Names used: Sweden (Björn), fem!Norway (Líknvé), Denmark (Ketill) [Iceland and Finland are not named in this.]
Author's note: Viking!Sweden/Christian!fem!Norway with Viking!Denmark and just a hint of fem!Iceland and fem!Finland, because I can.
This was basically a combination of I love SuNor, I love fem!Nor, I love Viking!Sweden, I love history, I love names, and I love that beautiful Sweden/fem!Norway picture Ducere had made. Smush it all together and you get this. There's no real direction to it; I just let it run it's own course like a river.
Ok, I really just wanted an excuse to write a one-shot of my favorite Hetalia ship. :D I have more SuNor coming I promise.
About the names: (You can read this after if you'd like, this is just in case you were curious.) Björn and Ketill are both names I had used in « Five Loves for Berwald Oxenstierna » though I didn't explain their meanings there; in that story Lukas is a dude and so had no historical chick name. Björn is an Old Norse name meaning bear which I thought fit Berwald very well. Ketill is another Old Norse name meaning kettle, cauldron, or helmet; a ketill was used to catch the blood of scarified animals in Scandinavian, which I thought stood in nice contrast to someone now named Christen who fell for the first Nordic nation to really go Christian. (The hard K sound also suits him more in my opinion.) Líknvé is from two roots, the Líkn- meaning « goodness, compassion, favor, help, solace » and the -vé relates to being holy or priestlike which I thought, while not necessarily Lukas, fit a female version of Lukas and a random Christian in a Viking village.
To him I loved most
"I was worst to him whom I loved most."
-Guðrún Ósvífsdóttir, Chapter 78, Laxdæla sagas
She had been sleeping with her sister when they came. The younger one was left behind only when they saw the beauty of the older sister, pleading to let the younger be left alone. She would do anything for her beloved sister, anything.
Now she waits in the home of the man who bought her, a foreigner in a foreign place. How stupid her kinsmen had been to think their women would be safe should the Vikings come to raid their village. She would never see those idiots again.
But the man who enters is not the one who bought her, with his stupid grin and eyes the color of the sky. This one is taller, as he comes to stand at full height before her, with lighter hair and eyes the color of the sacred sea.
And he is handsome.
Bending before her he takes her in, his eyes momentarily blurry. Her blonde hair is dirty, her braids old; her dark blue eyes are narrowed in furry. When a hand comes to stroke her cheek she pulls away instinctively. Women were not treated like this where she was from, the greatest shame of a man being to harm a woman. But now she is a slave and supposes those rules no longer apply to her.
His hand keeps to its place, stroking her cheek before fingers run through her hair and he kisses her, deeply, her breathing hitching at that. His other arm pulls her to his chest which is wide and strong and she wants to run her hands over it but they are tied behind her back.
When he pulls back he looks at her before whispering, "What is your name?" The tongue is foreign sounding from his mouth though she understands the words.
They had asked on the ship, and when she was being sold. She had refused to answer them but now…. "Líknvé."
He nods. "I am Björn."
There's a pause and she takes the initiative this time. "Where is the man who is now my master?"
The one called Björn crooks an eyebrow. "If you mean the one who bought you, Ketill is in his house. But he is not your master."
"You are," Líknvé says quietly, more to herself than for his sake. The Viking's expression does not change as he takes in her pitiful look. Then he nods.
"I am going to untie you now," he says quietly. "I ask that you not run; there is nowhere to go and no way back home. I do not wish for you to die in the forest."
At first it had been her intention to flea but now, seeing the man who is her new master, she's not so sure. She could overpower him easily with her magic, but he is right; where could she go? She is not that strong.
"What will you do with me?" Líknvé asks quietly.
Björn shrugs before standing. "Love you, I suppose." Then he leaves for the night.
Líknvé crawls into the large bed that must be her master's. Now it is hers too.
She does not leave the house. In it is her sphere, where she has what little power she had retained. Björn is rarely home but when he is he does not challenge her, brings her ingredients and lets her make the food her mother taught her, meals he has never tasted. He sits at a distance from her in summer, beside her when the weather turns cold. He brings her material to make new clothes, wearing gratefully whatever she hands him. They rarely speak.
