Wisdom is the Strength of the Realm [semi-open]

29 January 2023
7:55 pm
On a Sunday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Brigadier Marshal Kaleb Stahl looked around at the assembled Cabinet and nodded, mostly to himself, as he concluded.

"In conclusion it's my opinion, based on both my professional experience and personal history that what we're seeing in Callise is an orchestrated 'revolution from above,' and that we are seeing the beginnings of something not unlike what the Syndicalists orchestrated in late August and early September of 2002 here. The presence of uniformed 'protestors' all but confirms it."

There was a pause. Kaleb looked around at the assembled Cabinet and the ÖSU Chief Max Hveiti. He and Max had a history but he knew he could trust him. What did the others think though? Given his history?

"How sure can you be?" Sören Högh, the Minister of Foreign Affairs and Deputy Prime Minister asked.
Stahl raised an eyebrow and Högh seemed to catch its meaning.

"I mean to say, Herra Brigadier Marshal, that this is a very delicate matter. Precise details are very important. Both myself and the Prime Minister have given statements affirming our support for whoever wins the support of the Callisean people. If these are spontaneous then are ability to criticize is limited given the support we promised. But if you are right well... well we promised to support the will of the people. An organized group appropriating property in what could be described as a coup allows us more freedom in how we respond to these people."

Stahl sighed and hoped he'd done a good enough job hiding his frustrations.

"Herra Minister," he began, "my job during the Syndicalist Coup was to paralyze the Royal Army when just this sort of thing was occurring. Five hours after securing all major government buildings Thomas Nielsen broadcast support for the 'spontaneous' Syndicates and working peoples who 'reappropriated' the industry of this country. I can tell you beyond any shadow of a doubt- they were not spontaneous. And neither are these. These seizures and protests are organized by the i United Front."

Max Hveiti adjusted his glasses and looked across the oaken conference table. The tension and unease was palatable. So he decided to act, lest someone else who, in his mind, was less qualified did so.

"Marshal Stahl's insights into these sorts of situations has been invaluable," he said as he leaned forward, his elbows now on the table.

"I run my offce..."
Max wasn't too old but still referred to the ÖSU as his "office" like it was the 1960s.
"... with the goal to utilize the best information available to aid the nation. In cases such as these Marshal Stahl's expertise are one of our most valuable assets."

Kaleb smirked just a bit. He trusted Max and knew Max trusted him. But he still wasn't sure Max liked him. Max was looking to control the room though.

"Herra Prime Minister, if I may, what we need to do..."

He stopped. Kjell Svane held up a hand. The Prime Minister had remained silent until now.

"Sören," he said turning to his Deputy.
"What's the status of our embassy in Beaune?"

"No one's attempted to breach it. Yet," Sören replied, sounding very tense. Kaleb didn't think he liked him much either, but he could understand his anxiety given what he'd been through during the Syndicalist coup.

"The Knights of the Storm securing the embassy are ready if the worst happens. I have, though, given the order to start the deletion of sensitive documents."

"Dr. Erheorot," Svane continued, staying as calm as he could. The truth was he was alarmed too. Kjell understood, though, that he worked best dealing with stress by just moving through mental checklists.

"What is the status of Prydanian economic assets? Have we withdrawn as much as we could?"

"Já," Dr. Lúðvík Erheorot, the Minister for Economic Growth replied.
"The protectionists who held sway in Callise until recently made exceptions for Prydanian agricultural goods, as we made up a decent share of their market. We can't rule out that the new socialist masters of Callise will come to the same conclusion. But then again maybe not. Regardless we have withdrawn Prydanian economic assets until we can be certain of the situation."

Kjell breathed deep and turned his attention back to Max and Kaleb.

"Brigadier Marshal. What would you suggest?"

Kaleb raised an eyebrow.
"In relation to my past experiences in these situations or as an officer in Military Intelligence?"

"I'd prefer the later, at the moment," Kjell replied calmly.

"Right now the situation is very fluid," Kaleb began.
"But there are certain things that can be done to that will allow us flexibility. The first is that we need to raise the issue in the CEA. We need to press Callise on their willingness to protect foreign investments and property. Secondly Herra Prime Minister, you need to go to the PGU and the Bergum Pact and make it clear our mutual defence commitments are alive and well. And finally we need to raise the National Service alert level."

"The system's not even a year old," Kjell replied matter of factly.

"Even so, we need to transition from Blue to Green. For now."

Kjell looked over at his Minister of Defence and then Kaleb and nodded, before turning to Sören.

"One more thing. Send the embassy the order that any Callisean looking for diplomatic protection is to have their paperwork 'expedited' so long as they don't have ties to the Nationalist League. Do you understand?"

Sören nodded. He understood. The Prydanian diplomatic services had learnt fast from the Imperium situation. There would be people looking to get out of Callise quick. And for whatever reason- humanitarian or otherwise- the Prime Minister wanted Prydania to be a port of call.
"Já Herra Prime Minister."

"Well dismissed then. What a fokking way to deal with a Sunday night. But get to work. But Brigadier Marshal?"

Stahl looked at the Prime Minister and then to Max as Max rose from his chair to file out. He, perhaps more than anyone else here, had work to do.

"Play nice for pabbi," Max said in a whisper with a wink before heading out, leaving Kaleb in a room with Kjell.

"Herra Prime Minister?"

"You know the King já?"

Kaleb was taken aback by that. He did know the King. Hell, he'd spent thirteen years trying to kill him!

"His Majesty and I have a history, já," Kaleb replied softly. And watched as Kjell pulled a suitcase up from his feet to the table and opened it, removing a plain tan envelope. He stood and brought it to Kaleb, pushing it to him on the table as he sat next to him. Keeping his finger against the envelope.

"Does he trust you?"

Kaleb thought for a moment. He had spent thirteen years ago trying to kill him.
But then... well... like his grandpabbi used to say. Life is a jester who makes all of us the butt of a joke at least once. His grand punchline was coming over to the FRE after over a decade as a Syndicalist operative.

"Já, I believe he does."

Kjell smiled and tapped the envelope before standing up.
"I need to ask you to keep His Majesty apprised of the situation. I'm going to be pulled in a lot of directions over the next few days so I need you to make sure he's well informed when I'm unable to do that."

"Of course..." Kaleb replied before picking up the envelope.
"What's this?"

Kjell didn't betray anything even as he wanted to smile.
"Just keep His Majesty up to speed. Have a pleasant evening Brigadier Marshal."

Kaleb stood as the Prime Minister left the Cabinet room and held the envelope up. Maybe he'd be able to exercise his authority to... no. No he couldn't. In faint but visible letters was stamped "FOR HIS MAJESTY'S EYES ONLY."

"Well so it is," he remarked with a shrug, slipping the envelope into his breast pocket. He had to get to Absalonhöll.

Hubert Bennet glanced at the clock in the corner of the hastily assembled set he now sat on. 8:50 PM, it read.

The Constituent Assembly had adjourned, with its representatives returning to their respective provinces. Those few politicians who remained in Fontaine were the members of the provisional government, as well as a few key observers from the Liberal, Conservative and Villendean political parties who were, needless to say, rather unnerved by the events that had taken place over the last few days.

"Are you ready?"

Hubert Bennet turned around to see Jeremy Lambert, one of the young visionaries of the party and a delegate to the Constituent Assembly. At age 27 he had the youthful optimism of a man who had not seen the years of struggle that made this moment possible.

"I have to be, don't I?" Bennet replied.

Lambert nodded, his PTC lapel pin catching the glimmer of a nearby lighting rig. The sight was uncanny, like glimpsing a younger version of himself. At age 27, he already had quite an impressive resume under his belt. From bright-eyed young socialist to Chairman of the Young Workers of Callise to Chairman of the Beaune PTC to Deputy of the National Assembly... And now, delegate to the Constituent Assembly.

"This all seems rather silly doesn't it?" Lambert said, breaking the silence. "The whole party is panicking. Between the finance firms fleeing like lemmings across the Phoenix Strait to the Nationalists LARPing as 12th century crusaders, everyone seems quite tense. But... We knew this would happen, didn't we? When they read the words of Remy Picard during political education meanings, did they think the revolution he spoke of would be uneventful? Merely a procedural affair? It all seems rather naïve."

Bennet chuckled, "You have a point, but it doesn't make it any less easy on us."

"I'm not sure I understand," replied Lambert.

He doesn't get it, Bennet thought, how could he? His parents weren't murdered by LeBlanc's fascist police state. He didn't have to run for his life after a union meeting was busted up by the cops. He doesn't know what we've seen, or what we've had to do, for the past 60 years. His experience as a PTC member has been nothing but victory after victory, what could he possibly know about loss?

"We are in a very precarious position," Bennet responded, "this fight is far from over. If our next moves aren't carefully planned, they could be our last."

"Isn't it?" he asked, "We have a clear democratic mandate, we have the enlisted men of the armed forces on our side. Assuming the plebiscite goes our way, I'd say we've all but won."

"I wonder if my parents thought the same thing," he responded, growing impatient, "Even if Callise is behind us, there is no guarantee that our position is secure. What if Syrixia decides it doesn't want a socialist neighbor just across the strait? What if the nations of Craviter decide that they don't want their piggy bank owned by a bunch of reds? A few nuts with guns and international backing can accomplish quite a lot. It's a lesson I learned rather swiftly when I was placed in a Courantist orphanage."

Lambert grew silent. Bennet looked at him and began to feel regret.

"I admire your optimism, Jeremy," he said, "You and those like you will be instrumental in building the new world. But the weight of this country is on our shoulders right now... And for us old timers, it's a lot to handle."

"Of course, my apologies," Lambert said. A man with a clipboard, presumably a production assistant, approached the pair.

"I'm sorry sir," he said, "I hate to interrupt, but it is 8:58 PM."

"Is it now?" Bennet said, the news catching him off guard, "Well, we better get started I suppose."

Lambert walked out of shot, sitting with a few of their PTC comrades, as the production team prepared to roll the cameras.

---

"Good evening, Callise. My name is Hubert Bennet, I am the Chairman of the Workers Party of Callise and an elected member of the Constituent Assembly."

"I am speaking to you now to announce that, after nearly a month of deliberation, that we have drafted a new constitution. This constitution was a collaborative effort on the part of all your elected representatives, both Senators and Deputies, and in the coming week it will be voted upon by you all. All this is to say, the future of this country is in your hands, and yours alone. I want all citizens of Callise to know this, whether or not we agree, because ultimately a democracy cannot exist unless all are free to express their political convictions."

"You may find my manner of speaking quite odd. If you follow the news media, you most likely see me as a provocateur. A rabble rouser. A divisive figure. So to see me giving an even-keeled speech, I suspect, will come as a shock to many of you. I suppose this is not unearned, although I would like to give you all the context necessary to understand where me, and people like me, come from. I came of age in the National Republic of LeBlanc. Although those who lived through that period will agree with me that it could, under no circumstances, be called a Republic in earnest. The government used lies, threats, and violence to get what it wanted. And if you happened to disagree with the ruling government, God help you. As a young boy, I was raised by two parents who had the misfortune of disagreeing with the tyrant LeBlanc. We were moved from safe house to safe house until they were eventually caught and imprisoned by LeBlanc's police. They died in captivity... And I did not know my parents had passed until a year after the fact."

"To say I was not angry would be a lie. But over time, as the anger at the men who murdered my parents dulled, I discovered something else. An entirely different kind of anger. Anger at an unjust system which says you can be thrown into prison for your beliefs. Anger at a government which would condone such a tragedy. In a word, anger at a system which had hurt me and so many others. It was this anger that animated my involvement in politics, and encouraged me to to join the political group Le Gauche. I engaged in underground labor organizing, I distributed dissident material, and I had the distinct pleasure to march with the citizens' militias that took the streets in 1965 to end the tyranny of the National Republic. When the tyrannous government fell, I was ecstatic. I harbored dreams of retiring in Bannet on a farm that my father had worked before the National Republic. But as we ushered in a new government, I realized that we had made a horrible mistake. Hundreds of thousands continued to wallow in slums in Beaune. Income disparity continued to grow. And the working men and women who fought to free Callise found themselves suffering from the same sorts of issues that plagued them under LeBlanc. I felt that now familiar anger that animated me to fight against tyranny before, and I followed its call once more. I continued to organize workers, I canvassed for socialist politicians, and I had the pleasure of being present at the founding of both the PTC and the TIC."

"Throughout all those experiences, that anger has always been present. But it was never anger at a man, or group of men. It was always anger at a system, one which treats people as less than human if it suits its needs. And it is this anger which has filled me, and millions of other Calliseans, with the passion which causes us to be labeled divisive. Were there moments where I ought to have shown restraint? Certainly, and for those I ask for your forgiveness. But everything I have done has been in the interest of fighting injustice."

"I say all this to let you all know that all of us play many roles in our lives. Many of you have known me as the provocateur, and for many years this has been my role. But I have played other roles too. I have been a shy orphan, terrified and alone. I have been a nervous young man, rendered incoherent with nothing more than a glance from a woman I fancy. To my comrades in Le Gauche, I have been an often overconfident and idealistic young man. And today, I have the pleasure of playing peacemaker."

"In the wake of news of the new constitution leaking to the people of Callise, there has been much confusion and violence. Businesses have threatened to leave this country if their demands are not met, far-right extremists have taken to the streets, and millions are confused and scared. This cannot be allowed to continue. Callise is one nation, indivisible, and united in common wealth for the good of all. We cannot allow our nation to fall apart for want of a truly democratic government. To this end, your elected representatives in the Constituent Assembly have banded together to provide stability in these trying times."

"The United Front, alongside our allies in the Green Democrats, and a faction of the Farmer-Labor Bloc have joined together to form a provisional government. But what does this mean? Surely some will accuse us of putschism. This is not true. Our absolute conviction in the people of Callise and its democracy remains. When deciding the constitutional future of our nation, every citizen ought to have the right to vote their political conscience without threat of violence or coercion--from anyone. This means that no one can be allowed to be threatened with a job termination, or with vigilante violence at the ballot box. Unfortunately, as news of the new constitution has spread, big business and the far-right has exploited both of these threats to influence the electorate. To counter this, our provisional government has been formed to ensure these threats subside. We will continue to abide by the constraints of the old constitution, and our proceedings will be fully available to the public. We do not intend to implement any political change that the people of Callise do not affirm in the constitutional plebiscite."

"As for the plebiscite itself, we have already taken measures to ensure its veracity. We recognize that our coalition is not looked upon favorably by all of Callise, and to remedy that we have voted to establish an independent electoral oversight committee. This body will be composed of representatives from every party, who will have full access to polling data, ability to audit polling locations, and ensure that no one is forced to cast a vote out of intimidation."

"However, our coalition is not the only potential threat to a participatory and democratic vote. Already businesses have threatened to withdraw from Callise and take the jobs they provide away from our country, unless we reverse course. And far-right extremists, already upset that we have affirmed that everyone who lives here ought to have a say over their government, have taken to forming 'poll-watching' groups to intimidate those they deem 'unfit' to vote. To correct both of these forces, we have voted upon and approved two temporary legal measures."

"First, we are placing a freeze on all transfers of liquid capital out of Callise effective immediately until the plebiscite is concluded and new elections are held. Exemptions will be recognized and processed by the Bank of Callise, with reason. As part of this measure, we have also authorized law enforcement agencies to prosecute businesses which attempt to remove any form of capital from Callise to another nation. Again, this measure is temporary, and shall only remain in place until businesses are no longer able to threaten ordinary Callisean's with unemployment and poverty to get them to vote a certain way."

"Second, we have authorized law enforcement to prevent poll-watchers, right-wing extremists, and other people who intend to coerce votes from Callisean citizens."

"Before I say good night to you all, I wish to make a plea to the Callisean people: have heart. When our Republic was first ushered in during the late 18th century, we encountered instability and chaos far worse than this. Horrid bloodshed that ought never be repeated. But from that tragedy, our right to vote and to participate in our democracy was secured in perpetuity. It is the right of every Callisean to have a say in their government. So I beg of you all to vote your conscience, and to vote your political conviction. The choice ultimately lies with you."

30 January 2023
12:56 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Tobias kept a clean desk. It was because of how he grew up. He was always hiding, always on the move. Never in one spot for too long. So he learnt how to pack and unpack efficiently. So the old oaken desk in his office was, to a t, sharp and orderly. Except for one light tan envelope that had been torn open. It contents, a letter on yellowed looking paper, stuffed under a stack other papers that demanded Tobias' signature. The old, yellowed corner sticking out just a bit as the torn apart envelop sat on his desk.

Kaleb, who was standing behind him, had given it to him the previous evening. And right now Tobias had a pen out, one of the cheap ones you could buy in a bag of fifty for under x100, pinned against the envelope. Listening.

"The reality of the situation," Kjell Svane said as he wrapped up his briefing, "is that Callise ultimately needs to coexist. Whatever their politics are they're not going to wage war on the rest of Craviter. They will be weary. We're weary, but I think in due time we will simply have to talk to each other. Which will only lead to positive things."

Tobias' eyes shot over to the yellowed paper he'd stuffed under the stack of papers and then back at the Prime Minister. Then to the bright Skandan shirt of Max Hveiti.

"Herra Hveiti," Tobias began, his voice a bit low and soft, "mentioned something about Cogoria and the SY."

"I'm just extrapolating," Max replied.
"I look at the chess board of any given situation and I figure what the smart moves would be for the other side. The Stan Yera and Cogoria are natural allies. To what degree this compromises the Bergum Pact I can't say. But it's why we advised the Prime Minister reach out to the PGU."

"So I'm supposed to take this as Callise coexisting?" Tobias asked, before his eyes darted back to that yellowed piece of paper and then back to Kjell.

"There are so many unknowns, Your Majesty," Kjell replied.
"But short of Callise attempting to launch a war in revolutionary frenzy all signs do lead back to peace. In some form or another."

"Because that's never happened before."

Tobias, Kjell, Max, and Kaleb looked to the far end of the room. Beyond the desk and chairs, beyond the couches and the coffee table, Stig Eiderwig stood, taking in the 12th century tapestry of King Rikard I of Prydania's siege of Pataliputra. Recently returned from Saintonge.

Stig, Thane of Eiderwig, Field Marshal of the Royal Prydanian Army, and Chairman of the Prydanian General Staff, turned to face everyone else. His face that sort of neutral dower expression that he'd worn through fifteen years of Civil War.

"A political upheaval in Callise that leads to a continent-wide war," he mused.
"I've heard of that before."

His tone was monotone but Tobias knew his uncle well enough to know that was his idea of a joke. Sarcasm so dry you could use it sand rust.

"The Wars of the Callisean Republic," the King said, still kind of sounding like the kid who'd desperately wanted to impress William that he'd done his readings in whatever candlelit hell they had to hide out in.

"Já, Your Majesty," Stig said as he approached everyone else.
"This story's been told before. And Rikard III had to scramble to raise a defence because he didn't believe in the threat until it was at our doorstep."

