Bertil laid back in his chair, lazily. If this was a tense situation, upon which the very future of the Kingdom depended, he did not seem to burden the significance. Kings came and went as far as he saw it, whether by age, the sword, or in Beron's case, madness. Though recently a Jarl, and a member of the country's highest nobility, Bertil was ever a business man. Henrik Havarr was a solid option; he had the years and the experience to lead as King. However, from what Bertil had gathered of the man over the last decade, he did not know him as what one would call 'strong'. Always grovelling to the King's every whim, Henrik laboured tirelessly to his superior's benefit. Now without someone above his station, would the old man know how to approach those below his? 

Looking around the room at the other Jarls, Bertil sensed that perhaps Henrik, despite his possible flaws, would be the best choice. A gambling man, he was sure that the others would rally to him. What mattered most, was that Norsia had a head, before weakness came to make victims of them all. 

Stroking his neatly trimmed goatee, and leaning forwards as if waking from sleep, he cast in his lot. "Henrik is an honourable man, and a noble warrior of great renown. Though I am new here, when compared with some of your ancient and legendary blood, I believe he is the right man to lead us." Leaning back into his chair, he raised a pewter goblet to Henrik and bowed his head.