One Thousand Years Apart (closed)

[Paxiosolange]

NEAR THE MAYISTAWSCIC COAST​

The Pale Sea was in a wearisome state. Solemn and wintry, the air that soared across the barge felt like unseen daggers slicing away at the exposed skin. It was certainly a different experience than the voyage south towards Predice where mist rose under the beaming sun, refreshing the sinuses and breathing life into the crew. Rather, the crew of the Omahamaw remained deeply indoors, within the bowels of the vessel which carried them to lands unknown.

In her private deck, Okinee sat with Kiscawak observing the lights of Hadden as the ship passed its coast. The lights were diffused in the frigid fog, although a vague sense of life could be felt from so far away. To Kiscawak, this voyage was him and Okinee's final moment together before she would have to be occupied by her official capacities. He too had new purpose in his life, although not exactly by choice, and he made sure to cherish this opportunity.

"Don't you feel nervous?" Okinee asked.
"Yes. Yes I do. I'm glad you said that because I was beginning to think I was the only one." He replied.
"There's a lot of... Weird familiars." She remarked.
"What do you mean?"
"It's been a thousand years since the dispute. And now, a thousand years later, those ancient spirits have awoken, much more powerful."
"Don't underestimate the power of peacemaking, Okinee."
"I'm not! I'm not," She raised her voice, "I'm just saying there's going to be a lot of... Emotions."

There would be a lot of emotions, that was an indisputable.

"I should probably tell you that yesterday, I dreamt about my visions again. I have a sneaking suspicion that what we're about to do is going to play into that."
"What, this trip? What we're doing is already setting us on the right track, Kiscawak. Worry about your pawakan once..."
"Once what? Doesn't it feel weird that there's no resistance? I don't mean to speak bad omens... But I feel things are too... Quiet."
"Well, if things get un-quiet, Kiscawak, it won't be here. Take the chance to meet these people... These are going to be our friends, not our foes."
"I know they're going to be our friends... Like I said, peacemaking is powerful. I'm just afraid what that peace will mean for those back home who... Well... Haven't entirely moved on..."

Further down the winding halls of the Omahamaw, there was a much larger chamber with two great doors guarded by two members of the navy in their beige jumpsuits carrying large Mintorian-styles. The Great Mother were safekept within the room and joined in the evening by Kiscawak's father. The chamber had previously been accommodated to hold cargo, extra supplies, and life rafts, although this had all been pushed to the side of the room and replaced with some lavish relics of the Tusacaway. Tapestries, artistic works, and a bearskin rug made the room more pronounced. The Chieftain brought a pitcher of spring water to Kimisweyn before joining her at a tea-table.

"Kitatamihin, Nicamon." Kimisweyn said.
"There is no need to thank me, Kim." Nicamon scoffed.

Kimisweyn laughed in surprise.

"Nicamon, it is vital that you understand the difference of power from across this table. I could have very well chosen to replace you for calling me that."
"Of course, but you know very well that you prefer I call you that... You... Are not worried that my son and your daughter are unaccompanied?"

The Great mother scoffed and then chuckled again.

"Nicamon, you treat Kiscawak much how my mother treated me. There was never enough... Privacy! It is not a common reaction from parents to be so inquisitive as to what their adolescent children are doing. The girls I was friends with in seminary would run off into the forest at dawn and return for supper in the evening. Not a nudge as to where they were! I did not have such freedom. Granted, most of the time children Kiscawak's age are up to no good, but that is the beauty of the land, Nicamon! Experience prepares minds just as finely as instruction."

Nicamon was surprised by Kimisweyn's astute response, although he couldn't claim he wasn't surprised to hear one.

"Me and Maskota have just been... Worried. They killed officers of the law out there, Kim. You were present when they were nearly ready to arrest them."
"Great circumstances have surrounded his journey, there is no denying that you should be worried for his sake, he is carrying a very heavy burden... But... You must make sure that when Kiscawak is an adult, he has acquired the previous experience necessary to accomplish what he strives to correct. That entails letting him have his freedom. The pawakan does not end whereupon arriving home. It is an experience that is present all your life."

Nicamon sighed before pouring himself a glass of spring water.

"How do I overcome the murder, Kim?" He asked.

Kimisweyn reached over the tea-table and grabbed Nicamon's hand.

"Go... To your Atakamek with Maskota, go pray. Seek help from the Mitouyew. You will never wash yourself of your past, but you can overcome your thoughts with the correct intervention."

He sighed again.

"I just think Okinee is so charming... She is quite full of energy and passion and righteous ambition... But Maskota has other feelings..."
"Maskota is afraid... Among other things... Once day she will know the truth, just as you know it."
"She has not been in any danger since you adopted her, has there?"

Kimisweyn frowned for a moment.

"I fear there is danger to come... But for the meanwhile, we must enjoy this sacred opportunity which is forthcoming."

Through the window, there was a distant flag of red and white flailing upon a harbour passing by. Nicamon gazed upon it as it traveled past the window. He rose from his cushion and proceeded to breathe for a moment.

"Perhaps I will feel better in the morning once we get to Bykonsvidi... Goodnight, Kim."
"May you have the most charming dreams, Nicamon." She smiled, "Do not forget to read the schedule they provided us... It is quite comprehensive."

 

[Prydania]

Býkonsviði, Prydania

Vortgyn II Loðbrók by the Grace of God, King...
Champion of Jägdar, Stormlord and King...

Tobias shot up his prone position, but he wasn't in bed. He was in a forest, at twilight. The dusk seeping through the trees as a faint wind blew through the glen.
"Alycia?" he called out, but she wasn't there. He might have panicked...if he didn't know this place. Yet he did. He knew it all too well. He'd been here. Before.

"Jägdar?" he called out. It had been four years but that didn't matter. Certainly not to the one who brought him here. He turned, letting out a yelp as he stumbled back. The hooded god was right there, face to face...as if he could see his face under his clock, his stag antlers protruding from his head.

"King Tobias," Jägdar remarked.
"It's been some time."

"You never told me if I'd see you again," Tobias replied. He was nervous. The delegation from the Tusacaway was arriving shortly and now this....this...which he never knew how to fully understand, was happening again.

"You've been busy," the god replied, beginning to walk around the King.
"You've done much to lead our people from the ashes of that raging fire."

