Denmark: Soren
Norway: Sigurd
Iceland: Hákon
Finland: Tino
Sweden: Berwald
Netherlands: Edvard
Belgium: Laura

I am sorry for the weird formatting in the beginning. There are some descriptions of the scenes and locations which I had to space out so it won't appear as a wall of text. Hope you like it and constructive criticism is always welcome!


«So this is it,» thought the tall man with wild hair and bright blue eyes.
Before him lied a stable with a riding hall directly attached to it, built of the same wood and painted in the same Scandinavian red as so many other barns he had passed on his way to this remote location. There were small stone cottages embedded into the hill behind the stable, and before the dense and dark forest surrounding everything. They were styled in the old and traditional way, even older than the stable and the main house, which sat enthroned over everything with its three stories of white wood planks and dark windows.

It was old, that much Søren could see and it surely left as much of an impression to the poor workers and neighbours once upon a time as it leaves it nowadays on the tourists coming here for horses, nature and the wish of being completely alone and remote from everything. Even now it possessed an old proudness and resilience with its story hidden behind cold glass and warm wood.

Its front porch was elevated by a few steps and three small tables with matching chairs were placed on it, flowers overflowing their pots on the railing. Flowers were everywhere. On every window, red geraniums, white petals surrounding many small flower heads and many other colours were found on the window sills of the cottages, and the main house. Even here on the parking lot were some pots with arranged flowers surrounding small birch trees.

Everything was neat and yet in disarray somehow. It wasn't like his professional stables as the grass around him wasn't neatly cut, the fences were not painted white and everything was made out of wood and stone. No concrete. Not even the street he arrived on. Only gravel. Søren was already sick of it and his car as well. The light dust was settled on his rear window to stay there until he was out of the country. But after his two-day journey he would not jump back inside as fast as he would like to. No. He would give this place a chance for his friend. He would not meet those harsh green eyes staring him down. He would not give up easily, he was Søren Hansen after all and definitely not a quitter.

And so, he bent down, grabbed his bag and threw it over his broad shoulder and started pulling his suitcase over the gravel, which scrunched with every step he took towards the main house. How many tourists would be here? How many tourists thinking they could play Vikings out here? Or some hippies trying to connect with nature and horses? Søren snorted and looked around. Once when he was a boy he might have belonged to one of the wanna-be Vikings if he had stayed here with his family. But now he didn't even know why he was here; why he spent so much money to even travel out here and why he was wasting his time.

As he marched forwards the forest on his left side opened and he caught a glimpse of part of the pasture and he almost wanted to laugh out loud. Those horses were even smaller than he anticipated. They consisted of ten Icelandic horses in all the colour variations Søren could name and another ten of Fjord horses with their thick necks and in every shade the race could offer. From a silvery coat to cream to a light caramel brown. Two or three lifted their heads to look at who was approaching but most of them couldn't be bothered and continued grazing. Those horses, no, ponies were for children. Good enough for the pen at the zoo going in circles, would his coach have said. How was an adult supposed to mount these without looking absolutely ridiculous? And yet. Søren hesitated. Vikings did ride those fluffy ponies once upon a time.
"No," Søren thought, "I won't feel any better out here."