One day she does venture to look out the door, her body sickly from the lack of sunlight. Months she must have spent inside and she is not prepared for the rushing wind that blows coldly past her. Björn is standing outside talking with the one who had bought her, the one called Ketill.
When Björn sees her his face goes blank in confusion before he gives a weak smile, walking to her and holding out a hand for her to take. Pulling her cloak closer to her body Líknvé ventures out of the house, allowing herself to be pulled by her Viking owner. Once they are before Ketill again Björn wraps an arm about her, pulling her to his warm chest and continuing to speak with the other man. Björn never speaks to her, never stops her when she wraps her arms around him under his cloak.
Ketill she stares at with daggers in her eyes, and he seems weary when he meets her gaze. Finally he says something. "That's the look, why I knew I couldn't keep her." Björn looks down to see what Ketill is talking about, but once Líknvé looks up into those eyes hers soften. He has been so kind; she cannot hate him.
To his companion he says, "I see nothing but beauty," those green-blue eyes still fixed on her.
In the dead of night Björn returns, Líknvé sitting before the fire waiting for him. He had said he would return hours earlier, and her heart had been racing waiting for him. What if something had happened? What if she then went back to Ketill who does not like her? Would she be sold again? Björn left her be, kindness in its own way; she cannot image the other men would do the same.
He stops just inside the door, taking her in. He sighs, exhausted, his eyes slipping closed before he leans against the post, groaning and holding his side. In a flash she is by his side, his arm over her shoulders as she helps him to the bed. When he lays down he pulls her with him, holding her to his chest.
As the fire starts to die down Björn releases her and Líknvé brings it back to life. She helps him remove his tunic, the undertunic slightly stained by several drops of blood near his stomach. Líknvé shifts it up to see a large bruise that seems to have only had a small cut, but the discoloration is large, dipping below his trousers. Fingers brush over the bruise, making Björn gasp in pain.
Sitting beside the bed Líknvé does as she is instructed, tending to the wound until she has done all she can and Björn asks her to pull the blanket over him. Instinctively she tucks him in, the way she would her sister; he does not protest.
Around his neck she notices something metallic, blinking twice at the object. Björn seems to remember something then, shifting to pull the necklace off and handing it to her. The metal is cool in her hands as she turns it over, choking in shock as she sits on the bed. A cross, beautifully decorated. Her cross, the one she had been wearing when she had been taken.
"How did you-" she starts, looking to Björn, the first words they've spoken in months beyond, "Thank you," and, "I will be back before nightfall."
The Viking smiles mischievously. "Fought for it. I had hoped it would be worth it. I see now," and one hand strokes a wet cheek, "that it was."
She falls asleep in his arms that night, tears still flowing, clutching the cross in her hands. Björn never says anything and she is grateful for that.
As the weather turns warm Líknvé braids Björn's hair by the river, trees obscuring them from the village a short walk away. He had told her he would be going on a raid, though he didn't say for how long or where. She's accepted that there are just some things she cannot ask, can never know, like how many more of her village were taken or killed, or what the raiders had been doing there.
Suddenly Björn leans back in her arms, his back pressing into her chest, his arms slung over her legs. Líknvé is paler than she's ever been, because she still does not like to go outside, to see the others watch her. Most of the slaves seem to have been sold to another village, the one Ketill is from. Líknvé is unique, different, an outsider.
Cautiously she allows her hands to run down Björn's bare chest, feeling the muscle and scars beneath her fingers and reveling in the touch. He is quite handsome, his eyes closed and face up to the sun. The water continues to run over his legs as he sits on the edge of the river, Líknvé sitting on a fallen log. Her hands become more daring when Björn groans in pleasure and though it goes against what the priests had taught her in their lessons in her home village, about their new God and what teachings they were to adapt to, Líknvé takes pleasure in pleasuring Björn.
After several minutes the man suddenly stands, jumping into the water in his underdrawers. Líknvé watches from the shore as he splashes about before coming up, flipping his head so that his long hair is out of his face. Walking up the shallow bank he comes to stand before her, his sole garment heavy from the water, threatening to slide down his lean legs and expose him to her. The thought makes Líknvé blush deeply.
Her eyes averted from the sight she misses him swooping in, stealing a kiss that is just as deep as the first one they had shared. But this time her hands are not bound and they run through his wet hair, undoing her braids she had just finished, Björn pulling Líknvé to stand. His body wets her dresses, his hands her hair, but it doesn't matter.
