The Stallion of Whiterun ch 21

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In a world like that of the Elder Scrolls, it was easy to see why most folk tended to stay fit. Without the conveniences of modern life, you had to do things yourself.

I awoke early, a habit forged during my time in the Legions. It was a hard thing to shake, even though I now had control over my own schedule. Some things just couldn't leave you after service. As soon as I opened the door to my room, the two men posted outside snapped to attention, standing ramrod straight. I nodded at their discipline and yawned a greeting.

"Good morning, men," I said, rubbing my eyes. "How goes the watch?"

"Fine, my lord. Boring, but such is life," the first guard replied. Mikel was his name, and the other was Jona. Mikel was older, gruffer, with brown hair and a no-nonsense demeanor. Jona, on the other hand, was slightly younger with blonde hair. Both were former legionnaires who had served with me. After all the years together, I remembered their names, their quirks, their personalities. It was vital to keep a close connection to the men who would be responsible for watching your back. And that was even more important now, considering my chief security would be gone for long periods.

I had tasked Irileth with building a web of intrigue and influence—a project that would be crucial if I ever hoped to claim the throne of Skyrim. It had been delayed while preparing for the Markarth Expedition, but now, there were no immediate threats in Skyrim to deal with. It was finally time to focus on building my power base.

Oh, I had hard power in spades. My prestige was spotless, my piety to tradition unshakable. But in practical terms, I had only just returned to Skyrim. I needed to build my influence further.

"Better boring than constantly fending off assassins every hour," Jona added.

"Assassins, right. Or those thinking our lord and master is some virgin youth ready for the taking," Mikel smirked, wagging his eyebrows.

Officially speaking, I had no wife. It was obvious what that meant to any family with a daughter or sister. To their bitter disappointment, however, I had fallen for the Dunmer meme. My lust for Dunmer women was insatiable, and Irileth only fueled the fire.

"My lord is lucky that we bodyguards have protected his chastity from the horde of wanton women," Jona laughed. "Might we get extra pay for our efforts?"

This sort of familiarity would be scandalous in Breton courts, or even in the White-Gold Tower in Cyrodiil. Guards were guards, and lords were lords. But these men had served with me from the beginning. In private, decorum could be relaxed a little. Besides, for us Nords, constantly throwing around authority was gauche and un-Nordlike. We didn't do the great displays of Breton pomp. While we may have rank, we were still kinsmen.

"Slay a dragon, perhaps, or find me The Jagged Crown, and I'll raise you to Thanehood with lands," I snorted. "Anyway, Mikel, send word to the stables to prepare Felarof and horses for you two. Once you're done, head to the kitchens and have them pack breakfast for you, Jona, and me."

"Aye, my lord," Mikel nodded, turning. His armor clinked as he walked off.

"As for you, Jona, what are your thoughts on some wrestling?" I asked.

"Will I get in trouble if I hit you too hard, my lord?"

I smirked. "I'd be offended if you didn't. Come at me—I can take it."

Nords carried a reputation of having fine men and women, muscled and toned ready for war. That reputation was made from many Nords looking well-exercised and fit. That was because it was. The average Nord would be a farmer performing hard labour and raised on a diet of potatoes, wheat, milk, cheese, and meat. Having a martially inclined culture also helped. 

My hair was tied in a pony-tail knot, my beard braided and kept clean. My body bristled brightly under the rising sun, broad-shouldered and brimming with muscle with my tunic tied at my waist. It would do well enough to act as a belt. I smirked, stretching my hands out to warm up. Ahead of me, Jona had taken off his helmet and undid the mail shirt he wore then his other shirt, stripped bare. He turned to face me, cracking his neck muscles and warming up. 

Glíma, the ancient wrestling tradition of the Nords, was a challenge of skill, balance, and strategy. Unlike the brute strength required for a battle with blades, glíma tested a warrior's finesse—how well they could control their opponent without relying on sheer power. The rules of glíma were simple: no strikes, no kicking, only the belt and body—use your balance, leverage, and timing to unseat your opponent.

"Ready?" I asked Jona. He gave a slight nod, then took his position. His stance was wide, his legs bent in a low, balanced posture that made him appear like a mountain ready to rise. He extended his hands forward. I mirrored him. We were the same height but his muscles were broader, indicating greater strength. I on the other hand had grit. Sometimes, grit was enough. 

Then, he was on me. 

I barely had time to react, but I dropped low, using the momentum to sidestep his grasp. Jona's hands found air as he slid past, moving with the agility of someone much younger. I swung around, bringing one arm down in a powerful arc to catch Jona's side and force him off balance.

Jona grunted. With a twist of his hips and a firm grip on my tunic belt, he maneuvered, attempting to take me down. I planted my feet firmly and refused to budge. I countered, shifting my weight and, in a swift motion, yanked Jona towards me.

He wasn't down yet however. He planted his feet, using every muscle in his body to stay upright. Thick leg muscles did their work, planting him firmly. 

I grinned. I never had much of a chance to do this with my kin at Cyrodiil. But now, with Markarth done and a promise of growth for the future, I could now hunt, wrestle, and drink to my heart's content. 