Kjell, who was sitting across the desk from the King, turned in his chair.
"Field Marshal, that was over two hundred years ago. I don't think we need to worry about history repeating itself like that."

Stig didn't seem put out, though. Instead he simply began to slowly pace as he spoke.
"You're right, Herra Prime Minister. I don't expect that this new regime will launch a war of aggression. Not like Chavelier did anyway. But it's my job to advocate for the national defence..."

"We're risen the National Service alert level and will again if the situation..."

"...AND," Stig continued, forcing his way past the Prime Minister's reply, "...to understand the way threats react and adapt."

Stig approached the desk of the King, walking between Max and Kjell's chairs and placing both hands on the oaken desk as he leaned forward. Tobias looked up as he remained seated, trying to hide his nervousness. He wasn't the scared boy of his youth. He wasn't even the too eager for his own good twenty-two year old who had been crowned back in 2017. He'd grown into the role of King, embraced being a constitutional monarch, and he'd started a family. But despite that... Stig was the man who'd won the Civil War. He was the man who'd helped keep him safe. He couldn't help but feel like a kid again before him. But he tried to hide that, and let his Field Marshal speak.

"Rikard III readied a frantic defence against the invading Calliseans and by the grace of God he succeeded. Don't make his mistake and leave things up to God or His graces."

"You want me to order the Prime Minister to prepare for war?" he asked, the rationale for why Kaleb gave him that envelope suddenly becoming very clear.

"No," Stig replied.
"Not without provocation. But you would do well to remember that this isn't Skanda, who's never wished us any harm. Nor is it the Stan Yera or Cogoria whose alliances are built on common ground. These people will impose their will on you and our country if you allow them to. Keep that in mind Your Majesty, and be weary."

Stig stood up straight again, adjusting the tie in his uniform as he took a step back. Tobias turned to face Kaleb before looking back at Kjell.

"The Field Marshall's concerns are warranted, Your Majesty, but I believe we can be watchful and on guard without provoking the matter further. Craviter has been at peace for over five years now, and no one wants war."

Tobias pressed the pen against the envelope and nodded.
"Thank you for the briefing," he said as he stood, straightening the Stormurholmr football jersey he was wearing.
"I...I think we're good hands for now. We'll see what the Calliseans do. But right now I need to see my kids."

Tobias felt his heart race just a bit, given everything that was happening, and quickly shook hands with everyone as they left. Once he was alone? He tossed himself on the couch in the centre of the room. His kids. God knew how they did it, but the little ones gave him a sense of clarity...

---

Governor of the North by Jo Wandrini, 2:48

Mod note: the following post uses characters and story elements from Callise. @Iraelia has given Moderation control over Callise in line with his plans for the nation. Use of those elements is in line with his wishes and moving the story in a direction that was agreed upon previously

"'Provocation' is an ugly word," Kjell Svane said as he leaned forward just a bit at his desk, speaking into the phone.

"What, then, would you call it?" Hubert Bennet shot back.
"You've brought Andrennian and Goyanean jets to Craviter! You're running joint naval drills with Ephyrans and Norsians!"

"They're aiding the Royal Prydanian Armed Forces in combat patrols. In Prydanian- and allied- territory. And Hubert, if they cross those lines let me know but you and I both know know they won't."

"You're framing it," Hubert replied, like it isn't still antagonistic."

"The Royal Prydanian Armed Forces was reorganized. It exists on a defensive footing. We rebuilt our military in a way that we couldn't attack you. Not unless you came up here."

"You brought the Goyaneans, Andrennians, Norsians, and Ephyrans over to do that for you then," Hubert replied coldly. Hubert Bennet was a principled man. A dedicated and idealistic man. But he was not, strictly speaking, the most refined politician. And Kjell Svane? Well... he knew of Svane. From way back. He never met him though, nor spoke to him. He knew he was a diplomat though, and that put him on the defensive because it meant in part Kjell was a master of euphemisms and Hubert would prefer to cut the crap and just talk directly about what was happening.

"The PGU is a defensive alliance," Kjell replied, matching Svane's coldness.
"And so is the Bergum Pact. For the sake of transparency."

"Defence means different things to different people, Mr. Prime Minister," Hubert shot back.
"The National Assembly has no choice but to view this as Prydania attempting to use force to sway the results of the upcoming referendum and elections."

"I should be offended," Kjell replied, rubbing his temples, "that you'd confuse us with the Syrixians. I, and my Foreign Affairs Minister, have said we'll work with whoever the Callisean government is, so long as it reflects the will of the people. To be frank Hubert? No one here is interested in manipulating your elections. But that doesn't mean we're not concerned."

"Then why bring the Andrennians and Goyaneans here?"

"Because," Kjell replied.
"Our armed forces are defensively oriented and we're only five years out of a fifteen year civil war. They're here to help with defence."

There was a pause. One that lasted for only a few moments, and Kjell's eyes darted between Sören Högh, the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Stig Eiderwig, the Chairman of the General Staff, and Max Hveiti, Chief of the ÖSU.
Finally though, Hubert Bennet shot back.

"That's utterly ridiculous and you know that."

Kjell perked an eyebrow.
"I don't think we see it like that."

"How paranoid do you need to be to think we have any designs on your country?" Hubert replied. He was legitimately angry, angry because in his mind the idea was absurd. Kjell, however, continued.

"Your party opposed our movement to free our country during our Civil War," Kjell replied matter of factly. He was now drawing on his experiences as a FRE diplomat during the War.

"We opposed the re-establishment of the monarchy, but we were among the first left wing parties to oppose the Syndicalists. Do NOT confuse the two!" Hubert Bennet insisted. And his anger was only growing. His party had worked hard, very hard, to distance itself from authoritarian strains of socialist theory and he didn't appreciate being compared to a regime that had killed four million of its own people.

But therein was the problem. From Hubert's perspective the notion was ridiculous and offensive. From Kjell's perspective, however, the stain was not so easily washed away. And both of them found themselves grappling with the legacy of all of this, the ideological and real world implications of what had happened in northern Craviter for fifteen years.

"Já," Kjell replied.
"But the Kingdom was restored. So please tell me how I shouldn't proceed with caution here?"

Hubert paused again. He was trying to balance the needs of his country, people, and party. In varying orders. All at once. And Prydanians well... what could he say, really? They fed a large portion of Craviter and if only in those very crude, economic terms the store shelves were far more barren when Syndicalist collectivization had not worked. That alone meant this conversation could not be put off. There were other problems though. Mainly Prydanian attitudes themselves.
Maybe Kjell would never believe it, but he did legitimately feel for Prydania having to suffer under Nielsen and his Syndicalists. Whatever good intentions the Syndicalists might have had, whatever idealistic and worthwhile place they began at, it wasn't how it ended up. And while he did not approve of the restoration of the Loðbrók monarchy it also wasn't his country. Now Kjell was forcing him into a defensive position he didn't want to be in, one he didn't believe he should be in. Normally he might have lost his temper, but again. The needs of his party, people, and country. So he collected himself to think through what he should say.

"You said you have no designs on Callise's self determination. We have no designs on Prydania's. We don't have any desire to force our will on your people."

"Your left hand man Jérémy Lambert..."

"Chairman of the Beaune Chapter," Hubert replied, correcting him. But Kjell continued.

"He used a decision on the part of the People's Party here to not join the IWA to rally against our government not even six months ago."

"You can't take that to mean..." but now it was Kjell's turn to barrel ahead.

"So Hubert, I see a forceful change of regime in Callise that is run by people opposed to our government, would prefer we thought more like them, have openly said as much, and has now frozen not only Prydanian assets but assets of all foreign parties. Many of whom are friends or treatied allies of Prydania. An emphasis on our own defences- given what people of your political persuasion have done to this country- through our allies is justified. You don't get to pretend like your own prior proclamations on our affairs don't have consequences."

"Listen here," Hubert replied, finally channelling his frustrations.
"I understand, believe me I do. But rather than focusing on what we did out of solidarity you're focusing on minute political orthodoxies. We. Do. Not. Want. To. Hurt. You. Mr. Prime Minister. Do you understand that?"

"I understand," Kjell began, "that this is not an easy situation for any of us. But I am answerable to the people of this country, like you claim you are to yours. If your intentions are benign to us then we'll see."

"We're not here to prove anything to you, Kjell. We won't operate in a timescale to make you comfortable. The Callisean people will act on behalf of their own interests."

Kjell shrugged. It was hard for him to shake the notion that the PTC would rig the game electorally. He'd seen it happen first hand with the Syndicalists here. For now though, he kept that to himself.
"I'm not asking you to. But right now we'll act in our own best interests."

"Then there's nothing left to discuss," Hubert shot back. Kjell again eyed the people in his office. And nodded.

"I suppose there isn't."

"Goodnight Mr. Prime Minister," Hubert said, in a shockingly cordial tone. It caught Kjell offguard. But he replied in kind.

"Goodnight, Herra Chairman."

What had once been considered a mere dream only a decade before has become a reality; the working class of Callise has seized political power in a Democratic Socialist Republic. As lifelong socialists, the Central Committee of the Workers Party of Callise is ecstatic to see the workers of Callise embrace democratic socialist politics and take a daring step into the future. However, now that we have won the battle for democracy in Callise, new problems confront the workers of Callise. How does a Democratic Socialist Republic begin the process of constructing socialism? How should we relate to the small producers and petit bourgeoisie? How should a socialist state relate to the other powers of the world?

It is the last of these questions which we will answer today. Ever since the days of Remy Picard and the First Workers League, the socialist workers movement has maintained the international character of socialism. This makes the question of the immediate future of the Callisean working class in relation to our immediate neighbors suspect. Our Republic has been born among a continent reeling from the tyranny of bureaucratic collectivism. Empowered monarchies dominate the continent (the very name of the continent attests to this), and aside from small upsurges in nations like Arcanstotzka and Maloria in working class democratic self-activity, the people of Callise appear to be alone in their resolve. Therefore, it is incumbent on us to resolve the apparent contradiction between our conviction in revolutionary politics and the current political situation. It is from this position which we have formulated the Doctrine of Peaceful Coexistence.

But what do we mean by peaceful coexistence? This principle must not be confused for a retreat into bureaucratic, national-centric socialism. Rather it is premised on material politics. Revolutions occur in waves, and occur in cycles of high levels of revolutionary activity followed by reactionary responses. This does not mean that revolutions can break forth in periods of reaction, but rather it describes the general shape of revolutionary moments in international politics. When such a moment occurs, as it has for our people, it profits no one to impose revolutionary fervor on the workers of other nations. To do so will only strengthen the reaction and limit the possibilities of working class self-activity in the future. Therefore, it is the opinions of the Workers Party of Callise, and therefore the revolutionary wing of the workers movement writ large, that Callise must adopt a strategy of peaceful coexistence. This means respect for the national sovereignty of all people, open trade relations with the other powers of Eras, and open diplomatic channels. In this period of reaction, it is incumbent on us to focus on building domestic socialism, so that we may be better prepared to link arms with our brothers and sisters abroad when the next revolutionary wave comes. But it will not come about on our initiative, as a foreign power, but on the initiative of the working class of each nation on Eras.

But what about international solidarity? Peaceful Coexistence does not entail the complete withdrawal of support for socialist movement abroad; rather it is designed to ensure the survival of both our state and the movement abroad. If the workers of Callise were to march to the other end of this continent, we can expect nothing more than the complete suppression of the workers and socialist movement in Craviter and the entrenchment of the reactionary monarchist regimes. But should the people of these regimes themselves link arms with one another and oppose the new tyranny which they find themselves under, the capitalist class will find it much harder to silence their demands. To that end, it is the role of Workers Party of Callise to build legal and official ties to sites of working class struggle throughout Eras. To provide these parties with our political expertise, to offer them support where allowed by the law, and to foster the formation of mass, democratic parties of the working class that are firmly committed to a socialist political program. Moreover, it will be necessary for us to link arms with those workers across Eras who have already taken the step to self rule in winning the battle for democracy. To that end, we support the formation of a Socialist political and economic bloc which will promote cooperation amongst all workers and defend the gains of the working class the world over.

But what about the situation of Callise in particular? This complicates our commitment to peaceful coexistence. Already Prydania has welcomed in numerous imperialist powers to threaten our people, most notably Goyanes. In such a situation, it is essential that we secure the existence of our state and its internal democratic institutions. To do this, we must seek a defensive alliance immediately with other likeminded nations in Eras. Stan Yera and Cogoria both appear to be natural allies, although they are both a member of the Malorian military bloc of which Prydania is a member. This makes our situation difficult, and until Prydania ceases to posture offensively against the people of Callise we must seek to rally the Socialist states of Craviter to our cause. In the face of Capitalist and Monarchist reaction, the Socialist Movement must be of one mind and one heart. Workers of the world, unite!

Francis Calvet held his stomach as he dry heaved onto the metal floor of the 6x6x4 storage container that was his refuge. He had been at sea for, what, three hours now? He had been living in safe houses for roughly a month now, and although that would soon come to an end he nonetheless felt that this was the worst his state-enforced confinement had to offer. This was not how he had imagined spending the last few months. Senator Aubert and other members of the Nationalist League had assured him that the police were on their side! How could they betray the hundreds of thousands who put their trust in the last true defenders of Genuine Callisean Republicanism?

Whatever, he thought, it is what it is. And as far as political dissidents went, he was getting off comparatively easy. Some of his best friends in college were now being kept in holding cells awaiting trial in the newly formed Commonwealth of Callise. They wouldn't be able to continue on the fight, they wouldn't be free to continue on the opposition in their own right... They wouldn't even be able to die a martyr's death! The milksops who call themselves the "National Convention" outlawed the death penalty, so all they had to look forward to was a lifetime in prison. Calvet chuckled to himself, a cynical laugh. He was remembering an old quote of Jean-Charles Duval, the old socialist leader of Callise in the 1920s, which he issued in response to the brutal repression of a workers revolt by the capitalist government of Callise at the time. "When our turn comes, we will not make excuses for the terror." Oh how the mighty have fallen! One thing is for certain, Calvet thought, when we take power once more we will not be so forgiving.

Calvet squinted as a beam of light struck his eye through a gap in the shipping container. It was morning, which meant they were almost in Bergum. He still couldn't believe he had managed to escape the Commonwealth authorities, the newly formed National Militia had been on high alert searching for him and other high ranking members of the Nationalist League. His guardian angels, ironically members of the Liberal Party, had only managed to get him on this ship with a well placed bribe. And even then, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't be turned in. But, nevertheless, his container passed inspection and the ship left port unharried. If even one unionized dock member had noticed him, he would have been sent straight to a holding cell to await trial.

His thoughts were disrupted by the sound of a fog horn and the hustle and bustle of a port in the morning. Calvet heard footsteps hurrying all around him and the hum of machinery, most certainly cranes which were to offload the cargo of the ship. Calvet wondered what life would greet him when he arrived in Maloria. As a little boy, he had idolized the General LeBlanc, Consul-General of the National Republic. He was a true Callisean patriot. And now Calvet was to follow in his footsteps in escaping to Bergum. He only hoped to be half the man LeBlanc himself was. That would be enough, he thought, that would be enough to save my country.

Calvet flinched as the door to his container swung open and his field of vision was flooded with light. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a uniformed man staring down at him. He was flanked by armed men on both sides. The man sported a well ironed officers shirt, dress shoes, and a badge. Calvet squinted at the badge, his Malorian wasn't very good but he nonetheless could make out the writing on the badge. Directorate... for... Foreign... Intelligence... he sounded out in his head. The man offered him a hand, and with a calm and reassuring voice said.

"Welcome to Maloria, Mr. Calvet, we are happy to have you. Take a moment to collect yourself and then we can head down to the office to get your asylum papers in order."

Max Hveiti had talked about foreign relations in terms of chess. Tobias understood the analogy but he didn't like it, really. For one he was terrible at chess and secondly it all seemed so cynical.

It was actually kind of a shock to him that Svane didn't use the same terminology. He had been a diplomat after all. The chess analogy seemed to fit him? But he never talked like that. He had his own style.

So neither Tobias or Kjell liked the chess analogy yet that was what was on his mind. RÚV people got up in his personal space to adjust the green sweater over the white collared shirt, wanting it to look just right as he managed to gently undo the most egregious alternations. He liked a looser collar. The stiffness of formalwear still never sat right with him.

But chess.
Chess was on his mind because he was here. Not Kjell. As always he desperately wished Kjell would do it but the Cabinet, including the PM, thought it was best if he spoke. Chess. It was the ideal time for him to move. He was the King, after all.

Tobias finally found a moment alone when the RÚV crew tended to the setup in his office. He pulled out his phone and began to scroll through various statements made by the Workers' Party of Callise since this began. He'd read it before of course. A lot of what he was going to say soon, to the world addressed it. He just wanted to examine it again.

"They talk like Syndicalists," he muttered.

"Eh?" Rylond asked. His friend. And in line to a political position that would make him very relevant given a few things that had just happened in Maloria.

"The way the Callisean communists talk, it's just like the Syndicalists. The same... I donno Ry, what's the word? The technical sounding writing?"

"Socialists think they're partially scientists," Rylond shrugged.
"They like obtuse terminology. But are you sure they sound like the Syndicalists? Maybe it's just because you're reading the text in Prydanian?"

Tobias smiled and tapped the translate button on his browser and the text switched from Prydanian to Mercanti.
"It sounds the same in Mercanti too."

"Well..." Rylond shrugged.
"It's just how that lot talks. Just..." he was about to say not to get hung up on it when Tobias stood.

"How long until the broadcast?" he asked.

"Ten minutes Your Majesty."

"Then I have time," he replied and left his desk to pour a glass of brennivín and leave, pacing the hallway of Absalonhöll. Rylond went after.
It wasn't that he thought Tobias would just leave and refuse to do this but also... well... he was his friend. He was concerned.

"Toby. You ok?" he asked in Bayardi. If Rylond had to guess fewer people in there spoke Bayardi and that might calm Tobias' nerves knowing they had some privacy.

"No," Tobias muttered, sticking with the Bayardi.
"Every time I think I've moved on I just..." he leaned his head into the wall and pressed his hand against a hunting tapestry from the reign of King Robert II.

"Ok..." Rylond said softly, taking Tobias' hand and lowering it.
"We just got that back from Saintonge, try not to ruin it," he chuckled. That made Tobias smile a bit.

"Dealing with these people is never easier. Every time I think I have a handle on it I just...I can't help myself. I freak out."

"That's understandable," Rylond said softly. And he meant it. He and Tobias had grown up together in the FRE. They'd grown up on the run from Syndicalists. In then middle of the war. He knew what his friend and King felt. Most of the time.

"There's a lot to unpack but just take a deep breath and..."

"They killed my parents. People like them. People just like them..." Tobias muttered.

