(Ah, i have returned from this veryyyyy long break :D I am kinda sorry for it, but university and cosplay had taken all time from me, plus i was getting frustrated with my current stories. The idea for this one came up after a long time of fangirling SuNor and desperately wanting to write some good old hurt/comfort set during the first half of their union (1815 - 1909)! I will upload every week on a sunday! I hope ya like it :3)

Never enough

Christiania, April 1840

The light of the moon shone through the windows of Akershus castle and Lukas wondered if it would ever change. It reflected itself in those plates that were placed on his desk, silvery and cold and cruel. The light of the lamp, the little fire he used to keep alive during every one of those long nights was weak against those rays of silver. Behind the thin window that was not able to keep the warmth inside of his room, was a wonderful night.

Or at least the humans would call this night beautiful with its clear and deep night, with the stars shimmering on the dark blanket and the full moon kissing the earth below.

Christiania was quiet and so was the nation it belonged to, silent and calm. Well, this calmness was nothing more than a lie – his whole life was a lie and he wondered how he ended up like that. How had he ended up in those walls? How and why did this castle not feel like home? Why did it still not feel like home? Why couldn't he be happy? Was it his fault or Berwalds' because he was so awfully good to him?

Lukas did not enjoy being bound, he did not enjoy this union – not in contrast to their first one at least. Back then when the Swede had helped him to gain strength again, back then when he literally saved him from breaking apart by the endless civil war. This union, this long-gone union of their medieval times, had filled his heart with a wholeness that had never been the same. It had been a short period of time and it had been set in the most gruesome and dark days humanity had ever seen. Despite the fact that the Norwegian had hated the fourteenth century with all its plagues and all the pain he had felt, the suffering of his people, the final loss of every fiber of strength in his already weakened body, being together with Berwald in their youthness had been the medicine he needed. He had loved him. Maybe, just maybe he still did. And maybe he hated the crystal clear night with its stunning lights because every night that had been meaningful in their whole relationship had been as perfect as the one today was. It was breaking his heart, looking out of the window, it was breaking what was left of his bruised, shattered soul and still he could not stop himself from watching it from the windowsill. The memories were as beautiful as they were sorrowful – it was cruel that they weren't only immortal beings but also forced to never forget. He would never forget anything.

Maybe, no, not maybe but for certain, he had always loved the sea and the wind like he had loved the both of them. Not that it had been the right thing, not that it had been moral or good or anything like that – his heart had always been kind of corrupt – but he had not been able to stop himself. More often than not he wondered why any of them had and should have been in love with a creature like him. Lukas was like water, he was not able to be fetched, he was too free to bind himself to one of them and he was like poisonous water too. For many decades he had thought about when he had changed from being a brother and a healer to something like a twisted lover and a venom. His eyes fell from the nightsky to his bare hands and he clotted them to fists until his fingernails cut into the soft flesh of his palm. It was his fault that their bonds were so shattered – if they had not fallen in love with him they had not been that cruel to one another. And if he had chosen one of them, maybe they would not have been in uncountable wars…Alright, they still would have. Because above everything, above their love for their people, for their folks and above the love for one of their kind, stood the love for might. They were nations after all, it did not matter if they were humans too. He had experienced this love for might and how this poison was even more venomous than the one of his love.

Might was cruel, it twisted them, it turned them into different beings without them noticing anything at all. He uncoiled his fists again, inspecting the red half moon shaped marks that had appeared on his hands. His palms were pale, his wrists were frail and as light as they were, he could still see so many scars on them. His gaze shifted to the silver plate that still held one or two letters he had yet to read and his glance caught the reflection of his face on the surface. Quickly those dark blue orbs turned away and flew up again to the shimmering stars that drew him in. He did not want to see his reflection, he could not stand it. Lukas could not remember when he had lastly gazed into a mirror or anything that would reflect his appearance without feeling disgust. It did not matter that he was more free now than he had been under Mathias who was to blame for the scars around his wrists and the prominent scar on his neck that had been caused by a deep bite and that held the shape of the Demilune. Being free while being bound was better than being locked in, but he was still not independent. And, what was even worse and what was the main reason why he ignored Berwald for the most time even though his heart yearned for the tall and stoic man, he was without his brother.

