NationStates Jolt Archive

Presidential Mansion
Hudson
1200 Hours

Aaron Preston sat at his desk, reading the news from around the world from the comfort of his computer. Lately, things had been quiet, but this was by no means an indicator of any relative peace. Kreigaian fleets had recently gotten into a spat with Hogsweat, the Freeks were at war with TPF, and Prestonia was losing more civilian shipping daily at Hogsweatian hands. All this was proof that while the world may appear calm, it was never totally at peace.

The recent events had set Preston thinking about his nation's place in the world, and it's future. Prestonia was for the most part a neutral nation. Having few allies outside of the near-extinct UFAN was both a blessing and a curse; while lack of entangling alliances prevented one's nation from being dragooned into world wars, it also gave one limited protection in a world filled with imperialists to whom unaligned nations were like meat in a den of lions.

This was the reason Preston now sat at his computer, typing a letter to the foreign relations department of the not so faraway land of Cotland. The Cots had much in common with the old Prestonian Imperium of centuries past; a benevolent but absolute monarch ruling the nation. Cotland, as far as could be seen, stood for basic human rights and freedoms, and had few if any objectionable alliances. It was therefore seen by Preston as a nation with which contact, and possible alliance, would be beneficial. As he finished his letter, he read it to himself before sending it to the appropriate officials in Cotland.

To: Whom it may concern within the Royal Cottish Government
From: President Aaron H. Preston, Republic of Prestonia

While you may not have heard of Prestonia, we have heard of your nation. Having studied Cottish principles and culture, I and the members of my cabinet believe that Prestonia and Cotland share much in common. I personally believe that much could be gained from an exchange of embassies and an eventual alliance between our great nations. To that end, I request a weekend of His Majesty King Haakon VIII's time to discuss the formation of diplomatic relations with his nation. If His Majesty is unavailable I will gladly speak to another government official. However, regretfully I am not fluent in the Cottish language and thus any official should preferably speak English, Spanish or Pacitalian, the languages which I am fluent in. If this is not possible, I will have an interpreter accompany me.

With Sincerest Regards,
Aaron H. Preston
President, Republic of Prestonia.

The Royal Ministry for Affairs Beyond the Borders of the Realm
Downtown Eeobroht, Cotland

In the Royal Ministry for Affairs Beyond the Borders of the Realm, or Foreign Ministry for short, building in downtown Eeobroht, the capital city of the Realm of Cotland, it was a relatively slow day. Most of the work concerning the establishment of the Bruxellan embassy in Cotland and the Cottish embassy in Bruxella had been concluded, the conclusion of the Rosdivan official visit to Cotland, and little else happening on the diplomatic front. Therefore, the message from the Prestonians was picked up quickly, and after a short diplomatic fight (read: discussion) about who would get to draft up the reply and forward it to the Foreign Minister, the winner - a senior diplomat who had been passed over for foreign service nine years in a row - took the message from the intern who had first detected it and walked victoriously down the corridor and over to the elevator which took him to the twenty-fifth floor of the Foreign Ministry. There, he walked defiantly past the long two hundred meter "intimidation walk" that the Cots loved to have foreign visitors walk down to impress them with the grandeur and glory of the Realm, oping instead to take the quicker route down a more discreet staff corridor which took him to the spectacular reception room that connected the "intimidation walk" and the Foreign Minister's office.

The reception room's walls were made up of polished red marble, with a polished black marble floor and pillars. If the visitors had to wait for the Foreign Minister, the comfortable black leather chairs near the large window that looked down upon Eeobroth's largest green lung, Taluas Park. If that view wasn't interesting enough for the visitors, the beautiful secretary sitting behind the intricately carved polished oak desk offered a viable alternative. It was this secretary the senior diplomat walked up to with a charming smile.

"Good afternoon," He said. "Is the Minister in?"

The secretary looked the senior diplomat over before replying, her tone clearly indicating that she wasn't impressed with the man. "Yes, but he's busy. Is there anything I can help you with?"

"A message from the Prestonian president came in a few moments ago. I thought maybe the Minister wanted to have a look at it."

"I see. Do you have the message?"

"Yes, right here." The senior diplomat said, holding up the piece of paper.

"Leave it here. I'll give it to the Minister when he's got a moment."

"But..."

"It's either that or he don't get it at all. It's up to you."

