Obeisance

Prologue

Honour and shame can be simplified as two sides of the same coin. Power, on the other hand, is more of an excessively multifaceted die. When the frigid tensions between Norway and Denmark finally spark into something more tangible, an idea is born. An idea to maintain power, embellish legitimacy, rejuvenate purpose.

It is no secret that monarchy has been losing its grip over time, bit by bit throughout millenia, arguably accelerated in the recent centuries. A few have even been completely abolished, replaced by the parliaments that were meant to have supplemented it. Some are in the process, whether or not they know it, of ever so slowly transitioning into that puppet-like ceremonial role, meant to entertain and enthral outsiders and children alike.

The Crown Prince of Norway prefers to believe he is aware of the possibilities. What follows wariness could be solutions, after all.

When war unfolds, it is something to behold. Conflicts between two developed countries in the modern world are not out of place. When it sparks into full-fledged combat, however, and within the Western World, that is when it seems implausible. Especially when living under the delusion that humanity has evolved enough to rely solely on diplomacy.

He writes such thoughts to his counterpart and cousin, heir to the Danish throne. Letters he does not send. There is no such thing as privacy in this position, after all, even more so in war. The Crown Prince of Norway waits, stews in his thoughts as he watches the death toll rise.

"We must speak in private," He murmurs through the telephone in his office at three in the morning. "Call it an attempt at diplomacy. T'is your favourite word, is it not?"

The eventual arrival is televised until they are behind closed doors.

"Leave us," orders the Crown Prince of Norway.

The staff trade uncertain looks, but the sharpness of his gaze is superior.

Finally alone, he hands the Danish prince a book before settling in his seat to stare out the window in wait.

"You asked for me amidst this raging war to give me secret letters in between this book?"

"It is a proposal."

"I pity your wife. To suffer such bland common theatrics–" What jovial nature exists there fades fast as he continues to read. Silence reigns for a long time. "...No."

"No?"

"Has this been brought up with your council? The king?" He demands.

"Be it approved or disdained, it shall come to pass."

"Then I thank the stars that thy will bears no weight."

The Crown Prince of Norway huffs. "There is no need to speak in such outdated prose."

"Since you speak matters of state, Cousin, perhaps this proposal warrants such onerous work of tongue."

"Whatever fear it strikes in you is nothing when weighed against the future of our sovereign realms."

"Have you no fear that your son be left fatherless?" The Danish prince prompts, his jaw clenching as it dawns on him. "Or is it that you simply have not considered the possibility of losing to me?"

He averts his gaze. "What is the purpose of an heir? Would you wish to raise your descendants towards the circus on which we are on the path of? What is our purpose, Ørvendil?" He seeks to meet his eyes, and finds the need to be cruel. "Perhaps you could not understand–Childless as you are."

Despite it all, the Dane could always see through him, manage to put aside hurt and offence in order to shame him by being the better man. "I do not have to stand for this."

"Since when do you stand for anything tangible? We can end this war–"

"You wish to exercise influence and legitimise what remains of our power? You wish to save lives? Go forth, proceed to influence those in charge to relinquish the root of this discord–"

"The oil rigs remain operational. They are within our territory–"

"Our shared borders of maritime dominions. Areas of access which were granted to you, by us, the Danish realm, through ancient charters," He lectures with steel.

The Crown Prince of Norway waves a hand, scoffing, "As if you do not wish to take control of the ones in the Norwegian Sea if you could-–"

"Your government signed an agreement. Even in the unlikely chance we had control, they would not be destroyed, I swear to you. There are simply better alternatives we must prioritise for the sake of–-"

"Our economy is not primed for that transition for the next two decades at the very least. If the people wish to hold on to-–"

"The people? There is no space here for obfuscations. The entities that whisper sweet nothings in your ears-–"

"The corporations fuel this economy, this nation," seethes the Norwegian prince, pounding a fist to his desk and rising from his seat. "You wish to destroy it all for your moral high ground as if it is any different, the special interests surrounding this promising future your people claim is worthy of suffering and sacrifice–-"

"You wish to end my life by duel to keep it all as it is?" There doesn't seem to be any answer to that beyond the aversion of a gaze. "Our people are family. We have had peace for centuries. The first blood spilled here was ours, we did not start this war," He reminds him, drained.

"We have had problems long before that. Our peace was not without betrayals behind closed doors."

"You wish for a duel?" The Danish prince prompts with a haunting severity. "No modern civilization would allow for such a thing to unfold, no modern civilization would allow for such barbarism, much less find it binding and worthy of legitimacy."

"Every civilization before us had deluded themselves into thinking the same. Never forget that."

"...Even Rome had to fall and give way to us, Cousin," He tries, the lopsided smile dying on his mouth.

The Crown Prince of Norway shakes his head. "Such sentimentality is why your lineage is destined to cease long before mine."

>

The strongest remains of the monarchy thus far in the Western World are the British, the Scots, the Swedes, the Spaniards, and the Dutch. When the Crown Prince of Norway publicly issues the challenge, the kingdom ascends the ranks in terms of public interest worldwide. Initially, it includes ridicule as well for such an outlandish implausible concept in this modern backdrop.

With each fervent cry for martyrdom, there is an inevitability that brands the Crown Prince of Denmark a selfish coward. After all, what other label is there for a man who has lived his entire life in considerable extravagance through levies of the public, and evades the honourable responsibility to serve and embrace the necessary sacrifice when the time calls for it?

Day by day, people on both sides gradually succumb to the same conviction; The people inconvenienced by this war they insist they have no stake in, the grieving families of fallen soldiers, and even more so the families that have yet to feel such loss. It is only natural, amongst the mess and confusion, amongst the damage and casualties that grow, for such an outlandish implausible concept to appeal, ever so slowly, beyond entertainment and curiosity.

Appeal until it is perceived to be necessary, a rotten wound of a notion that festers throughout.

After all, why must they be the one to suffer, time and time again?

There might as well be an opportunity to put monarchy to good use in the modern world. Why must they bask in luxury derived from the toil of the people, devoid of a tangible purpose? It is more bearable and compelling to think of them as pigs for slaughter.

All of these sentiments, the Crown Prince of Norway had foreseen, if not relied upon. With it, he was willing to be a sacrifice, to stain his soul and drench his hands with the blood of someone cherished. What he seriously failed to consider, of course, was that he would be defeated by the Crown Prince of Denmark.