Back on Mundus...
The room was silent, to the point where one could hear a pin drop. The first thing to break the silence was not speech, but movement, as the Imperial steward dropped to one knee, followed by the Housecarl, and the guards. Soon, Guenevere was standing alone, facing the seated Jarl, who had his head in one hand.
"I woke up this morning, thinking the worst I'd have to deal with was Redguard acting suspicious at the gates and a few overzealous farmers complaining about the cold. Now, not only has a dragon burnt down Helgen, but we are attacked by a different dragon, which is killed by none other than the suddenly appearing Dragonborn of Legends and the secret heir to the throne for over 200 years... where to begin?"
"Maybe begin with the fact that I'm not the best choice for the throne. Look at me. We're not long past the Great War, and I am mostly Altmer for the first. The second, I apparently have a job to do here. 'Secret Heir' or not, the dragons are the greater issue. Plus, me taking the throne would make the current civil war situation worse, even if I was to tear up the White-Gold Concordant. And third, I am not here to cause a war of succession. I am not the best fit for the throne, and I do not want it." Gwen's entire posture was strained. She didn't want this. She didn't need this. She had only said what she had to in order to be taken seriously. The Jarl looked up, breathing a deep sigh.
"I do not like to say it, but people are going to compare you to Talos. You have been called to High Hrothgar by the Greybeards as he once was. I shall ensure your secret does not leave these walls, but others will not be so careful. You will be found before long. Titus Mede is old. He has no children, no heirs. You are not going to have much choice, I fear, about taking the throne." The declaration was met with a sigh, as the Amulet was hidden below clothing once more.
"What will come will come, but for now, I have work to do. How do I get to this High Hrothgar?"
Not long afterwards, she was finally free of the uncomfortable situation, and, after a stop at the Meadery to look for information on how it had started so quickly, on a carriage to Riften. She needed to report back on her job after all, and tell the Guild... something. That she would be away for a while, obviously. Mercer wouldn't be happy, but fuck him, dragons attacking Skyrim were just a bit more important. She could do a couple jobs while she got everything together for a journey, the carriages didn't go to Ivarstead after all, but they would have to be in Riften. Or, she supposed, Ivarstead itself.
Returning to Black-Briar was a chore unto itself, which had raised more questions than she felt comfortable answering, though she managed to mostly deflect them. It was then she decided that she would talk to the Guild in the morning. They deserved to know part of the story after all, but only once she had slept. She needed to thing on how to phrase her story without giving away too much.