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Windhelm

The air of Windhelm was crisp and cool. Staying in the City of Kings made one feel like they were breathing in ice. A byproduct of its location being on the Eastern End of Skyrim, the spot where the Sea of Ghosts would batter its strongest winds and roughest seas. On the bones of prisoners, Windhelm was built to be strong and mighty, thick drab grey stone serving as its foundation. The city was not meant to be pretty. It was made with only a few things in mind. Retribution, domination, and a reminder to what remained of the ancient snow elves the price of contesting against Nordic valor.

It was here that Skyrim well and truly began and it was there where its ancient spirit and long traditions flourished.

Much of it was clear to Kleppr as he walked across the bridge that lead into the city, his cart rumbling against the snowed stone path. He and his family were naught but humble farmers, the ordinary salt of the earth that tilled the soil and fed their fellow Nords. And today, he was here to sell their produce, plump potatoes and cabbages. The guards in their iron armor and spectacled helms nodded at him as he passed, his face a usual sight most days. His cart rumbled inside, specks of snow falling from the sky. 

The interior of Windhelm was where the real beating heart of Skyrim lay. The Palace of Kings, a multi-storied manor jutted out against the sky, like a crown to Windhelm's body. It was where the Jarl ruled and slept over a city of thousands, each one of whom were true Nords in their own right. But Kleppr was not here for them, no. 

He was simply here with vegetables to feed the people. And he wasn't going to neglect in his duties. 

His cart went past crowds going by their day. It was morning and many were out going to and from the market. Kleppr was one with the crowd, another unassuming face going about their lives. But to Kleppr, he was far more than that, much more than these normal people. 

His cart led him to a smaller street where another Nord impatiently stood against a barrel. 

"You're late, Kleppr," the Nord barked. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited?" 

Kleppr had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry, Jon. The cabbages took a bit too long to load." 

Jon shook his head before whistling. A pair of young men came forward. "Get the produce. We need to restock," he ordered. At that, the boys nodded and began climbing up into the cart. As they did, Jon and Kleppr shared a look. 

"So...is it today?" Kleppr whispered. Jon blinked, glancing around. Feeling secure, Jon leaned in. "They are trying to convince the Jarl. If it all works out, we won't even have to do it ourselves. Jarl Ulfric is a true Nord. He knows what he will do." 

At that, Kleppr frowned slightly. This, Jon noticed. "What's the matter?" 

"Are you sure the Jarl will be convinced?" Kleppr asked. 

''He will be," Jon said confidently. 

"And how do you know that?" 

"The Prophet got a plan," revealed the other Nord, smiling. "If he will not make a choice for himself...we will make one for him." The boys from earlier later returned carrying chests. It looked heavy. Kleppr realized. "You've done well transporting food for us but now, you'll be transporting something else. Bring this one to the docks. The guards know your face and they won't try and stop you. If someone asks, tell them this is farming supplies, for a coming harvest." 

Kleppr blinked then understanding slowly came to him. "It's today!?" He nearly yelled. The shushing from Jon prevented him from all but screaming out. 

"Keep your voice down! We do not know who else will be listening!" Jon said, panic in his voice. It was then a rough voice joined in. 

"I've heard enough," 

Jon and Kleppr froze as the bearded face of Galmar Stone-Fist rounded the corner, his signature black bear head-ress over his bemused face. There was the sound of clinking metal as iron-banded guards rushed, forming a crisp shield-wall right next to him, disciplined eyes glaring at them under spectacled helmets. Silence descended as the two young men glared at them, knives dropping. Kleppr simply froze as Jon rounded past the two men. 

"What is the meaning of this!?" He barked. "I am a private citizen!" 

"Who is also conspiring treason against their Jarl!" Galmar cheerily informed him. "Now, I had orders to take you alive but I don't really mind bringing you back dead. So, what will it be?" 

