Queen, Gallica thought with a prickling, speechless shudder.
Being the Dragonborn had been bad enough, and now they wanted her to be High Queen, too?
With the Moot in recess to give the assembly time to collect their composure after the shocking declaration, Gallica removed her helm and immediately strode across the carefully tiled stone floor of the great hall towards Balgruuf and Idgrod, who were discussing something in low tones together in the anemic light of the stained glass windows. Idgrod turned, all too pleased with herself, as Gallica approached.
"Ah, Balgruuf, I believe we're due for a lecture," the Jarl of Morthal observed, grinning like a cat with a mouse.
She didn't want to cause embarrassment to two of her most trusted allies, but neither could she leave this preposterous declaration unaddressed. Gallica leaned close, whispering angrily although she tried to keep her voice down as best she could.
"What was that all about?"
"The future of Skyrim," Balgruuf replied without a hint of humor.
Unlike his accomplice, he was not smiling. If anything, the Jarl of Whiterun looked tired, as if the speech had sapped his energy. He did not allow his stern blue gaze to waver from hers for an instant, though. Balgruuf was not about to back down now.
Gallica glared at both of them, trying to find coherent words to express her outrage when she noticed Tullius and Rikke approaching out of the corner of her eye. Cursing mentally, she turned back to Idgrod and Balgruuf.
"I don't know what you two think you're doing," she hissed under her breath quickly, "but this stops right now. I won't have it."
"Jarl Balgruuf. Jarl Idgrod," Tullius interrupted casually as he arrived. The General's smile was tight, but he was otherwise calm. He had always been the better politician, Gallica reflected. "I think there are a few things we need to discuss, don't you?"
"I made my opinion clear earlier, General Tullius," Balgruuf replied with wary civility as Gallica stepped back to allow Tullius to take over.
Balgruuf had never quite forgiven the Imperial General for the pressure brought to bear on him or his city during the war, although he had accepted Tullius' help in the end. The two men were a match for each other in stubbornness. Instead of engaging, Gallica exchanged a glance with Rikke. The Legate's expression betrayed little but she raised a dark eyebrow as if in question and Gallica shook her head slightly. How could she have known about this? If she had, she would have put and end to that hair-brained notion instantly. High Queen, indeed. Not for all the brandy in Cyrodiil.
"So I heard," Tullius was acknowledging, maintaining a friendly tone. "I know little of Nord traditions, I admit, but you seem to be an expert on the subject. Perhaps you could satisfy my curiosity on one point. It was my understanding that the High King or Queen of Skyrim had to be chosen from Ysgramor's bloodline, one of the traditional noble families or their offshoots. As far as we know, Legate Gallica's only ties to nobility are through her Imperial mother. Is this not a contradiction of your ancient tradition?"
"Her dragonblood is evidence enough of nobility," Balgruuf responded coldly. "Did it take nobility for Tiber Septim to found the Empire?"
"You have a point," Tullius conceded and then turned to Idgrod. "And you agree with this, Jarl Idgrod? You believe that this course of action is truly wise?"
"I believe that you can see as well as I can what's coming, General," Idgrod replied raspily, her smile dampening into seriousness for a moment as her crow's eyes glittered underneath thick brows. "Do you honestly believe that poor girl over there has even the slightest chance of standing up to the treachery to come?"
Gallica watched carefully as Tullius stared at the aging seeress for a moment, his jaw working almost imperceptibly, before he glanced back to where Elisif stood near the throne deep in conversation with her steward. She was certain that Idgrod meant the inevitable treachery of the Thalmor, but one could never be certain. Whatever Idgrod saw in her visions and dreams, the information she chose to pass on usually had more than one meaning. Gallica herself could well attest to that. There were things that Tullius was privileged to that he could not share even with her. Messy events in the political landscape. Dark dealings. Was there another treachery imminent that she did not know about?
Even so, even if Idgrod's prescience prove true and disaster was coming, this proposal of Balgruuf's was too much.
"I am no High Queen," Gallica interjected strongly, wanting both the Jarls and Tullius to understand her position as clearly as possible before the conversation could go any further. "I'm a soldier. I'm content to be only a soldier. Whatever else has been foisted upon me, I have no wish to rule anything or anyone."