He wanted to go back. Back to the gentle giants and hot-blooded cracks. He wanted to feel energy under the saddle not some… fluff. But it was too late as the door to the white house opened and a man, no a boy, exited. He was startling, as his blonde hair was on the verge of being white. As he approached the Dane with lazy and still determined steps, as if he couldn't decide whether to care or not, Søren noticed the violet eyes. Was it albinism? The skin was very fair too despite it being summer and this boy clearly passing a lot of time outside if he truly worked here, judging his dirty black band shirt and mud sprinkled breeches. Søren decided to wait where he was, and overplayed his unwillingness to be here with a friendly smile. He still was curious of this new and young person. He must have been around twenty years old.
"Are you Søren Hansen?" the boy asked as he stopped a good two metres in front of him. Søren nodded and closed in, offering him his hand. Which he accepted. This boy had a surprisingly strong grip, despite his slender figure.
"Yes, I am supposed to stay here for the rest of the summer."
They boy nodded courtly, having his information confirmed.
"I am Hákon Sigvesson," he presented himself with a polite smile and turned with a single step to the side. He gestured towards the main house.
"As a single guest you are going to stay in the main house as the cottages are all going to be taken during your stay."
Søren sighed and nodded. Now he couldn't even sleep in the cosy cottages but in this ice palace, as he baptised it in his head.
"Come, I will show you your room."
From now on it can only get better, Søren thought to himself in an attempt to remain optimistic. And so he followed Hákon over the gravel.
"I imagine you want to first take a shower and relax some before I will show you the installations." Hákon said in a bored voice, having repeated this suggestion a hundred times. And although it was standard protocol to ask this, Søren couldn't help than lift his shirt a bit and taking a sniff at it. Even if he didn't smell particularly bad, a shower sounded very nice indeed.
"Yes please," he thus answered as he carried his suitcase and bag up the porch and past the first table to the door. Hákon was holding it open for Søren to enter and tried to make himself as thin as possible. Søren in the meantime was trying to manoeuvre himself and all his luggage through the narrow opening without bumping against the small table, squishing Hákon or tearing down the hung up coats in the hall way. Hákons judging eyes and his met for an awkward second and Søren smiled sheepishly. What a start.
Finally, everything was in the hallway with Hákon in front of him. Looking around, Søren noticed why it was so narrow: A staircase to his left side took up half of the space, leading to the upper floors, accompanied with photographs in matching frames despite their different sizes. To his right was the kitchen as he could see through the open door and a bit farther behind he could make out a dinner table. Two other doors were on the right side and another two on the left, behind the staircase. The walls were still out of wood but held in a light blue and paintings and photographs decorated the walls here as well. The old lamps on the walls were not yet necessary as the window at the end of the hallway spent enough light. A small dark brown table, fitting with its colour to the staircase, was standing on the right side and a thin vase with some wild flowers stood upon it. Søren took a deep breath. It didn't smell like home but he liked the scent anyways. It smelled of wood, leather, some kind of fresh pastry and the odour of the residents.

Hákon walked in front of him and stopped in front of the first room on the left. A golden plate indicated that this is "room no. 1". Søren noticed how every door on this floor had a similar plate. Indicating "bathroom", "kitchen", "living room" and "room no. 2". As Hákon opened it he continued explaining:
"The upper floor is private but you will find everything you need down here."
He stepped inside and closed the window that was still open from the preparations for the new guest.
The room was as clean as the hall way and painted in the same icy blue. And yet it felt already warmer with the rough landscape painting in a golden frame over his bed on the left side of the room and a cream coloured rug in the centre. White curtains were pulled aside and through the window he could spot the outdoor arena and something else looking like a shrunken race track? Søren would explore that later and instead let his bag fall on the bed which was filled with pillows and fur. Fur? Søren hesitated and just wanted to ask Hákon whether the nights really got this cold as Hákon pre-empted him.
"Yes, every bed has some fur on it as the nights are cold and it contributes to our Norwegian Mountains aesthetic. If you instead want to use a second blanket just tell us and we will fix it for you."
Søren simply closed his mouth again and shook his head.
"Fur is fine."
"Alright. The bathroom is free to your use. There is a shower as well as a bath tub and you can close the door by key. Although I would like to ask you to not take a bath during the meals as some kids have a week bladder and can't or shouldn't walk all the way back to their respective cottage. We don't want any accidents."
Søren nodded obediently. He could share a bathroom. He could sleep in this cold place. And if there would truly, unbelievably be a steady flow of tourists, he wouldn't be alone.
"In about an hour we will have our Swedish Fika, so coffee and cakes. I will show you the rest later."
"Thank you."
Hákon closed the door behind him and thanks to the old wooden floor Søren could hear him walking down the corridor back outside. He huffed and opened his suitcase. Time to make himself comfortable.

