It took a few hours for the full realization of what she had done to finally settle on Gallica.
The congratulations, praise, and words of advice that were heaped onto her through dinner in the great hall seemed to wash over and around her and it was not until she finally managed to retreat to the room that had been swiftly prepared for her in the Palace that she was able to think clearly about what lay ahead of her.
High Queen.
Alduin's doom was a threat that could be vanquished. The Stormcloak Rebellion was a war that could be won. Ruling a country, however, was a task that would stretch on and on for the rest of her life - however long or short that might be.
Outside Gallica's window in the private wing of the Palace, Solitude blazed with light. Colored lanterns had been hung from every building and shone their light over the revelers in the street, celebrating the announcement of their new Dragonborn Queen. The entire city below her seemed to roil with people like an anthill and the faint jangling melodies of numerous musicians interspersed with bouts of cheering filtered up to her ears through the glass.
I'm responsible for them all now, Gallica thought as she stared out the window, feeling as if her body were slowly turning to lead. Everything I do will affect them somehow; every decision I make will help someone and harm someone else, no matter what I decide.
The idea of it made her feel sick to her stomach and suddenly very, very alone.
Not for the first time that night, she wished Tullius was there with her to calmly assure her that everything was going to straighten out in the end and that she could do this. The end of the Moot, however, had meant urgent work for him back at Castle Dour. He had promised to see her tomorrow and that they would talk then, brushing her fingers with his surreptitiously as he left for comfort. The gesture had made the panic rising in her belly smooth somewhat, but it did not protect her now from an ocean of worry about what was to come.
The room that the staff had prepared for her was comfortable and spacious. It was not the royal chambers, Gallica had insisted that Elisif be allowed to stay where she was at least until everything was official, but it was still well-appointed with silver gilt , dark exotic woods, and expensive brocade. Someone had even brought in a selection of clothing, sensibly realizing that Gallica would only have what was on her back until her own clothes could be fetched from her house.
I wish I was in my own house, Gallica thought as she took in the opulence.
A palace no more belonged to a monarch than a barn did to the prized horse that inhabited it. She had grown used to the quiet and independence of living in her own home - a place that belonged only to her and to the people she invited to share it. She settled down in a chair with a sigh, kicked off her boots, and began to unbraid her hair. Despite the comforts heaped around her, it was going to be an uncomfortable night.
She was just starting to hunt through the dresser for a comb when a knock sounded at the door.
Please, don't let this be an emergency already, she prayed, but went to the door anyway and was shocked to find Elisif standing on the other side of it.
Dressed in a cream-colored nightdress, with her golden-brown hair hanging down loose around her shoulders, the former queen looked even more of a girl than she had before. Elisif smiled tentatively at Gallica's surprise.
"I thought I would come personally and see how you were settling in."
Gallica hurried to wipe the surprise from her features quickly and stammered a reply.
"Oh. Yes, I'm fine. Thank you, that was very considerate of you." But there was a waiting expression on Elisif's face, as if she were trying to say something else, but did not want to intrude. Gallica stepped back from the door, holding it open. "Would you like to come in?"
"For a moment. I know you must be as exhausted as I am, so I won't stay long," the younger woman assured her and stepped into the room.
Gallica closed the door behind them and watched carefully for a moment as her erstwhile rival for the throne studied her surroundings and walked over to run a hand over the post of the bed and across the window sill.
"This was my room when I first came to the Blue Palace. I remember very well what it's like to sit in here on your first night and wonder what in Nirn you're going to do when tomorrow comes."
The eerie echo of her own thoughts made Gallica's heart hurt for a moment. Elisif's expression was serene, but there was certainly pain underneath it. No one could lose so much - a husband, a home, and now a throne - without feeling it. Earnestly aggrieved on behalf of her counterpart, Gallica stepped forward.
"Elisif, I am so sorry about all of this-" she began, but the former queen held up her hand, cutting her off with a congenial chuckle.
"There's no need to be. I was slightly upset at first - it's not easy to live down being snubbed by all those old toffs in such a public way - but after some reflection, I think you've done me a favor. To be perfectly honest, I wasn't looking forward to being High Queen and now I'm saved the trouble."
"You're very understanding," Gallica replied with a weak smile, uncertain whether she believed the off-handed reply. Elisif laughed, a more easy and convincing gesture this time and Gallica relaxed a little.
"Well, you have to be in this place or you'll wind up madder than old Pelagius. Take it from me." The younger woman sighed before continuing, turning her smile back to Gallica. "Anyway, I wanted to assure you as soon as possible that I don't take any of this personally - and I thought that you might want some company. It gets lonely in the Palace, especially at night. I used to think what I wouldn't give for a little peace and quiet and then - well, after Torygg passed on to Sovngarde, anyway - you never realize how quiet things can be until you're finally alone."
This confession, combined with the sudden cloudy, dampening of the girl's expression, told Gallica all she needed to know about Elisif's motives for coming. Compassionately, Gallica moved over to the sitting area and indicated a chair.
"Would you like to sit for awhile? I'm too tense from all the excitement to sleep just yet and I could do with some company, now that you mention it."