"You never told me if I'd see you again," Tobias repeated, getting more insistent. He was unsure about everything when Jägdar last spoke to him. In four years he'd grown more sure of himself. He didn't seem keen to back down. God or no god.
"I began to question myself, you know. If I'd ever even seen you in the first place, or if you were a figment of my imagination," he said firmly. He wasn't angry, but still...he wanted to demand answers.

"Am I?" Jägdar asked. That caught Tobias off guard.

"I...I don't think so....this feels too real."

"Either I am a figment of your imagination, Tobias, King. Or I am what I am. Either way, I have not come to you in four years because I have not been needed. Now though..." Jägdar began to walk through the woods, seemingly unconcerned with whether Tobias followed or not. He did though. Of course he did.

"Now what?" Tobias asked. His head was....not jumbled, but he felt like it was swimming mostly. This place, his presence before Jägdar mixing with the concerns of the real world.
"Is this about the Tusacaway?"

"Very perceptive," Jägdar replied. His voice, as always, was low. Haunting.
"What do you know about your kin, Vortgyn, Second of his name?"

"He was the King when our vikings landed on their shores. He wasn't involved though, he wasn't on any of the expeditions."

"Vortgyn, Second of his name, is remembered as a good King because he reconciled the old and new faiths. He brought into line one Eras what was in line in the ether..."

"What does that mean?" Tobias asked curiously, but Jägdar was not interested in expanding upon that point to a human.

"What you do not understand is that Vortgyn sent the viking bands south. He was involved in the disaster that befell both our people and the people of the Tusacaway," Jägdar said.
"Our people have forgotten. They have not."

"We haven't forgotten," Tobias replied.
"We have sagas. We have documents. I've been up to my eyes in briefs on our shared history."

"And yet it is one event. Almost a thousand years ago. So much has happened. Does anyone cling to that disaster? No. Prydania has changed many times over since then. The inferno that engulfed our people for so long was one such transformation. The Tusacaway is different though."

"We haven't forgotten though," Tobias insisted, only for Jägdar's sharp, amber eyes to burn into him.

"Yes, you have! Not through any fault of your own, King, but the waters of history wash away the past bit by bit! The Tusacaway is internal though! They shunned the world, and hung onto what were just passing sagas for you! Vortgyn, Second of his name, is a great King who brought peace to our people. He is a distant butcher to the Tusacaway. And the waters of history have not washed as much away from their shores as ours."

Tobias blushed a bit and ran a hand through his hair.
"I've had a hard enough time trying to remind myself I'm not Anders. Now you're telling me I need to make amends for Vortgyn II? Is there anyone else in my family you want me to beg for forgiveness for?" He was starting to get angry now. He really didn't feel keen being told that he needed to start apologizing for more of his family. Especially a man who had been dead for close to a thousand years.

"Anders? That puppet of Dviin?" Jägdar scoffed. "He's not worthy of my time. Vortgyn though...no. Do not apologize for him. He did what he did. His equivalent in the Tusacaway at the time was hardly better in the grand scheme of things," the god replied.
"Let your ancestors' actions stand on their own. Do not fret over them, merely understand what they mean. Don't run from them, do better."

"I've met with a lot of foreigners since we last talked," Tobias began.

"Yes, you married one," Jägdar replied. Tobias nodded.

"I did, yes. And not once did you feel the need to speak up. Why now? What is so special about the Tusacaway?"

"It's what an ancestor closer to you than Vortgyn said. What better people for us to find then others who revere land like we do?"

"Who said that?" Tobias asked, wondering who Jägdar could mean. The god, however, was not interested in answering that either.

"Go and meet with their leaders. Challenges will face you, but if you succeed you will create something wonderful...." Jägdar said as the forest around them grew darker. Tobias looked around and then at the hunting god. He knew what this was. All he could do was watch in frustration.

"Turn the page on one thousand years of mistrust and bring peoples of the land together for a brighter future," the god finished as Tobias was swallowed by darkness.

"Jägdar?" he called out, before shooting up. His heart was pounding. He looked around. He was in his quarters, in Absalonhöll. The moon light seeping through the window. He let himself crash onto his back. His mind was racing for a moment. Jägdar....he was always like this. And after four years... he ran both hands through his hair, but he felt a sense of calm as he looked to his side and saw his wife sleeping next to him. Alycia. It didn't matter if he'd let his imagination run wild, or if what he thought had happened had happened. Alycia made him feel calm. Happy.
He leaned down and kissed her on the head softly before walking over to the desk by the window. He sat down and opened the old leather-bound book that had been brought to him.

The Saga of the Skrælings

 

[Prydania]

The King's office
Absalonhöll
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Max Hveiti was always an interesting person to meet with. The chief of Prydania's state intelligence agency, the ÖSU, never seemed overly deferential to him as King. Which Tobias would normally appreciate.
Max though...he paired that with a clam, comforting sense that he was the smartest person in the room. Maybe he was, most of the time. He certainly was here. Tobias knew very little of the Tusacaway aside from the old sagas, the medieval documents about language, and what could be extrapolated from both. Max though...he knew a great deal. A surprising amount.

"The Kiwymacan," Max began as he sat across from the King, "was a political movement in the 1950s. It can best be described as a revolutionary movement."

"Like Syndicalism?" Tobias asked. It was his first frame of reference.

"Syndcialism, Social Commonwealth fascism, take your pick, Your Majesty," Max shrugged.
"Horseshoe theory is quite real, and the Tusacaway has been isolated for a long time. Left/right designations aren't entirely reliable when discussing something like the Kiwymacan. It's best to think of it as a movement that reflected various aspects of both Social Commonwealth fascism and Syndcialism- a sort of mass movement that aimed for violent change. It is, however, a handy point of reference. You can use it as a comparison to our own Civil War, to explain it in context they would be familiar with."

Tobias nodded even as Max seemed to have another thought.

"Technically speaking their economy is communist or syndicalist or whatever you want to call it. The state has centralized control and ownership. Though this isn't a result of left wing ideology. It's more a natural outgrowth of their culture."

"Collectivized agriculture?" Tobias asked, raising an eyebrow. That was the sort of thing that would raise most Prydanians' ire. The scars of that from Syndicalist abuses were still felt- literally in some ways.

"No, Your Majesty," Max replied.
"State directed but not controlled in that sense."

