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

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Nords/Baltafarian

Erik was excited.

Who wouldn't be, not after being told that they were going to finally visit Whiterun with the harvest? It had taken some cajoling, some begging and pleading but finally, his old man relented and promised him and his sister that they could join the lads when it was delivery time for the city. That night, Erik could barely sleep. He remembered the last time he had entered the city and he could hardly forget it.

The sights! The smells! The tastes!

And so, when the morning finally came, he and his sister were the very first that woke. So early were they, they had beaten the crowing of their chickens.

Mother inspected them, before they would leave. With a critical eye, the matronly woman fussed over him and his sister. Erik resisted the urge to blush as his mother checked his belt, making sure it was tightened fast around the weight. He had heard the adults talk about how him and the other children were getting plumper day by day. The neighborhood boy, Garn, he had been getting real fat but that wasn't something the adults seemed to upset by. After all, he and so many others were growing, right?

If anything, this qualified him to go and purchase a new tunic in the market. He had saved up more than enough coin from working at his family's farm and the others to getting a new cloth.

And so, he and his family set out after q quick breakfast. Flatbreads, cheeses, and cream. Light fare more to keep their stomachs company. His family were planning to go eat out in the city when they arrived after all and Erik wanted to make sure his stomach had plenty of space.

Laying on the back of the carriage, on top a crate of potatoes, Erik sat lazily with his sister, their eyes glazed at the sky above. In the distance, the snow-kissed peaks dominated the sky, glittering like pikes of snow in the blue sky. "When we get to the city, I want to eat that Redguard food again!" Erik said, dreaming about that particular food he had eaten when they last visited. Oh, how his mouth watered at the thought of roasted meat, mixed with that special garlic sauce that just danced in his tongue.

"You mean the wrap?" their father said from the wagon front. He was middle-aged, with a great blonde beard around his chin. "Aye, we could perhaps get those for lunch. We will have to go and deposit these potatoes first with the guild and get our pay. Then, we can go and lounge."

Speaking of potatoes, Erik sat up, glancing at the produce the wagon was transporting. He picked one up, holding the tuber in his hand as if it was the most valuable thing in the entire world. "Pa, is it just me or did we start making bigger potatoes?"

"Hm?" Father said, looking back. He nodded. "Oh aye. Since we started doing the new guild methods, we've been making more than we need, and far better too. And they said us Nordic farmers were simple," he ended with a little bit of pride.

"But...didn't they call this the Cyrodiilic method?" his sister pointed out.

"Bah! Cyrodiil! Well, we're making it better so I reckon it should be called the Nordic System now!" laughed father. Erik smiled. Father had always been a proud Nord and to see him happy of their progress also made him happy too.

"Hey look! Isn't that our neighbours?" His sister suddenly spoke up. And sure enough, there was a wagon in the distance and Erik could see some people standing by the road.

"That it is. Looks like one of their wheels popped," Father remarked, noting another man kneeling by a popped wheel. "Let's go help them out," he declared, urging their family horse forward.

They came close, and father let out a shout of greeting. "Hail, Nari! Problem with the undercarriage?"

Nari was middle-aged just like father, if only clean-shaven and brown-haired. He looked up, grimacing. "Aye. I thought I had fixed this properly in the morning. Turns out there was a slight issue in the wheel. I am nearly done though, so it shouldn't be an issue."

"Ah, you need any help? Two hands are better than one," offered Father. Erik looked at him proudly. Helping out the neighbors was always something he had instilled into him and his sister. Nari nodded and the two men set about working on the broken carriage. Not a minute later, they were already done and well on their way. Father and Nari had decided to link up in their travel and Erik sat quietly, listening as the adults talked.

Mother had always told him that he could learn much simply by listening. And so, he was going to follow her wisdom.

"Have you heard about the opening of the new Imperial Shrine?" Father asked Nari. From his seat, he leaned in.

