Where Runes Lay Amongst Grey Stones (closed)

Býkonsviði, Prydania

November was here, and it felt like it in Býkonsviði. Dark skies and snow. It was only 5:00 and the sun hadn't been seen for an hour.

But even then, or perhaps because of it, the Prime Minister's office at the Haraldvirki* was cozy. Kjell had kept the lights in the ceiling fixtures off, keeping just a light in the far left corner of the room and a light on his desk on, giving the office a warm feeling amidst the white snow against the black sky.

He was relaxed himself. He could likely take this stack of paperwork and legislative drafting over the couch on the far end of the office and read everything until he passed out. Býkonsviði wasn't Stormurholmr, his home town, but on nights like tonight it always felt that way.

His office decor reflected that. Just above that couch that looked so inviting was a painting. It was a replica of an original painting which once again sat in Stormurholmr's civic museum, and it showed a brilliant comet streaking across the night sky, above the dark people and buildings of Stormurholmr. It was the Great Comet of 1681, seen across northern Craviter and Gothis.

The walls and his desk were also dotted with pictures- some of him meeting other foreign dignitaries but must showing his family and his friends. Those that were still with us and those that... weren't. And finally the painting of Stormurholmr's famous lighthouse, amongst grey skies and thrashing seas. It was just a bit of his home here, in the nation's capital. He went to sip some water when a knock startled him. It had been a quiet day and he wasn't expecting anyone.

"I'm sorry Herra Prime Minister," his secretary Hedinfrid Goplen said as she opened the door.
"The Deputy Prime Minister and the Chief of the ÖSU are here."

"They are?" Kjell raised an eyebrow over his glasses rims.

"Já sir."

That was odd. Something would have to amiss. He sighed as he felt some unease in his gut. The first time today. He leaned back in his chair some as he set the legislative drafts he was looking over down.

"Send them in Hedi."

"Right away sir."

It wasn't long before Sören Högh and Max Hvieti were both in his office. Sören's own office was in the same building of course, but Max had come from ÖSU HQ, out of town. He quickly discarded his overcoat to reveal that, yes, he was still wearing a Skandan shirt under it. The two sat across from Kjell as Hvieite dropped a thick folder on the desk.

"So what's got you two carpooling?" Kjell asked, trying to lighten the mood as he glanced at Max's folder.

"Go to Eras Daily," Sören said. Kjell shot him a confused look and then shrugged.

"There are less painful ways of giving me a brain tumour, you know," Svane remarked as he pulled up the Rayvostokan propaganda site masquerading as a news site.

And there on the front of the site's home page was a picture of Chairwoman Denvikov and the headline RAVOSTOKA APOLOGIES TO PRYDANIA.

"Huh," Kjell muttered in shock as he leaned back in his chair some more, looking at the screen before turning to Sören.
"This is for real?"

"It just happened."

"Why didn't you tell me they were planning on doing this?" the Prime Minister asked. Sören wasn't just the Deputy Prime Minister, he was the Foreign Affairs minister.

"They never told us they were. They never reached out, either directly or through an intermediary. They just did... this," Sören explained, a bit flabbergasted as he motioned towards Kjell's computer.

Kjell nodded and turned to Max.
"And you. None of your assets in Auroria tipped you off?"

"Lebedevgrad's government buildings," Max replied, not reacting to the Prime Minister's urgent tone, "have many a small dark room where handshakes happen. You can't know what goes on, fully."

"Hmmm," Kjell mused.
"And now?"

"My Aurorian sources," Max answered, "are telling me that it's genuine."

"So of course," Kjell said, deciding to jump straight into business, "the questions are why, and what do we do?"

"Clearly they're trying to thaw relations," Sören remarked.
"My best guess at this point is that they saw that Esþursia was not going to try and negotiate with us on their behalf so they decided to address us directly."

"Well speaking of Esþursia they've been negotiating for a while now, attempting to induce some reform."

"Já," Sören replied.
"I'd hesitate to call it successful but..."

"It depends on what you mean by reform," Max interrupted.
"They're calling it democratization but that's bullshit. It's just a more decentralized communist dictatorship with more localized autonomy. But no one has the right to vote the Messianic Communist Party out of power."

"But," Sören replied, "that was never a condition. Our embargo and freeze on our relations with them called for reform and shutting down the collectivized agriculture camps. Both have technically happened and they've reached out."

"Are you hesitant about this?" Kjell asked, turning to Max.

"I don't trust these sorts, unless there's something they can gain. Democracies tend to genuinely believe in their own rhetoric alongside their own geo-political interests. But a dictatorship is only as trustworthy so long as mutual benefit exists."

"Well," Sören said with a shrug.
"We can offer them an end to our embargo. Not only would their goods re-appear on our shelves but our goods would re-enter their market. And I'm sure the end to the embargo would help the perception that they're no longer isolated."

Kjell said nothing. He respected that from Sören but now was the time to be very matter of fact.

"I'm not sure we can do that."

"I'm not a fan of their government either, Kjell," he replied, but they've made positive movements in the right direction and they technically fulfilled what our embargo legislation demanded of them."

Kjell sighed. Sören could be a robot at times, swear to God.

"My caucus REALLY doesn't like Rayvostoka," Kjell said plainly. "Even if they have met our requirements, my caucus would not be eager to re-open negotiations with them."

Sören studied the Prime Minister. He knew why, of course, he knew that was likely the general mood of the country, but he had ro
see if there was some wiggle room. He simply didn't like seeing an opportunity go to waste.

"We are trading partners with Skanda and we're allies to Cogoria and the Stan Yera."

"Mutually beneficial relationships," Max interjected.
"Like I said," he added with a hand gesture that was halfway between a finger gun and a fist bump.

