NationStates Jolt Archive

The daunting glass window on the highest floor of the Presidential Palace gave a magnificent view of the land below for miles, and President Thorsson surveyed his countryside to its horizon. The sky was a bleak canvas of ash grey, an atmosphere to be expected in the frigid climate of Nordwind. The hills were lined with lush green forests as far as the eye could see, before the horizon shot up in the form of mountains a great distance away. Winter was beginning to swing into full force in Nordwind, already capping the mountains in the distance with thick layers of snow, and giving the trees of the forest a light dusting of powdery white. Nordwind was abound in it's own arctic beauty, and to the eyes of a viking, nothing could be more pleasurable to the eye.

Sigurdur Thorsson paced about his vast headquarters, adjusting the brooch of his small shoulder cape that hung across his black military uniform, decorated with prestigious medals of merit and honor attained throughout enlistment. The crest of Nordwind, Odin's Triangle, was emblazoned upon his right sleeve, and was always kept visible and displayed proudly. The strong-willed President stroked his faint beard in anticipation, for he knew his guests were soon to arrive.

Thorsson's quiet reflection was disrupted by the opening of the grand wooden doors that led to his quarters. The figure of a tall, bulked individual, dressed in much the same attire as Thorsson himself with nearly as many medals hanging across his uniform, filled the space of the doorway. He entered the wide, massive chamber with a straight-backed, rhythmic walk, as if every aspect of his physique had been precisely toned and modified to utmost perfection. As he stepped into the light given off by the grand chandelier above, he revealed a stern, unflinching and chiseled face, with pure blonde hair that had also been cropped to perfection.

"Sir," the man gave a salute, staring Thorsson directly in the eyes. "Preparations have been fully made. Our guests will be arriving soon, and our best chefs are preparing fine delicacies for the conference table," He bellowed in a strong, disciplined voice, while giving a short gesture towards the long conference table that was placed on the other end of the room.

"Excellent, General Svensson," The President replied, smiling. "We will give our allies a warm welcome, indeed."

-bump-

"Eirik, we'll be in port in three hours. You should get dressed"
The bodyguard stood outside the Prince's cabin, careful not to anger him this early in the morning. She knew his short temper well, having served the house of Grím for six years. A slight rustling noise could be heard as Eirik got up. He had female company, but that was more of a rule than an exception.
"If I want a wake-up, I'll order one in advance, you fool. Now leave and have the hall prepared. I'll have breakfast in thirty minutes with the Warmaster"
An obedient servant, she turned and hurried off.

"You should get going as well," Eirik told the woman. She had been awake for some time already and was putting her shoes on. With a smile, the Prince turned to her. "Excited about seeing your homeland, Frei?"
"No, my lord, it's not my home anymore"
Eirik's smile was gone.
"Loyalty is not a gift, Frei. It's a fool's sacrifice. Don't call me your lord ever again. In a week or so, I'll have already forgotten about you. You'll do yourself a favour by doing likewise"
Frei stood up calmly and left the cabin. He didn't bother to look close enough to see that she was crying.

--

The breakfast table could easily seat an entire extended family, but the only ones occupying it were the Warmaster Yaroslav Orm and the Prince himself. Eirik had a wonderful talent for creating a tense atmosphere with the slightest amount of expression. Orm could feel its weight like the oppressive heat before a summer storm. After the servants had left, there was a brief silence before Eirik erupted in fury.
"I heard the report on that riot last night, you filthy Slav!"
Orm was about to report on the violent suppression of a political demonstration after lunch, but the Prince had his personal informants who worked faster than conventional intelligence.
"We are in a very delicate position. I'm about to attend an international summit, and you decide to machine-gun a hundred civilians on the previous night? If my uncle didn't owe you a favour, I'd have you courtmartialed"
The Warmaster stood up and lowered his head.
"Eirik, what my troops did was necessary to protect your estates. The crowd was angered by your address last week and it..."
The Prince drew his longsword and pointed the tip at Yaroslav's throat, as if to cut his sentence short.
"How dare you? Do you suggest that it wasn't your incompetence but my thoughtlessness that caused this fiasco? Get out, Orm, or you won't reach Nordwind alive!"
The Warmaster backed away, turned on his heels and ran for the hall.

Eirik had lost his appetite and let his gaze wander over the forbidding sea. The sun was rising somewhere beyond the blue-gray cloud cover. Ice and snow rained down almost horizontally against the wall-sized window.
"I can thank my father for passing on his many talents to me...
but sadly, luck wasn't among them"