A sad smile creased Idgrod's face and Gallica felt a chill of prophecy creep up her spine.
"That, Dragonborn, is one of the many reason why it must be you for all of our sakes."
Before Gallica could think of a reply, Tullius stepped in. The Jarls and their attendants and advisers were beginning to reconvene and there was no time to argue the issue any further.
"I see no harm in discussing it. If the council deems Legate Gallica a viable candidate, we can determine then whether the Legion is willing to release her from service in order to pursue this course of action."
Oh, thank the Eight, Gallica breathed to herself, feeling a sudden sense relief wash over her.
In the aftermath of the civil war, she had almost forgotten that she was still technically obligated to service in the Legion for a further nine years through her reenlistment. Tullius had not made an issue of it as there was little need to - her commission was of a unique nature - but the Legion nominally had the first claim on her. Even if the Jarls, by some terrible and unlikely mistake, all agreed to put her to the throne, Tullius could effectively veto their decision by refusing to discharge her commission until she had served out her enlistment. Only the Emperor himself could nullify that decision. She was safe.
Feeling considerably more at ease, Gallica followed the General back to their space at the tables to see how this was going to play out.
~~0~~
The remainder of the afternoon, once everything had settled back down, was spent considering whether Balgruuf's proposal even constituted a legitimate nomination. Scholars on the lore and history were brought in from the College of Bards to expound on how such unconventional situations had been handled in previous centuries. Gallica listened, but despite her Nord heritage, the intricacies of Skyrim's ancient and obtuse legal lore were still as confounding to her as they were to most Imperials.
The first barrier - that Gallica was not of the blood royal - fell by the wayside quickly as no one seemed inclined to argue that being Dragonborn was insufficiently equivalent to royal descent. All of Skyrim's royalty, at least by legend, descended from a Dragonborn ancestor anyway. Several of the Jarls had only a tenuous claim to royal lineage themselves and so the argument would have undermined their authority as well. The central question for most of the Jarls was whether her dragonblood should trump Elisif's claim by marriage. Legally, Elisif had at least a right to the Jarldom of Solitude if not necessarily the throne of Skyrim. Even so, Igmund of the Reach and Elisif herself were the only two Jarls to argue this point. The four Jarls that had been recently elevated to fill the places left by Ulfric's deposed supporters were not likely to argue against the technicalities that supported their own claims.
Idgrod and Balgruuf were in favor of anything that would ultimately put Gallica on the throne. Siddgeir of Falkreath's only contribution was that he would be more than happy to marry Elisif himself and take her off of Solitude's hands. Igmund was unmovably in Elisif's camp, his pride having been injured by idgrod. The other Jarls seemed uncertain. By the time the Moot broke up for the evening, however, they were cautiously agreed that the proposal would have to be taken seriously. Gallica was no less qualified for the throne than Elisif. Gallica would have to offer some sort of official response the following day.
A feast was to be held that night, but the thought of everyone watching her, taking her weight and measure as a potential ruler, and speculating about whether she had put Balgruuf up to it or not made Gallica's skin crawl. Tullius and Rikke found her in the foyer as she was trying to politely extricate herself from Erikur, one of Elisif's more leech-like Thanes, and make a break for home. Whether the oily nobleman was simply trying to hedge his bets or insinuate himself as a potential suitor should Gallica become queen, she was not certain. Either proposition made her feel ill.
"You'll excuse us. We have duties to attend to back at the Castle," Tullius told the Nord noble firmly in a tone that brooked no dispute.
Gratefully, Gallica shrugged at the affronted Thane and hurried out into the chilly evening after her commander.
"If you don't mind my saying so, sir," Rikke said, once they were well past the palace guards, "that did not go well today."
"No plan ever survives first contact with the enemy. You know that," Tullius remarked coolly, nodding to a city guard who was passing. "Notice that no other serious candidates were proposed. If the only alternative to Elisif they can come up with is Gallica, then we have nothing to worry about. In fact, that may present us with some interesting options."
Gallica felt her heart drop, but before she could protest, Rikke did it for her. Even in the dim lantern light, Gallica could see the look of incredulity on her colleague's face.
