Balgruuf the Great chapter 54 preview (NEW) (Patreon)

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Irileth

The sun had long since set over Whiterun. Dragonsreach itself had seen plenty of petitioners and the like. Irileth had long since moved on from being physically at Balgruuf's side. He had plenty of his own guards to keep him company as well as the Housecarls he had brought into his household. Now, her King had given her a task and that was to investigate on the zealots which had potentially started a problem that Skyrim did not need. A problem the Empire did not need. And she was going to do that, by hook and by crook.

Inside her room, she sat quietly on her chair, arms crossed. Irileth was...annoyed by all this. It annoyed her that some people simply could not help themselves, if they were true zealots and not a plot that the Thalmor did not simply start. That was a whole plot of worms that also had to be investigated, a sentiment that Balgruuf shared. She too was annoyed at the bastard Thalmor, for coming over and making a fuss out of all this. And she was annoyed that this annoyed the High King.

A knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

"Enter," she called out.

At that, her door swung open and in came three individuals.

Cassius, Mira, and Gotz had all grown into their new lot in life rather well for themselves, Irileth mused. Cassius had incorporated Whiterun's colors and gear onto his armor. While still earing the silvery plate he had used, he now bore the yellow cloak of the city. All three of them did. Mira still had her tactless choice of clothing and Gotz still insisted on walking around bare-chested, to the approval of the women of Dragonsreach, not that he paid them anymind.

Mira wore her choice of clothes to raise morale, as she called it. Gotz insisted that walking without even a shirt intimidated his enemies.

Irileth wasn't going to question it.

"You called for us, Housecarl?"

"You three are here, good," Irileth remarked, making sure to keep eye contact with each one of them. She stood up, crossing her arms. "Now listen and listen closely."

Cassius nodded. Mira leaned in curiously. Gotz still had that grave look on his face as he looked at the Dark Elf. Irileth began. "Now, have you heard what has happened in Solitude?"

Cassius and Gotz shook their heads. Mira on the other hand answered. "Not much. Only that religious zealots had started some form of trouble?"

Irileth nodded. "You are correct," the Housecarl rumbled as she dropped her arms and walked over to her desk. She picked up a paper which lied there and offered it first to Cassius. The Imperial frowned as he took it and spread it open. Horror slowly formed on his face as he continued to read. Mira and Gotz looked at him with curiosity. He shook his head and offered the paper to them, having read enough. Mira accepted it and read it with Gotz.

Mira looked gravelly at the paper.

She glanced back up.

"Shit," the Breton remarked.

"Shit indeed," Irileth said, rolling her eyes. Cassius on the other hand took a step forward.

"Surely, this means that the Thalmor will be moving to send their Justiciars here?" Cassius asked, his tone tense. "After all, the Concordant banned Talos worship."

"What is the High King going to do?" Gotz asked quietly, his mind already thinking of strategies to deal with Thalmor sorcerers.

"It would help that the Concordant specifically said the Imperial State would ban the worship of Talos. As far as the High King is concerned, Skyrim has not broken the treaty as no Jarl has made an issue of this," Irileth explained. A part of her remained apprehensive however. Time would tell how the Jarls would react to this. She remembered in the many conversations she and Balgruuf had about his concern of the Old Hold Jarls such as Ulfric and their closeness to Nordic tradition.

"You've called us here, Housecarl. What do you wish of us?" Cassius spoke up, bringing back to the reason she had called them from their duties.

"The High King has tasked me to investigate these Talos Worshippers. I will not be going to Solitude alone. I will need assistance with me," Irileth revealed. Solitude was a big city after all. A center of trade and with so much movement. It was going to be a nightmare to investigate, even for her.

"You can count on us, Housecarl!" Mira eagerly declared, excitement bubbling in her eyes. "I promise you, you will find no finer investigators in Whiterun!"

''You just want to leave the city because you're bored," Gotz grunted. Mira turned to the orc, betrayal in her eyes.

"Gotz...I trusted you!" she whispered, her tone dramatic. Cassius on the other hand rolled his eyes.