"The youth wing of my party isn't fond of them either," Kjell answered with a chuckle.

"I thought they brought you on board to be the adult in the room," Sören said with a slight smile of his own. Kjell frowned. He didn't care for the infantilizing of his caucus. And it was a reminder that while they were coalition partners, Sören was from a different party.

"I'm responsible to my caucus, same as you," he said bluntly.
"What is it that we stand to gain?"

"You're a diplomat, Kjell. I'm surprised you can't see it."

"I can see a lot of complaining. That's what I see. And I see Rayvostoka asking for more the moment they get a foot in."

"Always a possibility," Max interjected.
"Assuming another idiot takes power. Which... well... it happened already. So...."

"We embargoed them. We said we would not negotiate until certain conditions were met, and there were. You can spin this as a win. We stared them down, they backed down. Emphasize the closing of the camps and the end to collectivization. That'll play great with your base, and we look good. You got Kolfinnur Grundt a pardon. Play that compassion and forgiveness card."

Kjell looked over at the wall, to the picture of the famous Stormurholmr lighthouse.
"You know what they say about being too compassionate," Kjell said with an eyebrow raised above the line of his glasses.

"Something about elves leaving you for dead in the forest. I don't really know the whole thing, I'm city folk," Sören chuckled.

"That's the gist," Kjell replied and leaned back to sigh.

"I'll accept the apology tomorrow morning. I'll have the media know I'll be making a statement. You, Sören, contact the Esþursians and ask them to pass along to Rayvostoka that we're willing to talk. I'd like to switch from public gestures to proper diplomatic channels as soon as possible."

"Right," Sören replied, smiling as he stood.
"This seems right."

"I should hope so," Kjell answered.
"We'll reconvene in the morning. I just need to break the news to my caucus. Tonight."

"That'll be rough," Sören muttered. It was late. That would be it even harder.

"Já, so if you don't mind?"

Sören nodded, taking his leave as Kjell turned to Max.

"And you..."

"Já?"

"I need an ÖSU report on Rayvostoka's geopolitical outlook. Preferably by tomorrow morning."

Max nodded, and got up, grabbing his coat.
"You should talk to your people as soon as possible. You need a good night's sleep."

"Thanks for the heads up," Kjell replied, a bit coldly.

"I mean it. Tonight's perfect for it."

---

Max left the Haraldvirki as light snow fell, a car waiting for him to take him back to ÖSU headquarters. The moons glowed softly in the sky, and the snow danced on the lights. He nodded. Tonight was a good night to get some sleep.

---

*Haraldvirki- Harald Fort, the house of the Alþingi, Prydania's legislator

Lebedevgrad, Rayvostoka

It was midnight and the election had been called only an hour ago, Vera Federova had been bunkered in her office in the Narodny for almost half the day, eyes glued to the TV as the results were announced on Channel One. In the corner of the room, Igor Zaytsev, her aide, sat at a small desk typing away at his computer. Igor looked up at Vera, she was dishevelled, having been in the office for so long had taken its toll, and she looked exhausted.

"You best go home and get some sleep, Comrade Fedorova." Igor opined, closing his laptop halfway.

Vera rubbed her temples. "Sasha hasn't called yet. I'm not leaving until she does." The two had grown to be close, working together on the diplomatic campaign to display the country's democratisation and rehabilitate its global image.

"The new Premier is probably if I had to guess, also getting sleep. Not staying up til she collapses." Igor shook his head slightly.

"I'm not leaving yet." She insisted.

"Well then if that's the case, then I assume you will be perfectly fine with taking the time to arrange diplomatic talks with the Prydanians?" Igor reopened his laptop and opened his notes.

"Fine." The sleep-deprived woman rubbed her eyes and stretched in her chair, yawning.

"Perfect, first off who'll we be sending on the assignment? Comrade-President Sorokin?"

"Comrade Sorokin? He's a good choice, but do you think he'll be the right one for the Prydanians?" Vera knew the Prydanians would be the hardest to sell on the new system, they needed someone who could speak their language. It was one thing, to schmooze the Esthursians, but those Prydanians had a certain resistance to being told what they wanted to hear, a passive cynicism of sorts, which she had no doubts was a by-product of having to deal with Syndicalist propagandist tactics.

"Sorokin's the blunt type, I can't imagine that wouldn't be too unpopular with the Prydanians. He's from a rural background as well, not exactly a wheat farmer, but he worked on a collectivized sugar cane plantation and was in the Army so he can relate on that level. Not to mention, he's not exactly what I'd call an ideologue." Igor said with a shrug.

"He should be alright then, can he speak Mercanti?" Vera leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes.

"With a bit of an accent, but it's not too bad. It'll get his points across."

"Perfect, we'll send him,"

"What about gifts? Something nice I'd bet for their King and PM."

"I'd say the go-to is a good bottle of rum and some iced fruits from Muski, that'd be a good start." Vera could picture them in her mind, she was starving.

"Sounds nice, I'll have this all communicated to the Esthursians and we can get the actual process started," Igor said as he finished typing up his notes.

"Good, good, I'm just gonna rest a little." She said, her eyes now closed tightly as she lulled her head to the side falling asleep.

Býkonsviði, Prydania

"His Majesty Tobias III Loðbrók, by the grace of God, King and Stormlord of Prydania, the Eastern Nords, and Bayardi, Lord Protector of Austurland, Marshal of Býkonsviði, Sword of Jægdar, Lord Uniter, Defender of the Faith."

The herald's announcement to Apis of the King of Prydania rang through the throne room of Absalonhöll. As a military man he respected the value of protocol, and stepped forward into the chamber, his uniform pressed to perfection, the Varangian Guard insignia crisp as he nodded with respect to his host.

