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.
~
"Just a little tighter your highness..!" Taarie insists, drawing the strings on my corset impossibly tight.
"You pull that any tighter, I'll start swinging!" I threaten as Endarie does her best to restrain me from pummeling her sister. Taarie doesn't even flinch, and tugs at the strings once more, my lungs struggling against the pressure as she ties it.
"There we go. Now, the dress." Endarie says, turning to the box they've laid on my bed. The battle of getting the queen into a corset has become a commonplace occurrence among my two seamstresses, and they're not even fazed anymore. Erdi appears in the doorway.
"When you're finished with your dress fitting your majesty, you have a guest." She says quietly, still a little too frightened by all the shouting to help.
"Oh no, I've got far too much to do. Just send them in now; two birds with one stone." I sigh.
"Your majesty.." Erdi says, blushing.
"What?"
"My Queen, you're not even properly dressed.." Taarie scolds me.
"And it's a man!" Erdi adds.
"And what do I care? I'm covered." I ask, folding my arms.
"Yes, in your underwear." Endarie protests.
"Fine. Put it on me, then send them in." I sigh, rolling my eyes. Endarie and Taarie blind me with white silk, pulling me through it and its sleeves like threading a needle. Once I'm properly fitted into it, they help me turn around to face the mirror. The dress obviously isn't finished, still pinned onto me in some places and open seams in others. Really, it looks more like a white silk sheet than anything. However, I'm beginning to see the finished product.
"Well I hope I'm not interrupting anything drastically important." Marcurio says, standing in the doorway.
"Marc!" I shout, running to hug him. As I wrap my arms around his neck he cries out in pain, the many pins still in my dress stabbing into him.
"Oh— sorry.." I mumble, carefully pulling away from him.
"Oh, I suppose that's alright your majesty." He jokes. I scoff, shaking my head.
"Don't call me that." I sigh, chuckling.
"Then should I call you Dovahjud? Briijudin?" He says, and I laugh even harder. The names sound wrong in his mouth, just like they do in everyone else's. Even Ulfric, who trained with the Greybeards even longer than I did, doesn't seem to say them quite right.
"Absolutely not." I scoff. "Where did you even hear about all that?"
"I don't know a single person that hasn't. Announcements were sent out to all the holds. Everyone that hasn't been living under a rock has heard the story of your coronation." He explains. I almost roll my eyes; the publicity is nearly unbearable.
"Have you brought Camilla with you?" I ask him.
"She's resting in the tavern; it was a long journey." He explains.
"The tavern? Why in oblivion are you staying in the tavern?" I exclaim.
"Well—" he starts.
"Forget it, I don't even want to hear it. You and Camilla are guests of the High Queen, and you're to stay here." I demand.
"Well, if we aren't miss-bossy-pants-leader-of-the-nation." He jokes.
"And you'd do well to remember it, too. Come, you must meet Ulfric—" I start, about to lead him off into the palace.
"Majesty, no! He mustn't see the dress! It's bad luck!" Erdi exclaims, pulling me back into my bedroom.
"Well this is barely a dress..." I mumble.
"And we're not nearly done with the fitting." Endarie adds, not quite hearing me.
"I'll leave you to your royal fitting, your majesty High Queen." Marcurio says, bowing dramatically in the doorway.
"Fine, but I'm inviting you and Camilla to dinner with Ulfric and I this evening. Nothing too fancy; just the four of us, so don't let her worry about what to wear. I'll probably wear pants myself." I tell him.
"Absolutely not!" Taarie exclaims, stabbing me with another pin.
~
After my dress fitting from oblivion is over, I head back to my desk to find a small, beaten up chest sitting on top of it that wasn't there before. I look quickly around the room, reaching for the dagger I keep hidden in my sleeve. There's no way anyone could have delivered the chest without my noticing since I was in the room through my whole fitting, but yet here it is. After thoroughly searching the room and finding it empty, I sheath my dagger and walk to the door. The guard posted nearby immediately straightens up, puffing out his chest.
"Soldier. Have you seen anyone unfamiliar entering or leaving my room today?" I ask the guard.
"No majesty, except the mage you spoke to earlier." He says. I glance up and down the hallway; Nothing but guards.
"No one is to enter my room but Jarl Ulfric until I say otherwise. If I'm needed, knock and I'll come to the door. Are we clear?" I tell him briskly, and he nods.
"Yes, Stormbl- your majesty!" He corrects himself. I shut the double doors and return to the chest.
The poor little thing is ancient, it's hinges and nails horribly rusted almost beyond recognition. I don't know how the wood isn't rotting. Behind it on the desk is a key, which I assume is for the chest, laying on top of a folded note.
