Balgruuf the Great ch 52 preview (Defunct) (Patreon)

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Windhelm

Outside the palace walls, a ring of iron and steel held firm against a crowd. Burly veterans impassively stared at a jeering crowd, archers on the walls, hands nervously twiddling with their yew bows. It was like a sea of faces, all united in one voice. Under a single voice. 

"First, they call our sons to fight a war in far Cyrodiil, many of them did not return, dead in a foreign field. And what was our reward? What was the gift the Empire gave us?" On a hastily set up podium, a man in rags stood tall and proud, speaking with fervent passion to the jeering crowd. "They take away our right to worship Talos! Talos! The founder of the very empire they twist and turn to please their elven masters! How Talos would weep, seeing his empire and children stolen in the night!" 

The crowd roared. The speaker only continued. A sardonic expression on his face. "And what have our glorious Jarls done to this injustice? Have they risen up in revolt? Have they protested before the Emperor?" 

"Nay!" the crowd booed. 

"Nay indeecd!" The speaker nodded. "Nay! Instead of that, they have sat back like perfect little dogs, growing fat from the Chief Imperial in Whiterun! Look only to Ulfric the Brave, my brothers and sisters! He who sat idly in the Palace of Kings, growing rich on the infernal machines of Whiterun while our families lose their jobs and livelihoods! He walks tall and proud, like a Nordic Jarl of old, but he is nothing more but a lessor son of far greater sires!" 

Such treasonous words would have landed the speaker a beating and a night in the darkest dungeon of Windhelm but to Galmar, that would have been more than suicide. For awhile, he had stood outside the geates, listening to the crowd rant and rave. Such grave insults to his Jarl and blood-brother ought to be repaid in full blows with a battle axe but that would only serve to incite the crowd even more. 

"How long have they been at this?" Galmar asked a nearby guardsman. Captain Jordis was the officer of the day for the Palace Guards and unfortunately for the poor man, he had been forced to stand through it all. "Ever since you returned with that merchant from earlier, Housecarl," Jordis replied with his thick accent. "They all showed up slowly by slowly, demanding one thing." 

"And the demagogue?" Galmar asked. 

"Been there since the beginning," the Captain replied. Galmar rubbed his beard, turning back to the man ranting and raving before the increasingly violent crowd. His thoughts would think back to that figure watching them in the raid earlier. 

"It is strange, don't you think, that a crowd demanding the release of a citizen is now being whipped up by a fool attacking the Jarl, the High King, and the Emperor?" Galmar said out loud. 

"Strange indeed," the Captain nodded, his ice blue eyes staring at the crowd.

"AND NOW, THEY TAKE OUR FELLOWS!" The Speaker roared. "ONE HAS TO WONDER WHY GOOD JARL ULFRIC IS IMPRISONING HIS OWN CITIZENS! PERHAPS BECAUSE HE IS NOT RED ENOUGH? WOULD SOME BLACK AND GOLD MAKE HIM MORE PALATABLE?" The man turned to the palace, cupping his hands. "I HEARD ON GOOD AUTHORITY THAT THE JARL ENJOYS THAT MORE ON HIS PLATE! PERHAPS IT IS NOT THE PLATE BUT THE ARSE!"

Alright. He had heard enough. Cracking his neck, Galmar walked forward, praying to the Divines to be granted patience to deal with the rabble and to not lop off the Speaker. "Citizens of Windhelm, return to your homes!" Galmar said aloud, his voice like a boom. "The man arrested earlier was found with contraband in his shop! Do not fight for a corrupt man!" 

"Lies!" The Speaker retorted. "Jon does not deal in weapons but in food, in the things which feed the families of Windhelm! Have any of you noticed him to be a man of war? He who loves this city, he was willing to sell even at a loss?" 

"LIAR!" the crowd roared in agreement. Looking victorious, the Speaker turned back to Galmar. "You have been lead astray, Housecarl! You follow a man who so meekly follows the Stallion, a man who has never even fought in the war, a man who was late! Late Jarl Ulfric! Where is he, Housecarl? Too cowardly to face his own people?" 

"Why you litt-"

It was then all yelling stopped when suddenly, there came loud metal creaking. Turning behind him, the great doors of the Palace of Kings creaked, images of age old kings resplendent in their armor embedded on the doors. It opened slowly by slowly and out came the clinking of metal. The wind came in, sweeping up his blonde braided hair. Ulfric Stormcloak, in armor clad, walked on the snow, behind him trailed four of his most loyal and skilled Guard, resplendent in their own dark iron armor. 

