A Crucial Crossroads for Gaellicia (2022 Election)

[Gaellicia]

“-rioting continued through to early the next morning. In Penzance, police managed to redirect unrest away from Government House and the Riogan Estate, towards Marian Circle. The gathering was dispersed by 2300 hours. Small groups continued to roam the city well through the night and into daylight hours. The capital’s fire brigade said that small fires started by rioters were snuffed out before they could grow into anything more sev-” The news anchor’s sentence was chopped short by the sharp chirp of the old CRT TV turning off. Jamie Dugdale focused his eyes and blinked sleep out of them. The blurry image slowly crystalized. 

His wife, Lea, stood before him in the door frame of their cramped home office. She clicked her tongue, “Falling asleep with the TV on. Dot you can na do that these days. Especially with that ol’jobby. It’s a power sink.” She jerked her thumb towards the TV perched on a stool with three and a half legs, the difference being made up with old books. 

“Aye hen.” He said sheepishly. 

“Hop in the shower now don’t ya. Ya look like ya need one… or two.” Lea teased, then continued authoritatively. “I’ll have breakfast ready in a minute.” 

Jamie took as brisk a shower as he could while still scrubbing off last night’s dross. He was, to his displeasure, confined to using the cold water knob only. The cold water stabbed his skin, causing him to involuntarily whimper. He hopped out of the shower and saw to his morning grooming, ensuring that he thoroughly shaved the dark shadow on his face. He stepped into a crisp suit, a touch nicer than his business as usual attire, and creaked down stairs to the kitchen.  

“Morning sunshine.” Greeted Ralph Raskin, a 20 something just out of university, in a nearly sing-song voice.    

“Aye. Morning to you Ralphie Boy.” Before he could say more he was interrupted by a cheer. 

“Morning da!” 

“And good morning to you too, sprout! Ooof you are getting heavy.” Jamie grunted as he lifted his son up into a hug. “Did ya have yer breakfast already sprout?”

“Aye da.”

“Very good now make sure you go pack yer bag for school.” Jamie glanced at the clock on the wall and set his son back on the ground. He listened to his son scamper up stairs as he sat down at the dining table by the garden window, across from Ralph and next to his wife. 

“I hope you enjoyed your sleepover with us last night Ralph.” Lea teased before taking a sip of coffee. Jamie took a bite of scrambled eggs as Ralph blushed and once again offered his thanks. “Oh it’s really no trouble dear. I was just giving you a hard time. You’re always welcome here, especially on a night like last night.” 

“Aye.” Jamie agreed. “I know you don’t live too far but on a night like last night, who knows. Coulda picked a fight with you just for being a politico. Who knows?” He took another bite of his eggs and then a bite of toast. “Hen this breakfast is really class stuff. How did ya make it?” 

“I dug out the old camp stove, used it in the garden.” She replied, pleased with her ingenuity. 

“That’s good thinking, that. I’m surprised it turned out so good.” He paused and furrowed his brow at Ralph. “Is that me pajamas yer wearing?” 

Before Ralph could answer, Lea butted in. “Aye it is, I lent them to him. I’m not letting a guest of ours sleep in a suit. Plus, he needed a good night's rest before meeting the new Taoiseach.”

Jamie raised an eyebrow, “Ol Dougie is na Taoiseach yet and there’s no guarantee. Let’s not dip ahead of our skis here.” 

Lea rolled her eyes. “Oh you think I do na know that? Ya got so dour in your middle age Dot.”  

Jamie finished his last bite and countered more lightly, “Besides, Ol Dougie already knows the lad well. No amount of rest, no matter how rejuvinating, is going to repair the damage that’s been done working alongside him for a year and a half.” 

Ralph interjected cheekily, “I just happen to look more presentable in your pajamas than you look in a suit. They bring out me eyes.” 

Jamie cracked a smile then laughed. “Oh you cheeky you.” He reached across the table and tussled the lad’s hair.

Ralph straightened out his face and said sincerely. “Again thank you to you two for allowing me to sleep the night.”

Jamie responded in kind, “It really is no trouble lad. You are always welcome in our house. I’m sorry we didn’t get better news last night. Wouldn’t have had you or the other office staff over if I’d known the results were going to be so underwhelming.” 

Lea joined wearily, “That’s politics. Always surprises. Can never predict exactly how it will go.” Then she hinted more concretely. “Oh look at the time won’t ya.” 

Jamie looked at the clock once again. “Change into some morning clothes Ralphie. I’ll drop you off at your flat on the way to Arthur’s school then I’ll pick you up on the way to work. We’ll take the Macca.” Lea gave him a look of genuine concern and anxiety. Jamie tried to soothe her concerns, “I know hen, but I do na know what the metro is going to be like this morning. I do na know if it will be safe to walk to school with Arthur either.” At this last part he instinctively glanced at the ceiling, up towards his son. He cracked a wry smile and continued, “Besides today is going to be a big day. We oughta arrive in style.” Lea tried and failed to hide her anxieties with an approximation of a smirk before nodding in reluctant agreement. 

***

 The Dugdale’s MacNamera S4 twisted through the streets of old Penzance. A mid range sedan, it was getting on in years. Jamie braked for a stop light. Across the intersection he could see graffiti that had been building up over the past few months. The vacant corner store had become a favored canvas for the worst off residents to make themselves heard. Amongst the expletives there were some more thoughtful messages.  

“MORE GAS NOW!”

“Citizens suffer for government failures!”

“The witch still haunts us!”

Posters of Bricius IV’s portrait crossed out were placed in a cluster. Next to them a message read, “Off with his head!” 

Jamie’s favorite bit of graffiti was the simple demand to “TURN THE f*ckING LIGHTS BACK ON!”

The light turned green. Jamie steered right. As the crow flies, the school was no more than a mile from the Dugdale residence, yet the winding and twisting streets of old Penzance made the journey around 15 minutes. Ralph, sitting in the front passenger seat, turned to Arthur in the back to ask, “So what are you learning in school lad?” 

Arthur responded happily, “It’s science week! We’re learning about plants and rain and the sun and stuff!” 

Ralph smiled genuinely. “Aye pay good attention. Listen to your teachers well ya ken. We need more scientists, less politicos like me and your da.” 

“Aye mister Raph. Did you know that the sun is made of gas? Ma says that there isn’t enough in our country and that’s why there isn’t enough” he paused, sounding the word out carefully,”e-l-ec-tri-city.” He continued excitedly and pleased with his pronunciation, “Maybe we can send a rocket to the sun and bring some more gas back.”

“Look at you. Already figuring things out.” Ralph responded encouragingly. The car stopped beside a wedge shaped midrise. Ralph tussled Arthur’s hair and hopped out of the car. “I’ll meet ya on the other side, boss man.” He said as he jogged towards the building to execute his famed lightning quick change. 

“Don’t call me that you cheeky…” Jamie called out the window after him before giving up the sentence. He put the car in drive again and continued down the street. 

Arthur strained in his car seat excitedly as they rounded a bend. “Fire truck! Da! Fire truck!” 

Jamie focused on driving as he squeezed the car past a parked squat red fire truck with flashing lights. It was parked beside a crumbling and now fire damaged building. Until recently it had been a populated tenement building, which in turn had been converted from an ancient boarding house. The entire west side had fallen off of the building a fortnight ago. Failed and shoddy maintenance, poor inspection, and an outdated city building code. The city had been forced to order the building vacated and condemned. Jamie didn’t know it but the fire in this spot had not been started by angered youth, but was in fact a pure accident. Some of the residents had attempted to move back into their home, those who couldn’t bear the temporary city housing any longer. Due to the especially biting cold of last night, a resident had attempted to turn the building’s water heater back on. Jamie checked his rear view mirror to ensure that he was past the fire engine and got a glimpse of his smiling son in the back seat and the scorched maw of the crumbling building out the rear window. 

Soon they arrived at the school. Jamie hopped out of the car and ran around to unbuckle his son and help him out of the car. “You be good to your teachers today sprout, ya ken. Learn lots.”

“Aye da! I will!”

“I’ll see ya tonight sprout.” He embraced his son in a tight hug and then watched his boy bounce through the school gates under the supervision of a teacher. 

Just a little bit more driving and Jaimie was by Ralph’s flat building again, on the lower side this time. The eager staffer was already dressed smartly and waiting on the curb. “Morning again sir.” He beamed with a touch of mischief as he climbed into the front passenger seat. 

“Don’t you go calling me sir or boss now you bellend.” Dugdale chastised as he accelerated. He turned the radio on, in part to drown out the youth, but also to get himself focused for the big day ahead. 

