Balgruuf the Great ch 53 preview (Defunct) (Patreon)

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Windhelm

It wasn't the first time Galmar would find himself in a besieged. It was however his first getting trapped by his own people. He had no intentions to let this be the last however. Ulfric's pained cries brought him out of his stupor as he focused, walking through panicked guards and servants. Ulfric was seated against a wall, being tended to by a gaunt and sickly Nord clad in mages robes.

"How is he, Wuunferth?" Galmar asked Windhelm's resident court wizard. The sickly Nord harrumphed, taking away his hand which for the most part had been glowing white. A Restoration Spell, Galmar realized.

"Jarl Ulfric will live," wheezed Wuunferth. "The crossbow bolt did not break anything important nor was it particularly enchanted. I would not recommend swinging a sword with that hand though, at least for a few weeks."

"This is not the first time I got wounded," Ulfric sighed, standing up. His Guards relaxed, seeing him alright. Galmar laughed, patting Ulfric's shoulder. The uninjured one.

"Ahaha! It takes more than that to take down a bear!" He laughed. Ulfric afforded his friend and housecarl a smile before turning outside. "It seems the shouting from the outside has stopped."

Galmar turned to listen and indeed, the shouting and the yelling from outside the Palace walls had stopped. "The rabble have disappeared, vanished," Wuunferth observed. "Perhaps it is over?"

Ulfric and Galmar turned to each other. This Wunnferth saw and sighed. "I presume then that this is a prelude to something more morbid?"

Ulfric nodded. "The calm before a storm. It would be reasonable to assume that Jon was not acting alone and there would be more than enough hidden spaces in the city for them to smuggle arms."

"But for what purpose?" Wunnferth asked, horrified. "Why would they do such a damned thing?"

Ulfric paused, knowing clearly the answer but he could not say it aloud. Galmar answered for him. "Discontent, zealots. Jon had with him an amulet of Talos when I raided his home. It would seem perhaps that they have gotten sick of worshipping in private and want to return to their lost freedoms."

"But why are we fighting them, My Jarl? We all..." Wuunferth glanced around before leaning in. "We all worship him, don't we? Why are we fighting them when we ought to be joining them?"

"Because I have a feeling that this rioting, this protesting, it's source does not come from peasant farmers. It is too...organized," Ulfric theorized. "Do you not find it strange that as soon as Galmar returned, the crowds formed up so soon and quickly? The demagogue from earlier, he was riling the crowd with specific accusations."

"A conspiracy? Who?" Wuunferth asked with a gasp. Galmar joined in.

"Perhaps we ought to ask the man himself?" Galmar said, his voice a little growl.

"I concur," Ulfric said, getting to his feet. "Jorleif! Make sure that the Palace stands!" He cried to his Steward.  Not a moment later, they were striding the dank and dark halls of Windhelm's jails. It was an old, ancient, and had seen everything from common criminals to the highest of royal prisoners. But now, it was holding their key to understanding who was behind their current troubles.

"He has been quiet since he was tossed in here," the chief jailor informed them as they walked. "Not saying a word, except to his boys."

"And that being?" Galmar asked.

"Don't worry, my sons. We will be free soon," the jailor said, earning a bark of laughter from the prison guards. The glare from Galmar shut them up quickly and it encouraged the jailor to walk a bit faster. Eventually, their path led them to a hallway with cells, each containing its little brand of criminals. The air was damp, stuffy and if Galmar sniffed more, he could smell piss and excrement from somewhere. He, Ulfric and Wuunferth stood before the last sell where Jon quietly sat with his children as well as that other man, Kleppr.

"Grocer, wake up!" The jailor barked. "Your Jarl is here to see you!"

Galmar was taken aback when he saw the sheer hatred that were in the boys eyes. His attention turned however to the Grocer who slowly stood up, bruises and stains on his otherwise rich clothing. "The Jarl comes to visit me. I feel important!" Jon joked. Ulfric shook his head, striding forward. "Who are you? Who has paid you? Why have you betrayed Windhelm?" His voice was sharp and quick, and the glint of his eyes suggested he was in no mood to be played with.

Jon sneered. "I have not betrayed our city, Jarl Ulfric. By allowing infernal machines to make our women unemployed, by bowing to the whims of an Imperial bootlicker, you have betrayed everything that your family has fought so hard for!"

A sudden chill descended in the room as Ulfric took slow deliberate steps forward, his armored boots echoing against the tight walls. "Who are you? Who has paid you? Why have you betrayed Windhelm?"

Jon rushed at the bar cells, yelling. "You are a-"

"FUS!"

He did not finish as Jon was tossed back against the far wall, grasping at his chest. Ulfric stared down at the fallen man, the cell gate had been blasted open, shards of metal embedding itself into the floor. The boys who had been looking in hate clutched each other in fear. Ulfric did not care, anger in his eyes. "I have Nords, my people, dead or dying outside my palace. Shot by my own guard. You will answer me my questions or by Ysmir, you will know why Windehlm's crest is a roaring bear!"

Ulfric was slow to anger, unlike his father. Jarl Hoag was a man with a rage so legendary, it would outmatch that of a bear. But when he was angered, it was more than often earned. And Jon had earned every single bit of his ire. Ulfric would take a step through the blasted cell, his glare bearing down on the grocer who crawled with his back against the wall. Kleppr cried piteously as Jon's children crawled to their father, hugging him and crying. 