Defeated, the senior diplomat gave the secretary the piece of paper before leaving again, somewhat deflated. He had hoped to actually get some face time with the Minister, and maybe even ask him if he could finally get some foreign service, but alas, the secretary had defeated him. As he left, he thought that it had to have been those pretty green eyes that made him budge. He was a sucker for those eyes...

The secretary waited until the senior diplomat had left before she picked up the phone and pressed a button. A few seconds later, she spoke, "Sir, there's a message for you from President Preston of Prestonia. Yes sir, it just came in. Yes sir."

Hanging up, she rose from her comfortable chair and smoothed out the wrinkles of her tight short skirt and silk blouse before walking the few steps it was over to the large polished oak double doors that seperated the reception room and the Foreign Minister's office.

Entering the large office, she walked over to the large desk where Foreign Minister Freiholt sat, Apparently, the Minister had been reading something when she had interrupted. With a smile, the secretary handed the piece of paper to the Minister.

"The message from President Preston sir. Will you be needing anything else from me?" The secretary asked, genuine will to please shining through in her soft voice.

"No thank you Vigdis," Minister Freiholt said, rewarding the young secretary - Freiholt was twice as old as the twenty-three year old woman - with a fatherly smile. He had come to think of his secretary as a daughter since she started working for him three years ago when he was still the Chief of Staff for the embassy in Doomingsland.

Vigdis returned the smile before leaving the office as silently as she had entered, returning to her desk.

As the doors closed again, Freiholt read the short message. It seemed the Prestonians... no, the Prestonian President actually, wanted a sit-down with His Majesty, over a weekend no less! Looking over the Prestonian hopes of the outcome of the meeting, Freiholt saw the reason why they wanted to speak directly with His Majesty. Who better to make agreements with than the person calling the shots?

After reading it over one more time, Freiholt picked up the phone sitting on his desk.

"Vigdis, could you call the Palace and see if His Majesty is available for a talk? It's important."

*****

The next day, a reply was sent out from the Foreign Ministry.

Official Communiqué

To: President Aaron H. Preston, Republic of Prestonia
From: Rt.Hon. Yngve Freiholt, Minister for Affairs Beyond the Borders of the Realm, the Realm of Cotland
Subject: Re: State Visit

Dear sir,

After consulting with His Majesty King Haakon, I am happy to inform you that on the behalf of His Majesty, I hereby extend an invitation to you to come to Cotland this coming weekend if that is acceptable with you. His Majesty was pleased to hear your kind words, and He shares your optimistic hopes for the future relationship between the Realm and Prestonia.

His Majesty has planned to spend the weekend in the Palace on the Coast relaxing, but in His Majesty's desire to foster a good relationship with Prestonia, His Majesty decided to postpone his holiday and asked me to invite you to Cotland this weekend.

Therefore, His Majesty bid you welcome to Cotland as His Personal Guest, and invite you to join Him in the Palace on the Coast this weekend. Your flight will be cleared to land at Østgard Strategic Aerodrome, where additional transport to the Palace will await you.

Both His Majesty the King, His Majesty's Council and indeed the whole of Cotland look forward to a friendly and prosperous weekend, which will hopefully pave the way for a whole new era in Cottish-Prestonian relations.

[signed]
Rt.Hon. Yngve Freiholt
Minister for Affairs Beyond the Borders of the Realm
The Realm of Cotland

[OOC: Go ahead and have your plane land at the airbase. If he looks out the windows as they land, Preston'll see a lot of Blackadder bombers and various transport and fighter aircraft parked peacefully at the tarmac, and a welcoming committee will be there to receive him headed by Freiholt.]

Skies overØstgard Strategic Aerodrome
0900 Hours Local Time

"Mr. President. Mr. President! We'll be landing in thirty minutes, you should probably wake up." A junior officer of the Prestonian Republic Air Force had been tasked with waking the sleeping President, having drawn the short straw of the staff aboard the plane. "Huh, what? Yes Secretary Collins, I'll sign the bill immediately," Preston mumbled as he rose from his deep sleep. "Mr. President?," the officer inquired curiously. "Oh, I must have been dreaming. Lieutenant Jefferson, check to be sure my breakfast is ready. I would rather not keep the good King waiting while I find the nearest diner," Preston said, coming to. "Yes sir," the airman replied with a salute.