That was one thing Rylond could not relate to. Whereas his parents had survived the Syndicalist coup and purges Tobias' parents, the young brother of King Anders III and his wife, did not.

"So much was lost," Tobias muttered, "during that fokking war. But pieces of the past trickle in. I saw a picture. Of Thomas Nielsen and my pa."

Rylond sensed Tobias wanted him to speak but he didn't. He knew this was dangerous ground. Tobias' father had been Nielsen's friend at one point. Some had even said protege, as if a prince being a syndicalist's political protege was the most normal thing in the world.

"I was in it," Tobias added.
"I was... I donno, two? And there I am being held by Thomas Nielsen. Smiling. While my pa sits next to him. Smiling. I watched him kill him kill him. I saw Thomas Nielsen kill my pa and my ma. The whole world watched him prove people like that... don't fokking mean a damn thing when they talk about coexistence. Calling me a reactionary when I was the one who had to see..." he sighed.
"Deep down I think these people wished I was the fascist they say I am. It would make their lives easier. Fit their binary better."
He pressed his forehead against the wall. And Rylond sighed.

"You know you need to go back in there and do this."

"Ja."

"Ok, and you know what you need to say?"

"Ja... for fok's sake Ry, I'm venting."

Rylond smiled softly and pat his friend on the shoulder.
"You're venting some serious stuff To-B."

"Oh God my cousins got to you," Tobias replied with a smile of his own as Rylond used the nickname his cousins the twin princes of Saintonge used for him.
"But my therapist said it's good to vent. And not let it stay bottled up."

"Ja that sounds good, that sounds good," Rylond nodded.
"But you're venting to me so I guess that means you give a shit what I have to say."

"Always have," Tobias replied peeling his forehead from the wall.

"I think it's a good idea to give people a chance and I think you know it."

"Já I do," Tobias replied switching from Bayardi to Prydanian.
"So why do I feel better when I hear it from you?"

"Because we all need to be reassured we're all not all insane," Rylond chuckled.

Tobias nodded breathing deep, as he followed Rylond back into his office and the waiting RÚV cameras. Still unable to completely diffuse the tension in his feet.
He poured another drink- this one water- and sipped it before taking his seat at his desk and folding his hands atop it. Ready....

Rylond walked back into the far end of the office, next to the tapestry of King Rikard I on Crusade. Out of the way of the tv people. And then the room went quiet as the live broadcast commenced.

"Hello," Tobias said looking into the cameras.

"I'm speaking in Mercanti today because I speak not just to Prydanians, but to the Callisean democratic socialist republic and, in truth, to the world."

He paused just a bit. He'd gone over what he was going to say, but he often found in public speeches that when he was actually giving them the words emerged from a jumbled mess just as he was going to deliver them.

"To my countrymen and countrywomen, to Prydanians everywhere, here or abroad, I find myself with an unenviable task. I understand that the political revolution in Callise calls forth memories of the Syndicalist seizure of power. It scares many of you, makes many more uneasy. As King, as someone you have all put faith in, it's my job to reassure. But like you I lived through our war, I lost people I loved, and I struggled to survive. The scars of it are as fresh for me as anyone."

He paused again, just to let his heart slow down a bit in his chest.

"So for me, I feel scared and uneasy. I do. I can't lie and tell anyone I don't, but I can also reassure you. That the democratic government of Prydania remains committed to our safety and prosperity and that the Prime Minister and his cabinet are very capable of navigating us through this. And I say as King of this country, that despite my fear and unease, I will never stop standing up for my fellow Prydanians. Our allies and friends are here. Our military, rebuilt to emphasize defence, is ready if any foreign power attempts to invade our borders."

Tobias nodded.

"I'm told it won't come to that," he said softly.
"I pray it doesn't. We've seen enough war for ten lifetimes. And if war comes to this continent it won't be because we started it. More then anyone else, we know what war means and we know the consequences of it. I pray that to the people agitating for new politically motivated military blocs that the memory of what happened to my people causes them to pause."

His jaw clenched a bit. And promptly loosened even if his muscles were still tense.

"We all bare the memories of the dead, the killed, the murdered, the imprisoned, and the tortured. It falls on us to take these scars and learn how to live with them. I don't think I'll ever fully manage that but I believe I can try. And I believe Prydania can to. The Callisean communists decree they want peaceful coexistence. And they'll have it. But they will not dictate terms."

Tobias paused again just briefly.

"The presence of foreign militaries in Prydania at the request of the Prydanian government, democratically elected, is a matter for that government. A decision made because we suffered under Syndcialism for fifteen years and are weary of those who would force it back onto us. If the Callisean Workers' Party wishes for our government to change its stance it should consider one fact. That despite our uncertainty the Prime Minister and Minister of Foreign Affairs of our government stood by their promise to respect the will of the Callisean people and recognize the democratic socialist republic and legitimate. If Callise's communists wish for peaceful coexistence they can remember that as they call me a tyrant.
No, it wasn't me or Prime Minister Svane, or William Aubyn or anyone else involved in our resistance who killed four million of our own countrymen. I didn't execute the people of Darrow or the martyrs of the Advent Executions. The mass graves in this country still being excavated don't bare my name or the name of my family. They bare the name of the Syndicalist Party. And Thomas Nielsen."

"So if I may speak to Chairman Hubert Bennet directly and bluntly. If you want peaceful coexistence then we will do our part to make that a reality. But do not confuse me with a man with the blood of four million on his hands, and do not confuse our democratic institutions with dictatorship. If we can speak openly and plainly to one and other, that will be a start. There are scars here. Scars I know you know of first hand."

He knew that Annie Gram, leader of the People's Party here, had spent time in Callise. He didn't know if Annie and Hubert had met but he assumed he'd have heard of her at least.

"And there are scars in Callise too. I will not lie to you Herra Chairman, and tell you it will be easy. But if the alternative is an escalation in conflict then we need to find ways to talk."

He felt his body relax a bit, having said most of what he'd prepared.

"To my fellow Prydanians, here or elsewhere, thank you. Thank you for the trust you've shown me, and our government."

He usually ended addresses with the customary "may God preserve Prydania," but he'd decided on something else. And so he leaned back in his chair once the cameras had cut.

Hubert Bennett furrowed his brow as King Tobias Lothbrok's speech played on the screen of the interim National Council chambers. The young king had a stern demeanor, but underneath that he saw fear. He saw it because he had been in Tobias' position before. Even as old age weathered his memory, the image of his parents being dragged out of their safe house screaming was seared into his mind behind a curtain of tears. Before long, he lost himself in a rumination on that shared trauma before he shook himself back to attention.

This isn't about me, he thought, and it's not about Tobias either. It was about the people.

"He doesn't seem to be backing down," said Sylvaine Girault, newly elected Chief Commandant of the Land Forces of the Republican Guard, her voice cutting through the silence, "we should mobilize the Republican Guard as soon as possible."

"We need to choose our next move very carefully," Bennett responded, "if we overreact it could have dire consequences. Not just for Callise, but for everyone on Craviter."

"Sure, but we can't let our political future be dictated to us by a power that isn't even on the continent," chimed Jeremy Lambert, Deputy Councillor for International Political Affairs.

"Agreed," Girault replied, "we need to enter the international stage with force. The government of the Third Republic was respected, there is no reason that we should not be as well."

Bennett took a deep breath through his nose before speaking; "It may be hard to believe, but I don't think Prydania can't be reasoned with. The King, powerful though he may be, is not a dictator. There is a civilian government as well, one which I suspect is eager to avoid a war and willing to de-escalate. My proposal is thus: we send out a strong public message showing the continent that we will not back down in the face of intimidation. But we will send a private communique to the Prime Minister, seeking a summit to de-escalate..."

Bennett's voice trailed off as he saw the wrinkled frown of Damien Jaubert, Councillor for Public Security, as he stared at his laptop.

"What is it, Mr. Jaubert?" Bennett asked, his voice tinged with concern.

Damien cleared his throat before saying, "Sir, we've located Francis Calvet."

Bennett's heart sank. If that was a good thing, Damien would not be as somber as he was.

"Where is he?" Bennett asked.

"He's in Maloria, they've granted him asylum."

A mix of rage and fear overtook Bennett. The memories of LeBlanc's Malorian-backed army, the violence inaugurated by the Nationalist League at the attempt to disrupt the Constituent Assembly, and the terrorist attacks that continue to happen weekly dominated his thinking. He took a moment to collect himself before addressing the National Council.

"I have a new proposal. Send a public communique calling for a meeting of the international workers movement in Fontaine for the establishment of a new defensive alliance for our comrades abroad. In it, publicize the decision of Maloria to offer official protections to a terrorist. Send a private communique to the government's of Cogoria and Stan Yera, asking them to meet us and discuss the geopolitical future of Craviter. We need to make sure that they will be on our side if conflict comes."

"Let's put it to a vote," Lambert says.

As members cast their vote, a tally of 39-11 is the result.

"The ayes have it," Bennett says, "let's get to work."

To the Governments of Stan Yera and Cogoria:

Following the assumption of power by the working class in Callise, it has become evident that we are to be met with nothing but hostility and coercion on the part of the Imperialist powers of Craviter and Gothis.

Before our people even had a referendum on our new constitution, the nation of Prydania invited the imperialist power of Goyanes to coerce a "no" vote on our current constitution. Even after the people of Callise democratically adopted our new constitution, and elected the Workers Party to power without coercion on our part, they continue to mobilize their military in an attempt to subvert the democratic will of our people.

Likewise, the nation of Malor-Kanada, which exerts extreme influence on the politics of Prydania as the military hegemon of Northern Craviter, has likewise threatened our government. While our democratically elected government deliberated on a new constitution, to be approved via plebiscite, leading members of our Nationalist League political party attempted to lead an insurrection with the stated goal of preventing the elected government from acting on behalf of their constituents. The leader of both the Nationalist League, and the rioters, was Francis Calvet. A man who has just been granted asylum by the Malorian government. This man is a terrorist, responsible for the deaths of at least a dozen people in his attempted insurrection. To grant him asylum is a wanton assault on our sovereignty.

In the face of these blatant challenges to the legitimacy of our state, we seek the aid of you, our brothers and sisters in the struggle for working class rule in Eras. We know you both have been members of the Bergum Pact for some time now, an organization which would legally obligate you to side with Maloria and Prydania against our fledgling Republic if, heaven forbid, they escalate this conflict to a war. We also know that you wish to maintain the positive relationships you have with many of the countries who are members of the Bergum Pact. We sympathize, we want nothing more than peace on this continent. But in the face of such blatant provocations, we need to secure the existence of our democratic state. We are only several decades removed from a Malorian-backed, right-wing army seizing power in a violent military conflict, killing millions of ordinary working Calliseans in the process. And judging by the reactions we have received from the capitalist powers of Craviter thus far, we do not believe it is far-fetched that they would try again.

With this in mind, we invite the government's of your nations to Fontaine for a discussion on the geopolitical situation in Eras. Our hope is to forge a defensive bloc that will be beneficial to all parties and secure the existence of some of the few worker's states on Eras. We eagerly anticipate your response.

Signed,
Hubert Bennett
Chairman of the National Council of the Commonwealth of Callise

Click to expand...

"There," Tobias said softly as he scribbled his name at the bottom of the document.

"I, Tobias III, King of Prydania do hereby name Rylond Gerhardus Stander Van Jórvík ambassador of our realm the Malor-Kanadian Empire."

Rylond stood for a moment before rocking a bit forward on the balls of his feet.
"That's a very official looking piece of paper," he said with a nod.

Tobias, who had been feeling stressed lately, chuckled at his friend's irreverence.

"It really is isn't it?" he chuckled before turning to the Royal steward.
"Elo, send this to Kjell, will you?"

He handed the document to Elo who just nodded.
"It will be waiting on his desk in the morning, Your Majesty."

"I still don't know why you wanted to do this now, and not wait until morning," Rylond said as he watched Elo leave.

"Because," Tobias said as he stood and yawned.
"I have enough things to obsess over while I sleep. I didn't need this gnawing at me too."

"That's fair," Rylond replied, fighting back a yawn.

"I'm going to get some sleep," Tobias added.
"You should too. You have to be onto Bergum tomorrow."

"Toby?"

"Já?"

"Sleep well," he put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you're you."

Rylond pat his friend's shoulder and left him to his evening. Tobias watching his closest friend leave him in the middle of his office. And even here, in an office that wasn't particularly large, being alone made the space feel massive. And that feeling only intensified as he made his way through Absalonhöll's hallways. Slowly, studying the restored intricate woodwork showing parades of knights and stags and saints. It helped keep his mind busy, until he stopped. Not at his quarters though.

He slipped into his daughter's room. Bathed in the peaceful darkness of night. He could make her out, in the middle of the crib. And he was careful, letting himself walk slowly towards the crib so as to not wake her.

"Hey Hanna," he whispered softly as he knelt by her crib. Looking at her asleep in it.

"You and I don't get much one on one time do we?" he chuckled softly.

"But you know," he continued.
"I wanted to tell you about your name. You're named after your grandmother. My mamma," he whispered as his daughter slept.
"She's the bravest person I ever knew. And when the jackals came for her she stood proud and defiant. I wanted you to have her strength," he said softly, fighting back tears of the last time he was with his mamma.

"But I swear to God, and all the old gods of our ancestors, I will never let them do to you what they did to her."

He fought back the tears again and stood slowly, leaning over his daughter's crib, to kiss her goodnight.

The walk to his quarters was a blur as he ran through everything that was happening in his mind, but he didn't let himself focus on any one thing. He knew it would only keep him from sleeping. When he arrived at his quarters he undressed, kissing Alycia on the head hoping that, like his daughter, he wouldn't wake her. This time he wasn't successful.

"You're up late," she muttered.

"Not for long," he kissed her again, this time on the lips.

He rolled into bed next to Alycia, wrapping an arm around her as he drifted off into sleep.

---

The fall from wake to sleep is timeless. Once one drops into the void the passage of time is nothing.
But for Tobias it seemed instant. The moment he left waking consciousness he jerked awake.... in a dark wood. One he'd been in before.

He looked around, having just felt Alycia in his arms what seemed like a moment ago... but he was just alone. In the forest of a dreamscape...

"Tobias."

He turned around.

"Krysta."

She said nothing. But she was as she was in the last dream he had here. She was naked, but covered in paint and ash, Thaunic symbols over her body. Her blonde hair dyed black with ash and braided around stag antlers. She walked past him and he followed...

Since that dream all those years ago he'd wondered if this was truly Krysta. She wasn't Thaunic and never "dressed" like this. Was this... something... using her likeness?

"Krysta. You are Krysta," he said, half asking as he followed her. His feet snapping the twigs and dead leaves under him. He looked down. And he too was undressed because of course he was. He'd gone to bed like this. But that hardly seemed to matter.

Krysta turned to face him, and walked up to him. Almost face to face, as much as they could be given the height difference.

"Tobias..."

"You used to call me Toby."

He'd been intimidated by these sorts of dreams as a teenager. But now...now... he had more confidence in himself.

"Tobias," she continued, ignoring his correction.
"Do you remember what I said to you last."

"You told me I had to choose between vengeance and my people."

Indeed, that dream was burned into his memory.

"Have you made a choice?"

Tobias furrowed his brow. If this was more than just a dream then surely Krysta, or whatever this was using her likeness, would know the answer to that.

"I pardoned most of them," he said grimly.
"Even ones guilty of terrible things. I did it for the sake of everyone. I think I made my choice."

"It's not a simple thing," Krysta replied. "Rarely is one choice forever closed. The river of time flows us by the same beaches. The song of our lives repeats notes."

"Krysta was never this cryptic," Tobias replied.

"Does it matter who I am?"

"Já it does. If this is just a dream I deserve to know what the fok my mind is doing. If this is something more then Jægdar..."

"I'm not Jægdar," she stepped forward, her toes onto his, and she stood on her tiptoes as she kissed him.

He was shocked at first, but kissed back... and she placed a hand on his wrist, and brought his hand to her stomach. And for a moment...

"I am Krysta," she replied softly.
"And other things..." she whispered.

"I'm..." Tobias was about to say he was married and had kids.... but that seemed utterly ridiculous. He was talking to his dead girlfriend. Who was now a Thaunic witch? What part of this necessitated a discussion about matrimony?

"You are lost Toby, I see it. You find the path, but you need help staying on it."

"They killed you," he replied softly.
"They killed you, they tortured your family and drove them away as refugees. I chose my people over vengeance but how many times do I have to bare it and smile at these people?"

"Who killed me? Who tortured and drove away my family?" Krysta asked.

"The Syndicalists."

"They are gone," Krysta replied matter of factly.
"You and the others, Rylond, and the others..." Tobias swore he could see her smile, for a brief moment, and he saw the Krysta he used to know under it all.
"You stopped them. You saved them. And brought closure to everyone they hurt. Even my family."

Tobias felt his heart race, even as he looked down.

"Callisean communists would do the same."

"Your Aunt Mélisende gave you good advice. You cannot hold the world in your hands."

"If that's what I need to remember why isn't she telling me that?" Tobias asked, wondering why his consciousness didn't summon Queen Mélisende of Saintonge if he needed to be reminded of that advice.

"Because," Krysta replied plainly.
"She is in Saintonge and I am here."

That answer unnerved him, but Krysta continued.

"You cannot fix the world, but you can be King. Remember what I told you, and remember it's forever."

She kissed him again and Tobias shot up. He was breathing deep, sitting up in bed.

He looked around, and let himself fall back to bed. He wrapped his arms around his wife once again, squeezing softly before he drifted off again. This time into peaceful slumber.

Tanśa Wuryân, Captain General of the Diplomatic Corps, pinched his brow in a futile attempt to stave off a threatening migraine. He peered over the top of his spectacles at the clock hanging on the wall of his office. It had just ticked past one in the morning and here he was, toiling away at the never-ending paperwork instead of grabbing a łaśbûl* from one of the few street vendors still plying their trade at this hour and heading back to his apartment for an attempt at a restful night’s sleep. But, he thought to himself, the comfort of a hot meal and bed sheets must indeed wait when the world demands your attention. He instead took solace in the fact that there was still coffee sitting in the pot. Pouring the last of it in his mug, he returned to his desk and leafed through the blessedly small stack of unread documents left. A request from the B'aswâƛar Yeśer** asking permission to study anomalies in Nursîya***, correspondence from the IAWA, some routine report from the embassy in Aykûha†, and a letter from the new socialist government in Kalisa††.

The last of these caught Tanśa’s eye. It had apparently arrived today. He quickly cut it open, and read through the letter. The migraine that had been looming in the background of his attention suddenly shot to the front of it, prompting him to issue forth a litany of increasingly vitriolic swears at both the migraine and the situation that prompted it. Reading through the letter again, he considered the circumstances.

A new socialist government in Kalisa? Normally fantastic news, especially given my own democratic socialist leanings. Sfan had hand-picked me partially because of these ideological leanings, thinking a more moderate diplomatic face to the Stan Yera would be prudent.

