"Well, you'll definitely need something more fashionable to wear than that," Elisif observed upon entering Gallica's study and striking a thoughtful pose, as if she were assessing the Dragonborn Queen as a statue or another piece of art.
The younger woman couldn't help smiling, though, and ruining the effect of her feigned seriousness. The former queen had agreed that morning to become Gallica's chancellor and it was plain that she was already enjoying the prospect of being a royal councillor without the bother of being royalty herself.
"Yes, I think a visit from the ladies at the Radiant Raiment is in order."
"What?" Gallica replied, confused, as she looked up from the reports she was muddling through. Her mind had been a jumble of letters of congratulations from various dignitaries, requests from the populace, and summaries of all of her various new holdings all morning, and she had no idea what Elisif was talking about. She looked down at her surcoat, breeches, and thick boots and back up at Elisif, mystified.
"For the Vici wedding. Your first public function, if I might remind you, so you will need to make a suitable impression."
"Oh, that," Gallica sighed, sitting back in her chair wearily.
Vittoria Vici was one of the many reasons for the Emperor's visit. She was his cousin, perhaps his nearest relation after his sons, and the woman's imperious heritage showed. She ran the East Empire Company offices in Skyrim with as much steely aplomb as her cousin ran the Empire and the fact that the Emperor had sailed all the way from the Imperial City to be present at her wedding was no small tribute to the power she held, though she seldom wielded it openly.
"I had almost forgotten about that."
Vittoria put on a public face of scorning her royal heritage and purported herself as a self-made businesswoman, but Gallica knew better. The marriage was evidence enough that she was more in step with her cousin's politics than she made herself appear. The groom was Asgeir Snow-Shod, a wealthy and well-connected Nord from Riften whose family had been major supporters of the Stormcloaks during the war and who continued to be influential among the subdued Ulfric supporters now. Gallica had no idea if the marriage was for love as well as politics, but it was clearly an advantageous arrangement for all parties concerned and it was already being looked on as a good first step in healing the breach between the fractured political factions of Skyrim.
"Also, a wedding present will have to be arranged. Something grand, as this is a marriage of state. Perhaps a title or land? The groom's family is wealthy, but not noble."
"That's a good point," Gallica replied, eyebrows lifting in surprise at the perspicacity of the suggestion. Elisif was naive about many things, but Gallica was learning that she did have an excellent grasp of social protocol. "I'll put you in charge of that. Find out if we have a vacancy he could fill. I assume he'll be relocating to Solitude. I doubt Vittoria will want to run her business from afar. As for the clothes, something simple, I beg you. I can't even remember the last time I wore a dress."
The new chancellor smiled. "I was thinking something tasteful and pragmatic. Martial. The Warrior Queen of Skyrim has an image to maintain. And we can't have you upstaging the bride."
Gallica grunted her assent, but she returned the smile. It was inevitable that the combination of her sex and former profession would become the traits that defined her beyond her Dragonblood. Though not unprecedented, it was something of a novelty among the roles of Skyrim's rulers. Women had commanded the armies of Skyrim before, but rarely had they wielded a blade and charged onto the battlefield themselves.
"You look too much the soldier anyway to be at home in a dress. I might as well put a frock on my housecarl. Besides," Elisif continued, "I can't imagine the Jagged Crown going well over frills and laces."
"Well, I won't be wearing it just yet, so this is your last opportunity to see me in frills," chuckled Gallica. The younger woman's face quirked, puzzled.
"Not wearing it? After all the trouble you went through to get it in the first place?"
"Not until the coronation. I intend to have the Emperor do the honors." Gallica glanced back down at her desk, shuffling aside some of the immensity of urgent parchment there. "I don't want there to be any confusion in the Emperor's mind or with my courtiers about where I stand on reunification. With the Thalmor lurking at our doorstep, we can't do without it. If I assure the Emperor that we will remain loyal allies now, it will make it easier to accomplish some of my other plans later."
"Which are?" Elisif asked, raising an eyebrow. The light-hearted conversation about clothes and wedding presents had gone suddenly serious, and Gallica could see her chancellor's mind working. Mentally weighing the reaction of the people and the Jarls against the possible benefits most likely.
Gallica fixed her with a pointed look as she gathered her thoughts for what she was about to confess. Should I trust you? she thought. She wanted to believe that Elisif would not betray her, but in the wake of her experience during the war, and under Tullius' tutelage, she knew that there was no one in the Palace who could be completely trusted. But Elisif had as much to lose in this case as Gallica did, and so she decided to step out onto the limb.
"I say this to you alone because of an errand you once asked me to run on Torygg's behalf," Gallica began, her gaze not budging from Elisif's. She saw the younger woman's face pale slightly, no doubt remembering her husband's hunting horn that she had discreetly asked Gallica to convey to a shrine of Talos shortly after their first meeting. "And I expect that it will go no further than this room."
Wordlessly, Elisif nodded, and Gallica exhaled and returned the gesture, acknowledging the tacit pact between them.
