Prompt: 'Why fight anymore? What's the point in fighting against destiny?'

1814

Norway awoke one chilly morning to voices in the hallway outside. He slipped on a robe and went to investigate, the cold floor nipping at his feet. Denmark was out there, directing servants carrying chests of clothes and pacing to and fro down the rug. He greeted Norway with a distracted nod, yelling at someone carrying a tall glass vase to be careful.

'What's going on?' demanded Norway. When they met his, Denmark's eyes were watery and defeated.

'We're leaving. Going to a smaller house down by the canals.'

'What?' Norway did not know whether to laugh it off or collapse and weep. Even Denmark would not do something this mad. And yet, the wars in France changed him for good. As we were all changed. 'So you're selling this place, I suppose?' Denmark stared miserably at the floor, twisting a button on his jacket.

'No,' he mumbled. 'Too many memories. And Ice would never forgive me.' That time Norway did laugh, though there was no joy in it.

'So my little brother knows, and not me?'

'Nor, listen-'

'No, I won't listen, Danmark! I want an explanation and I want it now.' He crossed his arms and scowled, trying to forget that he was still in his dressing gown. Denmark's hurt look might have melted a lesser being, but not Norway. My heart has turned to iron, to steel, to ice.

'Sweden's coming,' he muttered, raking a hand through his hair. 'I don't know when, or where. If it'll be a treaty, or if he'll come here himself. But Norge-' He stared at Norway with those piercing blue orbs, eyes that were lighter and star-brighter than the sea, yet somehow carried more depth than any ocean. '-he's going to take you from me.'

'Den, we've talked about it, you can't do anything-'

'I can. I can fight, even if I know I'm going to lose. Because every time I tell him no, it buys us one more minute.' Norway's mouth grew round and tremulous.

'Why fight anymore? What's the point in fighting against destiny?' He grasped Denmark's hands in both of his, trying desperately to remember every callus and blemish, each one of the fingers that could swing an axe or sweep through his hair with equal grace.

'Because I've always had hope,' whispered Denmark, moving closer. 'Sometimes even a fool's hope is better than no hope at all.'

'I suppose so.' And then they were kissing, hands on temples and shoulders and hips, expressing all of their fading desires in this one moment, this final union of two souls blown together by the buffeting winds of time.

'Say it,' murmured Denmark against his lips. 'I love you. I need to hear it again. One last time.' Norway's mouth travelled up his neck, coming to rest lightly on his ear. This would be the moment they dreamt of in long nights alone- this, their last time, before cruel destiny came in and took everything.

'I love you.'

Later, they were sprawled on the bed in a tangle of limbs, breathing in each other's scent. Outside a sickle moon carved the dark sky, attended by countless reams of stars that were not half so bright as the ones in their eyes. But now their star was falling, falling, too low to rise again like it had so many times before. Someone had opened the two large windows. The night crept in and curled up with them- cool, pine-brushed breezes whistling in gently, the nightingale's solitary soprano, a chorus of howling wolves and whispering leaves.

'I want you to promise me one thing,' mumbled Norway against Denmark's arm.

'Anything.' Their eyes found each other lazily, as though they had all the time in the world.

'Wait for me. If it takes twenty years, two hundred, two thousand, I don't care. Just swear you'll wait.' Denmark drew in a sharp breath.

'Nor, I don't think-'

'I don't care how long it takes. But if you fade away, then I'll have nothing left. So we have to live for each other. Understand?' A soft kiss was all the answer he needed. And later, when we are blown back together again, are made whole, so it will continue. The endless cycle. 'When all of time rots away,' he said into Denmark's hair. 'We'll still be here. Enduring, living. Doesn't that scare you?'

'No,' said Denmark, more decisive than he had sounded in years. 'It's only forever.' And his mouth found Norway's again.