An officious female voice greeted the listener, “Good morning. It is Monday, October 17th, 2022. The time is 0800 hours, time for the RBC morning news hour.” The brassy news theme sounded through the car speakers as Jamie turned right. The car dipped down a hill and flowed onto a wider and flatter grand avenue. They’d just crossed the threshold from the àirdean cashel to the new city. “Civil unrest continued last night across the nation, with no signs of cooling down. With the final election results having been released last night, riots and demonstrations were the most numerous and disruptive they have been in three months. In the capital, the Garda directed crowds away from Government House and the Riogan estate, towards Marian circle…”

“Get a look at that.” Ralph gaped. 

Jamie moved the car at a slow crawl through one of Penzance’s grand traffic circles, Marian Circle. As the car inched past the Army Staff College, the two men looked to the lane on their left. It was taken up by an overturned police van. 

“Someone was properly mad.” Ralph joked. 

Jamie nodded quietly but focused on inching through the circle. They passed more police vehicles, these ones upright and functioning. Dugdale was reminded of his university days, 20 years ago now, and what it was like to face the Garda and their clubs. A police officer in a yellow green hi vis coat ushered them out of the circle and back on to an avenue. 

“Prices continue to climb after a brief moratorium.” Jamie glanced at the fuel gauge. Half a tank. “As a result electricity bills grow more and more unmanageable. Anxieties and unrest only continue to mount as winter approaches. When confronted by the Leader of the Opposition in the Dáil on the failure of the ADC to improve the situation, Taoiseach John Peytr Hillgauntlet had this to say.” 

“The party is in a state of transition…” He is interrupted by groans and jeers. “I say the party is in a state of transition. I have taken the helm of the nation only in the last month. I understand frustration but the old leadership is no longer running the show.” More jeers are met by half hearted applause and rapping from the government side. “Myself and the new cabinet are running the show. I’ll remind you that I’ve held the office before and am prepared-”

An opposition backbencher interrupted Hillgauntlet, backed by approving laughter and raps of agreement, “You’ve only told us about how you’ve done it before about a hundred times in two months! Why don’t you tell us what you are doing now, in the present!” 

“I’ve held the office BEFORE, and I will hold it with dignity and competence once AGAIN! I ask that the citizens of the nation place their confidence in myself and the party in next week’s election. With a new mandate for the party, we will stay the course and provide the steady, dependable hand that the nation requires and desir-” Hillgauntlet was drowned out by the sound of cheers of approval and jeers of disapproval doing battle in the chamber. The jeers had the advantage. 

The news anchor continued, “With the last election results in, after an unexpected and unusual delay, Hillgauntlet and the ADC do not have the mandate, nor even the majority that they were asking for. To help us better understand the snap election results here we have our senior political correspondent and analyst Arjun Neilsen.” 

“Thank you Mary. Now just to remind listeners of the final tally, as it was not released until last night, the ADC now holds 193 seats in the Dáil. That is a significant drop from their 2020 numbers, 35 seats lost. The Laird Riochdaire now has 21, a significant 11 seat gain for them. If i’m not mistaken that is the largest electoral gain they have ever experienced. The extreme right wing Naiseanta Gaelica now has 7-“

“Just call them what they are: fascists!” Ralph muttered while looking out the window. 

“Center left Talamh, the second largest party, gained 19 seats meaning they now hold a total of 178 seats. This is the largest gain of any of the parties this election, but many believe they have underperformed. Expert consensus was that we would see Talamh gain a larger number of seats, perhaps even enough to form a government on its own.”

Mary interrupted Neilsen, “And Arjun I believe we actually reached out to someone from Talamh on the election telecast last night, before the final results were all in.”

“Yes, that is accurate Mary. The presenter had a brief interview over the phone with Jamie Dugdale. He is a senior Talamh strategist and the chief of staff to the party leader Douglas an Gael.”

Ralph turned his head to see his boss’s face as Dugdale’s own voice came out of the car speakers. Ralph remembered the moment during the watch party last night when spirits were highest and Jamie had stepped into his office to phone in. At that point in the night, it looked like Talamh was going to gain seat after seat. “No matter the final results, the Gaellician people are ready for new leadership. No matter the number of seats won, Talamh is ready to share the responsibility and the decision for the future of the nation with those who want to meet us. Our hand is offered.” Jamie scoffed at his own statement as he threaded the car through Bonan circle. Not because he disagreed with the sentiment, but because he found himself unconvincing. 

“A rather diplomatic statement that was. What do you make of it, Arjun?” The anchor queried. 

“Well Mary, I’m glad you asked. Talamh is leaving the door open here for a coalition or a partnership with Ataqatigiit. Now that the election results are fully in, I'm sure the party leadership is very happy for Dugdale’s statement.” Neilsen paused for a moment before pivoting. “Just to wrap up our listing of the results before we get into analysis, allow me to list off the final parties. The Green Party took a significant hit, losing 8 seats. They are only holding onto 1 seat, and by their fingernails at that. The party that did incredibly well for itself this election, the party with the best showing was Ataqatigiit. They gained 15 seats, going from 29 to 44. This is the newest party in the nation I’ll remind listeners, the first Federal election they participated in being in 1995. They have gained seats in every Federal election since then, but this most recent instance is absolutely a breakthrough for them.” 

“Now I’ve saved Okkar for last because the results here are truly an upset. Okkar has always been a Separatist party for the Karaalluk lands. It is a foundational belief of the party that Karaalluk should be independent and that the Federal government should have no say, no involvement in the affairs of the indigenous people.”

Mary added on, “That’s right Arjun and Okkar has always practiced abstentionism at the Federal level. That is, members will stand for TD elections but when elected do not participate in the Dáil in any way.”

“That’s right and so traditionally Okkar has held the same 10 seats. Representing the same 10 eyjas, the most hardline separatist areas. In this recent election though, 4 of those eyjas defected. Their votes went to Ataqatigiit, which has always represented a different approach to government for indigenous people. Active participation at the Federal Level to improve things in what ways possible for not only indigenous, but all Gaellicians.”

“And Arjun with Okkar having only 6 seats now, this changes the nature of the Dáil?” 

“That’s right Mary. With 4 additional seats now on the table, the threshold that a party or coalition needs to pass to form a majority government has increased. There are 450 seats in the Dáil, total. Since 1950, when Okkar was first legally permitted to stand in Federal Elections, 10 of those seats were out of consideration. For more than half a century, to form a majority government, you needed 221 seats. Now, with 4 more seats in play, you need 223 seats to form a majority government.”

“So Arjun what does this mean?” 

“Well Mary, it will be very interesting to see. No party is capable of forming a government on their own now. Even the ADC and the Laird Riochdaire, traditional coalition partners when the circumstances have called for it, do not have enough seats to form a government. Now, it is possible that Hillgauntlet will approach the Naiseanta Gaellic about including them in a coalition government.” 

“He would be reluctant to do so though I imagine.”

“Indeed he would, but the ADC and the LR likely believe that they could keep the NG in check and in line. The two parties are likely discussing it right now.” 

“Fascists!” Ralph and Jamie exclaimed in unison. The two of them burst out laughing as the police officer manning the gate to government park gave them both a steely, unamused gaze. This only led to the two laughing further.

As the police officer checked their identification in a computer in the gate house, Arjun continued his analysis. “Even if the right wing were able to form a coalition government, they would still lack the numbers needed for a majority. They would only have 221 votes, meaning they’d be acting as a minority government. A right wing success is going to require a left wing failure.” 

“Encouraging.” Jamie muttered.

“Confidence boosting.” Added Ralph. 

Mary prodded further, “Expand upon that Arjun. Is a Talamh/Ataqatigiit coalition not happening?” 

“I am not ruling it out, but it is not guaranteed. Talamh and Ataqatigiit do not always get on.”

“Why is that?”

“Well you see though they are aligned in a lot of ways, they have had major disagreements in the past. Talamh have in the past accused Ataqatigiit of being perfectionists. Of not having respect for the established way of governing. Meanwhile, Ataqatigiit have voiced displeasure with the broad appeal of Talamh. They have criticized Talamh for catering to the center and social Democratic end of the political spectrum, for failing to fully capitalize on the moments they do have in power to implement greater and more foundational changes. In the past Talamh has also contributed to the repression of indigenous people.” 

“Does that extend to the 21st century? Douglas an Gael has been outspoken in favor of indigenous self determination. Even when the party was more center oriented under Ariel Orains, they signed the New Spring Agreement.”