There was enough place to store everything he brought with him. The big, dark wardrobe let his few belongings look small, despite Sørens clothing size. The chest-of-drawers fashioned in the same style with golden knobs let Søren feel like a poor man with so much space left he could use if only he had more. And everywhere the Norse decorating tendrils, dragons and runes carved into the wood of every single item of furniture, and even into the frame of the mirror. To his surprise there was even a bookstand with books of different languages, genres, authors, sizes and ages.
Yes, as a boy Søren would have liked it here.

The water was running hot over his shoulders and Søren tried to find his happy place. Here he was truly alone. No phone connection and he didn't get to ask the wifi password yet. Although all of this is maybe a good thing, Søren sneered. His friends were currently at the Grand Prix in Paris, probably drinking Champagne and celebrating.
Francis surely was there as he has to show himself on his home turf and he never missed an opportunity to meet his friends and rivals, flirting shamelessly and showing off his country's culture, although subtly, with a gallery as the place to meet or a beautiful restaurant with a view on one of the city's attractions. The infamous Italian twins still had to qualify themselves for next year's European Championships and so they needed to shine in Paris.
The German brothers did not have to worry about that as their whole team was since long qualified and instead they would decline the champagne and rather grab a bottle of beer and bicker at which German horse type was the best. Trakhener? Oldenburger? Or the old Holsteiner? At that conversation, the old-fashioned English rider Arthur surely couldn't help himself than bring his tipsy wits into the conversation and bragging about the English blood flowing in almost every of the modern jumping horses.
But his best friend Edvard would sit back and smoke to relax before tomorrow. Collecting his thoughts and nodding at what his sister would tell him what she learnt of his rivals. His sister… Laura. Yes, it would have been more than fun. And they would still enjoy their time, with or without Søren. And tomorrow they would fly whilst Søren would eat dust and count his blue marks.

Søren stepped out of the shower and onto the cold tiles. It managed to get his mind briefly a break as he reached for the towel. He just needed to quickly get out of this narrow place full of haze and occupy himself somehow before…
…He was back.
Rubbing his wet hair damp.
He heard the cheers, the last obstacle.
Drying his shoulder and back.
The short moment of distraction as his damned mind thought of winning.
Drying his legs.
The missed cue, the lost horse and feeling the surge of power as she tried to jump from too far away.
Søren quickly straightened himself again just to see his blurred shape in the mirror with his eyes wide open. He couldn't move a muscle. Not now, not back then, when…
The pain, the fear, the legs kicking at wood and the shrieking.
No air, no horse, he had lost his reins and the saddle and there was again the horrible sound.
No air…
Søren got no air and so he turned around and barged outside. Crisp air filled his lungs and he felt the cold settling on his naked shoulders and his chest. He wrapped his towel quickly around his waist. He trusted no one would take his stuff from the bathroom and so he quickly hurried back into his room. He needed to occupy himself.