Upon de-reclining his chair, Preston spotted none other than his Chief Counsel coming from the cockpit of the plane with an interpreter in tow. "Oh good, you're up," Chief Counsel Gannon said as Preston straightened out his tie. "I wanted to introduce you to your interpreter. I know you've been learning a bit of Cottish but just in case King Haakon doesn't speak much English, you have Carl Svenson of the Presto-Cottish Society here to help you out. Mr. Svenson speaks fluent Cottish as well as English, so if need be he'll facilitate communication between you and the King." Preston nodded an affirmative, then swiveled his chair around as he saw a tray bringing a breakfast fit for a King, or in his case a President. The silver cart held what he was told were traditional Cottish breakfast foods; pancakes, smoked salmon, eggs, and what appeared to be several types of sausage. Having not eaten for twelve hours (the time the flight took) Preston was starved, and began eating as soon as the tray had been deposited before him. After a few bites, it came to him to open the window next to him, whereupon he saw a truly amazing sight. The airbase his plane had been directed to was filled with several aircraft, the rough equivalent of two Prestonian bases. Blackadder bombers, a Questarian product in use with air forces the world over, sat wingtip to wingtip for nearly the entire length of the tarmac. Further down the tarmac, several large transport planes sat in their hangars, with several trucks moving about.

As Preston finished the last bites of his breakfast, his plane landed and he got up, preparing to walk out and be greeted. Adjusting his tie, he briefly thought about what the Cots would think of him. He did not look like your average head of state; at 5'10" he was built like an athlete due to his daily exercise regimen that had stayed with him since leaving the military. He indulged in all forms of extreme sports, and even climbed Mt. Prestonia a few months prior, becoming the first 50 year old to do so. All told, for a fifty year old man he looked better than most men of 35, and was as built as most of his bodyguards. All these thoughts faded from his mind, however, as he stepped out from his plane, becoming the first head of state from his nation to visit Cotland. "One small step," he said to himself as he waved to the crowd of military personnel.

Østgard Strategic Aerodrome

The opening of the door to the Prestonian presidential aircraft was the cue for the commander of the honor guard – a company-sized formation of airmen dressed in the light blue Class A uniforms – to call out loudly to the honor guard to present their bayonet-equipped DR-83Ms in honor of the foreign head of state while the base’s band played up the tunes of the Prestonian national anthem, which they had learned over the past three days when it became clear that president Preston was coming to Cotland.

At the base of the flight stairs, Foreign Minister Freiholt stood along with the base commander, a Major General in the Royal Cottish Air Force, and a few other officials. Freiholt was dressed in a tailor-made suit with a silk tie and spotless hand-made leather shoes, looking like a million dollars, while the General was dressed in the Class A uniform of the Air Force.

Freiholt bowed his head slightly as he offered his hand – a traditional Cottish greeting – in greeting the Prestonian President after the Prestonian national anthem had been played.

“President Preston, I am the Minister for Affairs Beyond the Borders of the Realm, Yngve Freiholt. On the behalf of His Majesty King Haakon the Eighth, I humbly welcome you to the Realm of Cotland. Please forgive the rush sir, but His Majesty is eagerly awaiting your arrival in the Palace. If you’d follow me sir, His Majesty has made available his personal helicopter as your transport to the Palace. It's just a fifteen minute flight.”

Minister Freiholt motioned over to a large white Merlin helicopter standing on the tarmac about seventy meters away, with a red carpet leading all the way past the honor guard and over to the helicopter. Behind it, a group of curious airmen and pilots had gathered to watch, standing outside the protective ring of Military Police soldiers that surrounded the landing area and made sure the Prestonian president was safe.

"Well, these guys sure know how to greet a world leader," Preston said to himself as he walked toward the waiting minister. "Aaron Preston, thirty-first president of the Prestonian Republic," he said as he shook the minister's hand. "I can't begin to describe how relieved I am that you speak English. My Cottish is regrettably limited."

"I suppose we shouldn't keep His Majesty waiting," Preston said, stepping into the helicopter. The ride was short and enjoyable, allowing Preston to gaze out at the natural beauty of Cotland. "I must say Minister Freiholt, your nation is quite beautiful. I regret not coming here sooner in my Presidency." Preston said little else as he rode to the palace, preferring to take in the view from King Haakon's private helicopter.

OOC: Bit rushed because of the timer on the library computer. Could you have your Minister tell Preston about the King/History of Cotland in your next post?