The police officer exited the gate house and returned the duo’s identification to them, before lifting the gate. Arjun’s voice piped up simultaneously, “It is true, yes, that current Talamh leadership has a good record on this area. Douglas an Gael famously was called up for national service as an officer and was deployed to Tshiuetin, and then to more remote eyjas at the height of the conflict. Famously, he became an outspoken critic of Federal policy and of the war. He has been consistent in that way, even when he was in his wilderness years in the 2000s, he was pushing both publicly and behind the scenes for the Orains government to come to a peace agreement with the KLA and Okkar. I should also add that the current leader of Ataqatigiit, Nive Anselm, has somewhat of a reputation as a team player. Even then, a coalition of the two of them would only bring their government to 222 seats. They would probably want to add in the lone green seat for a true majority government.” 

Jamie pulled the car into the parking lot beside Talamh’s main office within the government campus. He cut the engine as the anchor asked, “So Arjun will we soon be calling Douglas an Gael Taoiseach once again?” 

“Mary, it is not guaranteed but I will not rule it out either. I appreciate you having me o-” Arjun was cut off as Dugdale turned the radio off. 

Ralph stepped out of the car, making sure he had everything he needed in his shoulder bag. “What do you think? Is Ol Dougie gonna make a comeback?” 

“Who knows?” Jamie responded with a cryptic smirk.

***

Ten-Penny Hall has been the traditional headquarters of Talamh since the very start. Talamh got its start renting out the attic of the building because it was cheap and close to the heart of government. As the party grew and the amount of money in its coffers increased, Talamh began to rent more and more rooms. Eventually the party bought the entire building and the land it sat on. The original party’s choice of location proved a good one. When the land around Government House was expanded in the 80s to create Government Park, Ten Penny Hall was nicely inside the new boundaries. A major renovation was undertaken in 2008, when Ariel Orains led the party, to fix significant structural problems that had piled up over the years, to say nothing of bringing the building up to modern standards. The 2008 project also saw the offices of the party expand, with a brand new modern building being built next to the old, with a connecting bridge between them. 

In the classic old second story conference room, senior TDs and party strategists gathered. The Eastern wall of the room housed impressive tudor windows that overlooked Loch Carolinea and let in the morning sunlight. The west wall was an intricate hand carved affair with a large wall clock as its centerpiece. A gentle fire simmered in the stone hearth beneath it. The room was by no means small, yet was crammed to capacity, with the lower ranked staffers and TDs hugging the walls. Benches had been brought in to accommodate the increased capacity for the leadership meeting but some were still required to stand in the corners. The air of the room was filled with a gentle din as the party members exchanged findings.

The clock struck 9 and the sound of rustling could be heard as members made way for one of the double doors to open. Party leader Douglas an Gael entered the room accompanied by his chief of staff Jamie Dugdale. The room went quiet and those who were sitting began to stand.

“Oh sit down will you.” an Gael growled good naturedly. He took his seat at the center of the long conference room, in front of the fireplace and underneath the clock. He was getting on in years, his hair was all white at this point and wrinkles had gathered around his eyes and on his forehead, he walked with a limp and as a result used a cane, however, his mind was still razor sharp as ever. “Right, results are in. Let’s get to the bones of it. What are our next steps and what is our path to forming a government?”

A TD, Seth Montgomery the shadow minister of foreign affairs, questioned unsteadily, “Don’t you want to discuss the election results, now that they’re all in? I think we ought to know why we did poorer than we expected.”

“There will be time for that. There will be time but we need to focus on the immediate business at hand for now. We have a meeting soon… Jamie what time is our meeting with Mrs. Anselm?”

The chief of staff was towards the north end of the conference table. Peering over his spectacles he piped up for the benefit of the entire room, “That would be at 1300 hours sir. Early tea with the Ataqatigiit party leader Nive Anselm, senior TD Chatan Hakan, and a few of their staff.”

The party leader nodded. “Four hours then. A little less.” He paused and cracked a smirk. “Besides I can tell you what went wrong. The nation said bugger it all to the whole lot of government. I don’t think you can blame them considering the last few months.” The room lit up with a polite chuckle. When it settled an Gael continued, “So what are we bringing to the table with us?”

“Well, in a coalition they’ll probably want the foreign ministry to be under Hakan. He’s known to be a bit of an international wonk.” Montgomery offered. He was unfocused on the big picture. He was distracted by his fear that he was not going to be in the cabinet in a coalition government.

The meeting was saved from a narrow tangent by Margaret McGillis, Shadow Minister for both the Treasury and for Commerce & Trade. She was somewhat of a protégé of an Gael. Highly valued. “Well. We share more with Ataqatigiit than it’s sometimes made out to be. I’m sure many of us here have worked with some of their TDs. If we want to form a coalition, we need to make a case for it both to our counterparts in their party, and to the nation we hope to serve.”

“I definitely agree with that.” A strategist chimed in. “Ideally we would have started the process for doing so earlier, but I suppose the thought of winning a majority alone sidetracked us from working on that with gusto.”

“No time like the present.” an Gael responded.

“Yes. What we need to do after this meeting is adjourned is that those of you who have working relationships with TDs in Ataqatigiit need to reach out. Those of you who share committees especially. Either call them on the phone, or arrange meetings. Talk to them about a coalition. Express your desire for cooperation and emphasize the importance of this moment.”

Sam Wood, the senior communications specialist for the party chimed in. “Comms teams we are going to be meeting right after this one adjourns. To summarize for the rest of the membership, we will need to start drumming up support, running the circuit. Emphasize the commonalities of our parties, our compatibility. Most importantly, the good it would do for the nation. Jamie, nicely done on the telecast last night, you set us up beautifully.”

Moira Kelly, the chief whip waded in. “Politically we share a lot of planks. In fact it’s easier to list where we differ. The biggest difference is that they want a referendum on Yaran independence at some point in our term of government.”

The room erupted as everyone tried to get their opinion in. 

“The whole country will splinter!”

“It won’t be that bad but it will only make things more unstable.” 

“What about non indigenous people who live in the territories?” 

“We’ll never win another election.”

The loud hum of discourse continued for several minutes. Finally, an Gael cleared his throat several times until the room began to turn its attention to him. “Do they want a referendum immediately? Or just in this term of government?”

“This term.” Responded Kelly.

Douglas nodded. “We can do that. That can be done.” The room began to protest but he put his hand up which brought the volume back down. “I would not say it is politically wise. It will certainly hurt us in the short term, but we are in the process of forming a government. When you govern, you have to play the game. You have to give a little to get a little. At this point, I do not think our nation will survive even three more years of the ADP, not with the fascists in the mix of it.” He took a breath, thinking for a moment. “What will it cost us?”

A staffer, some kind of statistician, began to lecture. “Polling shows that an independence referendum is going to lead to a decrease in the popularity of government and democratic reforms. It may put a damper on the ministry restructuring program and…”

Douglas interrupted. “To be completely frank, the polling told us that by today I would be Taoiseach. I need… something more concrete.”

Jamie cut to the point. “The truth is Doug, that it will likely cost us our shot at officially restricting the powers of the Clans.”

The party leader gave a pained look, closed his eyes and nodded. The room went silent for a moment. Finally, an Gael opened his eyes again and resumed their business. “Seth you know Ms. Getty, of the Greens. How long will you need to work on her to get her in line?” 

***

The Brisbane tea house was a famed meeting place on the Penzance waterfront. It was near Government Park as well as in the planned core of the city. With a highly trained and experienced staff, it was a popular place to meet. Business and dealings could be done in private here, but one could ensure that they were still seen to be doing business. The building was easily recognizable with its art nouveau architectural style and pink stucco.

This happened to Nive Anselm, her chief of staff Molly Park, and Chatan Hakan. The trio rounded a corner to find the pink building suddenly taking up much of their field of vision. They approached the building, discussing heatedly, before entering the establishment and giving their name. They were led through the building, past the grandiose and airy main tea room, to a private room. Already awaiting them were Douglas an Gael, Margaret McGillis, and Jamie Dugdale.   

The group exchanged greetings and introductions. Hakan and an Gael each recalled to the room having worked together during the peace process.  

Anselm shook an Gael’s hand firmly. “Mr. an Gael I presume?”

“Ms. Anselm? And please call me Douglas. We try not to be too stiff.”

“Well then please call me Nive.” She said graciously while taking her seat. She couldn’t help but notice that the walls of the room were absolutely covered in oil paintings.

A waiter entered the room and took everyone’s order. Upon his exit the group began to discuss superficialities. The results of the election, how grateful they all were to be here for the present moment, and so on. Soon multiple waiters entered the room. One placed a tower of treats in the center of the table, finger sandwiches and macaroons, while the others placed the fine tea cups at each place at the table. The waiters poured the first cup for each patron before placing their tea pots beside the cups. A very rich black tea for Hakan, darl grey with cream for an Gael, green rooibos for McGillis, and chamomile for Anselm. The waiters exited the room in a line just as swiftly as they came.

