Balgruuf the Great chapter 55 preview (Patreon)

+++

Elenwen 

The embers of the fireplace cracked, as the wood broke apart in the flame. 

Elenwen lounged on the chair before the fireplace, her legs crossed and a cup of good wine in her hand. It was a good vintage, made from a family vineyard deep inside Alinor. The taste was exquisite, the vapors intoxicating and filling her with happy memories of lazy lounging while music played. Indeed, such happy memories flowed in her that she had closed her eyes to take it all. 

When she opened them again, she was alone with only the fire to keep her company as the snow battered and struck the window outside her room. A cold chill flowed through her blood. Slowly, her lips curled into a frown. She had little clue how the Nords lived in a place such as this. It was miserably cold and the coldness bred a dull people. She would know, having faced the Nords in the battlefield during the Great War and interrogated their kind in the cells. 

Admittedly, this had been a boring and quiet posting. The Embassy was newly established, the construction having been delayed after it had faced numerous issues in its making. A delay of building supplies here, workmen taking their time there. Elenwen was no fool and understood the locals had taken exception to their setting up there. Originally, they were to set up an Embassy close to the High King but after careful consideration....Elenwen had argued for them to be established in Solitude instead. 

Her lips curled into a true frown. 

It was one thing for her superiors to make their plans. It was another thing to arrive in Skyrim. If they had pushed through in setting up the Embassy so deep in Skyrim, there was no way she and her staff could count on support to arrive in time should the Nords decide that maybe they would wish to burn down the compound of High Elves. 

'But then again, that was the plan wasn't it, sacrificial lamb?' whispered a dark part of her mind. 

A knock on her door interrupted her musing. A part of her felt thankful that there was some stimuli at least. She was getting lonely. "Enter," she said, her tone regal and authoritative. 

The door swung open and her ears filtered the sound of boots walking against the floor. Her nose picked up the scent of perfume as well as soap. There too was a hint of blood and tears and hay. A concoction of suffering. 

"First Emissary, our interrogators made a breakthrough with our captured prisoners," declared an accented voice. Elenwen lifted her head high, as a Queen might try to look imperious. She nodded, listening. 

"A breakthrough? What have you found?" Elenwen asked, bidding the other Mer to make his report. 

There was a slight rustling as the Justiciar cleared his throat before continuing. "The Nords we interrogated are true Talos worshippers. If the paraphernalia they hid weren't already any indication, they have also admitted to it themselves," 

Elenwen scoffed. It really didn't take long for her and the rest of the Thalmor in the compound to not hear about the foolish and heretical declaration nailed against the Temple of the Divines. The Embassy was quite literally within walking distance to Solitude. Of course, she immediately ordered her men to go and hunt down suspects. Lazy posting this may be, it wouldn't do well for her career to allow such a brazen display of heresy go. 

"Perhaps they ought to have started such a display in far Windhelm instead of Solitude," Elenwen sneered, her tone derisive of the average intelligence of the nords. "What did they expect putting up such heresy and so close to us?" 

"Nords are simple creatures, First Emissary. More so Nordic Zealots," the other Justiciar commented, earning a snort from Elenwen who shook her head. 

"Well? What other things do you have to report, Justiciar?" Elenwen pressed, wishing to get back to the issue at hand. The hooded Altmer nodded. 

"Further interrogation of the prisoners revealed that they weren't the only ones. There is a hidden cell of Talos worshippers in Solitude, all gathered around a heresiarch they simply called The Prophet,'' the Justiciar reported, a sneer on his face. 

"The Prophet," Elenwen repeated. "How imaginative. Continue," 

"They meet every Loredas though the meeting locations they go to are unknown even to them. They usually get contacted by members of their little cult and inform them, through secret signs, on where to go," finished the Justiciar. 

"I imagine these secret signs that they say are little more than banging two sticks against each other and hitting their heads," laughed Elenwen. She had little respect for the Nords, nor should she develop any. The Nords were...mundane. They didn't have the culture of the Bretons, nor the cosmopolitanism of the Imperials, or the exoticness of the Redguards. They simply were, in no better definition, vanilla. Their peasants lived in thatched huts, their cities stank of excrement and mud. A martial culture yes, but that only bred barbarians who got excited over smashing a metal stick at their enemies. No form, no refinement. And oh, by the Gods, they had little respect for sorcery. 

Shaking her head once more, Elenwen took a careful and long sip of her wine, thirsty as she was. Licking her lips and shuddering from the taste, she sighed in satisfaction. She set her glass aside on a nearby end table and leaned back on her chair, her hands clasped over her crossed legs. "This Prophet...where we given a description?" 

The other Altmer replied. "Yes and no, unfortunately. The Prophet is a Nord, tall and with a good strong voice. Beyond that however, nothing else as every single time that they had all met, the man wore robes and a mask,''  

Elenwen hummed. Now this was something interesting. She had yet to receive any actual orders from Alinor on a mission, other than attempting to be friendly with the local Nords and the clearly no-so hidden attempt by the Council to have her and her staff die in order to justify some outrage. Plenty of those in the know knew how precarious their situation was, with one white peace in Cyrodiil and a war that won them nothing in Hammerfell. 

And now, with the Maormer once more raiding their coasts, they had to be careful now on what to spend their resources and time on. 

"Very well. Take some mer and keep a careful look into this. Report to me any new developments we can use. Guile will have to make do here, not force of arms," Elenwen decided. 

"It shall be done, First Emissary." the Justiciar nodded. "How far are we willing to go with this?" 

Gloved and gauntleted fingers tapped against each other. "We shall first have to see how this develops. Until then, we must continue on in squeezing the humans. The more pressure and fear we can drill into Skyrim and the Empire, the better for the Dominion." 

She craned her head to the back, her eyes glinting. "So squeeze, Justiciar. Squeeze hard." 

+++

A/N: And so, the Thalmor shall be akin to that Micheal Jackson gif of him eating popcorn. They truly have no idea what is going on but they aren't going to miss out on poking the Empire with a stick.