Author Notes: For this fanfic I decided that I am going to use the mainstream names Lukas and Emil, for Norway and Iceland. I don't care for these names but I am trying it out for this fanfic to see if I like it or not. If I do, I may just keep using them. Furthermore, this is a historical AU taking place somewhere north of Trondheim, Norway in the 1400s. Berwald (Sweden) is the pastor of the village who is trying to protect Mathias (Denmark) from the villagers. As I am sure most of you know, people were not very tolerant back then. This is going to lead to many conflicts in this fanfic, including homosexual love. I will also be writing in third person; however some chapters may have the story told through Mathias, Lukas, and even Berwald from time to time. For now, I will keep this fanfic rated T, though it will change in the future. Don't worry, I will give a heads up, and always write a warning at the beginning of each chapter for those who do not like sexual themes.

Anyways, I hope you all enjoy. Please review and help boost my will to write!

8/8/2013 Chapter revised and beta'dby Shiralala. Thank you so much!

The wagon was being pulled by two, large Nordic horses that jostled Lukas awake as the wheel dug deeply into a rut. Groggily he opened his eyes and saw the early sun coming up over the rocky hills, revealing the barren land all around him. Wiping his face, he felt a thin layer of drool covering half of his chin as he tried to shake the sleepiness out of his eyes. For a whole week he had traveled the coastline of Norway, heading to a small shack that he had recently inherited from his newly deceased wife. If you wanted to call her that; they had only been married two weeks before a freak accident took her from him. Regardless of the duration of their marriage, Lukas inherited her small land beside the coast, somewhere north of Trondheim.

As bad as it sounded, Lukas was relieved for the freedom he now had and the land he now owned. The cruel reality was that Lukas was the middle brother of a poor family, which would not and could not provide land and occupation for all of their sons. It seemed for several months that Lukas would be sent to the church because of how rare it was for the second brother to inherit anything. But the older woman he had married had taken a liking to him one evening and gave him her small shack by the sea as a dowry. With her death Lukas was a tad richer and no longer heading to the church to become a monk.

Shaking these thoughts away he asked the driver, "How much farther?"

The smelly and ragged old man answered in a deep burly voice, "Just about two more hours, my princeling." Lukas grimaced at the nickname; it was both ironic and inappropriate. He had come from a poor family that ran a tavern. His hardworking father had to pay the dowries for his many sisters, leaving them in poverty. But his older brother was treated like a prince; at least, compared to the rest of the family.

Knowing he had a few more hours, Lukas rummaged through his basket and located the only book he had managed to bring. It wasn't that he particularly liked the book, he just bought it because he never finished it.

Being stuck on a long journey up north seemed like the perfect opportunity to finish it. So slipping back into its pages, Lukas read for the rest of the way until he heard the sounds of people. At first he only saw poor peasants walking the muddied roads, herding their livestock out of the way of the oncoming wagon.

By this time Lukas could smell the sea and felt a rush of uncertainty. In all of his nineteen years, Lukas had never really left his mother's skirts. He worked day and night in the tavern, never venturing out. Any spare time he had was spent reading book after book. All of his seclusion and reading had made him into an introvert. Now he was on his own and it was almost official. After sailing north to Trondheim, the driver became the last connection to his family, a sort of farewell gift. His father had bought the man to help his middle son make the journey northwards, where he had a chance to succeed.

Or fail.

Once the village came into view, Lukas placed his book down and looked around at the poor houses that encircled a grand, stone church with beautiful stained glass. The wagon halted and the driver hopped down before dragging Lukas' trunk into the mud.

"Hey!" Lukas shouted angrily.

The filthy man smiled broadly, revealing many blackened teeth. "Your father only paid me to take you to this village, not all the way up to your cottage, boy," he growled. Before Lukas could get a word out, the driver climbed back in the wagon and urged on his horses, leaving Lukas dirty and marooned. An old woman on an ancient porch laughed shrilly at Lukas, as he stumbled through the ankle-deep mud. Lukas grimaced as he tried in vain to protect his fine traveling clothes.