"The High King has commanded us. We shall obey,'' Cassius spoke up for the three of them. "How soon do we leave?"

"In the morning," Irileth replied. "Make your preperations. I have to do mine."

And with that, she dismissed them. The three left, Mira and Gotz bickering as they left. Irileth shook her head. While having their own little foibles...they were competent enough in their work. They were after all able to sneak into Korvanjund and retrieve the Jagged Crown. Irileth did not expect any fighting to come from this but it could help to be prepared. After all, zealots wouldn't exactly be the most stable of people.

Irileth shook her head. Her arms reached for the straps of her armor. She had to go leave and meet someone for the night. Someone she rather detested but had to go meet. After all, if there was one mer who knew how the Thalmor thought, it would have to be their quaint high elf refugee.

Now naked, Irileth went for her wardrobe and opened it. To her dismay, she found nothing but plain clothes. Hardly suitable for the place she was going for. She would have to go and purchase actual good looking dresses and clothes. She was more than loaded with Septims and her line of work provided her a more than generous salary.

She opted to go and wear her most impressive looking clothing. First on her was a underdress with a accompanying tunic, then a dark apron-dress fastened by a purple belt. Finished dressing up, Irileth turned to look at herself with a tunic.

Immediately, she flushed.

She felt naked without her armor. She had been going on inside that thing that she had forgotten what it was like to simply dress up every once in awhile. Irileth took her line of work seriously after all. And what free time she had, she was either training or doing...other things.

She took a breath, her heart aching.

No. It wasn't the time for that. She had to count her lucky stars that she was able to get what she wanted, rather than nothing at all.

And so, Irileth turned to step out of her room, clad in the normal dress of an average Whiterun resident, a cloak covering her face.

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It was not exactly uncommon for Dunmer to go here and forth in the streets of Whiterun. A growing city attracts settlers and settlers need housing. Thankfully, the High King did not want for shanty towns or poorly organized houses to crop up in his city. Irileth passed by under the shadow of many more houses which dotted the Wind District, many built in the traditional Nordic fashion. Golden-tilled roofs, built on houses of strong wood and decorated with the flowing lines of artists. While not exactly on par with Breton or even the aesthetics of the mar, it had its own rugged beauty that one would could associate with the Nordic people.

In the five years of rule, Whiterun had to expand its urban zones. There was even talk of expanding the Plains District or even making a new one entirely, with new streets and new walls. It wasn't as if Whiterun lacked for space considering that the Hold was the largest of all the Holds in Skyrim and sat on a literal plain.

But Irileth was not skulking about the streets of Whiterun to gawk at architecture. No, she was here for something else.

Descending the steps from the Wind District and onto the Plains one, she had to go step aside as a patrol of guardsmen marched past, resplendent in their mahogany brown plate and bright yellow cloaks. They marched lockstep, metal clinking as the walked past. With them away, Irileth returned to her original route.

The Plains District was dedicated to pure commerce. Irileth had lost count of the amount of shops and stands that were dotting the main road. Her nose could make out the smells of freshly baked bread, simmering soups of onions and potatoes, meats such as beef and chicken either being pounded and dropped in flour, eggs, and breadcrumbs or roasted in skewers. There wasn't just food either. The Plains sold anything that one might need, from services specialized or otherwise. Shops peddled carpets, spices, perfumes, woodcrafts and more. But no, Irileth wasn't here for such things.

Her path led her to a particular building. It was brightly painted, with wooden facade like most of the buildings down here. It's roofs were tilled as well, with its windows open wide glowing with orange light. Stone steps led up to it for the building stood a small incline. There Irileth climbed up, joining in with a crowd that was going to and from there. She followed behind a man who opened the door, quietly slipping in.

The first thing that hit her was the smell. Mead, ale, and meat being roasted on a spit. This was the standard for Nordic taverns Then, her ears registered the roaring laughter, the stringing of the lute and muted conversations happening in quaint corners. If she really focused, she could hear the sounds of more than passionate activities being conducted in the upper floors but she wasn't going to focus on that. If she wanted such activities, all she had to do was climb into the High King's bedroom.