Dressed for a day at a barn with his lucky shirt, which had "Copenhagen" largely written on it, he stepped outside. He was ready at whatever fate threw at him.
It was a red rubber ball. Not only that but fate and the little seven years old had a killer aim. All Søren could hear was a short "Watch it!" before the ball hit him square in his face. He tumbled backwards and held his nose.
The ball bounced twice on the porch before the small boy caught it again. Søren was just grateful for not having to use any handkerchiefs and he slowly let his hand sink again. The boy looked down and fidgeted with the ball he was holding.
"I'm sorry Mister," he mumbled out in perfect English and looked up with eyes that could have been Søren's. But not quite and the thick eyebrows quickly distracted Søren's attention form the boy's eyes. They reminded him somehow of a certain English showjumper.
"It's fine, just pay more attention the next time." Søren squat down and offered his hand.
"I am Søren. Who are you?" The boy seemed to have forgotten all its former reluctance and gripped on the offered hand with childish enthusiasm.
"Peter!" he said and grinned. "I live here!"
Poor boy, Søren thought. Having to live here and driving to school for hours with no one around to play.
But before Søren could say anything nice, Peter already had let go of his hand and turned around.
"Gotta go and train. Bye Søren!" he exclaimed before jumping down the porch and kicking the ball into the direction of the cottages. Søren smiled and slowly got up again. He liked that boy.
"S'rry for Peter. We told him to not play ball around the porch," a deep voice said behind Søren and made him jump. His poor heart.
"Oh, it's…" The man Søren turned around to was tall. And frightening. "…fine." Søren was not used on people looking down on him and matching his broad shoulders. The only exception were Edvard and Ludwig, the Dutch and German rider. Behind the rectangular glasses was a pair of piercing sea blue eyes measuring the person in front of him as much as Søren did. He instantly felt judged and so he stood taller and smiled.
"Your son?"
The tall man just nodded courtly.
"'m Berwald Oxenstierna. 'N you are the new guest?"
"Sure I am. Søren Hansen. Arrived an hour ago, ready for your Swedish Fika."
Berwalds lips twitched upwards and now Søren noticed the tablet in his hands with a pot of coffee, milk and sugar, and a plate with various pastries on them. Cups were piled up on it but they didn't clang together as Berwald held the tablet securely in his large and steady hands. What Søren noticed as well was the fact that he was standing in this man's way. Quickly he stepped aside and let Berwald set the table.
"So you live in the main house…?"
"No, in the cottage out there." Berwald quickly pointed to the one closest to the forest, with blue, white and yellow flowers in front of the windows and children's toys spread all around it.
"That seems nice," Søren said simply.
"It is."

The table was set and Berwald left Søren to instead ask an Asian couple if they needed anything. Søren hadn't even noticed them, until now but they looked like the quite type, even though the young woman was smirking at him for a second. That must have been funny to look at, having a ball smacked into your face. Feeling that his face turned red he decidedly sat down.

