"My lady, the Dragonborn has requested not to be disturbed. I'm certain that she will meet with you later."
Gallica was already descending the stairs, dressed and armored for another day at the Moot, when she heard Jordis' exasperated voice drift back from the foyer.
Now what? she mouthed to herself as she reached the living area and peered around the column to see who was there. Not even an hour after daybreak and there was already a problem at her doorstep.
Beyond Jordis' sturdy frame in the doorway, Gallica spotted the sharp, knife-edged features of Maven Black-Briar. Though the magnate's body language appeared calm, Gallica could tell even from this distance that the glare Maven was leveling on the housecarl would have frightened away a dragon.
"I think your mistress can make an exception for me," Maven stated slowly and with icy precision.
If you know what's good for you seemed to be the implied addendum.
Jordis shifted uncomfortably, but didn't budge from her stance on the threshold.
Braver than I thought, Gallica observed with a humorless chuckle and decided to have mercy on her housecarl.
"It's alright, Jordis. I'll handle this," she interjected, approaching the tense scene.
The housecarl turned - her expression a mixture of irritation, relief, and embarrassment - and nodded stiffly before stepping back from the door. The glare she shot at Maven as she passed however, was chilly.
The blonde bodyguard looked on suspiciously as Maven smiled her thin smile at Gallica. Now taking Jordis' place in the doorway, Gallica could see what looked like a man-at-arms and another young man in expensive clothing standing out in the street, watching the scene with a bored air.
"Good morning, Jarl Maven. Is there something I can do for you?" Gallica asked, forcing her tone to sound more cheerful than she felt.
"Well, now, I was just stopping by to congratulate you on your unexpected rise in society, Dragonborn," the dark-haired woman replied smoothly with a politician's smile.
She had met Maven on a few occasions before during in her travels and nothing about the wealthy businesswoman struck her as agreeable. From everything she had heard and seen, Maven was little better than a criminal and the rest of the Black-Briar family was worse. Tullius had a similar opinion of the woman, but she had vested business interests in Imperial dominance in Skyrim and there had been no one else in Riften at the time who could wring order out of the wartime chaos as swiftly as she could once the Stormcloak-supporting hereditary Jarl was deposed. So far, Maven had certainly done an excellent job of squashing further rebellion and turning the city peaceful and profitable again.
"We were just on our way to the Palace in fact. Walk with us if you are headed in that direction," the magnate invited, stepped back as if to allow Gallica through her own door.
Gallica could hardly think of anyone she would prefer to be seen with less, as Maven was certainly only here to further some agenda and that was dangerous. She glanced back into the house reluctantly, but she had actually been prepared to leave when she came downstairs and could find no excuse that would not seem flimsy.
It's not far, she told herself, forcing a smile. What harm can she do between here and the palace?
"I suppose I was, in fact," she replied as courteously as she could manage. She exchanged a weary glance with Jordis as she stepped out into the crisp morning air and closed the door behind her.
It was a clear morning, the sky blue as a robin's egg. The brisk wind that came in off of the sea was cool, but the days were getting steadily warmer and the dragon-tongues and mountain flowers were already sprouting here and there in flowerbeds that lined the road. Gallica tried to concentrate on that rather than the company she found herself in.
"I don't believe you've met my grandson Sibbi," Maven continued, gesturing towards the sullen-looking young man who had accompanied her.
In fact, Gallica had met the younger Black-Briar while she was in Riften, albeit through prison bars. He was a few years younger than Gallica, with nearly-shaven dark hair and his grandmother's aristocratic nose and brow. His expression and body language were flush with the haughty air of a boy just verging into manhood. The family resemblance was apparent enough, though Gallica thought that there was something more thuggish about the way Sibbi carried himself - an estimation that was not helped by the fact that he had been serving a short sentence for manslaughter when she had first met him. The grandson looked a rough cub compared to his sabercat of a grandmother, that much was certain. Gallica nodded to him and he smirked back at her insolently.
As they walked, Gallica and Maven in front while the man-at-arms and Sibbi brought up the rear, Maven apparently tired quickly of the polite charade and decided to broach the real point of her visit.
"Let's get down to business. We're both women of the world," she said, her voice lowering and changing to a rougher tone, more shrewd trader now than politician. "Anyone can see that Elisif is a puppet that will dance prettily enough for anyone holding her strings. But you're a different matter and exactly the tonic this place needs after all this unprofitable chaos. I think everyone knows who is going to come out on top here. I just want a few assurances from you before I cast my vote."