"I've done a great deal of thinking over the last several months about the Empire and the Thalmor. The Thalmor outlawed the worship of Talos as a way to drive a wedge between Cyrodiil and Skyrim, and very clever on their part. But it's more than that. The Empire has been slowly crumbling since the last Septim died. The last member of the bloodline of Tiber Septim is gone, and with him the Divine Pact of the Amulet of Kings. And now we cannot so much as speak the name of Talos without the Thalmor breathing down our necks."
"You think that the absence of Talos has something to do with our present troubles?" Elisif asked, frowning.
"I know it," Gallica replied, vehemently, her chair scraping across the stone floor as she rose.
Though she had learned to trust her instincts, she had never been one to go solely off of intuition. Still, the more she thought on it, the more she could feel it in her bones that her suspicions were correct. Tiber Septim had been the embodiment of the Empire, his bloodline the tangible pact between the gods and men. Without Tiber Septim - without Talos - how could the Empire of men hope to survive?
She considered her next words carefully. "The Thalmor have abducted and tortured enough people in this country. This will not continue. Not while I'm in charge here."
"But the White-Gold Concordat," Elisif protested, now quite vexed. "What can you possibly do to prevent it?"
"I've been reviewing the terms of the Concordat," Gallica replied, smiling now, as she picked up a handful of parchment sheets from her desk, holding them up. "The terms are rather vague, in fact. The treaty guarantees the Thalmor the right to conduct their inquisitions and travel freely through Skyrim. What it does not specify or guarantee is an exact mechanism for accomplishing this."
"You can't mean . . ." Elisif began incredulously, and then stepped closer, lowering her voice earnestly. "You know what the Thalmor do to people. If you stand in their way, you know they'll be after you next."
"But I'm a loyal Imperial citizen. I would never do anything to contradict the Emperor's decisions," Gallica replied, sweetly. An affectation that she had picked up recently from Elisif, she realized. Her expression went serious again as she continued her line of thought. "They're already after me, Elisif. They just haven't made their opening sally yet. They will stop at nothing to cripple the Empire. If I can return some sense of order, they'll do whatever they can to see that I'm discredited or destroyed. We need Talos to prevail. We need all the help we can get. I can't publicly oppose the Thalmor until our troop strength has recovered and the Empire is in a position to do so, but I can slow them with bureaucracy and see that the worship of Talos is protected in secret. And I can assure the Emperor of my dedication now, so that he will trust me when the time comes."
Elisif's blue eyes studied Gallica for a moment, her eyebrows high in a surprised expression - or was that doubt? - and then she nodded.
"Alright. What's our plan?"
"One thing at a time," Gallica replied, wanely. "Word came in from the north coast this morning. The Katariah will arrive in port tomorrow with the Emperor onboard. Everything hangs on the Emperor's word. Everything."
~~0~~
A stiff sea breeze howled through the stone streets of Solitude, flapping and snapping the multitude of banners and pennants draped from every conceivable surface. The sky overhead throbbed with the bright sapphire blue of a chilly spring day in northern Skyrim, without a cloud to be seen. Gallica felt the tug of the wind at her cloak, the lashing of tendrils of hair that had escaped from her great dragonbone helm as she waited on horseback, surveying the busy harbor of Solitude, the white-capped inlet of the Karth River, and the rolling Sea of Ghosts beyond. Today was the day of reckoning. She fought hard to keep her attention focused and her heart from leaping up through her throat and fluttering away.
The Katariah was a masterpiece of a ship. Every line perfect, every timber smooth and well-tended, it gleamed in the midday sun like a collector's replica. From her perch on the headland, though, Gallica could still see the long Imperial banner, the Emperor's crest in dark crimson and bright gold, streaming from the prow. The Emperor, Gallica thought, feeling her horse shift lazily under her, her eyes lighting on the train of soldiers and riders processing slowly up the winding path from the sea. She could just make out the figure riding at the front, robes of deepest purple visible among the glinting, mirror-polished armor of his guard.
"It's not the old man himself," Tullius remarked, his voice low, from where he sat astride his own dappled grey steed beside her.
Gallica looked at him, puzzled, and saw his mouth tip upwards in a tense smile. If he was nervous himself, he did not show it. Much. But, then, Gallica reflected, he had met the Emperor before and she had never dreamed of doing so.
"A body double, for security reasons. The real Emperor will take a different path. Still, we have a bit of a show to put on. For the watching eyes."
For an instant, Gallica was disappointed, but she recognized the wisdom of the plan. Skyrim was still troubled. It would be foolish for the Emperor to risk his life so casually until he was certain it was safe.
More details resolved themselves as the train approached. The "Emperor" rode on a pure white horse, no doubt of the finest breeding stock that Cyrodiil could produce, its breast strap studded with gold and bearing an ornate stamp of the Imperial Dragon at the chest. He was an old man, though not decayed into fragility quite yet, and what remained of his hair was silver. His face was lined and sun-browned, the hawkish Imperial features prominent.