"Ah, you mean the barely disguised Temple to Talos?" snorted Nari. "Everyone and their mother knows what the new Shrine is. Can you imagine that, a grant from the Empire and they simply used the money to build a marble roof over the statue of Talos at the Wind District"

"It's dedicated to the first Emperor, not Talos. There is quite a difference to that," laughed Father. "I consider it a net benefit. We can get to keep the statue, Talos worshippers can get off the technicality of respecting the Emperor, and those blasted Thalmor will have their damn treaty business respected."

"Still...no people shouldn't be allowed worship. After everything we did for the Empire," grumbled Nari. Father looked at him in concern.

"It was war," Father sighed. "We both were there, Nari. You remember the fields, the burnt places. There was simply no way Cyrodiil could sustain another war. Shor above, you remember how much the Capitol bought our potatoes and cabbages a year ago."

"Still...I cannot help but feel some...discontent. Talos...he was a Son of Skyrim, like you and I. I understand the price of peace but to so readily abandon the man...no, the God that founded the Empire. It leaves a bad taste in the mouth," Nari sighed, glancing at the distance.

As the adults spoke, Erik sat and listened quietly. He didn't understand much. But he knew when he needed to keep his mouth silent. Mother and father had told him to keep his prayers to Talos silent and quiet. A matter of faith, between him and the man that made the Empire. Their empire.

Erik didn't understand why he had to keep it quiet. Talos was the greatest, after all. Why should he keep quiet about it? But for his parents, he would do just that. So many of their community had been doing it, praying to Talos in secret.

"Well...as long as the harvest is good, our wives can enjoy themselves and our children grow, I am satisfied with life," Lukas the Farmer sighed. He leaned back on his chair, looking up at the sky above.

"There's more to life than just simple living, you know," Nari added, his wagon comfortably travelling on the stone road. Erik had noticed that the wagon had stopped swaying as much. They must have threaded on the main road to Whiterun now. Nari continued. "We too must also have to think about the gifts we leave our children. Our traditions, our gods."

"Nari, hush," Father suddenly said aloud. In the distance, father could see a column marching on the road. To Erik, it seemed as if the stars themselves were striding on the ground as it walked. The rainbow colored glass taking form in the shape of giants. Erik was tall. Father was tall. But those men and women in the distance were perhaps the tallest he had ever seen.

Father and Nari however, a certain look went on their faces.

"Elves," they muttered under their breath, a bevy of emotions going through their faces. Father turned back to him, his face kept steely.

"Erik, you and your sister keep quiet. Do not look into their eyes when they pass, understood?" His voice was stern.

Erik nodded dumbly, making sure to hold his sister's hand as they stared at the first. The clopping of horse hooves became closer and closer. He could feel his father and Nari glance away. Erik however, he was a curious child. Unable to resist, he glanced up.

To him, he saw nothing but the tallest of people. Golden skinned, and golden haired, and golden eyed. Some were on fine looking horses, clad in some black and gold chain and armor. They were in copper-clad suits, avian like helmets protecting their faces. Some were in yellow-green crystal plates, the sun glittering on them as shells would shine on a sandy beach. Each, sporting looks that made Erik feel like he was being looked down on.

So these were elves, Erik saw. Father had always told him how despicable, how cruel, how evil they were. How strange they were.

And to Erik, he could see why.

The elf that looked at him...her eyes were in a place that eyes shouldn't be. There was a cat-like glint to her, an emptiness that he would find in a bowl of water staring back at him. A unnatural, ethereal, and ghost-like smile came upon the elf's lips, as she held up her hand to her lips and Erik froze, not from the chill of Skyrim, but as tbe elf directed her attention at no one else's.

But at him.

The elves were gone just as fast as they arrived. Like a bird flying over trees and mountains.

"They were in a hurry," Father remarked, seeing their figures disappear into the distance. "I wonder what sort of urgency they must have, to head for Whiterun so quickly."

"Whatever it is...it does not bode well," Nari said ominously.

"Well...that's a matter for the High King to worry about. As for us, we simply must worry about getting our harvest to the city."

+++

Dragonsreach.