"Sir, you're not seriously suggesting- "
"I'm not suggesting anything yet, Legate," Tullius replied tersely and stopped in front of Proudspire Manor, Gallica's residence.
Firelight flickered in the downstairs windows, creating a comforting glow in the falling dusk, and Gallica felt that the only thing she wanted in the world right at that moment was to be out of her armor, in her own house, and basking in front of a warm fire with a good bottle of mead to chase away all this bother about succession and politics. Perhaps the same thing had occurred to Tullius. He turned to Rikke.
"Go on up to Dour. I set my scribe to search through the old treaties between the Empire and Skyrim. Have him brief you on anything of interest that he's found. For now, I need to have a chat with Legate Gallica to make sure we're agreed on certain points before tomorrow. I'll be along shortly."
Rikke glanced at Gallica, her expression unreadable, but she saluted and turned to trot off towards the Castle. Gallica watched her go for a moment, feeling a tension building in her gut.
She and Tullius had taken pains these last few weeks to keep the time they spent together off duty as quiet as possible. Nothing about the relationship so far was explicitly inappropriate, but the less that was commonly known about them the better off everyone would be, especially among the court and the Legion officers. It would not do to cause a scandal until preparations for a licit betrothal and marriage were made. Even so, Gallica often wondered how much Rikke knew. The older officer had worked closely with the General for years now. Gallica knew that, despite the surliness of the dynamic at times, the two were solid friends. Rikke clearly suspected that something was going on, but the Legate had never asked about it or given any indication that she noticed the time that her superior spent in Gallica's company. If she was at all jealous or concerned, the woman hid it masterfully. As Rikke had also become a good friend of hers, too, Gallica hoped that her relationship with Tullius would not stir things up too badly.
Gallica turned and fished her keys from her belt, opening the door to the manor and stepping into the relative warmth inside. Jordis was taking her ease in the nook off of the kitchen but stood immediately, her eyes shining, as she heard the door open.
"Welcome back, my Thane. How goes the Moot?" the housecarl asked eagerly before noticing Tullius emerge from the foyer.
It was slightly comical to see the younger warrior's face attempt to reconfigure itself into the cool, professional look she reserved for company while still looking hopefully at Gallica for news.
"As well as can be expected," Gallica replied, the first hint of a smile that she had felt all afternoon creasing her face. "Don't trouble yourself. The General and I have some matters to discuss privately. We will be upstairs. If any visitors arrive, tell them I'll speak with them tomorrow."
She turned towards the stairs with Tullius in tow, stopping only to collect a bottle of wine and a little bread from the kitchen. She could feel the housecarl's eyes follow the two of them, fairly bursting with curiosity. It had become something of a game recently, keeping Jordis guessing about exactly what the General and the Dragonborn were up to when they met in the evenings. The housecarl was too proper to ask outright, but too curious by nature not to fish for information.
Gallica was in no mood for games now, however, and she said nothing else until she and Tullius were alone together upstairs with her chamber door securely closed behind them.
"Playing our hand a little close to the table tonight, aren't we?" Tullius asked, but he was smiling. He was in on the game.
Gallica snorted, depositing the plate of food and the wine on a low table.
"She has to know by now."
Seting her helm aside on the armor rack in the corner, Gallica ran her hands through her honey-colored hair to smooth it and sighed. Tullius watched her, the faint smile still playing on his lips, as she unbelted her cingulum and lay it aside as well. She met his gaze with a question, poising at the straps of her breastplate.
"I'll need to get back soon," he answered, but then relented. "Still, it's been a bear of a day. I think a few moments of respite are in order."
He moved over to her first and assisted her with the difficult buckles under her arms as Gallica stripped off the dragon bone cuirass and pauldrons.
"A septim for your thoughts?" he murmured to her while they worked.
The feel of the rough skin of his hand meeting the flesh of her neck and her arms - subtle caresses - as he helped her lift the heavy plates off of her made her face flush warmly, as it always did. She wriggled out of the remaining straps, took the cuirass from him, and hefted it onto the crossbeam of the rack before turning to help free him from his cuirass in turn.