Apis was a proud man in general. He was a patriot of the Imperium, but he also valued his heritage. Part of which was here. The land of his ancestors. And seeing the King of that land, not to mention the head of state of a partner and ally, he was sure to show the proper respects.

"Apis Lupus Hardurum," the herald announced, as part of the pomp, announcing his arrival to the Prydanian King.
"Commander of the Eagle Cohort of the Varangian Guard, and representative of the Imperium Suavidici."

He stepped forward, keeping a hand on his ceremonial sword.
"Your Majesty," he said.
"I come to you baring the well wishes and greetings of Imperator Augustus."

---

Tobias leaned a bit to one side in the heavy oaken throne. He hated wearing the formal garb that his position sometimes demanded but... well... now was one of those times.
Yet he didn't let his discomfort show. He'd learned from the past seven years that these sorts of things were exercises in knowing your opposite number. Some of them, like him, would embrace the disregard for pomp. Some valued the pageantry. Apis was the latter. And so, at lest for today, was Tobias.

The interesting thing, though, was that this was not a ceremony involving ambassadors. The Imperium had an ambassador in Prydania. This was a visit that... well... that was something of a mystery. Neither Tobias or the government, however, were stupid. The Imperium had sent a man descended from perhaps the most famous Prydanian to serve in their armies for a reason.

Tobias stood.
"The Imperator's well wishes and greetings are always welcomed in our country, and I speak for all Prydanians when I say it's an honour to have a son of the House of Hardrada back on our soil."

---

Apis nodded again and approached the King. He'd met Tobias once before, years earlier soon after the Syndicalists finally fell. He was part of an Imperial delegation meant to make sure the new government would honour the grain agreement the Syndicalists had abandoned.
Much had changed here since but he felt he had a feel for Tobias then, and surely that wouldn't change? Though of the many things to change since were the birth of the Prydanian King's three children. Apis knew from personal experience, having children changes a man. His eldest was less than ten years Tobias' junior as well, and was just beginning his own military career.

As he approached the Prydanian King he knew what he'd have to do. They only knew each other briefly but Apis, through long and winding family trees, was an Eiderwig. Which meant he was, distantly, related to the King. And there was only one way to greet family.

He hugged him and was pleasantly surprised to feel Tobias hug back just as hard. He pat his arm.

"In the spirit of friendship and kinship, we have much to discuss," he said firmly. Tobias nodded and dismissed the stewards and herald, leaving just him, Apis, the government ministers, and the Knights of the Storm.

"Then let's get to it," Tobias said with a smile, the party emptying from the throne room into a conference room tucked away behind the ceremonial chamber.

Apis looked around. It was very cozy, reminding him of a hunting lodge. Oak wood lined the walls and ceiling and a long table of the same material dominated the room. Behind the head of the table, where Tobias was taking his seat, hung a tapestry showing a stag in a forest- a common symbol of the Prydanian monarchy- looking up into a starry sky, and a constellation of a winged lion holding a sword.

Apis knew the symbolism from somewhere but symbology was never his strong suit and he let the question leave his mind as he took a seat on the far end as the government ministers took their seats around their King.

"On a personal note, Your Majesty, I hope your family is well. It's the first I've seen of you in person since the birth of your children."

"They're doing well. Driving their mamma and pabbi a bit crazy which I think means they're just fine," Tobias said with a smirk.

"Yes, and I'm afraid it doesn't stop," Apis replied with a chuckle.
"They just find different ways to make you a bit mental."

That elicited a laugh from all involved, but Apis was here to do a job and he knew likewise the Prydanians would be curious to know why he was here.

"I won't mix words gentlemen. The Imperium considers Prydania a friend and partner. And this is why the news of a thaw in relations with the Palmyran entity concerns us."

He'd said it. He knew it was something that could cause some bristling. He was, on behalf of his government, telling another sovereign state what they should be doing. Rarely did that end well. But the relationship here was symbiotic. Apis was hoping that would sooth the bitter pill.

Tobias tilted his head a bit. He'd not been one to trust Rayvostokans. And honestly had been less than enthused at the prospect of smoothing over relations with them. But at the same time it was the government's place to make that call, not his. He understood in the Imperium those dynamics were... different. He wondered if Apis grasped that.

"My family," he said, feeling his heart race a bit, "was murdered by people like the folks you've come here to discuss," he said, keeping his voice as level and calm as he could.
"I hope you don't think I'm eagerly going to make friends with people who called me 'Comrade Loðbrók' without a hint of irony?"

Apis listened. It had been a while since he saw Tobias last, yes, but even the changes of time couldn't undo the type of person a man was. When Tobias talked like that, when he mentioned these symbolic things, they were representative of something bigger.

"My concern, and the concern of the Imperium, is that it's happening at all. The Imperium feels for the pain and struggle Prydania went through, more now than ever given our own troubles. And as a man who values his own heritage, I assure you it hurt me to see what those rogues did to my ancestors' homeland. It's why I come to you to express just how shocked we are this is going forward."

---

Tobias found himself weighed down by the legacy of the Storm of Craviter.
He'd come to embrace that William was right. Hell, that Kjell was right. That reconciliation and forgiveness the only way to break the cycle of violence. But some days it was just heavy. The need to smile and forgive... always forgoing the urge for vengeance. Tobias signed.

"Herra Prime Minister? I think... it's best if you explained it. I don't think I'm in the state of mind to be subtle."

Kjell Svane had kept quiet for most of the pomp that had engulfed the day, but as far as he was concerned it was all preamble to this...

He knew it wouldn't help to chastise the Imperium for inquiring about Prydania's foreign affairs. He leaned forward a bit, adjusted his glasses, and thumbed through some papers before he turned to Apis.