"Welcome! Welcome to The Good Brew!" the bartender greeted the new customers. Irileth went past the others, making a beeline straight for the counter. The bartender gave her a cursory look.

"Is the manager in?" She asked the man quietly. He nodded and lifted a thumb back.

"Aye. He's inside. You need a meeting? You're going to have to schedule for it," said the bartender before he turned to another customer. He smiled, listening to them and order and pop a bottle of mead out for them. Irileth waited patiently for the bartender to turn to her again.

"Is he busy today?" Irileth asked, leaning in against the counter. The bartender shook his head.

"Oh no, Miss Dunmer. He's quite available. But the manager is a proper sort. You cannot just walk in and demand an audience willy-nilly," explained the bartender. Irileth's lips quirked in annoyance but she hid it well. The last thing she was going to have happen to her was getting stonewalled by paperwork. What was this? Cyrodiil?

"Call for him. Tell him that an acquaintance from the Cloud District wishes to meet," Irileth said, keeping her voice level that only the bartender could hear. The man raised an eyebrow before shrugging his shoulders. He took a step back momentarily and disappeared into the back room. Irileth settled on waiting, letting her ears listen to the bustle and hustle of the tavern.

In the corner and hunched over a few drinks, she could hear conversation between four men in hushed tones.

"Have you heard? The Thalmor were spotted entering and leaving Dragonsreach," revealed the man.

"Thalmor? Filthy elves, they have no right being here. What do they want?" asked his companion.

"I don't know. But a friend of mine who's a guard says it has something to do with a incident in Solitude,"

Now Irileth listened in intently.

"An incident? What happened there?" another one of his friends asked.

"Religious trouble. Some fools made a declaration that Talos is a God," the man revealed again, in a grand tone. His friends reacted by glancing at each other.

"But...he is a God, no matter what the Elves say,"

The three other men nodded, lifting their mugs. "Aye to that," they all said in unison.

The Nord which broke the news rubbed his chin. "But you all surely know that with this, the Elves will try and send their people to sniff out this...heresy? I've read the copy of the Concordant made available to the public, you know. The wording was rather clear."

One of the Nords shrugged again. "It's hardly the fault of the High King or even the Empire. There are those who simply cannot accept that Talos cannot be worshipped openly anymore."

"So, what is the High King going to do?" they asked him.

"I hope he tells the Elves to kiss his ass," one of the men commented, to the snorting of his friends.

"That would just start a diplomatic incident, yes?"

The same man shook his head. "The Concordant wanted the Empire to ban the worship of Talos. It has done that. The Empire and the High King is not responsible for the actions of fools."

At that, their conversation trailed off. Irileth took note of it. Hearing the general mood of the populace was always the best way of determining their approval. She would have to go around and listen more to what the rest had to say.

"Lady Dunmer," the bartender coughed again. Irileth whirled back. The man motioned back with a tilt.

"He's ready to see you now."

At that, Irileth nodded and dropped a few Septims on the counter. "For your trouble, bartender," Irileth said as she placed the heavy golden coins on the counter. The man's eyes lit up in greed and appreciation.

"No problem, Lady Dunmer," the man said, eagerly pocketing the coins. Irileth at that point had rounded the counter and walked in through a curtain door. In there, there was a long hallway with a another door at the far end. Her steps echoed against the hallway, each gait careful and measured. She stopped for a second, before her eyes lit up with magicka.

The wards and seals on the floor earned a begrudging frown off her.

High Elves and their talent for magic. Irileth wasn't exactly a slouch when it came to her own magic. But the ones etched on the floor far surpassed her. Whoever would try to sneak across these would be dead, if the caster so desired.

Her eyes returned to its normal red shine as she continued her walk. Stopping before the door, she gave it a knock.

"It opens!" a loud, smarmy, and irritating voice filtered into her ear. Taking a breath, she twisted the knob and walked inside.

