Hey Guys! Sorry for the really long wait! I've just been so busy with 'Barbarians Healer' that I forgot about this little gem! I DO NOT OWN HETALIA! (If I did, Sweden would be naked all~ the time.) PLEASE REVIEW, IT KEEPS THE MAN EATING DOLPHINS AT BAY! Thank you to MalinChan, yotzie and Ruusu for being my Swedish/Finnish translators! This chapter is dedicatedt to MeesterFinland for their private message—you really helped me find faith in this story again!
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As soon as the men were settled on the stamped grass of the clearing, everyone became quiet in the warm and bright summer air. Horns of mead against lips were lowered, fiery red apples roasting against the hot coals suddenly forgotten, pipes filled with tobacco, smoldering and smoking were snuffed, jugs of golden and grainy ale set down on the constructed tables for the feast. Everyone was silent with anxiousness, anticipation, and delight. Not even the cattle or dogs stirred in the green bejeweled clearing. Only the wind had the sudden joy to slither her fingers against the trees, making a joyous sound by swinging the tree boughs and leaves. Everyone else was content to just sit with awe.
But it was Tino who was probably the most absorbed in the spectacular and honorable event. It was time to crown the best warrior in the village. The man who had worked the hardest this year. The man who was able to hitch up a yolk to a pair of oxen, skin a rabbit with ease, supply an array of food for the village, from the wild elk to the bristly raspberry groves. The man who was the best provider for the village would be crowned. Tino knew exactly who would be granted such an honor, and it made him smile brightly.
The little Finn, shaking nervously from his seat against the lithe and tall stalks of meadow grass, watched with anxiously growing eyes as a man, tall and broad, with long watery corn colored hair that reached his waist walked to the front of the man. His hair gleamed bright against the torch lights, parts of it braided along his ears, giving off the appearance of a woodland elf.
Next to Tino, Feliciano squirmed and grinned brightly, pointing to the man, his voice a gleeful whisper.
"That's Ludwig's grandfather!" The wide eyed Italian spoke out, his outstretched hand quickly shaking around and around. From the lined up men of the hunting party, the stiff and serious blue eyed Ludwig quickly glanced over to the small Italian who was waving madly like an idiot, singsonging his favorite phrase of "ve~".
The young German man shook his head from dull annoyance before he gave the amber eyed Italian a small, sheepishly loving smile. The Italian grinned in return and, now fully content, sat down among the grass, petting the white curly coated dog that had settled to nip at a few blades of alfalfa underneath her feet.
Tino smiled at the Italian man before looking back to the cleared space of meadow that housed the proudly standing hunting party. He knew the Italian man had been pinning for the young German or a while now. He was glad to see that the two would finally be reunited at the bonfires.
Tino let his own heart felt smile twitch at his lips. He himself would also be joined with a certain someone, at least, if the other villages didn't get to Berwald first. But Tino, though a bit worried about his potential dancing skills, knew that no girl, no matter how infatuated with the tall Swede, would dare to approach him. Berwald was just...so damn intimidating! With his hawk-like gaze that stunned a person to the ground, unable to move as if their feet were laden with quicksand! Or his height, as tall as the sacred Ash tree that looms over the forest with pride.* Or his guttered speech that sounded like the weighty snarl or grumbled from a sleepy mountain Troll.
But that didn't matter to Tino, in fact, it rather heightened the man's attraction to the Finn. Berwald was a fine specimen of man. Tall, broad shouldered, strong, intelligent, kind... He was everything Tino wanted in a man and more.
Tino would not let some big breasted and long haired women steal away his man, oh no! Tonight he would do his very best to attract the Swede like a moth to a flame. Tino knew had to sway his hips, how to dip to the ground with a sloping curve to show off his smooth thighs, his milky white legs. He knew how to flutter his eye lashes, how to flicker his gaze over the man's face, leading him to drink in the sight of Tino's body. Elizabeta had taught him well. He only hoped it would pay off tonight.
Tino let his gaze flicker over the giant of a man who was watching the old Germanic leader stride towards the hunting party. Tino sighed out with a heated breath, the air around him buzzing with summer warmth. He just couldn't wait till the fires were lit and the dancing was done and the feasting was over—for then, was when the really magic would begin. When he could finally unite himself with his one true love.