The more things change, the more they stay the same. I wish I could say the same regarding paperwork. I had decided to take the throne, on the simple fact that literally anyone could do a better job than Ulfric who would have led Skyrim on a jingoistic warpath that would have destroyed the Empire from his short-sightedness and anger issues, or compared to Torygg who would have quite literally done nothing and sat on his thumbs.

Under my administration, techniques which I had so shamelessly copied and borrowed from Earth's development history like the filthy Kingdom builder I was, Skyrin had flourished.

Really. The only thing that any Kingdom needed in order to develop was time and a plan. And thankfully enough, five years was a good enough timeline for me to instill the developments I had wanted. In government, five-ten years was the minimum amount of time required to truly feel the effects of an administration and I am proud to say that my administration has been...good.

This morning, I had arisen from bed, a signature warmth around my side. A familiar shapely warmth. Cecilia slept quietly, her stomach rising and falling with the gentleness of snow. I did not want to wake her and so, I quietly planted a kiss on her forehead before making my way out of bed. Clad in the fluffiest sleeping robes, I groggily made my way to my desk where a stack of papers lay.

As High King, I had benefits. I was rich, powerful, and with all the amenities that money could buy. But as a personal philosophy, I kept to the less is more rule. The only times I was willing to splurge was on shit like food and gifts for family or allies. Anything else was just a waste of cash that could have been used better to invest in shit, really.

Granted, there were a few creature comforts I wouldn't do without, but who wouldn't?

Leaning down at my desk, I reviewed the first paper. I quietly read through it before setting it aside and reviewing the others. This was the sort of routine I had kept myself since I was able to sit my ass one the throne. Better that I kept myself busy because I knew if I wasn't distracting myself with work, I would be off doing stupid shit.

And the last thing the Kingdom needed was a dumb High King that did dumb stupid shit.

My ears perked when I could hear groaning from the bed. At this point, I had seated myself down and turned back to the bed, my expression amused. "Good Morning, Lady Cecilia. I trust you are doing well?"

"I'm fat, again!" moaned Cecilia. I snorted, earning a pillow tossed against my face. Cecilia was pregnant again. I had been wanting to wait a bit, until Cecilia and I were truly and well good enough to start making kids. And besides, this was not like a traditional monarchy where I had to pump babies into her as fast as she could pump them out.

But we still did our duty in the end and after a year, Cecilia had given birth to a healthy baby boy.

I named him  Gustav, after Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden. It was a bit cheeky but in time, he would hopefully grow up into that name. Prince Gustave at the moment was in his room, being attended to by an army of nurses, guards, and a particularly grumpy Uncle.

"You're not fat, my love," I encouraged her, my eyes never leaving the paper in my hand. "Only pregnant. You will wear that off when you are going to give birth,"

"You are lucky you do not have to carry a baby around, Balgruuf. This...this is not easy," Cecilia grumbled,  her breaths heavy and laboured as she clutched her stomach. Cecilia wore the pregnant look well. Some women's figure changed after childbirth. For her however, it just gave her that delicious MILF look that all men of culture love and enjoy.

"Thank goodness I don't. I wouldn't know what to do with myself," I said with a laugh. "But look on the bright side, love. You can skip work as much as you want. I can't do that. I'd be lazy,"

"Efficient, you mean," Cecilia deadpanned. "You shame your predecessors, Balgruuf. Administrating and building, instead of conquering. I never heard of anyone getting admitted into Sovngarde by being a pencil-pusher,"

I laughed. "I suppose I can blame the influence of my Imperial wife, with her scheming paperworking ways." With that, I earned another pillow to the face.

A part of me was worried that Cecilia and I would have a rather cold marriage. It was only really thanks to her and I doing our best to make it work that we were able to have something we enjoyed now. I wasn't really a big fan of doing it the old fashioned way and sleep with a stranger every night. Heavy is the head that wears the crown and to share it with someone I could trust made everything worth it.

"So, what are your evil plans for today, Oh Barbarian Conqueror?" Cecilia asked, straining as she sat up on the bed. You remember how pregnancy made some women look irresistible? Cecilia was looking just like that to me right now. Clad in her soft furs, white flesh underneath and plump breasts that was just filling with milk...