"I can't believe Balgruuf today," Gallica replied, her irritation returning as her thoughts drifted back to the shock of the Moot.
"I can," Tullius replied dryly, shrugging off the heavy chest plate as she worked it free. "He's a zealot at heart, but a practical one. What the Stormcloaks wanted to accomplish by force, he hopes to accomplish gradually by law."
Gallica leaned his chest plate against the rack next to her own and the General stretched and sighed, running his fingers through his closely-cropped silvering hair. Gallica moved to start on one of his bracers, but he shook his head and caught her hand instead, bringing it to his lips.
"I've little enough time with you tonight as it is without spending most of it on straps and buckles," he told her, raising an eyebrow at her roguishly.
She stepped in to him, her hands moving up the padded cloth over his solid chest, curling around the back of his neck as Tullius' arms slid around her waist. Kissing him, from the first time in the depths of that dark winter until now, never failed to melt her. He smelled of clean male sweat and leather and the metallic tang of the oil that was used to clean his armor. There was no other scent in the world that could be as perfect as that. Her worries evaporated from her as they lingered, arms entwined and foreheads touching for a long moment, and a feeling of safety returned to her once again. She needed this. She had come back for this. And, she knew, he needed it, too.
"Maybe you should stay here tonight instead. It's late, and it's a shorter walk to the Palace in the morning after all," she teased him, knowing full well that he would not.
He chuckled at the temptation and moved away to pour wine into the two goblets she had brought up.
"That would set some tongues to wagging," he replied, bringing her one of the cups and lifting his own. "I can just hear the cries of Imperial conspiracy now. The Dragonborn seduced by a conniving, power-hungry general. I wouldn't want to go down in history as the man who put a stain on the Dragonborn's honor."
"I don't doubt those accusations are going to be flying soon no matter what we do," she replied with a sigh.
They moved over to the sitting area and he leaned back in a chair with a pained grunt, briefly closing his eyes with the relief of being able to finally sit. The room was comfortably warm, the light from the fireplace creating a glow over the room and casting mazy shadows across the walls. Gallica settled herself down, feeling the weariness of the day creep up on her as well.
"I should have known Balgruuf wasn't finished being a stone in my boot," Tullius observed after a peaceful interlude. "He seems to have a talent for interfering - even in plans he knows nothing about."
"How do you mean?" Gallica asked, lifting her head from where she had settled down onto another chair next to his.
The wine was beginning to work on her, creating a pleasant buzz in the back of her head. She was feeling easier at last after the drama of the afternoon. The last thing she wanted to do was dwell on it, but the subject did need to be discussed. And there was something particular on Tullius' mind, clearly.
"I've been discussing our engagement with Rikke," he began, confirming her suspicions.
I'll have to get the other side of this story later, Gallica reminded herself, raising her eyebrows at Tullius as he opened one eye and huffed humorously at her expression.
"So that you'll stop looking at me like that, we do have her blessing. It's the first time I've ever had to ask one of my subordinatesfor their approval. But there are some problems of command and partiality, as you know. If we were in Cyrodiil, I could simply transfer you to another command under another general, but obviously that's not an option here."
He sighed. "Rikke agrees that your influence carries too much weight at the moment, so it would be foolish to discharge you from the Legion. I had intended to make an arrangement with Elisif for you to be transferred to her service indefinitely after her coronation. That would keep you in the Legion, nominally, but take you far enough out from under my direct command that it wouldn't raise too much of a fuss for us to marry. You could remain in the city, of course, and Elisif would reap certain political benefits in the arrangement."
"Even if the Jarls choose me over Elisif, I won't accept it," Gallica replied simply, shrugging. "We can use the leverage of my commission if we have to. Then they'll have no choice but to elect Elisif. Problem solved."
"If the Jarls get it into their heads that you're the better choice, I think it's going to be more difficult to refuse than you think. The Jarls aren't fools. They can tell which way the wind is blowing and they know a weak leader when they see one," he replied and stared up into the darkness of the rafters, his expression taking on a shadowed look as his brow creased into a slight frown. "Truthfully, if I loved you less, I'd put you on that throne in a heartbeat myself."