VH-14C Merlin, Registry XX-23165

The Merlin helicopter was an especially modified version of the baseline HH-14 Merlin helicopter (which in turn was a modification of the excellent EH-101 Merlin helicopter fitted with Cottish engines, avionics and some other nifty features), where the already spacious passenger cabin had been sound-proofed and air conditioned, and fitted with eight slim but very comfortable leather seats worthy of belonging in the first-class cabin of a passenger aircraft, with a small door separating the passenger cabin from the glass cockpit where the two helicopter pilots operated the Merlin from. There were only a few seats in the Merlin, meaning that Preston could only bring along two persons from his entourage. The rest would be transported to the Palace by cars.

After the crew chief, who doubled as a steward, had ensured that the passengers had fastened their seatbelts and explained the procedures the passengers had to perform in the unlikely event of an emergency landing, the pilots began preparing the helicopter for departure. The main rotor started gaining momentum, the jet engines powered up, and before long the electronics told the pilots that the helicopter was ready to take to the skies.

Minister Freiholt had chosen the seat next to Preston, and waited for the helicopter to climb to the required 200 meters before it could begin moving off from the Aerodrome before he spoke. One of the jobs of being Foreign Minister was to act as a glorified tourist guide for foreign ministers and heads of state. Not that Freiholt minded, it was a good difference from pushing papers in the office, so with enthusiasm, he started guiding.

“If you’ll take a look out your window now sir, you’ll see the city of Østgard’s coastline. It’s one of our larger cities, with a population of thirty million, and is the capital of the Southeastern Region. It’s also a favored holiday destination for many people, Cots and foreigners alike, for their holiday due to its long and sandy beaches and good climate. Perhaps Prestonian tourists will enjoy that beach you see right below us in the foreseeable future?”

Freiholt waited to let Preston take in the view of a three kilometre long and wide pristine beach, with waves gently breaking on the sand. It was early Saturday morning and most people were at home sleeping or at work, but several early birds were already present on the beach, taking in the warm sun and ditto water. It was relatively cold for Cotland, with the air temperature at ground level at a mere 22° C, and the sea not much over 16° C, but the Cots were a tough people.

“I thought I’d tell you a little about the Realm and its history sir, if you don’t mind.”

Preston didn’t.

“The Realm of Cotland was founded in the year 957 after the birth of our Savoir Jesus Christ, by King Harald the First, who landed here with his men after a long and hazardous journey at sea. They were out exploring the world, searching for new land after our original fatherland, Suøji, had been destroyed by a savage civil war and the survivors decided to set of in the search for a new homeland. Well, they found it here, and the new land was named Ceutjelandji, after King Harald’s fabled longboat Ceutji Lange which was the ship that made the first landing here. Over the millennium that’s passed, the Cottish language has evolved and so has the name, to present-day Cotland.

“The original Cots settled this land and prospered. They quickly multiplied in numbers and colonised the land, spreading out in all directions, and in the year 1260 when the first Christian monks arrived and found a country that still worshiped the ancient Norse gods of Suøji. Well, they started missionary work and eventually managed to convert us to the Christian beliefs. At first that was Catholisism – Roman-Catholic, not Doomani-Catholic – but in 1540 the reformation reached us and after a civil war between the Catholics, therein the old aristocracy and royalty, and the Protestant converts, we joined the Protestant direction of Christianity. King Sverre III and the aristocracy was executed by the protestants along with any Catholic that refused to convert, and the protestant king Olav II – the brother of the executed king – was installed on the throne in his stead. Olav II and those Kings that followed him were for the most part powerless, as the newly formed Parliament were the true rulers. The historians believe that the only reason they installed a new King was because the Cottish people wouldn’t tolerate the removal of the King. You see, we Cots are very fond and loyal of our King. It’s part of our nature, to have a King to follow. This has been true since Harald I landed upon Ceutjelandji.”

Freiholt paused to let that piece of information, which was extremely important for anyone who wanted to try to understand the Cottish, sink in before he continued. Beneath the helicopter, which streaked over the countryside at 145 knots, lush fields and small forests, with a few houses, a double-tracked railway line and in the distance a six-lane highway lay.

