"You know what happened last night Ivar, I know you do." Ivar shook his head, Margot looked clearly displeased as she pushed her short cropped raven hair behind her ear.

"Don't you deny it Ivar Lothbrok, you and your father know just about everything that goes on around here, and I don't see why you don't tell me." She fingered the gold star on its thin gold chain which rested defiantly under her green sweater.

"It is not as though I would sell you to the Germans." she groused under her breath.

"You know why I can't." Ivar replied softly, continuing to work his knife round a piece of wood, slowly forming it into the shape of a dove.

"No, I don't, tell me again." She was grinning now, biting her bottom lip slightly, her scuffed boot moving beneath the table to rub against his calf.

"Bjorn was captured last night." The color drained from Margot's face and any trace of laughter were gone from her eyes. Under her breath she murmured,

"Is your family leaving, Ivar?" Slowly she reached her hand across the table, Ivar let her take his hand and rub his large hand, roughened from years using his crutches, between her small, soft ones. He had always marveled at her slender hands, so small in his own when he held them.

"I don't know, father hasn't said anything. He barely even told us about Bjorn. You might think I know everything, but Margot, my father tells us next to nothing. He told me once, 'it is easier to be brave if you do not know everything.'"

"It is easier to lie he means." His face darkened somewhat at her response.

"Perhaps, but sometimes you have to lie, just to survive." Her dark eyes lowered to their entwined hands,

"Or else you have to dream," she murmured, humming a few bars of the song they had swayed to the first night they had met. "Dreaming is better, dreaming is brighter." Ivar nodded, his magnificent blue eyes meeting her dark ones. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, then stood, her dark curls bouncing as she moved.

"Let's forget all this, just for today. We can walk along the pier and sit by the harbor and see the ships go by and eat salt licorice!" Ivar laughed lightly, pecking Margot's cheek

"There is no salt licorice anymore, and hardly any ships in the harbor. But..." he said grinning, and slowly pushing himself up from the work bench with the aid of his crutches. "Perhaps we can eat salt fish from your uncle's store and dip our toes in the sea, we won't get many more days like this this summer." Margot smiled, she loved going to her uncle's store, despite the smell of fish. He would give them tastes of expensive gravlax and caviar and give them long strips of smoked fish skin to suck on, chewing off every last bit of meat. In the heat of the summer he would sometimes slice of large strips of ice for her and her brothers, he would sprinkle them with sugar and let them sit on the steps as they ate. She took Ivar's hands, standing on her toes to kiss him.

"I'd like that very much." she murmured, her soft hand finding its customary position at the small of his back. She could not hold his hand as they walked, for he needed both hands to support himself on his crutches. Besides, it was a bad idea to be seen holding hands with a non-Jewish boy. The Germans were easily angered, and everyone in the Copenhagen Jewish community were increasingly on high alert. Margot's family was on particular alert, Margot's mother was not a Danish citizen, and most of her mother's family, her parents and siblings included, still lived in Cologne, in the very heart of Hitler's Germany. In the early days of the war letters had still managed to come. One would think that after the occupation letters from Germany would be easier to come by, and for a while they had been, until about six months ago when the letters had abruptly stopped. Or at least they seemed to. Until just three months ago, when a single postcard from "The Family Rosen" arrived in the post box. The return address read only Arbeitslager Birkenau, the language of the note was clipped and strange, as though it had been written in a great hurry and her grandmother's normally steady, artistic hand, was shaky and hardly legible. The last line which sent "all our love" to Margot and her family, was written with such dark strokes that it nearly broke through the paper, as though her grandmother were trying to pour a lifetime's worth of love into those three small words. When Margot had opened the envelope she had felt a cold wind rush over her, her stomach had dropped to her toes, and a strange sense of dread came over her. She had given it to her mother with shaking hands and her mother seemed overcome with the same dread as Margot. A fear she could not name. She shook out her dark locks and took a deep breath, smiling softly and pulling Ivar along with her into the Copenhagen sun.

They walked slowly along the docks, the salt and the sea breeze giving a red tint to their cheeks. They laughed and kissed and talked, pretending, if only for a moment, that there was no war, no Germans, and no Hitler.

As they neared her uncle's fish store Ivar felt Margot shrink back beside him, her breath coming in short gasps. Ivar looked up, his blue eyes making a bee-line for the shop window. The glass was broken as though by a brick hurled with great force. Where the glass remained, scrawled in yellow paint, was a single word JUDE: Jew. Beside it, in the same yellow paint, was a huge yellow star.

