Victory or Sovngarde

Chapter Forty

I sighed, laying a hand on the belly that had ballooned in just the last few months. Gods, why did the Moot have to take so long to plan?

Moreover, why did the Moot seem to be nothing more than a time for the Jarls to argue with each other about who would fill the vacant throne?

Most of the people sitting at the large, oblong table were strangers to me. There was Ulfric, Balgruuf, and Elisif, whom I recognized. I'd had some dealings with Jarl Igmund of Markarth, though I only ever spoke to his steward. The rest I knew by name only. Jarl Sorli the Builder of the former Hold capital, Morthal, Jarl Siddgeir of Falkreath, Jarl Laila Law-Giver of Riften, Jarl Brina Merilis of Dawnstar, and Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold.

Some of these people had been former Stormcloak sympathizers who managed to keep their thrones by renouncing their support. Others had replaced those who had passed away since the beginning of the rebellion all those years ago. Everyone here was gathered for the same reason, though. Without a proper heir to the throne, the leaders of each Hold came together to decide who would become High King or Queen.

"There's no way someone from the backwaters of Hjaalmarch could ever be a proper queen!" shouted Siddgeir, pointing at Sorli. "The only reason you're here now is because Ravencrone was killed when the Thalmor marched into Morthal and burned it to the ground! You're the Jarl of what, exactly?"

"But I know what it's like to be burned out of my home and sent to work as a slave!" countered Sorli. "Does the station of one's birth really matter? Skyrim's people have long since made something for themselves out of nothing! Look at our hero, the Dragonborn! She's not of noble birth!"

Oh, great. The last thing I wanted was all eyes on me. Being placed at the end of the table, with Elisif on the other end, wasn't bad enough. Now, all eyes had to be turned to me, the only outsider. If it weren't for my involvement in winning back our homeland, I would be enjoying the lovely weather in Solitude with my husband, watching my children window shop, relaxing like any pregnant woman should.

But no, I had to be here, wearing armor plates around my arms and legs, a burgundy tunic over my swollen belly, and a sword across my back. I had even been asked to wear my wolfskin cape and helmet, though I had managed to avoid wearing the head covering by bringing it with me to the meeting. Ulfric and Balgruuf both believed the armor would distract from my pregnancy and legitimize my presence at the Moot. I thought it looked stupid, wearing only the armor plates that offered the least amount of protection in a battle. Not to mention cumbersome and sweltering. As if pregnancy needed to be more uncomfortable.

If I'd had my way, I wouldn't even be here. I was only needed because the Jarls would eventually—if they ever stopped arguing over trivial matters—ask me who I believed would be the next High King or Queen. They were only waiting to ask me until I'd had a chance to hear all sides, all arguments.

So far, I didn't see many good candidates to throw my support towards.

"The station of one's birth doesn't matter," said Laila. So far, I'd thought she was too much of a pushover to be considered for the role of High Queen. She had a kind heart, and she cared for her people, but if she didn't have much of a spine, she wouldn't have the nerve to keep the Thalmor out of the province for long. "But we need a ruler who has been brought up as a leader, someone who has been trained to step up, take the lead."

That only left Ulfric, Elisif, Balgruuf, Igmund, and Laila. Siddgeir, I suppose, too, but he wasn't much of a leader. As far as I could tell, none of his constituents cared for him. I certainly didn't want to throw my opinion his way if he was already unpopular in his own Hold.

"Then what about Lady Elisif?" asked Igmund, throwing his arm toward the last High King's widow. "She was married to High King Torygg. By that right, she should be Queen."