Disclaimer: Hetalia doesn't belong to me. I would say something about Canada being a delicious slut, but everyone already treats him as the fandom bicycle so my point would be moot XD
Warnings: AU, implied character death, some obscure themes (it's Halloween)
Dream of eternity
A Denmark / Canada Halloween Special
Part 1
"The reunion was wonderful, have a good evening and thank you again for the invitation," says blond haired man with a small smile -amiss on his normally stern face- shaking the hand of another male. Both of them were all clean lines, broad shoulders and strong jaws: pure masculinity in proper suits. Perhaps their only difference would be on their hair: different shades of blond and arrangement, while the one who spoke was neatly arranged the other was a shake away from being a perfect mess.
"You are welcome. I am glad you were able to come at all, I've heard your brother hasn't been doing well," the other answered lightly with a rakish grin and patted the blond on his shoulder emphatically "My best wished on his recovery Ludwig."
Ludwig nodded "I will let him know, but it will be your fault if he flips a table, drinks all the beer and throws a tantrum," he adds thoughtfully. His business partner just laughs "He already does that even if I am not in the room."
The German man bites a smile "well I should go now. Have a good evening Matthias."
Matthias -because his true name had been forgotten some time down the road and this was the most direct pronunciation he could get- just nods, waving as Ludwig enters the car and drives away. Only when he is certain the German is out of his villa, does he turn around and goes back inside his home closing the door behind him.
No one could say for sure if he was Danish, Swedish or Norwegian, but he had a decidedly Nordic air around him. All his moves screamed of elegance, and raw power held in control by a tint of etiquette that only made him more and more coveted at the eyes of the few ladies (and men) who had seen him.
As he ventures farther inside he drops the jacket on a chair and loosens his tie. He sneaks a look at the clock and decides the dishes can wait until morning, it is almost midnight and he wants to pass the height of Halloween doing something more appealing than washing dishes. He strolls down the carpeted aisle with the ease of someone who had amassed a tasteful fortune through hard work and time, and with enough charisma to silence any of his eccentricities:
Build a villa on the land away from cities? Normal for a conservative and wealthy man
Build the villa with a genuine castle fort, corridor and tower? A castle enthusiast? No one batted an eye when he directed the architects on how to construct it on pure rock alone - not even when he himself chose the rocks and their shapes.
Not many had been invited to the villa -just some of his most trusted coworkers and contacts- and none of them were welcomed into the castle part of it. Rumor said that he had an armory over there, others said there were some Danish regalia being kept there and highly guarded. Both were right but also wrong at the same time: yes there was an armory on one of the rooms of the tower, and there were some Danish regalia being guarded in there as well -it was no secret that this man had a connection with at least the Danish monarchy- but the reason of the tower and the fort was to guard a much more important treasure.
He stopped before the immovable wooden door that leads to the castle corridor. It was always closed, and it would only open for the lord of the house. Some said he had it secured with the latest security system, some fancied that somewhere in the house there was a room full of super computers and technological gadgets only seen in conspiracies movies.
Once again they were not too far off. There was a security mechanism that would only allow the owner of the villa inside that corridor, just that instead of latest technology being behind it...
... it was ancient magic.
The blond haired man looks at the door and places a gloved hand -his hands are always in leather gloves, one of his many, many eccentricities that people have passed down as quirks throughout time- before knocking on it, once, twice and then the door glows. He isn't phased by that, he just writes with his fingers the familiar runes that form the spell: Thurisaz, Isa, Fehu, Uruz, Kenaz, all of them around Ansuz the rune designating Odin the leader of the gods.
When he writes the last one, the door glows red, then blue before it opens without a sound. He can see how the torches light up automatically, as if the room was happy to see him again and welcomes him with flourish, and feels the door close behind him with a faint tint of what he wishes is possessiveness.
If you can't join me, please let me join you
He walks down the corridor, the stonewalls keeping the heat inside, protecting him from the cold of a late October breeze. He climbs the stairs silently, the cracking of the fire and the random armor against a wall as his only company. The raucous smile gets smaller and smaller as he nears the end of the stairs. By the time he arrives at the uppermost room of the tower all mischief and tint of arrogance has been replaced by solemnity.
He runs his fingers along the crest - a simple yet breathtaking symbol: powerful and regal in its simplicity, a crest that not even the most seasoned historians could decipher or recognize its origins but they would all agree if it belonging to a royal house- engraved on the door in contempt. Sighing he pushes the door open and enters into the round, tastefully furnished room.
The room has a high pointed ceiling, heavy drapes - all of them with the same crest sewed into them shining and proud- between the eight wide and tall vitrals - a masterpiece of cold artfully twisted iron and clear glass. There are eight desks in the room as well, each of them against a drape and having an oddly shaped bowl full of miscellaneous objects - herbs, scented powder, gold, quartz, among others- on them. In the middle of the room is a great spider chandelier which hangs right upon an altar and the person sleeping on it: a stunning combination of milk and honey, all bundled up in blue robes.
Matthias doesn't pay attention to the sleeping man, and opens the drawer of the desk nearest to him. He finds a lighter and a hairbrush. He takes off his gloves, revealing burns on them, and lights the spider lamp, its light a glow compared to the blazing of the full moon shining upon them.
Once done, he washes his hands, grabs the hairbrush and kneels before the prone figure on the altar in the middle of the room. Matthias takes one hand, kisses the ring finger lightly and places it on his forehead. "My Liege."
The room stills and memories break free.