Ludwig's grandfather, wearing a deep and verdant green colored holiday tunic, stiffly and triumphantly stepped towards the crowded line of men, Mathias and Berwald first in line, Antonio, Ludwig, Gilbert, and Toris standing proudly behind them, their fingers clenched at their sides, nervous smiles on their lips.
Berwald was the most nervous of them all, sweat beading against his neck, his gaze glaring and wide, the swimming green color of his eyes as heated and mad as the sea itself. He just had to gain the honor of best warrior, he had to. He didn't so much as want to prove it to himself that he could be a good provider, a good warrior, a good husband. He wanted to prove it to Tino. He wanted there to not be a singe doubt in the little Finn's mind that Berwald loved him, that Berwald could take care of him, that Berwald could treat him with the sweetest love that the little Finnish man deserved. Berwald wanted Tino to be his wife, he was going to do everything in his power to make that happen.
Ludwig's grandfather, brows knitted together, face set in a thin line against his softly paling skin, raised his hands upward to the sky, lightly turning his body to face the crowd of people. His posture and features made him look like a giant shimmering aspen, tall and proud. Everyone grew silent.
The blonde haired man scanned his sharp green eyes over the crowd, as if daring someone to speak. No one spoke. No one moved. No one breathed.
Content that no one would interrupt him, the Germanic man cleared his throat into his fist before speaking into the hushed silence, only the crackling of the torches and the whispers of the wind entreating the clearing to noise.
"Welcome, to the Midsummer Bonfires!" He shouted with a roaring breath, like a wild mountain lion hissing into the crisp and dry forest air. A few seconds stunned the onlookers into muteness before they all reared up from their seats, clapping and cheering. Howls from the men, cry's from the women, laughter from the children. The night was alive with noise!
The fires around the clearing, the small and nimble torchlight seemed to smoke and blaze brightly like an unleashed animal—wild and strong. The smoke rose and spiraled into a stream of spirited life, as if they were created by the potent magic of the Gods themselves.
Women rustled their skirts, imitating delicate and fickle birds showing off the brilliant colors of their feathers. Men raised their hands into fists and pounded at the earth as if the soil was a freshly tuned drum. The night was alive. With sight, sound, taste, and touch. It was all burning and sparking into a madden dash of heat and something more tangible—lust.* The night of the Bonfire was upon them.
Tino could feel it, the power each voice held, the happiness, the humbleness, the shimmering energy that each person called and fed. The sheer power of it drowned out into the clearing, making the flowers look brighter, the flames feel hotter, the sun look grander. It was like...Magic.
The wind took an up currant of shuddering warmth as it blew the ribbons that swirled against the may pole with a slither and shake, making the cords of greenery twist and flutter like winded birds spiraling across the sky. Everyone turned their faces upward to the sun, mindful of its overpowering heat. They all basked in it, all reveled in its warmth.
The tall Germanic man called the attention of the people once more, this time by bringing his hands down to rest at his sides, his sharp jawed face turning to the men that were patiently, if not nervously lined up, their hands squeezed at their sides, mouths set tight, slithers of sweat curling along their taunt and bare-painted bodies.
Everyone's eyes caught the simple and quiet movement of the elder Germanic man. They all hushed the cries from their throats, the women quieted down, smoothing hands over their skirts. Men sprawled their palms on the earth and gazed up with blinking eyes. Their attention had been captivated.
"These men that you all see before you—they are the villages best warriors. Each man poses a great power, a great ability that has granted them the honor to stand before Ymir's broken bones and flesh, to stand before the vulnerable and unlit flame of the Sun."* The lined face of the not-so-old yet not-so-young Germanic man flickered with a sense of deep and loving pride. Tino recognized it as a look that one gives to their child in a way to show love. The Finn sank lower into the scratchy blanket, his eyes never leaving the tall and solid figure of the Swede.
Tino wrung his hands around the blanket that was around his naked waist tightly, trying to calm the butterflies in his stomach that were swarming and erupting in his belly. Oh Berwald just had to win! He had worked so hard, had done so much for the wealth and security of the village. Tino bit his lip and nervously twisted his fingers into the bolt of cloth that made up his dress, his elbows awkwardly covering his bared chest even though it was customary for the men to dress bare with their torso.