"Does the lord expect the common man to bend over backwards and carry him through the muck?" The old woman cooed, starting a chain of mirth to the surrounding citizens that caused Lukas' ears to flush red, though he managed to keep his face expressionless. Steadily, he gave them all a cool look before picking one side of his heavy chest and dragging it through the mud. Because of the way everyone's colorless clothing clung to these people's bodies, this village was truly a poor one. Lukas grew up in Oslo, and even though he was considered poor there, at least his clothes fit properly and had some color to it.

After slipping and sliding through the gunky muck, Lukas managed to haul his trunk up onto a shop's porch. Looking down at himself, he saw that he had mud up to his ankles. Lukas sorely regretted coming to this village.

Before Lukas could inquire someone to help carry his trunk the rest of the way, a young boy came running down the street. "Oi, everybody! Old man Olaf's got Mathias on the whipping post!" Everyone, even the old grumbling people, leapt to their feet and started off in the direction that the boy had come. They began to chatter in a solemn but yet in an excited mood. Curious as to what this could possibly mean, Lukas followed the crowd dragging his heavy trunk behind him.

It didn't take long for Lukas to figure out what exactly was going on, a man's high pitched scream pierced into Lukas' ears causing his heart to drop into his stomach. Living in Oslo, Lukas had become accustomed to seeing hangings and public humiliations. But when the whip came back down and another helpless, pleading cry rang out, and Lukas couldn't stop the chills down his neck. And that sound, that scream! It sounded like an animal being tortured. When he wasn't screaming, the man, Mathias, babbled utter nonsense. Somehow ignoring the heart-wrenching cries, the townspeople cheered mercilessly, and even began to egg on the burly man with a whip. "Hit him harder, Olaf! It'll knock some sense into that demon!"

"The devil is in him, Olaf! Don't listen to his screams!" a woman with a babe at her breast berated hotly.

Olaf complied willingly and struck down with the whip a few more times, and Mathias, whom Lukas could not see fully, let out a pain-filled screech. But before the whip came down again, the church doors swung open and a very tall man emerged. The entire crowd went silent as the pastor of the church stepped off his porch, his black robes billowing behind him. He had such a powerful, intimidating stare that when his piercing eyes met those of any person in the crowd, they were unable to meet his gaze, instead looking at the ground.

"Wha' in the name of the Lord are ya doin' with that whip, Olaf?" The addressed man cowered like a naughty child from the pastor's stern voice. Lukas could hear the victimized man moan and babble before shrieking and struggling with his restraints. Several villagers gasped and stepped back in fear. The frightening sounds unnerved even Lukas, but the clergy man didn't even bat an eyelash. He remained where he was, a stony look on his face. "I ask once again, Olaf. What ya doin' with that whip?"

"I'm sorry, Pastor Oxenstierna, but I found him making sounds at m'livestock and I just couldn't-"

"Whatever the previous Pastor taught ya, I wish ya all ta f'rget." The pastor said harshly. "Ya can't go around and whippin' the insane."

"But the devil-" Olaf protested.

" 'Nough! Untie him and hope that Mathias don' take off yer skin." Olaf didn't move and his audience all shrank further, back not wanting any part of releasing Mathias.

"I will not." Olaf spat on the ground before turning his back and walking away. His insolence made the crowd gasp slightly and Lukas could see the defined muscles of Oxenstierna's jaw jut out as he ground his teeth together in frustration.

With quick strides, the pastor approached the straining Mathias and quickly undid the knots. Mathias lashed out at Oxenstierna, using his filthy nails and hands to scratch and punch the clergy man before slipping fully from his bonds and running into the parting sea of people. All Lukas saw was the wild man's bloody back before Mathias hopped over a stone wall and disappearing from view. When he looked back the crowd was dispersing, and the pastor was already heading back towards the church.