Gratefully, Elisif took the offered chair across from Gallica, arranging herself with effortless grace. Gallica had never had a sister, nor had she spent much time with other girls when she was young, and so she was inexperienced at this sort of informal, feminine chat. Still, she had been meaning to talk to Elisif anyway and this was the first and best opportunity to do so alone.
"Have you thought about what you're going to do now?" Gallica asked after a customary moment of silence while the women warmed in the glow of the nearby fire. "You are, of course, welcome to stay as long as you like, but I wondered if you had any plans."
"Oh, I suspect that my family will try to bundle me back off home," Elisif replied, smiling at some private joke at the thought. "They've always hovered around me as if I were a piece of delicate glassware and now that I'm a displaced widow, I suppose that they will want to drag me back home until other arrangements can be made."
"And you have other ideas, I take it?"
"I've been batted around between parents, husband, tutors, and courtiers ever since I can remember," the former queen said more than a little resentfully. "And now my husband is dead and I'm queen no longer. It's the first chance I've ever had to order my own life and I intend to take it. I'm not yet sure what I will do, but I'm entertaining options."
"I wonder if you would consider staying here, then," Gallica responded, finding that the best moment to broach the subject had arrived. Elisif cocked her head, a confused expression on her face as Gallica continued. "I'm coming into this with blinders on. I have Nord blood, I'm still essentially a foreigner here and I'm going to need help on the particulars of court business. I intend to keep Falk on as steward if he wants the job, but it's more than that. The rebuilding is going to be a difficult process and I don't intend to oversee everything from afar. If I'm going to do this, I'm not going to be the type of Queen that doesn't get her own hands dirty. And I have a feeling that this current peace is not going to be a long one, so I will likely find myself at the head of another army before this next year is out. I can't be everywhere at once, and so I want to appoint a chancellor to act as regent in the city when I'm elsewhere."
"But you will marry eventually, won't you?" Elisif asked in astonishment, her blue eyes widening. "Those responsibilities would fall to your husband, as they did to me the few times when Torygg was traveling."
"Yes, I suppose they will for the most part. But," and Gallica hesitated here, unwilling to reveal all of her plans yet though she was in a confidential mood, "it is possible that the man I marry will have similar responsibilities and I don't want to leave the matter to chance or let it fall upon my steward's shoulders entirely. There's going to be work enough for ten Falks as it is."
She sighed. "You have the best claim to the crown besides me and would be on hand to take over if something should happen. I have no living family now. If you were to stay on as my chancellor, you could help me with the court and act as my ambassador when I cannot be somewhere myself, and you could keep things running in my stead if necessary. You would have your own salary and standing in the world, just as Falk does. I could even deed you Proudspire, if you want a place of your own. I don't require an answer now, but I wanted you to know what I intended and that you're welcome to the position if you want it."
For a few minutes, the only sound in the room was the fire crackling and settling in the hearth. Elisif studied Gallica, her expression shrewd, before she spoke.
"I'll consider it. I was starting to be charmed by the idea of leaving this place, but it's generous of you to offer and I'm happy to help however I can. Let me think on it."
"Of course," Gallica replied courteously, and let the matter drop.
In truth, the inspiration to create such a position was motivated partly by concern for Elisif - where did a deposed former queen go if not back to her family? - and partly by the realization that her tenure as High Queen was going to be woefully complicated and Gallica knew there were many ways in which she was underprepared.
"Have you thought about marriage yet?" Elisif asked, more conversational girl again than serious woman. "You can bet that they're going to start pressing you about it soon. I know that was next on Falk's agenda for me if you hadn't come along. Which, again, I should thank you again for sparing me from, by the way."
"I did have some thoughts on the subject, yes." Gallica shifted uncomfortably, a nervous movement that Elisif clearly noticed.
The engagement was still, technically, a secret and she was not sure how open she should be about it now. Better to discuss how their plans were going to change with Tullius before anyone else.
"There's someone you have in mind, I can tell," Elisif observed with a canny smile that turned into a conspiratorial grin. "Don't tell me. I want to be surprised with everyone else. But, if you'll take my advice, you'll pick one for yourself and marry him before the rest get ideas. There's nothing that excites the male nobility around here like an unmarried High Queen. I should know."
Gallica laughed then, remembering the way that Thane Erikur and some of the other men at court had been simpering around her.
"I can see that. I'll do my best."
"I should go. You're going to need your sleep for tomorrow, and here I am chatting your ears off like a kitchen maid," Elisif said, rising.
Gallica rose as well and walked her to the door, holding it open as the younger woman exited the room. Elisif tossed her head back, smiling, before she pattered down the hall to her own chambers.
"Thank you, for letting me stop a moment. If you need to talk - I know how all of this can get a bit much at times - you can talk to me. And I will think about the other matter. Good night."
Gallica watched the slim form, ghost-like in her house robe, flit down the hall and disappear before closing her door again. The fire had burned low during the conversation, and she added another split of firewood onto it for the night before undressing and settling into the soft bed. The conversation with Elisif had cheered her or at least eased her mind enough that she felt she could sleep.