But amidst all these people, their eyes quietly lulling over to the dress that covered his shaking legs—well it just set him over the edge with embarrassment.
He had no clue if any other male had dared to show himself in the maidens dance, had dared to find a potential husband by stomping and singing against the earth. It suddenly made him queasy and a bit self conscience. But, he was doing this for Berwald! Berwald would chose him and Tino would choose Berwald. Tino bit his bottom lip with a bit of anxiousness, his eyes scanning over to the patiently sitting virgin women who, like him, would try to find a husband tonight. Tino took a painful gulp of air, his hands shaking over his dress. Stay calm, stay calm! He urged himself.
"These past years out tribe has seen many disasters and challenges. From the summer flooding, to the waring nations to the east, to the early migration of reindeer..." Almost every villager nodded in agreement, their eyes careful, watchful like a hawks. Tino shifted in his grass laced seat with caution, his eyes never leaving the Germanic man's face.
"Yet these men have shown nothing but resilience and strength in these times of strife. That is why we honor them and all that they have done for the good of our village, for the good of their people!" The man shouted with fire, smashing his fist against his breast in a sign of respect and strength, the six men lined up before him bowed slowly, their eyes darkening with something more than the promise of honor and glory.
In the crowed the men felt it, the women too. Soon, it would be time to announce the warriors dance where each man would prove himself to a potential lover...
"Each man has shown a true array of skills and strength..." Ludwig's grandfather turned to the lined men who were by now fidgeting where they stood, their eyes wide, sweat beading down their necks. They looked like frighted deer standing before a powerful king Stag, not at all like the confident hunters they were just this morning.
The tall Germanic blonde walked down the line stiffly, slowly, till he came to stand next to the brunette Lithuanian, the man's slender shoulders shaking slightly from nervousness. The shivering brunette nodded softly to the blonde elder in a sign of respect, but he would not meet his eyes—probably for fear of being glared at.
Sitting in front of the clearing with Nikolas and Tino, Feliks shrieked with giddiness, hopping up and down on his knees, his eyes glued on Toris as if his very life depended on it. Tino looked over to his giddy friend and smiled sweetly, happy that Toris had such a...well... passionate, supporter.
Yet Tino's eyes were thrown back to the clearing when, with one sweeping motion, the blonde and green eyed man placed his left hand heavily on Toris's shoulders, making the poor Lithuanian jump a bit in his step, before nervously laughing it off. The man glared down at the lithe hunter with slitted eyes before clearing his throat slowly.
"Toris, who has shown cunning during the hunt, like the clever fox..." The long haired blonde man spoke thickly, moving along the line to place his hands on his grinning and eager Albino grandson. The Prussian man smiled smugly, as if he had already been congratulated with the wonderful honor of being the best provider.
"Gilbert, who has shown alertness during the hunt, much like the eyes of the Eagle..."
At the mention of his name, the shockingly ruby eyed man hissed out happily with a long string of "keseseseseseses..." His grandfather, sighing from annoyance, moved on.
"Ludwig, who has shown leadership during the hunt, like the triumphant wolf..." Once again, the heavy pale hand was placed on the taller, more brooding looking German, the sharp blue eyes of hunter never blinking.
Ludwig's grandfather nodded before he stepped again on the dirt laden floor that crackled and slithered underneath his feet. He placed his hands on the man next in line, Antonio, making the happy Spaniard smile brightly, his emerald eyes sparkling like the warm and shimmering ocean.
"Antonio, who has shown bravery during the hunt, much like the rampant bull..." The Spanish man grinned and blew a kiss to a hunched figure lingering near the feast table. Tino strained his eyes but recognized the now growling and pouting figure as Lovino. The Finnish man had to place his hands over his mouth to keep from bursting into giggles.
Then the Germanic blonde side stepped and touched Mathias's shoulder firmly, as if to chip off some of the man's happiness and glee from his mischievously blue eyes. Ludwig's grandfather sighed tiredly.