"I heard they had some agricultural issues," Tobias replied.
"I thought maybe collectivized farms was a reason why."

"They have no one to trade with," Max answered.
"That's the source of their problems. They have a glut of agricultural goods and no one to trade with."

"We grow a lot of food as is," Tobias mused.

"Yes, but our crops are different. There are opportunities for trade. Both within and outside of agriculture."

Tobias leaned back and looked down for a moment as he went through what he was being told. It was all useful information but his dream from last night...
He looked up.
"What about 1088?" he asked.

"Well you've read the sagas and the extrapolations, Your Majesty," Max replied, sounding a bit confused.

"I know what we think about 1088," Tobias answered.
"I want to know what they know about 1088."

Max's eyes went wide behind his brown rimmed glasses and chuckled just a bit.
"It's kind of a quandary, Your Majesty."

"How so?" Tobias asked.

"On one hand the events of 1088 are one of a few prominent examples the culture of the Tusacaway has held up to justify its isolated status. On the other the recent movement towards opening up has held us up as a nation to seek out relations with. On account that they know of us in a significant manner. Our proximity and history both fuels a degree of xenophobia and a willingness to open up, Your Majesty."

"Xenophobia," Tobias repeated... that had been on and off his mind lately.

"There are those in the Tusacaway who feel the wounds from 1088 are too deep. And who oppose this diplomatic meeting, Your Majesty."

"Hmm..." Tobias mused for a moment before sighing.
"Well I can't help what others will do. Or say."

"No. You can't, Your Majesty. The delegation you will be meeting with will be predisposed to be friendly though. Speaking of which...you're familiar with who you will be meeting?" Max asked.

"I've read the list, yes," Tobias replied.

"Well there is one person I want to draw your attention to. Okinee Kiscokin. She's the adopted Great Daughter. And, by their rules and traditions of succession, their next head of state when Great Mother Kimisweyn passes on."

"What of her?" Tobias asked, curious why the chief of the ÖSU would signal out this Princess of the Tusacaway.

"She is an Assapiscan, Your Majesty," Max replied. He said the term with such familiarity. It contrasted with Tobias' confused visage.

"What's an Assapiscan?" the King asked.

"Oh," Max replied.
"I've been a bit too deep into preparations for this meeting, Your Majesty. I sometimes forget how unfamiliar these terms are. An Assapiscan is clanless. They are- by our terminology- second class citizens. Bound by law to remain in the factory towns of the country's northwest, with few economic prospects."

"And one of these Assapiscans..." Tobias paused, wondering if he'd said the term properly. Max nodded to indicate he had, "is the next Great Mother? How does that work?"

"They are a spiritual people," Max replied.
"If it's meant to be it's meant to be. Though it has caused some degree of consternation back in the Tusacaway. And I should mention that what makes an Assapiscan clanless is foreign blood. All Assapiscans are mostly ethnically Tusacawayan, but some have blood ties to Predician traders or Callisean soldiers from the 1800s. Or...Prydanian vikings from 1088. Great Daughter Okinee is one who is partially descended from our wayward viking kin."

Tobias sat back in his chair, reaching to grab a pen. He clicked it once. Then twice. He twirled it a bit in his hand and clicked again. Max watched, a bit confused. No one else would brazenly ask the King what he was doing, but Max? Well...

"What are you doing, Your Majesty?"

Tobias smiled.
"I'm thinking," he replied.
"I wasn't aware of that...these Assapiscans...until just now. And you say some have Prydanian blood?"

"I would strongly advise against trying to interfere in the inner workings of Tus..." Max began before his King cut him off.

"No, of course not," Tobias replied, putting Max at ease.
"If I can let that rassgat* François Villault demean my family without comment then I can hold my tongue on this. No..." Tobias added, "...what I was saying is that this is a chance to connect. If Okinee Kiscokin shares a connection with us then it's a good omen. We can build bridges easier."

"A practical way to look at diplomacy, Your Majesty."

"William is a practical sort of guy," Tobias remarked, remembering how William would try to teach him elements of state craft as he was growing up in the midst of the Civil War.
"Connections matter though. And they can be forces for good."

"I don't disagree Your Majesty," Max replied.
"But with that said...I believe I've covered all relevant information."

"Well..." Tobias said with a nod as he stood, with Max following suit, "...I won't keep you from your post any longer. Thank you."

Max bowed slightly, awkwardly, out of respect for protocol before shaking the King's hand.
"You're welcome, Your Majesty," he said before stuffing a pile of folders and papers under his arm and leaving the office.

Tobias sat back in his chair and watched him leave, always a bit curious about the ÖSU chief. His mind didn't stay on the topic of Max Hveiti for long though. He grabbed his pen again and doodled a few scribbles before setting it down. He had an idea.

He rose from his chair and exited out of the opposite exit from the one Max had taken. Absalonhöll was still partially under construction to rehabilitate it from fifteen years of Syndicalist vandalism and neglect, but there was a small room, just a brief walk from his office.
The far wall of the small room was covered in two tapestries that were more vertical than horizontal. The first showed a hunting scene of nobles hunting a boar. The second showed King Rikard I and the Knights of the Storm during the Syrixian Crusades of the 12th century, fighting alongside Santonian knights.

Tobias' gaze followed the tapestries down, to an oaken table that had thick glass covering that turned its top into a display.
The crown jewels from Gwladcan sat here. As did various other heirlooms of his family, having been returned from whatever corners of the world they were hidden in to save them from Syndicalist desecration. And he saw what he came for. An old pendant- nearly one thousand years old- that half displayed the royal stag of Prydania and half the now-defunct emblem of the House of Scylfing; crossed spears over a shield. He knew who it belonged to, and that made it perfect for what he needed it for.

---

*rassgat- asshole

 

[Paxiosolange]

THE QUARTERS OF THE OMAHAMAW​

The entirety of the diplomatic mission was assembled in a repurposed conference chamber at the core of the ship. The pelt-lined seats accumulated around a table constructed from polished tamarack. In a rapid appearance act, Nicamon burst into the conference with his regalia half done-up. As he did so, he took a seat at the table while at the same time, fastening his headpiece to his skull.

"Apologies! My apologies... I am accustomed to the sun rousing me from my slumber, which you will not find deep in the bowels of a ship, I suppose." He chuckled awkwardly.