In the distance, the hum and murmur of late revelers continued into the night, and Gallica settled into the thick covers, wrapping her arms around a pillow and letting weariness overtake her. Soon, with luck, she and Tullius would be married and she would not have to end her laborious days with a silent chamber and an empty bed anymore. If there was anything about the resolution of the Moot that she could be glad of, it was that there was now no impediment to announcing the engagement at once. It was to that thought that she drifted off to sleep, and her dreams decided to oblige her need for rest and remained peaceful until dawn.
~~0~~
The first day of the reign of High Queen Gallica of Skyrim began early. There was an enormous amount of information that she needed to be caught up on quickly, and so she spent the first part of the morning closeted with her privy council. Though Gallica had severe reservations about some of her courtiers - Thane Erikur and the Court Wizard Sybille being the most dubious - she made it clear that everyone could remain in their current positions for the moment if they wished to. The inclusion of Elisif in the council raised a few eyebrows, but it was expected that the departing queen would have to stay to inform the rising Queen for some time.
Once the business of the hold was outlined - the concerns about the shipping passages, matters of security for the outlying villages, the current status of the treasury, and so on - Gallica moved from local business with the privy council to the council of Jarls who were waiting with acute interest to see what political tactic their newly appointed ruler would pursue.
"You have set me here in good faith," she told them, making eye contact with each Jarl in turn. "I will do my best not to disappoint you in that. For, as much as you all serve me as esteemed councilors, I in turn serve you and every citizen of Skyrim and I do not intend to rest on my laurels. Once the immediate business of the court is settled, I plan to visit each of you in your holds to see for myself the challenges you face in rebuilding from the recent troubles. I will do whatever is in my power to help you see order and stability restored."
Even Igmund of Markarth seemed to warm to the situation and the first great council was concluded with less bickering than Gallica could have hoped.
Maybe this won't be so bad after all, she thought as they broke in the late afternoon. She made her way back to her study to continue working on the speech she would have to give to the public very soon and had just reached the door when she glanced back down the hall to see Balgruuf approaching.
"Coming to deliver your critique of my performance already?" she teased and saw his heavily lined face crease in a half smile.
"You did well, Dragonborn. But then you always seem to," the Jarl of Whiterun replied. He sounded tired and she let him into the study behind her, assuming that there was something on his mind that he wanted to talk to her about in private.
"It's easy to sound sincere when you're being honest," she replied with a shrug.
The late afternoon sunlight slanted across the stone floor of the study, casting half of the room in shadow. Tomes of history, political and military theory, and philosophy lined the shelves along the walls, and a stack of parchments and books were mounded on the desk. Catch-up work, Gallica reflected with an internal wince. All the various treaties, laws, and sensitive state secrets that a new High Queen needed to be made aware of. How she would ever get through it all and have time to actually conduct the business of state, she had no idea.
"Is there something particular I can help you with, Jarl Balgruuf, or is this a social call? Not that either would be unwelcome."
Balgruuf laughed at that.
"You're becoming more political by the hour, Dragonborn. I knew you had it in you. I wanted to see how you were getting along - if there was something I could do to help you. But, there was something particular I wanted to discuss with you, as well. Some advice, if you will, from a friend."
Gallica offered one of the chairs to Balgruuf and then pulled her own from behind the desk. She disliked having a barrier between her and other people and Balgruuf was an old friend. She was stuffed to the gills with advice, but it wouldn't hurt to humor the older man, as much as he had done to aid her in the fight against Alduin.
"You're not a native of Skyrim," he began once they had settled down across from each other, choosing his words carefully. "Not that there is anyone who would dispute that you belong here. You are as much a Nord as any of us."
"I am still getting used to the culture," Gallica acknowledged, "but I have good advisors around me who can help correct any missteps."
"You're doing a fine job in that already," Balgruuf replied and then shook his head, his expression going thoughtful for a moment before continuing. "There are few in Skyrim who are not pleased to have the Dragonborn as their High Queen. But, you must also understand, the Nords of Skyrim are proud and we have much to be proud of. We have always counted ourselves as the supporting pillar of the Empire - the equal of Cyrodiil, not one of its vassal states like Morrowind or High Rock."
"You're worried that people will come to see me as an Imperial puppet," Gallica guessed, catching the hint from Balgruuf's tone. He nodded, gravely.
"You, being part of a noble Imperial family and with your service to the Legion, have a better chance than most to smooth over our troubles with the Empire, but the smallfolk of Skyrim have to see you as one of them if they are to follow you. They have to know that you are, as Ulfric put it, a "true Nord" and that you share their concerns. You will have to walk a very fine line if you are to succeed, Dragonborn."
Gallica studied her old friend, noting the concentrative expression in his eyes. He was saying nothing that hadn't already occurred to her, but Balgruuf was obviously building towards something specific. Whatever it was, he seemed to think it needed additional tact to propose. This ought to be interesting, she thought, smiling.
"What would you suggest, Jarl Balgruuf?"