"Alright! Alright! Just don't kill me!" the grocer cried, holding his hand out to shield his face from Ulfric, as if that would stop him from getting torn apart. 

"Speak and tell me, everything," Ulfric commanded. 

A bead of sweat ran down the quivering Nord's face. "I...I don't know who leads our conspiracy. All I knew is, we all reported to someone called The Snake. We were to gather arms and await it, the signal..."

"What signal?" Galmar barked, a pit in his stomach as he walked forward. Jon turned to him, reciting a long practice time. 

"Tor a new forest to grow, the old one must be burnt. Cut the tall trees," 

At that, a shout came from behind them. Ulfric and his entourage turned to see a guard run up to them. "My Lords! My Lords! The crowds have returned!" 

"A revolt!?" Wuunferth exclaimed. 

The Guard shook his head. "No sir! A revolution!"

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Ulfric and his entourage ran back to the main hall, now transformed as the Palace prepared for a siege. Walking past panicked retainers, servants, and guards, Ulfric was swift as he climbed up into the second floor, glancing through an open window. 

He snarled. 

Windhelm, his home, was on fire. Distant screams, he could hear coming from the Grey Quarter, dark plumes of smoke coming from the Dark Elf district. They weren't taking it lying down however, bright flashes of magicka flashing here and there. At the front gate, there was a banner of Windhelm flying and a few guards were being surrounded by their fellows. They took a few down before they were all overwhelmed and tossed over the wall. 

"Murderers! Traitors!" Galmar snarled, smashing the wall next to them with a closed fist. "We must assemble the guard and start breaking this rabble apart!" 

"Look!" Wuunferth called out, bringing both men to glance at the crowds assembling outside the Palace, each one of whom were carrying weapons and icons of Talos, religious devotion in their eyes. And at their head was the demagogue, looking victorious. 

"The time has come, brothers and sisters!" The speaker cackled madly. "You all saw how Bloody Ulfric commanded his men to shoot at your kin! What is that if not proof that he is traitor to all that he claims to stand for? Should we allow Windhelm to be ruled by such a man?" 

"NAY!" The crowd roared. 

"Should we allow our rights to be taken? Our traditions stolen?" 

"NAY!" They cried again, even louder. 

The speaker spread his arms wide, screaming. "FOR A NEW FOREST TO GROW, THE OLD ONE MUST BE BURNT! CUT THE TALL TREES, TRUE NORDS! BURN IT DOWN TO THE VERY GROUND!" 

The crowd roared, charging forward, battle-cries to ancestors  and the Divines in their eyes. Ulfric's eyes were set on a group of burly Nords carrying a sharp log, a battering ram. His attention was quickly taken as the cries of the dying erupted behind him. Traitors, he quickly realized, as guards he once counted to protect him were now slaughtering anyone they could get their hands on, their blades wet with Nordic blood. 

"Traitors! Murderers!" Galmar seethed, his great battle-axe unfurled in all its wicked sharpness. Wuunferth, the gaunt and sickly Court Wizard, stood a little bit straighter as his hands glowed in magicka-fuelled fire. His guard, his veterans, huddle closer to him, shields raised and spectacled helms gleaming. They would all die defending their Jarl, to the very last. 

Ulfric...he was tired. 

So very tired. 

But he wasn't going to let that stop him. 

"Kill them quickly," Ulfric ordered as he took a step forward. "They are traitors but they are still Nords. No theatrics!"

"Yes, Jarl Ulfric!" his veterans cried, their shields locked together. 

"Galmar! Clear our path!" Ulfric cried. "Wuunferth, shield and support us!" 

"Where to!?" Galmar asked aloud, his axe head embedded deep into the shoulder of a traitor. He kicked his corpse back, his weapon gleaming with blood. 

"We cannot hold the Palace," Ulfric calmly informed him. "We have traitors inside and out, we can only cut our losses and fight again another day." 

"We are abandoning the Palace?" Wuunferth asked, tossing a fireball at a distant guard who yelled and screamed on the floor as flame engulfed him. 

It kicked Ulfric down to his very core that he was considering abandoning the home of his ancestors, the Palace of Kings, to a bunch of rabble. But he knew that if he would try to hold it, it would just end in a foolish death. He could not die now, not when there was still a war to fight against the blasted elves. A feeling in his gut told him that they could be responsible for this, somehow. After all, who would benefit from instilling chaos in the Empire's most stable province?

"It is disgraceful that I must flee from my own Palace," Ulfric sighed. "But we have no way of holding it. We do not know what loyal men we have left and to stay here would be to die. A glorious death, worthy of song, but foolish. I would rather die in a battlefield than be known as the last Stormcloak that was killed by his own people." 

"Then where to, my lord?" 

"We must first rescue Jorleif, if he still lives. Then, we make for the docks and set sail." Ulfric commanded. 

"The Steward would be at Court, my lord. It would be filled with traitors," Galmar pointed out. Ulfric gave him a look, earning a grin from him. 

"The Jarl Commands, his Housecarl obeys!"

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A/N: Another short update. The Windhelm chapters will be wrapped up in the next one.