This is not the real Emperor, Gallica told herself, but she found herself swallowing nervously anyway. If this man was a fraction as imposing as the real thing . . .
The Imperial train stopped at the apex of the harbor road, waiting, as a silence fell over the crowd. A seahawk keened overhead, and Gallica urged her mount forward, hearing the squeak of saddle leathers and the clack of hooves as Tullius did the same. She paused perhaps five feet from the Emperor's party, and raised her fist in a salutary gesture she had seen Balgruuf and other Nords use on formal occasions.
Don't mess this up, she told herself, forcing her eyes to maintain contact with the Emperor's double.
"As High Queen and Jarl of this city, I welcome you to Solitude and to Skyrim, Titus Mede, Emperor of All Tamriel. All hail the Empire! All hail the Emperor!" She called out, pitching her voice so that it echoed across the Emperor's guard, her own, and the crowd gathered behind her.
To her great relief, the chorus was immediately taken up by the crowd, hundreds of voices ringing out over the steep sea-cliffs. Gallica pressed her fist to her chest, waiting with trepidation, sensing that Tullius repeated the gesture as well next to her. The Emperor impersonator smiled, edging his pale horse forward a few more feet.
"We are pleased to make your acquaintance at last, Queen Gallica. We have heard much of you over this last year," he replied, his voice melodious, cultured. His gaze flicked to Tullius, smile broadening. "And it is good to see you again, General Tullius. We trust that everything is sufficiently in hand?"
"It is, Your Majesty," Tullius replied, nodding. His expression had returned to its stoic set, all soldier once more.
"Excellent. Shall we, then?"
Gallica turned her horse, as did Tullius, so that she would ride at the Emperor's right side and Tullius at his left. At a single nod from Tullius, an officer bellowed a command at the waiting honor guard, who clapped their fists against their segmented cuirass with a sharp clash and rattle of steel plates, every man and woman saluting Emperor and Queen as they passed. Gallica could see the forward rank of soldiers well, their faces fairly glowing with devotion and pride as they observed the Dragon of the North, arrayed in all her fearsome finery, and the Dragon of the South, clad in Imperial purple and gold, riding side by side for the first time before their very eyes.
An event that they will one day tell their children about, Gallica realized, feeling instantly humbled by the immensity of the events that were unfolding around her. Her horse plodded onward as the sound of drums began behind her, the cheers of the crowds that lined the road towards the city gates just starting to rise on the wind as they welcomed the Emperor's triumphant arrival. In the future, what will be said of this moment? Will it be the end of the war or the prelude to another one?
The parade went by as little more than a blur of colors, faces, and noise for Gallica. It was the first time she had publically presented herself to the people of Solitude, and it was her name on their lips as much as it was the Emperor's. What his representative made of that, she did not know, but was certain that she would soon find out. No doubt the man was a highly trained operative and would recount details that even she had missed to his master later.
Once the Emperor impersonator and his men were safely within the fortified walls of Castle Dour and dismounted in front of the entrance to the Emperor's Tower, the secure suite of rooms that was kept always at the ready for an Imperial visit, the body double turned to her and nodded.
"We have much to discuss, you and I," the man said, his benevolent smile undiminished. "If the welcome I have received this morning is any indication, I look forward to a most productive visit to Skyrim. Most productive, indeed."
Gallica nodded, bowing slightly, as the Emperor's body double swept into the tower and disappeared. Though he was not the Emperor himself, the man spoke with the authority of the Emperor, and that was no small thing. As she turned, she found Tullius waiting among the throng of men and horses that were dispersing into the fortress. She didn't have to ask what was on his mind, because the same subject was on hers. A few hours or a day, and they would know the Emperor's opinion of their marriage, as well as many other things that would change their lives. Now that the moment was almost upon them, the wait seemed almost too long to bear.
"That went as smoothly as could be expected," the general remarked. His expression eased slightly as he made eye contact with her, and he smiled. "For now, I have a meeting with Commander Maro of the Penitus Oculatus to go over the final security details for the Emperor's visit. Since you're here, you may wish to be present as well. You will need to be kept abreast of the preparations and it will save the courier the trouble of delivering yet another report."
"That sounds like a plan," she replied, returning the smile at the reference to the stacks of unread reports on her desk, and allowed him to escort her into the keep.
The sight of the war room and the ever present Legate Adventus brought back a flood of conflicting memories, some good and some bittersweet. It was here that she had first met Tullius properly - beyond the chaos and destruction of Helgen - while she was seeking information about her brother and the location of his remains. She had refused his offer to re-enlist then, but less than half a year later - after Alduin, after her break with Ulfric - she had stood in this room again and asked for the second chance that had changed the course of the entire war. It was here, too, she realized, that she had begun to fall in love with Tullius, though she had refused to admit it. Her old life. Her old self. No so far removed from who she was now, but still irrevocably different.
