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."

I looked across the table at the fair lady, weighing her reaction. Even though her husband had been dead these last ten years, she hadn't seemed to overcome her grief even now. I wished I knew more about what happened that day Ulfric marched into the castle and challenged our High King to a deadly duel. Each side had a twisted view on the events, making it difficult to see who was truly in the right.

It didn't matter; in the end a young woman was widowed, all for a senseless grab for power. Torygg's death would've been for nothing, had I not come to wage war on our true enemy: the Thalmor.

If Elisif had wanted to become High Queen, she would've fought for her right to sit on the throne. Judging by the subdued look on her face, she had no desire to take the throne, though I felt she would protest strongly if Ulfric made his stake at the throne.

Which brought me to my former Jarl and one of my advisors. His battle prowess had been crucial to my fight, but was that enough to earn him my support? After all, this was the man who had challenged our High King in a fight Ulfric knew Torygg couldn't win. An honorable victory, or regicide? Torygg and I were about the same age, and he had been brought up in a cushy life, held up to the throne thanks to his father, High King Istlod. He was a man who never stood a chance against the Greybeards' student, the son of the Great Bear of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak.

Ulfric would have the resolve to keep the Thalmor out of Skyrim, but at what cost? He was a man born for war. He thrived off the conflict. The last thing I wanted was a High King who pitted us in battle against even our allies.

So that left Igmund and Balgruuf. I knew little about Igmund, but if the state of his city was any indication, I doubted he knew how to run the entire province. Forsworn attacked freely, the people felt endangered, and what did he do? Hosted the Thalmor in his courts until they proved to be useless? Bided his time until he could seize more power? I doubted I wanted a man who so openly welcomed those Aldmeri agents into his city with little resistance.

I had no doubt he hated the elven bastards now, but anyone who had past dealings with the Thalmor couldn't be counted on to rule Skyrim.

"I say it's time for lunch," said Balgruuf, breaking up the shouting match the other Jarls had resumed while I was deep in thought. "We'll reconvene when our bellies are full."

Everyone else stood up and left in a hurry, but with my center of balance changing by the week, it took a matter of gripping the table, scooting the chair back a little at a time, and readjusting until I was finally on my feet. By the time I was upright, I was winded. This child was going to exhaust me worse than the twins did.

Then again, I was seven years older than I was when I had my first children.

"You were looking a little pale," said Balgruuf as he offered his arm for me to lean on. "Are you all right, Ylva?"

"I'll be fine," I replied, nodding in thanks for his support. "This is just a little overwhelming."

"Cooler heads will prevail once they get a chance to drink and eat together."

"Will I have to remain here?"

He shook his head. "Find your husband and children. We'll send for you when we're ready to reconvene."

-------

"So, nothing has been accomplished? In four hours?"

I shook my head, taking another ravenous bite out of the flaky bread the Blue Palace chefs had prepared for us.

While the talk in the Moot may have been frustrating, the spread of food in front of us was more than enough to make up for the bickering I'd sat through.

The chefs had spent the morning laboring over their fires and ovens, cooking various kinds of rabbit and pheasant stew, roasting lamb and pig over a spit, toasting vegetables like leeks and carrots in pots, and baking copious amounts of the delicious, buttery rolls that flaked apart when they touched my tongue. I had already sampled just about everything they had to offer, even the fruits arranged in little bowls around the roasted pig, but with my stomach filling up, I had decided to pace myself by dunking pieces of the rolls in my leftover stew.

"Politicians," I grumbled around a mouthful of bread. "Damn them to Oblivion. I could've ended the talks the moment they started if I'd just thrown my support at someone and been done with it."

"But you know that's not what's right for Skyrim." Vilkas reached across our small table and took my hands in his. "Have you made up your mind?"

I nodded, swallowing hard. So hard, I needed to take a drink of water. Somehow, the bread had turned to mush inside my throat and threatened to choke me.