But this new socialist government had immediately gotten tetchy with the Stan Yera’s allies in the Bergum Pact. This in itself was a dilemma, as the conflict of interest it represented spelled trouble for the position of the Stan Yera.

Moreso when it was made clear that Bennett and his government felt and looked to be provoked, rather than the other way around. I can somewhat understand Pirdânśa’s‡ actions, needless as they may be. I, however, do not necessarily trust that viking Loðbrók to maintain an entirely level head without guidance, given his own personal past with syndicalism. On that note, I wonder if he knows Sfan used to be a syndicalist, decades before the king was born?

Maluriya‡‡, however, had done the diplomatic equivalent of spitting in the face of the new government in Kalisa. If this Calvet individual is in fact responsible for what Bennett accuses him of, they have to know how Kalisa learning of this would make them look. And that if we learned of Maluriya harboring a fascistic terrorist, that could be taken as a quite grave insult to the Stan Yera. Especially given Maluriya’s past in funding anti-communist governments. The question then is what’s Maluriya’s plan here? Do they know who Bennett is? Are they banking on no one finding out?

Even with these considerations, the Stan Yera would not and could not depart from the Bergum Pact so readily. Upholding the revolution is paramount, but that starts with ourselves. The most obvious path would be to put pressure on Pirdânśa to join Kalisa at the table and air out potential concerns. The situation with Maluriya is less straightforward, though ideally they can be convinced to consider an extradition deal. A longshot, though. They would, however, not be so absurd as to attack Kalisa outright, so long as Kalisa can be convinced to not take the first shot…

Tanśa’s thoughts trailed off there, as he realized he had been sitting with the letter in his hand for some time. His coffee having gone cold, he gulped down the rest of it as well as a painkiller to quiet the dull roar of the migraine, and resolved to deal with this political fiasco in the morning, when he could meet with Sfan and get the Premier’s thoughts. Grabbing his jacket and the letter, he shut and locked his office, before proceeding downstairs. A quick tram ride later, he strolled the final block to his apartment, grimacing at the sudden bluster of frigid wind from the north. Ominous, he thought. Both literally and metaphorically. He waved down a vendor just as they were packing up, and managed to snag the woman’s last łaśbûl of the night. Entering his apartment, he tucked the sandwich in his fridge before collapsing into bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

---

Early the next morning found Tanśa hopping on the train to Kalƛaman, a neighborhood of the capital city Kulyan, situated near the mouth of the Kulyan river. Sfan’s apartment was located there, part of a Housing Union for government officials. Unlike Tanśa, who preferred to live near the administrative buildings of the Yeran government, the Federal Premier preferred some level of quiet and distance from the city center. Strolling along the townhomes, Tanśa reached Sfan’s address and rang the buzzer, waiting patiently as he ignored the disinterested side eye of Sfan’s bodyguard. A few seconds later, the aging dictator’s voice crackled through the intercom sounding particularly tired,

“Who is it?”

Tanśa replied, somewhat formally,

“Captain General Wuryân of the Diplomatic Corps, Comrade K’ter. I have something to discuss with you, regarding Kalisa.”

There was a brief pause, followed by Sfan’s sighing. “Come in”

As Tanśa began to reach for the door, it opened. First Warden Kyarâ stood in it, and they greeted each other warmly. Kyarâ spoke, “News from our comrades in Kalisa?”

Tanśa nodded, “News, but not altogether good news. I’ll tell you of it in a moment, as your input would be appreciated too.”

Tanśa stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and the pair proceeded down the hallway to the kitchen. As they walked, Tanśa thought to himself,

Kyarâ has been spending even more time with the old man. Hell, she recently moved just down the street from Sfan. She’s probably the one reason Sfan hasn’t caved and hired some kind of caretaker given his health this last year, though I don’t know that the stubborn Reħbyâ would admit to such a thing. I’m glad though, the two are practically family.

Tanśa and Kyarâ found Sfan at the kitchen table, today’s newspaper opened in front of him to the crossword, which looked to be about half penciled in. Breakfast looked to be cured lake trout on flatbread, eggs, and ľegyurⁱ. Sfan glanced up at the two over his bifocals, smiling. He gestured at the spread on the table, “Breakfast, Tanśa?”

Tanśa was not particularly hungry, as he’d devoured the sandwich from the previous night on the train ride over, and opted to just have some tea and some preserved fruit on flatbread, pouring the thankfully still piping hot tea into a mug and joining Sfan at the table as Kyarâ sat across from him.

After a few minutes of silent eating, interspersed with the scratching of Sfan’s pencil as he slowly filled in the crossword, Tanśa decided to broach the reason for his visit, pulling the letter from Bennett out of his briefcase and setting it in front of Sfan. Sfan scanned it, his face in its usual unreadable state. He sighed,

“Socialism will be the death of me, by all accounts” Sfan said wryly, which prompted a slight grin from Kyarâ. He slid her the letter, which itself prompted a swear from the First Warden.

Tanśa spoke, “What’s our course of action, here? Sit Pirdânśa and Kalisa down at the negotiating table and don’t let them up til they’ve agreed on, if not eternal friendship, then to not plunge Craviter into another war? Propose the admission of Kalisa to the Bergum Pact? Pay some Maluriyan to put a knife in Calvet’s back? To be clear, that last option is in jest.”

Sfan thought for a moment, then replied “Our position, alongside Kugâriya’s¹, as revolutionary states that have joined the Bergum Pact, is a relatively unique one. We’d be fools to toss that away. However, the struggle of our comrades in Kalisa can’t be discarded, and our support would be indispensable to their efforts. We’ll send someone to attend whatever meeting Bennett and his government are planning. A word to the young king Loðbrók is also in order, and perhaps a more public statement to the Bergum Pact as a whole, regarding the Pact’s responsibility to peace in our time.”

Kyarâ nodded in agreement, speaking around a mouthful of trout “A symbolic gift to the Kalisan government should go along with our response, perhaps? And I’m sure the Stan Yera’s position regarding Kalisa can stay any rash decisions from the rest of the Bergum Pact. Kurufâ², Kugâriya, and Arkanstaśa³ are likely to side with us, and Pirdânśa and Nursîya will act in lockstep with each other. Convincing them that friendliness with Kalisa is preferable is far from impossible. That leaves Maluriya and Arendal⁴. I’m sure their hands can be stayed as well, and if we can achieve an extradition of Calvet from the former, all the better.”


Tanśa finished the last of his tea and poured himself a new cup. He grunted, and replied “Then we’re agreed. I’ll draft the letters to Pirdânśa and Kalisa, and get them on their way by the end of the day.”

Several hours later, Tanśa stepped out of Sfan’s townhome with the letters to Kalisa and Pirdânśa stashed in his briefcase and a parcel under his arm, also destined for Kalisa, and caught the train back to downtown Kulyan. He dropped off the letters and parcel with an aide in the diplomatic corps office, sending them bustling off. He briefly checked his office, firing off some routine emails and rubber stamping a few documents needing his approval, then caught the tram home, not even bothering to pick up dinner before face planting into his sheets.

---

Not a full week after that day saw the arrival of the letters to their recipients in Prydania and Callise.

To Comrade Bennett and the Government of Callise:


Rest assured that the full support of the Stan Yera is behind your revolution, and we welcome you as comrades. A representative of our government will be sent to Fontaine. However, we suggest a steady hand in dealing with Prydania and Maloria. Though they are not themselves socialist, they are our allies and should not be considered unreasonable. We suggest taking steps to a negotiation with Prydania, where our government will happily act as a mediator in the pursuit of a peaceful solution. The situation with Maloria is more complicated, given that they have not, to our knowledge, acknowledged the arrival of Calvet.

Should they choose to acknowledge it, or should you make this grave insult to your sovereignty public, the Stan Yera is prepared to push Maloria to consider an extradition deal regarding Calvet in support of your cause. We will not, however, make the first move. It is, however, our opinion that both Maloria and Prydania are unlikely to seek war with your government.

As a token of our support, please accept the accompanying gift. This specific banner was raised over the city of Dâgalb’ayar when it joined Premier Sfan’s Revolution in 1986. The text upon it reads “They shall shatter our tools before they break our revolution”. We hope these words offer inspiration in the face of adversity.

Signed,
Tanśa Wuryân, Captain General of the Diplomatic Corps
Sfan K’ter, Federal Premier and First Marshal of the Stan Yera
Kyarâ Algyêna, First Warden of the Stan Yera

Spoiler: The attached flag

Click to expand...

To the King Tobias III Loðbrók and the Government of Prydania:

In light of the situation regarding Callise, we recommend an even-handed approach. Their new socialist government should not be considered enemies of either Prydania or the Bergum Pact as a whole. The caution they have displayed we view as warranted, given the nation’s violent past, in no small part due to our ally in Maloria. However, we believe that if not a close friendship, then at least an amiable peace can be achieved between the Bergum Pact and the nation of Callise.

Because we believe this, we feel it is our duty both as a revolutionary state and a member of the Bergum Pact to offer the Stan Yera’s services as a mediator between the governments of Callise and Prydania, and to recommend joining them at the negotiating table, rather than let tempers flare. Additionally, we believe that your government may itself be able to ease tensions between Maloria and Callise, though that road we feel is more difficult. Should you agree to consider our suggestions, there is some intelligence Callise has provided us with that we feel would be prudent to share regarding actions the Malorian government has taken.

Peace in our time.

Signed,
Tanśa Wuryân, Captain General of the Diplomatic Corps
Sfan K’ter, Federal Premier and First Marshal of the Stan Yera
Kyarâ Algyêna, First Warden of the Stan Yera

Click to expand...

---

*A burger, more or less. A common Yeran streetfood. Traditionally served in a flatbread pocket rather than a bun.
**The Bureau of Anomalies.
***Yeran transliteration of Norsia
†Yeran term for Skanda, a transliteration of Aikōʻa
††Yeran transliteration of Callise
‡Yeran transliteration of Prydania
‡‡Yeran transliteration of Maloria
ⁱA Yeran style of tea. It's a smoked black tea, made from the leaves of Camellia taliensis. See Lapsang souchong
¹Yeran transliteration of Cogoria
²Yeran transliteration of Korova
³Yeran transliteration of Arcanstotska
⁴Yeran transliteration of Arrandal

(CW: VIOLENCE, GORE)

"By a vote of 3157 to 972, the ayes have it. From this day onward, the Beaune Tribune shall be run as a worker's cooperative. It's editorial board and managers shall be elected by the employees, appointments and wages shall be set democratically, and the ownership of the paper shall be held in common."

Thunderous applause filled the headquarters of the Beaune Tribune as the vote to form a worker's cooperative passed with a massive margin. Gabriel Rochefort, newly hired sports writer, took in the moment. He saw some of his co-workers were drinking champagne, while others were hugging. In the corner of his eye he spotted Charles and Lise Gagnon, political journalists, organizers of the "Vote Yes" campaign for the cooperative, and young married couple of five years, locked in an embrace and a loving kiss. He spent a moment to appreciate how quickly the world was changing. Six months ago he was hired as a field journalist for the Beaune Bulls, living at the mercy of a manger who could fire him at will. Now, Callise has a new constitution, workers all across Callise are taking ownership of their workplace, and he has as much of a say in his work as the editorial board and the janitorial team.

As festivities began, Gabriel Rochefort could see the representatives of Emmanuel Chevotet, the now former owner of the paper. They looked visibly agitated, and were engaged in a shouting match with the government-appointed election official. Their argument, however, remained muted by the applause of those around them. After some time, the businessman's deputies stormed out of the room and made their way to the exit. As they left, a shower of confetti clouded them from Rochefort's vision. The room began to feel crowded, and Gabriel made his way back to his office. He had an aged wine, 1965 vintage, he had been saving for just this occasion. As he poured himself a glass, Charles Gagnon walked up to his cubicle.

"Mind if I join?" He asked.

Gabriel Rochefort smiled, "Of course." He poured another glass.

"1965 vintage?" Gagnon said, staring at the bottle bemused, "How fitting!"

With glass raised, he exclaimed, "A toast! To the revolution, to the workers of the world... And most of all, to the Beaune Tribune!"

"Bon santat!" Rochefort replied, as they both took a sip. Charles Gagnon smiled as he downed the red, his Courantist cross dangling from his neck as he put the glass down.

"How's your family?" Rochefort asked, as he placed the glass on his desk.

"Good!" Gagnon replied, "Beaudoin just started preschool, and the little ones are starting to crawl. Lise's been doing fine, especially now that the campaign is over. The stress hasn't been good for her, especially with the pregnancy."

"I had no idea you had another one on the way," Rochefort replied, "Congratulations!"

"Thank you," Gagnon said. He took another sip of wine before he continued, "I wanted to thank you, Gabriel. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't have been able to win the correspondents in the cooperative vote."

"It was my pleasure, Charles," Rochefort replied, "I was just doing what was best for us all."

"True as that may be, thank you nonetheless," Gagnon replied, "I've read your reporting on the Beaune Bulls... It's stellar."

"You follow Rugby?" Rochefort asked.

"Of course!" Gagnon replied, "I'm an Angels fan myself, and I would love nothing more than for God to strike the Bulls from the face of the earth, but I know good reporting when I see it."

"The reason I brought it up," Gagnon took another sip of wine before continuing, "is because we're going to be running a slate for the editorial board. We desperately need some fresh blood in that room, and I've read your articles on the collectivization of sports teams in Callise. You're an amazing journalist, and we'd love to have you as the editor of the sports section."

Gabriel Rochefort was taken aback, he never would have dreamed of being on the editorial board of the Beaune Tribune even a few weeks ago. "Wow... I have no idea what to say..."

"Say you'll run!" said Gagnon, with a smile.

Rochefort paused for a moment, before answering. "Okay," he said, "I'll do it."

"Amazing!" Gagnon exclaimed, before pouring himself and Rochefort another glass, "Another round to celebrate!"

"Bon Santat!" Rochefort replied, once more, taking a sip. He removed the cup from his lips, before placing it on the table. "I-"

Before he could finish his sentence, he was interrupted by a piercing shriek. Before he knew it, he was knocked off his chair. His vision went black, but he could feel a rush of air pass over him. Bits of glass cut his face, and what he assumed was wine spilled on his shirt. As he struggled to get up, he heard a panging ring in both ears. His vision, blurry at first, began to return to him. He looked around the office...

All around him, office supplies, computers, and debris were strewn about. Glass littered the ground, and the faint smell of champagne and dirt haunted the air. It was then that he saw the bodies. Tens of tens of his co-workers, maybe hundreds, lay on the floor. Some were cut with glass, others pierced by rebar. Some screamed in pain, others were unresponsive. As the shock of what happened wore off, he heard a scream from behind him.

"Lise!" Charles Gagnon rushed to the center of what had been the victory party for their cooperative campaign. He desperately searched before stopping. Gabriel Rochefort slowly made his way over to where Gagnon was before he heard him scream and fall to the ground. As he rounded the corner of debris, he saw Gagnon sobbing. Gabriel Rochefort could make out the body of Lise Gagnon, Charles' wife, rebar piercing her chest, her eyes vacant. A slow trickle of blood fell from her mouth and onto the ground, her shirt was stained red. Her husband was weeping profusely, his tears running down her face. As the horror of what he saw finally set in, Gabriel Rochefort began to feel light-headed. His vision went black before his body hit the ground.

---

Cameras fluttered as Hubert Bennett stepped up to a podium to begin to speak.

"Calliseans, citizens, countrymen. Last night, a member of the radical right-wing terrorist group, the Knights of Laurens, orchestrated a bombing of the Beaune Tribune Headquarters. So far, there have been 50 casualties, and hundreds of people grievously injured. Among the dead are husbands, wives, children, and neighbors of many of us here in Beaune. We suspect the terrorist targeted the building for the paper's outspoken left-wing politics."

"It is in moments like these where we, as a nation, must come together. We must support those who are left widowed, an empty spot at the table, a hole in their family. But we must also take action to ensure things like this never happen again."

"To that end, the Central Committee of the National Convention has voted unanimously to increase funding to the anti-terrorist campaign embarked upon by our predecessors in the Provisional Government. We will do all we can to ensure that this tragedy never happens again."

"On this occasion, it also feels appropriate to publicize intelligence which has recently become known to us. As you all know, certain members of the Nationalist League attempted to launch an insurrection to usurp your democratically elected constituent assembly. Among them was the Chairman of the Nationalist League, Francis Calvet. For months, he has been at-large. This past week, we received intelligence indicating that he has been granted asylum in Bergum, by the grace of the government of Malor-Kanada."

"This action is an affront to our sovereignty. It is spit in the face of every citizen of Callise. And it gives us cause for concern. Now safe in foreign territory, Calvet has free-reign to act with impunity. This, by itself, is worrying. However, it is exacerbated by this recent attack. Forensics from the attack indicate that the bomb was incredibly sophisticated, likely military grade. Given the recent actions taken by the Malorian government, we have reason to believe that this attack may have received support from foreign elements in Maloria. As of now, we are investigating any possible ties between this attack and the Malorian government. Regardless of what we find, we demand the return of Francis Calvet so that he may face a trial by his peers. And in spite of this tragedy, Callise shall persevere. I will now be taking questions."

Session of the Realm's Alþingi

Kjell Svane cut an unassuming figure. He was fond of grey and tan suits which, in combination with his sandy hair and brown-rimmed glasses, left him looking somewhat drab.
And his experiences in the Civil War reflected that. He had been instrumental in establishing a pipeline of Prydanian refugees from Saintonge to Goyanes and working on behalf of the FRE with the Nordika powers. These experiences weighed on him. As a trained diplomat he came off as cautious, reasoned, a steady hand.
But those that thought that's all there was to him forgot the lashing he gave the Vallish national populists in the PGU. They forgot he could be vicious when he wanted to be.

"I don't suppose," he mused on the floor of the Alþingi, "that the leader of the People's Party caucus has any insight to the socialist Callisean regime's decision to engage in political repression?"

Normally he'd have not gone after Annie Gram but she had pushed back on the government's decision to invite the Goyaneans and Andrennians. So now he was unloading. And she must have known this was coming.

"After all she spent some of the Civil War in the warm embrace of the Workers Party of Callise."

"The Prime Minister," Anne retorted, "should be mindful. This isn't about me, nor my relationship with the people who find themselves in power in Callise. This is about the government's reckless race towards armed conflict."

"Oh no, I must, Herra Speaker, disagree," Kjell replied.
"Let's not mix facts here. Prydania's military alliances are defensive in nature. Our military is defensive in nature. My party stresses peace. But we will defend ourselves. Callise is the one agitating conflict here, and if my colleague leading the People's Party caucus is going to spew Callisean communists propaganda then her relationship with those communists is very much relevant!"

That brought a chorus of "Skömm*!" from the People's Party seats but Kjell just smirked. Part of being a diplomat was being cordial and accommodating within limits. Another part was knowing how to rile up the other side.