Gallica's stomach curdled distastefully at the direction the conversation was headed, but she masked her disgust and kept her eyes on the road. No good would come of offending Maven, especially right now with so much at stake.
"I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Jarl Maven."
"Play the saint if you feel you need to," Maven replied, smiling nastily, "But you know well enough what I mean. A puppet is useful, but they only work when you're pulling their strings and I have my own business to attend to. I would rather see someone competent as ruler, who can take care of business on their own. But, I would like to know in turn that my support was appreciated. And valued."
Gallica stopped and looked at the older woman. They were in front of the Palace now, and she could see the crowd beginning to coalesce in the courtyard through the gates. This was no conversation that needed to be heard by anyone else.
"I have no intention of becoming queen," she told Maven frankly, lowering her voice and looking the magnate directly in her crafty eyes. "Vote in whatever way your conscience dictates, Maven. Even If I were to ever accept the position, I would rule justly, with no favorites or below board dealings."
"Oh, you will be High Queen. I intend to see to that. That's just good business sense," Maven replied dismissively, her dangerous smile only increasing. "But whatever your convictions, you'll learn soon enough that there are some things that can only be accomplished through backroom deals. And you will need my help. Ask your dear General. He'll tell you just the same."
Gallica stared at her frostily, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight. She knew that Tullius had to deal in shady interactions from time to time. Every army had its spies and there were the Thalmor inquisitors, hovering at the edges like ravens over a battlefield, to be pacified. But was Maven implying something else? Was this a hint that she knew about the romantic involvement? It would be just like Maven to have planted her own spies, and who knew what information might have fallen her way.
"Excuse me," Gallica said firmly and turned towards the palace, striding quickly away from Maven through the gates. Though she did not want to offend the new Jarl of Riften, the less said to her the better and Gallica felt that there was nothing further she could saythat would improve the situation.
She made her way inside, where she found Tullius and Rikke in conversation with Elisif and Falk Firebeard already. She attached herself to their party in order to fend off any of the other Jarls or courtiers who might feel the need to try to make a similar Daedra's deal. They all waited anxiously for the second session of the Moot to begin.
~~0~~
"We have two proposed candidates, but the way I see it, we've only heard from one of them," Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold began, once the Moot had been convened with full ceremony.
Even this early in the day, the room was slightly over-warm from the number of bodies present and Gallica could sense the rise in the tension levels from the day before as well. Who knew what had been said behind closed doors? Maven was only the boldest of the Jarls in her dealings. No doubt, other intrigues were going on under the surface that had not reached her ears. Yet. The Jarl of Winterhold turned to Gallica with a kind smile. She had had little experience with the man, but he seemed an amiable sort, less haggard and put upon than his predecessor. Though, the previous Jarl – Korir- had also been a decent man, too, in his way.
Kraldar's tone was encouraging as he leveled the question that was on everyone's mind. "Dragonborn, what say you to this nomination? Would you become our High Queen?"
Every eye in the room turned to Gallica and she felt her blood surge dizzyingly in her veins. The moment had come. She caught Tullius' eye for a moment and exchanged the barest of nods before stepping forward. The dragonhelm rested on the table before Tullius today. The Jarls would need to be able to read her facial expressions clearly so that there could be no mistake later about what she had meant.
"I am honored, Jarl Kraldar, that Jarl Balgruuf puts such faith in me. I am always gratified to have the good opinion of an honorable man," she said, meeting Balgruuf's eyes pointedly for a moment.
He already knew her feelings on the subject, but he nodded solemnly, acknowledging the compliment. Nearby, Idgrod smiled, but Gallica did not meet her gaze. She looked at each of the other Jarls in turn, instead.
"But I can't accept Jarl Balgruuf's nomination in good conscience. I am a soldier. My skill is in my sword arm and in my Voice, not in ruling a country. I will serve the good of Skyrim and the Empire, of course, but I have no pretensions to rise above my proper place. I think it best, Jarls of Skyrim, if you would choose one from among your own number who has the skill to rule justly, honorably, and wisely. For my part, as an officer of the Legion, I defer to the Emperor and General Tullius in their support of Jarl Elisif."
As she stepped back, she caught Elisif's relieved smile but could not return it.
