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Link: https://forum.questionablequesting.com/threads/15657
Baltafarian
I don't like surprises. I mean, not to the point that I despise it. But rather, I don't like them because I don't particularly enjoy the feeling of getting caught with my pants down.
For a few seconds, I was walking down the street. I suppose I should have been warned when the people behind me screamed and I could hear the sound of tires screeching then… silence.
When I woke up, I did not find myself in a hospital. But rather, inside a leather lined tent. Outside, I could hear the mulling of a camp and in the distance, I could hear the marching of boots on the ground. Groaning, I reached for a mirror and found myself staring into the eyes of a stranger. Then, I had a knee-jerk reaction as I fell on the floor, spasming violently, as information was thrust into my mind. Names, dates, ideas, concepts.
Everything.
When it was done, I realized who I was and where I was.
I was fucking Balgruuf, the Jarl you met in Whiterun. And now, I was an adjutant to some Imperial General in Cyrodiil and we were just…
Oh shit oh fuck.
We were in the middle of the fucking Great War.
I had no idea who the flying fuck sent me here but whoever did that was a giant fucking asshole.
The first three years I spent in the Legion was one of the most horrible things I ever had to experience. Not horrible that I disliked being there. It was rather fun all things considered and enlightening. The horror came from the fact that both the Legion and the Dominion was racking up war crimes faster than the Germans blitzing their way across Europe.
I… I've seen some shit. Some dark and terrible shit. The type of stuff that gives you nightmares at night. The High Elves were absolutely fucking brutal. There was a village we had to rescue and we found the villagers fucking staked. The ones who weren't were all brought and thrown into barn and were burnt alive. The fucking highlight of that episode was me sifting through the farm and finding two corpses at the end.
Spoiler: Not Safe For Life
[img: https://img03.deviantart.net/5774/i/2015/225/6/a/white_phosphorus_by_dkud-d95hade.png]
A mother and daughter pair. The mother looked like she was trying to comfort and shield her daughter from the fire around them.
The following days, and weeks after that, I did… things that I'm not particularly proud of. I won a title for my troubles though, Elfsbane. I got numerous awards and honors and gifts and all those trimmings. But no matter how much the Legion rewarded me, everything that I got was ash in my mouth.
My Legion fought all over Cyrodiil, hammering Dominion forces wherever we found them. During one particular deployment, my legion had heard that the High Elf general who had conducted that village massacre was nearby, taking cover behind a captured Imperial fort.
We set about besieging the Fort immediately. It took quite a while but we broke through the walls and the gate. It was quite the battle; our own mages trading potshots with Aldmeri battlemages. Legionaries and Aldmer foot duking it out in the streets and breaches. Due to my status as the son of Jarl, I also commanded a force of Nords that had been with me since the start of the war. I could not lead them properly as I had other duties in the Legion so I left it under the command of my brother, Hrongar.
They were the force that finally broke through the stubborn Aldmer lines, battlecries being chanted and battleaxes swinging. The Elves attempted to counter-charge but a cavalry charge lead by the General and by myself broke their weak charge.
We left not a single elf alive though some individuals took it upon themselves to do even more. Rape was a punishable crime in the legion but it did not stop some men. We found a few female high elves with their clothes or armor torn in quiet corners in the fort, thick white liquid in their mouths or other entrances. The rapists were found and summarily executed. First by having their dicks cut off then they were hung like a common criminal. They weren't the only executions though.
The High Elf general, a insufferable dickhead name Sennatar. We had him hung, drawn, then quartered. His parts were then sent to villages that notably suffered under him or had refugees whose relatives died under him.
That was a good day. Made even greater when I found an interesting prisoner deep inside the keep. A red-haired Dunmer.
She was in bad shape when I had found her. Scars and other injuries on her body, mostly on her back. Fortunately, she was not sexually assaulted as the healers I sent her to couldn't find any lacerations on any of her vital areas. It took a full week before I received a message saying that the elf had woke up.
Eyes red as rubies darted to me as I strode into her ward. I took off my Imperial Officer's helmet and held it at my side. I sported a clean shaven look. It was painful for me as facial hair IS the sign of manhood but I was in the middle of a war. I wasn't going to let some golden bastard John Wick me. As soon as the war was over, I was going to be growing my hair and beard longer.
"You are awake," I noted in my thick Nordic accent. The Dunmer was sitting upright on her bed. A white sheet was on her to cover her modesty and bandages were wrapped around her chest. She didn't say anything to me so I strode over to a nearby table and placed my helmet there. Pulling up a chair, I positioned it next to her bed and sat down.
Our eyes met.
"You… saved me?" the Dunmer asked softly.