I shook my head.

Down boy. Not now.

"High King Thassad has sent an envoy. He probably wants to talk shop again. I am of the mind to hear him out."

Just like how it went, the war between the Dominion and Hammerfell ended with the Redguards totally kicking the elves out of their homeland. If anything, it only showed to the world that the Dominion itself was the hotshit it portrayed itself and the Redgaurds can give an ass-whopping, if they have to. But one thing that everyone also needed to remember that Hammerfell was also totally and utterly devastated. It needed capitol. It needed investment.

It needed money.

Fortunately for the newly independent Kingdom, Skyrim had much to offer, and the Redguard Market was something I wanted us to corner.

"Another private audience with the Redguards," Cecilia surmised. "I have heard rumors in court that you are favouring them too much."

"Nothing wrong with that," I said with a raised eyebrow. "Hammerfell has goods only they can make and that is valuable. Plus, this is also the way the Empire can keep in touch with the Redguards without actually talking to them."

Since the end of war, the relationship between the Empire and Hammerfell could best be described as cold. After all, the Empire did give off so much territory the Redguards had been fighting dearly for years. No one in their right mind would want to maintain relations with a state that had sold them out. It was here that Skyrim came in, by acting as the middle-man between Hammerfell and the Empire, I occupied a comfortable position that allowed me to influence how their interactions would go.

Of course, relations between them would normalize in the future but for now, I was going to milk my status as long as I could.

"And how about you, love? What are your plans for today?" I asked my wife. A thin red line came on her lips as she glanced at her heavily pregnant belly.

"I'm not going anywhere, not with this," she said dryly, you'd think we were in the desert. "But I would be remiss to not meet the ambassador. Let's sojourn for breakfast then,"

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Recently, I had gotten into the habit of doing important talks and introductions over food. There was a certain informality over conducting government business and other political chicanery with drinks and food around. It certainly foster a warmness between parties. Well, this was essentially how diplomacy, real diplomacy, worked. The whole meeting in public, arguing and hemming, that was all just for official fluff. The actual diplomacy happened behind in close doors.

Breakfast was imbibed, the plains of Whiterun wide in the distance. On the table say bowls of newly baked bread, jars of honey, jams, and creams to go with them. Meat was never far from the table either. Bacon fried to crispy perfection, slices of cold cuts of ham or other prized delicacies, sausages made from horkers and mammoths all stuffed and made with garlic, onions, and spices. There were only a few things I would allow Dragonsreach to splurge on and it was on food.

And besides, the huge selection did its job in impressing and feeding the guests.

"It truly is a blessing that Whiterun has bountiful harvests," remarked Abeen Fadlan, emissary of the newly independent Hammerfell, "And even more bountiful fare," he added, as he took in a fresh piece of toast into his mouth. He hummed in appreciation as his teeth crunched into the bread.

"New methods mean healthier and better crops," I responded thusly, smiling. At my side, Cecilia had taken a piece of bread and deposited some butter there. With a knife, she took in some cheese and ham, devouring the prepared item with gusto. Pregnancy made her ravenous and I wasn't exactly going to stop that.

This wasn't exactly the first time I hadn't met Fadlan. We had already met way before, but it was on informal little meets and greets. it was only now that my schedule had allowed the Redguard to meet with me on a one-on-one.

"So, Ambassador," I began. "How fares King Thassad?"

The Redguard took a moment to take in a sip of tea before continuing. "The High King is doing well. Now that the Treaty of Stros M'Kai has been finalized, he is looking forward to ruling a kingdom into peace. He hopes nothing more but friendly relations with his neighbors, most especially with Skyrim."

"And we would be happy to pursue such a relationship," Cecilia added, gracefully. Fadlan had a certain look in his eye as he glanced at my wife. That look, I recognized as suspicion but I did not comment on it. By marrying an Imperial, a Niben noblewoman to boot, it was basically an endorsement of the Empire. By hook and by crook, I had shown to the world that Skyrim was loyal to the Empire, considering I was attached to oen of its noblewoman to the hip, literally.