Hakan added a pinch of sugar to his cup and stirred lightly as he cleared his throat and began, “So. With our TD’s phones blowing up this morning, it sounds like you’d like to go into government together.” Hakan was an experienced statesman, in his 50s at this point. Currently he was the chief whip for Ataqatigiit, but in truth this was a role that was below his abilities. He had been one of the principal negotiators during the New Spring peace process. His reputation preceded him and he was both respected and to an extent feared for his negotiation skills.

McGillis took the opening and made her pitch. “Yes we think that the nation requires new leadership, and that were we to form a coalition government, we could provide that new direction together.”

Anselm was silent for a moment, as if in thought, before asking knowingly, “And are our two parties… compatible? Do we share enough goals?”

The three Talamh representatives whispered to each other for a moment before an Gael came forward directly. They decided that being coy would only drag things out further, that the best path was the direct one. “The truth of the matter is, yes we think that we are. There are only two major positions that we see as a potential conflict. We are willing to take the hit on our end if Ataqatigiit can concede as well. For the strength of a coalition. We will support, officially and publicly, a Yaran independence referendum this term, though the closer to the end of term the more preferable it is to our membership.” He studied the faces of the trio across from him. “In exchange, we will need Ataqatigiit to strike any republican planks from the platform. Of course the beliefs of individual members cannot be controlled, but the official stance of the party on the role of the Ríog will need to be either non committal, or more preferably in favor of reform and a concrete division and separation of powers rather than abolition.”

The Ataqatigiit faction nodded before Molly Park answered. “We can manage and agree to those terms. Now if we are to form a coalition, we would prefer not to incorporate Ellen Getty of the Green Party.” The Talamh faction all took on a confused posture.

“The Green Party does not consider indigenous rights a matter of priority, even in environmental matters.” Anselm explained.

“And you are likely aware that they do not tend to make a good coalition partner, even if they are now reduced to one vote.” Continued Park.

“Governing with only half the Dáil…” Dugdale sucked his teeth.

Hakan set Anselm up for the counter pitch smoothly. “However, we do have an alternative. A way to maintain a majority.” The Talamh faction looked even more confused.

“After a series of many meetings, and they were long meetings, with Mr. Hanta of Okkar, they are prepared to make a major policy change.” The Talamh trio’s eyes widened. “Okkar is prepared to forgo abstentionism and to join a coalition government. In exchange, an independence referendum would take place sometime during this term. Since Talamh is already willing to support such a measure, we see a path to form a government.”

Douglas looked down at his tea, thinking. McGillis and Dugdale came to the same realization and said in unison, “But there is another condition. Isn’t there?”

Hakan took a bite of a cucumber sandwich, finished chewing, and replied in the affirmative. “Yes.”

Making eye contact, Anselm followed on, “They need me to be Taoiseach.” 

***

It was 18:00 and Talamh leadership were gathered in a sitting room at Ten-Penny Hall. They had been engaged in spirited discussion, argument, and by now were talking in circles. As it became evening, they had concluded that it would be possible to get the party to agree to the proposal. The only question now was, should they?

Douglas an Gael was red in the face, flustered. “I have to respect the gall. The chutzpah.” He mumbled the next few sentences before speaking up. “Is this a serious proposal?”

Strategists, analysts, and TDs all tried to answer with their opinion, drowning each other out so that all that could be heard was a medley of ideas. Margaret McGillis and Jamie Dugdale found each other’s gaze. Without speaking the two of them both knew they were in agreement. It was just a matter of persuading an Gael.

“We would na be in this position if people had actually turned out to the bloody polls. Useless.” Ralph Raskin was in the corner of the room complaining to another secretary.

Douglas’ head perked up. “Who said that? There’s too many of you speaking at once but I want to make something clear. And I do not say this to chastise or embarrass anyone, but as a matter of principle. We do not blame the citizens of the nation for our troubles, for our problems. We work in government, our trade is politics. We play with the hand we’re dealt. We devote our energy to the current circumstances, not what we wish they were.”

McGillis took the opening and addressed the room. “And that is why we must meet the present moment. Who knows when we will have a chance again. Now the terms may not be exactly how we want them to be, but they are not a flight of fancy. We can make changes for the better if we can put aside our pride and our ambition and focus our energy on getting into government.”

“It’s easy for you to say Margaret.” Sniped Seth Montgomery. “You’re going to have the Treasury should we bow to their demands.” The room erupted into discourse once again.

Dugdale made his way to an Gael who was sitting in a wingback chair. “Doug. If we don’t do this, things are going to stay the same as they are. More people are going to get hurt. Doug… people aren’t going to survive the winter.”

Douglas closed his eyes, his face in the same pained expression as in the morning leadership meeting. He nodded then opened his eyes. He took his pipe out of his coat jacket and lit it. He took a draw then stood. The room gave him its attention automatically. “Right Jamie, let’s set up a meeting with Ataqatigiit again for tomorrow. Sam, start putting whispers out there about a major platform change, but don’t say what just yet. The rest of you, go home and get some bloody sleep. You are going to need it, you will have a government to run in around a week’s time.”         

 

 

Edited February 21 by Gaellicia (see edit history)

[Gaellicia]

It was a common mistake to assume that the headquarters for the Aon Duthaic Criosid was a church or even a small cathedral. The gothic building and its steeple-like towers projected upwards, reaching for the clouds and dominating the surrounding buildings. The complex did indeed have a chapel, recognized by its flying buttresses, but the purpose of most of the buildings was to house the business of ruling Gaellicia. Any of the men or women who worked within the Chumhachd would tell you they had both a right and a responsibility to rule the land. How dare anyone say or do otherwise.

The Chumhachd was meant to serve as a place for party business only, but this was only a custom. Years of uninterrupted ADC rule had made it too easy to take some official business home, to mix the purposes of the buildings of government and of the party. After all, the party is the nation. Alternatively, an Isoldite would argue that there is no nation, only a consensus.

John Peytr Hillgauntlet uttered a quick, silent prayer, before rising to his feet. He ignored an aid who jabbered in his ear whilst they walked towards the heart of the Chumhachd. Two white gloved ushers opened two large mahogany doors in order for him to enter the inner citadel. A vast, windowless, room built around an immaculate and perfectly rounded stone table. There was a great echo as everyone in the citadel stood for the Taoiseach. The chief whip of the party gave a death glare to a junior member who failed to stand quickly enough.

The room remained standing as the scribe, dressed in his finest, including a white powdered wig, convened the party meeting. “The members of Aon Duthaic Criosid are hereby convened to meet within the noble citadel of Chumhachd, Penzance, Gaellicia, in the year of our lord two thousand and twenty-two, on the seven and tenth day of the tenth month. Present are his and her excellencies…” What followed was a roll call procedure where those standing around the table announced their presence by way of saying their name, before sitting down. The scribe continued. “For our first order of business, we will discuss the proposal for a minority government.”

Hillgauntlet commanded in a monotone voice. “Chief of Coalition Strategy, state your report.”

A tall, pale man, rail thin, stood and addressed the Taoiseach. “Your excellency. After much discussion with counterparts of the Laird Riochdaire and the Naiseanta Gaellic, the Coalition Committee has drafted a final proposal.” The thin man cleared his throat and described the proposal. “With the cooperation of the Laird Riochdaire and the Naiseanta Gaellic, we are to make a case to the Ríog at the earliest convenience for a minority government. Your excellency will serve as Taoiseach, with Laird Brisbane of the LR serving as deputy. After much… negotiation, Mr. Kellogg of the NG will settle for the position of minister of culture.”

Hillguantlet asked sternly. “Can these fools in the NG be relied upon?”

The chief whip interjected sharply. “Relied upon sir? No. Brought into line? Absolutely. Carrot and the stick, as always. Though with these fellas, I’m prepared to use more stick.”

“And what carrot and stick do you have prepared?” The Taoiseach queried.

“Well, sir, there are of course committee assignments. I’m not afraid to implement those in the middle of our term, multiple times if necessary. There are honors for you to dish out, sir. And of course if someone needs to be brought to heel, squeezing the old purse never fails. We will have discipline in our government, sir. There’ll be no individuals, not like whatever the pinkos try to throw together.” The whip crowed, satisfied.

Alexander Brown, the minister of labor listened warily. He did not trust the Naiseanta Gaellic. He knew many of his colleagues did not either. It was a bad idea. Of course, it would be inappropriate to voice such views unprompted. There was a procedure to follow. One must not stick out.

