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Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun Hold, Hero of the Great War and proud son of Skyrim…was exhausted. For a great many reasons, not least of which is that he was the only neutral Jarl of Skyrim, and perhaps the only Jarl that saw that this entire Civil War was nothing more than insanity that strength the enemies of the Empire.
Well, that wasn't fair. He was quite sure that several of the other Jarls saw it, they were just so entrenched in their factions and their political ideologies that they weren't willing to come to the table and keep Skyrim strong. Which made them short-sighted and stupid, rather than simply ignorant and oblivious. He honestly wasn't sure what was worse. All he knew is that it was going to damn Skyrim to destruction, and condemn the Empire along with them, crippling all that was good in this world in the time that they should be rebuilding their strength to crush their enemies when next they met on the battlefield.
Cool hands, strong and slender, fell onto his cotton-clad shoulders, and his eyes fell shut with a blissful groan as his companion began her slow, methodical massaging of his suffering body. He let his quill fall from his fingers to lay abandoned on his desk and shifted to make himself more comfortable in his chair, more than willing to enjoy the attention despite his dutiful nature protesting that there was yet more work to be done.
"You are too tense, my Jarl. You must relax, or you will be able to accomplish nothing." the voice of his beloved did not purr, nor did she abandon propriety for the sake of affectionate names. Not even here, in the privacy of his palace suite, did she permit herself that. Yet, while most men would be offended or hurt by such distance, Balgruuf only felt more loved still in the rare times that she did let affection reign…such as when they were passionately entangled with one another.
"Unless you mean to tempt me away from my efforts with something far more eye-catching than sheets of sums and piles of reports, relaxing is quite beyond me at the moment, my shadow." he murmured softly in response, letting his head fall back against padded oak behind him, and Irileth gave a soft, warm laugh, fingers still working away, and he knew she was smiling softly at the endearment. This private sign of affection, neither passionate nor carnal nor blatant, that they had shared between them since they first fell in love during the Great War. When they realized that they would ever be together, neither one to be found without the other. One leading, standing tall and bright in the sun for all to see. The other, dark and quiet, following in his wake, ever a step behind but never any lesser.
Her questing fingers found the particularly firm knots of tension that had gathered like stones beneath his weathered skin, each press of her touch drawing forth another weary sigh from his lips. The firelight from the hearth cast dancing shadows across the scattered parchments before him, their contents familiar and oft-repeated. Missives from both sides of the conflict, each demanding his allegiance, his soldiers, his soul.
"Perhaps," she said, her voice carrying that subtle note of mischief he had learned to recognize over their years together, learned quickly to love and fear in equal measure. "my Jarl requires a different sort of counsel this evening." Her hands stilled for a moment, and he could feel the weight of her gaze upon him, though his eyes remained closed.
"And what manner of counsel would my most trusted advisor suggest?" he asked, though the question emerged more as a rumble than proper speech, his body beginning to surrender to her ministrations despite his mind's persistent churning over the day's tribulations. And, it must be said, due to even the hint of a chance at leaving work by the wayside for a time to be with his lover instead.
Irileth's hands slid from his shoulders to his chest, her touch deliberate as she leaned close enough that he could feel her breath against his ear. "Perhaps the counsel of silence, my Jarl. A respite from words and worries, if only for a few precious minutes."
Balgruuf opened his eyes then, turning his head to meet her gaze. In the privacy of his chambers, her crimson eyes held none of the stoic guardedness that characterized her public demeanor. Here, they shimmered with warmth, with understanding, with something far deeper than mere duty.
"Silence, respite." he echoed, reaching up to capture one of her hands in his own. "Rare commodities indeed in these troubled times. The only thing rarer is peace."
The war maps on his strategy table seemed to mock him even now, across the room though he might be. Little flags marking Imperial and Stormcloak positions, villages caught between hammer and anvil, innocents who -no matter which side they supported, if any- wanted to live their lives in peace and safety with their families.
"Peace…" Irileth echoed, her voice carrying the weight of a thousand battlefield memories, the Great War staining her heart and soul as much as it did his. "Something neither Ulfric nor Tullius truly understand the value of."