Gallica smiled at Legate Adventus and refused to let him bow to her, clasping his arm hardily like the friend he was. Then she turned her attention to the solemn Imperial officer sporting the Penitus Oculatus symbol who was waiting nearby. Commander Maro was of middle height and stocky in build. His dark hair and carefully groomed goatee bore streaks of grey, his long Imperial face was weather-beaten, and he had an exacting, careworn set to his features. He looked like a man who kept his own counsel and did his job with precision, because he knew that lives literally depended on it. He nodded to her respectfully, and then to General Tullius who had entered the room behind her.
"Any reports from your agents concerning the parade this morning? Any problems along the way?" Tullius asked, jumping straight to the point. The Commander shook his head.
"No, sir. Just a few unrelated scuffles in the crowd. Nothing of threat to the Emperor. It's the other Holds I would be concerned about."
"Windhelm and Dawnstar I already know about. What's being done to shore up defenses and route out possible plots?"
Maro straightened slightly, as he considered his answer. Gallica watched him closely, curiously, noting how little in the man's expression changed. He was not like Tullius whose stern public face was carefully constructed to provoke a response. The somberness in Commander Maro's face was innate, a feature of the man himself rather than a professional affectation.
"Guard strength in the holds is being steadily increased. My officers are supplementing the standing watch from their own ranks and from the Legion. Individuals with known ties to the Stormcloaks are being carefully observed and detained as necessary. We have eyes in all the most important places. CaptainMaro will be making the final tour of the Hold capitols shortly in preparation for the Emperor's grand tour to assure that everything is as it should be."
"Your son?" Tullius asked, an eyebrow raising. The ghost of a smile graced Maro's face.
"There is no one more reliable that I could entrust this job to, sir," the commander responded. Gallica's gaze moved back to Tullius. He did not look pleased, his jaw working in an unconscious gesture that she knew meant he was considering something carefully.
"Hm. Well, I leave Penitus Oculatus business to your discretion, Commander. That is your arena, after all," he responded finally, in a tone that indicated he wished it were otherwise.
Gallica knew as well as any other legionnaire that there had always been tension between the Imperial guard and the rest of the Legion. Tullius technically outranked Maro in all respects except where the Emperor's personal security was concerned, and she knew that this irked him more than a little. He was not the type of man who could easily pass over what he saw as another's error, and Gallica had to smile a little to herself. He would be the terror of the court when they were married, of that she was certain.
The remainder of the meeting was concluded in short order. Gallica had to admire Commander Maro a little. Despite Tullius' growling, his affect never changed. He answered questions as reasonably as he could, and he seemed confident despite his taciturnity. As far as she was concerned, the Emperor was in good hands and that was a relief. The last thing she needed was another violent incident just when everything seemed headed for resolution.
As Tullius was escorting her back out into the bailey, a page bearing an Imperial badge on his cloak approached with a message in hand. Gallica waited as the General took it, flicked open the seal, and read. The message must have been a short one, for his eyes followed a few lines and his face went grave. He folded the note quickly and tucked it into the pouch at his belt.
"Bad news?" Gallica asked, too curious now to stop herself.
"Not exactly," Tullius responded. The lines on his face deepened as his brow furrowed. His dark eyes turned to meet hers and they were deadly serious, as if willing her to take his meaning. "Tonight."
For a moment, Gallica was confused, but then it dawned on her and she felt her stomach knot instantly. The Emperor had sent for them.She gathered her breath again.
"Where?"
"I'll send a guard to escort you. Wear nothing that will attract attention in the street. This is to be kept secret apparently."
Gallica nodded, her heart beginning to thump against the inside of her chest. Everything that matters rides on what I say only a few hours from now.Her eyes focused on the middle distance, lost in the many ideas and contingencies she had been preparing over the last week, mentally checking them off, until she felt the brush of fingertips along her arm. Tullius leaned closer, his voice lowering until she knew only she could hear it.
"You can't fight the battle until your opponent takes the field. Whatever happens tonight, don't torture yourself about it now."
She smiled without looking at him, and nodded. The pads of her fingers covertly found his with the briefest of reassuring pressures, before she glanced at the duet of soldiers she had elected as her personal guard detail for the afternoon, catching their attention, and moved away towards the northern gate of the keep.
I won't torture myself, she thought as she strode out between the great fortified doors and onto the Palace road. Because, whether the Emperor says yea or nay tonight, I will not lose. Skyrim may lose a Dragonborn High Queen, butIwill not lose another man I love. Not even to please the Emperor of Tamriel.
~~0~~
The night was dark, with barely a sliver of the moons visible overhead. Blue and green tendrils streaked the sky over the Sea of Ghosts, dancing and twining overhead as Gallica, dressed once again as a Legion officer, strode across the creaking docks towards the Katariah. The soldier who accompanied her was not familiar to her, but he had said little except to tell her the way. The sight of two soldiers making their way out of the city and down to the docks hardly stirred a notice from the city guard or the few citizens who were out late and still in their cups. When her guide turned onto the harbor road, Gallica knew immediately where they were bound.