Cecilia continued. "What sort of relationship is Hammerfell seeking with Skyrim?"

"High King Thassad is impressed with the progress of the Nords," Fadlan revealed. "He is most especially curious on the methods that your people have pioneered in terms of farming as well as production. He wishes to let it be known that Hammerfell is open for business. Our economy has been on war footing and production has yet to return to pre-war levels but with investment and time, the riches of Hammerfell will once again flow throughout Tamriel,"

I nodded, quietly listening. "As much as I would love to enter into further talks, doesn't Hammerfell have exclusive trade deals with the East Empire Company? I imagine they would be rather upset that you are going to us than them?"

"Hammerfell is...re-evaluating its relationships with its partners, new and old," explained Fadlan, curly and bushy beard glistening under the light. "And besides, the High King simply wishes to explore his options than stay with one exclusive entity."

Well...fair enough. "So let us be quick about it and discuss how we can help each other," I replied. "What sort of assistance is the High King looking from me?"

"As mentioned, assistance in agricultural methods," replied Fadlan, tackling the easiest issue for both of us to discuss. "Even in far Hammerfell, we have heard about methods the Nords have begun using in feeding their people. The war has devastated much of Hammerfell's lands and thus, we would like to see if the methods used by the Nords could be applied in Hammerfell."

I turned to Cecilia, looking at her for approval. She nodded.

"Skyrim would be more than happy to assist," I said smoothly. "Though we will have to hammer out more personable details at a later date. Do keep in mind that should there be details unsatisfactory to the Empire, I cannot pursue those,"

Fadlan's lips were thin. "Of course," he said.

Now, the Empire wasn't very anal in its control that the Provinces couldn't directly talk to each other much less other political entities but there were limits. Such things were defined by the Imperial Representative who spoke with the Emperor's Voice but so far, I hadn't been censured and stuff. And besides, it wasn't as if I was talking and sucking up to the Thalmor of all people.

"A question, if I may?" Fadlan suddenly asked. Raising an eyebrow, I bid him to continue.

"Consider this an academic sort of question, and not an invitation to chaos," Fadlan emphasized. Taking a bite from his bread, he spoke up.

"Why continue in raising the Empire's banner?" questioned the Redguard, his tone curious and even. "Consider this an observation from my King and myself. The Empire, as it stands, is standing on borrowed time. The sacrifices which your people and mine have given to defend it was rewarded with indifference and apathy. They ceded parts of Hammerfell to the Elves, parts that was not theirs to give, and they gave in to the Thalmor demand of rendering the worship of the Ninth Divine illegal. Why continue to stay in such an Empire?"

That sort of academic question was a pretty loaded one. At my side, Cecilia bristled at the way Fadlan asked me. She gave me a concerned look. I leaned back on my chair, considering and thinking on what to reply to the man. After a moments thinking, I replied.

"Skyrim cannot survive by itself," I said honestly, and truthfully. "Yes, we might have new methods of feeding ourselves, and we have fabricae making cloth cheap and plentiful, and so many good things that are raising the standard of living but the Empire provides a market for Skyrim to sell its goods. Of course, we can never hope to replace the Nibenay as the breadbasket of Tamriel but our potatoes, and cabbages, and wheat are feeding people all the same. Our tundra cotton, turned into cloth by our fabricae, it sells well in Imperial City."

I paused to take a take in a drink then continued. "There is also the protection afforded to us by the Imperial Legion. The Legions, with its organization and variety of skillsets, does well in protecting the Province. Sure, I could train an army to fight Skyrim's wars but should it come to it, I would still be alone. The Empire...it is not what it once was but, it is still an Empire." 

I extrapolated. "Not mentioning the social and political considerations regarding how the average Nord feels for the Empire. Yes, the Septims no longer sit on the White Gold Tower but to us, it is still the same Empire that Tiber Septim established so many many generations ago. We aren't just going to give up on that, not while...other entities exist that are a threat to us all," 

I had said that in a way that could be generalized from insane necromantic gods to more mundane threats but it was clear with my posture what I was talking about. Fadlan quietly listened, taking note of my answers. 