"I resent," Anne shot back, "the Prime Minister attempting to play politics with my past, and my personal friendships. This is a matter of life and death. Is the Prime Minister ready to plunge the country into war not ten years after our own Civil War or isn't he?"

"The government of Prydania," Kjell shot back, "will not start a war. But we also won't stand by and allow ourselves to be bullied by the people who would return Syndicalist tyranny to our country..."

"The Workers Party of Callise condem..."

"AND WHO would do this country and its people harm!" Kjell replied pushing past Anne's objections.
"To answer my colleague's question, no. We are not prepared to start a war, nor will we. But we will be in a position to defend ourselves if her friends in Beaune start one."

"All precautionary measures," Anne replied, "ones that are truly precautionary, are designed to be dismantled when they are no longer needed. If the Prime Minister is being truthful then what is the government's plan to deescalate the diplomatic situation?"

"This government," Kjell replied, "stood by its word and recognized the regime in Callise. We did it out of respect for the democratic will of the Callisean people and in hopes we could find a dialogue. The Callisean communists, meanwhile, took that gesture of good will and replied to it with a backhanded promise that underpinned a call for the violent overthrow of our government. A government fought for by the common people of Prydania, fought and clawed for in the face of leftist tyranny. What is our plan, Herra Speaker? Our plan is simple. When the regime in Callise can bring itself to what it calls coexistence with no conditions. When it recognizes the right of the Prydanian people to follow our own path even when it's not their own, if they can bring themselves to commit to this, then we will reply accordingly."

"The Callisean government acts in a manner you'd expect from a government that feels attacked," Anne replied.
"Not one looking to strike first and..."

"God forbid," Kjell replied with a smirk as he leaned against the desk.
"God forbid socialists accept wrongdoing on their own part."

The cries of "skömm" rained down from the People's Party seats as the Coalition seats echoed with cheers and fists against the desks in support. From across the Alþingi Anne Gram and Kjell Svane stared at each other.

---

"Lord thunderin' Jesús," Kjell muttered as he and the Deputy Prime Minister/Minister of Foreign Affairs Sören Högh entered his office as the Alþingi session had ended.

"Well I hate to put you in a further mood," Sören replied as Kjell raised an eyebrow at him as he sat.
Sören reached into his briefcase and pulled out a folder. And from that he produced a diplomatic letter from the Stan Yera. A socialist state and a treatied ally.
"This arrived. Early morning."

Kjell took it. Earlier this morning he'd processed the King naming Rylond Jórvík ambassador to Malor-Kanada.
"Sfan wishes to mediate," Kjell said as he set the letter down on his desk.

"Herra Hveiti thinks it would be wise to take them up on the offer."

"The ÖSU knows?" Kjell asked before rolling his eyes.
"Of course they know. Max probably bugged the fokking mail room at the Ministry of Foreign Affairs."

"Well it's not a mail room per se. We work with the diplomatic corpse or different delegations and..." Sören stoped himself as Kjell gave him an annoyed look. Of course Kjell knew that. He was a diplomat by trade.
"Anyway," Sören continued, "it's not a bad idea. Herra Hveiti predicts that Callise will attempt to disrupt the Bergum Pact. Or at least pull the Stan Yera and Cogoria out of it. This would be an avenue to potentially stave that off."

Kjell nodded.
"There's sense to it."

"There's another matter. It's addressed to His Majesty."
Sören leaned over and pointed to the Yeran letter that clearly was directed to King Tobias III first.
Normally such addresses were formalities. Prydania was a constitutional monarchy now. King Tobias has happily retreated from political life and signed into law a constitution that enshrined the democratic system. He was more interested in charity and family life than having any sort of say over the government. The letters the government received with his name were just diplomatic niceties.

But this was different. In part because Kjell had insisted Tobias go on tv to address the Calliseans rather than himself. His reasoning was simple. He was a partisan figure. But Tobias wasn't. Tobias was the person who the FRE rose up to fight for. He was the one who anti-Syndicalist resistance, wherever it came from, flocked to. He was someone who could speak for the country in a way that he, even as dually elected Prime Minister, couldn't.
But the result was that he'd dragged him into this. Not that Tobias seemed to hold that against him. He was going to feel a certain way about all of this regardless.

Would the King be open to Yeran mediation? He rocked the Yeran letter in his hand back and forth. Ultimately there was no way around it. Tobias would have to be informed.
"I'll brief His Majesty," Kjell said with a nod.

---

"I swear to God I'm going to strangle him," Anne Gram growled as she sat down at her desk in her office.

"I'd advise against it, violence doesn't poll well," Peter Sjöstedt said with a smile as he sat across from her.
"But between you and me," the Chairman of the People's Party National Executive Committee said, "you never told me what your relationship to Hubert Bennett was."

"You too?" Anne sighed.
"It doesn't matter."

"You were in Callise, with the Workers' Party for some time and..."

Anne gave him a look and Peter shook his head.

"I'm not trying to imply anything. I'm just curious."

"Well it doesn't matter."

"Fair enough," Peter shrugged.
"What do you want to do?"

"I need to find a way to talk to the King," Anne replied.
"I knew I had to when I was staring down Kjell. Kjell meets with him weekly because he's the PM. And he likes to hear from the opposition so he's meeting with Maríanna too. But Maríanna's next to useless because she's in full damage control mode and won't get a haircut without polling data. But as the third largest caucus I'm left in the cold."

"I don't think it will be hard to arrange," Peter shrugged.
"The King and you have a cordial relationship?"

"Last we met," Anne replied.
"But you saw his address. If he thinks I'm just a sock puppet for Hubert then I don't know."

"Well if you want my advice..." Peter began.

"I do."

"Good. Well my advice is simple. You can't make this a spectacle. I know you don't like thinking of this as politics but it is. It's all politics. And aside from everything else we need to consider electability. Don't make a public scene. But write to the King and request an audience."

"Whoever screens his mail may decide to trash it," Anne muttered.
"And if they didn't he may."

"Leave that to me," Peter replied. "You just write the letter. I'll deal with the particulars."

Anne cocked her head a bit.
"What do you have planned?"

"I've been holding onto a favour," Peter replied.
"I think it's as good a time as any to call it in."

---

*Skömm- Shame

Prepare the table, watch in the watchtower, eat, drink, arise ye princes, and prepare the shield. For thus hath the Lord said unto me, "Go set a watchman, let him declare what he seeth."
And he saw a chariot with a couple of horsemen, a chariot of mules, and a chariot of camels; and he hearkened diligently with much heed. And, behold, here cometh a chariot of men, with a couple of horsemen.
And he answered and said, "Shaiva is fallen, is fallen, and all the graven images of her gods he hath broken unto the ground."
- Book of Isiah 21:5-9

The Virkið
Býkonsviði, Prydania

The winter was holding on, not quite ready to cede the world to spring. Tobias was protected from the cool air by his trusted Royal Prydanian Army coat, the faded grey garment something he'd had since he was a boy during the Civil War. A relic from before that cataclysm that had survived. Who this coat once belonged to, whether they were alive or dead... Tobias didn't know. All he knew was that one winter Axle had pulled it out of a bunker's storage locker and given it to him to keep warm.

Back then it hug from his skinny 13 year old frame. Now it fit him better, but the past was weighing on him.

His boots crunched the snow as he and Stig walked along the walls of the star fort that served as the Ministry of Defence's headquarters.

"It's one level," Stig said bluntly. Like Tobias he was wearing an army winter coat. Unlike the King's, his wasn't faded. It was pristine.

"Já and one level after that, and suddenly it's orange and not yellow. And then red is just one more level above that," Tobias replied.

Sting just clenched his jaw. He didn't like being in this position. He was most certainly not a war monger. He'd led the FRE's military through the Civil War. He knew more than anyone- including the communists in Callise- what war really was. He didn't revel at the chance to see Prydania's newly implemented defence mobilization or its newly acquired military hardware or newly trained soldiers in action. He prayed every day he'd never have to.

But he was also the Field Marshal of the Royal Prydanian Army and the Chief of the
General Staff.

He didn't like being in a position to advocate for more provocative actions but it was his duty to do so.

"The Calliseans are ideologues, Tobias," he replied calmly.
"I fought these sorts during the Civil War. Do you know what makes them dangerous?"

"What?" Tobias asked, playing along with the Thane of Eiderwig's line of questioning.

"They believe any amount of human suffering is worth it, if the end result is utopia. If you believe you are capable of creating heaven on Eras then human life means very little. What's four million dead if you believe you can usher in eternal paradise?"

Tobias had heard that sort of thing before, but he still fidgeted a bit and paced back. Stig had used the number four million deliberately. It was the amount of Prydanians who had been killed thanks to the Syndicalist Party's oppressive policies and their war effort. It had an effect on Tobias but the young King didn't give Stig what he wanted.

"So you think Callise will burn down the continent looking for Utopia."

"I think they'll attack first because their ideology doesn't allow for anything else. Why would you compromise if you think you alone have the keys to perpetual human happiness?"

"Hubert said he wants peaceful coexistence," Tobias replied softly as he looked up at the grey skies.

He'd never spoken to Hubert Bennet. Kjell had. But he hadn't. He'd been told that such a discussion could happen if or when it was necessary. On one hand Tobias found that frustration. On the other... he'd quite enjoyed most of what being a truly constitutional monarch meant. This just went along with that.

Stig just raised an eyebrow.
"My job doesn't allow me to take revolutionaries at their word. By their very nature they come to power by discarding the social contract. Promises can be broken in the name of the ideology."

Now it was Tobias' turn to raise an eyebrow. He'd become friends with ex-Syndicalists. He'd come to understand some of the root causes of why they did what they did. Já, it ended in blood and tyranny, but at least he understood why. And he began to understand why his own father had been drawn to Thomas Nielsen in the first place.

There were impasses here. Clearly. Still, the implication from Stig that Hubert Bennett would plunge Craviter into war for the sake of ideology... it bothered him. Both because he'd faced the same Syndicalist ideologues Stig spoke of, but also because he knew that many on the Syndicalist side were not like that. They resented and lamented the war as much as any FRE soldier had.

Was Hubert Bennett one of the former or latter? Tobias didn't know but it seemed rash to jump to conclusions. Even if the worry and fear that still lived inside of him tried to push him toward Stig's position.
He'd probably have conceded to him if it wasn't for that dream. He'd never tell anyone "oh I listened to a dream," of course. Still, echoed something Jörn had said over ten years ago. Maybe that dream the other night was his mind just... trying to tell him something he had to hear?

"Violence is like a cycle," Tobias said as he slipped his hands into his coat's pockets.
"That's why William made me pardon all of those Syndicalists after the War. He wanted to stop the cycle of violence and reprisals."

"Well." Stig shrugged.
"History can repeat. And I'm afraid it proves my point. Callise attacked this country once in revolutionary fervour. Today we have the luxury of being prepared. Don't be like Rikard III, having to scramble a defence."

Tobias thought on that.
Rikard III. Of all the past Kings he was one he thought of...not nearly enough. The FRE propagandists had done much to draw the comparisons with Tobias and Vortgyn I, regardless of how uncomfortable that made him. Of course he thought on his namesake, St. Tobias, King Tobias I. And his uncle Anders III. Most importantly his grandpabbi Robert VII. He'd even had the Crusader King Rikard I's quotes tossed back at him by the man who was now Prydania's ambassador to Saintonge.

Rikard III though? Though like him he'd carried Jægerblað into battle. And like him he stared down Callise...

No. Rikard III had. But he hadn't. Not yet. Maybe cycles and history repeated the same notes. But Jörn was right. Krista in his dreams was right. It was what people made of them.

"The Calliseans saw a rise from blue to green and immediately declared we were 'mobilizing.'"

Stig scoffed at that. All that meant was that units went to the next stage of readiness. No one had been recalled or mobilized. Not yet.

"Should we prove them right?" Tobias asked.
"Or we could..."

"Do nothing?"

Tobias didn't let Stig or his interruption get to him. He'd known him long enough to know he had the best interests of everyone at heart.

"Let's let them make the next move... but between the PGU and LP and BP we should be safe from an attack out of the blue."

Stig grumbled. Tobias was someone he generally found himself agreeing with? He was not a military mind at all of course, but since the end of the Civil War he'd proven that underneath everything he was, he'd made a hard decision if it was necessary. But he wasn't here. He didn't know if that meant the King was being foolish or if he was? That he still somewhat saw Tobias as a vulnerable child coloured his feelings. Even if he wasn't one any longer.

"You think the Prime Minister's right?" Stig asked.
"That the Yerans and Cogoria can be counted on if Callise were to attack first?"

"None of this is comfortable," Tobias replied.
"I had a dream the other night and..." he stopped himself. He wouldn't go into it.
"...I haven't slept in two nights. I'm not feeling good about any of it. But Kjell's assessments about the Stan Yera and Cogoria make sense don't they?"

Stig nodded.
"They so but...Sfan was a Syndicalist in his youth you know?"

Tobias didn't know that. Ironically he and the Federal Premier of the Stan Yera would have much to relate over, if the past ever occurred to either of them. But in their moments together they'd only ever spoken of the future and present.

Stig's words echoed in his mind, and opened a pit in his stomach, but in a moment of calmness he smiled just a bit. A thought that occurred to him.

"So was my pabbi."

Stig said nothing. The obvious retort of "look where that got him" seemed in poor taste. He respected his cousin Prince Robert anyway. He missed him, in his own way.

"Be careful Tobias, it's all I'm saying," he finally said, pulling his arms close to his body as a cool wind blew through.

"I'm fokken terrified Stig," he muttered.
"Goddamn fokking terrified." He breathed deep. No matter what he did felt his bones tremble with fear.
"Keep the Armed Forces at the green state of readiness," he said softly.
"For now."

Stig felt his chest tighten up. He was disappointed. Angry even. But he knew his duty.
"Of course."

"I'll meet you inside," Tobias added.
"I've been away from the little ones too long."

"All the better. I think I'll enjoy the fresh air a bit longer," Stig replied.

Tobias nodded, and headed back to the main building of the star fort.

Allt hefur þetta gerst áður. Allt þetta mun gerast aftur.

He muttered that to himself. It was a contradiction though. Once it became recognizable it became alterable. And in this case it was the difference between war and peace.

The Politburo were gathered in another late night emergency meeting over the rising tensions on the continent. The long table's surface only showing through in patch work beneath the growing snowdrifts that were the briefing documents being delivered regularly by the intelligence community.

Catherine closed her eyes as the Minister for Transport railed on again about the same much abused point "We joined Bergum for peace on our benighted continent! We did not sign up to be a part of PGU aggression! Their troops have arrived to our shores and as a result we are one step closer to being dragged into a conflict not of our making to suppress a fellow nation of workers! We must-".

Though quiet the quiet clearing of a throat was sufficient to stop the minister dead in his tracks. Catherine opened her eyes and found them locked with those of her opposite number on the far side of the room, Zhukov wearily got to his feet, keeping eye contact the whole time. "There is only one thing we must do. And that is ensure that we have peace. Comrades, the only path open to us is compromise, we must show both sides that they pose a threat to the other that is unnecessary and merely comes from a place of misunderstanding and fear. Our land was not so long ago ruled by that same fear, we killed out of fear, but an outside influence forced us together. And look at us now. A happy family under the First Peoples Empire, a nation where all workers are Royalist and all Royalists are workers. A crowned Cummanach*, we will address the nation and the world in two days time, notify the generals."

---

It was not uncommon in the last few decades of Cogoria's history for speeches to be delivered to gatherings of soldiers instead of regular civilians, after all the workers would be at their labours and places or work during the day, leaving only local garrisons with bodies to spare during peacetime. the gathering of troops for this particular speech however had been picked with great care and for a single purpose. Densely packed squares of infantry were laid out in a painfully precise groups, with formations with historys reaching all the way back to the revolution. Revotutionary units and Royalist units alternating in a checkerboard fashion. At the front of each formation the colour guards presented 3 flags, the old royal flag, the revolutionary flag and in between, slightly larger than both was the flag of the first People's Empire a marriage of the those that had come before.

The TV cameras panned across the assembled troops before focusing on the stage where two podiums stood side by side as the heads of state walked on. Chairman of the Workers and Peasants Party of Cogoria, Giorgi Zhukov and Representative of the People's Crown of Cogoria, Catherine Rokotov took their places.

Catherine opened the address "My people, sons and daughters of Cogoria. Strife is at our door once more. A storm that could bring death and calamity to our nation brews once more on this blood soaked continent. The conflict that threatens to drag this continent into conflict is not of our making but it threatens our friends and partners in peace. And so as the Representative of the People's Crown it is my responsibility to honour the decisions made by and for the people of Cogoria, and honour the friendships and agreements we have made. The first People's Empire would like it's own Citizens, and the Citizens and leaders of our allied nations of the Bergum pact know that we shall uphold all clauses of our agreements and defend the member states of the Bergum Pact, our friends in peace, against any and all acts of aggression no matter who they may be from." The announcement was greeted by a round of "ARAIGH!"** from the gathered soldiery

As the roars died down it was Zhukovs turn to speak "My people, sons and daughters of Cogoria, workers of the world. A great reckoning threatens the workers and revolutionary ideas of the international Cummnach. A nation newly embracing the ideals of equality faces outside threats to its workers and the land they build for themselves. Not only does this threaten the ideals of a world where all truly are equal, but in doing so it threatens to plunge the continent of Craviter back into the blood soak mud from which it has so recently emerged. In order to try prevent this downward spiral and to prevail upon all that peace must come first and always in the pursuit of a better world for all, The First People's Empire hereby pledges to guarantee and uphold the sovereignty and borders of the Commonwealth of Callise against any and all foreign aggression, no matter what quarter it may arise." Again the roar of "ARAIGH!" Thundered forth from the massed troops as the broadcast came to a close with the news anchors discussing the implications.

---

Coinciding with the broadcast official missives were sent to all involved parties. The letters laid out clearly the meanings behind the broadcasts and went even further. Cogoria was a state formed through compromise, if they could manage it internally and make a government out of it, the least anyone else could do is at least not go to war over ideologies. It also heavily emphasised what had been said in the speeches, whoever fired the first shot? That's who Cogoria would go to war against. Each letter ended repeating the point, compromise and peace, or war and death? Which would be best for the people of Craviter.








*Cummnach: "Community" but is used as equivilent to Communist or Socialist
**Araigh: "Forward" a commonly used battle cry of both Cogorian military and workers alike to represent motivation to keep going regardless of the obstacle

Hubert Bennett stared down at the red banner folded neatly before him, a gift of the Yeran. He may be a Picardist, but he couldn't help being sentimental at times. Then again, could Picard? The man himself waxed poetic in his writings, about the historic task of the working class, the decisive battle for democracy, and the end of a world predicated on the domination of man by man. He spoke in terms that were almost religious at times. It used to sicken Bennett, but in his old age he's come to appreciate the importance of an unending faith that the working class will take hold of their destiny when the time is right. The workers of the world have known so much hardship, Bennett thought to himself, and in spite of this, they triumphantly raise red banners to fight for their liberties.