"No government other than the Imperium has been as harsh on the Rayvostokan regime..." he'd found that name was a suitable middle ground to use with Imperial officials... "as we have. We embargoed them and cut them off from our markets entirely. But that was only in the last three years. Before then we traded with them. We aren't going to embrace them as friends, but I don't see how a return to the pre-embargo status quo should bother the Imperium."

"A shift is a shift," Apis said bluntly.
"In this case it's a negative one, by the Imperium's calculus."

Svane wasn't phased. Hell, he'd dealt with worse during his career as a diplomat. This was nothing compared to the PGU council chambers.
"We are simply exploring the possibility of a baseline level of diplomacy. This doesn't impact our ongoing partnerships with the Imperium or other regional powers."

Scalvia. Kjell meant Scalvia. The Imperium knew of talks Prydania was having with Rayvostoka? He knew things too.

"I can give you four million reasons why, even if these talks go as well as they possibly could, we are not eager to embrace these communists as friends."

Four million. The number of Prydanians killed by the Syndicalist Republic.

"My country and yours," Apis said as he considered how to word what was floating in his head. He'd found the Imperial government's terminology needing work.
"We benefit each other. Money, grain, fish, meat, milk... it's a relationship millions of people depend on, both in Auroria and Craviter. We are simply approaching this with an abundance of caution."

Sören Högh was even more quiet than Kjell had been before Tobias gave him the que to speak. And that was fine. Sören was happy to do his job behind the scenes. That Kjell was a diplomat before he entered domestic politics meant that he could trust him with the Foreign Affairs Ministry's initiatives and not be out of depth while he focused on the nitty gritty.
Yet here he just felt... compelled.

Why? He didn't know. What he was going to say had been discussed and even approved... yet no formal agreement had been made on when to offer it to Apis.
Sören just felt it was time.

"Your Majesty, Herra Prime Minister," he said. It was proper protocol to at least acknowledge he two superiors...
"What if Herra Hardurum bore witness to our negotiations? A 'concerned party,' perhaps?"

Tobias and Kjell, though not knowing that was coming now, still expected it. And all three sets of eyes turned to Apis.
He smirked.

"I would sit on these talks?"

"The Kingdom of Prydania," Kjell began, "is a sovereign state and conducts its own foreign policy in the best interest of it and its people. But the Imperium is a friend and partner. Your government's stance is known and acknowledged, but you can see for yourself we're not rolling out the red carpet for the, ahem, reds."

"And," Sören added, "you can convey all of this to your government. I'm sure their concerns would be alleviated when you report to them."

Apis ran his hand through his greying blond hair- countless generations later and those viking genes didn't go quietly- and sat back.
He wasn't so bold as to assume he could interfere directly with these talks or dictate terms. He was chosen for this partially to take a far less assertive tact. Yet if he was present, if he was here... he could assure that the Imperium's voice was heard. And, if he played his cards right, even impact how this played out.

"Your Majesty, Prime Minister, Deputy Prime Minister, it's a pleasure to know I will be staying a little longer in the land of my forefathers. I accept your offer."

---

Tobias had been silent since he stepped aside for Kjell.
As he listened the old debate, the old struggle, in his mind had re-emerged. Vengeance or reconciliation?

Maybe he'd never get his vengeance. Maybe the Rayvostokans, as much as they reminded him of the Syndicalists, didn't deserve his vengeance.

But this Varangian Imperial... if he was there... he could let the Rayvostokans know they were lucky for what reconciliation he offered.

Lindveiðimanna, Prydania

Lindveiðimanna was a quiet town. It was the only major settlement of note on Yyornelvanlundur, Stormurholmr's smaller sister island, and home to less than 50,000 people. Like most Prydanian towns on the Auburn Channel the major industry was fishing.
Yet the way the fishing boats rocked in the harbour, against the overcast skies, hinted at the tension that was gripping the sleepy town.

Because the Royal Court was here. And all that this entailed.

Blue-clad Knights of the Storm had augmented the Military Police that secured the local naval base as armoured vehicles and government cars poured in. The King was here. And it was to meet the Rayvostokans.

Yyornelvanlundur was at the edge of the Prydanian world, a small island that hung off the coast of Stormurholmr. Mostly untamed hills and forests save for a few coastal towns, Lindveiðimanna being the largest of note. It was out of the way, and that had come to define the populace. Stormurholmr had never been fully pacified by the Syndicalists. Yyornelvanlundur never was, outside of a garrison on Lindveiðimanna that always felt like it was under siege. Some locals wondered if that's why the government chose it to host this summit with the Rayvostokans.

Asvor Lunn didn't think that was the reason, but she did wonder. She brushed strands of blonde hair out of her grey eyes as she watched the government cars and armoured vehicles enter the naval base. The mood was tense. The King was known to be personable, but here they couldn't even tell which one he was in. Presumably this was an all business affair...
She just watched as she sat on a raised brick wall, amongst the other town folk who had stopped their day to watch the government's arrival before she sighed and hopped down from the brick wall to walk a few blocks through the overcast, cool day that had befallen them, finally ducking into the Sayfansinn where she worked. The only one on the island.

"You see anyone important?" Siguard Hovden asked, as she entered. The older man, with a full beard that was getting more grey then it was blond was wearing the red Sayfansinn apron and reading his phone.

"No Uncle," Asvor replied. The store was mostly empty save for her uncle- the manager- and Kristen Stöa, a boy her age who helped with the stocking. Almost everyone else had gone to watch the arrivals at the base. Asvor could afford to be a bit informal.

"Couldn't even see anyone," she added as she ducked into the staff break room, pulling up her oversized wool sweater that tended to engulf her hands when her arms were at her sides- and tossing it in her locker as she pulled the red Sayfansinn apron on over her white t-shirt underneath.