The office was brightly lit and decorated. Fine carpets lined the floor and silk curtains lined the windows. It smelt of scented candles and perfumes. At the far end and by the window, a small table stood. On it was a platter of fruit and cheeses and biscuits with a few bottles of wine. While she could not identify what sort of wine it was, Irileth could at least know those bottles were worth more than a few farms.

"Well well, if it isn't the High King's own chief housecarl, off to visit little old me," greeted the same smarmy voice from earlier. Irileth steeled her features as she turned to regard the High Elf seated behind a fine oak desk, books and paper and other paraphernalia docked around. Clad in fine red robes, Endarion regarded her with a amused smirk.

"Lord Endarion," Irileth grudgingly acknowledged him. Irileth disliked the High Elves. They were haughty, arrogant, and insufferable know it alls. Her dislike for their cousins was genetic as well, her people having separated from the Altmer many thousand years ago.

"While I appreciate your acknowledgment of our stations, I am no longer a Lord. Well, not now at least. Until my fellow exiles and I can reclaim the Summerset Isles," Endarion explained, tapping his table. Irileth nearly bit her lip in frustration. She forced her annoyance back.

"I am not here for that, Altmer," Irileth explained, sitting down on one of the available chairs facing Endarion's desk. His neck twitched at her brusqueness. Irileth could care less.

"Oh? Then if it isn't for my charming personality, then how can I assist the High King?" Endarion questioned, leaning forward.

"The Thalmor," Irileth dropped, earning a steely look from Endarion.

Sighing, he leaned back on his chair. "I assume it must be the incident I have heard from Solitude, as well as good Lady Elenwen being spotted entering and leaving the city this morning?" Endarion said with a raised eyebrow. Irileth nodded. She had watched the exchange the Thalmor Emissary had with the High King from a quiet corner.

Never before had she wanted to stab a mer. 

"Well, I haven't had much interaction with the jackboots much. They tend to frown on royalty." Endarion said dismissively. 

"I am here for information, Altmer, and to ask for a favor," Irileth opened up. Irileth had her own connections but none with the Altmer and...that particular gold and black band. Endarion reacted with a smile and a snort. 

"Ah. Information, then? Well. Information comes with a pric-" Endarion attempted but Irileth merely leaned forward, revealing the sabre clinging to her belt. Her expression was without amusement, her red eyes glinting with barely hidden promise. Endarion saw this and held up his hands. 

"Worry not, Housecarl. I was merely jesting," admitted Endarion, Folding his hands on the table, Endarion adopted a business-like manner as he regarded the Dunmer in front of him. "So, what do you wish to know? What favor do you wish to ask of me?"

Talking with a dark elf and running a tavern in a Nordic city. How his contemporaries would laugh at him at how far he had fallen. Despite that, Endarion still felt clean. Fallen in station as he was, at least he hadn't descended into the same depths of depravity as the Thalmor. 

Irileth calmed down. Pulling back her cloak on her sabre, she spoke. "I shall make this quick. The Thalmor were quick to react to the Declaration. What do they seek to gain from sending their Justiciars here, when they just ended their war with the Redguards? Is it possible that they planted the Declaration themselves to justify an outrage?" 

Endarion's lips curled slightly. Curiosity bubbled in him. "I am sure you yourself have such answers. Why ask me?" 

"Because you know how they think. My speculation can only go so far. With the perspective of a Altmer of your station, I can better understand their logic," revealed Irileth. It rankled her to go and speak with Endarion but he had proven himself a reliable mer, if only his information was worth forgiving his niece for her assassination attempt. 

"Very well," shrugged Endarion, taking in a breath. He paused for a moment, to think of what to say. "To answer your first question, the quick reaction to the Declaration...You must understand that at its core, the Thalmor hate the Man-God Talos. He represents everything they despise. The loss of the old Dominion, the humiliation of the High Elves, the desolation laid by the Numidium. Speaking from a strict ideological sense, how could they not react to the Declaration swiftly?" 