Sorry, Ulfric, she thought, briefly. Twice she had escaped the throne - first as Ulfric's queen consort and now as queen in her own right. Hopefully, with this formal refusal, they could finally get on with the real business at hand instead of chasing distractions.
"The Dragonborn is wiser than her years. I suppose that only leaves us with one choice, then," Igmund of Markarth commented with similar relief in his voice, but he was interrupted as Maven Black-Briar stood and called for the floor.
The businesswoman's expression was calm and thoughtful, and that almost always boded ill in Gallica's experience. Quiet descended upon the hall as the other Jarls focused dubiously on the leader of Riften. She folded her hands in front of her demurely as she calmly surveyed her peers.
"I have a few questions for the Dragonborn before we move on, if the Moot will indulge my curiosity," she said, her voice honeyed and unconcerned. No one objected, though more than one uneasy look passed around the room. Gallica watched warily as Maven turned next to her. "I'm sure we all appreciate your concerns, Dragonborn. I have a wonder, though, that perhaps you can satisfy. You say that you are a soldier as if this should preclude you from being a good queen. And yet, in this room alone, you see Jarl Brina, a retired Legion officer herself, and Jarl Balgruuf, a respected warrior in his own right. There is Jarl Igmund, who was a great figher against the Reachmen in his youth. Surely, you do not intend to imply that they are poor rulers of their own holdings because they are men and women of the battlefield?"
Eyebrows flew up all throughout the room at Maven's audacity and Gallica could hear a few mutterings rifle through the crowd. Beside her, Tullius shifted, but Gallica could not look at him to gage his reaction.
"No, that was not my intention," she replied and saw the magnate's catlike smile increase.
"Indeed, one might see how a soldier might bemore qualified to rule during these troubled years. One of the duties of a High King or Queen is to protect the realm, after all."
"The greatest kings of our past have been mighty warriors of legendary skill," Balgruuf agreed cautiously.
Gallica could tell that even he was not sure where Maven was going with this line of reasoning, though he did not want to derail a potential ally.
"Just so. And in addition to her martial prowess, our Dragonborn has shown a remarkable capacity for diplomacy. She did, in fact, organize a truce so that the dragons could be dealt with during the thick of the war, as we all well remember. That is was no small feat," Maven replied graciously before turning to Gallica again. The consciously duplicitous glint in her eyes made Gallica's stomach turn. "So, I must ask, Dragonborn, why you seem intent on depriving us of the opportunity to appoint a High Queen of proven - perhaps even legendary, as Balgruuf says - military and diplomatic skill? Surely this is exactly what the country needs at this moment in our history. Wouldn't you agree?"
"The woman said she was not interested," Igmund growled over the susurrus of background voices. His fist was clenched around his goblet of watered wine and his expression was deeply annoyed. No doubt he was feeling stung again by having been interrupted and contradicted a second time. "I suppose she has her own reasons for doing so. Why force the matter?"
"The Dragonborn is a humble woman. Who among us, if it were handed to us on a silver platter, would refuse an offer to become High King or Queen, eh?" Idgrod of Morthal croaked. She was obviously enjoying the spectacle and her mad eyes raked the room. "Half of the men and women here owe their highseats to the prowess of the Dragonborn. And all of us have seen her act with great courage and self-sacrifice. Igmund, would you still retain Markarth and the Mournful Throne if not for her successful leadership in the Reach?"
"I believe we can thank General Tullius for that," the Jarl of Markarth snapped back, bristling visibly.
It was his city that Gallica had traded during the Treaty of High Hrothgar, after all. She could not blame him for being bitter about it, especially in light of all the blood that had been spilt getting it back.
"Now, that brings up something I've been wondering about myself," Brunwulf Free-Winter, Ulfric's replacement as Jarl of Windhelm interupted, speaking up for the first time in the Moot.
He was older than many of the other Jarls, care-worn with hair and beard greying to white, but he spoke with both gravity and good-humor. Gallica knew him as a generally kind man with a sincere and charitable nature. He had done much for the minorities of Windhelm, using his business interests and economic clout in the city to shield the Dark Elves and Argonians from the worst of Ulfric's neglect and the Stormcloak pogroms. She hoped that, once everything had been settled, he would be able to see the city reintegrated properly, but that would take time. Windhelm was still not completely pacified and Brunwulf had his work cut out for him just keeping the resentful former Stormcloaks in check. Now, though, the elderly statesman turned his gaze to Tullius inquisitively.