"Mathias, who has shown stealth, like the wild footed Coyote..." Mathias grinned frantically, his blue eyes sparkling with mirth. The blonde Dane gaze as the seated Norwegian before he took a moment to grin towards him and make a not-so-subtle hip thrust in Nikolas's general direction, making a few people giggle and resulting in the Norwegian tacking on a death glare to his face as well as a dull red blush that stung his cheeks.
Seated next to Tino, Nikolas snorted underneath his breath with a mocking tone, crossing his arms over his chest. Tino smiled softly at his friend and did his best to not laugh. But then, the moment Tino had been waiting for quickly grabbed the Finn's attention back to the clearing where the last of the warriors stood.
Ludwig's grandfather finally came to stand near Berwald, laying his hands flush against the man's broad shoulders. Berwald's eyes flickered over to Tino for a mere second, making the Finn's toes curl and his throat go dry.
"Berwald, who has shown strength, like the ferocious bear..." Berwald, glare set in place, stared into Tino once more, his sea green eyes seeming to carve into the Finn's own violet eyes, leaving Tino gasping for breath. Something odd and tremblingly warm began to toss in his stomach and he suddenly felt light headed.
Suddenly, the blonde Germanic man stood away from Berwald and regained his past position in front of all the men, his face to the audience.
"But..." the Germanic man's voice grew low, like the suns soft retreat behind the hills once night has fallen. Yet night would not make such a victory tonight, oh no. It was the suns time to reign, for the essence of the God to take a hold of the fires of day and feast from the joys of light.*
"There has been one man among the rest that has proved himself the best provider for the village. One man that has shown power and might on the battle field and absolute skill in the hunting grounds. This man will be be crowned with the leaves of the Oak and will be honored with first pick of the dancers during the maidens dance!"
The people around the bonfires clearing whooped with joy, the atmosphere becoming tense and hot with energy and joy.
Tino clutched his hands in his lap, twisting nervously against the cloth of the dress that embarrassingly left his torso bare against the hot summer air. But he couldn't let that distract him now. It was time! He only hoped Berwald would win, his Berwald. His strong, handsome, sweet caring Berwald. Tino nervously bit the inside of his cheek, his eyes becoming watery and glazed, but not from the smoke that was billowing from the torches...
"It is with great honor, that I may crown he who is the best warrior and provider for this village. Let it be known throughout the land, let it be shouted from the hills and valley's! This years Midsummer Warrior is..." The Blonde man smiled, turning his old and wise eyes over to the crowd of people. Everyone was hanging on to the blankets edges that made up their seats, mouths wide open, hands gripping into strangers palms, nails being bit with teeth, hair being pulled lightly from crushing fingers.
Tino shut his eyes tight and clenched his teeth. He placed his hands over his heart and did his best to not scream out into the maddeningly silent forest clearing.
Oh please be Berwald, oh please be Berwald, oh please be Berwald!
The old Germanic man blinked once, twice, three times before he bowed low to the ground and swerved his feet to the right, facing Berwald on bended knee.
Tino could visually see the Swede's eyes widening with fear and then realization, his muscles tightening, lungs doing their very best to draw enough air from the sweltering heat laden forest.
The bowed Germanic, a small and thin smirk lined on his face, extend his hands gracefully, before rising once again, his eyes subtly softer than before. Berwald could only stand their dumbly, his eyes as wide as the full moon, mouth parted with winded breath.
The old man raised his hands higher to the sky before producing a constructed crown of oak and dulled thorns from the side of his tunic. The long haired German then, with a smile on his lips, instructed with silent breath for Berwald to bend his head. He did so with a quick nodding movement, his breath becoming helplessly entranced.
The, with a slow twist and pull of his fingers, the man placed the crown onto the Swede's flaxen hair and stepped back, his hands still raised. His gaze caught the attention of the wide and silent eyed audience as their lungs were deprived of air, their mouths flickered into wide and adoring smiles.
Tino could hardly believe it. Berwald had won! Berwald had been crowned the best warrior for this Midsummer's bonfire! Tino allowed himself to take deep breaths and relax himself as he sunk his strained knees into the grass and blankets, his heart beat slowly steadying, his eyes gazing over at the Swede with unfettered love.