Little did Brown know, the Taoiseach shared similar sentiments. He could not voice these doubts openly, however. His duty was to his country, and that meant duty to the party. The previous occupant of the chair he sat in had gambled and lost. Lost badly, at a historic level. His predecessor had hoped that by calling a snap election, power could be consolidated for the ADC. A new mandate would have freed up the party from scrutiny, making room to focus on governing. Hillgauntlet was preparing to gamble again, a different gamble. “Do we have a good chance of continuing to govern? Will the Ríog likely accept a minority government?”

The thin man responded. “We believe there to be a very good chance, your excellency. Whatever coalition the opposition can manage to form, it will be untested and unproven. We will make the case that our coalition can be relied upon, we are proven and a mostly known entity. The opposition taking power would run the risk of their coalition collapsing, only creating further trouble for the nation.” Unspoken was the feeling that there was falseness to the argument. There was fear. The NG was an unknown variable. Still, there was confidence in Hillgauntlet’s ability to keep everything steady.

The scribe interrupted the thoughts of uncertainty. “The second order of business. A report from Minister of Foreign Affairs, Angus MacAlpine, on the current wurld geopolitical situation and on communications with Tagmatium.”

The Minister of Foreign Affairs stood and addressed his Taoiseach.

Edited February 21 by Gaellicia
spelling (see edit history)

[Gaellicia]

Omar Hanta stood overlooking the grey and oily beach of Blair’s Land. Of course he knew it as Qushlar Olish Kor’fazi, the bay where the birds rest, but these Gaels insisted on calling it by their imposed names and even he sometimes mixed up the false and the true. It was also true that it had been many years since birds had actually rested here. The water was too oily, the vegetation too toxic to provide real refuge for the Buranian terns as they made their yearly migration. Hanta was getting tired. Tired of working with these Gaels. Tired of holding his own people together. Tired of arguing. Hanta had a plan, a way to bring some peace.

A ship he had been watching for a while, a once great Orionian liner, Kokebi Sibaniye was growing closer. Ever closer, he could now see the wear and tear brought on by years of use. The rust spots, broken windows, soot stains, peeling and chipped paint. The Kokebi Sibaniye let out a mighty bellow as the workmen below ran about like ants. Black smoke poured from her stack as she packed on more speed and momentum, her hull cutting a frothy bow wave. A workman in an orange jumpsuit waved two glowing paddles in the air whilst another lit a wood pyre on the gravel beach with a flare. Hanta watched as the liner adjusted her course whilst continuing to pick up speed. Her sharp bow was now pointed almost directly at him as he observed from his rocky perch. Kokebi Sibaniye let out a final roar as she drove herself aground. 

A steam whistle sounded from a shack on land, marking the beginning of break time. This was Hanta’s cue. Time for business. As he turned away from the sea an old tug huffed and puffed to close the oil boom at the mouth of the bay. Omar stepped spryly past various heavy equipment and piles of scrap material before entering a sheet metal office. Waiting for him there he found a gray man his age and a young man, nearly a teenager. The room was lit by drafty windows on either side and a lonely ceiling light in the center above a round table. 

“Agur comrades.” He uttered.

“Agur, Marebay.” The two men responded. 

Omar shot them both with a disapproving scowl. “Kabile will do.” Hanta had been addressed by a military rank, a habit of the days of the KLA and the Struggle. Omar wanted to avoid impropriety, preferring to be addressed by his elected title of Kabile, chieftain. “Adham where did you learn that from?” He grilled the young man. 

Adham blushed and replied sheepishly. “I was instructed by Comrade Zakirov… Kabile.” 

Omar shook his head. “No more.” He softened his face somewhat and instructed the youth. “Now see to it that the kahve is brewing and ensure that the stove is adequately stoked.” The youth left the room to see to his tasks. Omar nodded to the older man. “If you’ll excuse me Farit. I am expecting a phone call soon.”

Farit nodded, unoffended, as he took a seat at the round table and thumbed through a notebook. "Just through that door is the office. It has been set up for you."

Omar opened a door on the far wall and stepped into a rather spare office, the centerpiece being an old landline phone that had far voided the warranty with various replacement parts having been frankensteined from old ship radios and even a speaking tube. The frankenphone rang immediately upon Omar’s closing the office door. He answered whilst glancing out at the bay. The tide was beginning to lower and as it did workmen were beginning to climb aboard the Kokebi Sibaniye and other further disassembled ships on the breakers beach. Tiny orbs of light began to bob around the dark hulks like fireflies as the workers began dismembering the vessels with their cutting torches. Omar steeled himself for his coming task as the female voice on the other end of the phone informed him of the morning's events. 

It had been a week since the heads of Talamh and Ataqatigiiit had first met at the Brisbane tea house. A fruitful week of negotiation had elapsed and that morning Douglas an Gael and Nive Anselm had shaken hands in Ten-penny Hall. Omar gulped slightly, knowing that an official agreement meant that he was now committed to one course. There was no longer any turning back. He was not afraid, he just disliked the taste. “I appreciate your continuing to keep me updated Kabile Tölke.” He waited for his Ataqatigiit counterpart to respond before placing the frankenphone back in its receiver. He stared out the window for another moment while listening to the other councilors file into the room. Finally he opened the door and returned, pleased to find everyone now present.  

“Agur comrades.” He said to the room. 

“Agur Kabile.” The room responded in unison. All of them greying men like himself, rose to their feet at their spots around the table. 

“Before I begin I’d like to extend my thanks to Farit once again for hosting us.” 

“Kesinlikle.” The room agreed in unison. There were ten of them in total. All of them elected members of the Yaran Büyük Çuroi, the grand council, the Karalluk answer to the rest of Gaellicia’s Siorrachd governments. Until recently they were all abstentionists occupying seats within the Dáil. The latest election had surprised them all following the loss of four of their federal seats. 

In front of each man was a small stone cup, handle-less and filled to the brim with steaming hot kahve. Omar picked up his kahve, waited for a few moments as the other men mirrored him, before toasting, “Çerefe borrakatuko.”

“Çerefe borrakatuko.” The other men responded. Honor to struggle. Together they downed their kahve, rich, strong, and dark. 

Hanta took his seat and the room followed suit. Adham entered the room with a metal pitcher and topped up each man’s cup. Hanta held his tongue until the youth exited. The rest of the Okkar high leadership, who had been waiting in anticipation for him to speak, were relieved when he finally broke the silence. “Gentlemen. I will be resigning from the Büyük Çuroi and I ask those of you who hold seats within the Dáil to do the same.” Most of the men glanced at their Kabile quizzically. His next words caused their faces to flush red with emotion. “Gentlemen, it is time to occupy those seats we hold in the Dáil.”

The room exploded in noise and shouting but above the medley the voice of Ruslan Zakirov boomed. “I knew it! I knew the rumors were true! I should have known when you were so noncommittal approaching the election! You are a traitor.” The room went silent as all attention was directed to Hanta, awaiting his response.

Hanta took a sip of his kahve, smiled, and answered. “A pleasure to know you still have your passion, comrade. You speak for everyone?” The rest of the room grumbled noncommittally. Omar already knew the answer, who thought what, who aligned with who. There were five hardliners, led by Zakirov. Three of them had just lost the federal seats however, leaving only two to worry about. Those who were ready to move past abstentionism included Farit, who had also lost his federal seat and thus was not a part of the math, and Omar’s good friend Aidar Khudi. In the center there were two, though the one who really mattered was Eduard Gataullin, a loyal partyman but somewhat of an enigma. There was a painful silence as the entire room calculated the math and became aware of the factions. “Allow me a moment to explain.”

“The time for that is well past! You thought you could sneak this past us. Force this betrayal on us at the last moment!” Zakirov spat. 

Omar responded calmly. “You are right to be angry with me, comrade, but would you have let me bring this opportunity before you all if I had not worked in secret.” 

Before Zakirov could respond, Gataullin interjected. “I would like to hear what our Kabile has to say.” 

Hanta nodded to Gataullin in thanks. “Comrades, abstentionism is a losing strategy. If you want I can share the exact data from my comrade at the university-” 

“A colonial institution meant to suck our culture dry and then kill it.” Zakirov protested.

Hanta continued unphased. “The short version is that our party will only continue to lose support from here. Not gain it. The younger generation does not see things the way we do.” 

“Nonsense!” Someone else objected. 

Aidar Khudi quickly countered with a stinging question. “How many people do you know who remember the lowest times? How many young people do you know involved with Okkar?” 