The Great Mother raised her eyebrow for a moment and then watched as Kiscawak slowed strolling into the room, taking a seat next to his father while munching away at an apple.

"What the heck is that?" Okinee asked.
"It's called mela." Kiscawak replied.
"They're Predicean, he has taken a liking for them ever since returning from the Minaskic country... And again, my apologies for our lack of punctuality, Anisco."

Yinisweyn scoffed, "I have had my suspicions that this morning would be peculiar, but hopefully this will be only a coincidence..."

The entire group was dressed in their customary attire, including the diplomatic staff and the interpreters. As was customary of the young women, a single feather was drawn from crossed braids on the sides of their heads, which came down under the ears behind great earrings. Their dresses were woven rather than made of pelt—orange, yellow, deep blue, and white were all fashionable colours at the moment. The men wore either no feathers or smaller ones embellished into the braids, with woven jackets secured in place with leather belts and multiple necklaces. Red, white, and black were common among them. As for the Great Mother, she had a variety of woven and layered vestments, the centrepiece of it all being her immense crimson bonnet which came down behind her and trailed with her purple mantle. Kiscawak had supposed that in Prydania, this would be comparable to what they called "black tie" attire.

"We shall be having a very busy day ahead of us, people. We will be commencing our day with a strict, formal gift-giving ceremony which will be observed by the masses. We have a restorative smoking ceremony later in the afternoon, a tour of this city and the residence of this country's Great Family, and finally after that you will each go about your own diplomatic posts whilst the party seated here at the head of the table has a direct conference with the leadership of the Mayisctawscic. I have heard much commotion about the cold, it is going to be very exhausting, and our effort will not be without the sacrifice of comfort. Additionally, this is a degree of exposition the likes of which none of us have ever experienced, and thus I found it necessary to prepare some preliminary instruction before we disembark."

From without the shadows drawn in the corners of the chamber, untouched by the window-apertures in the hull, a familiar figure emerged. He had an incredibly dark navy blue tunic on his person, and had been spreading a light trail of smoke across the air in the room from his great pipe. His face was condescending and unashamed. Kiscawak immediately took a disliking to him, he gave off the impression of someone whose self-worth was pegged above their usefulness.

"Niciwas!?" Nicamon suddenly called.

Kiscawak turned to his father.

"You know him?" Kiscawak asked.
"I have not seen that man in many years, son." Nicamon replied.

The man walked over to Nicamon and began to shake him violently about the shoulders as some sort of college-age recollection.

"It's Nick and Nick! The two brothers, back at it again!" Niciwas howled.

The Great Mother rolled her eyes once again, "Yes of course... If you do not already know Niciwas Sactoweyn, he is in fact our War Chief. He has spent a good part of his career in an attempt to understand and analyze our neighbouring lands."
"I know everything there is to know about Outlanders... For one, they very much dislike smoking." Niciwas said before taking another draw from his pipe.

Kiscawak began to be inundated with the exhaled fumes and moved his face to the left to acquire any remaining fresh air in the room.

"Well, I am eager to hear your perspective on the Prydanians..." Yinisweyn muttered.
"Of course, Anisco. So... I think it's pretty essential that you know something pretty important about the Mayistawscic first and foremost. These people have known almost two decades of apowwen. And since that's been over with since 2017, it's really been only... What... four years of peace? Now, you're probably thinking about the circumstances of this war, and I will talk about them in detail if you really must ask, but to get simple with you all—and apologies if this is a little 'taboo' for you all—it was just like '54. Almost the exact same kind of deal. Same kind of violence, same kind of stupidity—"

Yinisweyn began to direct a refractory gaze at the man.

"Of course there are a few key differences. You see, the Prydanians we are meeting today fought against this dreadful group they called the 'syndies' or 'syndicalists'. And, in this case it was these folks who were in power for the whole time. So—again, think about these 'syndies' like the Mîkhono except if the Mîkhono had a little bit of brains about them and took over the whole place."

"I..." Yinisweyn interjected, holding her face in her hand, "You should... Perhaps, Niciwas, you should move on to the more important details of this summit?"

He grinned and quickly shook his head.

"Well... Yes... So the equivalent of a Chieftain in Prydania is a guy they call a 'prime minister'... His name is Magnus Brandt and he's a dear old man who I have had the absolute pleasure of spying on."

Kiscawak raised a sudden eyebrow. Okinee seemed to frown.

"Just kidding!" Niciwas began to chuckle, "We've actually been speaking about preparations for this summit over the phone for a while now, not to worry."
"How old is this Magnus Brandt?" Nicamon asked.
"Oh boy... Dunno... He sounded a bit older than you though, old timer! You're what now... Fifty—"
"—Uh! I understand... He is my senior." Nicamon interrupted.

Kiscawak began to speak, "And the Great Family of the Mayistawscic?"

"Yes... In Prydania they are the Royal Family, and they consist of their King, Tobias III, his spouse, Queen Alycia of the neighbouring Kingdom of Norsia, and their children, Baldr and Hael. All of the clan Loðbrók."
"Why the third?" Okinee inquired.
"It's a regnal number. It means he is the third King to be named Tobias in all the country's history. It's a practice that we don't have simply because of how our naming works here. In Prydania names are often unique and have meaning in their own right."
"Oh right! Sorry... I'm also still not used to them having men as leaders." She chuckled.
"Speaking of which, I should probably talk about some of the cultural difference between the Tusacaway and the Mayistawscic just so you don't go about embarrassing yourselves... Such as, drinking an open bottle of wine in the streets of Antofagosta." Niciwas jested.

Kiscawak turned his head towards the War Chief and let his face wear all his sentiments.

"How did you hear about that?!" Kiscawak demanded.
"I am the screech owl of the country, kid. Eyes within eyes. It's when I hear about it, not how."

Kiscawak privately mouthed the word "Pwâsta" the man's way as he returned to his presentation.