"It's sometimes difficult for a person to assess themselves honestly. What is your opinion, General? Our Dragonborn has served primarily at your command in the war. I understand she is now among your chief officers. Surely you have some opinion of her qualities as a leader."
Gallica felt the blood drain from her face as she recognized the ramifications of the question. Maven's eyes narrowed in satisfaction and Gallica knew that the magnate had hoped for something like this. The question put Tullius in an impossible position. If he praised Gallica's leadership, it would weaken her argument for refusing the throne. If he minimized her leadership potential, he would be criticizing his own command choices and the Dragonborn, which would not reflect well on him politically. Either way, it weakened the Imperial support for Elisif.
Did you plan this somehow? Gallica thought, watching Maven and Brunwulf closely, searching for clues of collusion. Tullius considered his response.
"I have always found Legate Gallica to be a great asset in matters of leadership and strategy," Tullius replied, his voice sober and serious, expressing as little as possible.
Brunwulf nodded, smiling, and turned back to Gallica with an almost grandfatherly expression.
"There we have it then. And I believe I can propose a compromise that will suit us all - even you, Dragonborn. It hardly seems right to choose Elisif simply because the only other proposed candidate has refused. Perhaps you might be good enough to stay your decision until we have had a chance to discuss it. If nothing else, you provide a useful contrast to Elisif and who knows but that you might have a change of heart once you hear what is said in your favor. As much as I hope for a quick decision so that I can return to the work waiting in my city, it does Skyrim no good to choose rashly out of undue haste. Why not let the Moot speak on it first and see if your feelings are unchanged afterwards?"
Attention shifted immediately and tensely back to Gallica and she repressed the urge to shout at them all.
No!, she thought, exasperated. How many times do I have to say it?
But, it was reasonable request, and one that she could not think of a rational response to.
Do something, she thought at Tullius, catching his eye desperately.
"Or, perhaps, there are other impediments on the Dragonborn's mind," Maven postulated slyly. "Perhaps she fears reprisal from the Legion should she undermine the Imperial favor towards Elisif?"
The suggestion sent a uncertain rumble through the room and Gallica saw Tullius' expression harden. Relations between the Empire and Skyrim were still strained even without Ulfric to fan the flames and no doubt more than a few of the Jarls were wary that the Legion would not easily give up its hold on Skyrim's government.
"The Legion's only interest in this council is to see that whoever is appointed as High King or Queen recognizes Imperial sovereignty in these lands. Legate Gallica is free to accept or reject as she wishes in her capacity as Dragonborn. The Legion will not stand in her way," Tullius replied, glaring at Maven and resolutely avoiding Gallica's shocked stare.
But that had been their plan. Her Legion commission was to have been her excuse. What was Tullius playing at? Gallica cleared her throat uneasily, her mind spinning as she tried to come up with a response that would save face for both her and the General.
"I have no intention of changing my mind, Jarl Brunwulf," she replied slowly, but reason failed her. She could come up with nothing. "However - if it would aid the process of the Moot - I suppose . . ."
"Very gracious of you," Brunwulf acknowledged and turned then to General Tullius. "I propose we hold the first vote to see where we all stand now. Then we can hear the arguments."
There were no objections and so Gallica watched with increasing alarm as Tullius stood and called for the vote. For Elisif, there was Elisif herself, Igmund of Markarth, Brina Merilis of Dawnstar, and Siddgeir of Falkreath. Balgruuf, Idgrod, Maven Black-Briar, Brunwulf Free-Winter of Windhelm, and Kraldar of Winterhold came down on Gallica's side. A simple majority was not sufficient, as six of the Jarls would have to support a candidate before it was considered a decisive vote, but the numbers were already worryingly close. A quick glance revealed the look of surprised concern on Elisif's face as well.
The rest of the session until it was time to break for the midday meal was taken up with arguments from each of the Jarls for their particular choice. Idgrod and Balgruuf reiterated their earlier position. Igmund of Markarth spoke of Elisif's previous experience as queen and compassionate nature, while Maven expounded on Gallica's keen intellect, honorable conduct, and obvious leadership potential. That Maven should be the one to speak of her as "honorable" made Gallica want to groan with irony, but she kept her peace and listened.
