Erick’s foolishly hopeful vision of slipping to breakfast without harassment was instantly shattered when he opened the door of his chamber - Grìmur, his council, was waiting for him with folded arms leaning back against the opposing wall of the corridor. “I am joyous the second son of Henrick lives” the robust man, certainly three times Erick’s elder, whom was muscularly heavy-set and evidently battle-worn had an edge about the statement, perhaps which also reflected the prince’s own notion that he was not the most preferable suitor. “It is regrettable that I am indeed alive and well” Erick responded in kind, flashing his eyebrows upwards - Grìmur knew how the prince felt about the arrangement which would render him little more than a figurehead to an alliance and certainly, the powers of Astalia would not see any of their daughters recklessly widowed, Erick knew he was to be pulled from the battlefield indefinitely and with that, any prospect to match his brother’s prepotency. Grìmur huffed, shaking his head only a small fraction before he looked away, and back to the prince, “the first daughter seemed cordial with you I am led to believe, but you must not drink so much, a crown-prince who sleeps in next to his horse is embarrassing, Erick” he scolded with a low tone, the prince expressed a sharp outward breath but resisted rolling his eyes before he began making his way along the corridor, Grìmur proceeded to escort him, “son of Henrick, this is not optional for you, your behaviour must be in the interests of obtaining the best contract for Jörda”, Erick’s council continued to berate him, although, he was not wrong to do so - Erick really did get very drunk.. oh indeed if he ever came to learn of the dried sap he invariably did not travel without.. Erick dared not consider what his criticisms may be then..

The older man stopped Erick in his tracks for a few moments as he grasped his shoulder, persuading the young prince to turn to speak with him, Grìmur let out a deep sigh through his nose as he examined his face - Erick was already clearly rankled and wore a sullen expression. [i]He’d be hung-over, too.. perhaps this was too much for the morning?[/i] “You make your sacrifice differently Erick” he began, seemingly softening he gripped at the arm of the young man and met his eyes, “but it too is for Jörda”, Erick nodded lightly but looked away - he appreciated Grìmur’s lie but it would never be the same, he knew. He turned to continue on his way to attend breakfast, and his council gave him a hefty pat of encouragement across the back of his shoulder, they then proceeded to make light-hearted albeit mundane conversation regarding their observations of Astalia’s great city en route. Grìmur parted company with the prince shortly before he arrived at the hall, and the attending guards ushered Erick into the spacious room. There was a large table quite clearly suitable for hosting an extensive number of noble guests, however only one section was prepared and occupied by Astalia’s royal family and the first suitor in attendance - the Prozdy prince, although curiously, there was one person wearing a glorious suit of armour, perhaps a specialised royal guard? As the Jörda prince drew closer to the table, he began to recognise the features of the youngest princess whom the previous night had been dusted with dirt.[i] A shield-maiden, perhaps? Did she too lead her father’s armies?[/i] He was both impressed and perplexed by the display.

“Good morning” he finally exclaimed boldly, as he wasn’t sure if he’d already lingered too long in silence distracted by the spectacle of Jinayah’s armour. “Your Grace” he added with a bow of his head to King Harold before taking up a position at the table, at once remembering how particularly tender he felt - a light meal of fruit and dry bread ought to be safe. Erick sat opposite Vyarin’s expansive figure, he met his eyes upon the man briefly to acknowledge him.