Balgruuf the Great ch 50 preview. (Patreon)

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Baltafarian

It is the 1st of Sun's Height, The Year of Akatosh, 181. The Third Era is nothing more but a distant memory, the glory and splendor of the Septim Dynasty nothing more but whispers told be greybears and scholars. Happenings in other Kingdoms is concerning but for me, High King Balgruuf, my attention is focused on one place.

Skyrim, the homeland of the Nords, sits in splendid quiet. It's cities grow strong from the policies which I had enacted from the start of my reign. The Jarls grow prosperous from my fabricae, from my road networks, to the administerial reforms which I had given. Skyrim's ships travel to far lands, bringing back wealth and trade goods to my people. Thanks to the Nords which I had sent to the south, certain cities which would have fallen into violence were kept afloat. Cheydinhal remains green and Braavil continues to stand. The Empire, that glorious dream of Tiber Septim, stands as well but it is struggling in its breaths. The Emperor has retreated deep into his Palace, the running of government left to the Elder Council. What edicts come from him, it is delivered by red-robed men and in secret missives.

A certain restlessness lingers around the Imperial City but it has not gotten too concerning for his vassals...yet. The Emperor is silent but that did not mean his government was. Taxes had to be paid, important day to day work completed.

Five years had long since passed since the fire and in most of them, my face was stuck doing bureaucracy work, travelling around Skyrim to survey works, deal with the bickering of Jarls. Not much in terms of glorious battles or delighting myself to a harem of scantily-clad ladies. Once you reach the top, you are powerful yes. But what they do not tell you is that power comes with terms and conditions. No one can rule absolutely. You can command people to do things you want but they will resent you for it. You must compromise, you must give and get. There is little time for enjoyment, if at all. Depending on where you rule, there could be twenty or in my case, millions of people that count on your decisions.

Man. Shit was easier when I was a Tribune.

I lowered the paper on my lap. The Great Hall of Dragonsreach remained very much the same, sans for more men in armor walking around and the Jagged Crown sitting itself atop my big blonde head.

"Another sabotage?" I asked, leaning in. The official nodded, putting his clipboard to his side.

"Yes, High King,'' the man nodded. "Someone sneaked into the building at night and smashed some of the machines there with a hammer. We are still trying to fight out who."

"Surely, there ought to be eyewitnesses?" came the voice of my High Queen, clad in a silk dress that more than accentuated her still present curves. While her dress was rich, she opted for a modest crown. Age was not disagreeable to her and I. I think that we both aged well, like wine and not milk.

"The guards claimed they did not see anything as it was dark," the official continued. "But they had found a window that was opened. That was probably how the saboteur got in."

"Well, we have our issue. What can you all suggest?" I asked, turning to my court.

Through the years, I had built for myself a steady council of sorts. My greatest asset was my own wife and High Queen but there were other pieces too that I was most loathed to part with.

Á would be assassin turned Steward, I had to admit with great reluctance, was one of those pieces.

Endarion had squirreled himself into a position at court. While his attitude could use some work, I had to admit that the Altmer had more experience than anyone in Whiterun at the moment in how to run a place. I did not instantly grant him the position mind you. I gave him small and odd-jobs that he performed well in. Granted, I already knew he was pretty solid in his claims as thanks to him, the Redguards got some new info they benefited massively from. Now, he was my Steward and I was going to milk his CV for as long as I could.

"High King," he addressed me in that superior English sounding accent the Altmer were won't to have. Except he did not look like an Altmer at the moment. With the usage of magic, he was not the tall golden skinned bastards but a reasonably tall Imperial named Seneca. "With the recent introductions of your machines, it has presented a disruption in the traditional means of Nordic families getting income for themselves, that being weaving and spinning cloth. Granted, it has been profitable for the city but it has left certain members of your people without an income. I suggest granting them subsidies until they earn enough to find a different way of supplanting themselves."