"Need help tying that?" Kristen asked, as he entered the room, filling a paper cup up with water from the water cooler.

"Um, sure," Asvor replied with a nervous smile.

"Ok..." Kristen said, tying the apron up.
"There."

"Thanks," Asvor replied, blushing as she smiled before awkwardly sidestepping him. She liked him. Plainly. And she thought he liked her... but... well... they were seventeen. Hopefully she'd be off to Haland in a year. She didn't want to... get tied down.

"But anyway," she added coming out of the breakroom and making her way to her uncle at the register, hoping to shift the topic in her own head from her own unrealized romance, "I just don't get it."

"What don't you get?" Siguard muttered.
"I just want everyone to realize there isn't much goin' on but a few cars an' jeeps showing up, so they get their butts back to their day and get back in here. Produce don't sell itself you know."

Asvor rolled her eyes.
"You know, why the King and the Prime Minister are talking... to them."

"The Rayvostokans?" Kristen asked, following her out of the break room.

"The Austurveldi* don't honour them with their proper name, maybe we should follow suit," Asvor muttered.

Siguard, though, just shrugged.
"Our government embargoed 'em, now they wanna talk? Sounds like we won."

"Maybe we shoulda told them to kick rocks. Or landmines. Either or."

Siguard sighed. He knew why his niece was like this today, but that didn't mean it was ok.
"You gonna be like this the rest of the day? Once the hubbub down the road is over with people'll be comin' back in here. And I can't have ya all full of thunder 'n lightnin'."

"You know the Syndies did to Mama," Asvor growled.

"I also know what they did to you," Siguard said back, softly.
"But you're alive, they're dead, let Jesús sort out the difference."

Asvor blushed and looked back at Kristen. He just looked away awkwardly. But the truth was... well... it was a small town. People knew things all over. And what affected one tended to affect everyone. To some degree.

Asvor, though, took a deep breath. She knew her uncle. And knew when he had a sort of quiet firmness to him that it was time to drop it. Not because whatever "it" was wasn't important... just that it wasn't the time now. And as if to emphasize that...

"Welcome to Sayfansinn," Asvor said happily as a mother and father with a small boy walked in.

---

KPS Orka
off the coast of Lindveiðimanna, Prydania

Naómí Varmdal sipped coffee from her World's Best Captain mug. A gift so cheesy that she couldn't not use it on the bridge. She hoped Thorlákur was enjoying his.

"Our 'friends' should be arriving soon," she said as she looked onto the choppy waves under grey skies.
"Think the weather is trying to tell us something?"

"I'm not much of a spiritual man myself, but it makes you wonder," her XO, Commander Eivind Sveen replied.

"Last time I had a Red's ship this close to mine, I blew it out of the water," Naómí mused.

"Is that... an order?" Eivind asked, only for Naómí to shake her head.
"No, no, we won't be starting a war. Ours is the path of better angels."

---

Lindveiðimanna, Prydania

"You really had that taken out for this?" Kjell Svane asked as Tobias let his fingers idly stroke the handle of Jægerblað, the ancient sword resting at his side.

"I killed people like the men we're going to meet with this sword," Tobias replied softly.
"It's more for me then it is for them."

"I don't expect any of this will be easy," Kjell replied. Tobias adjusted his tie. He was dressed in a Royal Prydanian Army Field Marshal's service green uniform. The sheath holding the sword was attached to his axlarbelti.
"Nothing ever is," Tobias said softly.
"But if I have to smile and meet with these people, then I can least do it on my own terms."

"I know you're not one for pomp, Your Majesty," Kjell replied with a smile.
"I can be," Tobias answered with a slight smirk.
"When it's useful. It rarely is, but today's one of those exceptions."

Apis Hardurum watched from a bit of a distance. He too was in formal military wear. This actually was something of a career milestone. The Varangian commander had never been privy to negotiations with the rogue Palmyrian entity. Not this close. Of course he was merely here as an observer, but he intended to make his position very clear throughout this... well... he wouldn't call it a farce out of respect for his hosts.

"Your Majesty."

Tobias looked up. A Knight of the Storm had entered the quarters the government officials were congregating in.

"The Rayvostokans have arrived. The KPS Orka is escorting them into port."

"Bring them to the Conference room after they disembark," Tobias said softly.

"Já, Your Majesty," the Knight replied before conveying his message.

"You're sure you're ok?" Kjell asked Tobias with a whisper.

"No," Tobias replied.
"But honestly, that's never been a problem."

---

*Austurveldi- "Eastern Empire," the Prydanian name for the Imperium Suavidici
*axlarbelti- "shoulder belt," an IC name in Prydanian for the article of military wear known as the Same Browne belt

Lindveiðimanna, Prydania

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"Stand firm then, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place" - Ephesians 6:14

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"Did I ever tell you about when I spent a winter in Muski?" President Daniil Sorokin stared out at the overcast horizon, wind sweeping what was left of his hair. Sorokin was a large man, old and tall like an oak, he had been a farm laborer in his youth, with broad shoulders and muscles to prove it.

"I- I don't think you did Comrade-President." Vera, stood behind him uneasy, her poncho blowing wildly in the wind as the boat skidded the water.

"I think it was towards the end of 1989, and I was in Muski for my artillery regiment's coastal defence drills. It was something like late December and almost two weeks from Christmas in January. And I remember explicitly, how fucking cold it was." He breathed in the salty air, as cold ocean mist spattered across his face.

"It was 22 degrees, and I can remember shivering in my barracks every night since there was no heating, it was absolutely fucking miserable. But, one night, me and my bunk-mates before heading back to base, decided to take one of the boats they had posted at the docks and take it out for a joy ride, and in our infinite wisdom, didn't check to see how much gas the thing had. We got stuck less than two miles away from the shore, we had to have been out there for a day or so before the coast guard picked us up.
Coldest night of my life, I swear to God it to had to have gotten down to 10 degrees." Sorokin sighed, those days rested nicely within his memory; good times.