-0-0-0-
"Oh the princess wants to practice huh?" It was just a normal occurrence. Nothing new, just some boys taunting a prince. Well not just any prince, The Youngest Prince of their kingdom. No one bated and eye about the abuse, even if in other circumstances it would have resulted in dire punishment, for this youngest prince had been born a seer. A gift that until then was believed to be a sign of womanhood. It was dishonorable to a man: a seer could never touch a weapon or else their gift would fade away, it was a too precious and rare gift in a kingdom to lose it, but a man who could never being the heat of the battle, could never touch a weapon and be a warrior - it was shameful.
One of the children taunting the prince was Matthias himself, an apprentice to a warrior who had move with his family from south. He did not understand fully what the taunting was about, but he was still immature enough to follow the majority who was doing it to the little kid who wanted to learn how to fight.
Their first meeting would have been a complete disaster had the knight apprentice not had a plan. Seer or not the whiny brat was a prince. He owed the other a chance - and if he got to beat him a little... that would be a bonus for his good deeds right?
He waited until the group left, and making sure no one saw them, he took the prince by the wrist and tugged him away. The blond haired kid was too disoriented to put a fight.
"Keep quiet. Here"
"A stick?" the kid stared at him in disbelief, violet eyes going from the wooden stick (more like a cut off branch than anything else really) to him.
"You seem more or a sword and bow kind of man." He shrugged taking his old sword.
"But a stick?" he whined, Matthias felt a headache coming. 'You will be able to hit him' he repeated on his mind 'you will be able to hit him' he chanted. He needed patience with this brat, but he wasn't sure he could have it. Especially when his royalty was starting to be a royal pain.
"I may be teaching you how to fight but I am not going to break a rule and give a weapon to a seer," he explained himself sternly. Did the brat not understand?
"Even if I command you to?" the other spat throwing the stick away petulantly.
"Yes brat." the southerner answered brusquely, taking the prince by surprise "You seem to be forgetting your duties. We serve and protect you, but you live to guide us and bring both glory and prosperity. Sacrificing your flesh, bones and soul if necessary." he explained, cyan eyes boring into widening mauve "That, is your duty as a prince," he continues, none of them realizing how their bodies grow nearer and nearer "Being blessed with the rare gift of the sight has given you a greater tool to perform them, and so you should not disdain such a gift lightly just because of your insecurities and woes. Brat?" Matthias steps away alarmed, before him the prince is smiling, even with wet eyes. Before he can do anything, the Prince turns around -making the knight panic for a second- and reaches for the stick he had thrown away.
"Thank you," he says once he is back, those mauve eyes dry and shining with determination. "I had forgotten about my priorities. Will you teach me master knight? I'm sorry for the temper earlier, I promise to be in check from now on."
Matthias' shock lasts a lifetime and half (the younger prince just called him "master" what had he done to deserve something like that?), but when he takes a grip of himself he smiles, perhaps a bit sadistically. "Alright brat, but don't do this half heartily I will know."
-0-0-0-
'After that' Matthias remembers 'you changed, you grew wiser by the day, got interested in scripts and took your duties seriously. You came to training and never cried again.' the knight opens his eyes holding that hand tight. The prince had not awakened - not that he expected him to, his prince needed more than just a shake to wake up.
Taking the hairbrush he unties the short braid and starts to brush the other's hair. "You changed your ways," he starts on an conversational tone, as if the person sleeping on the altar could hear him, "you were more like a man and didn't cry again until that time..." he amends his eyes sorrowful.
-0-0-0-
They must have been into their second summer of training when, one day, the prince arrived with a sullen face and red - still moist- eyes. By then some sort of companionship had grown between the two, and Matthias was honestly worried. That didn't seem like a bratty outburst, and his mind was not on their training (he didn't even realize he had given the other his old almost broken stick). The knight apprentice had never really thought about what would be like to be a seer until that September afternoon.
He had called out the training, and both of them were resting on a rock still warm from the dwindling sun. The silence was broken by his soft voice startling the future knight "It is horrible to see the future but not being able to change it."
"Brat?" it was the first time since their meeting that he talked about his gift related things. Matthias didn't know what to make out of that.
"I sometimes dream of deaths, but I cannot change them." the wavy haired blond continued, not paying attention to his surroundings.
'Was someone going to die soon?' "We die, there is nothing you can do about it" the knight answered nonchalantly. Yes death was hard, but glorious, one shouldn't be mourning about it. They stood silent for a while, watching the leaves fall softly.
"May I leave?"
Matthias let him, there was no way they could have a breakthrough that afternoon. The prince left quickly, mumbling some thanks and disappeared among the fallen leaves. Sometimes he found it suspicious how easily the youngest royal could scurry away and blend into the background without anyone noticing, but he was relieved, if anyone found out what they were doing...
"Stop getting ahead of your time Matthias, tomorrow will be another day," he scolded himself; maybe tomorrow he would find why the brat was so sad.
He did.
The next morning the Queen was found death by a miscarriage, induced by poison of the neighbouring Kingdom. That meant war. The army waited some weeks and prepared accordingly, the prince quipping some advice here and there.
The night before parting, the prince scurried into his room, bringing a round gold plate with him. "Use it on the right side of your chest," was the only thing he said, pushing the golden piece into his hands "Always," and with a small smile he left. No goodbyes or well wishes.
-0-0-0-
"You saved my life that night" he confesses to the quiet of the room, hoping that maybe, just maybe his prince would wake up now. He still has the golden plate; it had protected him from numerous battles, even before he realized his heart was on the right side and not the left.
The prince did not wake up. The immortal sighed in frustration. It seemed that he had to do the magic spell after all.
He disentangled he hair and braided it with care before returning the hairbrush to the drawer and takes the lighter again. He approaches the next desk murmuring lowly an incantation in a language long forgotten.
(The incantation was just so familiar now; he didn't need the paper anymore)