My lips were thin as I listened on to Endarion. Outside, I was a face of stoic calm. Inside, I felt quesy. I knew I was walking on a thin line by introducing shit like the assembly line and stuff. But Whiterun needed a way of producing cloth fast and with the Thalmor on the horizon, I felt it was right to push forward an innovation, in the name of progress.

"It is sound advice, High King," Irileth spoke up, looking as spry and active as ever. Her voice held a small manner of discontent for agreeing with a High Elf of all people. But good advice is good advice.

"Perhaps it could be covered by the  SDRO?" Cecilia suggested. "Their lot is to assist displaced and affected families, yes?"

"We have argued thus with the SDRO, High Queen," the official spoke up. "But they say aid cannot be given to those who simply lost income. Under their purview, a stipend can only be granted to those who have been affected by natural disasters and the like. While unfortunate that some families have lost an income, they still possess a home and are thus, ineligible for aid."

I leaned back on my throne, my fingers tapping against each other. How incredibly bureaucratic. Irileth groaned at my side while Cecilia shook her head.

''How so repulsively bureaucratic," Endarion whispered under his breath, his tone both mired with disbelief and amusement.

Ah, what monster have I created?

Shaking my head, I leaned in. "Have your office make a tally of the families affected by this. I want accurate numbers. Once we get those numbers, I will see about organizing a budget to serve as their stipend until they find other sources of work. How soon can you get me the data?"

"In two weeks, High King," the official said after a moment's thought. "We not only have to examine our numbers here in Whiterun but also in the other Holds with attached fabricae. This is not just a phenomena happening exclusively to our hold. We have got complaints from all over Skyrim."

"Then let us work to make sure that these complaints will be addressed," I spoke sagely. "I wish nothing but prosperity for my people. A future for the young and security for the old. I will not renege on that promise."

All around, the Court nodded at my words. One part flattery, the other part in agreement. I leaned back, my eyes training on my tame and mundane court. It was...something.

Maybe I should consider brightening up the court. Behind me, Cecilia shook her head. "I told you long before that you were creating a monster. You should have killed it in its crib."

"That same monster is responsible for you having fresh scallops every now and then,'' I sniffed. "Be grateful."

Cecilia's lips resisted the urge to pout. She was High Queen now. High Queens do not pout.

"Up next, the Ambassador of the High King Thassad, from the United Kingdom of Hammerfell!" Endarion's voice rang aloud, bringing her attention and mine back to the Great Hall. At that, a tall dark-skinned Redguard took a step forward and bowed before me in their manner. I wasn't a particularly stickler for court etiquette, preferring the simple Nordic salute to the chest than the flourish of the Bretons or the protocol of the elves. Like, we all got work to do, my brothers under Talos. Get a damn move on.

"A thousand greetings from the Court of the Thassad," the Redguard greeted me, accented. A dark-skinned face under a turban, glittering silver mail over red robes. He had his own entourage as well, in the same mail and red roves as him. "Hail and well met, High King Balgruuf. I am Abeen Fadlan, with a letter from his Majesty. I hope to pass it on to you, with certain requests."

I nodded to Endarion who strode forward, accepting a letter from the Redguard. His fingers glowed briefly, checking the letter for any surprises. He then turned to me and offered it. I held out one gloved hand and read through it.

"Hail and Greetings, High King.

I write this letter to you in haste from Sentinel hence I beg forgiveness for its simplicity. My ships have spotted more golden sails heading for the shores of Valenwood, bearing troops and supplies. For what purpose, I do not yet know but it bodes ill. While the Redguard people no longer fly the dragon banners, we are more than pragmatic enough to know that should a repeat of the Great War happen, war will find its way to the sands of Hammerfell again and I fear, to the rest of Tamriel.

With that aside, I ask of you to install Abeen Fadlan as my permanent ambassador to your court. The shadow of war looms far but it still thunders loud in the distance. One may be mighty but one can never have too many friends.

Sincerely,

Thassad, High King of the Crowns and Forebears."