Before objections could be voiced Gataullin cut in. “It’s true. Denying what is in front of us will not make us safe. Pulling wool over the sheep’s eyes does not make them safe from the wolf.” 

“What about the boy here?” A hardliner objected. 

“One lad. And he is my grandson.” Farit observed. 

“If you talk to any of our young people, they are disillusioned with petty politics. Those that do have some passion are not coming to us. They are throwing in with Ataqatigiit. Our base of support is finite.” Omar proclaimed. “Abstentionism as a strategy cannot continue. It is based on the assumption that we will always hold on to our seats. As our generation ages, this is no longer a guarantee. The way I see it is that we have two paths. The first path, we can abandon this political game and discard all of the progress of our lifetime. We can return to previous hard methods, likely failing.” More did not need to be said. All of these men remembered the costs of war. Many had physical scars to remind them. The room went silent for a moment as each man reflected on those that had passed. Comrades, friends, family. “Or, we can use these petite politics to our advantage.”

The balance of opinion could be felt to have shifted. Zakirov, sensing the change in atmosphere, remained skeptical but less hard. “So you expect us to be good little soldiers. To line up and play at their pageantry. Shall we don bonnets and powdered wigs? Budgets and committees and ribbons. Giving legitimacy to a body that should have no say over us?” 

“No comrade. I expect every man to do his duty to his people, what he feels is right. I ask however that he tries to see this path as the path that’s needed.” Omar sipped some khave. “We have leverage right now that we are unlikely to have again in our lifetime. I want us to lend our help in these petty politics, just this once, just long enough to use their own ways to achieve our independence. A reversal of what they once did to us.” 

The room was silent for a moment before Zakirov nodded. “I will play this game, just this once. On one condition.” The room waited expectantly. “No matter the result, by the end of this ‘term’ you will resign as Kabile.” 

“Brother on my honor you have it. That is more than fair. I will be a pin cushion for all of the unsavory bits of this new path.” Omar responded heartily. 

“Kesinlikle to that!” Gataullin proclaimed loudly as he sprung to his feet. 

The rest of the room followed suit. “Ćerefe borrakatuko!” They exclaimed in unison as they downed their kahve.

[Gaellicia]

“You are watching RBC News.” An official announcer voice proclaimed before the television broadcast transitioned from commercials to a news anchor with a great hall behind him. 

“Hello if you are just joining us. I’m Raghnall Macdonald with RBC news within the Baile Ùr Dun. As promised before the break, we’re joined by senior RBC political correspondent Arjun Neilsen, and Ríog analyst Cecily An Mill. Thank you for joining us both.”

“Of course Raghn.” Replied Arjun. 

“An honor, Mr. Macdonald.” Answered Cecily. 

“It is October 19th, 08:40. The time is nearly upon us at last for a new government to be formed. We’re gathered here in the Ríog’s place of business, the great chamber of the Baile Ùr Dun, Cecily, do you care to explain why that is.”

Cecily replied with both nervousness and excitement. “Aye Mr. Macdonald. Two proposals have been collated for ruling of the Dáil. I’m sure Mr. Nielsen will go into greater detail…” She smiled and nodded to Arjun, across from her, “but to get straight to the historical and significant aspect of the matter, this is a heterodox moment for the Ríogan. Normally it is only a mere formality for the Ríog to accept a new government, however, in this instance his majesty will actually have to make a decision on the composition of Gaellicia’s new government.” 

Arjun nodded and picked up from where Cecily left off. “Yes and the proposed governments aren’t any less unusual.” As Neilsen spoke, the camera panned over the three prospective coalition leaders as they sat in a line, high up members of their party sat on benches behind them. Hillgauntlet sat tall and steady in the middle, to his right sat Keir Brisbane of the LR, his perfect posture and attire making him fit right in with the ornate chamber they were gathered in. To Hillgauntlet’s left sat Leif Kellogg, wilting like a neglected orchid. Though dressed appropriately, he didn’t seem to fit the rest of the room. He was much younger than his would-be partners, in his thirties. The only clue to his true abilities and hunger were his eyes alight with starry ambition. 

“The ADC is attempting to hold onto power by pitching a minority coalition government, composed of themselves and longtime partner, the Laird Riochdaire. To boost their numbers they have, controversially, incorporated the far right Naiseanta Gaelica into their coalition.”

Raghnall took Arjun’s breath as a chance to query, “And this is an unusual move is it not Arjun. Both a proposal for a minority government, and a partnership with the NG.” 

“Absolutely Raghn, but it seems the political situation in the nation has made strange bedfellows for all. A larger shock than the partnership of the three right parties is the composition of the left coalition. In a highly unexpected, no, an unprecedented move that completely challenges the political status quo, Okkar is abandoning the policy of abstentionism in order to enter a coalition government with Ataqatigiit and Talamh. Exact details are yet to be revealed but it is certainly happening. Omar Hanta and the other five Dáil seat holders of Okkar are gathered with their proposed coalition partners.” Hanta stood to Nive Anselm’s left whilst his comrades were close behind. All in their finest Karaalluk traditional ceremonial attire. The two coalitions stood separated by a large aisle. In front of them was a large, intricate, mosaic square floor. On the far wall, across the square from the coalition, was an enormous set of double doors, flanked by two sets of pews crammed with clan chiefs and high ranking officials of the Ríogan.

Cecily An Mill chimed in again more confidently. “Any ideas as to how Bricius IV may rule today are pure speculation. Unlike his predecessor Isolde, Bricius has been very quiet on political matters. Some critics go so far as to accuse him of allowing the Ríogan to run itself. Regardless of the accusations, Bricius has been a quiet leader. His mantra has been famously, ‘Speak only when acting is not enough.’ More often than not, he will outwardly uphold the status quo. In this instance of course, neither option is really a maintenance of the status quo so it will be interesting to see who he chooses.”

Raghn asked for the benefit of the viewer, “And Cecily procedurally what will we see today?”

“Well Mr. Macdonald, excellent question. Once the Ríog enters the chamber, he may or may not address those gathered. Then the leader of each prospective coalition will address the Ríog, essentially making an argument for why the Ríog should choose their coalition to form a new government. Bricius may or may not request to meet with the coalition leaders privately. Then it will be a matter of waiting, with Bricius’ decision being released no later than Friday morning.” 

“Arjun, Cecily, thank you so much for your time. It looks like ceremonies are about to begin. We’ll be sure to talk to you first as soon as the ceremonies come to a close.”

Edited February 21 by Gaellicia (see edit history)

[Gaellicia]

The same day, moments later.

The great hall buzzed with activity and excitement as those present anticipated the start of the hearing. Nive Anselm shifted uncomfortably in her clothes, feeling underdressed. To her left stood Omar Hanta in his traditional Karaalluk attire, the other Okkar TDs standing behind him. To her right stood Douglas a Gael fitted out in full highland great kilt, including medals and a small clan badge. Beyond him on the other side of the aisle stood the triplet of Criosid Coalition leaders, all of them wearing flowing kilts and clan insignia, making Douglas’ attire modest in comparison. Everyone gathered were dressed in their best. Anselm wore her best suit with a traditional Karaalluk necklace and a ribbon of her district’s tartan pinned to her lapel. Nive was technically meeting the requirements of the dress code, but she felt she could not present herself in the way others in the room could.

Conversations towards the middle of the room quieted as a drum major of the Carolean Guards marched precisely to the center. He tapped his ceremonial mace on the floor three times, gaining the attention of the entire room and giving the cue to be silent. The drum major marched to the opposite side of the room from where he’d come. The gap of silence was cut by a low drone that gave Nive goosebumps. The drone was pierced by the chanters of the pipes as a band began to play the Ríogan processional. The great oak doors across from her opened and a train of tartan marched out of them; pipers, drummers, horn players, and standard bearers. The line of men, two abreast, split with the marchers moving perpendicular to each other. The two halves lined the east and west walls of the great hall simultaneously. Bricius IV entered the room with equal parts swagger and gravitas as the last notes of the song were played. With him he carried the great staff of his office, the biggest symbol of the Ríogan’s power, the closest thing to a throne the Ríogan had. It was a relatively modest object, composed of intricately carved segments of wych elm and live oak finished by contoured iron ribbons. At the head of the staff was encased a great emerald.

There was an expectant pause, one that Bricius savored, smirking slightly. “So, I see that you all received my invitation, I hope you like the little changes in decoration made since you were last here.” A polite chuckle gently rippled through the room. “I’d hoped to not have you all back here so soon, but we have had a turbulent year. Or perhaps citizens just like keeping me on my toes.” There was a more genuine (though still reserved) chuckle as Bricius smiled.

