Nils stood in front of a magnificent black dragon, its dark gold veins pulsating in the light and wings unfurled, carved into a marble door. This was his last chance to turn away, to not blight himself any further. His rational side wholeheartedly supported the notion, but Nils knew this same side would berate him for turning a blind eye to the dealings if he left. He scoffed. Where were these principles when he was off on the battlefield slaughtering for his country? This was just another battle that must be won. No matter the cost.

He knocked. "It's Nils."

*Click*

He had heard murmured descriptions of its silent splendor from the privileged few, and yet, he was struck by the majesty of it all. A beautiful hand-cut globe immediately caught his attention, but it was the painting depicting the glorious ratification of the Treaty of Savez uniting dragons and humans that captured his fascination. Admiration strummed the chords in Nils' heart and flushed his face a prideful red. This room saw generations of leaders draft laws and entertain diplomats. This was the room that decided the history and future of Arseny. Nils checked himself. The heavy door, besides a dart board, was in the leftmost corner of the rectangular room and swung into it, blocking a full view of the inside. Further right were two couches and a redwood coffee table with a gramophone atop it. Two windows, curtains black and tassels yellow, faced the door from behind the couch. Bookshelves covered every inch of wall and the red carpeted floor completely absorbed his footsteps. At the end of the room was a pedestal desk and a cabinet and in the center of it all sat the man. Prime Minister of Arseny. Ruler of the Nationalist Party. Arwen Mordecai. He was no different a person than others, and yet, Nils had the instinctive urge to bow before the man who dominated both government and high society. A figure stepped from the shadows in the corner where the green lamp's glow did not reach. It was not a coat rack like Nils had believed, but a person. Arwen's protege and son of the country's wealthiest family, Alter Carlebach. He closed the book in his hand and slid it into its place on the shelf.

Nils nodded a greeting, "Arwen, Alter."

Arwen leaned back in his seat and said, "Nils. To what do I owe this visit?" Nils presented a piece of paper to Arwen. Alter briskly walked over and took it, scrutinizing the sketch of two faces to his satisfaction. He let it slip from his hand onto the desk, frowning at Nils all the while, wary of him for no good reason.

"Who are they?" Alter asked.

Nils smiled a smile lacking in friendliness. "Wouldn't you know?"

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Arwen knew the two would never spar in his office, but he gave them a warning nonetheless. "Boys. Settle down."

"Louis Mack, the other, didn't catch the name." Nils stood a tall six foot three, but Alter was a good three inches taller and had much broader shoulders. Arwen's long bony fingers flipped the sketch to scan it with his pale eyes, like a sky on a cold day.

He pleasantly asked the question again, wanting a deeper answer than the superficial one given, "Who are they?"

"A problem that must be solved." Arwen lifted his chin, understanding what Nils meant. He offered the young man a seat on the couch. Arwen opened the cabinet full of crystalline alcohol bottles and withdrew a dark honey colored whiskey, popped the oak cork with his bare hands, and poured the viscous liquid into two diamond cut glasses. The whiskey's texture oozed like honey but flowed like water.

"Ice?" Arwen asked, clinking the bowl with his tongs. Nils shook his head and watched Arwen put three cubes into his own drink. Alter aggressively handed Nils his glass, nearly spilling the drink. Nils did not thank the servant boy. Arwen sat across and lifted the glass to his lips, eyebrows raising to indicate for Nils to continue. Alter, meanwhile, had moved to stand behind Arwen like an imposing knight protecting his liege. Nils did not know where or how to begin his request as it was a topic of great delicacy requiring him to convey his intention without actually saying it. The young man took a swig, feeling warmth lift words to his mouth.

"Twenty years it's been since the ceasefire began. Though the country is recovering, it is common for wounds to heal improperly. Germs fester, and infect other areas until the spread becomes fatal."

Arwen swirled the glass with the tips of his fingers, "A long established stance of the medical community."

"Yes, and if what the doctor prescribed proves ineffective, something more must be done." Nils searched the older man's face for a sign he understood what he was proposing.

Arwen's face betrayed nothing as he picked up a dart. "A gardener and a surgeon's work are quite similar. Both remove an outer layer to tinker with the innards."

He threw the dart without looking and Nils didn't dare move. "Do you know the crucial difference between the two?"

"I do not."

"The surgeon's work is messier. Dirt is easily replaced from where it came. Blood is not." Arwen leaned forward, "Nils. Do you understand the implications of your request?"

Nils stared into Arwen's eyes. "The problem is worsening by the day. The NP's reputation in resolving matters such as these is undisputed."

Nils bowed his head, "This is not a request but a plea for help."

The Prime Minister walked around the table and stood close to Nils.

He put a hand on the young man's shoulder and bent to murmur into his ear, "I have heard your concerns. Consider it solved." Arwen returned to his seat at the desk.

Nils straightened, trying to suppress a look of surprise and relief. "Thank you, Mr. Mordecai."

"Good night, Mr. Holgersson."

Nils, buoyed by the feeling of accomplishment, and his want for a lighthearted jab at Alter, held out his glass for the other to take, and he did, to the man's own dismay. Before leaving, Nils remembered and caught a glimpse of the dartboard. Bullseye.