Bertil Reenburg was attired in the finest silks of the very country the Moot's Elven guest hailed from. He was a rainbow of colours, and his fine leather boots only added to the grandeur of his wardrobe. Drinking from a silver goblet of Galadrian wine, the wily Merchant-Jarl of Escgor stroked at his goatee with ringed fingers. He was displeased to have been recalled so quickly to the country's needs, as the Merchant Council was in dire need of his guidance back at Highhammer. The black ships had driven down the confidence of investors, and Bertil's incompetent Arls were haemorrhaging gold like it was blood from a stuck pig. Such was the price, he figured, for allowing men of commerce to oversee matters of steel. 

Standing from his chair, and swaying slightly with wine, Bertil bowed courteously to King Henrick, and then gave Jarless Eyildr an unusually warm smile. Placing his goblet upon the small table aside his seat, Bertil clasped his hands and rubbed them together. 

Looking at Ortygg, Bertil shook his head. "Raids and plunder; unless you wish for us live this way a thousand years from now, Master Ortygg, I would ask you to question what of the greater good will come from constant barbarianism. The world is leaving us behind, I have said it a dozen times, and I will say it again. Longships and axes will only take us so far before we awake a sleeping monster our half-hearted adventures will be ill-equipped to guard against."

Turning from Ortygg, Bertil glanced over each of the assembled Jarls, before his eyes finally fell upon Eylidr. "Why choose one friend over another, my dear Jarless, as wise as you are," began Bertil. His words verged on slurs, but he fought back against the sweetness of the Elfkin wine with a mind of hardened rock. "We, the Norsians, should refrain from favouring one person over another... now, now, hear me out before you all start glaring at me," he said, chuckling. 

Turning so that all his peers could see him. "It is true what Jarless Eylidr says of the Dwarves. They have a reputation for breaking promises, missing deadlines and cancelling contracts. My ledgers in Escgor are full of such examples, I assure you - however - they are indeed a wealthy peoples. Though I have lost hoards of revenue from their slimy traders over the years, I have also gained entire fortunes by carefully navigating their character flaws. Why, my Jarlship is in part down to the many deals I cut with them in the past. I would say greet them as friends, but allow room for shrewdness, harsh words and hidden eyes. We could benefit, us Norsians, with keeping the Dwarves in a warm embrace. No. We WILL benefit. Between myself and our beloved Eylidr of the Vale, we could easily manage the little folk's dishonesty. As for their assistance in times of war? Why my Lords,' he paused to bow slightly to the King, 'my King. Escgor and the Vale could fill enough coffers to afford ourselves plenty of home-grown axes, and then some for whatever cut throat would bolster us for a fair penny." 

Unable to gauge the mood of either the King or the Jarls, Bertil drew suddenly nervous, and mumbled his way onto the topic of the Elves. 

"The Elves are steady partners. Fair enough, and everything is always agreed before it is finalised. They do not undercut, nor can they be over-sold. Honourable, though they are, as a merchant they offer little opportunity for commercial innovation. I estimate that we Norsians account for a quarter of their imported goods, and the same again for exports - this is unlikely to change. The Elves love nothing more than balance and organisation; if we sell a lot one day, it is because they planned for it, and if we sell little the next, it is again because they made it so. A wily people, but as I mentioned, they provide a steady partnership. So in conclusion, my King, my Lords, I say we draw both as close to us as we can, but only so far as their own dislikes for each other allow."

Bowing for a final time, Bertil made his way back to his chair, and clambered into it.