"I declare, that this years best provider for the village, is Berwald Oxenstierna! May the Gods shine upon you with as much glory as the warming sun!" The Germanic man called out with might. Berwald, still stunned, nodded to the elder man. He then, with bated breath, flicked his gaze to a grinning little Finn, Berwald's own lips twitching into a pleased and happy smile. He had done it. He had proved his worth to his bride, to his wife. Now, all he had to do was reap the reward of such an honor. And he was more than willing to do just that.
"Whichever Maiden catches your eyes tonight at the bonfire is a very lucky girl..." The Germanic man whispered to Berwald, the man's green eyes glinting over to a certain Finn with a knowing smile. Berwald blushed a bright coal red before nodding, clearing his throat.
"And now, with such an honor, we hand the torch of lights, the torch of Kenaz to the young warrior. Light the Bonfire as you will."* The Germanic man nodded to Berwald and quickly, a young man with thick bushy eyebrows and emerald green eyes strode into the clearing, his fists wrapped around the hull and stem of a golden decorated torch, the edges of the torch licking up at small switches of pine and ceder, the smoke a smoldering gray. The man, who Berwald recognized as the priest of the village, Arthur Kirkland, handed the torch to the tall bumbling Swede, the British man's gaze flickering over to Berwald, as if seeing if he really was worth enough to hold such a fine and religious treasure—apparently he was, as the Brit let his hands go and bowed to the Swede before baking away, the other Warriors having long ago left the clearing, congratulating Berwald with a quick cuff to the shoulder or a smile.
Berwald, staring at the licking flames that bit against the golden rimmed torch, lightly turned behind to gaze at the massive pit that was rumored to be made from the cracked and frozen bodies of Trolls. The pit was filled to the brim with dried flowers, greenery to create smoke, and thick slabs of timber, all doused with ash from the previous bonfires. Berwald swallowed thickly and, feeling the prickly crown above his head tussle his hair, he extended his arms downward and placed the hungry flame underneath a billow of straw.
All the sudden a great heat flashed and the bundle of hay caught fire like lightning! The cords of dried flowers were smothered ablaze and began to smoke and sizzles, the ropes of greenery began to uncoil an unwrap themselves to glow a great and shouting red before they turned to black and crumbled to ash on the slates of popping and grating wood, the sap boiling like blood from their burnt wounds. Berwald, blinking fiercely, stepped back with quivering step and watched as the flames began to grow, began to feed on the offered wood and limbs, began to hiss and crackle as if it truly was alive. It was the magic of Midsummer, Berwald was sure. Either that or the spirits were playing a trick on his eyes.
Berwald turned back to look at the audience, who had by now all stood up, their hands raised, shouts and whoops of joy stringing from their mouths as if they were all singing a unison prayer, a mantra of joy. Berwald couldn't help but try to take in enough air as he felt the fire on his back whistle and crackle, as he saw the eyes of hundreds on him. But, only one pair of eyes mattered, and that was his beloved little wife.
Tino was grinning from ear to ear, his eyes glazed and wide, hands clasped to his heart as he breathed out a happy sigh of relief. Berwald had done it, he had started the festivities perfectly!
But before Tino could think much back on it, another man, just as old as the Germanic man, walked up to the clearing to clap his hands around Berwald's shoulders in a friendly gesture, his hands lightly taking the torch from Berwald. The man had a curly mop of chestnut colored hair, his jowls scuffed with facial hair, his eyes a mischievous gleam. Tino instantly recognized him as Feliciano's and Lovino's strong and fickle witted grandfather.
"My boy, each and every one of us thank you for your hard work and efforts, and they shall not go unrewarded..." The man chuckled. Everyone cheered brightly, even Tino, who stood up and made a loud whoop of a shout, his white teeth gleaming in the bright sunlight.
The man with the chestnut hair smiled with a glimmer of light in his amber eyes. Berwald, not very much liking all the gathered attention now, quietly did his best to smile—which only ended up in him glaring even more.