"So... The Mayistawscic, historically, are storytellers. Much like us they indulge in the past and keep the records of their people alive... But their records are not as sensory as they are to us. Our education is rooted in awareness, theirs is rooted in knowledge, and there's honestly only a marginal difference between those two ideas, but it's a difference compelling enough that most Prydanians will go about their day unbothered by things in the distant past, especially having just survived both state terror and the terror of war for years. It's also important to mention that the Prydanians curate a vastly more complicated political landscape than ours which is inspired more by present context and impact in the future. It's also a system which is highly dependent upon the selfhood of all individuals within it and their particular beliefs and virtues. Persons with like perspectives are often attracted together in groups. This concept may seem a bit funny at first, but it's easier to understand knowing that the Prydanian government is composed of the factions and political alliances which their citizens think in the moment are the most effective or necessary. The effect of this? Having a direct opinion on any one topic can categorize you pretty quickly, especially morally ambiguous ones."
"That sounds really quite upsetting, though, don't you think?" Okinee asked.
"Remember that we need to be understanding," Niciwas affirmed, "Theirs is a system which has allowed them to persist just as ours has allowed us to. No, it wouldn't and hasn't worked well back home, but over here, this is their manner of democracy. From their view, our lack of partisanship makes resolving problems both drawn-out and full of ambiguity. If you think about it, we really don't have the ease of consensus that they do in practice. The benefit of partisanship is that decisions on issues are pretty much already decided before they get turned into law, the process is about support and sway. And look, as long as you refrain from passionately babbling on about an issue or a certain belief you have, you'll probably be fine."

Nicamon nodded. Yinisweyn also seemed content with that response. Niciwas puffed a bout of smoke into the room.

"Aside from that, people... There's really not much else that's different. Don't let outlanders scare you, there's nothing to be frightened of. They fish, they hunt, they send their kids to school, they love their families, they're very much invested in nature and the environment, and they're eager to reconcile with us for their craziness a thousand years ago... So just be nice, be yourselves, be thoughtful, and this will all go great!" Niciwas smiled.

— • —

BÝKONSVIÐI
​

There was a communion of hushed voices from without the deck of the ship. It was time to disembark.

"Are you all sufficiently prepared? I have heard there will be quite a lot of people watching us." Yinisweyn conferred.
"Don't drink anything they give to you, Kiscawak." Niciwas giggled.
"Your coat looks stupid." He replied.

Niciwas lowered his smile and turned promptly away.

"Niciwas was making a joke, boy." Nicamon scorned.
"Ah look, we're moving." Kiscawak said.

The delegation began to disembark from the Omahamaw. Kiscawak passed through the hold of the ship and followed the group onto the deck. Despite the wintry landscape, it was a very bright day, with a glaring sun and frigid clouds hidden beyond the hills, although it was still terribly cold. This place was certainly in the deep north. The spirits of the winter air had all reign over this land. The mission began to funnel down the gangplank and the harbour began to emerge from the horizon of the deck. A slight crowd had congregated on the piers opposite from the main harbour and watched the Tusacwyan delegation disembark with curiosity. It was an interest that certainly gave a different impression than that of the welcome in Antofagosta, where wartime measures confined the delegation's arrival to a small welcoming committee.

Yinisweyn smiled as she was walked down the gangplank in the guide of her sullen-faced interpreter. Nicamon also pointed a grave face forward as he engaged with the escort who awaited them on the piers.

"Welcome—delegation from the Tusacaway. We are all so pleased to be in the presence of your leadership! My name is Rósamunda. I will be escorting you to the plaza of the Haraldvígi where you will first meet with the leadership here in Prydania."

Yinisweyn smiled as she whispered into her translator's ear.

"Þakka þér fyrir." The man affirmed.

Rósamunda nodded her head and began to lead the delegation towards an array of compact, black cars. Approaching the vehicles, Yinisweyn suddenly stopped.

"Will my bonnet... Fit?" She asked in an awkward grin.

The escort immediately turned around, wide-eyed.

"Yes! Of course... We've made the proper accommodations for you alone in the crossover, your majesty." She responded.

Yinisweyn pondered over that salutation, "Majesty". She had already known that the royalty of Prydania held comprehensive names, although it was a remarkable sensation to hear them directed towards her. She nodded and proceeded to follow the escort as she was lead over to the vehicle. The rest of the delegation was loaded into their respective cars and after a few moments of subdued preparation, the motorcade moved quickly off of the boulevard adjacent to the harbour and began to drive into the city. Kiscawak and Nicamon rode together with their interpreters.

There was an unspeakable resemblance that the ardent city of Býkonsviði had to Tawaic. The tall, compact, multicolour homes with great white gables and ivory moulding around the windows and doorways and quaint brick buildings of grey stone raging in unending ancient propriety sent pangs of familiarity down Kiscawak's spine. The lakes were long and nourishing. Frozen over, marked off with steel railings and stricken hedgerows. The trees, cedar and pine, just like the mother country. On a meek Wednesday such as this, the men wore clothing not too distinctive from those worn by the Minaskic, although they were in greater volumes and thicker layers. The men wore dark coats and parkas with long, vermillion scarves around the neck and chest which bore similarities to a wampum belt. Kiscawak's countrymen preferred to don great parkas in the winter made from tattered brown hide and lined with fur around the cuffs, hood, and trim around the base of the jacket. The purposeful folk of Prydania seemed not significantly different in appearance to any other passerby in the streets of Tawaic or Menykawn on a winter's day, although they did lack of course the tan complexion and midnight hair worn braided and long.

"Mayistawskic... Land of the bearded folk is what that means." Nicamon uttered.
"Some of them have beards. They're a lot more up there on the chin than they are in Predice."
"From what I have gathered, it is because the Minaskic treat their hair with balms and oils to shape them. Here I assume the appearance of facial hair is far more of a practical basis."

Kiscawak began to stroke the faint whiskers on his lips as the motorcade proceeded to stop and pull over on a reserved corner of the road just before a great pavilion of path and snow-filled fields. He turned to look over it, and saw a line of rope-fences holding at a distance another crowd, much larger than what was seen at the docks, consisting of both leisurely looker-ons and enthused photographers. Several more escorts in outfits alike to Rósamunda's were in attendance on the curb, and quickly pulled the doors to the vehicles, inviting everyone to step out. Upon exiting her vehicle, the Great Mother was hailed by three members of the Knights of the Storm, who proceeded to walk with her along the pathway. Her translator stood off behind the three soldiers as they walked with her. Rósamunda exited the vehicle after Yinisweyn and signalled to Nicamon to follow behind the Great Mother.

"I am ripe with curiosity. Such a spectacle this has become. I wonder what sorts of gifts we should be expecting from the equivalent delegation?"
"Not sure... But you picked a pretty good gift yourself to pass on." Kiscawak remarked.