I lowered the letter down, my eyes connecting with Fadlan. "I see no reason not to deny your High King's request. You are more than welcome to my court and city, Honored Ambassador."

"I am honored," he said, dipping his head. Looking up, he motioned to his bodyguards who took out a box and lowered it before my throne. "Gifts, in the hopes this will smoothen our friendship."

At that, Irileth came forward and after scanning the box, she opened it softly. Her eyes widened as she glanced inside. She motioned to a few guards who walked and took out a few items from the box.

"A necklace of fine pearls, from Stro M'Kai, for your High Queen. Perfumes and baubles. A fine Redguard sabre for Lord Hrongar and a crown, made from the chest plates of fallen elves from the War." the ambassador said proudly, to the murmurs of the court. Cecilia's eyes were drawn to the fine white baubles one of the guards held up. Mine however were set to the brass like band with some inscription embedded into the metal.

That's a ballsy sort of gift.

"I thank you for you gifts, Ambassador," I said, sitting up straight on my throne. "You will find yourselves most welcome to Skyrim. In this light, is there any request you would like, as thanks to your gifts?"

Abeen Fadlan smiled. "High King Thassad wishes for talks for further cooperation between our kingdoms in manners of trade, as well as talks for the construction of a expansion of your Roads into Hammerfell."

"I am more than happy to discuss such things," I smiled.

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In Solitude, Silana Petreia yawned to herself as she climbed up the steps of Castle Dour, her path heading towards the Temple of the Divines where she served as an acolyte. Today of all days remained uneventful. If not cleaning the temple, she was off to do charity work in the name of the Divines.

Jarl Torygg had done amazing work as the chairman for the aptly named SDRO but even that had limits. What they could not provide, the Temple would fill in the gaps.

Silana grew up in misery and poverty, she wasn't going to grow up and neglect those that she grew up with. But still, there was only so much she could do and it was no time for her to return to the Temple, to pray and make ready for the next day.

Her steps halted slightly however when she saw a piece of parchment nailed against the wall of the Temple. Curiosity filled her as she walked forward to read what it had. Was it a petition? Her eyes settled on the first few letters.

She almost wished she hadn't

"TALOS IS A GOD!

THE THALMOR SAY THAT TALOS IS NO GOD, THAT HE IS SIMPLY NOTHING BUT A MAN. BUT THE ELVES ARE JEALOUS AND WISH TO DENY HIM THE WORSHIP HE IS GIVEN. WHEN THE OBLIVION CRISIS GRIPPED TAMRIEL, WAS IT NOT MARTIN SEPTIM WHO BROKE THE AMULET OF KINGS THAT SEALED THE GATES OF OBLIVION? TWAS HIS BLOOD THAT PUSHED THE DAEDRA FROM OUR PLANE. DIVINE BLOOD!"

Silana's eyes travelled down the extensive document, further proofs being written down that highlighted evidence of Talos's divinity. As she read, Silana's felt a sense of dread grip her very being. But nothing filled her with more fear than reading the last few paragraphs.

"YOU HAVE READ IT FRIENDS. PROOFS OF TALOS'S DIVINITY. AND THE ELVES AND THEIR IMPERIAL LAPDOGS WANT US TO LAY DOWN MEEKLY AND NOT WORSHIP OUR TRADTIONAL DIVINE. THE ELVES AND THE EMPIRE CHAINS US, MY BRETHREN. BREAK THOSE CHAINS, JOIN US AS WE RISE AGAINST THE IMPERIAL YOKE AND THE ELVISH ONE. RESTORE SKYRIM, JOIN US IN FREEDOM! DOWN WITH THE EMPIRE, LONG LIVE TRUE SKYRIM!"

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A/N: Uh oh...

After this, we will start the showdown of Skyrim and other worldly events.

See Hungarian Revolution of 56 for reference.

Edit: Changed a few things here, such as the dates. My god, Skyrim's civil war canon date took so long. IRL medieval rebellions happened faster.