Queen Novariana,
At the suggestion of my father, to foster a relationship of trust, I have delivered you this chest, containing every bit of intelligence my family has been able to gather on the generations of your family since the Oblivion Crisis. I warn you that the information contained within has been so closely guarded that not even my mother knew of this chest's existence. I would ask you to bear this in mind when and if you decide to deliver it back. It is imperative that the information within remain confidential, so I would also recommend keeping the key on your person at all times. Tread carefully as you read, as I imagine certain files may be somewhat upsetting to you.
~A.M.
What use is it keeping the key? If someone wanted into it that badly they could probably throw the thing at a wall and it would shatter to pieces. Nevertheless I unlock the chest and lift the lid. Dozens of scrolls, journals, letters and folios are inside, carefully organized into sections of the chest. Each section is labeled with years, carved into the rim of the chest.
The very first date carved into the wood is 3E 400, over 230 years ago. The first few letters are between different members of the Blades, discussing a young boy named Martin. One wants to quietly assassinate him to protect the legitimacy of the Septim throne, while the other insists he be left alone, at the Emperor's request. Obviously, this boy must've been Martin Septim. The next few letters are to the Emperor himself from the Grandmaster of the Blades, updating him on the boy's life and progress. However, there's no letters from the Emperor writing back.
There's a long time gap in the documents, and the next one is dated over 30 years later. The letter is from the same Grandmaster Jauffre, but this time to a Prince Rodene, an ancestor of Prince Amaund's, I assume.
Prince Rodene,
To answer your question, yes, it is our belief that the servant girl, Gemile, was the mother of Martin Septim. However my agents were alerted of her death several years ago. She had one other child, but from her husband whom she later married. I assure you that the Blades and I have searched every possible lead. Before his disappearance I spoke privately with Martin and he assured me that he had no possible heirs. I've searched all of Emperor Uriel's private documents and correspondence, contacted all of the women he previously had relations with, and to no avail. I understand your concerns, and I'm sure many from the Elder Council also feel that not enough is being done, but in my opinion the Septim dynasty is long gone. It is time to find another solution, which I'm sure our illustrious Elder Council is more than capable of doing.
-Brother Jauffre, Grandmaster of the Blades
Obviously, as experienced as he sounds, Brother Jauffre was dead wrong. The next few documents depict almost two decades of chaos within the Elder Council. Assassinations, false heirs, lies and deceit. Finally, 17 years after the disappearance of Martin Septim, Titus Mede's name appears in the documents at last. He takes the Imperial city by force, and is crowned Emperor soon after. I find another letter a few short years after that.
Dear King Rodene,
In the years I have been Emperor, I have learned a few things about how I must treat members of my court. I have learned that I must act as both an old friend and a demanding ruler. With that being said, I must say that I've taken notice of your past and present interest in finding the mythical lost heir of the Septim Dynasty.
As your friend, Rodene, I understand that you mourn your old mentor, as I'm sure many of his close friends do, but after 23 years, it is time to let go and move on as I'm sure Emperor Uriel himself would want.
As your Emperor, I strongly suggest that you stop your search immediately, for the sake of your own safety and those you hold dear. Know that I am always closely watching.
-Emperor Titus Mede
The next document is a small leather-bound journal. Upon opening the front cover, a small folded page falls to the floor. It's an Imperial decree, ripped at the top from where it was torn from the nail it was posted on. On it is an artist's picture of a wrecked and burning carriage with bodies scattered around it. It's titled "The Death of a King".
On his way to the Imperial city, King Rodene Motierre was murdered in what can only be assumed as a bandit raid. He was found dead along with his entire guard, as well as a mysterious woman who appeared to be accompanying him inside the carriage.
I open the journal and read the first page.
My heart is both heavy in mourning and bursting with rage. My own father, assassinated by the Emperor he served and his name sullied. Implying that that woman Monaveen was some sort of whore; what garbage. My father would never. I never believed him about the Septims, but if the Emperor felt so threatened by his searching that he had to kill my father then I can only think that he has something to hide. I fully intend to continue my father's search, and pass his story down to my own children when they come of age. However, for my own safety I must be extremely discreet in my investigation.
My father believed that Monaveen was the twin sister of Martin Septim. It feels like a betrayal of my family's friendship with the Septims to leave this woman's family to the wolves. I will find them and do whatever I must to keep them safe and alive. I will keep this journal of my evidence, and I won't stop until a Septim heir is back in their rightful place on the throne.
-King Arien Motierre
Now it's beginning to make sense why the Motierre family seems to have such a vendetta against the Mede emperors. Any royal family would be infuriated for generations if one of their ancestors was assassinated in such a degrading way. However I'm happy that this ancestor of Prince Amaund was so honorable that he chose to continue his father's work and protect my family. If only his grandson were so honorable. Still, this doesn't all seem like something the Motierres would do out of the goodness of their heart; There must be some sort of catch, something they want when all's said and done. While it's clear they've done a lot for my family, I won't trust them yet.