She moved around to face him, gracefully kneeling beside his chair with a fluid grace only a few could attain, the legacy of a human lifetime spent as a Nightblade. The firelight caught the angular planes of her face, highlighting the subtle lines that years of vigilance had etched around her eyes. Lines that only Balgruuf was permitted to see softened by anything resembling tenderness.
"They fight for ideals, and I will do them the courtesy of assuming that they're speaking the truth about the nature of those ideals." Balgruuf said, reaching out to trace the curve of her cheek with calloused fingers. "They fight for gods and glory and the right to rule. But in their righteousness, they forget what it is they're meant to be fighting for."
"The people." she supplied, the answer known and dear to them both, leaning almost imperceptibly into his touch.
"The people, the betterment of their lives and the preservation of their peace." he agreed, smiling faintly at the way she pressed against his palm ever so lightly. Then his expression darkened again, and he sighed. "Peace, feh." he echoed himself with a tired headshake, the word tasting like ash on his tongue. "I wonder sometimes if any of us truly remember what that means anymore. Ulfric speaks of freedom while he would chain us to ancient hatreds. Tullius promises order while binding us to an Empire that sacrificed our faith for temporary reprieve. Of the two of them, Tullius is the least offensive and the most rational, but I am not blind to the Empire's faults, understandable though they might be."
Irileth's expression remained contemplative as she rose, moving to stand before the office hearth. The dancing flames cast her silhouette in sharp relief against the stone wall, her slender form somehow both delicate and formidable. A sight more beautiful than any other he could recall.
"And yet you remain neutral, courting neither and demurring all overtures." she finished, deliberately starting to unlace one of her gauntlets, arching an eyebrow in his direction in invitation.
Balgruuf exhaled heavily, running a hand through his golden hair, now streaked with silver that had not been present when first they met. "What choice do I have? Whiterun sits at the crossroads of Skyrim, both geographically and symbolically. The moment I declare for either side, half my people become enemies of the other half. And for what? To satisfy the ego of a would-be king or to appease an Empire that allows Thalmor justiciars to drag our people from their beds in the night?"
He pushed himself to his feet, hands going to the laces of his pants, even as his lover discarded her gauntlet and started to slip down to her knees. By the time he had reached her they were loose and she was kneeling and ready. His shaft sprang free, slapping across her face with a dull thwack, pulling a soft sound - part-moan, part-groan, part-laugh - from her throat.
Irileth's eyes flashed with hunger as she gazed up at him, her hands sliding to grip his thighs with firm purpose. "My Jarl…" she breathed, the formality somehow transformed into the most intimate of endearments in this context, as much a statement of love and submission as her kneeling for him. Her tongue darted out to taste him, a slow, deliberate stroke that made his breath catch in his throat.
Balgruuf tangled his fingers in her dark red hair, a grounding point as pleasure began to overtake the worries that had plagued him moments before. "By the Nine, Iri…" he murmured, watching as she took him into her mouth with the ease that came from long, long practice.
The firelight painted copper highlights across her ashen skin as she moved, her devotion in this act as complete as her loyalty on the battlefield, the loyalty that had burned between them for a good portion of his lifetime, and a fair portion even of hers. For these precious moments, the weight of Whiterun, of neutrality, of the crushing responsibility to protect his people from the madness that was consuming Skyrim…it was all gone.
Just him and the woman he loved.
In these moments of absolute, intimate, submission, the walls of station and the chains of reputation were gone. His throne, her service, the carefully and meticulously maintained distance they displayed in public…all of it was forgotten in the wake of shared passion. Her mouth worked with exquisite skill and familiarity, tongue flicking and throat working and lips sucking, drawing him inexorably towards his peak. Drawing all the tension, all the stress, all the pain and worry, from his heart and shoulders and soul someplace entirely, where she would dispose of it as she always had.
"Look at me, Iri." he commanded softly, his voice husky with desire.
She did, those crimson eyes lifting to meet his gaze without breaking her rhythm, and the soft, vulnerable adoration that he saw there hit as strongly as it ever had, a solid blow that left his heart beating heavily and a weight of emotion lodging itself in his throat. She knew, as well as he did, that they didn't have the time to truly embrace each other. Not this early in the day, not when they could be called to his throne room at any moment to settle one matter or another.