"For your sake then, High King, I hope that a time never comes where you aren't forced to choose between loyalty to your people or loyalty to your Empire," Fadlan commented prophetically. As I was about to reply, our attention was taken to the corner as a servant ran rather haphazardly, and out of breath. 

"My King, my king!" the man cried out. 

"Aye? What is it?" I asked, standing up. 

He looked up at me, fear in his eyes. "The Thalmor Emmissary....she's here!" 

I blinked, exchanging glances between Fadlan who dipped his head politely. "I must beg for your leave. Relations between Hammerfell and the Dominion remain tense, even after the end of war." 

"Absolutely not," Cecilia said flatly, putting her foot down. "You are an invited guest and expected. The Thalmor are not. Please, stay and enjoy our hospitality," She turned to me, looking for approval. I nodded. 

"The Thalmor cannot just walk in here and kick our actual guests out. This is my house, my rules. Stay, Honored Ambassador, and enjoy the hospitality we have for you," I said firmly towards Fadlan who nodded and returned to munching on his bread. I turned to the servant. 

"What does the Emissary want? Another complaint regarding the opening of the Shrine?" I asked, feeling some manner of vindication towards Elenwen. No way in hell was I going to demolish that Talos statue in the Sky District. 

"She says that it is a matter of national importance, High King," reported the servant, flushed from running. My lips were thin. That could quite literally mean anything and everything. But I was only going to find out when the Elf made her annoying presence known. And so, I nodded. 

"Very well. Let her in," I sighed, sitting back down on my chair. 

Not a few seconds later, the Emissary made herself known. Like all High Elves, Elenwen was tall. Even taller than us Nords. Golden-skinned, golden-haired, and golden eyed, she and the two flanking Thalmor soldiers at her side were the very image of Altmer ubermensch that the Thalmor loved to produce. I disliked Elenwen since the very beginning. Not just because her voice sounded like a cat being scratched, she also walked around with this amused smirking look that made her look all the more smug. 

How amazing it would be, if I could skewer that stupid look off her face. 

"Honored Emissary," I addressed her. "What brings you to Whiterun, and all so early in the morning?" 

She halted before the table before offering me a dramatic flourish, the bow that High Elves liked to do in their posturing flowery diplomacy. "High King Balgruuf. As you know, the Aldmeri Dominion wishes nothing more but peace between the Empire and ourselves. It is...with great pains that I must report to you that there are those who do not wish for peace between us, but problems." 

I was already not liking how she was starting this. I harumphed. "I see...And what sort of problems?" 

Still smiling, she clicked her finger at the soldier flanking her. Nodding, he produced a letter and offered it to the Emissary. Accepting it, she then walked forward and deposited the item on the table. As she did so, she and Fadlan shared a rather icy glance. Still, Elenwen turned from the Redguard and to me. 

"Talos Worshippers," she said with a smile. 

I nearly shot out from my seat. Leaning forward, I took the paper and gave it a quick read. 

My heart nearly fell into my stomach. 

"There are no more Talos worshippers in Skyrim. The Concordant made that clear," my voice found itself saying, with steel. 

"Not with that, it would seem," Elenwen added sadly. I glared down at the paper in my hand as if it was poison. "That was posted on the doors to the Temple of the Divines in Solitude. The priestess who found it was most terrified of it. She recognizes heresy for what it is," 

Priestess...I could only imagine what sort of tender mercies the Thalmor would visit upon those that were near the papers. 

"You will not find any Talos worshippers here, Emissary. I will make sure of it," I said again, my voice firm. There was a certain promise in my voice and in my eyes. 

"It would seem that we cannot allow such things to be left to chance, High King Balgruuf," Elenwen said sadly. "The terms of the White-Gold Concordant was clear. The Empire has seemingly been lax in its enforcement. But do not worry, High King." 

She smiled sweetly at me. 

"You will find that the Thalmor are talented in sniffing out heresy, one way or another." 

+++

A/N: I hate elves. I hate elves. I hate elves.