Balgruuf's expression twisted shrewdly and he seemed to be looking for the right words.
"You are unmarried, Dragonborn," he admitted, finally, and Gallica had to work hard to keep her jaw from dropping open at the unexpected turn the conversation had taken. "You will need to marry eventually in order to secure your line, and if you were to choose a husband with a strong background in Skyrim and Nord culture, it would go a long way to establishing your credibility and soothing any concerns the people have about you."
You sly old dog, Gallica thought, forcing herself to keep from laughing. She had always known that the Jarl of Whiterun was a widower twice over, but he had never seemed to demonstrate an interest in her beyond her status as the Dragonborn and one of his more trusted Thanes. Truth be told, she had long suspected that his romantic attentions were directed to quite a different place, though it was unlikely that he and Irileth would ever be able to marry due to the racial and class barriers between them. Could Balgruuf actually be proposing to her? It seemed too ridiculous to be true. Gallica allowed herself a slight smile as she cocked her head.
"Am I to understand that you are putting yourself forward for the post?"
"No," Balgruuf replied quickly, sitting up straighter, just as surprised as she had been. "Not at all. Not that - Whiterun is the only highseat I have an interest in, and I wouldn't think to test the gods by marrying again. My brother, however, is closer to your own age and unmarried. A more traditional Nord warrior you could not find, and loyal to the Empire besides."
Ahh, the other shoe drops, Gallica thought, feeling her amusement lessen. She had nothing against Hrongar, Balgruuf's sullen younger brother - he was a respectable warrior, clearly itching to get out from under his brother's thumb - but the thought of being married to him was unsettling. No, even if she was not already engaged to Tullius, it would be out of the question. Even more so than his elder brother, Hrongar did not have the talent of holding his tongue or his temper when the situation called for it.
"And what does Hrongar think of this?"
"Hrongar has a great deal of respect for you," Balgruuf observed, smiling. "Good marriages have come from much less."
Meaning this is your idea, not his, she surmised.. From anyone else, Gallica would have assumed this was just another play for favor. It might still be, but she didn't want to think that of Balgruuf. He was proud, he had to be keen enough to do what was in his hold's best interest, but she had never seen him as a political schemer like Maven. He already had her ear more than most of the other Jarls. No, she would rather believe that he meant to help both her and his brother at once and leave it at that.
"While I would consider joining your family an honor, I can't entertain the idea at this time," she responded, choosing her words to be politely vague.
Balgruuf frowned a little. "This is all very sudden for you, I understand. Consider it for the future."
"I will, but please don't take it as offense if I cannot accept. Nothing is really certain at the moment. I hardly know enough to plan for more than a day or two at the time right now."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries, some discussion of the coronation plans and the arrival of the Emperor, and then Balgruuf excused himself and left her alone in the study, leaning back in her chair with a sigh.
The sooner we get this engagement announced, the better, Gallica told herself, but she felt a small and worrying doubt. Something about the look on Tullius' face when he had left the palace yesterday had stuck with her, tickling in the back of her mind. It made her anxious to see him again - to assure herself that everything was well, among many other reasons. It was probably just a case of nerves. The last few days had been rough on both of them, and it was not about to get any easier.
Who could blame Tullius for being ill at ease about her sudden rise to power?
~~0~~
The week of celebrations in Solitude was just getting started and the streets were festooned with lights and revelers even more garishly than the previous night. As Gallica leaned on the window sill, taking in the refreshing night air and listening to the sounds of it all - life beyond the garden walls - she felt a little wistful.
There was scarcely a man or woman down in the streets who wouldn't jump at the chance to be in her shoes, but here she was wishing she was in theirs so that she could enjoy the celebration instead of being the subject of it. Such was the heavy burden of power, she supposed. Once everything had settled down, Gallica fully intended to go out into the city again herself whether her council and the royal guards liked it or not. There was a saying among the lower classes in Cyrodiil that it was too high to talk to the Divines and too far to talk to the Emperor, and Gallica would not be that kind of queen.
The Bardic College down the way was putting on one of the more lavish parties tonight, and Gallica was enjoying the music drifting in on the sea breeze and the eloquence of some very creative toasts and poetry in her honor. Half of them described things she hadn't even done and the other half had embellished events to the point that Gallica might as well have been the incarnation of Akatosh herself, descending from on high. It was great fun all around and she had to laugh at it, but it made her uneasy as well.
What would people think of her in a hundred years, if the songs were already diverging from the reality? She pondered this until a familiar bar of harp music reached her ears and she stopped breathing for a moment in order to catch the opening words of the song.
"Sing now and remember. In our hearts we mourn," a smooth female voice began, rising above the chords of the harp in a sad, lilting tune,
"this tale of lost love and honour forsworn,
That throughout the ages the story be borne
Of Ulfric the Bear and his love Dragonborn."
When she had returned to Solitude after the dark and confusing weeks she had spent among the Dawnguard, Gallica had told Tullius that there were some matters she needed to attend to before taking up her duties again, though she hadn't told him what exactly she meant by this. Tullius would have prevented it, if he had known, and she had made a promise that she could not break. This song was part of that promise.