We circled each other, smiling in exhilaration, the adrenaline coursing through our veins. Then, he struck again. 

With a swift duck, I grasped his belt and swept his leg, attempting to pull him off balance. But Jona shifted his weight, turning the fall into a calculated roll. We hit the training yard's sand with a thud, breathing heavily. 

​I let out a breath, being the first to rise. I glanced down at my opponent and held out my hand. He took it and I pulled him up. We looked upon each other with respect, camaraderie, a trust shared only between those that knew hell and fought out together. This was a bond I did not just share with Jona but with all my soldiers. These men who would be the core of my army. An army to utterly crush those that would stand in my path and lift Skyrim into victory. And in time, the Empire as well. 

There were some moments where I thought that it was a waste to fight for a dying decaying Empire. But truthfully, there was only one feeling I got thinking about upholding and fighting for Tiber Septim's Grand Project, His dream. 

Euphoria. 

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The clinking of our horses echoed against the streets. Behind me, my men kept careful watch but appeared to look relaxed, calm. It was better that way to make potential assassins think that I was easy to get but then have them strike like scorpions. Not that I was going to make it easy for anyone trying to kill me. Over my normal casual clothes, I wore a simple chain-mail shirt tightened with a belt as well as heavy brown riding boots. While it wouldn't exactly totally stop an arrow, it provided decent protection that was not lamellar or metal plate. It was seven in the morning. I was not going to wear lamellar or plate that early. 

​It had been months since my refugees were settled in. While they had sent reports that indicated good things, I had wanted to see my investment for myself and if there were any issues, solve it immediately. Proventus Avenicci had proven effective enough to get voted by the refugees to become Headman or Magistrate. I suppose one can take an Imperial out of Cyrodiil but you can never take the Cyrodiil out of him. 

We passed by the bridge over the White River, ahead would be Valtheim Towers and Eastmarch. Not our destination however. Ours was the road a little North, towards the direction of Fellglow Keep. My lands, a gift from my father to me, had everything that I could ever hope to start a successful town. The White River, forests all around, and fertile grass plains for grazing as well as farming. 

​"How do you think Riverside would look, my lord?" Jona asked. 

"We're about to find out," I said, noting the roofs in the distance. 

It would seem that Proventus was hard at work. 

Around us were long fields of crops but with a notable distinction. The fields were organized into little boxes. In one corner swayed bright green leaves. The next, it was empty but some small patches of grass sat. In the other corner, tons of clover. And lastly, fields with beets. Overhead, the shrill cry of hawk reached out. 

Ahead was the settlement. He had directed the settlement to stay a little closer next to some hills which provided it protection from the winds carried east. The houses were made with some stone, each organized according to neat streets. The homes were modest but sturdy, constructed from a combination of local materials and Imperial influence. While the walls were made of solid, weathered stone, they were reinforced with timber to provide additional insulation against the winter cold. In contrast to the usual Imperial style of plastered walls, the materials here were more natural, the houses built to adapt to the severe environment of Skyrim. Around the houses, low stone walls with little gates. Enough to keep but the most determined of wild-life out.

In one house, an elderly man had left his home and blinked as he saw me and my men pass by. 

"Morning," I greeted him casually, our horses trodding upon stone. When I remembered it, this path was just a patch of dirt. But now, it was stone. I inwardly nodded. Divines bless the Empire and its Roman-ness. They worked fast.

The heart of any Imperial Town was the Forum. Unlike in most places of the Empire, this was modest, for now, a voice in my head told me. The Forum functioned as a multi-purpose space. A market, a town square, a place to hear laws being promulgated. In one corner, a small building I recognized as a temple, what with the coloured glass and statue of Kynareth for all to see. They were 

The settlement was waking up, clearly, as many were already present in the Forum, watching around for items to purchase. The marketplace was humble, with wooden stalls offering salted fish, dried meats, fur pelts, and hand-carved tools. The scent of smoked meats and fresh-baked bread would rise from a nearby communal hearth, where a large iron pot hung over a fire, steaming with hearty stews made of root vegetables and wild game. A great shout came up as I went into view. Jona and Mikel instinctively bristled but I raised a hand. 

"My lord!" A man yelled. His fashion was much like the rest around. A mix of Imperial and Nordic fashions. 

"Morning," I greeted him casually, disarming him. "I see that Proventus has not wasted his talents here." 

"Y-yes," the man answered quickly. "Would you like to see him?" 

"I do, actually. Is he around?" I asked. 

"Someone ran to fetch him as soon as you were seen," the man replied. At that, I studied him closely. He was an Imperial, that was clear, from his tanned skin and lean stature. He carried with him the confidence of a Legionary however. I did not know his face or name however. 

"Your name, soldier?" I asked. 

"Gaius, sir. I served with the Tenth, under General Decianus," the man replied quickly, falling into a comfortable tone. No wonder I did not know his name. 

"Hammerfell Legion. Fine men," Mikel said simply from his horse. 

"Well then, Gaius. We are in your care until Proventus returns," I declared. I turned to the others. "Don't mind me, my people. Do your thing!" I waved at them. 

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A/N: This is intended to be a relaxed chapter. Also, Long live the Empire.