The Katariah was even more impressive up close. It was almost breathtakingly large, a galleon fit for an Emperor, and though it was beautiful, she could see the many reinforced beams and plates on the hull. The ship was built to withstand almost any type of maritime attack. Clearly the pride of the Imperial Fleet. The Penitus Oculatus officers that guarded the gangplank approached her, but one glance at her face and at the soldier, who nodded to them silently, and they stood back. I'm expected, she thought, and felt an icy spike of sensation run up her spine, prickling the hairs on the back of her neck.
Was this a trick of some kind? It would be easy enough, away from anyone who might try to protect her, for the Emperor to have her seized and imprisoned if he indeed saw her as a threat rather than a possible ally. And Titus Mede II was nothing if not a clever strategist. No, she thought, forcing the paranoid fear away. She had given the Emperor no reason to see her as anything but loyal.
That means nothing, the cautious part of her mind replied. More men have been betrayed by their most loyal and trusted servants than you could count. It's always the familiar knife in the back that manages to cut the deepest.
Gallica shook her head slightly, to clear her thoughts. Whatever other concerns she might have, she believed in Tullius. He would never send her into unnecessary danger, she was sure, not even on the Emperor's word. She would trust him in this, because he had, twice, trusted her when she had given him every reason not to. And she would trust in the Emperor, because all was already lost if she could not.
A steward of some sort was waiting inside the forward cabin of the ship, and he stood smiling at Gallica as she stepped inside, performing a deep, courtly bow. The gold chain he wore draped at his shoulders clanked and glimmered in the lantern light.
"Your Majesty," the man said. His gaze dropped to the wasp-waisted Legion blade at her belt, and he smiled gently. "Forgive the imposition, but if I might request that you leave your weapon with your escort."
The soldier who had accompanied her from the palace to the docks stepped forward. Gallica hesitated, studying the man's face under his helm. It betrayed nothing, and so she drew the blade and held it out to him. By now, the Emperor had to know that, even unarmed, her Voice was deadly in itself. The loss of the sword was a tactician's tool, a means of reinforcing to her that she had left her own domain and entered his. The soldier took it with a wordless nod of acknowledgement, and stepped back toward the door.
"Procedure, I'm afraid," the steward explained, apologetically. "If you will follow me."
Gallica did so without comment, winding what seemed like a serpentine path through the ship, passing through rooms as richly finished as any in the Imperial City. Her hand clenched at her side, fighting the habitual urge to reach reassuringly for a sword that was not there. Where was Tullius? He had implied that he would be here as well, but there was no sign of him.
All is well, she told herself, repeating it like a mantra, though her chest constricted with growing apprehension. All will be well.
Finally, they reached what seemed to be a small antechamber of some kind. Two guards stood on either side of a door that was ornately carved and, Gallica noticed, reinforced with iron studs that were too thick to be merely decorative. The steward stepped towards the guard on the right, leaning forward to murmur something. The question, whatever it was, was answered with a shake of the head, and the steward turned back, his pleasant smile unwavered.
"If you will pardon me a moment, your Majesty. I will inform His Imperial Majesty that you have arrived."
The steward knocked and disappeared into the room beyond for a moment. Gallica had a brief glimpse of a well-illuminated wood-paneled room before the door shut again. Dead silence descended on the antechamber for what felt like an age. Presently, the door opened again and the steward emerged, followed by the more robust, familiar frame of General Tullius.
Gallica's hope flared briefly, a smile starting and then dying on her lips as her eyes took in his expression properly. Tullius' face bore its usual stony appearance, lips set in a hard line, aquiline features stolid, thoughtful, and impassive. But his eyes, as they lit on her told a different story, one that made Gallica's heart drop into her stomach. General Tullius, Legion commander of a life-time of service who barely blinked in the face of dragons or armies, was afraid.
"His Imperial Majesty is ready for you," the steward told her, stepping aside to hold open the door with a gracious bow of respect. Gallica's eyes did not move from Tullius'.
What is waiting for me in there? she asked him mentally, as if he could read her thoughts, knowing that he could not.
The general nodded to her, without a word, and stepped away, taking up a position near the wall. Her eyes followed him, desperate to see any any sign, any warning as to what she was to expect, but there was none. If thisisbetrayal,she thought, resigning herself to the thought, then it is absolute. And there is nothing now that can be done about it. May as well face it bravely.
Turning, straightening, she gazed through the open door and walked the three steps into the room beyond.
She found herself in a spacious cabin, decorate in rich, warm-colored woods and intricately carved and polished furniture. Shelves of books lined the walls, and she could see closed doors that no doubt led off to more private rooms. The entire back wall of the cabin was taken up by a series of broad windows of finest glass that must have spanned almost the entire stern of the ship. Wrought iron and lead reinforcements traced an organic pattern of curves and lattices along the panes. Before the windows, though, and where her attention immediately riveted was an elegantly-constructed desk, covered with papers, a few bound tomes, and implements of writing and composition. Standing slightly behind the ornate desk, looking out through the night-blackened panes at the dark, glittering swells beyond, was a man.