"And yet somehow this sea feels colder, and its broad fuckin daylight."

Vera shivered, she hated boats, hated the water. Why the fuck were the Prydanians making them take a boat to this meeting? She thought to herself as the old man in front of her sat silently reminiscing.

"A wonderful story sir, but can we please go inside? The cabin's dry, and I don't want you getting soaked before this meeting."

"I won't," He didn't look behind at her, his gaze solely focusing on the cloudy expanse of the Prydanian sky. "But you can if you prefer it, Vera."

"Comrade-President, I would prefer it if you went inside as well, I can't imagine King Tobias would take it well if his counterpart smelled of sea salt and mold-"

"You know he spent his youth on these islands?" Sorokin remarked. "He lived amongst the people here while in hiding from the Syndicalists"

"That was in his profile, yes, Comrade-President." She tried to spy what he was looking at.

"Vera, you can cut the comrade bullshit when you're with me, nobody's sending you to the reeducation camp. And yes, it was in his profile, but cut deeper what does that really mean?"

"I don't know Daniil, what does it mean?" She had almost had it with this, the tone in her voice going from impatient to frustrated.

"It means he's known that smell his whole life, he's lived it. He's not just some highborn princeling, he knows the salt, the mold, the sand, and the dirt he knows them all Vera. He'll be waiting in that conference room for us with an air of royalty but he and I'll both know that we're kin because I, just like him have dirt under my nails."

"You know it's not just him you'll have to convince,' Vera pulled down on the hood of her poncho. "He's only a figurehead, you'll have to deal with the politicians too." She winced as the spray of seawater inched closer and closer to her.

"Remember this, we come into this meeting as Rayvostokans, not as communists, not as ideologues, but as people who love their country and who want nothing more than peace. They expect stuffy and pompous, we need to give them the impression of humility and freedom. Which in all fairness to us, we do have, but these are rabid anti-communists who would eat us for lunch otherwise so we work with what we have." To Sorokin, the politicians were the secondary event. The King was a war hero and his word would be respected, so if he could make the inroads there that was the real key to restoring relations.

Vera nodded. "I understand." She did not, but was told by Denvikov to follow along, the old man was eccentric but he was usually right, she said.

Sorokin gestured to the ship that was now guiding them into port, then turned to face the young foreign minister. "We're by association the same type of people they were killing some six to eight years ago, good first impressions are crucial. Now let's shake off this dour sky and get ready to work magic, you get me Vera?"

"I do, Daniil." She said with a nod.

He gave her a crooked smile and a pat on her shoulder as he passed her, walking towards the cabin to check in with the captain, before heading to the gangway and preparing to be received by the Prydanians.

Tobias sat, waiting. He wore the uniform of
a Royal Army Field Marshal, but it was perhaps noticeable that it didn't have any medals, or honours aside from the emblems indicating rank. The hat, even, sat off to the side at the table.

He hated hats. With one noticeable exception. A stiff officer's cap was not that exception.

He didn't look at Kjell.

Kjell was the only Prime Minister of his he didn't have a pre-existing relationship with.
William had raised him.
Magnus had been a steady hand in FRE circles, a trusted friend.
Even Reynir had been a regular face among FRE command, even if he and Tobias hadn't been the closest.
But Kjell had spent the War as a diplomat for the FRE abroad.

The thing is, Tobias knew there'd be far more Kjells then there would be Williams, Magnuses, or Reynirs. He best be used to that.
And he didn't dislike Kjell. In fact they'd developed a relationship since Kjell became PM following the 2021 election. It was just… unlike the others, Tobias just couldn't shake seeing him as a politician first and foremost.
That was the important thing to keep in mind. Kjell was a good man, in so far as Tobias could tell, but he was bound to his party, his caucus in the Alþingi. They were not keen on the Rayvostokans, even if they saw the softening of relations as a sign that their embargo had worked. They were not keen on showing anything regarding hospitality.

Tobias found it hard to blame them, really. Syndicalists had murdered his family. Even as he prepared for this meeting… part of him rebelled against the idea of any diplomatic niceties.
And the thing was that Kjell Svane’s governing caucus was… well… they were his people. In more ways than one.

The Peace not Blood caucus was young. Made up of a lot of young people who had come of age wanting peace but still shaped by an upbringing under Syndicalism.
Like Tobias, they'd lost family
Like Tobias, they'd grown up seeing war
Like Tobias, they'd seen Syndicalism ravage their country

Kjell was responsible to people who, like Tobias, felt that pain.

But now it fell on Tobias to be the person unshackled by it. That he very much wasn't made it hard.

But he was here. And he would do what he knew his Prime Minister couldn't.

This was more important than embargos, trade, or even ideology. It was about people, and Tobias knew how to reach people. So despite not being unshackled from his burdens, he would do what had to be done.

The sound of footsteps. Stopped. They were there. Tobias stood and the rest of the Prydanian delegation rose with him as the door opened. Laurids Hummel, Lord Marshal of the Knights of the Storm entered. His face had the same… complicated… expression on his face Tobias knew he had.

But Laurids was dedicated.

“Your Majesty, assembled government ministers… allow me to present President Daniil Sorokin of the People’s Republic of Rayvostoka and his delegation.”

Hummel led the Rayvostokan President, a large oak of a man, to his side of the conference table opposite of Tobias. And then Tobias… held up his hand to single that Hummel was to stop.