"Twas winter in Skyrim. Dark wings beat the sky
As the World-Eater's brethren 'cross our lands did fly,
And Ulfric the Bear had killed our King most High,
And many a brother by brother's hands died."
The words were as familiar as her own voice, and rightly so because Gallica had commissioned them herself and provided the source material. The bard had been paid handsomely to write the song and disseminate it widely to other bards across Skyrim, all the while keeping her patron's identity a complete secret. Gallica had heard people humming the ballad in the streets in the days before the Moot. It was a catchy tune, already as popular as some of the old favorites like "Ragnar the Red" and "The Dragonborn Comes". The bard had done well. Gallica's promise to Ulfric at the moment of his death, to keep his name alive alongside hers in song, was now fulfilled as best she could manage.
"She came from the south - a legionnaire sworn.
She smote all the dragons and Alduin scorned.
Though Ulfric would have seen her in his mantle adorned,
No side would she take, our fair Dragonborn."
The audience over at the Bard's College had hushed to a respectful silence, and Gallica closed her eyes, taking it in and remembering. The jostling of Tullius and Ulfric for her help in the war. The temporary truce she had pulled out of them both at High Hrothgar. It seemed like an eternity ago, but she could see Ulfric's face in her mind, wreathed in starlight as he tried to kiss her in the courtyard of the monastery, as if it had happened yesterday.
"Alone she sat vigil on that last silent night
Before she would follow and Alduin smite.
Her breath sighed and tears cried, despite all her might.
For love left unspoken, her soul did ignite.
Dark was the forest and cold the night air.
She rode through the valley, the wind in her hair,
And, camped by the road, she at last found him there.
Her heart she laid open to Ulfric the Bear."
Though it was well-known by now that Gallica had once considered taking Ulfric's side, no one knew the truth of what had happened between them except for Gallica herself now. Most would assume that this was all just a fanciful creation of the song-writer. But it was true and the memory of it - of that cold ride through darkness and finding Ulfric in his tent on the night before she captured the dragon Odhaviing in Dragonsreach and forced him to take her to the gates of Sovngarde - made her heart ache.
She had not expected to survive the battle with Alduin. That was why she had gone to find Ulfric on his way home from the peace conference at High Hrothgar, because she wanted, on her last night in the world, to know that she was not alone and that there was someone in the world who cared for her. Whatever disaster the relationship had become later, that night stuck in her memory as being perhaps the only entirely pure moment that had ever existed between her and Ulfric - the single point in time when Ulfric had truly loved her only for her own sake. She would never forget it.
"Forth went our Dragonborn, against dark Alduin waged.
From the heights of high Sovngarde did their battle rage,
And victory she found there, our doom she assuaged.
Glory be to our savior Dragonborn of this Age!"
But she had survived. She had returned to the world, a hero that had outlived her legend, and so had to face the consequences. Ulfric had expected to wield her as a weapon against the Empire and a tool to keep the people loyal. He had built up a grand vision of her as a complement to his own quest for power, and, in the end, his love for her was not stronger than his hatred of the Empire and his pride.
A knock sounded at the door and Gallica turned her head, calling a "come in" but not leaving the window. It was the first time that she had heard the ballad properly performed in public and she wanted to listen to the end. The door opened to reveal Tullius, in civilian garb tonight though there hardly seemed to be a difference for him. No one could mistake the General for anything other than what he was.
He looked exhausted, the lines on his face more evident than ever, and Gallica smiled at him sympathetically and reached a hand towards him beckoning silently. As he approached, Gallica touched a finger to her lips briefly to let him know she was listening to the music and then half-embraced him, her arm sliding around his waist as he moved to her side. There was a certain tension in Tullius' body as she touched him, but there would be time to inquire about that later. For the moment, he paused with her, silently listening.
"With the dragons defeated and no more foes to hound,
Returned she to Ulfric, to the love she had found,
But peace could not find there in his fight for the Crown
For oaths she had sworn and to Empire was bound.
No truce would see Ulfric, nor for Dragonborn sway,
And so to the Legion she made her sorrowful way
To take up their banner and enter the fray.
For future and country, her lover betrayed."
"Ridiculous propaganda," Tullius snorted, scowling and moving to pull her gently away. Gallica held back.
"I want to hear the end," she replied mildly.
Tullius' expression twisted a little with displeasure, but he waited without comment. Gallica squeezed his hand in recognition of his tolerance, though she felt a deep pang in her heart at the accusation in the musical phrase. The bard had wanted to change the wording, but Gallica had insisted that the word "betrayed" remain. She had betrayed Ulfric. No matter how justified it was, he had trusted her and she had betrayed that trust. She considered it the final penance to commemorate the truth of it in song. Whatever Ulfric's sins were, the Dragonborn was not spotless either.
"The battles raged onward. Overhead rode the crows.
And down Ulfric's gates came at Dragonborn's blow.
One last time, as the first time, she embraced him in woe,
Two hearts together sundered as her blade laid him low."