He was tall for being of Imperial stock, lean, with a straight and disciplined posture that spoke of military background. The hands, clasped at the small of his back, were large and just beginning to knot slightly with age at the knuckles. When he had been younger, no doubt they had possessed a swordsman's grip. Gallica could see the glimmer of the gold signet ring of the Empire on his left hand from where she stood. His hair was more white than steel, but neatly clipped and carefully groomed. The deep purple robe he wore, clasped around the waist with a red sash, was of a deceptively simple cut, though the fabric glimmered with subtle threads of gold as he turned to look at her.
The face of the man in front of her resembled that of the body double she had encountered earlier in the day so closely that, for an instant, Gallica wondered if this were the same person - a trick of some kind. But when her eyes met the pair of blue eyes, the color of the sky on a stormy day, watching her - not staring, not glaring, just observing her - she knew deep in her bones that this was no decoy. Those were the eyes of a man who had looked out over a hundred battlefields and seen other men and women bleed and die in his name, who had taken in the vicious intrigues of the Imperial court and not only survived them, but turned them back ten-fold. Those were the eyes of a man who had tested his steel against the Thalmor and uncountable other foes, both foreign and at home, and come through victorious. The Emperor of Tamriel, standing before her in the flesh, without ruse or disguise.
Gallica immediately dropped to one knee, as best she could in her segmented armor, clasping her fist to her chest. She had run so many scenarios, so many intentions through her mind for this moment. But she found, in the end, it was the legionnaire in her that took over by instinct.
"Does the High Queen of Skyrim kneel so easily?" the Emperor asked, his tone even and unemotional. It was impossible to tell whether he was pleased or displeased. But, to Gallica, it hardly mattered. It was the gesture that a lifetime of training required of her.
"I was an officer of the Legion before I was High Queen, Your Majesty. And I am not properly a Queen yet," she replied, dry mouthed.
It seemed to be the right answer. She heard the subtle shift of fabric and the floorboards in front of her.
"Rise," the Emperor instructed her, briefly. Gallica did as she was bid, turning her gaze back up to meet his. His inscrutable expression had not changed, though he had turned to face her directly. He regarded her for a moment longer before continuing. "You held the rank of legate before your unexpected elevation, did you not?"
"I did, Your Majesty."
"And how do you find this new position of yours?"
Gallica could not help but crack a wry smile. "Truthfully, Your Majesty, I wish that I had the old one back. I'm more skilled with a sword than I am with a pen."
The corners of the Emperor's mouth turned upwards slightly, but whether in humor or condescension Gallica could not tell.
"It is the duty of the soldier to wield the sword on the ruler's behalf. It is the duty of the ruler to ensure that the soldier does not have to do so frivolously and often, and that is a far more difficult task. Do you believe that you are up to the challenge?"
"If I can do the work of a hundred swords with a single pen, Your Majesty, then I will learn to use the pen."
A genuine smile - faint, but real - appeared on the heavily lined face of Titus Mede. "You speak with your grandfather's voice, I see. How interesting, after all these long years, to find Gallicus' legacy on the throne of Skyrim."
Before Gallica could try to determine how to answer, the Emperor moved on. He indicated a chair sitting before the desk as he moved to his own behind it. Wordlessly, Gallica complied, carefully waiting until he was seated before taking her own.
"I have been following your progress this last year," he continued. "You are accomplished for your age. I confess little surprise that the Jarls of Skyrim would prefer you to Elisif the Fair. It was my impression and the impression of others that you lacked the desire for such a position, however."
"Difficult times call for difficult decisions," Gallica replied, carefully forming her words. She felt like a school girl again, but undertaking an oral exam where the stakes were much higher than a failing grade or an instructor's sharp reprimand. "Duty summoned me to defeat the dragon Alduin. If duty summons me also to the throne, regardless of my personal desires, I would be remiss to refuse." And then, because she felt that it would not do to let the conversation become too one sided, she added, "I had hoped, Your Majesty, that you would agree to perform the official coronation while you are in Solitude."
A raise of an eyebrow from Mede, but what did it convey? The man in front of her was more opaque than Tullius could ever hope to be.
"And I had always thought the Nords of Skyrim to be a rather belligerently independent people. You would not prefer, then, to do as all your predecessors have done and reaffirm Skyrim's self-reliance and right to home-rule at this critical juncture?"
"With respect, Skyrim has already demonstrated its independence by choosing me rather than the original candidate supported by the Empire," she pointed out, amazed at her own daring. The Emperor of Tamriel smiled at that, and Gallica felt a portion of the immense pressure that had been building up inside of her release slightly. "I want the people of Skyrim to know that we are and will always be the strong arm of the Empire, in good times and in bad. And that their Emperor values them as such."
A thoughtful silence descended over the Imperial study. Gallica became briefly aware of the subtle sway of the ship for the first time since entering the craft as the man before her seemed to consider her, taking her measure, weighing her statement, determining her sincerity. His intelligent blue eyes, sharp as the blue steel Eorland Greymane produced at the Skyforge in Whiterun, seemed to dissect her - to reduce her to her component parts in order to reveal whatever faults and flaws lay inside. He stroked the wiry silver strands of his beard and leaned back in his chair slightly.
