Midgard nights

Prologue

'Og kjærligheten ble verdens opphav og verdens hersker; men alle dens veier er fulle av blomster og blod, blomster og blod.' *

Knut Hamsun's 'Victoria'

Chapter One

The final loss

The old wooden door slammed shut with a loud thump, shivering in its ankles.
It was an awful sound and for a minute Lukas feared that it would simply burst into pieces like the mirrors he had shattered on his way here. But the door calmed down within mere moments and the enraged Norwegian could do nothing but sigh at the silence that spread its wings around him.
Again.
Normally, he would yearn for silence, for a bit of quietness between countless arguments, just a small moment on his own, for himself and nothing but himself. Now there was silence around him but it didn't calm him, not at all. It was not relaxing because it was the lull before the storm.
A storm which he couldn't stand anymore. Not anymore. He was tired of pretending, he was tired to be a part of this theatre, this old play. No, he wasn't just tired, he decided as he clenched his bleeding hands into fists. It would take long to remove all the shards from his skin.
No, he wasn't just tired. He was sick of it. He was sick of him.

Because it wasn't easy at all anymore, it wasn't easy to love Christen.
It hadn't been easy for a long time, to stay with him, to stick at his side, to be loyal, to be warm.

For the past decades, his so called lover, ruler, whatever the hell he was to him, had done something even worse than forcing him to be a kind of obedient puppet.
He had done something even worse to steal everything away, to deprive him of his pride, his dignity, his freedom.
Christen had abandoned him, he had left him behind, in the cruel winter of Scandinavia, between icicles, between masses of snow and ice, without warmth, without food. It wouldn't have been that bad if he had been able to remember anything from his Viking days but he couldn't.
Leifr was a fading picture in front of his dull eyes, not existing in these era. Lukas couldn't regain his memories anymore – he had been all on his own, alone, lonely, forgotten.

And now, this sick bastard was about to sell him! Lukas fletched his white teeth, snarling even, an ugly sound but there was no one around so why should he care.
The Norwegian couldn't remember to have ever been that angry with anyone.
But how could he, how could he dare to give him away like some sort of war trophy, or even worse, like some animal which he was about to trade in! Like a bunch of cows or an old horse – in exchange of a small, insignificant german province! Ah, no, he had nearly forgotten that he himself had been degraded into an insignificant Danish province, well, maybe it was a fair trade then.

What a humiliation…yet it wasn't the reason why those mirrors on the floor were broken.
It was this small sentence in this treaty, a treaty which he hadn't been asked nor even allowed to sign – just a small sentence that changed his whole destiny, which contained an information even worse that he would be handed to this stupid, coarse Swede.
Christen had demanded – maybe in his endless fear of being all alone – to keep Emil, to keep Anyu, to keep Freja. He would keep them, he would take them away from him, those precious children which he had adopted and protected for centuries. Those three of them held what was left of his heart and now he should be ripped away from them? After all he had been through to stay with them? After taking every little punishment they should have gotten from Christen for stupid mistakes like spilling milk, scrabbling on old portraits, making noises when they should be quiet? How could he leave them alone here, in this cursed castle, in these mischievous halls?

It was pure luck that he had already shed all stupid tears – it was useless to cry anyways. What could he do anyways? He was just a useless shell of what had once been a proud nation. There was no use to cry about his lost freedom at all, was there? He eased his fists and loosened the hard pressure on his teeth, letting out a nearly defeated sigh as he let his body lean against the cold window.

From the three children that represented Iceland, Greenland and the Faroe Islands, Emil was the oldest by thirteen years and he was the only one that knew what was going to happen. He had not been completely oblivious to the wars. He had never been as oblivious and unaware of the things that happened between his older brothers. Lukas had tried his best to keep him away from their political issues, knowing that he was still 'small' but he had never been able to stay silent enough.

Yet, he wasn't able to understand why all this was happening. His brother seemed upset – even more upset than during those many days he had been all sick and tired and bruised…and Emil would have loved to cheer him up but he was helpless and couldn't think of a single way to lift him up. Plus his big brother didn't seem to be eager for anyone's company.

He didn't know that Lukas just couldn't stand his sad, violet eyes any longer, he couldn't find any excuses to tell, he couldn't find any more lies to protect him from a truth – this was the reason why the door was shut. It was his only way to keep everyone away from him – though it was just a silly and useless attempt to hide himself away. No matter if a door was closed or even locked, no matter if it was blocked by a chair, a wardrobe or whatever Lukas managed to put in front of it in his adrenaline-fuelled panic attack. It didn't matter how he tried to hide for there was no one that was better than Christen in their little hide-and-seek game. There was no spot the Dane didn't know in this castle and he was just like a carnivore – he could sense the auras of them, anywhere. He would always find them; he would always find him. Especially now when their time was so incredibly limited. One more night. There was one more night.

One more night at this place, the most haunted in whole Midgard, one more night in Christiansborg that was always so cold to him even though his room was big, his bed comfortable and the warmth ensured by an always fired oven. He was barely allowed to sleep here, on his own anyways.
The Norwegian was sick of the red sheets, the orange walls, the deep purple curtains – he was sick of it all. He was also sick of hiding and therefore he didn't try to hide here, he had done this countless times before, hiding under the bed like some child – so stupid, so helpless, so miserable.
Standing by the window was just fine – it was the spot that was most distant to the door which would be forcefully opened within the next few minutes.

