Stallion of Whiterun (Skyrim Balgruuf SI) Chapter 8 (Patreon)

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Floki awoke with a yawn, the warmth of the fireplace keeping the frigid cold of his homeland from freezing him to death. The returned Veteran felt as if he had slept the best goddamn sleep in his entire life. This time, he was home with his family and a little bit richer than he left. No more staying up at long hours being bored stiff or fearing Altmer infiltration. No more listening the orders of officers or eating shite food. He was home now with what remained of his brothers, feasting on momma's famous potato soup. Famous was a bit of a stretch since their farmstead was a tad far from the main roads where travellers would pass but still, he grew up from wee boy to a hunk of a man on her potatoes mixed with milk and cheese and by Talos, he was proud of that 

Talos...

Floki shook himself awake, rising up on his bed and having his feet reach for the boots by his bedside. It wasn't as if they had totally lost the war. They gave the elves a damn good beating at the Red Ring and that victory was something no one was going to forget. But...the banning of Talos? The Ninth Divine? Surely, the Empire wasn't seriously considering on forgetting the man which had forged it in the first place? His brothers felt that the Empire had betrayed them. With sweat and blood did the Nords win the Red Ring and the Emperor just gave it up? 

Personally, Floki was too damned tired to care. All he wanted was to enjoy his home life, find a good girl to settle down with and start a family himself. He could afford it. All he had to do was approach the Steward and purchase a farm for himself and raise brats. Yes, that was the life he wanted for himself. Far from politics, far from whatever horseshit was happening out there. He had done his time and by the Divines, he was going to enjoy it. 

"Morning Floki," an elderly woman's voice greeted him. Turning around, the Nord was approached by his mother, a bowl of that familiar potato deliciousness filling his nostrils. "Still hot. Eat up, son. You look like you are bones now," she joked. She then added before leaving. "Add it in the wash outside when you are done. I have to attend to the cows, alright?" 

Floki accepted it eagerly and found a loaf of bread floating in his potage. He ate it swiftly, savouring the taste of childhood and home. Sufficiently fed, he stood up and made his way outside to deposit it in the wash. Opening the door, the chill and crisp air of Skyrim rushed towards him as if his homeland itself was rushing to hug him. Ah, Skyrim. May she never change, thought Floki, as he went to the side of the house where the wash was. 

As he did so, his ears picked up noise. As a veteran, Floki had his senses heightened to always and ever be alert. And he picked it up, the clip-clopping of horses against a road. A single blond eyebrow rose as he wondered who in Oblivion would be riding out at this hour. Walking over to the front entrance of their farmstead, a small wooden gate connected to ancient stone fences constructed by an ancestor up the line, Floki's eyes spotted figures coming closely. 

"Hey! Floki!" cried out from the house. It was Erik, one of his brothers. He was rushing over to him. "There you are! Come on, I need you to help me and mama with the cows. One of them is giving bi-" Erik could not finish his sentence for he too saw and heard the coming figures. As it became closer, their eyes was immediately filled with recognition as the man that lead the caravan was their very own Legate, Balgruuf Elfsbane. 

Old habits kicked in, training and indoctrination coming to them. One can take a Nord out of the Legion but you can never take the Legion out of the Nord. They stood straight, chests puffed out and a single fisted hand on it. "Hail and good morning, si-my lord!" both brothers said aloud as their former Legate and current Lord halted, an amused smirk on his face. Floki bristled, his face reddening slightly. He almost called his Lord sir. 

"At ease, you magnificent bastards. We're not in the Legion anymore," Balgruuf greeted them jovially. At that, the men allowed themselves to relax. In that moment, Floki spied the caravan train his now Lrod was leading. Wagons! Lots of them and with the refugees that had accompanied him towards Skyrim. As always, the Dunmer nightblade that their Legate had rescued was at his side on her own horse. 

And she was looking worse for wear, as if she was hungover and pretending she wasn't. Inside his mind, Floki was pretty damn sure they were fucking....not that he would say that aloud. He shook his head and let his curiosity get the better of him. "It's uh, very very early, my lord. Are you off somewhere?" he inquired. 

"Oh yes," nodded Balgruuf jovially.. "These people wanted new lives and I am giving it to them. They will be your new neighbours, if you will. I ask you to be kind to them. They've travelled a long way to build their lives here." 

Floki and Erik turned to the refugees. They were all a disparate bunch. Imperials, Nords who grew up in Cyrodiil. Some Redguards. The most surprising of all however were the ones with pointed ears. Mer. A cart of them, Floki saw, had bosmer. Wood Elves. A part of him felt...uncomfortable. Everyone knew that the bosmer homeland of Valenwood was under the sway of the Thalmor. He and his brothers themselves had also fought many Bosmer flying the Black-and-Gold banner of the Dominion. But the bosmer before him, those sickly and scared looking wretches, they weren't the ones that lifted their arms against him. 

"Well..." Floki said, rubbing the underside of his chin. "As long as...they prove themselves worthy of this land, I see no reason not to treat them like neighbours." Skyrim was pretty big, Floki had to admit. Whiterun alone was the largest and more settlement would never hurt. It was also a harsh land too, with giants and violent wolves, trolls and more. If a soft outsider could manage to live in Skyrim, respect its laws and customs, and survive surely deserved to stay in humanity's Fatherland. And besides, he needed a wife to settle down with and as he scanned the caravan line, he could see plenty of women he could court. 

Oh, that Redguard in the far back looked saucy enough. He'd never slept with a Redguard before. He wondered if she would be willing to do stuff with her rear. The Redguards were known, to his knowledge, of being that nasty. 

"Well said," Balgruuf nodded, not entirely aware of the thoughts flowing through Floki's mind. "Well then, Ï will be off. Good morning to you two, and your family." 

"Of course, my lord. Good day," Floki replied as their lord trotted off, their caravan line continuing on. As the caravan line marched off, Floki sniffed as he watched his new neighbours trudged along. Goodness, he probably should go and prepare pies for them. Good to start their apparently starting village on positive terms. 

"You're alright with them living with us? Near us?" Erik asked his brother. "You do know some of them are elves, right?" 

Floki shrugged his shoulders. "I know. But they aren't Altmer at least. I do not think I can stand with those inbred golden wretches at this time. The Bosmer are alright, I suppose. They aren't Altmer. And they can make a mean steak, you know?" 

"Do you always think about food?" Erik asked as his brother began to march off. 

"A soldier thinks about fucking, killing, and eating! I am not yet going to fuck, nor am I killing something! Might as well eat!" cackled Floki. 

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A/N: One thing I have noticed weird about Skyrim is how...accepting Windhelm was when it came to the two High Elves that were living in Windhelm. You'd think that they would lynch the shit out of them but nah, they were totes alright with them. My take on that the Nords aren't particularly stereotypical Deep South skinsheads. They are suspicious of outsiders but once you have proven your worth, much like the High Elves did living there, they won't really care about you. The racism against the Dunmer is pretty expected since the Dunmer do not particularly want to integrate with the Nords. Wanting better conditions for themselves is a reasonable ask since no one wants to live in squalor but from what I understood, they wanted it without working for it and are asking for it in a time of war.