The old man who people called 'Pappa Rome', simply smiled and either ignored the glare, or didn't really care. Either way, he took Berwald's hand and grasped it back against the brilliant torch, the man's paw-ish hands feeling the now warming metal of the torches body. All around him people were still cheering, some raising their glasses of mead or husks of boned meat, some throwing flowers upon the clearing, others whistling high and shrill songs, imitating the sound of a bird.
"You must keep this near you at all times, it will bring you much love and luck this night, when the veil between the sun is at it's highest! Feast near the torch, dance with the torch, let it's gleam light the face of the virgin bride you will lay with..." The Roman made a not-so-subtle wink to the blushing Swede, nudging Berwald against his chest playfully. Berwald grunted into his fist and shied his eyes away, looking down at the now flower scattered floor.
The old Roman gazed at the torch once more with a sort of reverence before he winked at Berwald again, his happy and carefree smile upon his chapped lips once again.
"May the day of the sun and the potency of Venus shine upon you and your Midsummer Bride this Litha!"* The cheery old man roared, his hands squeezing Berwald's shoulder blade. Berwald, edging away from the man, nodded simply and a bit nervously. His hands still gripped the hungrily licking torch, the flames glowing as bright as Idun's youthful golden apples themselves.*
"Now! Let us all grow fat and joyful with pride and mirth as our eyes feasts themselves on the Warriors Dance!" The man bellowed loudly over the masses of people who were squishing themselves to merge closer into the warriors dance.
Suddenly a chorus of yips and what sounded like animal howls droned through the sun streaked copes, the bawling bonfire growling with hunger as it demanded more wood, more hay, more offerings of dance and song.
The Woman let out an especially loud whoop and tossed their skirts up, unclasping their hair from their bone hairpieces, letting their spiraling locks sway around them. Tino himself rose from his meadow grass seat and began to shout with glee along with a squealing Feliks and a glee filled eyes Nikolas. All three boys took a bit bought of the stifling warm air as the men from the hunting party looked up from their seats of the pine bough benches that they had moved on to, not wanting to intrude on Berwald's unwanted spotlight—well, all except perhaps Mathias, who was still grumbling and mumbled that he should have been the one to win such an important and wonderful honor.
"Great, now I gotta work twice as hard to get into Norge's pants!" The Dane hissed under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. The other men around him just shook their heads and made a small little laugh under their breath, but it was when they were met with a solid and chipper pair of eyes on them, did they perk up to notice that Pappa Rome was smiling at them, his astonishingly white grin sparkling in the golden glow from the fire.
But, with a quick flick of his wrist, his military aura set about him and he stood over the men, his crimson red tunic flowing in the breeze, decorations of gilded gold armor clicking in place along the mans olive tanned skin. The hunting party stared up in awe.
The Old Roman who was known for his easy going speech and tricky eyes, simple smiled down at them before turning to young Swede. Pappa Rome winked to him again raised his hands up so that, if he stood a few feet away, his hands would engulf the entire line of soldiers as they sat nervously huddled together.
"It is time for you to demonstrate your feat as men! Dance along the God's light, enchant your summer bride with your wit, your cunning, your strength—and most importantly..." The Roman made a sneaky smile dip onto his features as he clutched his middle half, "...What's below your belt!" He roared with glee, his smile stinging against his illicit smile. All the men looked to the ground and blushed or grinned confidently.
A swoop of giggles and whispered laugh's floated above the green as the virgin maidens covered their blushing faces and tittered with humor and a bit of embarrassment. Even Tino grew red in his cheeks, remembering just how big Berwald had been.
If he chooses me tonight...Then... Well... We will make love and...and Tino thought with embarrassment before he shut his eyes tight and bit his lip. Oh he couldn't even bare to think it! Berwald was such a specimen of man, he would surely break Tino in two! Tino made a scared sound in the back of his throat before willing himself to calm down. Berwald was sweet and kind, he would let Tino take his time, let him get adjusted to such a...girth...
"Oh!" Tino bit out with nervousness, Feliks leaning closer to him, bending his head so that his crown of flowers slipped along his golden wheat hair, making the soft locks glimmer.
"What's like, wrong? If you keep squeezing your eyes shut like that you're going to ruin your makeup!" The Polish man hissed, gesturing to Tino's powdered and drawn on face. The Finn, forgetting he even had makeup on, laughed softly and nervously before he nodded, smoothing his hands over his skirt that was now becoming too hot for him. Oh to just get some air... He thought desperately.