A quiet hush came as Galmar and the other guards parted to let Ulfric walk past, forming a semi-circle by their Jarl. "My people," Ulfric rumbled. "Why do you protest?" 

The Speaker who for the first time found himself lost for words. "W-we want J-Jon the Merchant returned, m-my Jarl!" he fumbled. Ulfric's eyes turned to the speaker who seemed to freeze up on the spot. In response, he would reach into the folds of his army and hold up a paper. "The man that you protest for is guilty of profiteering and corruption. This man who stole or received shipments from the Guild meant to sell them off instead of arming the guard. He is not the man you think he is, my friends. This letter is proof of it," 

At that, Ulfric would let the paper fly. A curious on-looker would catch it and read through its contents. A low murmur swept up the crowd as the paper was passed around. At that, Ulfric continued. "I do not know what this man, this stranger, has promised you, my friends. You, all of you, brothers and sisters to me. I know and I understand your pain, losing loved ones in far fields, losing the right to worship Talos. But raising our arms and banners will not grant us such things again so soon and quickly. We must be patient, careful for the right time to gain such things again.

The Empire which Skyrim is apart of, it is indeed not the Empire we remember it to be. A Mede sits on where a Septim or a Dragonborn ought to. Despite that, the Emperor is not weak. Remember when the Thalmor came, with the heads of all the Blades demanding the Empire's surrender. Did the Emperor surrender the throne, meekly submitting what Talos and our ancestors worked so hard for? He rejected them and fought! Aye, the Empire now is not what it once was, yes, it may have failed us. But what is strength but something which can be regained, how a sick man can get afflicted but be well again? This is not the first time in the Empire's history that we have been at our lowest yet, we rose once again! And who was it that brought life to Tamriel but us Nords? The first of our people who went south to rescue our enslaved Kinsmen, Talos who went south to burn away the Interregnum, and us who went south to defend the Empire from the elves! "

The crowd stood by, and watched in fascination as Ulfric spoke. He would then strip away his sleeves, revealing scarred hands. "Let it not be said that I am a coward, for these I have won in foreign fields! You, all of us who went! The High King, who has scars all over his body, the Emperor who rushed in the Red Ring! Let it not be said that we are cowards! Yes, we may have lost our right to worship Talos but has anyone here lost their faith? Their belief in him?" 

Slowly, the crowd shook their heads. Ulfric continued. "Let it not be said that we did not benefit from the peace the High King has brought to us, you who wear the cloth he has made cheaper and eat the food he has made more plentiful. Can anyone here tell me to my eye, they and their families have grown hungry in the night?" 

The crowd glanced at each other. 

"If there is nothing more to be said then go home, my people. Be at peace," Ulfric ended with a sigh. It began as a slow crack but eventually, it became like a tide as the crowd slowly dispersed. Galmar could see Ulfric slowly relax, tension leaving his body. He walked forward, to grasp at his Jarl's shoulder. 

"Masterfully down, my lord," Galmar praised. Ulfric smiled, feeling more tired than he ever was.

Then, he cried out in absolute pain. 

"Raaargh!" Ulfric screamed, a crossbow bolt shot into his shoulder. And in a flash, the angry mood from earlier returned in full force as Captain Jordis stepped up and cried. "They shot the Jarl! Loose your arrows! Kill them all!" 

"NO! HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Ulfric cried out through pained teeth, grasping at the bolt in his shoulder, his Guard rushing around him, shields raised. His order was drowned out however and the archers let loose their volleys, steel-tipped arrow heads piercing through soft flesh. The Guard stayed still however, their primary concern shielding Ulfric. Galmar on the other hand was livid. 

"My Jarl, are you alright!?" He hurriedly asked. Ulfric seethed, the steel head tearing through his muscles and bone. 

"Don't worry about me! Get those archers to stop!" Ulfric hissed as he stood up, his Guardsmen covering him as they slowly retreated into the Palace. Galmar glanced back into where the crowd has stood, some had fallen onto the dirt, arrows in their backs, their faces etched in shock. They were all retreating now, running for their lives. Galmar locked eyes with the Speaker, his form visible despite the crowd. 

The Speaker smiled, retreating. 

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A/N: A quick chapter for today. The rest to follow for tomorrow!