Ivar turned to Margot, there were tears in her brown eyes, before he could stop her she was running towards her uncle's store, screaming his name. Ivar cursed, gripping his crutches harder, following Margot as fast as he could.

"Uncle Heschie! Uncle Heschie!" I screamed as I ran, my arms pumping and my skirt flying above my knees, the wooden soles of my shoes pounded as they hit the pavement. I pushed the door open and looked around, not seeing my uncle.

"Uncle Heschie!" I screamed again. I ran into the back room where Uncle Heschie cleaned and salted the fish. Cold air hit my face as I entered the room. Uncle always kept the back room cold with piles of ice where he could keep the fish fresh. I turned, running through the door to Herschel's office, he was sitting in an office chair, his head in his hands, a bloody cloth pressed to his temple. I stopped in my tracks, I couldn't breath, I dropped to my knees in front of him, my hand on his knee, I spoke softly, barely making any noise.

"My G-d! Are you alright? What did they do to you?" Herschel shook his head, patting my hair like I was a little girl again. "I'm fine pet, a bit of glass caught me that's all, I'll be just fine, don't worry."

Ivar burst through the door, panting at the effort of walking.

"Margot, are you alright? Where are you?" Margot turned, wiping her eyes.

"We're back here Ivar."

Slowly and painfully, Ivar made his way towards the back room, when he entered, his heart sank as he saw the blood on Margot's uncle's face. He advanced slowly, his braces clicking, he leaned heavily on one of his crutches and laid his hand on Margot's shoulder. She looked up, her face tear streaked as she placed her slim, alabaster palm over his own. Ivar's eyes were hard, and angry, but he managed to speak softly, even gently.

"Did you see who it was?" Herschel sighed, shaking his head,

"What does it matter Ivar?" Ivar's eyes flashed blue fire again.

"That's not what I asked." Margot, who was normally so fiery and stubborn she could easily match Ivar's temper. But now she seemed drawn, worn, and very very tired.

"Don't, Ivar. There's nothing we can do." He knew she was right, and it killed him to know it, who would dare help them? Who could they turn to? Certainly not the police, who answered directly to the Nazis.

"You two should go home, I'll finish out the day and then come home. Margot, tell you mother I may be late." There was something in Herschel's voice that told Margot not to argue with her uncle. She stood slowly, straightening her skirt and wiping away the tears from her eyes. She reached out her hands and Ivar took them, balancing with his crutches under his arms.

They walked home slowly, Ivar exhausted from the long walk and Margot quiet from fear and rage.

"How can they do this to us?" she murmured, breaking her silence.

"We were supposed to be Danes, we were supposed to fit in here. We speak Danish we dress like Danes, we eat Danish food. We don't stick out, my father works with gentile patients, my mother has gentile friends, my sisters and I go to gentile school. It was supposed to be different here. Better." Ivar nodded. Anger still roiling in his chest.

"Lets sit for a minute, I need a break before I walk home." Ivar murmured as they neared Margot's house. They often did this, Ivar could not manage long walks, even with the support of his leg braces and crutches, so they often had to find an out of the way spot to sit and rest for a time. They sat on her porch and Margot scratched her toe along the dirt at the base of the step, slowly Ivar reached down and picked a small purple flower and handed it to her.

"Pretty," he murmured. "Like you." She smiled, taking the flower and spinning it between her fingers.

"Ivar, I've been thinking. Some of the kids in my youth group have been talking. About what we should do if they start rounding people up like they're doing in Germany. Some of them want to stay and fight, but, I don't know. I don't want to die here. Some of them want to try and sail to Sweden, then catch a boat to England and make their way to Palestine. And Ivar, if they go, I'm going with them." Ivar couldn't speak. He kissed her black curls and stood, slowly walking away.

*AN~ the information about notes sent from death camps like Birkenau is true. It was not uncommon for the Nazis to force newly arrived prisoners, particularly those already chosen to be killed, to write notes to their loved ones in order to stop other Jews from fearing deportation to the East. Almost everyone who wrote these notes was dead within a few hours of writing them, and most of those receiving the notes would be killed weeks or months later.

Also, I have by no means abandoned my other stories, I'm working on all three, this actually helps me keep writer's block at bay as I am usually able to get ideas for at least one story. Unfortunately updates may be a bit slow in coming as I am going to be writing my thesis, working an internship, and applying to grad school. But I promise you guys that none of these stories have ended!