But each knew that the other would be ready, be willing and able and eager for a far more intimate and energetic embrace when the day was truly over, and so when she quickly coaxed him to climax neither was disappointed by the brevity. She simply swallowed what he gave her happily, moaning softly in the back of her throat as his fingers tightened harshly in her hair and pinned her in place, murmuring words of praise and love down at her.
When at last his release subsided, she drew back slowly, a contented hum vibrating from her chest as she licked her lips with deliberate thoroughness. Balgruuf's breathing gradually steadied, the momentary respite from his burdens leaving him feeling lighter, if only temporarily. He helped her to her feet, their hands intertwining with practiced ease.
"Better, my Jarl?" she asked, the formality returning to her voice even as her eyes retained that private warmth, that soft warmth that he knew few of his countrymen would ever be able to recognize in the seemingly-harsh crimson brilliance.
"Always, Iri." he replied, adjusting his clothing with unhurried movements. "You've always known exactly what I need, my beloved shadow. And never been shy about ensuring that I had it."
The endearment drew another rare smile from her as she retrieved her discarded gauntlet, slipping it back over her slender fingers with military precision. "It is my duty to anticipate your needs, to see that your desires are met." she replied, the double meaning hanging between them like a shared secret. He chuckled softly, lifting their hands to his mouth and twisting her palm upright so that he could press a kiss there. She smiled, her lips curving gently in the way that she did when they woke together, tangled in his sheets…and then there was a knock on the door.
The moment was lost, and in an instant she was a half-dozen steps away, the loving vulnerability lost behind the face of the implacable, unyielding, utterly alien and familiar huskarl of Whiterun's lord and master.
"Enter." Balgruuf called, pushing aside his spike of pain at that fact with the same, long-practiced ease that she had used to bring him pleasure. This was the way of the world, for now, and perhaps for a long time to come, and though it still hurt, it was an old and familiar wound that could be ignored when necessary.
"My Lord Jarl, Huskarl Irileth." It was not, as he expected, a member of his palace guard that entered the room, but his own beloved niece Lydia. Who was, admittedly, more deadly than most of the aforementioned guards, despite being a breathtaking beauty that had men from across Tamriel seeking her hand. Not that she cared for any of them, or was even willing to entertain them for more than what courtesy demanded of her. She was also, he knew, perfectly aware of the relationship he and Irileth shared, and likely quite aware -in the vaguest terms, of course- of what she had likely interrupted.
"Lydia? What is it?" Balgruuf asked, wondering why she of all people had come. Playing messenger wasn't exactly something she was renowned for, unless she was acting on his behalf.
"A messenger from Gerdur reeve of Riverwood awaits you. The message is urgent, they say, and speaks of a great threat to the Hold, though they will say nothing further to anyone but yourself. Furthermore, not long after his arrival, Hod of Riverwood arrived and demands the Jarl's justice be delivered against his wife. He has said…much, my Jarl, though unless you should ask I shall let him explain." she responded with a small bow, respectful even between kin, and he frowned faintly to himself. Hod, he knew, was the husband of Gerdur reeve, and it could be no coincidence that he arrived demanding that something be done about his wife at nearly the same time that a message arrived from that self-same wife.
"Summon Proventus and your father to my throne room, I'll hear them both there." he ordered briskly, and she bowed out of the room, leaving him alone with Irileth once again, if only for a moment. He glanced at her as she padded back to his side, the faint frown on her face mirroring his own. "I don't know why, Iri, but something about this feels important. I know you always have, and always will, but pay close attention. I will need your council, I have no doubt."
"You shall have it, my Jarl, ever and always." Irileth replied, her voice shifting seamlessly to the crisp, professional tone she employed in public matters. "I know Gerdur reeve to be level-headed, not given to exaggeration or panic. If she speaks of threats to the Hold..."
"Then we would be fools not to listen and learn what we can, aye." Balgruuf finished, already moving toward his wardrobe to retrieve the more formal attire befitting his station. The cotton shirt he wore was comfortable and a necessary thing when he was working here, but it hardly projected the authority a Jarl required when holding court.