John Hillgauntlet kept his face neutral though he felt somewhat off balance. Across the aisle he could see Douglas an Gael and Nive Anselm chuckling lightly. Even Omar Hanta displayed a slight smirk. The various clan chiefs and Ríogan officials laughed the loudest, perhaps overdoing it considering the intentional lightness of the Ríog’s jokes. The mirth of the room only made John’s cloud of seriousness feel heavier.

Bricius continued more reverently. “We are gathered here today for one of the most important functions of our nation, choosing a government. Normally, it is only my responsibility to confirm the choice of the people, but it seems that today I will need to help with the choice. I see it as an honor to be entrusted with this responsibility and I hope that whatever choice I decide on, that it will be respected.” Bricius turned his body a quarter turn to the East, facing the ADC coalition. “Mr. Hillgauntlet, as you are the incumbent, would you state your case first?”

Hillgauntlet bowed his head slightly and croaked, “With pleasure your majesty.” He took a breath and stepped forward. “Your majesty, I am proposing to you a minority government led by my own party, the Aon Duthaic Criosid, and joined in a coalition by the Laird Riochdaire and the Naiseanta Galica. Now our steady coalition, as I like to call it, lacks the numbers of the alternative proposal for the moment, but what we do have is experience. In these unsteady times, the nation needs, nay, requires a steady hand. I know that even though we lack the majority of seats, we represent the consensus view of the nation.”

Bricius looked as if he were about to ask a question but then paused. He rephrased the idea in his mind, before asking, “How will this steady coalition pass legislation, how will it govern without the needed votes? How have you planned for it?”

“Your majesty, our coalition will draft and propose legislation for the benefit of the entire nation. Policy agreeable enough for a consensus. Allegiance to a party is subservient to the needs of the nation.” Hillgauntlet proclaimed .

“All of the members of your coalition agree with that message?” the Ríog asked in a neutral voice whilst examining Lief Kellog.

“Absolutely your majesty. All members of our coalition share the same goal.” Hillgauntlet smiled artificially.

Bricius nodded and turned his body to the West and the other proposal. “Ms. Anselm, if you would state your case.”

Nive stepped forward, bowed her head and began, “A privilege your honor. My name is Nive Anselm, the head of Ataqatagiit. I am proposing a government formed from my own party, Talamh led by Mr. an Gael, and Okkar led by Mr. Hanta.” She gestured to her coalition partners as she spoke.

Bricius smiled and addressed Omar Hanta good naturedly. “I see that you’ve decided you were sick of missing out on all of the fun over here.”

“You could say that sir.” Hanta smirked, “I thought I could liven up the social scene over here you know.”

Another light chuckle filled the room. During the murmur Nive overheard an exchange between two of the Ríogan officials, spoken in Aurivizht. “That frog an Gael is a shame to his name at this point.”

“I truly pity him. He must be going senile in his age. Bringing these two papaqnys, one of them a terrorist, the other with delusions of grandeur.”

Nive waited for the murmur to quiet down before addressing the two men directly, also  in Aurivizht. “Your lairdships, most would consider it rude to speak of guests in such ways directly in front of them.” The two lairds’ faces flushed red. “Furthermore, I think you’ll find me no more deluded than any other member of the Dáil, all things considered. Having discussed with my coalition partner Mr. an Gael, I have indeed come to understand that if I had grand designs and ambitions, that the office of Taoiseach would be the wrong thing to seek entirely.” Nive found herself trembling with rage and annoyance even as she managed to present outwardly as near perfectly poised. There was a murmur of approval as her careful yet stinging retort came to be understood by the room.

Bricius raised his left hand into the air, commanding silence, before asking Nive with genuine magnanimity, “You speak Aurivizht madam?”

Nive responded whilst nodding her head courteously. “I speak enough for conversation, your honor. Appearances can be deceiving; I received a classical education. A privilege unavailable to most.”

“Indeed. Though I think you would agree with me that it is rude to speak in a language not all present can understand.”

“Aye, I would your honor.”

Bricius returned to speaking in Gaelic and addressed the room. “I would like to thank all of you for joining me and participating in an important event for our nation today. I am satisfied that we can conclude our hearing today, however I extend an invitation to Madame Anselm, Mister an Gael, and Mister Hanta to join me for tea.”

There was a murmur of apprehension throughout the room as the Ríog’s band signaled an end to the official events. Douglas an Gael spoke to Nive quietly as he continued to present himself appropriately. “I recall advising you to make a strong impression, but stand firm, but I did not realize you would take my advice...err so far.”

Anselm responded teasingly to cover her true feelings on the public exchange, “I recall, good sir, telling you that I intended to make history today.”

“Well that, you certainly have done. I’m glad that I’ve been invited on for the ride.” an Gael responded with a smirk. 

Edited January 7 by Gaellicia (see edit history)

[Gaellicia]

Nive Anselm found herself, along with her two fellow coalition leaders, within an incredibly formal room inside the Baile Ùr Dun, the Ríog’s city palace and main place of business. Nive found herself staring out the large city facing windows at the Draoidhad, the so-called magic roadway. When viewed from the direction of the city, the roadway appeared to slope downward even though in reality it was an upwards sloping hill which the palace sat atop. She felt small in the great room. Douglas noted that they were having tea in a different room than was customary in his time as Taoiseach, but he conceded that that had been more than 20 years prior. The room was in fact the same room utilized for state dinners. The singular tea table flanked by two couches, all beside the largest window at the center of the room gave the trio the sensation of being dolls at a tea party.

Nive was jolted to attention by the opening of one of the ornate gilded doors to the tea room. The emptiness of the large room added echo to any sound. She found herself standing automatically, an Gael and Hanta following her lead. Bricius’ steps reverberated throughout the room as he entered. “Greetings once again. I’m glad to see you’ve already been brought refreshment. I hope it is to your liking.” As if on cue a servant entered the room and perfectly arranged Bricius’ own cup along with a small plate of biscuits. The three party leaders all uttered affirmations and compliments to the quality of the tea before Bricius motioned them to join him in sitting. The Ríog took a sip of his tea before stating seriously. “I apologize profusely for the behavior of a member of my council today. I promise you that the laird in question is going to be disciplined.” The party leaders bowed their heads gracefully but without words. “It led me to the decision to continue our discussion in a less formal session. I would like to ask you all a few more questions. First off, the question that interests me the most, what brings your three movements together. I understand you share some interests, but enough to overcome where you disagree?”

Nive answered first, “Well your honor. There is a combination of factors.”

Douglas piggybacked his answer off of Nive’s opening. “As you know, none of us have the numbers to govern alone, but a combined effort puts us over the top. Aside from the math, well frankly your honor, none of us can abide continued governance by the incumbent party.”

Nive continued, “Your honor, our nation is at a crucial point in its history. Moments like this come perhaps once in a lifetime. Your decision on Gaellicia’s next government is more than just a decision on administration. Your decision will determine, in a very real way, the future of the people. The three of us, we are politicians, but we represent and advocate for everyday citizens.”

“Considering the lowness of turnout for the latest election, is it honest to claim to represent the nation’s interest?”

Douglas responded practically. “Your honor, even considering the low turnout, our parties received the most votes. Confidence in government and institutions is pitifully low, and with respect I’d say justifiably so, but you could say our parties are distrusted less than the alternative.”

Anselm added passionately, “Your Honor, the lack of participation itself can be taken as a sign. As my colleague Mr. an Gael said, faith in our institutions, in the future of the nation is incredibly low. Your Honor, looking out these windows.” She gestured to the windows behind her that framed the city below neatly. “Surely at night you can see the orange glows, the little fires that have been breaking out every night for the past few months. Surely you receive reports on the rioting, the arrests. Your citizens are voicing their displeasure, only through methods outside of the ballot box. These scuffles are not limited to the capital here. They are happening in Cathures, in Beaumaris, even in Culloden. Unrest encompasses the nation.” Douglas nodded in confirmation. Anselm finished strongly, “Our parties are the only forces in the Dáil that seek to end this unrest. We seek to offer solutions rather than suppression. Change is going to happen whether it is desirable or not, we do not seek to deny the obvious, instead we wish to harness this energy and to direct it towards a stronger Gaellicia than ever before.”

Bricius nodded neutrally, absorbing the words. John Hillgauntlet certainly did not speak to him with such frankness, nor with such passion. He turned his head towards Omar Hanta. “Mr. Hanta, you have been silent to this point. Would you care to add anything?”