Brina Merlis made only a short comment about the importance of swift reunion with the Empire and respect for the Emperor's wishes, though it was clear she was troubled by the way things were going in the Moot already. Brunwulf Free-winter recollected Gallica's righteous stand for the Dark Elves and Argonians in Windhelm and attested to her status as a champion of the people. Kraldar made a surprisingly impassioned speech about Gallica as a progressive leader who combined the best of Skyrim's traditions and history with common sense and a forward-looking attitude. Siddgeir of Falkreath, for his part, made a few forgettable remarks about Elisif's beauty and charm and how perfect she looked on the throne, which seemed to accomplish little except to make Elisif herself uncomfortable. By then, the sun outside the windows was high and it was time to break for the morning.
Gallica waited anxiously as the Jarl's filed out, her heartbeat pounding faster and faster in her chest as she thought back over the debate. Things were going poorly. Maven seemed to have anticipated every point of her refusal. How? And why did Tullius stand by silently, listening and watching, as Elisif's case grew more and more dubious? At last, she caught Tullius' gaze as he emerged from the chamber and jerked her head slightly towards one of the corridors. With a grave expression, he nodded and followed.
There was an open door to an empty study several doors down and Gallica stormed in, making for the tall stained glass windows of the far wall. By the time Tullius entered and closed the door behind him, her restless energy had overtaken her at last and she was pacing furiously within the beams of colored light.
"This is a nightmare," she exploded without waiting for him to speak. She could hear the strain in her voice as she struggled to keep her tone down and shook her head, but it did little to clear her frustration. "The Daedra take Maven. I should never have agreed to stay in the running. I should have held my ground. Shor's bones, I should have known. I should have known she would pull something like this."
The General was still, listening silently as she vented her agitation. When Gallica finished shuddering into silence, he sighed and clasped his hands behind his back, approaching her carefully. His smile was anemic.
"Since when do you swear by the Nord gods?" he asked her, trying to leaven the tension with humor. It fell flat.
"Since I walked the mists of Sovngarde," Gallica breathed, leaning her face into her hands and trying to calm her pounding heart. She felt a hand slip onto her shoulder gently and reached back to lay her own over Tullius' weathered fingers.
I should have stayed there, she thought to herself briefly, but banished the thought. If she had stayed, then Ulfric might have won the war and Skyrim would have been in even greater danger now. If she had stayed, while she would have spared herself Ulfric's death, she would not have Tullius' arms around her now, as he pulled her back against his chest and rested his lips against the nape of her neck.
"I don't think it would have mattered much if you had continued to refuse. That all felt scripted to me," he told her, gently.
She accepted the gesture of comfort and sighed.
"Do you think she and Brunwulf planned it out in advance?"
"I doubt it. Brunwulf doesn't seem likely to involve himself with a Maven Black-Briar conspiracy. But Maven clearly knew what she was doing today and how the other Jarls would respond. I wouldn't be surprised if she had planted a few suggestions here and there in the right ears."
Gallica pondered for a moment, and then a thought struck her. As your dear General, Maven had told her that morning. The pieces of the plot clicked suddenly into place and she felt her stomach turn. She pulled out of Tullius' embrace and turned to look at him, searching his expression.
"Maven visited me this morning. She said that she intended to see me become queen and that I would need her help," Gallica said. "She had already approached you about it. Hadn't she?
Tullius' expression did not change, but she had become familiar with him now to read the truth in his eyes.
"Yes," he admitted, grudgingly, confirming her suspicions. He glanced away, rather than look her full in the face. "Maven was instrumental in the Legion's intelligence gathering during the war. We still use her networks to keep an eye on the rebel presence in eastern Skyrim. She was waiting for me last night to deliver her reports personally and she made a few observations. One of them being that locking you into your commission to remove you as a candidate for the throne, only to dispense you from it later in order to marry you, would cause a scandal. Which I take to mean that she will see to it that it does become a scandal. Or worse."
Gallica stared at him for a long moment and then chuckled, feeling her cheeks flaming with emotion as she nodded.
"Gods above us, that woman really does have her fingers in every pie in Skyrim, doesn't she?" She turned her gaze back up to Tullius reproachfully, her tone softening. "So, that's why you didn't intervene today. You should have told me this morning. I could have put up a stronger front. I could have tried to sidestep the trap."
The General's gaze remained averted for a moment, but at last he looked back into her eyes. And that, too, was why she loved him. Ulfric's pride had never allowed him to endure criticism. Tullius was strong enough to endure anything, even thought she could see her disappointment stung him.
"I suppose I should have," he admitted, before bearing up again. "We can discuss that later. Now, we need to decide what to do about it."