"Yes," I nodded. "I found you half-starved and tortured in a prison cell. I am Balgruuf and I am a Tribune of General Aurelian. And you are?"
"I… I am Irileth," the dunmer said after a moments hesitation.
Ah. So there she was. And this was probably how they originally met.
"The Divines smile on our meeting, Irileth. So, tell me, what did you do to get treated like that?" I prodded her gently. The Dunmer bit her lip before she sighed.
"I was to assassinate General Sennatar for his atrocities. Many good Dunmer had perished under his hand and for that, my Guild demanded his blood." she said softly.
"And from the scars on your body, you failed, got captured, and were promptly tortured," I pointed out. The dark elf winced and glared at me. I stared back impassively, not backing down from the stare the woman was giving me. She looked away, her eyes full of shame.
"I'm sorry. That was harsh of me," I offered.
"It..It matters not. I failed and this experience… it is one of nightmares," she said with a shiver.
"So, what do you intend to do now?" I questioned. Irileth cast her gaze towards me. I raised an eyebrow, not particularly enjoying being eyed by the Morag Tong assassin.
"My… guild probably assumes I had died in Sennatar's prison. As far as they are concerned, I am dead. I have no where else to go," the assassin stated. My mind wondered where she was going with this.
"And?"
The dunmer smirked. "Perhaps… a stint in the Legion would be a breath of fresh air. Tell me, Tribune, are you looking for a nightblade?"
I sat back on my chair, my hand rubbing my non-existent beard. "Well, I have questions first."
"Ask away," she nodded. I held up my hand and formed a number.
"Firstly, what are your skills?" I asked.
"I am a nightblade. I'm skilled in Archery, in melee combat particularly with daggers and swords. I'm also talented in Destruction and Alteration," she mouthed off. I nodded, silently listing her abilities. She was an assassin through and through. No wonder Big B was so secure in Skyrim when he had Irileth as both his bodyguard and spymaster.
And well, my Legion and I did smash the shit out of a Dominion General. That was sure to piss off some people. I could use a nightblade to watch my back.
"Secondly," I harrumphed, getting her attention. "How can I trust you to protect me when I just met you?"
To my surprise, an offended look came to her face. "I am… I was Morag Tong. We were not just a band of murderers. We are a proper guild with a reputation to maintain! And I am offended that you would dare doubt my honor, Tribune. While I was a prisoner to Sennatar, I never gave him anything. I may be an assassin but I am a assassin with honor!"
At the end of it all, Irileth was heaving. Her face was the very image of righteous indignation. I held up my hands to placate her. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. Precautions, you must understand. You being an assassin is well… questionable." I explained gently.
Irileth huffed. "You saved my life when you could have just left me in that cell. I was not important to you and you even financed this ward to help me heal," she gestured to her bed, her bandages, and the table which also had potions and other extracts that would help her heal. "I owe you a life debt and I will damned if I don't pay it."
"As I said, I'm sorry," I sighed. I thought for a moment for another question to ask but found none. And so, I made a decision.
"Alright. I'll take you under my wing. Normally, you'd have to go through the process of enlisting but ah, we are at war," I explained as I stood up from the chair, my free hand reaching for my helmet. "So, here's what's going to happen. You heal up first and when you are good, I'll put in a good word for you to Aurelian and have him swear you in. You'll be assigned to me and to me personally, do you understand?"
"I do," nodded the Dunmer, relief in her eyes. I flashed her a grin before I turned to leave. As I left, I put my helmet back on.
"Tribune!" Irileth called out from the bed. I stopped, looking at her over my shoulder.
"Yes?"
"Thank you… for saving me," Irileth whispered.
"It's what I do," I smiled. With a final nod, I marched off.
The Great War then dragged on to its fourth year. The Imperial City had fallen and the Legion was reeling from the loss. For most of the year, we had spent it in being a pain in the neck towards the Dominion's supply lines. I particularly spent it leading cavalry raids against the Elves. We would find Elven supply trains and attack them.
Unlike the other Nords of Skyrim, the Nords of Whiterun Hold were the best damn horseman Skyrim had to offer. With its flat plains, they were an excellent ground for cavalry. My favorite tactic to use against the Elves was to basically Mongol them.
We would attack and harass them. When they would charge, we would feign a retreat then have them go after us on a merry chase. Elven horses were fucking fast but Skyrim bred ones had more endurance. By the time they could catch up to us, the horses were dead tired. And so, we'd reel back and massacre the tired and disorganized horsemen.
We kept this way of fighting until finally, the fifth and final year of the Great war happened. And with that, the Battle of the Red Ring.
Fucking hell man. There's a reason why Imperial strategists fap to this battle.