Emil had always been the light of his life, from the day he had found him up there in the north, hiding between rocks. He had been his reason to become calmer, less violent and at the same time had awoken a strong wish to keep this child safe at all costs. The Icelandic boy meant the world for him. Lukas had always cared so much for him, had always given everything to raise him up right – no matter if he had been independent or in a union. He had given him the portions of food that were meant for the Norwegian, he had carried on when the days had turned shorter and the nights turned grey. He had protected him from the darkness that had filled their home as the tone between their elders during the Kalmar Union had roughened, he had done all he could to keep the image of Mathias perfectly clean in the wonderful lilac eyes of his little light. But he had not been honest, he never had. Not even for Emil but how could he have? He couldn't tell him the truth – he couldn't tell him about anything Mathias had done. Certainly, Emil had seen much more than Lukas had wished for, the child was not blind and he had sensed the shadows, sensed the danger, even without seeing all those bruises, even without witnessing any of the horrendous scenes. Lukas just wished that he had believed his lies – except for one – the last one for it had not been one that he had told willingly – he had not chosen to be with Berwald despite him still loving the Swede even with centuries of not being in touch with him for more than a day or two or occasionally seeing each other on the battlefield. No, he would never choose anyone over Emil and never, never…

Since the beginning of their union, since the parting with Mathias and Emil, Lukas had struggeled not to cry. He had cried far too much during the last centuries and if he was to show Berwald that he was strong enough to be at least as autonomous as possible, he was not allowed to share a tear. The medieval ages were over, they had begun to start in a new era, an era with so many possibilities. And there was enough to distract him from the pain in his chest, right? His room was full of bookshelves, he had a big garden to work in, he had a parliament that needed his help. And still, this letters on this god damned plate would not allow him to distract his yearning heart. Except for some visits in Stockholm, mostly to get the law drafts to the Swedish king, he had not seen Berwald that much. But Berwald wrote him much more than he should. Those were busy times, even though there was not as much war as in the centuries before, busy times for nations like Sweden. Maybe Oskar was happy that the Norwegians were autonomy and that he was not forced to make his way to Christiania or pay soldiers to keep the resistance down. Although Lukas barely wrote back, Berwald, unlike the Dane, would not stop trying. And it was not that he just send those letters that were too sweet to not read them and too pure for some awful wrack like him, he also send him gifts and not only a few. Lukas tried to ignore it, tried to keep his guilt on a low level whenever he read those words – Berwald was not good at talking but he was good at writing. It did not work. Not at all.

Lifting the light of the lamp with one hand and opening the letter with the other one, Lukas shifted in his position, finally turned away from the window and slid off the sill. The letter was lighter than the little lamp and still it carried a bigger weight. With a few steps the Norwegian got to the bed that was far too huge for one person – he had shared it with Emil back then when it had been just the both of them – and placed the lamp on the light table. Being out of the reach of the silver rays, he felt lighter, less sad, less shattered, less caught by his memories. Those rays were even worse than bars in his opinion – without them he was free and had at least the illusion of enough strength to really carry on. To maybe forgive them, to forgive himself – to heal.

Slowly he pulled his knees up to his chest and unfolded the letter. The sheet of paper was filled by the small, untidy writing of his elder – Lukas knew that he already tried his best to write tidy but just Berwald just seemed unable to produce something elegant. He wouldn't judge him though – it was already too much that he took his time to write him instead of letting anyone inform him. They were partners in this union, mostly equal, but Berwald still held more power in his hands than he did, and Stockholm was still the centre of their union…Why did he spent so much time on him? All those thoughts just would not keep quiet, even as he begun to read.

Beloved, (how he hated it that he called him that)

I hope things are going well in Christiania. Stockholm is unusually quiet these days, except from some turmoil because of the sound dues – you know Kohler, he still holds on to those stupid tolls and is disturbing the peace we have. I also highly doubt that he knows that you stay in Christiania, the letters are piling up here and I am honest, I must restrain myself from burning them. They are yours after all, so tell me what I shall do with them. I am also terribly sorry that not a single letter of your brother arrived. But Mathias has agreed to let him visit in a couple of weeks and I hope that this will ease your pain at least a little. You know that I am sorry and that I won't ask for your forgiveness, but I still can't sleep knowing that I failed you like I failed Tino. Like I failed everyone, and I know, I deserve to suffer. But I couldn't be without you. It's selfish, it is, and I won't deny that it is, but for what should I lie?

It's like the storm inside of me won't calm down, it is disturbing every single emotion I feel. And despite not sleeping, I would not want to have it any other way. You are what I have wished for, but I have sworn to not force you and I have broken this swore. You are too light to be caught and I know that you don't believe that I am found of your strength but all I wish for is for you to heal. There is not a higher cause than keeping you safe, than letting you regain the strength you once had. I know that you are a warrior and I love you for that strength. The gods know that I have never stopped loving you, even if you deny that you are being loveable.

If you could see yourself like I see you for just a single moment, you would understand that there can never be enough words to describe just how perfect you are, despite being broken.

I shall also inform you, that Oskar hopes to have you accompany us for his sons' birthday – Karl demands it but you know that I won't let them have their way with you without your consent.

And I am sure that my storm will calm, even if it's just for a short while, if I am allowed to see you again.

Yours,

Berwald.