He was right. Feelings and should-haves would have to wait. Gallica turned to the windows and looked out over the garden for a moment to clear her mind, watching the city life - tinted in blues and greens - going on as usual outside in the palace garden and the street beyond.
"Elisif and Igmund aren't going to change their positions," she mused at last, as much to herself as to Tullius. "Siddgeir has pretensions of marrying Elisif, so he'll stick by her as long as she gives him hope. And Brina Merilis will vote however you tell her to."
"All it takes is one of those four to break ranks, however, and then we're in a bit of a bind," Tullius agreed moving forward to stand next to her at the window.
He was looking at her, but she did not look back. This, too, was likely to be part of Maven's ploy: to drive a wedge of suspicion between her and Tullius. Even so, the political ramifications aside, it was jarring to remember that there were parts of Tullius' work and life that she knew very little about and that he, as the Emperor's representative, was bound by honor and oath to keep secret even from her. She watched a group of children dart down the road beyond the garden wall outside, absorbed in some game or other, and sighed.
"They already know I won't accept it. This is an exercise in futility."
"And if the vote does go in your favor? Since we no longer have your contract as protection, what will you tell them?" he asked, but it seemed to be a rhetorical question. She could hear the weariness in his voice as he continued. "I find myself in a difficult position, Gallica. It's not easy for me to remain objective where you are concerned, but I must. The job takes precedence. We're both bound by that. Maven is an unprincipled, malicious, criminal old harridan, but she's not wrong in her assessment of you. When it was between Elisif and Ulfric, the choice was clear. Now that the choice is between you and Elisif, it's equally clear to everyone who the better candidate is. From the letters I've been receiving, I know what outcome the Emperor would prefer."
He shook his head, his lip curling slightly at whatever thought he was turning over in his mind.
"I can never say any of this in open council. It would be a political fiasco for the Legion to pull away from Elisif now, but it is true, Gallica. There is so much that you could accomplish. It would be wrong for me to stand in your way."
She looked up at him then to see the furrow in his brow, the pained set to his features. Tullius was not an expressive man. Only with her did he let that wall down, and then rarely like this. Something more than he was saying was bothering him. She could see the anguished shadow of it behind his dark eyes and it made her want to fold her arms around him and tell him that everything would work out in the end. They would make it work out, together. Instead, she sighed and nodded.
"What do you want me to do?"
"What you think is right," the General replied and then he shook his head, softening as he reached out to lay his hands on her cheeks, his warm palms a balm for her wrought up nerves. "I should be the least of your concerns right now. Don't worry about me. I have to support Elisif publicly, at least until the Moot decides against her, but we will cope. At this point, the Empire will have a strong supporter on the throne of Skyrim either way, so I will have discharged my duty regardless of the decision. If it comes down to it, and we may be lucky yet, do what you need to do. I'll be fine."
He leaned and kissed her forehead, lingering for a long moment . Something about the touch set off a heaviness in Gallica's chest - as if this were the last kiss, as if he were beginning to pull away from her somehow. She drew him into an embrace in response, burying her face hard into his shoulder to hold him there with her. When at last they broke she took his hands, kissed them, and looked up into his eyes.
"I love you," she told him with conviction and was comforted when she felt him squeeze her hands in return and smile.
"And I love you, too," he replied with matching sincerity. His smile creased up further at the corner with pained wit, "But there's work to be done. No doubt they're all wondering how bad of a harangue I'm giving you for not refusing Jarl Brunwulf outright earlier. Put on your best contrite face to save my reputation and let's go join the others."
~~0~~
By the time the Moot reconvened for the afternoon session, Gallica had been approached by almost all of the Jarls who had voted for her previously. Each of them made it very clear that they would only accept Elisif as queen if Gallica herself truly did not wish to take the throne, and more than one urged her to do so. It was Brunwulf Free-Winter's words that stuck with her as they entered the chamber to begin once more.
"I have nothing against Elisif. She was a good queen to Torygg, but there's a difference between being a good queen consort and being a good High Queen," the Jarl told her in his sensible way. "She could do well enough with the oversight of her advisors, but it would be whoever she marries eventually that would control the decisions she makes." The elder statesman of Windhelm smiled with a raise of an eyebrow. "You, on the other hand, are fully capable of standing on your own. You championed the Dark Elves, after all, when all of Windhelm was against them. You have the strength of character, but you also have the humility to know that you're not above the people you defend. We need that now more than ever. I don't know a citizen of Skyrim who would not be proud to claim the Dragonborn as their High Queen. Think on it. You will have all the support I and Windhelm can give, if you choose to accept. We owe you that much for our liberation."
