Mortal (Book 3)

Chapter 17

The Jarls remain in Solitude for another week, deliberating the alliances that have been offered to us. After exhausting days of arguing, decisions are slowly made. Many people oppose an alliance with Morrowind, but I refuse to budge on that. However, no one seems to be against accepting High Rock as an ally, to which I'm deeply opposed. Ulfric and I have decided not to let the Jarls in on any long term plans with High Rock, though they'll have to find out one way or another. In the end, we decide to accept all of them. Despite anyone's opinion on one province or another, we need all the allies we can get. I'm drained by all of the days of arguing and deliberating, and I just want all the Jarls to leave. Finally, two weeks after my coronation they all return to their own holds. Just as I think I have time to relax and spend time with my daughters again, there are plenty more decisions to be made. I need a steward, a housecarl, and a court wizard. I also have a wedding to plan, and after I'm done planning that, a war. Thankfully, Sofie and Lucia seem content with just my constant presence and entertain each other well enough.
As far as stewards go, Falk Firebeard, Elisif's steward, would've been my first choice. He was her husband's steward before her and his father's before him, so he knows the hold and the throne better than anyone. However, Elisif's murder was just too much for him, that much was obvious. With his agreement, Ulfric and I have planned to let him go quietly into retirement. Retirement, as we call it, sounds a lot more like hiding. The Thalmor could find a reason to come for him any day, and we won't take any chances.
As for Elisif's housecarl, he died with her and the guard party. Her court wizard mysteriously disappeared from the Blue Palace shortly before the Moot began. While it seems blatantly suspicious, we decide it's not worth investigation. However, a court wizard seems like the easiest place to start.

Dear Marcurio,

How have you been, old friend? It's been too long. While I'm certain you've heard more than enough of my recent endeavors, I'd love to hear more about yours. I write this letter to the College assuming you're still there, but the realization that I have no inclination of where you might be pains me.
Most of the time when the Moot elects as High Ruler of Skyrim, they elect someone who is already a Jarl and already has their own court wizard. This puts me in a difficult place. Obviously, the only thing to do is to extend my invitation as High Queen of Skyrim to be my court wizard. You and your wife may live in my court in Solitude. However, if a better opportunity already awaits you, (which I doubt) you may decline my invitation so long as you point me in the direction of a mage that could serve me here as well as you could.
An invitation I will not allow you to decline, however, is an invitation to my wedding in two weeks. I hope to see you there.

Warm regards, Nova

I smile as I write the letter. How could he refuse? While I'm at it, I decide to write to the Companions.

Dear Shield-Brothers and Sisters,

As I hope Vilkas has told you, I have made the decision to step down as Harbinger of the Companions, and I leave him to lead you. I wish I could be both Harbinger and High Queen, but I believe I'd be much too busy. I knew this day would come, and I knew it would not be an easy one. I love you all dearly, and for that reason I would like to personally invite all of you to my wedding in Solitude in two weeks.

Warm regards, Nova

These letters are the only two that I can simply sign as Nova, all of the invitations I write to nobility must be signed as High Queen Novariana Septim of Skyrim. What a mouthful; I even grow tired of just writing it. I push away from my desk, leaning back in my chair and looking over the pile of letters and invitations before me. I hear Ulfric come in behind me, gently rubbing one of my shoulders.
"So what's all this about not needing a steward?" He jokes.
"I was wrong; very wrong." I tell him. He laughs, kissing my cheek. "I'm inviting an old friend to be my court wizard, but other than that, I'm stumped." I explain. "I wish Lydia was here. I'd ask her to be my steward and my housecarl, and she'd accept in a heartbeat."
"I'm sorry, Nova." He says, pulling up a chair next to my desk. "We'll find you someone, I promise." He says, gently holding my hand.
"I may not have much of a court, but at least I have royal dressmakers." I joke, looking down at the blue silk gown Erdi dressed me in this morning, fit with long sleeves. It's less extravagant than my ballgown or coronation gown, but it's still something I never could've imagined myself wearing. I feel almost uncomfortable and exposed in gowns, compared to armor. I suppose I don't really have any armor at the moment, since Aela's was destroyed. I don't really have a weapon either, aside from the dagger I've been carrying under my dress.
Suddenly, a Stormcloak guard bursts through the door, the panic in his face visible even through the small eye holes in his mask.
"Majesty, a Thalmor messenger is here." He says, out of breath.
"Thalmor? Why in oblivion were they allowed in?" Ulfric sneers.
"We were never given orders—" he starts.
"Well, now you are." I sigh, standing and grabbing my crown off the desk.
Sure enough, a Thalmor soldier stands before the throne, fitted with elegant gold armor.
"High Queen Novariana, Ambassador Elenwen sends me with a message." He says. His words are respectful, but he sneers at me, handing me the letter between two pinched fingers as if he's disgusted to even be near me. "She requests that you of course swear fealty to the Thalmor, just as King Torryg did, and approve permission to continue use of the Thalmor embassy. Routine paperwork, of course." He explains, as if I'm too stupid to understand. Rage boils in my heart. It's not routine paperwork, but a challenge. Skyrim is independent of the Empire; how can Elenwen assume that she'd still be welcome in our borders? I assumed the Thalmor cleared out months ago. I look down at the paper in my hand, then to Ulfric; he nods to me. I look the Thalmor soldier in the eyes and ignite the letter in flames; he's horrified. Several people in the room shift, some gasp. The Stormcloak guards nod to each other. Ulfric stifles a laugh, but Galmar doesn't even try to disguise the loud cackle that erupts from him.
"You can tell that cunt she'll never be welcome here. You have two weeks to get each and every Thalmor soldier out of my borders." I tell him, letting the letter float to the floor. He gapes at me, dumbfounded. "Off with you, then." I tell him dismissively. He notices the glares of the guards, and stumbles toward the door, taking up a jog to get out of the city. When the door shuts, Ulfric steps beside me as the last of the letter burns to cinders.
"There's no way they'll just leave quietly." He sighs.
"I know." I tell him, an extra weight added to my shoulders as the anger floats away.