The Great

No. Yes.

I don't want to argue.

Stop speaking, merely nod, and we won't be.

Let me bring logic to bear.

Let's bring the bear to logic instead, so it may maul its dull ways.

I find logic so lacking in imagination.

And yet it always has a strange logic to it.

There is an army massing on the Swedish border

and your nephew at the bottom of a lake.

Who is moving faster?

Sorry, logic doesn't allow for feelings.

Apologies.

Not at all.

There will be floods of tears on this trip, be prepared.

- Eh, I've seen a lot of tears. - Caused your share, I imagine.

Afraid so.

A woman was once so in love with me that she would cry whenever she saw me.

I felt for her for a while, then it became plain annoying.

I'll need to hear more of these stories at the lake,

which we're on our way to first.

Apparently it's still pretty solid.

You judge with your head?

How my father taught me.

Did it occur to you it was a joke at your expense?

Not till now, but...

...that would make sense.

This is the place.

How do we get him?

We might have to wait for summer.

- I can't leave him now I'm here. - Right.

I hate to revert to logic, but--

He's not going anywhere.

It was my point and sounds even stronger

when someone else says it out loud in a more direct way.

I am also not going anywhere.

If you need to leave, leave.

I'll just kill a wolf for food when I need it.

Why do I suspect that's true?

Oh, I once ate rare wolf chops in the snow with Peter the Great.

A real treat.

I'd love to hear some Peter the Great stories.

I'd love to hear how we're getting Peter up here.

Ah.

Got it. Cannons.

We get cannons, and we launch a hundred cannonballs.

That would be both fun and, also, visually brilliant.

And time-consuming, as we need a hundred cannons.

Hmm.

What are you--

Love it.

We cross at three points, take these villages.

Expect light resistance, 'cause we'll have the element of surprise,

and they're Swedish, so they'll have all the spine of a fileted herring.

Whoa, whoa.

Can we get a moment, Velementov?

Sure.

Get your men ready.

We leave at dawn.

Okay, couple of things occurring to me.

I understand the "herring" crack is just to rouse the men against the enemy.

Yeah, 'course it is.

Not really the enemy though, are they?

Here's my problem, I don't think I can kill Swedes.

Well, we can. We fucking love it.

- Okay. - I've told the men they could take heads as souvenirs, it's a...

it's a morale booster.

That's actually quite an upsetting statement.

Okay, a new plan that answers this question:

how do we take the country without killing anyone?

You want your country back, you're gonna need to fucking take it.

I'm in charge of this, okay? I'm a fuckin' king.

A king knows how to kill his own people.

That's basics.

Agnes often says I'm too nice.

Agnes.

Did you just segue into thinking about fucking my wife

while we're talking about war and bloodshed and existential crisis?

No segue, I'm always thinking about fucking your wife.

She runs in the background of my every thought.

- Good to know. - We're going!

And I'm gonna die in a palace, your wife astride me,

drinking your best fucking schnapps till my lungs explode.

Or... give me a day to come up with a plan

or get to grips with killing my own people.

Or... we leave in the morning, like we actually are,

and you grow some meatballs by the morning.

Culturally insulting and personally belittling.

Yeah, yeah. Well, I'll see you tomorrow.

Or... you give me some time to come up with a plan!

I'll take lack your lack of consciousness as agreement.

They should take a few hours to melt through.

If it works, we'll hear a crack and we'll have a hole.

Are you actually explaining my idea back to me?

I guess I am.

So strange to think of him underneath us.

My advice? Don't.

I'll be in the tent.

Fuck me.

Savagely would be ideal.

Ideally do things that make me genuinely fear for my life.

It won't take the pain away.

It does actually, for a short while.

I need a break from it.

- From what exactly? - Is the chatting foreplay?

I-I-It's sweet but unnecessary, just fuck me.

Well, I'm always curious about my sex partners' inner lives.

It's a thing for me.

You are a most infuriating person.

So many people say that to me, and I'm still baffled as to why.

I have lost my nephew, a son really,

and my first son I pulled waterlogged and blue from a lake, and now another.

Twice in a life is too much.

I want to banish all of it and just have it all gone for a minute

as you fuck me savagely and my body is wracked with pleasure.

I must confess, I know about your son. That was sad.

Offer rescinded.

Why do it to yourself again then?

I've seen a lot of bodies,

and I've come to realize something.

A dead body either means too little and you wonder on your humanity,

or too much and you wonder on your sanity.

When my son died, I would lay in bed staring at the wall,

and every morning, Peter would come in, nine years old,

and would bring me a fried quail sandwich I never ate.

He would say nothing, just take my hand

and sit there until nightfall, just be there with me.

And one day, he said to me,

"Would it make you feel better if the sandwich had aioli?"

I laughed, and the sound was so foreign to me,

I didn't believe it had come from my body.

Saved me.

Definitely in a "too much" situation.

Definitely.

Oh, hello.

Oh, it's you.

Of course now.

He is.

Take care of him on that side.

And I mean care and understanding.

He needed that.

Give it now.

You're right, I must.

You talking?

There was a wolf.

Are there chops?

Not this time.

Huzzah. - Huzzah.

Look, he had a few last night.

You know how he is, a vodka balloon.

So, we are postponing,

as we've had some new intelligence, and a new plan is being devised.

You're all quite large men, aren't you?

Is that blood?

Looks like raspberry compote.

Hugo, fucking let me go, you fuck!

Just listen.

I had an idea last night, like fate came to visit me.

I was looking up at the sky and a star exploded,

and as I watched it, an idea formed.

I'll fucking kill you, you cunt.

Hear me out and try not to interrupt.

This borderland, Swedish vibe, Russian land, uninhabited.

I could set up here, my own kingdom.

No one dies, we start a nation from scratch, and we call it...

Hugoland.

Okay, thoughts.

I'm gonna shoot you in your eyes, ball bag, and nostrils.

Okay, because you're a selfish man,

I understand I need to appeal to that side of you.

Agnes comes,

we live in a strange triangle of bliss,

we build an amazing palace,

and you die a kind of number-two king

in your own land with Agnes astride you.

And that's like being draped in a vigorous vise of velvet, my friend.

And when you both cum, she just holds you in this look

that says, "One day, I'll kill while we do this."

It is a special feeling.

What do you say, other than thank you, oj, and fucking huzzah?

You are an idiot.

What if I'm a genius?

I can take Sweden. That's what I came to do.

Maybe you die in a hole outside Stockholm

with a bayonet in your arsehole looking like a flesh popsicle.

A dead emperor is just a dead man.

Neither's worth freezing for.

I'm ready.

Great suit,

but you're not going in there.

You can't be the first person he sees. He doesn't know you.

I...

can't really argue with that,

despite the myriad of logical responses available.

Don't drown.

Annoying to explain.

Thank you.

After 30 seconds, I'm pulling you back in.

Shit.

Jesus!

I found another hole over there.