Jon glanced at Galmar then at the soldiers. "You, all of you in your armor, to arrest me? Unarmed and without armor? And you are the suppose Stone-Fist!? You are a pebble!" 

"The guards are to stop me from braining your traitor face in," Galmar said again. A single gloved hand fell on the hilt of his sword. Not on his battleaxe, the street was too narrow for him to swing it properly. "Surrender and we will get this thing over with," 

"Never!" one of the boys yelled, charging at Galmar. The Nord stood still, watching as the youth ran forward. He thrust his knife forward to stab at Galmar's chest but the taller and bigger Nord grappled the charging youth and with little effort, raised him up and slammed him on his back, against the cold snowy pavement. Jon cried out in horror. "SON!" 

The boy coughed up blood as he lay on the floor. Galmar raised one boot and laid it on his chest. Still holding on to his single hand, Galmar turned to Jon. "I would rather not kill this pup, traitor. Surrender quietly and you might share a cell together. So, what will it be?" 

Shaking with apparent rage, Jon glared at Galmar. But then, his eyes fell on the boy. Sighing, he raised his hands. Not a second later, the other lad dropped his knife and followed his father's example. Galmar smiled, turning to Kleppr who quickly stood up and offered his surrender. 

"Good!" Galmar clapped, taking his boot of the boy. Turning to his men, he nodded. "Get these rabble in chains. Get the pup someone to look over his arm." 

"Yes, Stone-Fist," the soldiers said, moving to comply. As Galmar took in a breath, he turned on his heels to scan around the quarter. A crowd had formed up to watch but seeing the housecarl look at them made many disperse. Something in Galmar's gut yelled at him to turn to the side and there, he saw a dishevelled looking man stare at him a bit too intently for his liking. Seeing that Galmar was looking at him, the man ran off and disappeared. 

Despite that interaction, Galmar felt his stomach churn. Something was afoul in the air, he could feel it, in the stares sent his way, the sudden chill of the air. Shaking, Galmar turned and walked into the alleyway. His hands found the door of Jon's shop. It was open and he did not have to struggle with it. 

The inside revealed a hallway, with chairs here and there. The usual look of a shop. But in the back was another door. He strolled to it to open it. It was locked. He pulled back slightly and with one great kick, burst it open. Light streamed into a dark and dank room. He walked in and to his expectations, it was a sizeable storeroom smelling of spices, herbs, and the other supplies a grocer would have. He continued on, his boots echoing in the dark room. 

"Looks like a damn Grocer's room," Galmar noted, walking past through shelves upon shelves. Looks like there would be little space left for an extra room to hide things. If Galmar were attempting to hide things, he would hide them in the basement. Glancing down, he would not the wooden floor. He would begin pacing again, his eyes trailing on the floor. Eventually, the symmetrical lines ended in a particular corner. 

Now that was interesting. 

Galmar knelt, feeling the floor. His fingers would search that particular partfor a groove to insert his fingers in. Eventually, he found one. He would pull it and to his expectations, it resisted him. "Guardsman!" he yelled out. "Search the grocer! See if he has keys!" 

Not a second later, a guardsman would walk in, holding aloft a ring with keys. Galmar would accept it and spy around for keyholes. He would find it, covered by a sack. He would insert the key in, twisting it. There was a metal lurch as the swivels opened. 

Grinning, he would pull open the door. It was dark but not enough for him to not see. He could spot stairs and slowly, he would descend down. His steps would lead him into a underground storage where his eyes strained. "Light!" he called out. Not a second later, the same guardsman from earlier would lower a torch through the opening. Galmar accepted it and turned. 

The light did its job, revealing a underground room filled to the brim with weapons, and armor. Spears, axes, swords, hammers, chainmail coats ands boots. Galmar would walk around, taking note of the weapons. He would unsheathe a blade from its scabbard and inspected it. Galmar knew good steel when he saw one and the sword he was holding was of fine quality. He would glance around for any marks. Blacksmiths would oft leave their sigils on their creations, a mark that they had made it. And sure enough, he wound what he was looking for. 