“After we became Protestants, the Parliament decided that we should start playing a bigger role in the world outside Cotland. They had us participate in many wars and conflicts. We won some, and we lost some. The many conflicts and wars were hard years for Cotland though, with the people being burdened with more and more taxes in order to finance the megalomaniacs in Parliament. It is not without reason that these years are known in Cotland as the Dark Years. Fortunately, that policy of intervention ended after the World War a century and a quarter ago*, due to internal troubles. A lot of reforms and a second civil war between the Parliament, who had turned communists after learning about the teachings of the Bolshevik Marx and decided to try to remove the King, and loyal royalists broke out. It lasted for two years, with the royalists winning and the Parliament being dismissed indefinitely and the King getting his powers back. The teachings of socialism and communism were naturally outlawed in Cotland and being a socialist or communist was made punishable by death. King Haakon VII, the King at the time wisely decided that Cotland should concentrate on itself for the time being and heal the wounds that had been created, and started a period of isolationism that would last up until recently. A number of reforms were carried out in that time, and the whole country was modernised.

“Then, nine years ago, His Majesty King Olav VI died, God rest His Soul, and his son, His Majesty King Haakon VIII was crowned in the Royal Cathedral in Håkonstad and made King of Cotland by the Grace of God. His Majesty continued the series of reforms that His predecessors had started and continued. His Majesty is a very patient and generous man. He listens to the wishes and desires of His People, and He often grant them. One of these wishes from a majority of the people was the return of the Parliament, where they could participate in the running of their country. In His infinite wisdom, His Majesty granted the people this wish and allowed Parliament to assemble after free and open elections had been held. While Parliament don’t have anywhere near the amount of powers it had during the Dark Years, it still holds some powers related to the day-to-day running of the Realm, though mostly limited to administrative purposes. The real power remains in His Majesty’s hands, as it should.”

Freiholt paused again. It was a lot of information for Preston to take in, and this was just the quick summary. The in-depth history of Cotland was worthy of a Master of Arts or even a PhD degree at Universities and other institutions of higher learning (and it was).

Just then, the pilot’s voice came over the speakers, speaking in Cottish.

“Cabin crew, prepare for landing. ETA 1 minute.”

The crew chief got up from his seat and started checking something while Freiholt translated.

“The pilot says that we’re landing in a minute. If you look out your window, you should see the Palace. When we disembark, His Majesty will probably be there to greet you himself. When you meet Him, it is custom to bow deeply in respect for His Majesty and not to speak before He speaks first.”

Though Minister Freiholt was quickly laying down the Cottish custom for meeting the King, it didn’t mean that Preston as a foreign head of state would have to actually do it (though his underlings were expected to, as they didn’t have the excuse Preston had). The Cottish were a humble but very proud people, and showing their King due respect would be looked favourably upon by the Cottish, and could be the little thing that could decide the outcome of for instance negotiations.

Freiholt waited for Preston to reply.


* = The Victorian War RP that’s being planned.

Preston took in this information with a keen interest, for he had always enjoyed world history. When the minister had finished, Preston began reciting a brief history of his own land. "The first recorded history of Prestonia began in the year 63 before the birth of Christ, when the Roman explorer and general Marcus Erestornius landed with his seven legions of soldiers. The land was according named Erestornii in his honor, which in time evolved to Prestonia. For many years the land was a loyal Roman province, but in 463 AD with the Roman Empire falling to pieces, Prestonia seceded from the Empire and became the Prestonian Imperium, under Emperor Peter I." Preston paused to let this information sink in.

"Anyhow, we were an empire for several years, until the Troubled Times, as they're known . Between 1710 and 1745, a series of weak rulers reigned, and lost several wars and a significant portion of the Empire. In 1745 the people had finally had enough. In the Prestonian Civil War Emperor Charles IV was sent into exile, and a republic set up. Ten years later when the fires of revolution had subsided, Charles was allowed back into the country. Were it not for this, I would likely not be speaking to you now. You see, the Prestons ruled this land as Emperors, and even today are well-respected within the nation. In short, I'm descended from nobility." Preston paused again, deliberating how to broach current events within Prestonia. When he had decided, he pressed on.

"In 2000, I came onto the political scene when I was elected to my first term. I chose not to run for a second in 2005, and shortly thereafter my son Steven got it in his head that he'd usurp the Republic and become Emperor himself. Well, he did a decent job, at first. Then the power got to his head and he nearly faced another civil war before I convinced him to abdicate honorably. After the Republic was restored, I was asked to serve as President by the Senate, which I accepted wholeheartedly."