"I see no reason to prevent your succession," he told her at last, his tone more casual than before. "So, I will crown you High Queen with my blessing, if that is your wish. If you have the mettle to retain that title and your life, then you may be of use to me. We will speak more on that later."
He shifted, regarding her more shrewdly.
"Your prowess as a soldier cannot be denied, nor the worth of your particular gifts. You have your grandfather's tactical mind and intellect, as General Tullius attests. You have the admirable desire to protect your people and treat them with generosity, which I encourage in my vassal lords. But none of these things will save you, Gallica, when the wolves come prowling to your door in the lean years and the people you trust most plot in the corners to throw you into their jaws. Your immediate predecessor Torygg never learned that lesson to his great disadvantage. You must be willing to exterminate the wolves first. There is a ruthlessness - a heartlessness - inherent in the ability to wield power effectively and live to tell about it. And I do not see that in you. Not yet. Though," he chuckled," there is still time."
The words cut her like a razor and Gallica stared back at him, a myriad of thoughts welling up in her mind like blood from a wound. A part of her was appalled to be hearing this from the mouth of the Emperor, who she herself had sworn to protect and serve - the man that had been held up to her since childhood as the epitome of justice and honorable authority. At the same time, she knew he was right. She had seen it often enough in the military, and had occasionally been forced to carry out such unsavory tasks herself. There were circumstances in which there could be no mercy, in which decisions had to be made and executed quickly and without regard to the individuals they might hurt.
And he was right about her. I am not ruthless, Gallica thought,as her mind flitted back quickly over the decisions she had made over the last year. She never performed a ruthless act by choice. Even in killing Ulfric, she had bent to compassion and a sense of honor rather than expediency. It was a trait instilled in her early on, her father's influence - the Nord warrior who valued honor as much as might and who would hold true and loyal through blood and steel to the very end. It had ultimately killed her father, holding the line for a commander who had sacrificed him and his men because it was necessary to do so for the overall victory. She had never thought of it as a flaw before now, and it chilled her.
"But, I sense that you have more to say," the Emperor continued, as if he had not just wounded her. Gallica drew in a breath and pulled her mind back from the spiral his comments had provoked. She cleared her throat softly.
"There was one other matter, Your Majesty, which I feel I must bring up now before anything else. It concerns marriage."
The Emperor's level brow rose with detached amusement.
"You do not require my permission to marry, Gallica. Though, I admit that I am intrigued to hear who the lucky bridegroom may be."
"I may not require your permission, though you are wiser than I am in statecraft and I would like to know that you approve of my choice all the same, but the man I have chosen to marry does require it."
At this, the Emperor sat up straighter, leaning forward, alert. He regarded her with increased interest and, though his expression remained calm, there was the faintest hint that she had said something unexpected and caught him off guard. It surprised her more than anything else that had happened so far.
"Well, now you do have my attention. And the name of this man?" Mede asked, slowly. "I can't imagine that you may have made the acquaintance of my sons somehow without my knowledge, though the prospect of returning a Dragonblood heir to the throne one day does give one pause for thought."
"No," Gallica replied and took a deep breath before pressing onward to the point. "Before my nomination to the throne, General Tullius had proposed marriage to me and I had accepted. We had planned to announce the engagement after the Moot, but, as you see, unforeseeable circumstances have complicated things. I understand that, by marrying me, he would have to leave his post as commander of the Legion forces in Skyrim. And he would need your permission to do so and assign a replacement. I ask you now to grant his request so that he might join me as consort in my reign."
For an instant, the Emperor's expression did not change and then his smile faded, his brow knitting into seriousness.
"You realize, of course, that this is likely to provoke the supporters of the dead usurper," he replied, his tone measured and to the point, "at a time of great uncertainty and upheaval when you are trying to promote reconciliation. And that it may undo all of the work that you and many other people have spent the better part of the last year fighting for. You risk making a great deal of sacrifices in vain."
He did not give her time to reply before continuing, his frown increasing.
"That match is now far below your station, besides. Tullius' family does have connections on my council, but he is a second son with modest land and resources aside from what he has earned himself through his service. And his family's political fortunes have been steadily decaying for years. He will bring little to a marriage aside from his military acumen, which I do not deny is considerable, but which he would lend to you anyway as an advisor. And better so. If you feel the need to marry soon, you would do better to choose someone who will not destroy your previous efforts at peace and who has something valuable to bring to the arrangement."
Gallica felt her scalp prickle with anxiety. She did not want Tullius' prediction to be true, because it meant that her troubles were just beginning if that was the case. But, she had set herself on a course of action and she would not falter now. It was the right thing to do. The only thing she was willing to do. And even the man who ruled Tamriel would not stay her from it.
