'There are two times in every man's life when he is thoroughly happy; just after he has met his first love and just after he has parted from his last one.'
~H. L. Mencken
The perpetual sound of water dropping onto the cold, stone floor reverberated throughout the room.
The constant, soft breathing made by the single occupant of the room was the only noise that you can hear besides the continuous dripping.
The dungeon was as silent and dark as the night. The temperature was as cold as touching point zero. And within, was the representation of the once-proud kingdom, Sweden, now both physically and mentally battered. His head hung low in defeat and exhaustion from all the damage he had taken from the bloodbath.
Berwald stared at blankly at the mist that formed from his every breath. Every part of his body ached, dried blood laced his every limb. Somehow, he could see a faint image of a place that he wasn't familiar with, flashing and playing within his head like a broken movie. The image of an axe blade, covered in blood, was conjoined within the vision ever so clearly.
Considering that his people had lost most of their leaders, Berwald, himself, needs to do something. He knows that without anyone guiding his people, they would most probably loose their sight and submit to the Danes. That would be the last thing Berwald wants to do.
But even after all the resolution; first, he needs to get out of this shit-hole.
Those once lifeless, cyan eyes now burnt back with life. His whole soul was filled with pure decision. His hands were clenched into a fist in determination.
Berwald will bring his proud kingdom to rise back on its platform of glory. His flag would sway by the wind, bared in the open air called freedom.
And Berwald swore to himself, that he, will not fail.
The sky was thoroughly painted with shades of gray. Dark, heavy clouds were slowly emitting fine sands of ice, covering the lifeless landmass.
And atop of the sheets of white, was Denmark. His face were tinged in slight pink hue due to the prickly coldness of the temperature against his face. Sitting on a mound of a large boulder, he slowly wiped the blood dirtying his axe with a dirty rag. He hummed a random note that came into his mind, breaking the steady silence of the atmosphere.
It was November 10; Denmark recalled.
A weak moan suddenly erupted from the position further back from him followed along with a small rustle of movement. The proud Viking stopped his both his hand movements and song. His deep, Sapphire eyes peeked to the side. His eyes were directed upon the land several metres away from him.
And atop the sheet of the pure whiteness of snow, was a sea of contrasting crimson. The redness of blood slowly diffused to the snow, dirtying the serene whiteness with gore and death. Headless, mutilated corpse haphazardly scattered around the patch of scarlet snow. A powerless, wavering hand reached out, seeking unexistent help.
Denmark scrunched his nose in extreme abhorrence. He despised the disgusting odour emitted by the blood from the dead, degrading bodies of the damned anti-unionists, but he hated die-hard people even more. It was a good thing he planned to slaughter every one of them; at least no one else would have experienced any of their rotten promise.
His- no... Their king would have lead them better than those aristocratic liars.
The self-proclaimed 'King of Northern Europe' stood up from where he previously sat. He dusted imaginary dusts from the back of his clothing and took his first step towards the source of where the sound came from.
Crunch... crunch...
With every step he took, the ice below his feet made a crunching noise. The sound stopped when he stood directly before the struggling body. Denmark pulled his Danish axe high. He made a fatal blow as he swung the sharp blade. The edge of his axe jabbed straight into the body, draining the life from the last survival of the massacre.
He pulled his once-again bloodied axe and went back to sit on the rock he previously sat on before. He took the cleaning rag and once again began cleaning the blade. Another different tune unconsciously emerged from his throat as he got himself lost within his thought.
The Dane always considered himself as Sweden's older brother ever since they met each other during the early civilization. And a true brother would never allow anyone to corrupt his siblings and made them to go against their own family; nor antagonizing their own brother.
What he did now was all for the good of Sweden. That is why he killed every one, this is also why Denmark created Kalmar Unionen. It was to protect all of his brothers, blood or not-blood related.
But in the end, he realized it was all simply for Sweden. Everything had always been for him...
Denmark sighed as he finished the last rub to clean his blade. Once again, he stood up and stared to the now setting sun.
"Jeg kommer hjem, bror…" He whispered to himself.
It's time to go back.
The castle of his current king had always been silent. Only light steps and slight murmurs of mainds or officials could be heard throughout the castle. Kristian II, apparently, does not seem to really like noises as he himself was a man of few words. The proud Danish made his proud steps on the red carpet lining the halls of the castle. Paintings of previous kings were hung everywhere, decorating the bare, white walls.
The whole castle was too quiet for Denmark's liking, so sometimes he either made a loud noise or sung a chirpy to himself; he was more of a festive person anyway.
Before Sweden decided to rebel, the whole castle used to be more livelier with the presence of more laughter and chatters from the rest of his union; Norway, Iceland, Finland...
… And Sweden.
Sweden might be silent, but something about him made Denmark's life more colourful. His presence alone made a certain tingly feeling within Denmark. His body shivered in excitement whenever he caught Sweden looking at his way, but another feeling similar to jealousy erupted whenever he realized that those eyes were meant for Finland. Not him.