"Then, the next round of talks should take much less time." My husband leaned back in his chair, looking up at the sky above us.

I was thankful to find tables set up outside the Blue Palace, in the courtyard in front of the door. The Jarls had elected to stay inside, as had Solitude's Thanes, but the stewards who had traveled with their rulers seemed to be content to enjoy the beautiful weather Haafingar had to offer.

"There's supposed to be a ball tomorrow night," he added, "celebrating the High King or Queen. After the coronation, I think."

Well, at least I knew the Moot was on a tight schedule. This wouldn't happen tomorrow.

"I guess that means I'll need a dress," I laughed, thinking about the Radiant Raiment sisters. Oh, they'd be over the moons to dress me up.

He chuckled with me. "I already made sure I had my suit, and even the children were fitted with nice clothes. Embla loves her dress, which is unfortunate, because I think she'll want us to send away for a new one every year."

I shook my head, propping my chin against my closed fist. "Let them enjoy this. It's more than we ever could've asked for. Our children will know what true peace looks like. We were born into a world of war, and it's all we've ever known. I'll be damned if I allow our children to grow up seeing the same."

"Don't worry, dear one." Vilkas took my free hand in his, bringing my knuckles to his lips. "You've sent quite the message to the world."

"What message is that?"

The grip on my hand tightened. "Skyrim is defended. The Dragonborn stands guard over the free world, and she won't let anyone come and take her precious home from her again."

He knew just how to make me fall in love with him all over again.

"What about Tyra and Farkas?" I asked as the moment passed between us. "Are they comfortable here? Bria and Kale enjoying their time?"

"We're all thrilled to be here," he replied. "You can tell we're all unaccustomed to the nicer things in life. We must look so strange."

"We're Companions. If we look strange to everyone else, we bash their faces in."

He laughed. "That much is true, wife. Farkas almost got in an altercation with one of the vendors in the marketplace. Apparently, the man claimed the mead he peddled was better than even Jorrvaskr's reserves, and, well, my brother took that as a slight on his honor."

It was my turn to laugh. Count on Farkas to defend the Companions, in every battle, great or small. "I'll be glad when I can enjoy my time with you. Tomorrow night, I won't leave your side."

"I'll hold you to that, dear one."

As we stared into each other's eyes, content to forget about the world around us, one of the stewards approached our table. Falk Firebeard, Elisif's right hand. "Dragonborn, your presence is requested. The Moot is about to begin again."

I sighed, letting go of Vilkas and rising from the table. "Give my love to the children. I'll see you again soon." Then, I turned to the steward. "Take me to the Jarls."

And with a kiss blown in my husband's direction, I followed the man back inside, resigning myself to another round of intense, bitter arguments that amounted to nothing.

-------

"Well, Ulfric, you've been awfully quiet," sneered Igmund, as though he had any reason to be smug about Ulfric's silence.

"I have no reason to be drawn into the bickering," rumbled Ulfric, voice like thunder in the clouds. "When the Dragonborn makes her decision, I will stand beside her choice."

Siddgeir let out a scoff. "You're saying that because you think she's going to side with you, don't you? I can't believe what I'm hearing. You and the Dragonborn have an agreement, don't you?"

"It makes sense," added Sorli. "The Dragonborn grew up in Eastmarch. Her loyalty never went far."

"Don't speak for her!" said Laila, the first time she'd spoken up against someone all day. "Only the Dragonborn can speak the truth."

"Yet she has remained silent," mumbled Brina. "I never expected one gifted with the Voice to be so quiet."

Once again, the room erupted into bickering. Some people took my side, while others seemed to think I was incapable of looking past the façade Ulfric had created for himself years ago.

I was content to let the bickering continue, to see just who would put an end to it, but I knew that would solve nothing. We had been here for nearly an hour already, and I hadn't been given the chance to speak my mind. Any time I tried, the other Jarls leaped up, snatched the silence away from me, and brought up a concern that we'd already addressed twice over. I couldn't take much more of this.