Gallica reached out then and laced her fingers into his where his hand lay on the arm of the chair, feeling him squeeze back. She understood all too well what it was like to be in a situation where there were no good answers and no easy way out. They were in this one together, though. That was enough to put her mind at ease.
"I have too much work to do to be tied down in a palace all day," she told him dismissively, attempting humor. "I'll beat it into Balgruuf's stubborn head myself if it comes down to it. He usually listens to me. Eventually."
Tullius glanced at her, a smile creeping back onto his stolid face, and she willingly let him pull her towards him. He shifted slightly to accommodate her as she settled astride his lap, his hands moving to caress with the firm curve of her waist and lower back. Though he seemed determined to respect protocol and propriety by not bedding her until after the marriage, she had the idea that he enjoyed tempting her - and himself, too - like this on occasion. If the effect it had on him was anything like it was for her, then they really must do something about that official engagement as soon as possible.
"You won't hold it against me if I'd prefer to keep you for myself, then?" he asked, admiring the view as his fingers traced slow circles over her hips..
She grinned at him and leaned closer in response, feeling the tension that confirmed his physical reaction to her as well.
"Quite the contrary. I think you're rather hoping I will hold it against you," she replied, surprising herself with the sultriness of the comment. She had never been a flirt, even when she was a girl. Another new talent that she was discovering.
He laughed at that and gathered her into his arms. This time, he kissed her fully and without quarter, breaking only to continue down her neck until she was wriggling and gasping from the intensity of the feeling.
"I think that's my cue to be on my way or I'll never make it back to Dour tonight," the general growled amorously, leaning back with a self-satisfied air.
There was a part of him, she knew, that was concerned about the difference in age and whether she - more than two decades his junior - would be satisfied with him. From the feel of it - the firm heat there where their bodies met - there would be no trouble on that front at all.
"And so all of my clever plans fall to ruin again," she sighed as she let him up from the chair with a mock reproachful glance. "You don't play fair, General."
He was grinning at her as he stood, watching her fetch his breastplate and begin to help him don it once more.
"I play to win. You'll have to make an honest man out of me first. Another reason why I intend to make sure this Moot ends quickly."
When he was re-situated, the picture of military order again, he embraced her one last time, tenderly, as he always did when they parted.
"I will see you in the morning. We'll sort this out and then back to business as usual. At this time next week, this little wrinkle will have been the least of our worries, I'm sure."
Gallica walked him to the door and allowed herself to watch for a moment as Tullius turned back onto the street and started up the slope of the road towards the fortress before she stepped back inside. Jordis had retired for the night already, so there was no one around to pretend for. Still, better safe than sorry.
She climbed the steps back up to her room, kicked off her boots, and stripped down to her tunic before falling backwards onto the soft feather-stuffed mattress with a sigh. Her arms stretched out in the wide bed, feeling nothing but space at her finger tips. It would have been nice to have had the company tonight after such an unsettling day. For comfort, for the familiar presence in the dark, if not for sex. In truth, despite the playful game of temptation that she and Tullius indulged in when they were alone, she was content to let anything more wait till after the marriage as well.
It wasn't that she didn't look forward to it. She did, eagerly. The anticipation by itself was gratifying. They were a good match for each other, she and Tullius, in every other respect and, if this whetting of the appetite was any indication, they would be a good match for each other when the time was finally right for that as well. But Gallica had flung herself too easily into Ulfric's arms during a weak moment once already and the results had been disastrous. He had ultimately turned her feelings for him back against her as a weapon. Tullius was not Ulfric, she knew. When he had had every reason and opportunity to twist her to his will, he had not. Tullius was pragmatic, but he never forced her choices. For that, for many reasons, she loved him. But Tullius was a man of politics and power just as much as Ulfric had been. She was determined not to make the same mistake twice.
Ah, well. Time enough for that once the Moot was over. Gallica rose again briefly to snuff out the candles and slipped back under the covers in the warm darkness.
I must be one of the only people in the world ever to turn down a throne, she thought to herself before sleep came and she smiled into the darkness despite the sudden stab of sadness deep in her heart.
No doubt, somewhere up in the hallowed halls of Sovngarde, Ulfric was furious with her just at the thought of it.