Stallion of Whiterun (Skyrim Balgruuf SI) Chapter 5 (Patreon)

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Irileth knew that her life had rules. 

To live in a world such as Tamriel, there was a undercurrent understanding that life was not going to be easy when there were beings like the Aedra and the Daedra, the primal forces which influenced in the lives of the mortal races. It was through them that Tamriel was made after all, the Aedra sacrificing much of their legendary power to give life, to shape the mountains, to ensure that there was. The Daedra were the opposite, giving not a lick of themselves to the creation of Tamriel yet intervening so heavily in it. There was not just the Divines either. There too was fate, and destiny, and prophecy. 

Like the prophecy that Balgruuf oh so wonderfully brought her into. 

"The Dragon War was brutal for men," Balgruuf narrated in its deep richness. His eyes were wandering, back to the stories of his youth. "The Dragons had the Voice, their Words of Power. Men had Courage but not the Voice. So the Dragons Shouted down Men, and broke our hearts." He leaned back on his bed, his face getting animated as he spoke more and more. "Kyne pitied Man and thus, granted us the Voice." 

"And where does the Dragonborn fit into this?" Irileth asked, sitting up straight as she regarded her lord. As much as she would love to hear the lore of the Nords, she was a practical elf. She needed details. She could not plan if she did not have those. If Balgruuf was annoyed at her interruption, he made no mention of it. He clicked his tongue instead, smiling. "You must understand, Irileth, that context is important. Without total understanding, we cannot make informed decisions. But, very well." 

He adjusted himself yet again, resting one leg over the other. "Dragons are immortal. They cannot die. They can be brought down with mortal means, yes. But they will persist. Their chief, Alduin, can revive them. It is only through the Dragonborn, our Nerevarine equivalent if you will, that can truly destroy them." Balgruuf explained thusly, adding even the legendary Nerevarine to show how important the mythicised Dragonborn was. Irileth did not need the Hortator, Azura'm gah'amer, brought up to get what her lord was saying at. 

"Then we must find this Dragonborn and get them ready, should Alduin return," Irileth proposed. Now they knew what to do. They only have to go get this figure. The expression on Balgruuf's face however told her that he proposal was going to get shot down. Balgruuf shook his head as he regarded Irileth. "The Dragonborn is hidden at this time, thankfully. There is no reason for them to appear, not while the final part of the prohecy remains incomplete." 

Ïrileth was a practical elf. She liked normal foes, like bandits, or assassins. Hell, she would be willing to fight creatures from Oblivion as well. Nightmares they were, they could still get hurt. But prophecy? There was no way in hell to stop prophecy. At this point, they were utterly at the mercy of fate. "And what is the last part of the prophecy?" Irileth asked, trying her best to keep her expression muted and not terrified. 

"The Towers of Mundus and their shutting down is a sign that the Prophecy is being moved. The White-Gold Tower is the foruth Tower. The last Tower is in Skyrim, at the Throat of the World. To be specific, it calls for the Sons of Skyrim to spill their own blood," Balgruuf sagely recited, remembering the stories. 

"Civil War, then." Irileth surmised. 

"Yes. Civil War," Balgruuf nodded. "It specifies it some more: sundered, kingless, bleeding. The fact that High King Istlod is soon to pass is no great coincidence. His heir, Jarl Torygg, is young. Not incapable but in this future where the Empire is struggling to survive and one of its chief dieites is banned will be challenging for anyone Torygg, he will find himself out of his depth. Skyrim needs someone that the Jarls will respect, to keep the peace. With enough sense to keep the realm stable and hopefully, avoid the prophecy all together." 

Irileth watched, unimpressed as Balgruuf puffed up the more he spoke. It was pretty clear to see where he was getting at, a blind guard could find him even with its eyes cut out and other senses dulled. "You wish to be High King," the Dunmer surmised again. Balgruuf smiled slightly. it was brief like a bright fire as he sighed, his shoulders sagging as he glanced towards the fireplace. He sighed as he spoke. "I admit...I would rather not. That is too much responsibility, too much exposure. I am happy enough that I am Jarl and I have my own realm to rule. But a kingdom?"

This Irileth had to admit some surprise at. "I thought being High King would be your ambition. You say humility, my lord but you aren't exactly shy of enjoying attention and the spotlight," Irileth pointed out. Balgruuf spoke softly at moments, only to go and razzle his men or the common folk with his feats.

Balgruuf snorted, aware of the hypocrisy. "I admit I enjoy it at times. It feels gratifying, to be praised and acknowledged." His expression dulled. "This is different however. You will have a whole Kingdom to support, its Jarls love their independence and they are used to doing things on their own. The High King seat of Skyrim, it merely is an office now. To be the Nord's representative and fulfil the dictates of Cyrodiil," 

"...And?" Irileth pressed. Balgruuf blinked, looking towards the Nightblade. Irileth leant back as she elaborated. "Yes, you are somewhat vain, perhaps conceited at times. But that is a part of you, my lord. One thing you cannot be accused for is dereliction of duty. You complain of it now but we both know, you will do it in the end." She leaned in. "You know what awaits you, the hard road. And yet, here you are making plans and plotting." The Dunmer then stood up, walking over to Balgruuf. Irileth knelt before Balgruuf, wrapping his hand with hers. Their fingers were callused, injured. 

But warm. 

Fiery red rubies met with the ice snow tempest met. Irileth gripped Balgruuf's hand, holding him with signature tenderness and urging support. "I do not know what sort of enemies we shall fight. It could be in Skyrim, or back in Cyrodiil or even to the furthest reaches of Tamriel. It matters not to me. You were there when I needed someone the most and I will be here as you prepare to fight the ages, Balgruuf." Irileth spoke truly and sincerely. She did not hesitate at all to swear her oath. 

Their eyes did not leave. Balgruuf nodded slowly, taking in her words. He leaned in, kissing her on the cheek. Irileth accepted the kiss, drawing in the flutter in her heart. He pulled back. "Thank you," Balgruuf whispered. 

"Of course," Irileth smiled. 

And thus, they left in the following morning, the villagers waving them away. Balgruuf struck a figure of inspiration, his yellow cloak fluttering under the wind. "Farewell, farewell, Riverwood!" Balgruuf waved them off. "Upon my return here, I shall repay Riverwood for the hospitality it has shown me." 

The villagers cheered their lord away, eager to receive the blessings he promised them. They departed quickly, the road turning from sleepy village to signs of nearby civilization. More and more carts and travellers were seen, some bearing returning legionnaires or merchants excited at the prospect of returning trade. 

"Back to business," Hrongar yawned, noting a cart on the side of the road. 

"War is bad for business after all. Well, except for those that make the weapons and the arms," Balgruuf said, tapping his armor. "The war was a killing for profiteers, eh?" 

Hrongar rolled his eyes at the joke. Balgruuf chuckled at himself, turning away. Then he brightened. "We are returned home," he whispered.

There on a hill a city stood, surrounded by endless green grass. It had towers and walls built in the Nordic fashion, the mighty stones weathered by age but still formidable. The towers had flag-poles where banners flew, yellow as the sun and with the image of a roaring stallion in its fields. The best landmark however was what was atop the hill. there a mighty bastion of grey stone, dark wood, and a roof made of thatched material that deceptively looked like gold when seen far off. Carved pillars and mosaic stones decorated its walls. 

Dragonsreach was the castle's name. And Whiterun was the city. 

And it was home.

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A/N: Updoots.