Talking about Finland, Denmark has yet to see him for the past ten days before the bloodbath occurred. He must have probably escaped, scared of his life; but its okay, Denmark would soon re-capture him anyway.
Denmark continued his steps until he reached to a certain heavy wooden doors all the way at the end of the castle. It was heavily secured with bars of irons and locks. He unlocked all the iron lock. He then pulled the wooden plank securing the entrance and made an effortless push the door. It would have required the strength of at least two men to open the gate, but he wasn't human anyway. He was a nation.
The door opened to reveal a set of stairs that leads to dark, cold basement. The Dane took steps down deeper into the chamber. The repercussion of the sound of his heels echoed as it resounded into the empty air.
"Sverige..." Denmark's voice echoed throughout the dungeon. Berwald was alerted with the presence of another person and quickly switched into his defensive demeanour. His eyes were sharp as he observed the moving Dane.
Denmark ignored the cold stare currently being directed to him an unlocked the cell. He looked at his prisoner and smiled innocently. Sweden's face hardened. His lips were pulled into a thin line. The greenish-blue eyes moved with every step the overwhelming Dane in front of him made. Not single trace of fear could be traced. Only anger.
"... Danmark!" He hissed.
"Ja, Sverige?" Denmark casually replied without a single trace of guilt. Sweden gritted his teeth.
"Sluta spela. What exactly have you done you wretched beast? Do you think killing all my royalties would swagger my people into submission?" The imprisoned Swede spat. His words were heavily coated with a ton of malice and irritation.
Denmark was not happy with the tone Sweden used. Using his fore-finger and thumb, he lifted Sweden's chin and stared back to those rage-filled, beautiful eyes.
"You are not to use such a tone to me, Sverige. And you know I always meant what I said."
" Jag använder vilken ton jag vill. " Berwald retorted rebelliously. Denmark's face dramatically turned from a shit-eating grin into to an expression that of an anger. He lifted his right hand, and with all his rage, he connected his fist to Sweden's unprotected jaw.
The impact made Berwald's eyes to see stars for a couple of seconds. He slowly regained his sight and shifted his face again towards the Dane.
"... Kan du inte mer?" Berwald once again provoked. The rebellious tone still infused within his words, angering the man before him even more.
With no hesitation, Denmark swung his fist once again towards Sweden. Berwald escaped from the impact by a slight inch and quickly kicked Denmark by his solar plexus. The impact swooned the man out of balance, giving Berwald enough chance to make his own move. Using his inhumanly strength, Sweden pulled the chain connected to the wooden cuffs free. Liberating his hands from hanging above him.
With his hands no longer restrained to the walls, Berwald ran towards the open gates and ran out of the cell. He looked back for a second as he discovered that the representation of the great Kingdom of Denmark was still crouching in pain, unable to right away chase the escaping prisoner. With then, immediately continued to run.
Sweden did not dare to look back for the second time. He just ran forward, following his intuition to lead him towards the exit. He was pretty much familiar with the castle when he was forcefully demanded to live within it during the start of the union.
As he was running nearer to the exit, a familiar voice was caught by Sweden's sensitive ears. The voice was calling for him.
"Su-san!"
It must have been from Tino. Berwald just couldn't figure out how Finland was still within the compound of Denmark's territory and have yet to get caught, but he was happy enough that Tino was save. Sweden ran faster towards where he assumed had came from.
Nearing towards the open window that the voice originated from, Sweden spun his head around for any signs of Tino; but there were no one.
Suddenly, a pair of hands appeared out of nowhere. It clasped his mouth before it pulled him out towards the window.
Sweden's eyes widened, but was back to its original demeanour when he realized it was Finland that helped him. His face was serious and full of determination. A finger was placed in front of his lips in a gesture of demandind silence.
When Finland put his finger down, his lips opened to whisper.
"Su-san... We need to escape from here..."
Berwald wordlessly agreed and nodded.
A.N.: YAY FOR PROCRASTINATION. I was very stressed when my laptop broke down when I had already completed my third chapter. I had to undergo my emo-pace and sulked for 3 weeks or so before I had to buy a netbook to replace my laptop before I started writing again. And to be truthfully saying, I hate this netbook.
So, here is the long-awaited chapter 3. I hope you enjoyed them~! :-)
Btw, if anyone was expecting SuFin, I am sorry, it would not appear in here.
All translations are all thanks to PinkRamen-san!
Translations:
Jeg kommer hjem, bror(Danish)- I am coming home, brother
Sluta spela(Swedish)- Stop with all the act
Jag använder vilken ton jag vill(Swedish)-I will use whatever tone I wish
Kan du inte mer?(Swedish)- Is that all you got?
So, see you in the next chapter! hopefully it would not take as long as this chapter ;)