Rising from my chair, I braced my hands against the table, sucked a deep breath in, and Shouted, "Mul, qah DIIV!"

My body erupted in a beautiful yellow and orange light, spikes appearing along my arms and chest like dragon scales growing over my clothes. I couldn't see around my head, but I knew the light had extended up to my skull, encasing my face and hair with beams shaped like a dragon's head. Across my back dripped a pleasing warmth, where the light settled across my spine.

I didn't need a mirror to know I was a specter of fear. The breathless looks of shock and awe on the Jarls' faces told me everything I needed to know.

"I can speak for myself!" I said, voice ringing through the air. The walls almost seemed to be thanking me for silencing the petty arguments. "Out of respect for the sacred traditions of the Moot, I have held my tongue until I felt the time was right to speak. I will not allow anyone to talk for me or about me in such a way when I am sitting right here."

"Well said, Dragonborn," said Ulfric, ducking his head to his chest and saying nothing further.

"Have you made a decision, Dragonborn?" asked Sorli, trembling in her chair. I had never seen a woman so scared of me, but if I weren't the Dragonborn, if I were a normal person sitting in a room with a powerful, ancient legend who had just sprouted dragon armor, I might be a little frightened myself.

Nodding, I planted my palms flat against the table. "I don't have the final say—"

"Damn right, you don't!" said Igmund. "I only accept your presence here because I respect Jarl Balgruuf, as well as the Companions, but you have no business listening in on our Moot."

"What's to listen in on?" I shrugged my shoulders, beginning to pace around the table.

The Jarls watched me like a fox watched a wolf circle its den. Fear, anxiety, trepidation. The tension in the air was thick enough to split with a sword.

I wasn't trying to intimidate, though. My ankles were starting to swell, and walking tended to help. It kept them silent, so I didn't care.

"I've heard more compelling arguments from my children's playroom," I continued, putting on my best motherly frown. "I don't know most of you, but this pitiful display has shaken my confidence in many of you. How can you successfully lead a province perched on the edge of a knife, if you can't even communicate with your fellow Jarls? Those who have held their tongues have done more to bolster my confidence in their ability to govern Skyrim than any of you who have spent the last several hours biting at each other's throats!"

"So, you side with Ulfric?" asked Siddgeir as I stopped behind his chair. "You will support his ascension as High King?"

I leaned in close, allowing him to hear the crackle of my Shout, feel its heat dance on his sniveling face. "Don't put words in my mouth, Jarl Siddgeir. You have no idea what power I have with just my Voice."

Balgruuf seemed to be watching me out of the corner of his eye. The only face at the table that held no fear for me. In fact, in his eyes, sparkled amusement.

He had never seen me use my power to intimidate. This must be entertaining for him.

"I see no point in delaying any longer," I said once I made a lap around the table and returned to my seat. "I have made my decision.

No one said a word; the chairs creaked as everyone leaned in.

As the Shout's magic faded around me, and the spectral armor disappeared, I held out my open hand toward the Jarl who's had my loyalty for nearly a decade. The man who was capable of a great many things. The man who would put Skyrim first, no matter the cost to self.

"I offer my support to you, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater."

-------

The coronation ball was everything I could've hoped for and so much more.

Jarl—No, High King Balgruuf's crowning ceremony had been about as stiff as I had expected, but I couldn't help but shed a tear as the Jagged Crown was placed on his head. When he'd turned around to face the people of Skyrim, his new subjects, he bent down on one knee and pledged to serve the people of Skyrim with his life, vowing to uphold their needs and desires above his own.

He'd gone off-script, but I hardly cared. I chose him because I knew he wouldn't put tradition over the needs of his people.