Through the thin layers of glass, Lukas could sense the coldness of winters breath outside. He could hear the wind howling – a screeching sound that caused the glass to vibrate under the touch of his frail hands. The nation didn't really bother with it, even though his thin arms were covered in Goosebumps, even though his whole form shivered lightly. He was used to the cold, anyways.
His hands were clinched, again, so very tightly that crescent moon shaped marks appeared on the pale skin of his palms. The reason why he was that tensed, his whole muscles again so strained, was more than just obvious. The whole situation was ambivalent, on the one side it was awfully hopeless and more than just a bit problematic and on the other side he knew his people wanted to fight.
For their rights, their laws, their freedom, their independence. His independence.
If the Norwegian had to be honest, he had had the wish to leave this union since a long period of time but with his children at his hand and on his own. The wish was an old one, to be able to stand on his own feet, finally, after four hundred years of being supressed and overruled.

And now, now it would continue, his suppression, it would continue to poison his whole existence – being held by foreign hands that were so painfully familiar to him. Lukas didn't truly hate Berwald – he never had, no matter how many wars Christen and him had raged against the stoic nation, and maybe he never would – but it made him seethe, this thought of the Swede.
It wasn't Lukas' stupid fault that Tino; this little wife of his had been taken away by Ivan, was it?
It wasn't Lukas' fault that Christen had committed oh-so-many atrocities on the Swedish kingdom. If Berwald thought that he had ever planned anything against him, he was more than just wrong. So why was the Swede so selfless that he forced him to suffer like that? Why was he the one that was forced to suffer the most?

Yet actually he wasn't.
Christen suffered a whole lot more – but Lukas had always been oblivious to the Dane's feelings.

The most people around the Danish kingdom tended to ignore his emotions, they couldn't see that he was simply afraid, like a trapped animal. They laughed or scolded him for his fears – demanding that he was strong enough to keep everyone closely attached to himself. The shadows were screaming at him whenever he was left alone – it made him fear the loneliness even more. And he hated how they talked behind his back, calling him a monster – this wasn't true, was it? He just tried his best, he wanted them happy and now…now he had failed.
It deepened the cracks on his soul, it shattered his heart that was held together by iron chains and dark shadows, this failure, this treaty.

He knew that not everything he had done to Lukas had been good and right – all he had done to keep him and the children close to him. They loved him, didn't they? Didn't they? At least he loved them. All of them, even Tino, even Berwald, he wanted them by his side. He just wanted to protect them, what was wrong with that? And why had he failed them so much? So much that he lost them, so much that he lost Lukas – he had failed him and it hurt, it hurt so much to lose him, the one that held the last natural strings of his heart.

It hadn't taken more than ten minutes before the ancient door opened with a screeching and squeezing sound but Lukas didn't bother turning around. He didn't bother as he heard those steps on the wooden floor, heavy and desperate nor did he care much about those arms that wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to a far too familiar chest. The touch of Christen's hands was burning – but it always was – like fire on his bare skin, like a consuming flame. But strangely it didn't get worse, somehow his former lover was content with just standing there – and Lukas chose that it was wise to simply accept it. But there was something else that begun to confuse the younger one, something that let Lukas narrow his royal blue eyes just lightly – it was the rather surprising wetness in the crotch of his neck. Christen was crying – and not that type of crying Lukas was used to hear – there were no angry sobs, no muttered curses under his breath. All he could hear were small hiccups, all he could feel were those hot tears. His elder cried on the same way Emil had cried when he was younger, on the same way Freja, their youngest, would cry whenever something saddened her.

Lukas was confused – why did he cry like that? Maybe the Norwegian was being blind again? He couldn't see anything through the veil of rage and hopelessness but he could feel a heavy ache on his heart. Through all the centuries they had spent together, Lukas had always felt the pain of him – and now he could tell that those tears were shed, not because Christen had lost this war but because he was about to lose all he had ever wanted; that he didn't cry because he was angry but because he was sorry and filled with regrets to the brim of his being.

A small sigh slipped through Lukas' chapped lips as he lifted one of his hands and rested it over Christens who immediately took it like it was some kind of anchor.

* "And love turned out to be the origin of the world and its master; but all of its roads are filled with flowers and blood, flowers and blood."

- It's an extract from a story of Knut Hamsun - i highly recommand this if you are interested in more traditional norwegian storytelling

Also, a few explanations for this story aka setting etc. pp. :)

It's set between 1814 and somewhere around 1844 - I haven't finished the story yet, maybe i'll continue it until 1909 when the swedish-norwegian union came to its end - it is mainly post DenNor and SuFin and actual SuNor because i can't get enough of historical accurate ships.

It is highly inspirated by a current rpg of mine which i write together with robul_trash :3 Also, the picture i used is from Lynnnnstuff on Tumblr - i support her on and you should totally check her art out :)!

Please write anything you like in the reviews and i hope you'll stick to this little story of mine 3