Tobias smiled softly and walked towards President Sorokin. There was a plate of bread in the middle of the table, and Tobias grabbed it. Bringing it to Daniil and stood before him. He wasn't a short guy, but Daniil had had some height on him.

Still, Tobias didn't show any intimidation. Truth was he wasn't. He'd been in far more stressful situations than this. He held up the plate of bread. Next to it on the plate was a pile of salt. He sprinkled the salt over the bread and placed the plate in Daniil’s hands. It was an old ceremony. So old it was central to Gothic and Szlavic cultures.

“President Sorokin, please accept this bread and salt,” he said in fluent but accented Mercanti, “and know that, in Prydania you have my hospitality.”

The bear of a man smiled, gladly taking the plate into one hand and using the other to sprinkle salt onto one of the loaves. Taking the bread into his hand, he placed the plate back onto the table and broke the bread before taking his piece and eating it.

“Thank you, your Majesty. My people and I humbly accept it.” He said, bowing his head only slightly.

“We too in Rayvostoka, have a tradition dating back to when we were under the power of Khastenia. In which, we show respect to our host by sharing a shot of liquor with them.”

Vera, with the prepared gift basket in her arms slowly approached the pair and placed the basket onto the table taking out a bottle of Muskian rum and two shot glasses. Quickly opening the bottle she nervously poured the two shots, her hands trembling slightly as she silently tried not to spill the clear alcohol. Letting out a quiet sigh of relief, Vera handed the glasses to the two leaders, quickly extricating herself from between the pair.

“Back home, when we toast to a guest it is customary to say “Za zdorov'ye!” wishing each other good health. However, my knowledge of your language is small, so how would you toast in your country?” Daniil still smiling his soft smile, tilted his head ever so slightly as he gently extended his shot glass towards the King’s.

“Ralt!” Tobias said, clinging his glass to Daniil’s, tossing it back. He put the glass down on the table and made his way back to his end of the table, giving a slight nod to Kjell and his team, as he undid the necktie that was part of his Field Marshal’s uniform. He just figured… well… it would be better to be a bit less formal. He removed the tie and undid the top two buttons of his shirt under his jacket. He tossed the tie on the table and sat down.

Sören Högh, the foreign minister, slipped a piece of paper to Kjell. The Prime Minister adjusted his glasses for a moment.

“Thank you for agreeing to join us. This small island is, well…it’s Prydania’s closest point to the oceans that separate Craviter from the Aurorias. I’m not a man to mince words, and I believe we should get to the heart of the matter. Our countries have been defined by two very different historical paths. This has, over the past few years, resulted in tensions. But I’m hopeful that we can reach a better understanding of each other.”

Tobias said nothing for a moment. The rum was sweet. Its taste lingered on his lips. It wasn’t like any liquor he’d ever had. And was, actually, a bit closer to what he always thought wine would taste before he tried it.

“My country’s recent history,” Tobias began, “is a story of brave men and women dying for a belief of what they wanted their home to be. We…I… cherish that a lot. So I need you to understand, I don’t have any desire to dictate to Rayvostoka how it should govern itself. Or what directions your reforms should take. Our liberty was hard fought… so we cherish others’. It just so happens that…ideology is involved.”

“I understand.” Daniil held the shot glass at his side, the burn soft and familiar. “You and your people have been through hell and back, so I can sympathize with your hesitancy when seeing the red flag. I’d say, however, that it is not the color of the flag that makes the country, but the country that makes the flag. I think you’d agree, seeing as your flag is red, like ours.” He cracked another one of his signature wide smiles.

“We too are—how do they say in Mercanti? Salt of Eras? Our people work hard for their lives and have been exploited for a long time; all they want now is peace.” His eyes were like those of a grandfather, friendly yet somehow intelligent and calculated behind their glimmer.

Tobias chuckled, and it drew some looks from Kjell and Sören. He didn’t really care though, he thought it was funny. The traditional Prydanian banner was a white barbed cross on a red field. While the royal family’s colours were always white, black, and green, Prydania’s national colours were always red and white- blood and ice. Red as the colour of the Syndicalist regime had made colour designations during the Civil War rather complicated. The Syndicalists may be gone, but Prydanian’s love for their historic red banner remained. It was a New Year’s Eve tradition, after all, to wear red and white. Needless to say, he appreciated Daniil’s joke.

He sipped a bit more of the rum.

“We’re here, and I think,” he said, “we should lay down our burdens. In the name of peace.”

Kjell listened as Tobias spoke, and he briefly glanced down at the paper Sören had passed him. Sören was, in addition to being the Minister of Foreign Affairs, in charge of wrangling the Alþingi caucus. The Peace not Blood and Conservative coalition had a comfortable majority, but a two party caucus meant that divisions were easier to come by. And if enough of the Peace not Blood folks balked at any talks… well it wouldn’t matter what was agreed to here. The paper that Kjell was glancing at was Sören’s latest headcount. He smiled ever so slightly. Ísgeir Aðaldal had been convinced to come along.

Ísgeir was the þingmaður for Kopanes og Bæjum in the province of Erkiengill. It was rural, and had suffered heavily under Syndicalist collectivization. He was from a farming family, and he’d spent his teens and young adulthood fighting in an insurgency behind Syndicalist lines. He was among Peace not Blood’s most passionate þingmenn when it came to taking a hard line on socialist regimes. He had even authored the bill to embargo Rayvostoka.

It wasn’t that Kjell didn’t understand. He did, it was why he’d supported the efforts in the first place and gotten that bill passed, but Ísgeir wasn’t a diplomat like his Prime Minister was. Kjell had spent the War working with foreign governments on the FRE’s behalf. He served as Prydania’s PGU ambassador and even led it as Chancellor for two terms. In his mind nothing was ever forever. Everything could be negotiated.