"Wait!" Lukas called out to the man as he yanked his heavy trunk through the mud. The tall man turned towards Lukas, his icy gaze locking with his. Lukas paused, looking at the scratched and bruised face. "I'm Lukas Sandvik. I inherited some property north of here."

"Ya mean Sjohus?"

Lukas paused, not sure what to say before responding, "Yes I believe so. It was held by my late wife's family. Her maiden name was Hagen."

"Ya, that sounds 'bout righ'." The pastor grumbled before holding out a hand, "My name is Berwald Oxenstierna, Pastor of the village."

Lukas shook his hand firmly before adding, "Perhaps you know someone that can take me out to Sjohus. I don't know the way and," he motioned to his trunk, "it won't be exactly easy to walk there."

Berwald nodded curtly before opening the large iron door, "Let me wash m'face first and I'll take ya there m'self."

"That's fine," Lukas said before sitting down on his chest.

People had resumed their normal routine, quickly moving on and forgetting about the whipped man. Lukas didn't hide his disgust as he watched them. Back in Oslo he had seen many cruel things, and since he was a boy, Lukas remembered having a weak stomach for the violence. He even once defied his father and gave a cup of water to a man locked in the stocks. At home Lukas received a beating when his younger brother accidentally revealed what he had done.

Lukas remembered his father's words after he was done beating him, "How someone cold like yourself can give a criminal sympathy is beyond me."

The man thought his second son to be heartless because he seemed detached. But to Lukas, people like his father and these villagers were the true heartless ones.

"Ya ready?" Berwald asked gruffly, interrupting Lukas' train of thought. Lukas simply nodded and followed the clergy out into the back of the church, where they bridled a horse to a cart and tossed Lukas' large trunk into the back.

With a lurch, the cart started down the muddy, rutted road. Lukas looked around him, people-watching like he had before. Most houses were small and the families sat outside in rags. The whole place looked like a giant mud pit, but as they rolled out of the village, it gave way to green fields with long blowing grass from the sea. The waves could be heard and Lukas spotted the rushing water below when they climbed to the top of a hill outside of the village. Lukas spotted a few ships out at sea fishing, and saw more docked at a nearby harbor. Most trails lead back up from the docks to the village and were created by sand in the grass.

"I don' know if there'll be anythin' left at yer property," Berwald spoke suddenly. "I pass it fr'm time to time, but it's only when 'm lookin' for Mathias."

Lukas nodded slightly, "I know, my late wife told me it wasn't much, and that she hadn't been there since she was a girl. She couldn't guarantee me anything. But what do you mean by 'looking for Mathias'? Should I be worried?"

Berwald frowned deeply before saying sternly, "Ya should look out for 'em. He's… not trustworthy. The villagers are correct f'r fearin' him. He's a savage and c'n turn on ya quickly. But… it's not his fault. He's nice when he's not scared and if the villagers didn' abuse em, Mathias would j'st be a friendly village idiot."

"I guess I can see your reasoning. If I was beaten I wouldn't be too trusting, either. I'd try to stab people in the back to get ahead." Lukas replied smoothly, unashamed at speaking the truth.

"Glad we have an understandin'." Berwald said before grunting, "You sound like an educated man."

"I can read."

"A rare trait." Berwald commented before they went silent for a moment, and Lukas found himself gazing down at the crashing water on the rocks. The pastor cut the silence once again as their wagon lurched forward as they began to descend down the sloping hill, "How did ya meet the late owner? Oslo is a long ways away from us."

Lukas kept his eyes on the shore below as he answered honestly. "She liked to drink at my father's tavern. She couldn't read and always ordered one of us to read to her. I was her favorite. When she heard I was going to be sent to the church, she suggested that we marry. There was no romance and she was about fifteen years older than me. It was a matter of convenience and… pity. We were married and she was struck down by a horse a few weeks later." Berwald's stoic face twisted into a grimace, Lukas knew that the truth of how he got this place wasn't the best. He had never been in love, and his mother's own advice was never to marry for such a cause. It was reckless.