A bear, roaring with fury.

But his attention however was not at that. Instead, he glanced at the far corner where a altar stood, two small lit candles at its side. On it was a small idol, a shrine.

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Two men stood awkwardly as one man, aged but still quite young, seethed. 

Ulfric crushed the goblet in his hand like a bug. Galmar did not react, other than wiping away the dripping mead from his cheek. He had returned to the Palace of Kings, a report already written. 

"Swords? Hammers? Armor?" Ulfric's voice was incredulous, one hand on the parchment Halmar had written on. 

"It was an armory," Galmar recounted. "Fine steel, made with our crest." 

If some profiteers thought they could be slick in taking weapons away from the city, they were surely mistaken. Simple double-checking had saved the city from corruption and at this moment, important supplies for the guard. To Jorleif, he was thankful that Whiterun had generously shared its model to other Jarls. It certainly made keeping a track of things easier. 

"Then the smugglers den is dealt with," Jorleif sighed in relief. Galmar on the other hand looked unsure. 

"I do not think this is a simple case of corruption and profiteering, Steward," Galmar said. At that, he reached into his armor and pulled out a small amulet. Jorleif and Ulfric were immediately drawn to it as Galmar deposited it on the table. 

"An amulet of Talos," Jorlief whispered, turning to Ulfric who clutched at his own amulet, secretly hung around his neck. 

It was a poorly kept secret that Windhelm still worshipped Talos, in backrooms, in the crags, and more. But due to...restrictions, they couldn't do so openly anymore. The Temple of Talos had been converted into a Temple of the Divines, in an attempt to save its important treasures with the Statue of Talos was promptly transformed into a statue of Emperor Tiber Septim. It certainly saved some money from making a new one. 

Still, most were content to do so. But even Ulfric could not deny that feeling of discontent in the air. No one ever tolerated being told no and for the Empire to acquiesce to the elves had hit like a troll punch. So much had the Nords sacrificed and bled for the Empire, only for it to just...

He shook his head. Ulfric did not trust the Empire, well, not as much as he had in his childhood but he did trust the High King, his promise still ringing in his ears. If he said to be patient then there was a patience to them. But no, he had to focus on what was happening in his own city. 

"They were whispering about something, a coming harvest," Galmar said, pointing at the amulet. "I do not know about either of you but that bodes ill to me." 

"An uprising?" Jorleif said aloud, horror in his eyes. "But...but why?" 

"Dissatisfaction," Ulfric said. "That is something I know well," He stood up. 

"I felt that as well," Galmar said. "Ever since...that letter." 

The three men frowned, The Declaration had been nailed to the door of every major Temple in every Hold in Skyrim. It certainly started some rumblings, opening up wounds. The biggest question to Ulfric now was who? 

"Who could have benefitted from such a thing?" Jorleif asked. "This would only alert the Dominion that we all yet worship Talos, even in secret!" 

Ulfric turned to him. "Perhaps you just answered your question, Jorleif." Ulfric told his Steward. "The Imperials would never do such a thing, what benefit would it get from them other than irritating a unhappy populace? Skyrim is perhaps the only Province of the Empire that is undamaged and prosperous. If tensions come from this, it will only ensure that Skyrim will tear itself apart." 

"And what will we do, if that comes, My Jarl?" Galmar asked him. 

"I will not walk into a Thalmor plot," Ulfric snarled. He then took a breath. "Windhelm will not rebel and please some Altmer prick, half the world away." 

It was then, that panicked knocking came upon their door. Galmar walked over to the door, opening it. Out was a maid, a frightened look on her face. "My lords, my lords!" 

"What is it?" 

"There is a crowd, outside the Palace! They demand the release of the prisoners!"

Galmar and Ulfric exchanged looks. 

This was not good.

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A/N: It beginsssssss