Sundered was right. She had never intended to kill Ulfric. She had been trying to find a way to save him, to have him captured alive and spirited away from Windhelm during the aftermath of the battle so that, with everything else in ruins, he would at least have his life. But, in the end, when he lay broken and defeated on the floor of his own hall, she had realized at last that she could never have saved him. He would not have allowed her to and, even if she could have, that life would have been a torment for him. So, she had done the only merciful thing left that she could have done for him. She had spared him an ignoble death, so that he could continue to live in his own legend - Jarl Ulfric, who had nearly wrested Skyrim from the Empire and whom only the legendary Dragonborn could defeat.
The last gift I could give you, Ulfric, she remembered as the image of his limp body clasped in her arms, his blood on her hands, came to mind, and one that came at a heavy price.
Gallica felt Tullius bristling next to her, no doubt remembering the scene himself. He knew well enough that she had once been in love with Ulfric. He knew what that last act of mercy has cost her. Although he had never reproached her for her feelings or given a hint of jealousy except right before that last battle, it could not be easy for him to think of her in his former enemy's arms. He trusted her, but even if in his darker moments Tullius might wonder about her feelings for Ulfric, he was a practical man. Ulfric was dead and there was an end of it. In the final battle, Tullius had been the victor on both fronts.
Since she had agreed to marry Tullius, they had agreed to leave Ulfric in the past and Gallica would never tell him that she had commissioned this song. What would that serve? Let this fulfill her promise to Ulfric in Sovngarde, a last monument to the fact that they had loved each other once, while she herself remained faithful to the man standing next to her now. In the end, Tullius undeniably deserved her love far more than Ulfric ever had.
"The snow now sits silent on Windhelm's worn walls
And in the Palace of the Kings blows through empty halls.
But a presence there lingers and sighs through its pall:
'Though death may have parted, my soul she enthralls.'"
An eerie last touch. Though she had no doubt that Ulfric's soul had gone to Sovngarde, she did wonder how true his last words - "I'll wait for you" - were. Did he look down on her still with love, waiting for the day she would rejoin him? Gallica had no idea, but the thought was both unsettling and comforting at the same time. As the final refrain and the last strains of the harp died away, Gallica turned to Tullius, who wore a stony expression.
"I see that I'll have to send someone to speak to the head of the Bardic College about the performance of treasonous material," he commented stiffly. "Again."
Gallica tried to smile and pass it off lightly, although she could feel that something was deeply uneasy between them.
"Oh, let them have their song. It hardly paints Ulfric in a good light, and what harm can it do now?"
"Whenever anyone asks that question, I think the Divines take it as a challenge," Tullius growled in response, but wearily rather than angrily.
The song had annoyed him, obviously, but there something else on his mind. Gallica could see him working to compose himself, to hide whatever it was that was bothering him.
"I've missed you," she said, simply, laying her hand gently on his chest, a gesture of comfort and familiarity.
There was a brief flicker in his expression - a cringe? - but he managed a weak smile and placed his own hand over hers briefly before turning to move towards the sitting area next to the hearth.
"I would much rather have been here with you, I assure you, but it was unavoidable. We have a band of Stormcloak hold outs that are causing some trouble down in the Reach and the Penitus Oculatus is moving into high gear to ensure the Emperor's safety during his visit. And, of course, the proper missives about the outcome of the Moot needed to be sent out to the Imperial City and the Legion garrisons in Skyrim. It's been a busy day," he replied.
Gallica followed him, offering him a cup of wine as he lowered himself down into one of the chairs with a grunt. Tullius shook his head and Gallica replaced the bottle on the low table, settling down next to him.
Was it her imagination or was Tullius avoiding her gaze?
What is going on? she wondered, feeling the pressure of anxiety creeping up into her chest again.
"I understand. Today has been one meeting after another for me as well. Everyone needs something and they have to tell me about it right away. At this rate, I'll have my coronation speech finished about five years into my reign."
"Well, that's civilian government for you," Tullius replied with a huff, almost breaking into humor. "They don't understand the chain of command and you can't yell at them and send them back down the line like you can with soldiers; they get their feelings hurt."
"Falk will take care of most of it eventually, I suppose. For now, I'm just taking it as it comes, getting used to the idea," Gallica responded agreeably.
She had been looking forward to seeing Tullius all day, and it was strange to find him so distant and tense tonight. And stranger to find herself so uneasy in his presence when it was usually such a relief.
It's been a long day for both of us, she reminded herself. Then she remembered a piece a news that she thought he might find amusing and smiled.
"Oh, this should give you something to laugh about. Balgruuf proposed to me on behalf of his brother today. Can you believe that?"
But the statement had the opposite effect. Tullius' expression tightened a little more and his brooding gaze did not budge from the fire in the hearth.
"It's hardly surprising," he responded after a moment. "Balgruuf is more ambitious than he pretends to be. The Jarls are all jockeying for position in your court and what are younger brothers for if not for brokering advantageous marriages? Balgruuf might have been the first to suggest it, but I expect he won't be the last with an eligible relative."