Nicamon proceeded to pace with Kiscawak down the pathway towards the plaza, making sure not to step on the extensive purple mantle which trailed behind the Great Mother from her shoulders.

The entire commission finally arrived at the centre of the pavilion, standing before the looming Haraldvígi, a brown-bricked alcazar with piercing viridescent roofs and a great turret spiralling out of the building's lefthand side displaying a bright yellow clock. A gold centrepiece at the front of the enchanting edifice radiated warm light across the plaza as the bells of noon rang out in a charming symphony from afar. On an adjacent parkway near the front of the building came three more sable cars carrying the representatives from Prydania. As they came closer, Niciwas poked Nicamon's shoulder and pointed them out.

"So that white-haired man with the glasses is the Prime Minister, Magnus Brandt, who I was talking about before. Those other guys behind him will probably introduce themselves to you although I suspect that the woman at Brandt's right is Maríanna Toft, Minister of Foreign Affairs here in Prydania."
"Yes. I see... He does look to be quite cheerful. Even in such cold weather he has a beaming expression."
"You two old-timers will get along great!" Niciwas joked.
"Ah... Perfect. Then I suppose while I do that, you can spend the day with my charming son."

Niciwas frowned before turning back towards the oncoming delegation. Magnus appeared to be approaching the Chieftain first, as he was standing right at the midst of the pavilion.

"Welcome, esteemed Chieftain." The Prime Minister spoke with a cheerful smile.

His hand was moving sort of awkwardly, it was obvious he was unsure how to greet the Chieftain. Nicamon smiled and promptly stuck out his hand, trying to emulate the Prydanian fashion. Brandt looked directly at him and glared, extending his own hand and shaking it.

"Good Afternoon, Mr. Prime Minister. The Chieftain thanks you for welcoming him to your country." The translator repeated from Nicamon.
"It is my absolute pleasure to host him and his delegation here. We are looking forward to collaborating!"

Nicamon nodded as Magnus moved over with the Knights to greet Yinisweyn. For the Great Mother of course, he had already known how to address her."

"Anisco, Great Mother Yinisweyn. It is my honour and my privilege to finally meet you at last. Truly, my privilege.

Yinisweyn smiled.

"Anisco the Great Mother is pleased to meet you Mr. Prime Minister. She is most eagerly looking forward to seeing what has been prepared as a gift for her people." Her interpreter repeated.

Following this customary introduction between the fellow delegations, a sweet flourish was played by Knights wielding trumpets, filling the following moment with a void of silence. Another Knight appeared and marched along the plaza with a drum and a mallet, turning to face off into the distance.

"A drum? You genuinely asked them to play the hide-drum?" Nicamon spoke to Niciwas.
"This is a real ceremony, Nick. Get ready for the realness." Niciwas smiled.

The knight began to play into the drum, pounding the mallet twice at a time, thumping a heartbeat. As was customary, the visiting party produced their gifts first. A group of Tusacwyan diplomatic staff began the ceremony, stepping forward from behind the delegation with their gift. There were four individuals carrying a tightly wound roll of material which they carried before the Prydanian legation and set across from them. This was of course, the conventional tapestry or wampum belt which was handmade for every such occurrence, although for such a unique occasion, the tapestry was immensely detailed. Two of the group members began to roll the tapestry out before the delegation. It rolled, and rolled, and rolled. It was a massive belt, nearly ten metres long, presenting quite a beautiful narrative. At both ends of the deep-red tapestry there were white woven figures participating in first, what seemed to be a disagreement. There was a fire and two crossed arrows as well as two crossed daggers, pointed at each other by two figures. The stylistic trimmings on that field were pointed and sharp, with finely woven strings in blatant and explosive patterns. Within the main bounds of the piece, there were a plethora of winding motifs, dotted flowers, shimmering lines, soft and rounded diamonds which expanded and contracted until reaching the end of the cloth where there was a depiction of more according elements. There were rounded trimmings and rolling threads which connected to a multitude of people, hand-in-hand, with the swords discarded in piles of abstract details and the fire reduced to soot and wood.

The radiant light from the centrepiece of the Haraldvígi brought out the flaxen rouge within the fibres of the tapestry, which caused the white shine like silver.

Another pair approached the delegation with the second gift. It was a bit more tasteful, of Nicamon's picking of course, held over the shoulders of two diplomats who came and unfolded it before the Prydanian delegation. It was a carpet made from the hide of a cave bear. The cave bear being of impressive size and weight, the carpet was in fact much grander than it first seemed, the many-toothed face of the wrathful bear occupying a volume comparable to that of a soap box.

Finally, the third group came with a final gift. Two diplomats in soft cotton gloves came forth with a finely wrapped box which they laid down among the great tapestry and carpet. The two individuals then proceeded to unwrap the bindings and paper from around the box and revealed a wooden frame around the gift which they unfastened and slid off of the present. The two curators then gently lifted an ancient relic from the box. With its distinctive white, tainted fringe, off-red mantle, and tears about the perimeter which were sown in gentle red thread, it was very apparent what this gift was. A relic from those days, brought forth and kept for this very moment, one thousand years apart. It was quite transparently the banner which the Prydanian explorers had left on the Coast of Ancient Mischief so long ago. It was in such fine shape for its age, and the curators were quick to return it to its box and wrappings before a gust of frigid wind could swipe it out from their hands.

The pair let the parcel sit on the bearskin carpet and returned back to their place behind the delegation from the Tusacaway who watched eagerly to see the Prydanians' reactions as well as their gifts.

— • —

FOOTNOTES FROM THE TEXT​

Minaskic Country — Predice
The Mayistawscic — Prydanians
Apowwen — Within the given context, denotes "war"
Pwâsta — A vulgar expression in Tusacaw equivalent to "dumb-fuck"
Þakka þér fyrir — "Thank you" in Makari
Anisco — Honorific for women in Tusacaw

 

[Prydania]

The plaza of the Haraldvígi was a special place. It was here that the Prydanian Civil War officially ended, with the surrender of the last Syndicalist soldiers.

Red flags with white barbed crosses lined the balcony above the two delegations, and soldiers in red ceremonial tunics, blue trousers, and white striping both played their part in the ceremony that was unfolding and provided security. Their status as Knights of the Storm indicated by the gold cross emblem emblazoned on the left shoulder of their tunics.