As the helicopter landed, Preston saw a man, around his own age, surrounded by an entourage. Supposing this to be King Haakon, he exited and walked toward the king until he was about five paces away. There, he dropped to one knee, head bowed in reverence for the King. He had intended to do this, knowing full well the value of good first impressions. Cohenia had taught him that much.

The man stared at Preston as he bowed to him, completely confused at what was happening. Looking around, he saw that the rest of the people there were confused too. After a moment of trying to figure out what to do, the man said, his voice shaking somewhat, "His, eh, His Majesty sent me to drive you to the Palace sir."

The man wasn't His Majesty the King of Cotland, but a driver whose LY83 Fox utility truck stood waiting just below the helicopter pad, ready for the 900 meter drive over to the massive towered 17th Century palace that sat idylically at the coast, a mere hundred meters from the sea.

The driver swallowed nervously as he waited for Preston to get up. Behind Preston's back, the helicopter crew had seen what had transpired and were laughing their backsides off, out of view of Preston. Even Minister Freiholt was struggling to restrain the grin.

Preston realized too late that he'd been mistaken. After the chuckling began, he rose and tried to hide his chagrin. "Oh well, I've made worse mistakes," Preston said to himself while brushing himself off. Indeed he had, at his last visit with the Cohenians. It was, he thought, a relief that his faux pas was only a minor one.

"You bear a striking resemblance to His Majesty," Preston said with a chuckle as he stepped into the car.

The driver went all red in his face.

"Thank you, sir..." He managed to stutter out, thinking to himself that it had to be the beard-style, as he looked very different from the King apart from that, as he escorted Preston to the waiting vehicle and subsequently drove the Prestonian President from the concrete helicopter pad, through a small patch of forest and through a set of black cast-iron gates guarded by two camouflage-clad soldiers carrying AVIR assault rifles and berets, letting the vehicle pass without inspection. Inside the castle gates, the Fox vehicle drove up a pittoresque red-gravelled road, with lush green fields on both sides of the road, which led up to the massive 17th century Palace's main entrance.

The main entrance was placed behind a large fountain with flowing water, with a set of marble stairs leading the way up to the two massive wooden doors, which were flanked by two equally massive and impressive marble pillars, which went impressingly well with the facade of the Palace. Up at the doors, two servants opened the doors for Preston with a deep respectful bow and revealed an impressive lobby, with not one but two grand staircases leading up to the second floor as well as delicate decorations and paintings decorating the lobby.

Preston wasn't led up the stairs though, but rather through the large glass-embedded doors into an equally impressive wide corridor which branched off into several different directions. Everywhere Preston looked, there was an impressive (and expensive) painting on the warll or a decoration or ornament standing on a black marble pillar.

After a quick walk, Preston would find himself facing two scary-looking men, dressed in suits with the jacket unbottoned, who sized him up before deciding that he could pass. The men, bodyguards of some sort - there were two hundred bodyguards and security soldiers on the Palace grounds themselves, and an additional three thousand were garrisoned a mere three kilometers away - stepped aside and allowed Preston to pass through the oak door, although they kept a close eye on him as he passed.

Inside the room, which was a large library with thousands of books neatly arranged in heavy dark wood bookshelves, a fireplace in the corner, a leather sitting group with a coffee table, and large windows showing an impressive view of the back garden, which consisted of a large grass field to the right and a small park on the left side of the small gravel road, which seemed to be leading to a small sandy beach a hundred meters or so down, flanked by steep rocky cliffs, with a spectacular view of the sea.

Upon hearing the door open and someone enter, a slender man in his mid-thirties dressed in a red merino-wool sweater over a sky blue silk shirt with neatly pressed dark striped pants and brown handmade leather shoes closed the book he had been browsing and rose from his seat in the sitting group to face his guests. The man's short-cut hair and black beard were neatly trimmed and groomed, and his teeth white as snow.

Haakon the Eight, by the Grace of God King of Cotland, Supreme Warlord of the Forces, Protector of the Weak, Defender of the Faith, Master of the Seas and a thousand other impressive titles collected over the past millenium smiled as the Prestonian President entered the library.

"Your Majesty, may I present President Aaron H. Preston of the Republic of Prestonia." Minister Freiholt said in formal Cottish, bowing deeply for his King.