As he fastened the ornate clasps of his ceremonial fur cloak, Balgruuf caught Irileth watching him, her expression carefully neutral save for the subtle tightening around her eyes. A sure sign of concern that only he would recognize easily, and he rather doubted it had anything to do with their moment being cut somewhat short.
"What troubles you, Irileth?" he asked quietly, adjusting the golden circlet upon his brow and making sure his hair wasn't tangled uncomfortably in and around it.
She hesitated, just for a moment, as she worked to find the words she wanted. "I cannot say with certainty, my Jarl. Something about this situation feels... unusual, more so than the word would otherwise imply. Gerdur has never sent an urgent messenger before, and Hod never leaves Riverwood, certainly not to accuse his wife of something. For both to occur simultaneously suggests something significant has happened in Riverwood. Something that has split the family of the reeve sharply, and in these times…"
Balgruuf nodded slowly, appreciating her instincts, different from but no less sharp or powerful than his own. In all their years together, her intuition had rarely led them astray. "And with Riverwood just on the Falkreath border, and not fall from the Cyrodillic border either…still, there is no use in a frenzy of speculation. We'll have at least some of the facts soon enough."
"True enough, my Jarl, true enough." Irileth agreed, falling into step behind him as they made their way toward the great hall. Her posture shifted subtly, spine straightening, hands clasped formally behind her back, her boots tapping firmly on the floor in a way that he knew she had mastered to ensure that people heard her coming, to impress and intimidate. And to lull into false security, so that they wouldn't realize just how silent she could truly be. The consummate housecarl once more, all traces of their intimacy carefully tucked away behind the mask of duty.
The familiar weight of responsibility settled across Balgruuf's shoulders as they approached the throne room, heavier than any cloak or crown. The transition from man to Jarl was one he had made countless times, yet it never seemed to grow any easier. As it turned out, being raised for a position from the moment he was born made dealing with the rigors of that position no more pleasant nor easy, and many days he wished that he had stayed the mighty warrior of the legions, free to fight and love freely in a life that seemed so much the simpler, for all it held no lesser value.
But that would have left his brother ruling from Dragonsreach, and his people led by a man whose passions ran hot and whose patience was short. As much as he loved his brother, both Hrongar and the people of Whiterun would have hated every minute of his rule, and it would have doubtlessly proven damaging to the Hold in the long run. Perhaps even crippling.
Though he often felt he ought to pass his children over for the throne and leave it to Lydia instead. Gods knew that she had more than earned a place beyond the one that she held, and that she would make one of the finest Jarls Skyrim had ever seen while she was at it. But such thoughts were for another time, another day, another moment. One where he could, perhaps, be more of Balgruuf and less of The Greater than he was here and now.
As they entered the throne room at last, Balgruuf's gaze swept across the gathered faces of his court. Proventus Avenicci stood with his usual composed demeanor, though Balgruuf detected a faint tension in the way the Imperial's hands clasped before him. Hrongar, his brother, loomed near the central fire pit, arms crossed and expression thunderous as ever. The man had never learned subtlety, but his loyalty was beyond question. Lydia stood beside her father, hands folded behind her back, expression as calm, even placid, as her father's wasn't. Nearest to his wing of the palace stood Farengar, arms crossed and brow furrowed. The boy had never liked being pulled away from his experiments and research, but he would survive. Especially if this was as important as Balgruuf feared it might be.
Balgruuf ascended the steps to his throne with practiced dignity, settling himself upon the ancient seat of Whiterun's power. The carved wooden back pressed against his spine, as old as the city it ruled. A reminder of the weight of tradition, of history, that he was responsible for protecting and guiding.
"Send them in." he commanded, his voice carrying through the hall like a low roll of thunder, as Irileth came to a halt on the opposite side of the dais from his brother, guarding his left as his brother guarded the right. The two people that he knew, above all else and under any circumstances, that he could rely on.