All that is important is his kiss.
Björn had said he would love her and those words echoing in her head only egg her on in the kiss, Líknvé's heart threatening to burst in her chest.
All that is important is him.
As the men return in victory weeks later Líknvé dares to wait with the other women, watching the men approach the village. Some women begin to cry when they see which men are missing, young boys holding their elderly mothers as the full weight of responsibility comes to rest upon them. Líknvé isn't sure if she pities them or not when she sees Björn in the group, walking with the chief.
When they have all been reunited, Líknvé and Björn simply watching each other in confusion and understanding all at once, the chief leaves his wife to pull Björn forward. He calls for cheers, for Björn the hero, the savior of the mission, the most vicious of Vikings and the greatest of men. The villagers cheer loudly as Björn casts a look back over his shoulder, and Líknvé smiles for him.
The village prepares for a party that night, a celebration of the summer and to their pagan gods and to Björn. Everyone returns to their homes, and Björn pulls Líknvé quickly back to theirs. Inside he kisses her demandingly, walking backwards to the bed. He kisses her exposed skin, pulling and pushing at the layers of clothing, Líknvé running her hands through his hair to free it of braids.
He never asks, never speaks, only takes and Líknvé gives willingly, Björn above her, on top of her, inside her as he thrusts, over and over, and she cries in his arms as she screams, Björn grunting when he finally comes. They lay like that, sweaty, until night falls.
Around the town's fire they dance and sing and celebrate, Líknvé trying to blend in. But it's hard when the hero of the village is the one with an arm around her, grinning at her as the other men tell tales of what they had seen. Ketill is among their numbers tonight and Líknvé learns his mother was from this village but married a man from one across the water; she had died in the last raid this village had ever seen and since then Ketill has moved between the two groups, helping each to secure themselves against invaders and to instill fear in others.
Finally a young girl is brought forward, paler than anyone Líknvé has ever seen, light hair and purple eyes. She fights against the rope that binds her, screaming in a language Líknvé has never heard. They give her to Björn, shoving her at his feet. She had been traded for with a foreign people to the north.
Removing his arm from around Líknvé Björn leans forward, inspecting the woman in a way he never did Líknvé, pulling her chin up to look in the eyes. Everyone laughs when he throws her back to the ground, pulling Líknvé to him; the girl is taken away.
The fire roars behind them, Björn combing Líknvé's hair as she braids it. In Björn's mouth he has his newest gift to her, a metal cross to hold back her hair that always falls in her face, a hand constantly pushing it behind her ear.
Somewhere Líknvé's little sister is praying to God to return her stolen sister.
Somewhere the little Sami woman is screaming for them to let her go, a spirit that cannot be broken.
Somewhere Ketill is still searching for the men who killed his mother.
But here Líknvé leans back in Björn's arms and lets him kiss her neck, his hands sliding down her smooth, pale legs. She is everything these people value: beautiful, wise, honorable, courageous, strong willed. She was a slave who rose to the wife of their hero, who performs her duties in the house and never questions what Björn does outside it, who is as gracious and kind as her husband.
"I love you," Björn whispers in her ear, and she turns her head to his to kiss him, a hand on her neck. "Tell me you love me Líknvé," he moans as she shifts to face him. "Tell me Líknvé, please."
Líknvé shakes her head, her fingers on his lips. "Never, Björn. Never." He is no Christian; he is a raider, a Viking, a slave holder who was kind to her but abusive of the other women. And though he is kind he is cruel, compassionate but uncaring, a giver of life but also a taker.
She loves him, she does. But it is her stubbornness to say those words that keeps him coming back and so Líknvé never says them, never will. She loves him and so she tortures him.
His lips find hers and though she always feels a twinge of guilt for treating him worst it is only because she loves him most. The babe begins to cry as Björn holds her in his arms, kissing her forehead.
Someday this land will be Christian, the true religion.
Someday the Sami will free herself and she will make her way home, a path that Líknvé would never have been able to take.
Someday Ketill will be reunited with his mother in the next world.
And someday their son will grow strong like his father, and maybe he will find a woman who can love him freely.
But that day is not today, and so Líknvé kisses Björn with unspoken love instead.