From his heightened position, he easily spotted Hákon marching towards him from the stables together with another man, clad in a light blue overall and a black shirt. As they were approaching he could make out that both were covered in a similar coat of dust but that the new man also sported some black spots and had some of the blackness smeared over his left cheek. He was wiping his hands with a formerly white towel before he walked up to his table and sat down with a huff. Maybe that was the owner? He remembered having read that he had a smaller brother, which must be Hákon.
Hákon followed and sat down beside Søren. He smelled of straw and horse. But it was Tino who raised his voice first:
"Moi! I am Tino. I'll spare you my family name, you won't remember it anyways," the overall man said cheerily. He too was blonde and his eyes matched those of Hákon.
"Søren Hansen. Nice to meet you," at least one welcoming adult out here. But this man couldn't be Hákons brother. He spoke with a strange accent which Søren couldn't quite sort out. So then…
"Guessing from your attire you are responsible for the maintenance out here? But you are not from Norway."
"Yes and yes," Tino poured himself a cup of coffee and handed the pot then to Søren. Søren followed his example whilst Tino chattered on.
"I look after that everything works as it should and I fix stuff that still manages to break. And I build stuff that is needed and manage the heavy machinery. Managing the forest is my task as well. But my husband is there for the furniture. It's his hobby so I won't interfere with that." Søren took a sip of his coffee and made a face. Tino's face dropped and instantly looked at him with a calculating look in his eyes, all sympathy gone in an instant. Søren wasn't sure how, but his intuition knew that this chubby and friendly man should not be angered. Or something terrible would happen.
"You aren't a homophobe, are you?" Tino inquired and leaned a bit more forward. Søren's eyes widened and quickly he shook his head whilst he reached for the sugar.
"Oh no… No, it's just the coffee it's-" he threw in two full spoons and looked for milk. "-just too strong." Least thing Søren could use now was to be marked as a homophobe whilst staying here for the rest of the summer. Although they'd maybe kick him out and Søren could return back home and have a funny story to tell. But he wasn't that lucky as Tino began to laugh and nodded.
"Yeah, Sigurd and I like our coffee black and strong. Keeps us functioning."
"Sigurd is your husband?" He remembered having read that name on the website of this barn. The others maybe as well but that was already a week ago.
"Oh, heavens no," Tino chuckled. "Sigurd is not to be married, least by me. I am very happy with my Berwald." He flashed a simple iron ring with a small diamond embedded in it on his left hand.
"Oh," Søren mouthed. "Then this Sigurd is…"
"…my brother and the one who owns all of this," Hákon finished. His lips were in a thin line and his eyes fixed as a warning upon Tino. Søren may not be the most sensitive person but even he felt that Hákon did not like something about this subject. So better to press this even more.
"So Sigurd has no spouse that I should know?" Søren asked nonchalantly and took another sip of his now much better tasting coffee.
"No, he has not," said Hákon, displeasure quickly flashing over his features.
"And proba-" Tino was cut off by another glare of Hákon. "A-anyways, Sigurd owns all of this and trains the horses, as well as teaching. Basically, everything that involves the animals concerns him. Hákon here helps Sigurd but focuses on the Icelandic horses as he actually learnt in Iceland for a while and if there's a lot to do he helps out with lessons." Søren raised a surprised brow at that boy. Not too bad for a teenager.
"And Berwald is here for the guests and their needs. Plus, he writes crime novels whenever he has time and gets them even published. And between seasons he builds furniture as a hobby. Most of the furniture in the main house are his work." Now Søren was mildly impressed. But what else was there to do in the mountains when no guests were there. Maybe he could do the same? Write a book about boredom and misery.
"That sounds very versatile of him," was his only comment. He had first to process all of this new information and potential mysteries.
"Anyways," Hákon began again, having relaxed against the back rest, now that the subject was changed, "As you told us that you would be an experienced rider I will let my brother do the assessment. He'll be able to see better what you have to work on and you can tell him directly your wishes of what you want to do here."
Nothing, Søren thought. "That seems reasonable but hardly necessary."
"It's standard procedure to see which horse will fit best especially as you stay here longer than just for a week."
Søren shrugged. "I can ride every horse. Me too, I am … very versatile." Or more skilled than you mountain folks.
Hákon furrowed his brows for a short moment but then a mischievous smirk played across his face.
"That is good to hear. I am sure Sigurd will be very happy to have such a skilled rider for once."
More skilled than him anyways. I have not seen one ribbon claiming that any of you participated in competitions. Luckily these horses can't jump anyways…
"We will see then tomorrow," Søren said, pushing the thought of jumping far back.

The evening came and went. Søren finally got his wifi password, answered some concerned messages with his everlasting optimism, looked at the videos from the competition, sat on his bed for half an hour sunken in his thoughts, checked again who won the preliminaries, played candy crush for an hour.
At dinner, he got to know the other guests. The Asian couple with a very charming Taiwanese girl together with her Japanese husband. The newlywed couple was on their honey moon and chose a place as far away as possible form their very caring families. Then there was a Swedish family wanting to experience the mountains and the nearby fjord and simultaneously satisfying their daughter's wish to go horseback riding. And that was it. Berwald explained, that Søren arrived just at a time in which most people already drove home and the next wave of guests would hit them in a day or two.

At night Søren was indeed glad to have the furs in the bed as it got surprisingly cold. But the heaters weren't on so he just hoped they worked for the poor guests staying here over winter.
As he lay there, snuggled up under the blanket he suddenly heard the house door opening and someone silently closing it again. Quick but light steps went down the stairs and even if it probably was Hákon who should know which places creaked more than others he didn't seem to care. Hushed voices started to talk, a coat was hung up. Slowly they approached the bottom of the stairs, getting closer to Søren's room. Laying wide awake now, Søren wanted to listen to their conversation but to his great dismay they talked fast, murmured Norwegian. Of course. But suddenly his eyes widened. He swore he heard his name. Slowly the two climbed back up the stairs and their voices were dimmed out until he could only hear an occasional creaking from the wood above him. Damn, if Hákon tells Sigurd now that I am a bragger then… Then what? I can ride. I am better than them. I will prove that to this horse hippie Sigurd.