The great doors of the hall swung open, and the messenger from Riverwood entered first, a young man with mud-caked boots and an expression of barely contained anxiety. Behind him, with considerably more hesitation but far more tempestuous emotion, came Hod. The burly lumberjack's face was a storm of conflicting emotions, chief among them betrayal and indignation. The two men approached the throne separately, keeping a deliberate distance between them, their mutual discomfort and dislike palpable in the hall's still air. Clearly, neither was fond of the other, or perhaps they were not fond of what the other had to say?
"Jarl Balgruuf, Lord of Whiterun Hold." the messenger began, stopping and bowing at the bottom of the dais, his accent Nordic…but with hints of northern Cyrodiil, and Balgruuf resisted the urge to narrow his eyes. "My name is Asgeir, late of Helgen. I bring urgent word from Gerdur, reeve of Riverwood. She begs your immediate assistance."
"Helgen? And a messenger for my reeve?" Balgruuf would have blinked in any another, less formal setting, before his eyes narrowed slightly. "Welcome and well-met, Asgeir of Helgen. What does my reeve need assistance with?"
"Dragons, and refugees, My Jarl, a large number of them." came the man's surprising response, and Balgruuf reared back slightly in his throne, even as his advisors murmured and muttered and, in his brother's case, scoffed very loudly.
"Dragons?" Balgruuf echoed slowly after many long, long heartbeats, leaning forward in his throne, the wood creaking beneath his sudden shift, his expression a mix of incredulity and intense focus. "You claim dragons have returned to Skyrim?"
The messenger nodded vigorously, his hands twisting nervously at the hem of his travel-stained tunic, but nothing in his expression nor his body language gave hint of a lie. "Yes, my Jarl. A great beast, black as midnight and terrible as death itself. It descended upon Helgen three days past and laid waste to the entire town. Only the blessings of the gods and the good council of a wise man preserved the lives of our people. Or, at least, some of them."
A ripple of disquiet passed through the hall. Proventus cleared his throat, stepping forward with the faintest hint of disdain in his expression as he glanced between Balgruuf and the messenger.
"My Jarl, surely this is some sort of misunderstanding. Dragons have been gone from Tamriel for millennia. Perhaps what was witnessed was merely—"
"I saw it with my own eyes, sir." the man's tone was clipped as he interrupted the Steward without a moment of hesitation, and his eyes were cold as he stared at the Imperial. "I saw it descend, I saw it summon fire and stone from the sky, I saw it shrug off -no, ignore entirely- the combined efforts of the Legio IX Prima Cohors. I saw men and women turned to ash in an instant, I saw the tunnels of the keep undercroft collapse under the fury of it's assault. This threat is real."
A tense silence fell over the hall. Balgruuf studied the messenger's face, searching for any sign of deception or madness, but found only exhaustion and fear. Genuine fear. Fear he would bet would have been terror, if the man wasn't so exhausted physically and wrung out emotionally that he was no longer capable of such an all-consuming emotion as that.
"Legio IX Prima Cohors…" he finally repeated softly, stroking his beard to disguise the fact that he wanted to do some for more anxious, like rub his face or swear. "General Tullius's personal guard. The premier formation of one of the foremost, battle-hardened armies in the world…and they were helpless. That's what you're telling me?"
The messenger nodded grimly, expression loosening as he turned from Proventus back to Balgruuf. "They never stood a chance, my Jarl. Their arrows bounced off its scales like rain on a roof. Their swords might as well have been made of parchment for all the good they were doing. Their spells may have had more of an effect, but the mages didn't last long in any event. If it were not for the advice of the Valerian, my people never would have made it to safety."
"'The Valerian'?" Balgruuf allowed himself to arch an eyebrow in curiosity, wondering at the respect this man seemed to show for another. Though if he spoke truly, Balgruuf could hardly blame him. If someone saved the vast majority of his people nearly single-handed, he imagined that man would earn himself much.
"Constantine of the Valerii, My Jarl. He owns and operates the Riverwood Trader, and was in Helgen when the attack began. Had he not convinced Elisif drottning and Legate Rikke that there was a threat of Stormcloak attack to free Ulfric Stormcloak, none of us would have escaped. He took the lead in the caves, cutting down the…"
"Wait, stop!" Balgruuf actually rose from his throne as the man's words sank in, his advisors erupting softly around him. "Do you mean to tell me that Elisif was in Helgen, and is now in Riverwood? What of Ulfric?"