If Tullius was unwilling to take a catty shot at Balgruuf, something really was wrong, Gallica thought, and she suddenly began to get a terrible premonition of what was on Tullius' mind. She forced herself to keep smiling, though she could feel her heart begin to pump faster in her chest.
"I suppose we should make the announcement about us, then. To save all those broken hearts," she observed, carefully. "Now that all of the impediments are out of the way."
She could hear the upturn of a question in her own statement, the request for reassurance that all was well. She waited as a silent moment stretched on for too long. Tullius glanced up at her, but there was no reassurance to be found in his face. His gaze returned to the fire as his hands tensed and formed fists on the armrests, while he seemed to carefully consider his response
"I'm not sure that would be wise, Gallica."
"Oh?" she responded, faintly, forcing the smile to remain despite the fact that she could feel the blood beginning to surge through her temples, the drum beat of her heart hastening in her veins. With anemic humor, she asked, "Getting cold feet? Isn't that supposed to be the bride's prerogative?"
"No, nothing like that," he assured her quickly and then drew in a deep slow breath. He seemed to decide something, as he spoke again. "Things are more complicated now than they were before. You have a country to rule. And, to be perfectly frank, Gallica, I would be a liability to you in that. You may want to consider other options."
No, Gallica thought, her mouth going dry as she felt her stomach lurch from surprise. No, no, not this again.
"I don't see how you could possibly be a liability," she began, her voice shaking a little, though she made an effort to remain calm. "There have been Imperial consorts in Skyrim before now. You've been basically running the province for the last two years. You're more qualified for the job than I am."
The General shook his head.
"You have to look at this as a political leader now, not as a free agent. Think about how it would look to the people. You have the Nord look to you and, yes, you're the Dragonborn, but you were born and raised in Cyrodiil. Everything about you, from the way you speak to the way you wear your hair and clothes labels you an Imperial noblewoman. For all intents and purposes, you are Imperial. And we've done too good a job painting you as a loyal legionnaire on top of that. You need all the credibility with the local people and the skeptical nobility that you can get. Marrying an Imperial general is only going to make you seem more foreign and removed from the common Nords of Skyrim. Besides, I'm almost universally resented among the natives in power here. The Jarls - with the exception of Brina Merilis, perhaps - would never stand for it."
"I don't think it's as bad as all that," Gallica protested, but Tullius sighed in exasperation.
"We just finished putting down a particularly bloody rebellion here. This province is still unstable and there are a lot of bad feelings towards the Empire left out there. If I married you and became your consort in ruling the country, can you think of anyone who wouldn't immediately be convinced that I was using you to continue running things from behind the throne? We can't afford for you to be seen as a weak Queen and these bull-headed Nords won't settle for anyone but a Nord on the throne right now. There might very well be another revolt, and that would be playing into the Thalmor's hands. This is about more than just our personal feelings now. You have to do what's best for Skyrim and the Empire. And as the Emperor's representative here, so do I."
"I can't believe I'm hearing this," Gallica murmured and stood, folding her arms tightly across her chest as she paced.
Is this some sort of punishment? she asked in her mind, not sure which Divine she was speaking to. Is this my comeuppance for killing Ulfric? Everything has a price?
She turned back to Tullius, trying to find something to say, but words failed her. Tullius continued to stare into the fire, completely still, calm, his face blank. She wanted to scream at him for that, for sitting there and calmly destroying what little bit of happiness she had been able to take hold of since the battle in Windhelm as if it meant so little, until she looked more closely at his face.
Gallica had developed the talent of obscuring her own emotions over the years when she had to. It was a necessity for a military officer. The soldiers under you had to believe completely that you were in charge and that you were in control of the situation. You could never show them fear or weakness or uncertainty, whatever you felt on the inside. And Tullius was a master of the art. Tonight, though, the General's mask had cracked just enough that she could see what was behind it and it filled her with anguish.
"What you're suggesting - you don't want it anymore than I do," she exclaimed. He looked up into her eyes then and she could see the truth of it in his pained expression.
"You're right. However, that's hardly the point," admitted Tullius, rising slowly to his feet. The dispassionate tone was gone now. This was hurting him as much as it hurt her, but he was trying to do what he thought was the right thing. "Gallica, it's not just that it would be a bad political match for you now, though that's reason enough. It would have been easier to shift you around before so that there were no conflicts of interest. That's routine in the Legion. Now, you're a head of state in the country that I'm assigned to as military governor and Legion commander. If we married, my loyalty to the Legion would always be suspect and the Elder Council would not tolerate that. The conflict of interest that might have existed is now magnified a hundredfold. Even if another general could be dispatched or if I could promote Rikke to take over my command, I would need the Emperor's permission and I don't believe he's likely to grant it under the circumstances."
"Then why did you talk me into accepting the Moot's nomination?" Gallica cried, feeling her features twist as frustration overwhelmed her at last.
"I gave you the room to make your own decision," he replied, firmly. "I stand by my decision to do so. You are the best chance this province has to normalize and reintegrate. We're soldiers. We've always known that individuals and their happiness sometimes have to be sacrificed for the good of many. The stability of the Empire, as much as it pains me to say it and as much as I wish I could change it, is one of those things worth preserving at our personal expense."