"I am sensible of the problems that this may cause. We have discussed the potential risks already," Gallica replied, gathering her composure. "I will have enemies regardless of anything I do, Your Majesty. There is no decision I can make that will please the fanatically separatist elements that still exist in Skyrim. I will deal with them as they arise, and I have some thoughts already on how to quell any outrage over this marriage. However, if you will forgive me, Your Majesty, there is an error in your assessment of General Tullius' worth."
The Emperor's expression did not budge even a fraction. He waited as Gallica drew in a breath.
"He has one quality that no other man living possesses and that is my implicit and unwavering trust. I have enemies enough without inviting a potential foe into my bed. And, should tragedy befall me, I am confident in Tullius' ability to hold the reins of power steady without me, as he may have to do one day. But more than that, I gave him my word - and there is no power in Aetherius or in Nirn that will induce me to break it."
The words rolled out of Gallica's mouth with more vehemence than even she had realized was boiling within her. She stared, fascinated and almost horrified with her own daring, her eyes locked with the Emperor's. His face, already set into lines of concentration, bordering on displeasure, might as well have been made of stone.
"And you believe that your word to General Tullius - and this . . . dalliance . . . between you - is important enough to risk the stability of myEmpire," he replied. There was a rising coldness, a bite as sharp as any icy wind, in his tone that sent a shiver down Gallica's spine. But she had staked her ground now. There was no going back.
"I can't presume to know what is best for the Empire, Your Majesty. If you believe the risk is too great - if you doubt my ability to rule, a part of which will be to deal with this potential source of conflict - then I will abdicate voluntarily and wed General Tullius as nothing more than what I was when I agreed to do so and with no ill will. My interests are for the good of Skyrim and the good of the Empire. And even my best intentions to serve you and the country would come to nothing if my given word means nothing."
There was a long, excruciating moment of silence as the Emperor's eyes bored into Gallica like awls of diamond. She watched as the creases in his brow and around his nose deepened in anger.
"Steward," he rapped out sharply, raising his voice enough to be heard without removing his glare from Gallica. Her heart seemed caught in her throat, but she did not break the stalemate, knowing instinctively that to do so would be to lose in some way. The door opened behind her, though she could not see it. "Send Tullius in."
Steel reinforced boots thumped on the floorboards behind her and Gallica heard the familiar shuffle and creak of Tullius in his armor, felt his presence there at her back without turning to look. She could almost feel the concern radiating off of him, though she knew him too well by now to imagine that it showed in his face to anyone but someone who knew him well. The Emperor glanced over her shoulder, his eyes narrowing in an expression that would probably have made lesser men tremble. For herself, Gallica remained as still as a statue, her eyes fixed resolutely on the Emperor, studying the small movements of muscles in his cheeks and jaw, the hard set of his eyes. The moment that would define her future, and the future of much of Skyrim and possibly even Tamriel itself, was at hand. She did not want to misremember it later.
"The High Queen informs me that you and she are betrothed, General. Is this correct?" the Emperor barked, as authoritatively as any rank sergeant preparing to deliver a dressing down.
There was a brief hesitation and Gallica could almost hear Tullius' breathing stop. But, something else was afoot, she could feel it. Her mind honed in on the Emperor, as her eyes and ears were giving her conflicting signals and she could not determine what exactly in the man's reaction struck her as discordant. She prevented herself from leaning forward, but her senses strained outward anyway, as keenly as if she were sighting down an arrow at target.
"It is, sir," she heard Tullius say. His voice was clipped and formal, but grave. He already knew what was about to be said. Or thought he did.
"And you, my chief commander over all of my forces in Skyrim, see fit to allow this foolishness to continue, do you? No doubt for your own ambition."
"I do, sir," Tullius replied, "but not from ambition. I have counseled the Queen of the risks to the best of my ability and I defer to her decision. I will accept the outcome regardless of what choice is made and I will be pleased to honor the betrothal - if she wishes - whether she is Queen, soldier, or civilian after we leave here tonight."
The Emperor scowled deeply, even as Gallica felt a warmth suffuse her chest, bolstering her resolve.
"And if I ordered you to be the sensible one and put an end to this now, since it is obvious that she will not?"
For an instant, even the lapping, rolling sound of the sea beyond the windows seemed to cease. It was an angle that Gallica had not considered, the one thing that she knew without a doubt Tullius would not be able to refuse, and she felt a lance of deep pain strike her. It could not have all been for naught. It was not supposed to end this way.
"Then you would leave me with a difficult choice, Your Majesty," Tullius replied, soberly.
The Emperor leveled a hard glare over at her shoulder at Tullius for a moment longer before turning his gaze back to Gallica. There was a different quality in the expression now, no less severe, but almost grudging. His lip twisted slightly, as if considering something, before he spoke.
"Your Legate here is made of iron and brandy, Tullius. I can well believe that she has dragon blood in her," he growled and Gallica braced herself for the "but". The Emperor of Tamriel leaned forward in his chair and, extraordinarily, he smiled. "If she turns out to be even half as loyal to me as she is to you, then I believe I can leave this province in safe hands. Permission granted. Do not disappoint me."