"Ah? Oh, yes, My Jarl. The High Queen was in Helgen to witness justice for good king Torygg, Divines keep him. Twas the Valerian that carried her to safety when the dragon's initial attack killed her huskarl, in fact, and his sisters whom have been her constant companions since we reached Riverwood. As for the kingslayer, he escaped his punishment and Helgen entirely in the confusion, though many of his personal guard were killed." the man bobbed his head in confirmation, mouth twisting like he wanted to spit at the name of Windhelm's Jarl. Then he blinked, and flushed deeply. "Forgive me, My Jarl. I have a letter for you from Gerdur reeve, explaining things. It might explain things more clearly than I am able."
Balgruuf held out his hand expectantly, and the messenger fumbled at his belt, producing a somewhat crumpled but carefully sealed parchment. The wax bore Gerdur's personal mark, a stylized axe crossed with a pine branch. As Balgruuf broke the seal and unfolded the letter, Hod finally stepped forward, his patience apparently exhausted…or, perhaps, his anger such he could no longer contain it
"My Jarl," the lumberman's voice was thick with emotion, "while this man speaks of dragons and refugees, I must speak of treason and betrayal. My wife, your reeve, breaks your law of neutrality! She harbors dozens of Imperial soldiers in your lands, sends them on missions into the mountains under the command of a shopkeep! She allows the citizens and soldiers of Falkreath Hold to traipse into your lands without hesitation, nurses them with her own hands, sends hundreds of foreigners into the lowlands without leave!"
Balgruuf raised a hand to silence him, his eyes scanning back and forth across Gerdur's neat, precise writing. She had fit much onto the three pages he now held, and promised more still when she arrived for a Thing she was requesting -near about begging- that he held. Again, at the advice of this 'Constantine Valerius', who it seemed was rapidly becoming someone that deserved attention. Likewise, it mentioned the refugees that were, likely as not, just about at the Honningmead Brewery at this point, slow as a group their size would move. Hmm.
"Lydia. You will take a unit of household guards, and another of the city watch. Ride for Riverwood immediately. The watch are to remain there and defend Riverwood from any bandits or other threats. You and the household guards are to escort the reeve, Elisif, Legate Rikke, and these Valerii here immediately." he ordered after a moment of silent contemplation. "Proventus, send out word for A Thing in three days time. I want everyone of sufficient rank there. Make it clear this is not optional, understood?"
His niece bowed and moved immediately to obey, even as Proventus beckoned for a nearby scribe to follow, turning on his heel and hastening for his own office, leaving his advisors smaller in number, and about to grow smaller.
"Farengar, begin looking into any lore that you can in regards to dragons, no matter how esoteric or ancient. Speak with The Companions if you must, they may have secret records or legends from eras long past that they can provide in whole or in part to us. Any weakness, no matter how great or small, needs to be found and catalogued. Go now."
His Court Mage bowed and swept from the room, already muttering to himself about what scrolls to search for, who to speak to with the Companions, and -and Balgruuf should have thought of this himself- sending to the College of Winterhold and what remained of the Guild in Cyrodiil for whatever records they themselves might still hold as well. Satisfied that such things would be well in hand, he turned his attention back to the waiting messenger.
"15 septims for you, Asgeir, and a note of guarantee for three days and nights, with meals, at The Bannered Mare. For now, one of the guards will escort you to the barracks for a hot bath, a hot meal, and a change of clothes. You've done well bringing me this message so swiftly, and have my thanks. As for your petition, Hod, I will consider the matter once your wife has arrived and explained herself more fully. You will likewise be housed at The Bannered Mare until she arrives."
Hod's face darkened with barely contained fury, his broad shoulders squaring as if preparing for a fight. "My Jarl, with all due respect, you don't need an explanation from my wife. I've seen with my own eyes what she's done, her letter confesses it! She's turning Riverwood into an Imperial camp while claiming to uphold your neutrality!"
