Well Damn! You guys sure do like this story, and I'm terribly happy that you all like the tasks as well. I hope you, Flo, are especially happy with this story so far! Well, onward to the fourth chapter! I do not own Hetalia or it's characters, but I do own this story. This chapters song is called "Drew Drusnaar - Idag som igår" by Garmarna.
HAPPY NEW YEARS~~~!
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Rounded curves and slopes, a hatchet of what used to be honeyed wood that was now brick red with mud flaunted itself before the Dane. A blunt blackened tooth curved and sharp stuck out from the taunt oaken structure to give off a terrible gleam from where it sat like a untamed animal awaiting a gentle hand.
Mathias wished to kick the thing over till it rusted in the dry pitiful dust when the rains enveloped it.
Gazing at the object only caused him to feel his gut sink low in his stomach, as if he had swallowed a wriggling snake - but the creature was bent on escaping through his the bones in his ribcage and the meat of his throat.
A loose fever of sweat broke over his forehead as he thought of the burden-laden work that his hands and arms would soon meet. The Norwegians attentive smirk was not lost upon him.
The object wasn't so much fierce as it was a complete annoyance.
It was a hulking big ugly thing, ugly in it's wear and tear use and age. Metal that looked to be crumbling and wood that looked to be rotten at the pegs. It was terrible and frustratingly basic.
It was a metal plow.
Sunken root first into the thirsty soil it sat, mocking Mathias with everything it had and stood for.
It was not long before the villagers could no longer hold their tongues as they peered at Mathias' soured face. Instead, a great uproar was heard as they clapped hands to their cold cheeks and whispered something awful of the Danes assured downfall. For this was granted to be the Danish mans doom.
It was one thing to fetch a pine cone, to clear a meadow - but to now plow it until his hands bled? It was a disgrace and a scorn! A farmer the Dane should not have to become to win the fair Nikolas' hand! Forcing himself to be humble was not such an easy feat for the Dane, and he would fight it till his very last breath if he had to. It was like asking an alpha wolf to bare his belly to a pup!
"What am I to do? Plow the meadow after I have cleared it?!" Mathias exclaimed with disbelief as Nikolas held out to him a heavy yolk with both of his hands, the dried wood drooping from its smoothed shape. It mocked the Dane silently with its yellowed sweat stained figure.
Mathias sneered angrily at the farmers tools with disgust.
"Sow the land using your old milk cows. Plant the pine seeds that you still have - one for each row. This must be completed in an hour." The Norwegian threw the yolk to the ground unceremoniously and handed the Dane quite merrily a wooden bucket to keep the seeds in. It was a spaciously big pail, much too bothersome to hold just a small handful of seeds. Mathias snatched it from out of Nikolas' hands anyway.
Each villager was tickled with delight and enticed to laugh with giddiness at the poor laborious misfortune of the Danish man. The Gods were not quick to give their luck to this lad, one could easily see!
Mathias huffed with warmed breath but went quickly to work yoking together the hefty beasts and righting them to the beginning of the meadow that was still smelling fresh of cut grass and manure from his sheep.
After the leather had been swamped and tied over the shoulders of each beast, the yolk snug over their necks and plow tied and hung nice and steady, Mathias placed two fingers in his mouth and blew.
The shrillness of the whistle did nothing to budge his two cows, their heads dropping to the floor, breath curdling the dust about their nostrils.
Mathias swore under his breath with a bite of his teeth.
Throwing the oiled reins to the floor, the Dane picked at one of the fallen trees that he had uprooted. With more anger than he should have presented in front of the person he loved, he snagged and ripped off a helplessly thin branch from a pine tree, threading his fingers over the needles until they were plucked off.
Homemade whip in hand, he drew the reins into his teeth and clung onto them like a horse does with a foul iron bit in their mouth. He held his hand tight and strained and cracked the stick along the heifers backs till their tails began to twitch listlessly.
They crooned angrily and heavy-like, the wood of the yolk rubbing easily against their rough hide to leave a messy patch of hair.
On they pulled and dug together as Mathias drew the tip of the stick, lighter now, on their flanks - but still they could not move, could not further their pace.
The plow stayed with its snout buried in the coarse dirt, not having even moved a foot.
The Dane gritted his teeth with livid frustration.
The ground was too dry with dust and rock he deduced with his eyes studying the soil and his hand running up the cheek of his face to feel sweat. Dead moss rolling about in the earth that was the color of ash and ground sandstone, bits of rock as small as your thumb and as big as your fist lodged unpleasantly in the topsoil. No one in their right mind could have ever hoped to clear and row this unseemly patch of dirt.
It was a good thing Mathias was not of a right mind - let alone a sane one.
Though the blunt metal plow could not be excepted to drive through the soil, Mathias would just have to rely on other sources for help. His sheep he could not expect to aid him - his horse was worn and in need of rest. He had little left on his person to achieve the task - but…
With a sigh that betrayed just how annoyed he was at the moment, Mathias threw the leather reins to the ground, his cattle spooking and shying from his hand that still held the switch of wood for which to beat them with.
"What am I to do? The ground is too hard!" He complained with a whine, trying his best to pretend to be defeated - Nikolas, he was certain, would love to wallow in his misery. He might just give a hint or a clue to this riddle in his haste. Mathias was counting on it.
Nikolas shrugged with absentness, his hands coming up to bury themselves in the indigo folds of his robe. He sniffed into the fox fur that lined is neck - the silver hairs curled at his breath.
"Use your wit Mathias, I shall not marry a man as dumb as an ox." He huffed, eyes waning to thin slits as he silently judged the Dane with his glare.