The afternoon session was more contentious than the morning had been. Maven was the first to speak, summing up in her very succinct and business-like way the many reasona why Gallica's potential was superior to Elisif's. Balgruuf spoke next, drawing Maven's points together on the notion that the Dragonborn was a gift of Akatosh, bound to rule and rule well. Igmund, who seemed to have taken up the position of Elisif's chief supporter, argued fiercely against all comers until he was nearly hoarse from talking. The other Jarls listened, throwing out a question here and there until Idgrod stood.
"This is all very well and good, but we have both of our candidates right here. Let's put our questions to Elisif and the Dragonborn themselves instead of speculating on what they would do like a bunch of old women at a spinning circle," the Jarl of Morthal said and flashed a grin at Gallica.
When this is over, Gallica thought, you and I and Balgruuf are going to have a very stern conversation.
The other Jarls, however, agreed immediately.
For what seemed like hours, Gallica and Elisif answered question after question, from serious concerns regarding the defense of the province to hypothetical situations involving the dispensation of justice to a few rather silly questions from Siddgeir about their preferences for dancing and feasting. Gallica thought that Elisif did well, but could not help but admit that the girl was out of her depth without her advisors to chime in for her. She was good-hearted and more perceptive and clever than many gave her credit for, but many of her answers only reinforced her naiveté about the realities of state.
Finally, as the shadows began to creep along the floors and tables, a vote was called for. Elisif and Igmund spoke first, casting their votes for Elisif as expected. Siddgeir followed suite. Balgruuf, Idgrod, and Maven remained resolute supporters of Gallica. Brunwulf Free-Winter and Kralder of Winterhold enthusiastically lent their votes to Gallica as well, leaving Brina Merilis of Dawnstar as the last one to speak.
"Well, that was a waste of time, we're back where we started," muttered Siddgeir as Brina cleared her throat and stood.
The retired legionnaire looked worried, Gallica thought. She had been quiet through most of the day, only proposing a few questions during the afternoon session, and had seemed lost in her thoughts during the midday break. The Jarl of Dawnstar surveyed her fellows and then sighed.
"I am and have always been a loyal citizen of the Empire. After listening to all that has been said in council today, I feel that I have to do what is best for my people in Dawnstar and for Skyrim," she looked to Tullius and grimaced. "My apologies, General, but I cast my vote in favor of the Dragonborn. I don't believe we can go any longer without a strong military presence on the throne."
The room burst into a thunder of voices along with a smattering of applause from some of the retainers present. Gallica felt the blood drain out of her face, but she did not move or turn to look at Tullius.
Do what you think is right, she remembered him saying, and knew that he would say nothing to prevent what was about to happen. It was a decision for her alone now.
"That is two-thirds of the Jarls in agreement," Balgruuf announced, standing. He was smiling broadly and there was a note of triumph in his voice. "The Moot has selected the Dragonborn to be High Queen."
"But does the Dragonborn accept?" Maven replied, eying Gallica with a curious, satisfied smile - just as Gallica imagined a spider surveying a fly in her web might look.
From every corner of the room, expectant faces turned to Gallica and she looked at them all, their breaths caught in their throats to hear her reply. She wanted to refuse. She wanted nothing more than to refuse and walk out of that room and back into the life she had started putting back together after Ulfric's death. But seeing those faces, the hopeful expressions, reminded her of another promise that she had made to herself after coming back from the dead world that she had braved as part of her service to the Dawnguard. Akatosh had laid out a destiny for her as the Dragonborn and she had fulfilled it. She would no longer excoriate herself for being what the Divine had seen fit to make her. She would no longer allow it to be a burden. She would make it a tool - something to be used to reshape the broken pieces of the world into a place that was peaceful and safe and good. And was this not just such an opportunity?
The world groaned for stability and order and the Empire creaked with its advanced age. How much more could she do to ensure its survival and return to full glory with the throne of Skyrim behind her? How much better positioned would she be to eventually help eject the Thalmor - her dream as much as it had been Ulfric's and even Tullius'?