Hanta made eye contact with the Ríog, thought for a moment, then answered. “Sir, in the spirit of honesty that seems to have been established, myself and my comrades in Okkar see our participation in this government as a one time event. We wish to establish an independent Yaran, a state where Karaalluk will not face repression and discrimination. The participation of Okkar in this coalition is a means to an end.” Anselm and an Gael tried and failed to hide their shock at Hanta’s statement but he was not finished. He sipped his tea and continued, “That said, what my colleagues here have said is true. If Okkar can aid them in improving the quality of life for Gaellician’s we will. What helps your nation ultimately helps us as well.”

Bricius maintained his neutral expression, waited a moment, then stood. “Gentlemen, Madame. It has been a pleasure. I welcome you to stay as long as you like. Please, finish your tea. When you are ready to depart, a steward will show you out.” The Ríog shook each of their hands before leaving the room. The three partners looked to each other hoping for insight but they found that none of them knew the Ríog's thoughts.

***

Evening, the same day.

Bricius sat back in his great chair, thinking intently and mostly ignoring the debating of his council. The Ríog’s council chamber was a stone room with a great vaulted ceiling, literally built around a massive round table built of slate and iron. The round table room of the Chumhachd took inspiration from this room, but that was a pale imitation of the original round room. The Ríog’s round room was all that remained of the original Castle Helmold, the ancient stone citadel that had been bombed to rubble at the darkest hour of the Long War. The Baile Ùr Dun had been built where the original castle had once stood, in a new art deco style shielding the gothic round chamber at its heart.

When new, the Baile Ùr Dun had been like a phoenix rising from the ashes. Beaming brightly and perfectly. The years had not been entirely kind to the proud building. Rooms seen by the public were kept in good condition. The great hall, the state dining room, the receiving room, and out of necessity for the structural integrity of the building, the Ríogs round room. Many of the palace's other rooms were in a pitiful state however. Many of them scuffed, dusty, with paint peeling. The tea room had its curtains weighted shut with sand bags, the furniture stacked in the center and covered in white cloth. The solarium and upper gallery, both located on the palace’s top floors, were in a pitiful state. The former was crudely boarded up with many of its delicately crafted one of a kind glass panes shattered or cracked, the room spattered with bird poop as pigeons had found their way in from the outside. The latter was even worse off. All of the artwork was removed and stored in a dry building somewhere else on the grounds, the roof leaked and dripped every time it rained.

Even confining the public to a few rooms could not entirely hide the true condition of the Ríogan estate. From afar the Baile Ùr Dun appeared to stand proud, if duller in color  than in the past. However, on approaching closer one could see the wear and tear of the years. Cracks in the stone, the yellowing of the once pristine facade from years of soot buildup and a failed restoration.

Bricius’ thoughts pondered the state of the building. They also went over the words exchanged with those leaders of the reform coalition earlier that day. He considered the importance of the decision before him. He was brought out of his thoughts by the words of one of his council. “Your majesty. Your majesty, do you agree with myself or councilor MacAlpine?”

Bricius focused on those sitting at his table. He gripped his great staff and cleared his throat. “I have reached a decision. I will ask Madame Anselm to meet with me tomorrow and invite her to form a government.” 

The same councilor gulped and tentatively questioned, “Your majesty, have you… then resolved the argument of which course will better fall in line with established precedent? I only ask as it is our duty to help you reach the most appropriate decision.”

Bricius responded shortly. “My decision is final. The question raised, in my view, overcomplicates a problem that really has a simple solution. Which coalition has received more votes?”

“Well your majesty, with respect, I do think there are less obvious but no less important aspects to consider.”

“Such as?”

“Well… erm such as what preserve stability and security of the nation.”

Bricius remained silent. Thinking about the little fires he would likely view from his chambers that night before going to sleep, as he had done every night for around five months. “Thank you, councilors. You are dismissed. With the exception of Laird Blaire, and Laird MacTurf.”

Bricius sat neutrally as the lairds filed out of the round chamber. He addressed the guards that manned the doors at both sides of the chamber. “Sergeant, if you would be so kind as to give us the room.” The guard sergeant saluted silently before stamping his feet. The sergeant and the three other guards filed out of the room, closing the doors behind them firmly. All that remained in the room were the Lairds Blair and MacTurf, Bricius, and his hand, Brian O’Connell. Bricius stared at the two lairds with silent fury. 

Blair spoke for the both of them. “Your majesty, I would like, we both would like to express our most profound and sincerest apology for what transpired today in the Great Hall. It will not happen again.” Bricius remained silent, smoldering at the two men. “I understand, your majesty, that it was a great affront to you, entirely disrespectful. I will do anything, anything at all to show my sorrow. To once again be in your good graces.”

“Anything?”

“Anything your majesty.”

“You know in previous centuries I would be within my rights to have you executed. I believe the method was a quick chop with a pike.” The Ríog grinned. The two lairds chuckled nervously. “You will issue a public apology. Tour the media circuit, and if the new government desires, face a legislative enquiry.”

“Oh yes your majesty. Without question. We will submit to-”

“I have not finished Laird Blair. You both will resign. Not immediately, but when I decide. In the meantime you will both sit on my council in name only. You will attend meetings, events, but you will say nothing, do nothing. You will be present and nothing more.”

Blair gave a forced smile. “Roy, you never lose your sense of humor.”

Bricius stood and stamped his staff on the floor. “You think I am playing the fool? How dare you sir. You dare abuse our friendship. You address me by my Christian name in this room? In this building? The only fool here is you. Need I spell out the extent of your failure for you? Your remarks today do not merely reflect poorly upon you. They reflect poorly on ME and this office.”

Blair attempted to stammer an apology but before he could be intelligible he was cut off. “Silence! You will resign when I command or I will publicly expel the both of you. Am I clear?”

Both lairds nodded, trembling in terror.

“Now leave. Do not return until you are summoned.” Both men scrambled for the door in shambles. The door shut heavily and firmly, reverberating through the chamber, before near total silence set in.

The silence sat for several minutes before it was broken by the Ríog’s hand, Brian O’Connell. “Feel better now?”

Bricius sighed and sat down heavily. “No. Not really. I feel… righteous.”

“You’re lucky that they didn’t wet themselves. It would be a shame to soil the floor in this room above all rooms.”

Bricius gave his old friend a weak smile. “Do you think I’ve made the right decision?”

“As your hand, or as your friend?” Bricius did not respond. His hand answered anyway. “I suppose I’ll answer both ways then. As your hand, I must tell you that it is not my place to say. The decision lies with you, and you alone. That said, it is my duty to remind you that traditionally the Ríog is to maintain the status quo, or if the circumstances dictate, to make the choice that challenges the status quo the least.”

Bricius pondered the words then asked. “And as my friend?”

O’Connell exhaled. “As your friend, I cannot be certain. Either choice was technically appropriate. Will the council be happy with your choice? Unlikely. I would not call your decision reckless, but perhaps I would say it is damn close. We have been attempting to build something for more than a decade now you and I. Carefully, deliberately. I worry that we will be putting all of our work at risk, potentially throwing all of that effort away.” 

“Are you telling me to change my decision?”

“I am not. If you think it is the right path, then I support you.”

“I have to ask myself, what have we been building towards if not this moment? We have a chance to make some big changes, just enough pressure, and we can continue to ourselves act quietly the whole time.”

“But you have doubts?”

“I do. I always do.”

“As long as you keep that to yourself.” O’Connell smiled wryly.

Bricius chuckled. “You have the paperwork?”

“Of course I do.” O’Connell presented two documents to the Ríog. An official invitation, and a proclamation. Bricius signed both with a fluid signature and sat back so the hand could safely store them in a carrying case. “Right, off to the copy office they go to.”

Bricius exhaled and stood. The doors to the round chamber opened without the Ríog having even said anything. A white gloved usher took the staff from him in order to put it in safe storage. Other servants entered the chamber to flog it clean. Bricius walked beside his Hand feeling small in the towering hallway, even if it was in need of care. “I am not sure I like living in interesting times.” He said softly.

“Indeed, that is wished upon people as a curse.”

“I suppose I made things worse for myself, standing for this post.”

“Heavy is the hand that holds the staff.” O’Connell replied, giving the Ríog a knowing smile. The pair climbed a flight of stairs and turned left, large windows on their right facing the nighttime capital. The two paused for a moment to take in the view. Many lights that should have been on were off. Only street lights, government buildings, and utilities provided much light. This was to be a common sight during the coming winter, households rationing their power, saving it for heat. The stars could be better seen, twinkling in the night sky. Below them, the city center began to be dotted by spots of orange. The glow of a city not at peace, not asleep.

Edited January 12 by Gaellicia (see edit history)