Balgruuf fixed the lumberman with a stern gaze that had cowed far more powerful men than a simple sawmill owner. "I understand your frustration, Hod, but I will hear both sides before rendering judgment. That is how justice works in my hold, and the way it always shall." His tone brooked no argument, and the finality in his words was unmistakable. Even as angry as he was, Hod wasn't stupid enough to push his luck any further than he already had. "Guards, see to our guests."
Two guards stepped forward, gesturing for Hod and Asgeir to follow them from the hall. Hod's face remained thunderous, but he offered a stiff bow before turning to leave, muttering something under his breath that Balgruuf chose not to hear. When the doors closed behind them, leaving only his brother and Irileth with him in the great hall, Balgruuf allowed his shoulders to slump fractionally.
"Dragons, a destroyed fortified town," he said quietly, the word hanging in the air like a physical thing. "And Elisif, without her huskarl, in my lands. Ulfric and his soldiers, likewise here and posing a threat to her journey home."
"You believe this tale, then?" Hrongar asked, his voice gruff with skepticism. For all his brother was a traditional man, a 'Nord's Nord' as Lydia's mother had called him -Divines rest her-, he had never put much faith in the older stories of their people. "Even Proventus thinks it madness, brother."
"Proventus has never seen war, and has always been a…skeptical man, for all I value his insights." Balgruuf replied tiredly, settling back into his throne with a weary sigh, drumming his fingers on the arm. "He is right to doubt, and I would too, had I not read Gerdur's own hand. Gerdur is no fool, nor is she prone to flights of fancy. If she says there is a dragon, and that it destroyed Helgen, then I believe her." He paused, glancing between his brother and his lover, his fingers stilling on the throne's arm. "Besides, what reason would this messenger have to lie, or Gerdur, or doubtlessly Elisif and Rikke? What would anyone gain from such a falsehood?"
Irileth stepped forward, her crimson eyes sharp with concern and calculation. "My Jarl, if dragons truly have returned, we must prepare the city's defenses immediately. Whiterun's wooden districts would burn like kindling, and it's construction makes an evacuation near-impossible. Never mind the fact that fleeing the city would leave them fleeing from a fire-breathing, flying monster upon a broad and open plain."
"Aye, true enough." Hrongar agreed, his skepticism giving way to practicality. "And the farms and outlying settlements would be defenseless, and their loss would cripple us. We should increase our mounted patrols. Lancers might not fare well against a dragon, but if they can lead it on a merry chase away from the crops and the civilians…"
"A cruel bargain with a daedra, but we might have no choice. That's the vow we all swore." Balgruuf agreed with a sigh, hating the thought of sending his men and women into a fight impossible for them to win, but knowing that such a thing was, at times, what a soldier was called to do. Especially against a threat such as this. "Hrongar, I want you to take another unit of troops and some supplies. Meet this first wave of refugees, get them settled near…the western watchtower, for the time being. Perhaps we'll shelter them in Fort Greymoor, long term, until a proper solution can be found, but the watchtower will be as far as they are likely able to make it right now."
"Aye, brother, I'm on my way. I'll report back once they're settled in." Hrongar gave half a salute before leaving himself, leaving Balgruuf alone with Irileth once again. In far less enjoyable circumstances that before, and he was about to be considerably less happy about the circumstances…but it had to be done.
"Iri, I'm afraid I have to send you away. I want you to shadows Lydia's group when they're making their way back, out of sight and out of notice. I want you to take your measure of these 'Valerii' until they are within a day of the city itself. Then return to me and report. I want to know what kind of people all of this revolves around before I meet them in person."
"Of course, My Jarl. I'll leave immediately." she bowed with a small -imperceptible to anyone else- smile of affection and pleasure at the trust she was being offered, before sweeping from the room with a determined stride. She'd use her own methods to carry the mission out, he knew, things that even he didn't know about her. Safer that way, she claimed, though he sometimes wondered if she didn't just enjoy being a bit of a mystery even to the man she bedded.
Well, whatever the case, he had even more work to do than he imagined. Though this could represent an opportunity for him. An influx of people in need of a place to live, many of them skilled in a trade, grateful for shelter…hmmm.
Rising to his feet, mind whirling steadily away as it consider possibilities and plans, Balgruuf made his way back to his study as the sun began to set over Skyrim.