Magnus adjusted his glasses somewhat, examining the gifts. The first two made him smile...they were similar to what his people had come up with. The third though...
"By God," he whispered, half to himself. He looked at the banner and then back to Nicamon.
"I didn't think there were many banners like this left..." the Syndicalist 'cultural revolution' of the early and mid 2000s saw a number of old banners, tapestries, paintings, and the like destroyed. Some historical items made it out of the country through legal or illegal means. Others were spared only in the east, where Syndicalist control was never firm and where certain pockets of resistance kept certain treasures alive. Seeing an authentic viking banner though...Magnus seemed like he saw a ghost.

"I never thought I would see something like this again..." he turned to Nicamon and the translator.
"From the people of the Prydanian Realm, I convey our sincerest thanks for these gifts. In the spirit of friendship..."

There was a loud knocking sound and the door to the Haraldvígi opened. More guards in ceremonial dress came out, followed by one fellow in a similar, if somewhat grander, looking uniform. He was followed an older looking man, balding, with a lean face, dressed in an olive green Field Marshal's uniform. Laurids Hummel and Stig Eiderwig both stood aside as a man in a black tunic with white and silver trim, slicked back chestnut hair, and a thin moustache entered the area.

"...in the spirit of friendship, our King will present our gifts to you," Magnus said to Nicamon and the translator.

Elo Daugaard, the man in the black tunic, looked around at the assembled delegation. And the onlookers. Including the RÚV cameras.
"Announcing their Majesties, Tobias, Third of his Name, of the House of Loðbrók and Alycia, First of Her name of the Houses of Loðbrók and Saitta, by the Grace of God, King and Queen of Prydania, Lord and Lady Protectors of Austurland, Marshals of Býkonsviði, Lords Uniter, Defenders of the Faith."

Elo stepped aside, next to Laurids and Stig as Tobias and Alycia stepped forward, from the Haraldvígi. Alycia, clad in a ceremonial uniform of Norsian design which, due to being Norsian, still had a certain marshal charm to it. Navy, with gold trim, a short cape covering her right shoulder and draped over her back, baring the Prydanian Royal Arms, a Prydanian touch to a Norsian design as she was representing Prydania in this instance.

Tobias was wearing a far more traditionally Prydanian outfit though. A red tunic, trimmed in black and gold, with gold epaulettes and a gold aiguillette. The black portions of the tunic, which ran down the front and up around the collar, were trimmed with golden oak leaves. His trousers and boots were black, a single gold stripe down the side of the pants, and a golden belt with a deer's head engraved onto the buckle.

They always laid out so many options for Tobias for every function or meeting he was needed at, and he often had trouble deciding. This seemed easy though. He wanted to look like a Prydanian monarch should. The delegation from the Tusacaway wore their traditional dress, and so would he.
He looked up for a brief moment as the snow fell, before turning to his wife. Alyica smiled. They shared in each other's titles, but Prydania was his land. Tobias stepped forward. He looked the visiting delegation over. Part of him wanted to study the gifts, but he knew it would be rude if he did that without greeting first. And that...well...it had him nervous. His heart was pounding in his chest. He wanted to pull at the collar for some air, but with so many eyes on him...well...such a thing wasn't possible. And had him at least partially regretting his decision to wear the traditional tunic.

"Your Majesty," Magnus Brandt said, giving his head a slight bow.
"The delegation from the Tusacaway."

Tobias nodded and looked at them. As nervous as he was...there was one way forward. One way to break that nervousness.
"Great Mother Yinisweyn," Tobias said. He knew the translator would interpret for her, but he made it a point to talk to her directly.
"Welcome to Prydania. It's an honour not just to host your delegation in our country, but to meet you, personally. I believe our peoples are ready to learn from each other," he said, glancing occasionally to the translator who conveyed his words.

"The Great Mother Yinisweyn," the translator replied, "is honoured to be here, and is honoured to meet you as well, King."

Tobias smiled and stepped aside, holding his hand out. Alycia stepped forward.

"My wife, Alycia, Queen of Prydania, and Empress of Norsia."

"Greetings," Alycia said with a nod and smile.
"Thank you, for coming. And joining us."

"The Great Mother Yinisweyn is honoured to meet you too, Queen and Empress."

Tobias breathed deep.
"Lord General," he called out.

"Your Majesty," Laurids replied, stepping out from the side where he'd been standing.

"Send in the gifts."

A few more ceremonially dressed Knights of the Storm marched out, carrying a tapestry.

"It seems," Tobias said softly, "our peoples share a love of tapestries."

The guards unveiled the work. There had been a number of craftsmen and artists who had volunteered their time to recreate historic treasures that had been lost in Syndicalist upheaval and the War, and this had been commissioned by the King himself for this occasion. It was not a recreation of an older tapestry, though it was done in a traditional style. It depicted an elegant border, with very detailed forested scene within. A lush woodland glen, with two stags prancing in the centre, a wolf sitting off to one side, and an eagle perched on a branch.

"The stag my house bares," Tobias said, "comes from our reverence for the forest. The stag protects the glen, and we follow his example. May this remind you that you have friends who believe in the well being of the natural world," he continued.

Another Knight of the Storm emerged, carrying a thick leather-bound book.

"It's my understanding," Tobias said, "that your people and ours share a loves for stories. This is a complete collection of the Sagas of the Vikings of the Clan of Loðbrók. It's rare in my country, given our recent troubles, but I want you, Great Mother, and your people to have it. So you can understand our love of stories."

Tobias breathed deep. This next one was special. He let his eyes wander though, and he saw the old banner. He smiled.

"I have something to give, from back then. I hope, Great Mother, you will forgive me, but I mean to give this to Great Daughter Okinee."

Tobias reached into a pocket in his tunic, cleverly hidden in the cut of the garment, and pulled out a necklace and pennant. Half of it bared the royal emblem of a stag on a field of oak leaves. The other half bore a shield with crossed spears.
"This, Okinee," Tobias said, again speaking to her despite knowing the translator would get it, "was worn by my ancestor, Wealþow of the Clan of Scylfing. She travelled to your lands a thousand years ago. And I wish to give to you, as a sign of friendship, from the homeland of one of your distant ancestors."

Tobias handed the pennant over to Okinee as the translator spoke to her. She ran her hands over the ancient piece, and then looked back up at the King of Prydania.