"Well, we have our responses. I think it's time we look at next steps."

Bennett's wistful meditation was broken by the words of Élisa Larousse, Councillor for Foreign Relations. A ranking member of the Populist Party, Bennett chose Larousse for her even keeled approach to foreign relations. When Lambert wrote the draft document on peaceful coexistence, he submitted it to Bennett for edits. Bennett, for his part, passed it onto Larousse and gave her carte blanche to use her red pen liberally. He never told Lambert this, however, the young man was far too prideful to accept suggestions from someone he would not consider to be a Picardist.

"I think we should take the Yeran offer," she suggested, "a mediated peace is our best bet. And they're as good a neutral party as any."

"Absolutely not!" Lambert said in indignation, "We are already playing at a disadvantage, we have no allies on this continent. Prydania still has Goyanean boots on the ground, if we go to the table right now they will scalp us."

Bennett hadn't appreciated the tone Lambert used, but the concern was well taken. A meeting right now would probably not be serendipitous.

"I want to talk to Sfan..." Bennett said, in a soft and contemplative voice, "Zhukov, too. We need a better idea of what our relationship is going to look like before we hash out a deal with the Prydanians. It would also be a good opportunity to communicate expectations."

"Sir," replied Larousse, "I'm all for meeting with the Yerans and the Cogorians, but we can't delay peace talks indefinitely. We rely on Prydania as a trading partner, if we don't make peace soon it could have serious repercussions."

"I understand, Élisa," Bennett responded, "But like it or not, Jeremy has a point. I won't allow our nation to have terms dictated to it by a room full of BP members without knowing fully well where we stand with them."

"I propose the following," he continued, "we reiterate our invitation to Cogoria and Stan Yera, with the understanding that we will pursue peaceful negotiation following the affair."

"I'd like to offer an amendment," Lambert said. A soft groan could be heard from Larousse, she was clearly annoyed, "We should likewise organize a meeting with Skanda, Alemriche, Diyar, Kaludgar, and any other interested socialist nations. If we are going to the negotiating table, it needs to be known that we will have reliable allies."

Bennett was taken aback. Lambert had historically been very critical of Skanda, the proposal to seek an alliance reflected developing political acumen.

"Agreed," Bennett said, "We should extend the invitation to Esthursia as well."

Bennett studied Lambert's face intently. He could tell the young man disapproved of inviting a nation that was not formally Socialist to Fontaine. It took everything in him to not laugh. Despite his attempts at moderacy, the boy was still the same ideologue at heart. Let's give him more time, he thought to himself, we weren't always as we are now.

"All those in favor?"

The tally came back, 45-5. The only dissenting voters being scattered members of the Populist Party. Larousse was among their ranks.

"Then it's settled. Let's draft some letters."

To the Governments of Cogoria and Stan Yera:

We have appreciated your responses, and are grateful for your support and friendship. We are willing to negotiate a de-escalation with Prydania, but we would like to meet with each of you first. We have a few preconditions for negotiation we would like to discuss, and we would also appreciate the opportunity to develop what the Callisean people hope will be a fruitful camaradeship. We are willing to host your delegations in Fontaine, June 2-4. If this time does not work for you, please let us know and we may find another opportunity to meet.

Signed,
Hubert Bennett
Premier of the Commonwealth of Callise
On Behalf of the National Council of the Commonwealth of Callise

Click to expand...

To the Workers Governments of Eras; In particular Skanda, Diyar, Alemriche, Kaludgar, and Esthursia:

In light of the rising tensions on the continent of Craviter, and the posturing on behalf of the imperialist power Goyanes through its proxy in Prydania, the people of Callise finds it prudent to seek friends in the other workers governments of Eras. As such, we would like to invite delegations from your nations to Fontaine, June 9-11, to look towards fostering a formal economic, political, and defensive relationship between our nations. We look forward to developing camaraderie among all workers of the world, and a prosperous friendship for all of us.

Signed,
Hubert Bennett
Premier of the Commonwealth of Callise
On Behalf of the National Council of the Commonwealth of Callise

Click to expand...

18 May, 2023
Redwood Place
Ettwerp, Brough of Weskerby
Esthursia

"Listen." Around a relatively small table - affectionately called "that bloody table" by Edelard Burnside, Osborne's closer second-in-command - sat five people, the inner Redery, who Osborne trusted quite dearly (and whose power made their voices unmistakeable).

Himself, of course; Lauren Bowen, his Chancellor; Edelard Burnside and Chloe Atkinson, his seconds-in-command; and his predecessor and man who floated around international roles, John Largan.

Largan was the first to talk. "I'm aware that this is a rather socialist gathering. So I won't make the ideological argument for not going." Lifting the letter addressed from Callise off of the table, he recited a little of it. "Posturing on the behalf of the imperialist power Goyanes, through its proxy Prydania. Other workers' governments. All workers of the world." Largan stopped for emphasis, then pressed on. "Don't you see how inciting this is? How antagonistic the rhetoric is towards our own allies? How in hell are we supposed to be taken seriously if we're attending this socialist convention when its own invitation attacks our partners overseas?"

Atkinson responded fairly quickly. "Maybe we should hear them out." The youth grassroots candidate for co-leader of Green-Left, she was almost certainly the most sympathetic of those sat there. "We're a workers' government, Esthursia has been a standalone workers' nation in Ethia for who knows how long, regardless of who's in power. The workers rule here. So why shouldn't we go? After all, even the rhetoric in there is justified - there has been militarisation around Callise at the time of their plebiscite."

Burnside, her partner in leading the party and a half-century her elder, offered a rebuttal, concerned. "Yeah, honestly, I agree with both. Prydania is a nation who's scarcely come out of dictatorship masquerading as a people's government. Bloodshed, massacres, complete destruction of civil liberties, in the manufactured name of the people. Their action, although I personally don't see it justified - and I don't think any of us here do - is pretty rational."

"Yet, and again I think most of us agree here, Callise is perfectly justified yet not entirely accurate to portray the Prydanians and by proxy their allied friends - I won't name them all, you get the gist, the usual capitalist-orientated allied group - as imperialists. There are always..."

Osborne finished his phrasing. "... people who want us socialists dead. I know. The Marylebone plot. We can sympathise with them on a clear level because we know there are many in the higher echelons of any society who are so deathly scared of being dethroned that they'd rather murder government ministers than give in." The Marylebone plot had made him a little paranoid, what with a now-murdered billionaire plotting his death, and an awful lot more understanding of socialists outcrying against the "bourgeoisie", as Callise may call it, than he otherwise would have been.

Largan spoke up again. "Don't get ahead of yourselves. The Bergum Pact don't want Callise, or its ministers, dead, as much as military pacts are a symbol of everything that's wrong with modern geopolitics. It's posturing because it's empty - as much as capitalists and collectivists loathe each other, this is hardly a revolutionary state trying to colonise three continents for the workers or something. It's a nation who've, by whatever means, switched to some degree of democratic collectivism. We all have to coexist, but heading over to Fontaine isn't needed to do such, nor is jeopardising our relations elsewhere, nor our democratic reputation."

"We can sit here all day and talk about the merits of it, or we can deliberate." Osborne punctuated. "I mean, to be fair, it's certain what I'm saying. We're going, hearing them out."

Lauren Bowen was in most cases, an ardent socialist. But she was also the economic minister, the one who dealt with the reality of all this. Including the concern addressed to her even by the more social-justice minded Esthurs about the safety of their assets over there. "I do hope you're not going to come back waving about some paper and proclaim Esthursia is now some sort of people's republic. We've got enough shit to deal with as is."

By this stage, Chloe Atkinson had just let the others fight it out, but by now she'd formed some sort of... opinion piece. "The reason why we all know Esthursia is going to go, is because we all sympathise. In your boilerplate liberal democracy, the idea is that the people rule. Yet the idea of the people ruling is somehow revolutionary, out of the question, if it requires enforcing in a way that compromises the power of the rich."

"Bowen, that's why you were castigated as "another Wilson" when you refused to fully scrap wealth taxes. Largan, that's why even you were branded collectivist for undoing the hard-line monetarist reforms of the collapsing government before you. Burnside's been called every name under the sun for representing unions and workers rather than what the bankers and journalists in the Brough want him to represent. I've been branded far-left for challenging the idea that all private property is unenviable, sacred, even if it requires enforcing poverty. Osborne, you've been called a hardliner for warming to economic redistribution, for refusing to shut out thawing with Rayvostoka, and now the media even tries to ignore that a billionaire, undeserving of his billions that he soon pissed away, got a long way to having you killed."

"So we're fucking going, and rightly so, because not only does Esthursia sympathise with Callise, but it's seeing the same monetarists, ultra-rich, businesses, everything, try and resist what are relatively moderate reforms even if that resistance constitutes killing the head of government."

Osborne sighed. He didn't really need to add anything, his opinions were well known to everyone there, and it being his decision anyway made any further response completely redundant. Largan stood up, somewhat dishevelled, however.

"I don't think this table's quite as self-aware as they ought to be. Although I don't think meeting with Callise is the misstep such an ideological government is going to make, I dread to think what misstep you could take if you keep trusting in the words of collectivists who take power, over their actions. Don't ever forget that Esthursia is a democracy before it is a socialist democracy, or it soon won't be either."

Burnside watched him leave. "Not sure what his problem is, but we're going nevertheless."

Osborne got up next, leaving to head off to Llywellyn House and draft up a response.

For the attention of the Commonwealth of Callise

The Union of Esthursia, and its people, welcome, appreciate and accept your invitation to the accord of a meeting in Fontaine next month. Esthursia shares your nation's concerns for rising global geopolitical turmoil, and for the safety of working rights' movements across Eras against pushback, thus gladly awaits attending your nation's summit.

I personally look forward to convening with your delegation when the time comes, and sincerely believe that significant common ground will be reached, and friendship forged, on behalf of the people of both of our respective nations.

signed:
Harold Osborne
Forethane of the Union of Esthursia

Click to expand...

2 March 1814
1:02 pm
On a Wednesday
South of Hadden, Prydania

Rikard III rode south with his army as fast as the horses could carry them. Jægerblað, his family’s heirloom sword, hung from his hip as the winter air blew past his face.

The news had come. Field Marshal Isaak Beck’s forces had met the tyrant Chavalier’s forces. Though outnumbered three to one Beck’s army had pulled out a victory and delayed the enemy at the Norsian border, though he had taken a bullet from a Callisean sniper. Last the King had heard the Field Marshal’s condition was critical, and that was why he rode with haste.

Hirðir, Thane of Eiderwig, would now have to command the defense of the realm, should the worst befall Beck. It was interesting. Beck was a commoner who had risen to his station through merit. He’d also risked his life- and could very well die- defending Prydania against a Callisean state that claimed it stood for egalitarianism.

Words though, even pretty and sweet ones, were cheap. All one had to do was look at the war and chaos and bloody terror that the Calliseans and their puppets in the lands they overran visited upon their subjects to see that what Chavalier stood for and what he said he stood for were different things.

In many ways Rikard cursed himself. Had he taken the Callisean threat more seriously he could have been ready but he had believed that the long arm of Nodika would protect Prydania. Only to realize, almost too late, that to Chavalier throwing Nordika off Craviter was as much a goal as the imposition of his “republic.”

He had no way of knowing, of course, but Rikard couldn’t help but think that had the plans been made sooner, had the armies been raised and trained and equipped with much less haste, then perhaps Isaak wouldn’t be at death’s door.

Hirðir Eiderwig though… unlike Isaak he’d gained his position at least partially through his noble birth. And unlike Isaak he was a far more cautious and conservative commander. Yet he had been right about one thing. Whereas Rikard and his advisors had believed Chavalier wouldn’t dare attack Prydania or any other UKAG lands, Hirðir had insisted they would. Many in Rikard’s court had called him a warmonger. But now… now he’d been proven right.

Rikard prayed to God above that Isaak would survive. Both because he was the best commander Prydania had and because he was a good friend. But if the worst should happen and he should die… Rikard’s worries over Hirðir were tempered by the realization that he was right- war was inevitable. And that despite his cautious nature, perhaps he in fact did have what it took to defeat this enemy.

Present Day

The room was quiet as Kjell sorted through his notes. He glanced across to Stig and Kaleb, and Bolverk Brodd-Helgisson. He could guess what the two Marshals and the Minister of Defence would each say.
What he wasn't sure about was Max. The ÖSU chief was never one to broadcast his feelings before he was ready, and wasn’t afraid to just… do what he felt he had to do. Kjell supposed that was ideal for a spy master but it did make navigating these sorts of situations hard. He was a diplomat by training and that meant that ideally he had least had a broad view of what everyone was thinking.

Speaking of people he didn’t know how to gauge…

“All rise for His Majesty,” the Knight of the Storm said as he opened the conference room door. Everyone stood and Kjell could see Tobias wanted to be anywhere else. It wasn’t that he was disinterested, no. More like… ground down? He wasn’t even wearing formal attire, instead dressed in jeans and a Stormurholmr FF hoodie. It was very likely, given the time of day, that he’d been pulled from time with his wife and children.

Tobias said nothing but smiled at the room softly and sat down, followed by everyone else. It was, in some ways, difficult for Kjell because he had dragged him into this. It was the right move though, in so far as he was concerned. So in the end… they’d all survive.

Tobias realized he was slumping as he sat down, and quickly pulled himself up.

“Ok so… what’s going on?”

“I’d like to start with Herra Högh and the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,” Kjell began as he adjusted his glasses. Sören Högh nodded and began to explain the diplomatic situation.

“The Cogorians and the Stan Yera have each made similar announcements. Though the Cogorians, as is their nature, tended to be a bit more upfront with the militaristic side of things. They’ve conveyed that they will back whoever is attacked. They have assured us that they will honour Bergum Pact commitments if Callise attempts to attack Prydania. But insists it will stand with Callise if Prydania and the PGU nations strike Callise.”

“We’re not planning on striking Callise,” Bolverk replied.

“The Cogorians are… well… paranoid. If I may be blunt,” Kaleb Stahl added. He hadn’t been asked, but he was very on point.
“They’ve likely made arrangements and plans for every single way this could possibly go sideways.”

Sören nodded. The Brigadier Marshal was right.
“Indeed,” he added. But given that we have no plans to initiate any military action against Callise, we can at the very least take comfort in knowing that Cogoria will not act against us.”

“If they keep their word.”

Sören nodded, and looked over at the King who’d expressed the concern.

“That’s true Your Majesty. But they are treatied allies. We have to trust that to some degree.”

Tobias nodded and Sören continued.

“The Yeran have taken a more diplomatic route. They remain committed to the BP alliance and its defensive parameters but also welcomed the Callisean change in government. Premier K’ter has made it clear he wishes to mediate the situation.”
“That would be a mistake.”

The table turned to look at Field Marshal Stig Eiderwig, who merely shook his head.

“The Stan Yera is a socialist state. As is Cogoria. You expect either to act in anything but total lockstep with the current Callisean regime and you will be making a mistake.”

That was what Kjell expected and so he was prepared.
“What would you suggest?”

“What I suggested to His Majesty earlier. We raise the national service alert to yellow and begin mobilization.”

“That's another step towards war,” Bolverk replied.

“Only if we shoot first, and we don't plan on that. But we will be prepared if they do.”

“Herra Brodd-Helgisson,” Kjell replied, keeping a level head as he addressed the Minister of Defence.
“Do you concur with the Field Marshal?”

“In my estimation, no.”

Stig rolled his eyes. He wanted to mutter something about bloody pacifists but thought better of it.

“The enemy has you dancing a dance of its own design. Now Herra Prime Minister, when your party was being accused of pacifism you stood before this country and said that was an incorrect label, that your government would stand up for Prydania if threatened. Cast me as the harbinger of bad news if you must, but that time is now.”

“Enemy?” Bolverk asked.
“We’re not at war.”

“No. But it's my job to prepare for one,” Stig shot back.

Tobias had heard much of the same before from the various people in this room. Only now they got to enact their grand arguments against each other. But he had twin two year old boys. Political squabbles were nothing compared to what he'd had to weather.

His eyes darted to Brigadier Marshal Kaleb Stahl. And rested on him for a moment. Not losing focus on him as Stig and Bolkerv argued. Tobias waited for a moment until Stahl caught his glance and Tobias spoke up.

“What do you think, Brigadier?”

Kaleb and the King had a history. What a history. He'd spent thirteen years trying to kill Tobias. That was when he worked for the People’s Militia and served as Lieftur’s handpicked man to scrub out the last of the Royal family. That Kaleb, the Kaleb who believed in the Syndicalist cause, died in the flames of Hadden. When he turned himself into the FRE he told them everything. And though it had taken some time, eventually the FRE had come to trust him. And so had Tobias.

“I think,” Stahl began, nervously. No one had any reason to distrust his loyalty. He'd given the FRE the positions of Syndicalist armoured encampments during the Battle of Hadden. He was very much the reason the FRE so utterly annihilated the Syndicalist armoured corps. But even still… he was an ex-Syndicalist. The only person that label applied to in this room, and he was about to say something that someone could hit him with on that.

“I think,” he relayed, “that from a military intelligence perspective we have to look not just at the Stan Yera and their motivations but Callise as well. And Cogoria for that matter. My colleague Herra Hveiti in the ÖSU, he motioned to Max, posited that the most likely move from a socialist Callise in the present circumstances would be to pull the Stan Yera and Cogoria away from the Bergum Pact. And they've attempted that,” he said, tapping his finger on a folder of gathered intelligence.

“If you're asking me what I think Your Majesty? I think Callise failed. At least initially. You asked if we can trust Cogoria. I don't know. I really don't and I’d love to meet any intelligence officer on Craviter who will tell you definitively one way or another because I’d like the chance to call them
a liar. But Callise tried to break these states from the Bergum Pact and they said ‘wait a moment let's see if there's another way there.’ That's a win, for us Your Majesty. It gives us options. And I don't think further escalation should be our play. Let’s show them our willingness to be reasonable and see what we can achieve.”

“Even if Callise failed to establish some socialist military bloc,” Stig replied, “there's no guarantee that the Stan Yera, if it were to act as a mediator, would handle the matter impartially.”

Tobias couldn't help but respect Stig. Lesser men might call him a war monger, but Stig had led the FRE’s armed forces through the Civil War. He'd told him once that if he had a chance to do it again he'd make the same decision because it was necessary- and that was why war was insidious. Because it gave you no choice.
So Tobias listened because he knew he didn't advocate for mobilization lightly, but he felt an itch that had gone unscratched in all of this.

“Herra Svane?” he asked the Prime Minister quietly to not disrupt Kaleb and Stig’s argument.

“Já, Your Majesty?” Kjell replied leaning towards him.