Rayvostoka was democratizing. Was it as fast as some people, himself included, would have liked? No. No it was not, but progress was progress. And the key point was that their collectivized farm system was being dismantled. He’d tried to sell it to Ísgeir as a win, hoping he’d see it that way and agree to potentially ending the embargo. He was happy to see Ísgeir had been receptive.

“I agree with His Majesty,” Kjell added.
“We’ve all carried our burdens long enough,” he added. “Let’s get to it. The Prydanian government is prepared to end the embargo, provided Rayvostoka can make certain assurances regarding Aurorian politics that Prydania has found itself dealing with on occasion.”

Apis looked over at Kjell. He was expecting that. As much as the Imperium didn’t want the embargo to end, its government realized that it couldn’t necessarily stop it. Still, he’d have much to say, because he was no fool. He knew what the Imperium was willing to set as its red line on this matter. Later though. He was a guest here, and he wouldn’t dishonour his country or station by interrupting this meeting.

“Right down to business, I like this man!” Daniil laughed, pointing a large index finger in Kjell’s direction. Getting closer to Kjell he shook the man’s hand and got to work.

“The People’s Republic of Rayvostoka is seeking to, as it comes under these new reforms, make up for the past actions of the previous regime. Having made some of the first steps as you know already, we have begun the process of full democratization under the Council Model with full opposition political participation. Something which the Premier has informed me will be completed within the year when she requests the dissolution of the National Assembly and the calling of new elections.” Years of government experience exuded from the man’s assessment, as Vera watched almost stunned at his quick yet clear delivery not needing to interject to clarify once.

“My Party, and the Premier’s government, have given me the green light to OK any necessary deals to address your government's concerns within reason. I know that your government is a Coalition, however, I do think that I’ll be able to…” He took a second, scanning his head for another Mercanti expression, his education in Mercanti was surprisingly adequate for a farmer’s son but there were some holes in his socialist education.

“-Clear the air. And come to a proper agreement.” Daniil’s demeanor was a shifting spectrum, from jovial to serious, and back were hallmarks from his time in government, the art of the introduction, the pitch. “What couldn’t be sold with practicality and a smile?” was an expression he’d heard from his former supervisor, one of the agricultural directors when he worked for the Ministry of Agriculture and Food while they were drafting the presentations for that year’s budget request. A valuable lesson no doubt, which only seemed to become more and more correct as time went on.

Tobias decided to speak. He’d committed himself to remaining silent, he knew what areas of diplomacy would best be served by his silence. He also knew, however, the bits he was adept at.

“The Prime Minister will have a lot to say, I’m sure…” he paused for a moment, feeling a bit flustered by an old memory. A memory that brought back the smell of gunpowder, and the sounds of artillery fire.

“When the Syndicalist Republic was about to fall I…” he paused again as he searched for words. It was one of those times where his mouth was racing faster than his mind.

“I finally, after fifteen years, laid claim to the throne of this country. A lot of people don’t know that. They think the FRE claimed the throne for me when I was a child. I guess maybe they did it informally… but that day, in the outskirts, of Býkonsviði, I looked into news cameras from all over the world, and I laid claim to the Prydanian throne. But… My uncle, the last King, had done a lot of terrible things. He was the reason I was there, because while I claimed the throne, I promised the people of this country, and the people of the world, I was not like him. That I would never be like him.”

Tobias studied the Rayvostokans. Had they seen that address? It was broadcast internationally. He knew that the refugee communities in Saintonge, Goyanes, and other places, had all seen it. Had the Rayvostokans? What did they feel? It didn’t matter ultimately, not if they were here.

“I guess what I’m trying to say, we all have past actions we feel we have to apologize for. I think I know how some of your government must feel.”

He stopped and breathed slowly, letting the tension leave his body. And Svane looked over, and then back at Daniil.

“The King’s right,” he said softly.
“My offer, it stands, and we are not interested in preying on Rayvostoka as a condition for it. My government’s concerns are simple. And direct. We will end the embargo. We will restore formal diplomatic relations, and sponsor Rayvostoka for full admittance back into the Luscova Pact. The only things we require are a commitment to democratization and…” he looked over at Apis, and then back at Daniil.

“...the recognition that while we do these things, and establish a mutually respectful relationship between our nations and people, Rayvostoka must recognize that this is not an endorsement of your side in the rivalry with the Imperium. Prydania considers the Imperium a friend and partner. I have made a career out of negotiation. If we can bridge the gap between your two nations, we are happy to help… but we will not take sides. We will trade with Rayvostoka… but we will continue to uphold our mutually beneficial trading relationship with the Imperium. And in all matters of dispute we will remain uncommitted to either side. Prydania does not want to involve itself in Aurorian conflicts. We hope these terms and conditions are acceptable to you and your government.”

Daniil looked over his shoulder and beamed at the shaken Apis, whom he could only assume was the Imperator’s errand boy. His goofy smile only slightly betrayed his giddy excitement over this arrangement, and the uncomfortable look on the Imperial’s face when he turned back to Svane.

“Our predecessors, both, paved the roads of our countries with the blood of innocent men and women, and we both seek to end the cycles of violence and despair. Rayvostokan’s now wish for peace and respite, and under this new government’s leadership, I will see to it that it’s granted. By whatever means necessary. So if we must put aside old grudges, we will, especially if that means we’ll gain new partners who seek to grow as we do. We would never seek to drag new friends into a disagreement that is not their own.” Daniil gestured offhandedly to Apis.

“I, however, cannot speak for his superiors. Who may take this arrangement much harder than us… Though I doubt it will be much of any trouble for us in the long term.” Daniil concluded, waiting to see if the “Imperial Bee” would finally try to sting him.

OOC note: Post co-written with @Greater Ale Permars