"Thank you..." she said. She needed a moment to process what it was she was given, but she knew she should nod at least.
"Thank you, Your Majesty. I'm grateful, for the gift," she said, watching the translator speak to the King. He smiled, nodding, and turning his attention back to the Great Mother.

"Thank you for your gifts. It means the world to me, for our peoples to reconnect after so much time. Your gifts will be treasured for years and years to come. I hope that ours conveyed that sentiment, to you."

 

[Prydania]

ÖSU Headquarters
Eskilborg, Prydania

"You know," Kaleb Stahl mused, "I just realized I don't know what colour your hair is?"

"It's brown," Max Hveiti grumbled as he watched the scenes of the Tusacaway's delegation meet with the King, Prime Minister, and assorted personnel.
"Zoom in on that one," he said to a woman who was manning a control station. "Let me get a good look at him."

A side screen zoomed in on Niciwas. He was in the back of the foreign delegation, but Max knew who he was. The side screen enhanced the image, and Max squinted behind his glasses as he studied him.

"It's just," Stahl continued to muse, "that it seems brown most of the time, but I swear it looks red in this lighting. And on really sunny days it can pass for dirty blond."

"Well Kaleb," Max replied, not taking his eyes off of the image of Niciwas, "all I can say is that I'm oily and I sweat a lot so I go through a lot of shampoo."

Kaleb smirked. He was officially here as Royal Prydanian Army Intelligence's liaison with the ÖSU, but his task on this instance was to keep an eye on Max. His independent streak was usually tolerated. In fact it could come in handy but the government wanted to make sure he wasn't up to anything...beyond his scope in regards to the Tusacaway. Max, of course, didn't know that. Though he was hardly on the friendliest terms with Kaleb. There were reasons for that but...

"Ok, get me another angle on this guy," Max said, pointing at Kiscawak. He seemed interested in him, studying his body language on a looped section of footage that replaced the image of Niciwas.

Kaleb watched Max direct his team of analysts. He really was a hands on kind of guy. He just stayed back, leaning on the railing on the half-raised platform in the back of the room. He didn't say anything for a moment, but then decided to speak up.
"I'm not sure body language will tell you everything you want to know," Kaleb said.

"Well you know...body language can tell you a lot. And you can never leave a stone unturned..." Max mumbled. Kaleb frowned. He knew Max wasn't telling him everything. Worse, Max was talking to him like he was an idiot.

"Well let me put it this way," Kaleb asked.
"What exactly are you looking for?"

"Since when does Army Intelligence concern itself with this sort of thing?" Max replied.

"I'm curious," Kaleb said with a shrug.
"Sate my curiosity."

"Well," Max said, pointing to the multiple windows and screens flashing before them.
"We know very little about contemporary Tusacawayan culture. We have bits from sagas over nine hundred years ago. This is our first chance to observe. Their clothing. The symbols in their ceremonial dress. How they style their hair. I'm tasked with gathering intelligence. So I'm doing it. Is that good enough for you?"

"You seem hostile, Max. I'm not here to be hostile."

"No, you're just here to annoy me," Max muttered as he went back to studying the screens before him.

"Well I'm not here to do that either," Kaleb insisted.

Max rolled his eyes.
"Tusacawayans slaughtered us nearly a thousand years ago because some viking killed a G-ddamn pelican."

Kaleb raised an eyebrow.
"And?"

"Well did you know that in the present day this event is one of a handful of stories the Tusacawayans reference as a justification for their isolation?"

"I'm really not following, Max," Kaleb replied.
"There's a delegation, a friendly delegation, here as we speak. What do thousand year old grievances have to do with anything?"

"Well did you know," Max continued, still not turning to address Kaleb, "that Tusacawayans with Prydanian blood are considered part of their society's lowest class, with limited social and economic opportunities?"

"No," Kaleb answered.
"No, I didn't know that."

"That's because it's not your job to know that," Max replied, still not turning to face Kaleb.
"But it is mine," he added, before looking over his shoulder. Kaleb saw the way the light reflected off of Max's glasses.
"And that last bit," he added, "is why I take thousand year old grudges seriously. Because they do." He pointed to the screens.

Kaleb, however, was more confused than convinced.
"I read your report," he said.
"You even say this Tusacawayan delegation is here on a peaceful mission."

"They are," Max replied, still fixated on the screens.
"But them being from a hostile society, and them also being peaceful, are not mutually exclusive."

"And that's why you're focusing on body language and hair styles," Kaleb replied, sounding suspicious.

"If 'he was over cautious' gets etched on my tombstone then I will consider my job as the Chief of this agency well-done," Max mumbled.

"So you're suggesting that our response to an overture of peace is to be overly defensive?"

"No," Max replied, finally turning to face Kaleb.
"No," he repeated. "That's why the King and Prime Minister are shaking hands," he pointed behind him to the screen.
"And exchanging gifts. But I..." he said with a sense of dourness, "am charged with the protection of the realm. And that's why I'm doing what I'm doing."

Kaleb felt a sense of nervousness. He felt that Max wasn't being entirely honest with him, that he had something else in the works. Some other angle. The problems were twofold. The first was that he couldn't prove it. Not without file access he'd need Alþingi or Royal authorization for. The second was...maybe he was wrong? Max was always an odd sort. He tended to rub people the wrong way even if he wasn't doing anything particularly egregious. And on top of that their relationship had been in an adversarial manner. Max had taken over the ÖSU back in 2012, during the Civil War. Back when Kaleb was still trying to kill the then-Prince Tobias. Max, as the ÖSU head, was charged with confounding his efforts. And Max had personally overseen his interrogation in late 2015 when he defected to the FRE.
All of that was to say that Kaleb had a hard time reading Max. Was he hiding something, or was Kaleb merely reading into his own biases? At the end of the day...he didn't have enough to convince the Alþingi Intelligence Committee, or the King, that he should have access to ÖSU files. So he stood there for a moment, head cocked slightly to one side, as he tried to discern Max's motives. And he knew there was only one thing he could say at the moment.

"Have a nice day Max, you know how to reach me if you need me."

"Bye Kaleb," Max replied turning again to look at an analyst's work.
"Thank you for stopping bye."

Kaleb just nodded before turning to leave.

"Of all the people the Army chose to send this way," Max muttered to himself, but still loud enough for the analysts around him to hear.
"They had to send him."