Afterwards, nobles, veterans, and the people closest to him went up and offered their congratulations to our new High King. Once again, the receiving line had been stiff with ceremony, but when it was my turn to drop to one knee, offer my undying fealty to my new King, Balgruuf planted a kiss to the crown of my head and thanked me for everything I had done. In a way, it was like he'd lifted the burden of all those years of thankless work I'd done to save the world from Alduin, the sacrifices I'd made to defeat Miraak, and the pain I'd endured at the hands of Elenwen. In one simple phrase, he spoke the sincerest gratitude I'd ever heard, and I knew with his words, I was free to find my own peace.

At long last, I was free to be the woman I wanted to be. No more destiny, no more dangers, no more worlds to save.

Then came the party. The courtyard outside Castle Dour, and the courtyard in front of the Temple of the Divines had been filled with tables laden with all manner of goodies that put all the other meals to shame. Smoked meats, roasted goats, stews, soups, steamed vegetables swimming in butter. Baskets of berries, casks and kegs of wine, ale, mead, and other spirits. Cakes, pies, and sweet rolls. I could've stayed there all night and gorged myself until I was twice as round.

But the dancing kept me from eating too much. Torches had been set up in a wide circle, minstrels from the Bard's College were summoned to perform, and all night, couples had danced. Even our children had formed a short line with some others and had been weaving their way around the adults' legs, giggling all the while.

With my hand on Vilkas's shoulder, my other clasped in his hand, we swayed back and forth to the tune of the lute and drums. He looked ravishing in his wine-red doublet, stitched with a complicated knot pattern down the front and at the collar of his long sleeves. His black leather pants were a smart match, and his feet were covered with matching black leather boots that came up to his mid-calf. His hair had been swept back from his face, his beard closely shaved, and the warpaint long forgotten in our room.

His clothing matched my dress down to the golden stitching around my waist. I speculated his doublet and my dress had been cut from the same cloth. The sweeping hem of my own garment covered my feet, and even with my belly swollen with pregnancy, the dress's pleats flattered my figure better than any other dress I'd ever seen.

The sisters had really outdone themselves.

Halfway between us and the food tables, Tyra and Farkas laughed and rubbed shoulders with the other guests, looking sharp in their own matching green attire. Baby Kensley was in Tyra's arms, wrapped in a thick white blanket. Their other children had broken free from the chain and run to tell their parents something. Bria and Kale looked so cute in their clothes, though I was thankful Endarie and Taarie had chosen not to make them wear matching shirts. Bria wore a pale pink dress, the color of the first rays of sunlight in the morning. Kale had on a shirt and pants set dyed a rich purple, and he even had a wooden sword in his belt. He looked like a little prince, and she a princess.

Of course, our twins were shining in their best. Embla had wanted a dress in mountain-flower blue, and the color did wonders to the color of her blue-gray eyes. Jergen had asked to match Vilkas, though the sisters had gotten him to compromise on a much brighter red tunic. Like the color of rubies. Together, they rushed over to grab Bria and Kale again, and with the help of the other three children they'd been playing with, they formed a circle and began dancing around the edge of the courtyard, their giggles rising over the melody of the bard's voice.

"What a night," I whispered to my husband, leaning my head against his chin so he could kiss the silver lock of hair. "The future looks bright, doesn't it?"

"Brighter than I could've ever hoped for," replied Vilkas. He pulled away just enough to look down on my face, his eyes shining like the stars overhead. "This has been quite the trip, but I can't wait until we get home to rest. I'm ready for our life to slow down."

"I am, too, husband." I pressed in closer, cheek against his chest, eyes closing as I let the music guide my feet. "I am, too."

The music for one song ended, and just as we pulled back to clap, a strong hand laid on Vilkas's shoulder. I trailed my gaze up the black velvet-clad arm until I came to the face of a redheaded thief I never expected to see again.

"Brynjolf," said Vilkas, stepping back to face the other man better. "This is a surprise."

"Indeed," said Brynjolf, voice rolling off his tongue like honey dripping from the comb. "Can I steal her away from you for this next dance?"

Vilkas bowed, allowing Brynjolf to take my hand. "Just watch where you put those sticky fingers, thief. My brother and I will be watching."