“Can the Calliseans, specifically the ones in power now, can they be negotiated with?”

“Anyone can be negotiated with,” Kjell replied.

“But I mean… can they be talked to in good faith?”

Kjell looked over at Stig and Kaleb arguing and thought. He'd spoken with Hubert Bennett personally. And… he nodded.
“Your Majesty, I believe we can. I’ve dealt with scoundrels of all political stripes and multiple nationalities. Hubert Bennett doesn't strike me as, well…”

“...like Thomas Nielsen?”

“That's as good a way as any to put it, Your Majesty.”

“So… I think we should trust your instincts,” Tobias replied softly and Kjell leaned a bit forward to address the rest of the table.

“Wheat.”

Kaleb and Stig stopped to look at him. Everyone did.

“Fish… lots of fish where I come from,” the Prime Minister continued.
“Pork. Beef. Sheep. Poultry. Rye. Apples. Oats. Turnips. Beats. Potatoes. We feed a lot of this continent,” he said matter of factly.
“And while other sectors of our economy have seen growth since the end of the Civil War it was the ability to rebound agriculture that saved us… saved this continent… from a famine. I’m not exaggerating. Callise can do whatever it likes, they need our food.”

The room descended into a pause and Kjell continued.

“Am I going to bash them upside the head with a stalk of wheat? No, but in diplomacy it helps to have something to fall back on. And that is our card. I believe Hubert Bennett can be reasoned with. I believe the Stan Yera is as good as anyone else to mediate these issues. And I believe that I have a fairly strong hand. I will not threaten them with starvation, no, but I see my choices before me and I think I don't see the prospect of negotiation as a fearful prospect.”

“What if they ask you to send the Nordika powers home?” Stig asked.

“Everything is negotiable,” Kjell replied.
“But if it is the concern of the General Staff then rest assured nothing of the sort will be agreed to without proper security guarantees.”
Kjell turned to Sören, his Minister of Foreign Affairs.

“Inform Premier K’ter of the Stan Yera that the Kingdom of Prydania accepts his offer to mediate outstanding issues between us and the new Callisean government.”

Stig was, above all else, a professional soldier. As much as that hurt at times. So he said nothing for a moment before speaking up.

“The Armed Forces will continue to operate at the best of their ability at the current level of readiness,” he said, keenly aware he'd lost the battle to raise the alert level.

“Field Marshal,” Kjell replied.
“Rest assured that our allies will not leave until I’m satisfied they're not needed.”

“Herra Prime Minister,” Stig said, “my focus is less on the immediate and more on the future. I hope that your vision of the future pans out. I should like to be proven wrong on this.”

---

The meeting had concluded with a consensus and Tobias was about ready to leave.

“Your Majesty, a word?”

Tobias never knew what to make of Max Hveiti. Other than very forthright when he deemed it necessary. He was closed off and difficult to read, underneath the loud Skandan shirts he seemed to like.

“I’m heading to the personal quarters,” Tobias replied with a smile, referring to the section of Absalonhöll that was reserved for the Royal family’s private life.

“Well that should swing me around the back entrance then,” Max replied rather matter of factly. Tobias shrugged but smiled. He wasn't going to shake Max. Short of ordering the Knights of the Storm to remove him that was.

“Is there a reason you couldn't bring this up in front of everyone in there?”

“Well it wasn't something that needed to be said until the Prime Minister made his decision. And now that he has it concerns you specifically.”

“Talk like that dragged me into this in the first place.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty, I don't think that's true.”

Tobias gave Max a curious sideways glance and Max continued.

“You would be invested in this. For the same reason so many of us are. Callise is on the tips of everyone’s tongues across the country because you, because me, because they all lived through the Syndicalists.”

Tobias stopped and so did Max.
“What's your point?” the King asked.

“My point is I would strongly advise you to go to the Stan Yera with Prime Minister Svan.”

“Why?”

“Because it would be good, I think, if this plan is to work, for the Callisean to meet you.”

“Me?”

“You're the King of Prydania and the head of state.”

“I don't think,” Tobias chuckled softly, “that Hubert Bennett wants to meet me.”

“That, right there,” Max pointed.
“The reason you chuckled. That's why you should meet him.”

“I’ll um, I’ll consider it,” Tobias said with a smile.
“But I have a Snakes and Ladders game I need to get back to right now.”

“Enjoy it,” Max said with a smile as he shook the King’s hand, letting him depart as he leisurely made his was to the back exit of Absalonhöll, his ÖSU security clearance badge getting him by the checkpoints.

His job was partially about reading people. And deciding what they needed to know to produce the best result. Hubert Bennett and King Tobias III had more in common then perhaps either wished to admit, if his own dossier on the man who found himself leading socialist Callise was to be believed.

Tobias didn't need to be told that. He may not even want to hear it. But Max was sure it was worth getting them into the same room.

And so he flashed his badge to the last security checkpoint before leaving the Royal palace, whistling a half-remembered tune from his childhood.

Býkonsviði, Prydania

Elo Daugaard was dressed inconspicuously. Just a light jacket over a plaid button down shirt and jeans, with boots. He looked like he belonged back home on the farm he'd grown up on. Not like the Steward of the Royal Household. Which was just fine. He wasn't here to be recognized.

He scanned the pub. It was uneventful. A few full tables and patrons sitting at the bar. Bartenders making small talk with the regulars. The televisions played RÚV 8 hockey highlights. Playoffs were starting. It was about an hour before the evening rush.

"A Gull please," he asked as he went up to the bar.

"One Gull coming right up," a cute girl replied, flashing him a smile. Elo just nodded and set down a few coins.

"Keep the change."

"No tab tonight, Herra?" she asked.

"No not that kinda night," Elo replied with a grin and made his way to an empty table. The person he was set to meet wasn't here yet. So he sat, sipped his beer and watched hockey highlights.

"Eiderwig looks like they'll make noise," he said half to himself before be was caught off guard.

"Hello Elo!"

"Peter," Elo replied, "you startled me."

"You were expecting me," Peter said with a smile as he sat down in the booth, across the table from Elo.

"Well you were late and I took an interest in hockey. Eiderwig's up on Midland 2-0 in the first round."

"That's a kick in the balls isn't it?" Peter Sjöstedt, Chairman of the People's Party National Executive Committee replied, wincing at the highlights.
"Midland loses Stahl to Eiderwig and then he lights them up?"

"Would it be Midland hockey without a kick in the balls?" Elo smirked.

"No, I suppose not," Peter replied. He sighed. He was nervous. He'd been holding onto this for a while. And he knew Elo knew... this card was about to be played.

"So what's it you wanted to talk abou..." Elo began. And Peter just cut to the chase.

"I want you to get Anne Gram a meeting with the King.

"Oh," Elo said, shrugging as he sipped a beer.
"All ÞM*s can request a meeting with His Majesty."

"Well that's the thing. It's urgent."

"Fröken Gram is the leader of a political party. She goes to the top already. Is this what you wanted to see me about?" Elo asked, sounding confused.

"Look Elo..."

"Já?" Elo asked back.

"Don't fok with me. I'm asking you to make sure the meeting happens."

"You're presumptuous," Elo replied, sipping his beer.

"Anne Gram is the only Alþingi leader he doesn't meet with. Am I wrong to presume?"

"He meets with the Prime Minister because he's the Prime Minister. He meets with Toft because he's an idealistic sort and likes the idea of meeting with the opposition leader. Between that and everything else? He's stretched for time. He'd like to spend as much with his family as possible. If you want Fröken Gram to get regular meetings you should work on winning more seats."

Peter frowned and grumbled, even if it was hard to argue. They'd gotten complacent in Keris in 2021 after the by-election pickup. They could have snagged a few more seats there with more of an effort.

"Elo, we've known each other a long time. I saved your life."

"Já you did..." Elo replied.
"Já you did. So this is it? You're calling in a favour?"

"Já I guess I am."

"You know there's a new steakhouse in town. In the market district. I've heard it's delightful. I could have taken you out to dinner. Could have reminisced about the War, but no... you want me to arrange a meeting."

"I'm only asking because it's important Elo. And I hate saying it's a tit-for-tat thing."

Elo sighed.
"But it is, at the end of the day."

"If it makes you feel better I think it's for a good cause. So you'll be doing some good too."

"By your estimation."

"Já by my estimation."

"You want to tell me what it's about?"

"The meeting?"

"Já. You don't think I'm going to give you access to him without knowing what it's about?"

"Still the protective sort are you?"

"I've helped keep him safe since he was a boy. But besides that... he's going to ask. So what should I tell him?"

"Anne Gram wants to put forward a case to dealing with the Calliseans on a less confrontational basis. She has insights into the leadership there that no one in the government or military has."

"Am I to suggest I let Anne Gram be a mouthpiece for Hubert Bennett?" Elo asked as he raised an eyebrow before sipping some beer.

"You know that's unfair."

"You said it yourself, I'm a protective sort."

"Anne knows him. As a person. That's meaningful. Some insight into what's going on that isn't just accusations and overreactions."

"That's one way to describe prudence," Elo replied.

"I'm not here to have a political debate Elo and..."

"Oh that's where you're wrong," Elo replied.
"We've known each other for a long time but you still don't think I'm serious when I say I just don't like politics or politicians."

"Nobody likes politics or politicians," Peter replied with a smile.
"But everyone has a side. I don't think I'm reaching to assume you side with the coalition."

"I truly mean it, Peter," Elo sat as he sat his mug down on the table.
"I dislike politicians. Every single one of them. Don't get me wrong. I think a few are good people- present company included- but the fact that you are a politician is easy the worst thing about you. I don't have a 'side.' If you ask me the hell this country went through is because politicians wouldn't stop the dick waving and posturing long enough to think about everyone else effected by their bullshit. I don't vote. I don't put up with them officially any more than I have to as the one who manages the King's daily schedule. I'm truly, utterly done with the whole business."

"Well..." Peter said with a sigh.
"I'm sorry to hear that. Because it's business worth doing."

"So is garbage collection but at least the garbagemen have the good sense to not talk about their business in polite company."

"Are you done?"

"I am if I've finally gotten the point through to you. I don't have a side. Not yours or anyone else's. My 'side' is the country's. It's why I took up arms against your old boss."

"It's the same reason I took up arms against him too," Peter shot back. He might have been insulted by anyone else bringing up his past as a Syndicalist Party functionary but he knew Elo well enough to just chuckle. And Elo chuckled back.

"Then at the very least," Peter continued, "see that it's in the country's best interests that Anne talk to the King about this."

Elo sipped a bit more beer and looked around the bar. People. Normal people.

"Ok. I'll do it. I'll get it scheduled before the foreign affairs office can work out a schedule with the Yerans."

"Yerans?"

"Oh very dull stuff, I'm sure you wouldn't be interested in," Elo smirked.

"Sure," Peter replied.
"Danke, Elo."

"Don't mention it," he replied. He resisted the urge to add "we're even." It just seemed crass.

"So can I buy a round for the two of us?"

"I'm afraid not," Elo said as he finished his beer up and stood.
"I'm on one drink a day now since the day after the War ended. I aim to keep the streak up. Besides I want to get home soon. You know how the market district gets at rush hour."

"Well congrats then. Say hello to the wife and kids."

"Of course. And the same to you Peter."

The two exchanged a quick hug before Peter sat back down, watching Elo leave the pub. He sighed a sigh of relief.

"That went pretty well," he told himself, before flagging a waitress over to order a mead.

---

*ÞM- MP

Elo Daugaard had been upfront about why he'd pushed for Tobias to meet with Anne Gram.

"Peter Sjöstedt saved my life," he said.
"And he's never asked for a favour until now. He wants you to speak to Fröken Gram before the summit in the Stan Yera," he'd explained.

He'd also made it clear that he wouldn't push for the meeting further if Tobias didn't want to have it, but he'd agreed to it. He'd done so happily two days ago, but he'd had two days to dwell on it. Two days to think about it. And now he was more apprehensive than anything.

He'd read through Hubert Bennett's ÖSU file, and it sat on the coffee table in the middle of his office in Absalonhöll. As he lay on one of the couches opposite the table, feet perched up on the arm rest as his dirty blond hair spilled out.

His mind was just sort of blank, unable to really think of what he wanted to say to Anne Gram, or about Hubert Bennett. He just eyed the ceiling.

"Why are the walls blue? Why blue? Why not green? I guess green would be 'harsher'..." his mind trailed off. He closed his eyes... and he tried to make sense of the loud, scrambled thoughts in his head. Despite the fact that he couldn't seem to keep a train of thought going, focusing on the noise itself proved very cathartic. Trance like to try and make sense of all of the thoughts...

"Your Majesty, Fröken Gram is here."

Tobias' green eyes shot open and he spun himself around the couch as he sat up. He wasn't embarrassed being seen that way by Elo. He'd known him most of his life. But he sat there on that couch, tapping his left foot as he said "sure, send her in." He sat there for what seemed like half an hour but what was only five seconds or so before he stood so that he'd be standing when Anne entered the office.

He'd just finished straightening his polo shirt when he heard her voice.

"Your Majesty."

Tobias turned around with a smile and held out his hand.
It had been protocol for the longest time that one bowed slightly when approaching the monarch.
But the Syndicalist coup and the subsequent dictatorship and war had blown much up, both literally and figuratively. And while he had endeavoured to be what people wanted him to be, well... he grew up with soldiers and regular people. He felt uncomfortable with bows so in private meetings he preferred handshakes. At first he had to stop people from bowing but now it was getting less common. Elo must have given up the fight on that and just started telling people to accept the handshake. Which Anne did with a smile.

"It's been a long time, Your Majesty."

Tobias furrowed his brow just a bit. He'd met Anne back in the Civil War, after she'd returned from Callise. And had met with her briefly here and there, but nothing substantial. Was she being passive aggressive? He hadn't actually shunned her or anything but a lot had changed since the end of the War. And he met regularly with the Prime Minister and the Leader of the Opposition. Anne was neither. That wasn't his fault. He didn't even vote!
Still, he was pleasant.

"Way too long," he answered and offered her a seat on one of the couches.
"I've been at my desk too much lately. I think I'm starting to hate it."

"Oh thank Your Majesty," she replied sitting down on the couch opposite the one he'd been laying on. He sat down facing her, and glanced down at the Hubert Bennett dossier on the coffee table between them. That was intentional. He knew what this would be about and he preferred to get it out then so what politicians did and danced around the issue. At first he thought they did that for the press and voting public but they tended to do it with him too. Maybe it was hard to turn off?

"And thank you for seeing me."

"It's my pleasure. I think we last talked at the Red Hearts dinner?"

"Já, I believe so. I wish," she said, "that this could be under better circumstances but I'm hopeful that by the end of our meeting they will be."

Tobias smiled and pointed down at the dossier.
"You could tell me your thoughts on that. Max usually does a good job but someone who knew Hubert personally might be able to make amendments."

"Well Your Majesty..."

"Tobias," he insisted.

"I'm sorry," Anne replied. That had caught her off guard. The King was hard to figure out. He'd perform the ceremonial roles asked of him but he'd also talk to total strangers on Twitcher and even leave a speech to socialize with the crowd. What level of protocol one should assume when addressing him was something of a debate in the þingmenn* in private. And while Anne called herself a socialist she also wanted to be respectful. Still, she was not prepared to be asked to call him by his name.

"We met the first time, before all of this," he said.
"You can just call me Tobias."
His word choice was telling. "Before all of this." Even now... the period from seeing his parents shot to the War finally being over was a dark cloud in his mind. He referred to it in his own mind as "hell" but didn't like to say it. At least not to older people like Anne. People his age though, they understood it.

Anne nodded.
"Well Tobias," she said as she picked up the folder and flipped through it."
"There's a lot here."

"Nothing's classified, don't worry," Tobias replied.
"It's just what Max and the ÖSU could dig up on Bennett."

"I don't think I'll be able to finish this but it seems accurate. If a bit dry."

"I figured as much."

"If I may, Tobias," Anne said... this was her in. It was bold but...

"It's like you. And I dare say somewhere in Beaune over the last few days something like this has happened. I don't think Hubert Bennett could read a dossier on you and still get to know you. The real you. If he could, he might find you two have more in common than not."

"Is that what you've told him? Or will tell him?" Tobias asked bluntly.

Anne had fought off accusations that she was Bennett's mouthpiece in the Alþingi since this started... but she remembered that the first time she met Tobias, during the War, she'd just returned from Callise. Having been sheltered by the Workers' Party.

"I haven't spoken to Hubert in years," she said bluntly.
"I can't even say for certain if the number I have for him still works. Last I spoke to him was... oh Lord. I had just accepted a spot in William Aubyn's provisional government."

"I remember signing that paperwork," Tobias said with a smile.
"Back when that was still novel."

"He had mixed feelings about it, especially as I was the lone People's Party member on it. And of course if he had thoughts he'd let you know. And he did."

"Did you... I don't mean to get personal but, I'm just curious, was that a fight? Is that why you haven't spoken in so long?"

"No no no, he was his usual self. Like a lot of things we agreed to disagree. We never had a falling out. Things got... busy. We had to pass a lot of new laws, due to the Syndicalist regime being declared illegitimate, and we had to strip away the Social Commonwealth fascist laws that were suddenly on the books again. All while doing what we could to rebuild the country. It was a very chaotic time."

"I remember."

"And I suppose I just lost touch on my end because I was busy. Before I knew it the 2018 election was there and I had to lead my party. Life just keeps going, you know?"

"Do you... regret falling out of touch with him?"

"Why do you ask?"

"I'm going to the Stan Yera with the PM and a delegation to meet with him so we can sort this out, hopefully. I kind of want to know what kind of man he is. And since you insisted on seeing me..."

"...you thought you'd pick my brain?"

Tobias smiled and nodded.

"Well... I do. It's maybe strange to call someone a mentor when you diverge on so much, but I needed someone like Hubert in my life then. I had just had the Popular Movement thrust into my lap. I didn't know what to do. I was a Syndicalist who didn't believe in Syndicalism anymore. Hubert helped me figure out there was more to what I believed in than what Nielsen's crew had led me to... well... believe."

Tobias nodded and Anne decided she'd go for it.

"I meant it when I said you two have more in common then you might think. You both lost..."

"Stop."

Anne stopped. She had sensed the King had been nervous about this meeting but he'd been polite and friendly. Until now. That "stop" wasn't a scream. But it was a cold, firm command.

"I know all of that. It's all in that file."

"I... I know Your Ma... sorry. I know. But what I wanted to talk to you about is that the Prime Minister talks like he wants to march up here like Chevalier or prop up another Nielsen and I wanted you to know that he's not that type of man. He's not Thomas Nielsen. I wanted to speak to you so you know what kind of man he is."

She tried to be very soft and welcoming and forward as she spoke. Trying to melt the stand-offish attitude that had overtaken Tobias just recently. But he didn't seem to respond to it. Instead...