After the Imperial City fell in the previous year, the Aldmeri Dominion thought that the Empire was on the brink. The Emperor continued to feed that idea to the Dominion and widely propagated the Legion to be on the breaking point. Then, the legions from Hammerfell arrived and they initiated a devastating surprise attack on the Dominion.
Meanwhile, General Jonna, operating a Nordic garrison from Cheydinhal fought their way along the Red Ring Road in an assault lasting two day. The Nordic Legions then linked up with the Redguard ones and together, we made merry havoc demolishing whatever Dominion forces we encountered. In the North, the Emperor was going to lead an army down south to be the final hammer to destroy the Dominion forces in the Imperial City.
Redguard legionnaires tearing through lines of panicking Aldmer. Nordic bersekers cutting through swathes of elves while Imperial legionaries chased through through enemy lines. Since the start of the war, my legion under Aurelian mostly spent it harassing Dominion supply lines, attacking smaller Dominion fortifications and generally being a giant pain in their golden elven asses.
But now, we were attached to the main force to retake the Capital. And fuck me, it was glorious. Before the walls of the Imperial City, we charged the elven lines. It was not just as though. With a scene reminiscent of the Battle of Pelannor Fields, thousands of Imperial horseman charged down the Dominion lines. At the head of it all was the Emperor, or rather the Unknown Hero masquerading as the Emperor. Only I knew that though. No point in telling everyone else about that.
In the end, the Imperial City was retaken and Lord Naarfin, the leader of the Dominion's forces, was personally slain by the Emperor's stand-in.
People sincerely thought that we had won a victory so vast that the Dominion had to surrender. I knew what was going to happen but it still did not lessen the bitterness I felt when details of the White-Gold Concordant came out.
Ah, no wonder everyone felt so bitter with the war's outcome.
Ceding Imperial territory occupied by the Dominion. Talos worship being banned.
Hrongar was beyond furious. General Aurelian trashed his command tent and I laid out my frustrations on a poor training dummy. But we couldn't do anything about it. Despite him being appointed by the Emperor himself, Aurelian was not particularly a giant in the legion compared to Jonna or Decianus. Hrongar and I were lower-end officers with few friends in the higher ups.
And so, we could only suck up the details and just be glad that the war was over.
As a consolation prize, many were showered praises and gifts and honours. But it all was bitter in our mouths.
With the war over, the Empire sought to de-mobilize. My legion was one of the last to be let go as Hammerfell righteously told the Dominion and Empire to fuck off with the shit Concordant and rose in revolt. Due to that, we were posted on the border with Hammerfell and was tasked with watching the border for any signs of Redguard invasion.
God, you should see the mood of the men and women when the Redguards rolled in victory after victory over the elves. It was so tempting to desert and join the Redguards in their fight. Believe me, some did. But before we could do it, a new legion had arrived to replace us and we were finally discharged from service.
Those were the last five years of my life and now, I was due to go home. I may not have been born there but Balgruuf's body ached to be in Skyrim, in Whiterun. I was not going to deny him and my own desire to be at a place I could call home.
At the beginning, I thought I would be trudging back to Skyrim with a satchel on my back. Instead, I was leading a caravan train with a cohort worth of people. There would have been more but Hrongar was still aching for adventure and so, he took our Nords to supposedly have merry fun around Cyrodiil but I was pretty sure he was taking the men to Hammerfell to join in the fight there.
The people who followed me consisted of men and women, Imperials, Nords, and Redguards, who had decided to follow me after I offered them a place in Whiterun. They were former legionnaires who had nowhere else to go. Their talents would be a waste if I let them go so I invited them.
While Tamriel might be resting after essentially the worst war to have graced the continent, I knew there was going to be more trouble in the future. The Skyrim Civil War, the return of the Dragons, the Dawnguard and Dragonborn storylines. There was going to be no shortage of trouble and conflict. Plus, the inevitable return of the great war.
Whiterun and Skyrim would have to be prepared. And as the next Jarl, I was going to do my best to make sure Whiterun would be a fucking fortress by the time the next events of the 4th Era would come. With my followers, they will be the key to establishing a newer type of force Tamriel has never seen before. With my wealth, I shall use on Whiterun and for establishing pillars that would support my rise to power.
I shall rise as Jarl and I will make Whiterun great again. If all goes well, Whiterun would be the mightiest Hold in Skyrim.
And when that happens, maybe I could even aim higher.
Whiterun used to be the capital of Skyrim, with it's central location and the seat of power of King Olaf One-Eye.
Twas the City of Kings.
Maybe… it could be so again.
A/N: An old fic of mine that I left dead in the dust. I'm going to revive it here. I hope ya'll enjoy this.