Circa 911 AD
The preceding winter had felt odd. Filled with an unnameable tension.
And yet, France was… smug. Quite smug, in fact.
Because England was getting his arse handed to him. And it was delightful.
France supposed he might have to deal with these Northerners at some point, but if he did, he would not try to fight them. Perhaps they could make a trade. An alliance, even. After all, the enemy of one's enemy was one's friend. Or otherwise, as need be.
But now, he stared across the open water, north of his lands, and watched the blood-red sails draw closer. Which brother would he be getting? The Fool, the Berserker, or the Prince? Ideally, the Fool. He was fond, France's sources reported, of red. But then, so too was the Berserker, and that was… less ideal. The Prince could be dealt with, he was told, although he did not tend to travel this far west.
The ships landed on the beach. France was no fortune-teller, nor any of that ilk, but he could tell that something important and tragic would happen here. In this spot. Not today, and not tomorrow, but many, many years from now.
A tall blond man jumps over the side of the first ship. Honestly, from the descriptions he has been given, he cannot tell which brother it is. They are all rumored to be tall and bland.
This one is dressed in blue. A sword hangs from his belt, counterbalanced by a quiver of arrows. The bow is slung across his back.
"Who are you?" France asks imperiously.
"The Wolf of the North." Which brother…? "The Greatest of Northern Raiders. The Instigator. You will have heard of me; my friend" –he nods to a tall, redheaded man who has joined the tow of you on the beach- "has told me that word of my raids have been heard in most corners of most realms."
"So they have. Not many would attempt to do what you are doing." And yet France cannot be certain which brother this is. But the redheaded man- now that was one attractive man. Possibly the most attractive man France had ever seen-besides himself, of course.
"They are weak, restrained by the old ways. For myself, I had no choice- not at first. But now, I would have it no other way."
"And what would a great nation like yourself require of me?" Time to get down to business.
"You may pay me protection, or I'll take it. Either way, your gold will become mine. How painful it becomes is yours to decide."
France pretended to think about it for a moment. "A trade."
Sparks seemed to dance in the other's eyes. Hopefully, just France's imagination. "And what would you have to trade me?"
"Land. This land. It is a fine land. The growing is fair enough. There is a river not far from here, not by water, anyway. And the Isles lay some twenty miles from here, as the ship sails."
"You are quite shrewd. Perhaps too shrewd. Do you not think so, Scotland?"
France hid his shock. This was England's brother? Why, then, was he not defending his brother, from Vikings and whatnot?
The blond seemed to notice his confusion. "Of course, as you know, this is our dear England's elder brother. He feels the same way as I have heard you do. Which is to say, he is quite tired of England. I am only too, too happy to deal with the issue." His voice, once fanciful, hardened. "But that is none of your affair. Tell me, what do you call this land?"
"This land is called Normandy."
The blond was grinning broadly now. The red lights behind his eyes were growing stronger- definitely not something of the imagination. "That is quite…amusing."
Scotland rolled his eyes. "Gods above, Norway, you're so narcissistic."
"I am pretty great."
Wonderful. The Berserker. This was probably not going to go well.
"So, this is the Continent proper?"
"Is this the first time you have set foot on this part of the Continent?"
"It is. A nice enough place, I suppose. Probably gets too warm in summer. Does it snow here?"
"Some. In the winter. Though, no doubt, you experience harsher winters in you homeland."
He nodded. "Of course. But I have grown accustomed to such things. The cold is refreshing."
France nodded in return. "I'm sure."
There ought to be some way of sealing this arrangement. Words alone are weak. And what could France do if this Northerner broke his word?
Then again…
The expression on Norway's face was almost completely feral. "How is it that agreements are sealed in the mainland? In the North, a blood oath is all that is required, for no man would break an oath. But I do not know what transpires among these southern states."
"We make a promise before God."
"Which one?"
This puzzled France, until he remembered that these Northerners were pagans. "We worship the one true God here."
"Is he a warrior? Does he respect the man that does for himself? How about the brave?"
"Catholicism teaches us to be kind to our neighbors. To pray for everything that God has given us. That some things are sins."
"Why?" Norway looked genuinely curious, yet something lurked beneath that calm visage.
"It is God's Law."
"I see. Either way, it is not for me or mine. Is there some other way we may seal this accord?"
"There is always another way."
Norway raised an eyebrow. France wasn't sure what he was doing. Or saying. Oh lord, what was happening to his brain? Redheads, that's what.
"One conquest is much like any other, I suppose."
Scotland's face was very close in color to his hair. He turned away.
"If you are not opposed, of course."
This could be important. If the land was Norway's he'd protect it. And France would have some measure of protection from outside forces. And he was opposed. In fact, it had been too long. Far too long.
"You are lucky, of course, that it is I, and not my brothers, who make this deal with you."
"Why is that?"
Norway absently waved a hand to dismiss the Scottish man. Scotland glared, but left as he was commanded. "My brothers are not as willing as I am to make this peace. The one makes his own demon by sending his people east, and he cannot see that. He is stubborn. And the other is no better. You'll see."
France smiled sadly. "Brothers are both great and terrible things."
"Indeed they are. I have oft thought that I would be better rid of the both of them, but the one's much too attractive and the other is much too useful."
"I didn't know you went that way," France murmured, slowly beginning to lead the way to a place with fewer prying eyes.
"Incest? No. But we are not truly brothers. Unless that isn't what you meant…"
This was an important agreement. He could not mess it up now. Besides, blonds were also his type. Come to think of it, he had a lot of types… Well, he'd sort that out later. He leaned over and kissed the part of Norway's neck that bordered both jawline and earlobe.
As the country of love, the art of seduction had come easily to him. And he would use those skills for all he and his kingdom was worth.