"I plan on fixing the place up." Lukas added. "I remember her saying that we have a boat and several buildings."

The pastor nodded and he added, "Ya certainly have that. Look, up head that is yer place."

Lukas wasn't too surprised on what he saw. The main house was still intact, for its walls were made of stone, but the ceiling sagged in and its thatching was rotted. Everything that was wooden had collapsed. All of the fencing around the fields were leaning awkwardly, and Lukas couldn't see any proper irrigation system. He could already sense the amount of work he that was needed. Thank God that along with the property, he had also inherited some gold, which would help him repair things. But everything was in bad shape, and both the old cowshed and grain shed had long since collapsed under the elements. Lukas could also see a wooden structure that seemed to lead down the cliff face to the surf below, which was probably unsafe and shaky.

The wagon rolled to a stop and both men hopped down, then walked around to drag Lukas' trunk off the bed. "I suppose I'll be seein' ya this Sunday?" Berwald asked as they hauled the trunk towards the pitiful little house.

"Perhaps. I want to get this place up and running as soon as possible." Lukas confessed, having briefly forgotten who he was talking to.

Berwald grunted before stating sternly, "Word of advice. Come ta church every Sunday." Lukas felt that he was unable to look the pastor in the eye. He felt embarrassed from his slip-up and he felt like he was a child again, getting reprimanded. "It's not because God wills it," Berwald said, quietly. "It's because the villagers would notice it." Lukas quickly caught his meaning. He had, after all seen them whip a village idiot.

"I will see you on Sunday, then." Lukas said slowly, showing that he understood Berwald perfectly.

"Well then, good luck on yer farm. Nice ta meet ya." Berwald climbed back on his wagon, leaving Lukas along on his property.

Lukas felt suddenly cold as he realized that he was finally, truly alone. He had never been alone before. He'd always had a sibling around, a mother calling him to do things, and on the way up, he'd at least had the unpleasant driver for company. Now there wasn't anyone, and the silence of his own property made Lukas feel odd somehow. He wasn't a social person, but it didn't stop him from feeling a deep sadness and uneasiness as he entered his house the first time.

As he came in, Lukas let out long sigh. The floor was comprised of packed dirt, and it seemed as if someone had been living there. They had left fish bones, sea shells, and other food remains all over his floor. There was also a makeshift bed next to the fire place made out of grass and leaves. The only stairs that led up to the sleeping loft were warped and ruined, and Lukas knew if he tried to climb them, he would end up with a twisted ankle or worse. A bit annoyed, all he could do was lug in his chests that held all of his belongings, unpack his blanket, and then eat some cheese, sausage, and bread he had brought from home.

After his meager meal, Lukas crawled onto the grassy bed and covered himself up with a jacket. His mind was racing with a thousand thoughts; he couldn't quite get over Mathias' screams, the leering of the villages, and the damp coldness of his new home. He laid there for several hours until his travel-worn body finally gave in and he fell into a feverish and uneasy sleep. When he woke the next morning, he felt even more exhausted and cold.

Outside it had begun to rain. The dirt floor provided no protection against the water, which had seeped in. It gave his house an even icy feel, and even though Lukas was still dry he was chilled to the bone. For a few hours he laid in his bed, not wanting to get up and work on his property. Lukas knew he was acting too spoiled for his situation. He no longer could afford to lie around lazily and eat his mother's cooking. Lukas would have to create his own fortune or starve. But it had been a long journey, so he figured skipping work on one rainy day was okay.

Lukas was almost warm and back to sleep when the door was suddenly opened, smacking against the wall. With a jolt, Lukas started awake, opening his eyes to see a figure standing at the door in soaked rags. Dread filled his heart when he saw Mathias looking at him, equally wide-eyed and scared.