Tullius had told her to make her own decisions. With him as her consort, she would not be alone, as she had been when she faced down Alduin. The worst of the restrictions she would face as High Queen could be born between the two of them. She would be able to travel from the capital and trust him to keep a firm handle on the situation in her absence while she helped undo the painful damage of the last war and lead the charge in the war that she knew was still to come. It was, perhaps, not what either of them had ever expected or wanted, but that was the life of a soldier and they would adapt.
Taking a deep breath, Gallica stepped forward. She cleared her throat and met each pair of eyes among the Jarls in succession.
"You have all heard my thoughts on this subject," she said, her mouth going dry and her heart leap into her throat. "Though I am honored, you know that it has always been in my mind to refuse. But, as I have recently been told by so many, this is not a decision to be made lightly and I cannot simply disregard the wisdom of the Elder Council and of people for whom I have such great respect. So, I ask you, Jarls of Skyrim - is this truly what you want? All of you?"
"It has always been my desire," Balgruuf replied strongly, his voice carrying notes of triumph.
"Indeed," Idgrod Ravencrone crowed, her crow's eyes sparkling in the falling light from the windows.
"Windhelm supports you," Brunwulf Free-winter approved, smiling.
"And Winterhold, as long as I hold it," Kralder added, his rich voice sounding genuinely pleased.
"Yes," said Maven, simply, her smug expression unchanging.
"So long as you maintain faith with the Empire and the people of Skyrim, you will have Dawnstar at your back," Brina Merilis stated carefully.
After a tense moment, Siddgeir sighed.
"Oh, why not?" He raised his cup to Gallica as if ready to get the tedious enterprise over with. "Everyone already knows she's won. Hail the Dragonborn. Let's get on to the feast."
"And I will support her, too," Elisif added, eliciting more than one surprised gasp from the assembly.
Igmund looked on aghast as the current queen rose from her throne and turned to Gallica. She smiled, a genuine expression though somewhat brittle and fraught with barely suppressed emotion.
"I've only held out because Skyrim needed a leader during the war and to secure justice for my Torygg. I thought that I could continue to be the leader that my husband was, but you have done so many things for my country, for my city, and for me personally that I never could have done. Torygg has been avenged. His spirit can rest easy in Sovngarde because of you. And so, who am I to stand in your way?"
Gallica watched incredulously as Elisif stepped gracefully aside, leaving the throne vacant. Her steward hurried up behind her to lay a hand on her shoulder in comfort. There was no doubt from the younger woman's face that it had taken a great deal of personal strength to admit defeat and Gallica was moved by it. There was little time to reflect on this, though, before all eyes fell on Igmund, the last of the Jarls to speak. He stared at Elisif for a moment longer and then turned his gaze to regard Gallica with a stony expression.
"Well, Igmund?" Maven asked finally. The Jarl of Markarth's face hardened.
"Markarth has always been loyal to the crown," he said more than a little bitterly. "I will accept the Dragonborn as High Queen."
And so attention turned finally back to Gallica. Even the dust motes hanging in the afternoon sunlight seemed to wait anxiously for her answer. She looked at Tullius one last time as he stood watching her in return. His features were tight and inexpressive, but his eyes found hers and he nodded almost imperceptibly. His blessing, for whatever she said next.
For what I'm about to do to both of us, I hope you can forgive me later, she thought at him, and stood up to her full height, picking up the dragonhelm from the table and holding it between her hands.
"My father was a Nord of Bruma, but his father was Skyrim-born. He was a true Nord, a man of great honor, and he passed down a piece of wisdom to my father and through my father to me: of those who have been given much, much is required. The Divines have given me power beyond anything I would have sought for myself. I cannot dishonor them and my ancestors by failing to use their gift well. And so- "
Gallica paused, nearly choking on the words. Her hands tightened on the helm as she dropped her gaze to the fearsome fangs and bony plates of the dragon skull from which it was made. She felt Tullius' gaze on her there a few feet away on the other side of the throne, waiting for the decision that would change their lives forever. She felt the Jarls, each of them radiating a thousand hopes and fears for what was to come. In a dim, primitive place within her, she felt the shade of Ulfric Stormcloak looking on, enemy and lover, the High King who would have been. She straightened, drawing herself up along with every ounce of strength that she could muster.
"And so - if this council is unanimously agreed - I will accept the office of High Queen of Skyrim and I will do my utmost to be worthy of it."
Divines help me, she added to herself, her nerves singing a song shriller than a child's penny whistle, as a tide of cheers and applause swept across the room.