Gallica buried her face in her hands. This couldn't possibly be happening. She could feel the intense, all-consuming heartache of killing Ulfric, of coming to terms with her only brother's death and that of her mother's from grief over him, of receiving the news of her father's death all those years ago, of losing Tullius now so needlessly after they had been through so much, coming back to her like a dark cloud. She felt Tullius' hands on to her cheeks suddenly, twining into her hair, and heard the wrenching regret in his voice as he spoke to her.
"I'm sorry, Gallica. Divines know how much I care for you."
She threw her arms around him, pressing her face hard into his shoulder. A few tears had slipped out of the corners of her eyes and were sliding down her cheeks, but she didn't care.
"Don't do this," she told him. "You know what I've lost already. You know what I've been through to come back. I won't lose you as well."
He returned the embrace, his arms wrapping around her shoulders and back as he leaned his temple against hers.
"I've been trying to think of any way to make this work since the Moot's decision," he responded, stroking her hair. "I've come up with nothing, Gallica. Short of some illicit arrangement, but those have a tendency of coming out at the worst possible moment. I would be unworthy of you if I made you a mistress rather than a wife and put your reputation at risk."
After a few ragged, hopeless breaths, Gallica felt something hot and determined begin to rise up within her. Not again. Empires and High Queen and Dragonborns be damned. She would never sacrifice someone she loved to the all-devouring necessities of politics again.
"I don't care what the Jarls think," she replied, standing back a little and wiping the damp corners of her eyes as she gathered herself. Her voice hardened with resolve and she shook her head, frowning. "I don't care what anyone in Skyrim thinks. If they want me for their High Queen, they'll have to learn to live with you as my husband. I would rather abdicate than go through all of this without you. I'm tired of being pushed around like everyone's pawn instead of being the dragon I was meant to be."
"Gallica," he began, reproachfully, but she interrupted him. She felt her expression curl into an aggrieved scowl.
"I have lived my entire life for other people. I served the Empire and my family. I saved the world from Alduin. I helped you win the civil war and I killed Ulfric with my own hands. Even in the worst days afterward, when all I wanted to do was die, I fought for the Dawnguard and destroyed the vampires. I never wanted to rule anything, but I'll do it anyway because Skyrim needs me. Every hour of my life has been spent on duty to something or someone and that duty has taken everyone that I have ever loved from me. Except you. This far and no further. The world can bend to my will this once."
Tullius stared at her for a moment, surprised by the vehement outburst.
"The Emperor will still have the final say in the matter," he remarked doubtfully.
"I'll ask him myself," Gallica replied stoically, sounding braver to her own ears than she felt at the idea of facing down the Emperor for the first time and demanding a boon. She squared her shoulders, formidably, mentally preparing for it. "He'll be here in a week roughly. The way I see it, we're heroes. We deserve to be granted favor after winning a victory for the Empire and, who knows, the Emperor may prefer to keep me off of the throne anyway. Our marriage would give him a reason to accomplish that without losing face."
"I still think this is dangerous," Tullius protested, although his mind was working now, too. Gallica could see him considering. The tactician in him was rising back to the surface. He shook his head. "I don't think you should abdicate. You are needed here, whether you like it or not. I doubt, too, that the Emperor will be as tractable on the subject as you think."
In the end, however, he reached out to caress her cheek and Gallica saw the faintest hint of a smile on his lips, wistful and pained though it was.
"I have always told you that you were too important to give up without a fight."
"Put your gold where your mouth is," she shot back at him, but with wild relief in her heart. She was smiling. And after exhaling deeply, Tullius grunted his assent. He took her hand in his and covered it, nodding.
"Alright. We'll try it your way. If the Emperor approves of the plan, you can announce the marriage to the rabble afterwards and we'll see how things go," he relented. The corner of his mouth tipped up in a wry smile. "Never let it be said that I don't love you. If I end up as king consort of this gods-forsaken country, Rikke will never let me hear the end of it."
Gallica laughed in relief and kissed him. They settled back down before the fire, more tired than before. There was business that needed to be discussed. Gallica wanted to apprise Tullius of a few things that she had heard in the council, but it could wait. With their nerves jangled from the argument, what they needed was rest and the mutual assurance that they were united against a common front. Some of the Jarls might protest the match, but Gallica was already forming a plant to convince them. The Emperor would be the real hurdle and he was such a monolithic - almost deific - figure in her mind, who could say what he thought about anything?
We'll know in a week, she thought, trying to put it out of her mind so that she could take solace in the few moments that she and Tullius could steal together before he would have to leave. Titus Mede II was, by all accounts, an extraordinarily cunning man - as shrewd in politics as he was in war. When everything was fully explained, Gallica was certain that he would not prevent the marriage.
If he did?
We'll cross that bridge when it comes, Gallica told herself firmly and leaned her head on Tullius' shoulder, closing her eyes. Right now, just let me be a woman in love spending an evening with my betrothed.