Mathias grinned with a tad bit of anger hiding behind his lips, yet his eyes that shone a fine blue grew brighter. He lazily spat at the ground like a working man would - the land that was so dry eagerly swallowing it up, leaving a blackened patch of wetness.
"What did those before me do?" Gruff words sopped with interest, but Nikolas answered them all the same with a smile so thin it could cut a man to ribbons.
"They prayed for rain and sobbed into the soil." He said pleasantly, causing his kin behind him to laugh a boisterous happy filled sound.
Nikolas' father himself took to the words with just as much amusement, his face churning red for what must have been the sixth time today.
Mathias sneered for real this time, not liking the idea of himself being mocked for so long when he would soon prove his honor. His pride was wearing thin and was bruised all to hell - it could not take another beating.
Yet in his angry mind, an idea graced his thoughts. His mouth curled into a smile as he drew his gaze triumphantly back to the Norwegian whom he wished with all his stubborn heart to marry.
"Did those men receive rain?" He asked quietly, hands coming back to the floor to pick up the reins and set them right in his tight fist. He stood himself by the cows and patted their sweaty flanks - they bawled in contentment, happy that the switch was put away for now.
"Some." Nikolas' eyes were brightening, as if he himself knew a secret that Mathias was catching onto - faster than a wildfire eating a field of dried wheat.
"Did they thank the Gods afterward for sending them the dew and fog?" Mathias prompted, palm coming to collect the small pine seeds from the bucket. He pressed his fingers lovingly over the little oval shaped things in quiet contentment as his other hand squeezed the rope handle of the pail.
Nikolas smiled knowingly. "No."
Mathias nodded softly to Nikolas answer before he grinned nice and brashly, sucking a gust of air into his chilled lungs. The cold air throbbed inside his chest.
Without a seconds hesitation he gulped the nine seeds into his mouth, keeping them on his tongue and cheek, the taste bland and all too horrible. He would bare it.
With enough speed to put a jumping hare to shame, he turned himself back to his team of cows who were heaving slowly with breath, bodies warmed with exertion.
Fingers working stiffly, he threw the bucket to the floor near the first cows leg, the animal shying some, threatening to kick him for good measure.
With hands that were chilled as ice, he apologized to the creature before him as he rubbed down her flank in a sweetened motion.
"Are you a religious man, Nikolas?" Mathias asked as he leaned into the warmth of the animal, cheek rested against her speckled hide. His strong hands came to clutch at her udders crusted with opaque soured milk and cruder things like mud and piss. With tender care and a hum in his mouth, he began to tug and soothe, tug and soothe. It wasn't long before a froth of milk was bubbling up from inside the pail, the liquid shiny and smooth and as chilled and white as the snow on a perfect Yule morn.
"Aye. I am religious." Nikolas murmured, a soft laugh in his voice that he did nothing to contain. This man amused him too much to be real - Mathias, what a cleverly stupid man. Like a jester or a fool - or a Dane.
Mathias waited till the bucket was filled to the brim with the sweetened milk before he threw it down with great haste upon the mouth of the plow where it bit into the ground. The white liquid wobbled and sprayed the top soil before, with time, it soaked into the earth, seeping into the dust and turning it a fine rich brown ripe for plowing.
"Then you know one should praise the Gods, not beg them to an end for struggles." He winked gaily as he clicked his tongue and collected the reins back over his neck, his jaw too sore to work them at his teeth. After a few teasing switches of the pine bough, his cattle pulsed forward - the plow digging in and moving some bit by bit.
It was a miracle.
The crowd gasped in disbelief as they watched the boney heifers lug the weight of the metal, their cloven feet as sharp as spades at they moved nicely in neat rows from Mathias' guiding hand . Nikolas only laughed softly, his fingers covering his lips that were bitten pink with cold.
Oh, this man was growing on him…
And so the plow moved forward and at every dry patch Mathias wetted it with milk from the cows who were happy to be relieved of their ache in their udders.
It was near a quick amount of time before nine rows were plowed and the small seeds under the Danes tongue each found a place nestled into the ground where they would grow and multiply into a copse of strong pines.
After he had unlocked his cattle from their yolk-like-prison and nudged them by their flanks to be driven off the meadow he had so painstakingly plowed and sowed, he turned back to the person of his grand affections.
With a back that creaked and legs that wobbled stiffly, Mathias presented himself to Lord Nikolas. His battered palms were spread outward in a gesture of solidarity, peppering drops of blood dripping in between his bandaged wrists and fingers.
Nikolas was silent for a moment, eyes tender and yet still cold - like the last of winters ice being melted away by the springs sunny rays.
It seemed to be like love was shining through from his usually stony stare.
Mathias could hardly breathe.
But then a hand was curling against his cheek as he fought the instinct to flinch from pain.
Soft, long fingers brushed themselves against the sweat streaked face of the Dane. A palm rested itself along a patch of wetted earth about Mathias' face.
Then, Nikolas spoke.
"Shall we grow old together and tend love between us as the frailest of saplings?" he whispered, voice misting over the Danes rough lips.
Mathias sighed tenderly and leaned into the touch as if it pained him not to have Nikolas' skin on him.
"Aye." He murmured.
Nikolas gave a soft sweeping nod of understanding. He turned his head from the man before him as he addressed the next task, to which he was sure the Dane would complete with passion and might.
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Weeeeell. So, how did you like that? How many you deduced the trick into plowing the soil? Oh you clever readers, you! Please review, my dears, or the Dolphins shall have my head!