She was lighter and more lithe. If those fists had struck her, she knew she would have seen stars. 

Freydis on the other hand, while crazed, still had her skills. And so she scanned around the room, her fists still raised. In her vision, she caught sight of the rug being moved and there, she attacked. She rushed forward grabbing Irileth by the neck. "Found you!" Freydis cackled as she slammed Irileth against the wooden wall. Irileth gasped at the force of the slam, the air in her lungs leaving. What little remained left her faster as Freydis's slowly crushed the wind in her pipe. 

"Grrk, grkkk!" She struggled, her hands vainly grasping at Freydis. The Nordic woman simply leant in, her eyes full of murder. 

"I never forgave you for stopping me, back then," she whispered into Irileth's ear, her voice husky and low. "I would have gotten Balgruuf in my palm if it wasn't for you." 

"A-And you w-will never...g-get...him!" she managed to force out. It was a mistake as the crushing feeling in her throat intensified. 

"My lady...she has told me things..." Freydis whispered. "True...I will never get him. But incidentally...neither will you." 

Irileth struggled some more, her fingers nothing more but harmless thumps against Freydis's skin. With the last vestiges of her strength, her hands warmed as a jet of flame sprouted from her hand. Freydis screeched as her dress and hair were set aflame. She released Irileth who fell to the floor, coughing and hacking as she desperately took in air.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" Freydis screamed, rushing towards Irileth. Quickly, she tried to use Pacify on Freydis but the woman kept charging, her fists eager for blood. 

Blood it was. 

Fuelled by rage, adrenaline, and maternal instinct, Freydis leapt at Irileth and brought her fist down with so much force the wood had shattered. Irileth dodged the attack, rolling to the side. With the last of her magicka reserves, she cast twin fireballs at Freydis. One had struck her her chest, earning her Freydis's pained screams and the sickly seared smell of human flesh.

The other fireball however landed on a far curtain, setting it aflame. 

Ignoring the burns of her flesh and the fire rapidly spreading in the room, Freydis eyes were blood-shot as she went for the spears on the wall and brandished it at Irileth who sprang to her feet, her sabre in hand. Her attention was not at Freydis but on the rapidly burning room around them. She had to stop fighting and get the blade and Lydia out before the fire could totally consume the room.

But Freydis had other plans.

"Die!" Freydis yelled her battle cry as she charged, her steps like a charging bull and her spear the horns to gore Irileth. She struck the wall, embedding her spear deep. Irileth rushed to thrust her sabre but Freydis caught the blade with her palm. Irileth had seen many things in her lifetime. Having someone stop her stab with their own palm was new. She watched in shock as the full length of her sword was impaled into Freydis's left hand, the blade wet with her blood. Irileth reacted quickly, trying to pull it out but Freydis snapped her spear in two and with the lower half, she struck at Irileth on the face. Her nose broke at the force and drew out a fountain of blood. She was struck again, dazing her to her knees. The last strike went to her cheek, knocking her to the side. 

The dunmer could only watch as Freydis tossed aside the bloodied stick in her hand and slowly pulled out Irileth's own blade in her palm. Freydis walked, with clear intent,  to the fallen nighbtlade who's body refused to move. Irileth was not a pure fighter, even she tired sometimes and the beating she took had drained her. Freydis's figure was illuminated bright-orange by the flame, casting her an ominous shadow. She held up her blade, ready to bring it down on Irileth who expected death. 

What she did not expect was for Freydis to suddenly tense up and fall, letting her and her sword to crash unceremoniously on the floor, ominous green air oozing from her body. Irileth's eyes snapped to the doorway and there stood Mira, her hand raised. "The fire's spreading! Get Lady Irileth and the baby! Go!" 

In rushed Cassius and Gotz, their eyes drawn to the now rapidly consuming the flammeables it could touch. The burly orc went for Irileth, kneeling slightly to hoist her over his shoulder. "Blade.....Lydia..." she croaked. 

"I'm on it!" Cassius affirmed, hoisting the blade around his back. The last thing Irileth saw before darkness took hold of her was Cassius rushing into the fire, his hands reaching into the cradle and pulling out a crying Lydia. 

Then, she saw nothing. 

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A/N: Gotz x irileth confirmed?????

Hopefully, this was a better way of tackling the whole Ebony Blade issue and depicted the characters in a plausible sort of war. Iri is a sneaky nightblade and tries to nick the blade silently. Because Mepahala wants to see blood spilt, she tells on the unstable Freydis that someone is in her room mucking about her things. She sees Iri with the sword and starts lashing out, from internal stress, from Mepahala's influence, and the normal reaction you'd get from seeing someone hovering over your child with a weapon on their back. In a straight up melee against a pure melee build, Iri tries to sneak out of the fight but Freydis is a skilled adventurer in her own right and rightfully beats the shit out of Iri. She is then forced to use magic on the Nord but in the fight, there is collateral damage and the flames she is using sets shit on fire.

After this chapter, there will be a closing scene with some spicy action going on then, we will have a time skip.