Gilda let out a long, frustrated huff, and glared down at Dux George. "I can't believe you're cutting me out from the final strike!" she yelled at him, keeping her hands firmly together in the small of her back, so she wasn't tempted to throttle the stuffy codger. "This is my campaign! I put it together, I brought that bastard to ground, and my troops will be the one to snuff him! I've proved I can still keep them in line, sir. It's months before the standard grounding."

Unfortunately, keeping her hands back and her legs slightly apart in parade rest only emphasized the massive bulge of her very pregnant belly. Making it very clear why she was being grounded. She didn't blame the father… now. Nor did she blame the goddess who had blessed their union with incredible fertility. After all, most hybrid marriages struggled along, requiring massive outside help when they wanted to have children.

She and Bulk were having quintuplet hippogryphs. No, she didn't blame him. She'd chewed him out properly and made him give her a proper flogging to make up for it, after all. She blamed the High Command, especially the fleabitten bastard in front of her!

The Dux failed to wilt under her glare. "Tribune," he said flatly. "You are five times as pregnant as the standard legionnaire. Not only is it the recommendation of the goddess who blessed you in the first fucking place to ground you, you are in no shape to fight. You have the aerodynamics of a slothatee with a glandular condition!"

Gilda snapped her beak hard at him. She was a foot and a half taller than he'd be measured back to back, standing to his sitting, and could bench three times his max. But he was the Warleader, and steel shattered before he did. The only concession to her blustering was a single raised eyebrow, so she changed tactics. "I'm still your best strategist, damn you," she growled. "And a priestess of the Flyer. I can in-field command, not just plan the mission!"

The eyebrow remained. "You mean you can slow your cohort down," he said bluntly. "Oh, and impair their judgment as they try to protect you, even at a distance. And your cubs, you crackfeathered idiot!"

They traded insults for a while, but she couldn't challenge him for this. She was barred by simple legalities, even if the bulk of her overdeveloped pregnancy hadn't been impairing her far worse than she should be at this point. He was the War Leader, and shielded from such things during the promulgation of a campaign. If the Flyer had blessed it, she could have called him out on spiritual grounds…

But the Flyer had only laughed when she'd asked. Bastard god, she mumbled mentally.

The Dux had an indomitable will to go with a talent for leadership she grudgingly admitted was a little more developed than hers. Add the fact that he had the legal right and ethical requirement to ground her, her loss was inevitable. She was in many ways lucky he wasn't threatening to bust her down ranks, plural.

Lucky, nothing, Gilda sighed at herself. The only reason I'm even bringing it up to him, and not my legate, is because I know he won't. Her massive shoulders slumped forward. She nearly gave into the depression, nearly just let her arms fall loose.

The steely face of the Dux softened a bit. "The matter is closed," he said softly. "As is the official meeting between Dux George and Tribune Gilda." Before she could protest, even weakly, he tilted his head to the left and asked, "Does he make you happy, baby girl?"

This was the reason he wouldn't demote her, as long as she raged at him in private. No matter how much bigger she became, no matter how much buffer, she was still George and Galta Griffon's beloved eldest child. She felt her back muscles creaking as her belly pulled her forward, and flicked her wings to balance better.

Gilda realized she hadn't spoken when his eyes narrowed dangerously. "If that pony isn't…" he started.

This time, she did cut him off. "No, daddy," she sighed. "He's nearly as softhearted with me as you are with momma… when you're not momma's bitch, anyway. Just kinda different, I guess, or does momma get you all snarly by yelling at you sometimes?"

The older griffon cawed a bit, then rustled his feathers. "Sometimes?" he sneered. "I swear, if it wasn't a blasphemy, I'd throw our anniversary fight just to give her a taste of her own medicine. You get it from her."

Gilda's parents were every bit as competitive as she was. Neither of them had officially had longer than a month's time wing-over each other as long as she'd been aware of the flavor of their relationship. Eventually, when she'd become a priestess and started asking questions even most griffon children wouldn't, she'd discovered that was fairly common in marriages where both spouses were bucking for the highest of the high command.

The trick was just getting there first… Since neither could afford downwing time until you got to the upper echelons, it made courtship rather tricky. Almost suspiciously subtle.

"Probably, daddy," she admitted. "You like it, so it should damn well be good enough for a stupid pony. Even a stupid-sexy stupid pony." Her nares flushed, and she scrambled to change direction. "Did he make a good impression with you and momma?"

She wanted to wipe the grin right off her father's face in an eyeblink. "Please tell me her highness promised you'd be the source of their brainpower," he drawled.

Now Gilda did let parade rest lapse, and pounded both fists down hard onto his desk. Wincing when she heard a leg crack, she growled, "Don't you dare make fun of my stupid pony! He's just… focused."

Her father stared at her. She stared right back. The contest lasted a private eternity, and then they just broke down laughing. "I love you, daddy," she said with amusement, "But if you can't come to terms…"

Snorting, George shook his head. "It's fine," he chuckled. "No, honestly; your mother sees what's beneath the feathers pretty well, and all I really care about is whether or not he makes you happy."

The two chatted quietly from there. Gilda never got to join the final flight, but eventually, she forgave both of the important men in her life.

And shamelessly used the opportunity to carve out more resources for her cohort. She remained, after all, their tribune.