"I uh... I'm always..." he paused. He knew what he wanted to say but should he say it to Anne Gram? He didn't know her that well.
But... the need to say it had erupted within him...

Could he trust her? It was a silly question. All meetings with the King were protected by law. If she repeated anything personal here to anyone else she could be prosecuted. Tobias didn't even know if he'd even enforce that law but it was there. But that didn't matter. Because could he trust her? It wasn't a matter of law or statute. It was a matter of character. Could he share this with her? Could he...

"Part of me will always be seven years old."

He'd said it before he could even finish his own thoughts.

"Anne... there's part of me... when I watched my parents die. I was seven years old. I saw a man I thought was my pabbi's friend shoot him and my mamma..." he was trembling.
"No matter what happens in my life, part of me will always be that scared, traumatized seven year old who doesn't understand. I've grown up. I've done my best to move on. But that part of me never will."

"I... I don't think I'll ever understand what that could be like but I do... I just mean I'm sorry."

"Can I tell you a story?"

"Of course," Anne replied softly. Tobias had decided to open up. It wasn't what she expected from this but... she'd follow where it led.

"I signed that pardon after the War that pardoned most Syndicalists. I didn't want to but William Aubyn convinced me I had to. And now I'm glad I did because William was right. Reconciliation had to happen. But you know what Anne? That part of me that's still that traumatized seven year old is still angry with the rest of me. I pardoned people who cheered my parents' murder. Who called it a good thing. Those people who went on to hurt other people... took other people's mammas and pabbis away... I pardoned them. That part of me that's still seven can't understand why I did that, or why I think it was the right thing to do today."

Anne said nothing at first but Tobias' pause meant she had an opening.
"I um... I know it's got to be hard to live with but..."

"I've spent a lot of time in therapy to understand what it is and how to... I guess... manage it," Tobias replied.

"That's good. But... and please don't be offended, but Hubert and you have that in common. And you've both decided to try and help people. Surely there's room to understand that and find common ground."

Tobias said nothing for a moment. Any time he had to…

“Any time I have to deal with socialists that part of me makes himself known. I’ve smiled at and shook hands with people… people I’m sure crowed happily when my parents were killed, who made excuses for every atrocity Nielsen’s government perpetuated. Who hid behind realpolitik while four million of our people died.” He paused.
“Every time that happens, the part of me that’s still seven screams and wants to know why. I’ve gotten really good at setting him aside,” he added softly.
“But with this one, it’s hard to ignore him. Because he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. And it’s hard to blame him.”

“But you aren’t him.”

Tobias looked at Anne, and nodded.
“No I’m not… but he’s part of me, and always will be. I’ve been feeling… very trapped. Trapped by the supposed flow of history and… I donno… my own demons. You want to tell me that Hubert Bennett and I have more in common then we have different and maybe we do, but part of me, that traumatized seven year old, doesn’t care. Because deep down I know what he was doing when my mamma and pabbi got bullets in the head.”

“A lot of us made mistakes,” Anne replied. She hoped, very much so, that this would help put it in perspective. She and Tobias never spoke about her past the few times they met but he knew she was an ex-Syndicalist. He could put two and two together.

“Já,” he replied.
“I have friends who were Syndicalists. I know that. But sometimes that part of me is louder than it is other times. I don’t know if that’s my own instincts acting up telling me to be weary or if I’m just that damaged a person,” he chuckled.

“I think we’re all a bit damaged,” Anne replied.
“But antagonism and PGU troops isn’t the answer.”

“The Goyaneans and Andrennians stay…” Tobias replied.
“At least until we can figure out a settlement. But I… I donno. I don’t feel good about it.”

“It’s tense for all of us. Do you think I like my past raked over in the Alþingi? I don’t. I never thought my time in Callise was something I had to defend. But then idiots in the left wing of my party who don’t know how to do anything but argue pushed for IWA membership. And then Hubert, well… Hubert got what he always wanted and suddenly that time I spent in Callise is all anyone wants to attribute to me. I hate it. It tugs at old memories, and it questions my loyalty and commitment to my country which I swore to serve when I was seated in the Alþingi. And that includes to you.”

“You’re really trying to thread the needle, telling me you're loyal to our constitution but also that Hubert Bennett has the right intentions,” Tobias said softly.
“Hubert and I disagreed before, that’s nothing new. But I always knew he was a good man. And you can agree to disagree with good people. I hope you and he can do that. As painful as it is, you two share a pain that can help with common ground.”

“You talk like it’s going to be just me and him. The same PM who you just complained about dragging your past up is going to be with me.”

“If you’re in the room you have a say. I wanted to see you so I could just tell you, that despite everything, Hubert Bennett is a good man who wants a peaceful resolution. I know it’s hard for a lot of people, you included, to see that. But it’s true.”

“Já,” Tobias said, nodding as he looked down for a moment before standing. Though he’d been very informal, Anne stood too.

“I know… this probably isn’t the conversation you expected, but I need to say it was a pleasure to see you.” Tobias extended his hand. He wasn’t at his most eloquent, but he just… didn’t know what else to say.

“Not what I expected, no,” Anne replied before shaking his hand.
“But not unwelcome.”

“I’m glad,” Tobias replied.
“Thank you for coming to see me. And just so you know, you don’t have to get your NEC Chairman to blackmail my chief of staff to see me.”

“I didn’t know Pete was going…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tobias replied.
“I’m not mad. But if you want to talk to me just write to me. I know we don’t meet often, but I can make time.”

“You make a lot of time for a lot of people.”

“Já,” Tobias replied, not disputing the statement.
“But be well, ok?” he said as he extended his hand.

“You too,” Anne replied, shaking it. Tobias watched her leave before he lay back down on his couch, staring at the ceiling. And found it easier to calm the part of him that was that traumatized seven year old.

---

“How’d it go?” Peter asked as Anne waited for a car to get her from outfront of Absalonhöll.

“It went… well, I think?” Anne said into her phone as she waited.

“That’s good at least.”

“He’s got his hangups.”

“We all do, Anne. Don’t tell me you don’t.”

“More than you know, Pete.”

“Well are you ok?”

“Já. I am. Given everything. I’ll talk to you later, ok?”

“Sure thing.”

---

*þingmenn- MPs

Hubert Bennett stood on the runway that was the centerpiece of Fontaine International Airport. Before him, about 100 yards away, were the Yeran and Cogorian delegation's jets. Their arrivals had been coordinated to allow for media access to the meeting. The National Council of the Commonwealth of Callise had decided it would be a good idea to make the most of the event, and show to the Callisean people that Callise will not sit idly by while the PGU makes threats. Personally, Bennett abhorred the idea. It reminded him far too much of the faux political, faux news publicity stunts that had dominated the media coverage of all previous government's of Callise. Still, he understood their reasoning.

Suddenly, Bennett heard a voice in his earpiece say, "It's time."

Bennett and his delegation, composed of Councilor for Foreign Relations, Élisa Larousse, Deputy Councilor for International Political Affairs, Jeremy Lambert, and several Workers and Progressive Labor Party representatives, made their way on the manicured runway. In the distance, they could see the Yeran and Cogorian representatives coming to meet them in the middle. Bennett soon found himself face to face with the Yeran and Cogorian representatives.

"Camarades, it is wonderful to meet in person! Welcome to Fontaine, we have facilities prepared for you adjacent to the National Convention headquarters. Feel free to settle in, we should have a few hours before our first meeting."

---

OOC: @MacSalterson @Cogoria feel free to pick-up wherever from here

Tensions had remained high between the Crown and the coalition government since the coalition narrowly won a majority of seats against the monolithic UCFP. What had normally been a consistent partnership enjoyed by their predecessors in the opposition has continually devolved into a jockeying for power between the Emperor and the Empress against the coalition leaders. The recent decision by the Crown to give refuge to the Callisean political dissident Bennett has only been the most explosive and recent event out of many that has occurred between the two factions, finally in the public eye.

“This is absolutely ridiculous” Anja said with a sigh of disbelief. “In all of my years serving in public service, I have never seen such a blatant disregard for the will of the people. We are their representatives, we deserve to know when something like this is going to happen. We cannot be side-stepped at the Emperor and Empress’ whim. And what is this about us bombing a Callisean newspaper? Are you aware of the shit show in a dumpster fire that we have been put in? We were also promised a meeting with the Emperor and the Empress. It was our expectation coming into this that we would be able to voice our grievances directly to them. This is simply unacceptable”.

Marten the Elder sat stone-faced as she continued on with her tirade. “I have already told you Madam Consul, the Empress has seen to welcoming the new Prydanian Ambassador.”

Anja quickly interjected, “and the Emperor?”

“Is not your servant to order around like a dog. His personal affairs are above your concern. As the Crown Consul, I have the authority to act as the representative of the Crown in this matter. The Emperor and Empress are not tyrants, we both know I see to the daily affairs of the state.”

Anne Ulberg scoffed with a light chuckle and an eye roll before speaking, “He has given safe harbor to a foreign terrorist and you expect us to just sit idly by and let him run rampant. The Ministry for Foreign Affairs did not grant Mr. Bennett asylum. Nor has anyone in the Ministry for Immigration. Now we are finding out for the first time that Bennett is not only in the Empire but we are also being accused of terror bombings? Are you aware of how serious these accusations are? ”

“I am aware, Miss Ulburg,” Marten said plainly. “ And secondly, you are correct, no one under the jurisdiction of the Imperial Diet allowed Mr.Calvet asylum in the country. That decision was made within the Directorate for Foreign Intelligence, and as you are aware, the Power Ministries fall chiefly under the authority of the Crown and by extension, my own authority. The Director for Foreign Intelligence will be delivering a press conference tonight to explain the situation. Under no circumstances have we been involved with terror attacks in Callise. Calvet has been under the watchful eye of the Directorate in a safehouse near the Prydanian border. You have my word that we are not responsible for this.”

This was met with a sly chuckle from a man sitting at the opposite end of the table, a man who had been quiet for the duration of the meeting. This man was Kasper Simonen, longtime leader of the People’s Union Party. A former union activist turned parliamentarian, he had no love for the Kanadian Monarchy and whatever tolerance he maintained for it had been thrown away at the arrival of the Severyn Family. A man who had been considered as the most far flung reaches of Kanadian politics now stood as the pivotal partner in a coalition that required his cooperation, and he made it very well known.

“And what good is your word? We have been lied to time and time again by not only your family but the putrid servants underneath it too. To be quite frank, I’m growing tired of it.”

Marten responded with a smirk, “Careful now Kasper, one could mistake that as sedition.”

“Take it however you damn well please, it doesn’t make a difference to me. It doesn’t change the fact. Everyone in this room knows about the corruption and influence peddling you jokes do to remain in power. I won’t sit here and act like niceties are in order. It’s disgusting, you’re disgusting, and quite frankly I think this meeting is over”. He abruptly stood up from his seat, opened the doors, and walked into the large hallway outside.

He was quickly followed by the rest of the coalition leadership. Anja glared at him as the sound of their shoes hit the marble floor, exiting from the conference room. “You realize how much of a shitty position you have put us in right? We could’ve maybe had Calvett sent to Callis-”

“They can go fuck themselves,” Kasper said, looking forward and walking casually ahead.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hendrick sat on his couch drinking a berry flavored soda, watching his daily news while his children played with their toys in front of the screen.The sounds of sizzling and frying could be heard in the distance, accompanied by music from her radio. While the news was hard to make out, Hendrick tried his best to listen attentively through the screaming of children and serenade of music in the next room.

The Diet had been abuzz the last couple of days with the situation unfolding in Callise, long hours in committee and even longer meetings dealing with special interests. The main concern was ensuring that the Imperial Government would help to maintain that their capital could leave the country with the recent seizure of power. And now of course, this shitstorm in a dumpster fire had to happen too; what’s this about Maloria harboring suspected terrorists? He had no idea and that’s why he was so eager to hear the Director’s speech this evening regarding the situation.

He continued watching the empty podium, taking a drink of his refreshment. Then suddenly, the sounds of cameras could be heard fluttering and the Director walked onto the stage and took his place. He stood there for several moments, allowing the press to take their photos and for the officials behind him to assume their positions.

After several more moments passed, he began speaking.

“Ladies and gentlemen, people of the Malor-Kanadian nation.

“I am here tonight to address the recent regime change in Callise and the allegations that the Callisean Government has accused us of. As I am sure you are all aware, there was a recent terror bombing in Beaune on the Beaune Tribune, a well respected outlet of news. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the families of those impacted by this horrific crime, and we our condolences go to the people of Callise in these trying times.”

He paused briefly, staring directly into the flurry of media ahead of him, then continued talking. “We are not responsible for this extreme loss of human life though.. I fully and wholeheartedly deny any Malor-Kanadian involvement in the bombing that occurred. To accuse us of such a crime is horrendous, and deplorable. It goes against everything that we have stood for, and will continue to stand for as a nation. And, I will go ahead and accept the allegation that we have been harboring Francis Calvet, but this is for different reasons than the Calliseans accuse us of”.

“Our nation has served as a beacon of stability and security for the entire people of Craviter, as well as Eras. After the height of the Crown Conflict that plagued this continent, we helped provide leadership and partnership with our allies involved. After the devastation that had torn so many lives away from their loved ones in Arrandal in a string of terror bombings, we stood for them on the floor of the Phoenix Union whenever no one else would.``He took a sip of water before continuing. “ During the Prydanian Civil War, our proud countrymen and women fought to help them throw off the yokes of tyranny that had plagued them for so long. When that civil war had concluded, we offered our hand to help build our Nordic brothers and sisters up, not only them but our Szlavic allies in Arrendal too. We sent them aid and funding whenever no one else did, we have continually helped them recover like no other allies have. And then finally, we helped do the impossible by being an architect of the Bergum Pact, which I am proud to say I was a witness in the signing of that document.”

Hendrik sat, eyes glued on the television. “HONEY DINNER’S READY”, his wife called out. ‘SHHHHHH I’LL BE THERE IN A SECOND”, he yelled back. His kids screaming further broke his concentration, he picked his daughter up and put her on his lap briefly before continuing. “Could you and Davyd please go into the kitchen and start eating? Daddy will be in there shortly, I promise”. She stared at him briefly before nodding and then they both giggled and scurried off into the kitchen. He took another gulp of his beverage before continuing watching.

“So soon after the Prydanian Civil War, where they fought against the tyranny of an evil regime, we were able to bring them together in a self-defensive pact with the people of Stan Yera and Cogoria. Maloria and Kanada ourselves have had a troubled past, but we looked to the future for the good of the people of Craviter and put that behind us. The threads of ideology must not weave a shroud that smothers the breath of change. To forge a better world, we must temper our convictions with the alchemy of pragmatism, for it is in the crucible of balanced action that the future finds its form”. He paused and stared intently at the camera. “That is a lesson I wish for the Calliseans to learn as they embark upon this new journey that they have chosen for themselves.”

“I don’t say all of this to lecture about our moral superiority, but instead, I wish to show the accomplishments that the people of Craviter have been able to undertake and our proud role that we have been able to play in shepherding this. We have stood as a bastion of security for the people of Craviter. We will continue to, and will always stand with our allies in whatever course they choose to take.”

He lifted up his water bottle and drank from it once more.“And with that in mind, I will say this before we open up with questions. Calvet is in our custody, but that is for the sole reason that we fear he will not receive a fair trial in Callise under the current circumstances that the country finds itself in. We will not contribute to the political persecution of those who are defenseless against tyranny. We offered our hand to him as a political refugee, we cannot help what he has done in the past, but we will not help bloody our hands with a justice system that will not be impartial in their dealings.”

“Thank you, now I will be taking questions.”

Holy shit, Hendrick thought to himself. Work is going to be way more complicated. Just then his wife yelled, “YOUR DINNER IS GETTING COLD”, he sighed before responding. “I’M COMING…I’m coming.” He grunted and got off the couch before heading into the kitchen.

---

OOC Note: This post takes place after the Beaune Tribune Bombing and after the announcement of Maloria harboring Calvet.

The Cogorian representative, Niamh Stepanyuk, shielded her eyes against the glare of the sun as she disembarked from the plane. It had been a grueling few days at the Foreign Ministry, and she hadn't anticipated being the one selected to attend the talks in Callise. Niamh's career had started with globe-trotting efforts to garner financial support and public sympathy for the Rokatov throne's attempted reclamation. Before the events known as the Crown Conflict, she had been a staunch Monarchist. So, for her to be chosen over the seasoned Politburo members brought a subtle but confident smile to her face, reflecting the intended message being conveyed.
Approaching the welcoming party, with her aides flanking her, Niamh couldn't help but cast a quick glance at her Yeran counterpart. She adjusted her pace, ensuring she arrived simultaneously with them. Coming to a halt in front of Premier Bennet, Niamh extended her hand with a warm and diplomatic smile. "Well met, Premier Bennet. Thank you for the invitation. Allow me to convey the well wishes of my government for Callise's ongoing prosperity. I am honored to inform you that, in light of recent developments, I will be assuming ambassadorial duties from my predecessor with immediate effect."

Niamh's words were delivered with a poised and composed demeanor, masking the exhaustion that had accumulated during the hectic days leading up to this diplomatic mission. The weight of representing Cogoria, especially during these crucial talks, pressed upon her shoulders.

She glanced at the picturesque surroundings, appreciating the natural beauty of Callise as she spoke. "I must say, Premier Bennet, your nation's landscapes are as striking as the stories I've heard. The lush scenery and the warmth of the sun are a welcome change from the bustling corridors of our own capital."

Niamh couldn't help but notice the symbolism in her presence. She was not only a diplomatic envoy but a message by her mere presence, marking a shift in her nation's stance. The decision to send her as an ambassador was a subtle signal of their readiness to support the monarchy of Prydania if needed, a departure from their previously fanatically left ideals, and a symptom of the balance that had come with the integration of two ideological oposites into a single government.

Tanśa smiled politely as he approached the Premier. The flight over was, relatively speaking, relaxing. Much of the preparation for this meeting had been done on the ground in the Stan Yera, leaving Tanśa largely able to rest on the 2 and a half hour flight in. Nodding to Niamh, who he did not immediately recognize, as he stepped off the plane, he strode with her to meet Bennett. Though he would've much rather sent a lower level ambassador in his stead, Tanśa had been overruled by his comrades, who declared that the Stan Yera should demonstrate the importance of the Revolution in Callise to them. No matter, at least the weather was nice.

Letting Niamh take the lead and shake the Premier's hand first, Tanśa stepped in afterwards, also shaking the Premier's hands. He smiled, "And it is equally wonderful to be here to offer our support for your revolution, Comrade. I must agree with Comrade Stepanyuk on this matter, Callise is a welcome sight to my eyes. The snow of home can get old, after a while." He chuckled slightly.

"Premier Sfan extends both his personal congratulations to the success of your revolution and sincerest condolences for the tragedy of the bombing attack against your people. We can only hope this strengthens your resolve against the threat of fascism"