Endarion then continued. "I have long kept tabs on the ended war. I have also been told myself from...certain sources. The Thalmor are aware of their situation. Zealots they may be, but they are no fools. They know they cannot rely on the force of arms, not now. And so, they must use guile. Which comes to the next question. It is perfectly possible that the Thalmor have done this themselves. It won't be the first time," 

"First time?" Irileth asked. Endarion nodded. 

"There was a time when the Thalmor acted with less resources, less support. How do you think the Dominion wrestled away Valenwood? Elsweyr? It wasn't through the might of our mages or the tactics of our armies that won us those provinces but through clever diplomacy, through slow and careful manipulation," Endarion leaned forward on the table, his chin resting on his clasped hands. "Perhaps the Thalmor have remembered what strategies won them the provinces of the old Dominion. You can count that the average Altmer citizen and soldier will want the Dominion to not go on a military adventure, not when they gained nothing from the Great War and now, the loss at Hammerfell. Not when the Maormer still prey on the shores of the Summerset Isles." 

Irileth listened closely, taking note of what the Altmer had to say. "So, it is a guarantee then that the Thalmor cannot pursue war?" 

"Perhaps, perhaps not," Endarion replied. "You see, the Thalmor will not pursue aggressive policies and back it up with arms, not now. Just because they have withheld the armies does not mean they will not try. I recommend watching the shadows if I were you." 

"How fortunate then that the shadows is my profession," Irileth replied bluntly. 

Endarion curled his lips in amusement. "Quite. And the favor you would like to ask?" 

Irileth crossed his arms. "I know you still have connections to the Summerset Isles, to the Thalmor. I want to use these connections, through you." 

"Goodness, blunt are you? And here I thought that Dunmer were supposed to be subtle," Endarion remarked, surprised. The Housecarl had violated all Altmer etiquette with as much regard as a Sload has to beauty. She had shown up without informing him the host. She had barged into his office without even asking him permission to sit on his chairs. She had went straight to the matter at hand instead of easing into it. Well. It was rather refreshing in a barbaric sort of war. Irileth had adapted well to Skyrim, Endarion mused. Time will tell if he and his niece would adapt as well. 

"There is little time for niceties not when our enemies are not resting," Irileth answered truly, her words laced with hate. 

"True enough," Endarion had to agree. The Thalmor were a wheel that kept on spinning. If it meant that their chariot ride would get interrupted now and then, he did not mind. "You are correct that I still have kept communications with old friends," 

Just because he had decided to exile himself and his niece out of the Summerset Isles didn't mean he wanted to do away with his home entirely. It was also good that he had made a life of innkeeper here in Whiterun. It also meant he could grow a new base to host and facilitate the movement of Altmer refugees out of the Isles, as well as building a cell of Anti-Thalmor mer like him. 

Yes, the jackboots had taken their home but nothing ever truly lasts. 

One day, they would return. 

But not today. 

"And?" Irileth asked, cocking her head. 

"Understand that my friends risk much by talking to me. It too is expensive as well, maintaining contact," admitted Endarion. And he spoke truly. The secrecy required, the methods of communicating and verification... 

"You wish for support as well?" Irileth asked, raising an eyebrow. 

"More than support. I wish to establish a path to get good Altmer out of the Summerset Isles. Perhaps settling them here or in different places around Tamriel," Endarion made his offer. Irileth took a breath. 

In one hand, this only meant more Altmer and who knew if they were truly what they said they were. On the other...a direct ear into the business and affairs of the Summerset Isles. 

"I will...think on it. This decision is far beyond me. I will bring this up with the High King but I promise you, I will do what I can," Irileth swore. Endarion offered her a smile. 

"Good. I will make sure you will not regret it. I assure you, Housecarl. There are quite plenty Altmer who do not approve of the Thalmor and their madness. The Thalmor speak of the glories of the old Dominion but they are usurping zealots. Ayrenn's Heirs will return. And when we do, the Jackboots shall die on the highest spires of Crystal-Like-Law," Endarion ended, a dark grin on his face. 

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A/N: *James Bond theme*