Brynjolf laughed as Vilkas walked away to stand with Tyra and Farkas. Once the music started back up, we were swept into another dance.

I had to admit, dancing with Brynjolf was almost as natural as breathing. The thief was light on his feet, smooth in his motions, though I should've expected as much from a man who made a living dancing away from the authorities.

"What are you doing here?" I asked. "Not trying to steal anything from the nobles around, are you?"

"Only if we think we can get away with it," he answered, extending his arm to let me spin away from him. "We were invited. No business, just pleasure."

"Who's we?" I cocked my head to one side, looking into the crowd to see if I could spot Femke.

"Me, my lass, and my children." The redhead jerked his head toward the circle of children singing a nursery rhyme. "I think our girls are holding hands."

I followed his gaze to Embla and the ebony-haired girl she was standing with. The circle broke up, and I recognized the little girl right away. She looked just like Femke, even down to the earring she wore on her right earlobe. She curtsied to Embla, then turned and ran off with a pair of redheaded boys. They disappeared like shadows in the dark, and there was no doubt who they belonged to.

"So, Companion," laughed Brynjolf, "should we arrange the marriage now? Could be quite beneficial to have one of mine marry one of yours. You being the Dragonborn and personal friend of our new King, that is."

I rolled my eyes, though I knew he was mostly joking. "I have no intention of marrying my children off, least of all to a thief."

He took his hand off my waist and placed it over his heart. "Now I see why they call your gift the Voice. You wound me with your words, madam."

"Big, strong man like you? I thought words were your chosen craft. How else do you swindle the masses out of their last septims?"

"Charm goes a long way, lass."

"So does brute force."

He laughed again. "Ah, and therein lies the problem. We keep trying to steal things, you beat us over the head until we give them back. I trust we'll keep that tradition alive in the new Skyrim?"

"Oh, I'm sure." I smiled at him. I couldn't believe I was associating with a thief like this, so easily, like we had known each other for a long time. Maybe that was how Brynjolf swindled his targets. He presented himself as a friend, and then he took them for all they were worth.

I'd just have to watch myself. With the war over, the Thieves Guild was bound to profit even more than ever. The roads would be safe to travel again, people would be trading goods and services. It was a recipe for a string of heists stretching from the Reach to Riften Hold.

All of Skyrim would be prospering under the new rule, even the less savory parts.

"Where's Etienne?"

Brynjolf shrugged. "No invitation for him, and he didn't want to travel all this way. we had to leave someone in charge of the Guild while we're gone, and I trust him a hell of a lot more than any of the others."

I smiled. "No honor among thieves, huh?"

"None at all." As the song ended, Brynjolf stepped away from me, bowed as low as his tight doublet would allow, and gave me a wink. "I'll see you around, Dragonborn."

I curtsied as best I could, though it must've looked awkward thanks to my wavering balance. "I'm counting on it, Brynjolf."

And, as Vilkas came and took my hands to lead me in the next dance, I somehow knew I'd see the thieving family again. Like a promise, I knew they'd turn back up. Not as our adversaries, not as dirty thieves stealing some treasure from Jorrvaskr, but as friends.

Before the dance could begin, I stood on my toes and planted a deep kiss to my husband's lips. He tasted like rich mead, roasted beef, and a hint of lavender. His lips, smooth and slick, pressed deeper into mine. His teeth clashed against mine while he bent down to kiss me even harder. Surrounded by strangers, in the middle of the most formal party we'd ever been to, and here we were, kissing like it was to be our last.

But the nearby giggles from our children called us out of the kiss, and as we broke apart to resume the dance, Vilkas and I winked at the twins. Their giggles started all over again, and soon, they ran off to join their cousins in the next game.

It wouldn't be long before they were too tired to stay up any longer. They'd have to be put to bed soon, but until then, we would enjoy this party.

Vilkas pressed another quick kiss to my lips. "To the future, my love."

I nodded, returning his kiss with one of my own. "To the future."