"Listen, I know what you're worried about. But like, Berwald's a good guy! A big guy, but like, a good guy none the less! I don't think you'll have a problem tonight..." The Pink painted man giggled, clutching his friends hand in his.
Nikolas came to join the two, placing his hand over the two blushing boys.
"Just remember to breath, there will be pain, I'm sure. But hopefully your husbands will treat you gently..." Nikolas looked over to a grinning Dane who was crouching by the fire, getting ready to pounce into a dance, his eyes lingering on Nikolas for a brief second before he licked his lips deliberately, with a slow movement. Nikolas growled. "I know I will not be as fortunate to have found a 'gentle' lover..." The Norwegian bit out bitterly before turning to his two friends, making sure that Björt was being well taken care of by the snow white puppy. All of the maidens that were going to perform in the maidens dance had edged around the circular clearing, every spot on the earth taken by the light caresses of skirts and hair braided by flowers. It was the woman's job to test the man's strengths, to see if they really were worthy of caressing them under the stars or in the safety of a warm bed for two.
Tino, Nikolas and Feliks, along with a few other of their male and female friends were crowding around each other, trying to catch a glimpse of their preferred male.
"Now come on, we must watch, the dance is about to start." Nikolas whispered with a quick hiss of air, his eyes returning to the crouched hunting party who were either grinning in the nervous light of the flames, or glancing around worriedly with nervousness. Berwald was one of those men.
Already sweat the pouring down the man's skin, his crown of oak having one Hel of a time staying on his shaking head, his painted muscles strained as he knelt to the earth. The man took a deep breath before be gazed at the tan dirt. Already the flowers had been groomed from the clearing by pine-like brooms, ensuring that no man would stumble or loose his balance save from his own clumsiness.
A few women, a bristly yet beautiful young girl with long blonde hair named Natayla, and her large breasted teary eyed sister Katyusha had entered the circle with a heap of skins from an array animals, pelts and horns, feathers and tails. All the men gazed on expectantly. Then with a quick and hurried motion, the two unwed women carefully navigated among the crouching men, placing on an animal skin onto their back, to help give them strength and skill during their dance.*
Natayla had draped the pelt of a brick red fox onto Toris's back, mumbling bitterly that he could tie his own damn cloak around his shoulders. So, with a nervous smile, the brunette did as he was told and snagged the animal hide round his shoulders, tying it down with twine. The Foxes tail had small edges of string that were tied to the bark and cones of cinnamon sticks, the smell biting into the air. * Toris sighed and only hoped the animals tail between his legs wouldn't throw him off balance... The last thing he needed was a mouth full of dirt.
Next Antonio was graced with the thick and weighty hide of a bull, the bristly fur a dull metallic black that shook with ash and dust when he moved. The edges of the hide were sewn and clipped with small brass bells that jingled like chimes. The Spaniard smiled and fitted a cap of horns onto his curly coated hair, making him look fierce and dangerous even when he lazily smiled.
After that Katyusha came around to Gilbert and, staying a good ways away from the lecherous man, handed him the waxed and jointed cape in the shape of an Eagle's wingspan, the birds soft feathers sliding down the robe, each feather dolloped with a sprig of bright red or yellow paint that shone brightly against the now glistening bonfire flames. The Prussian man cackled low in his throat and flapped his arms, muttering something about a 'Gilbird'.
Next to receive a skin was Ludwig, the bent German stoney eyed and cold as ever. Natayla padded over to him and threw the thick and coarse fur of a gray wolf upon his shoulders, the blonde taking it upon himself to tie the beasts haunches around his body securely. The wolves teeth had been saved and were punctured into a leather throng, the strip being fastened around Ludwig's neck as intimidating gesture, and my did it work. The tall and muscular German looked like he was about to bite someones head off with his bare teeth—only Feliciano seemed to see past that and instead giggled, muttering how Ludwig looked like a cute doggy.
Katyusha had then trotted over to Mathias and slipped the pelt of a tan dusted Coyote upon his back, the animals fur soft to the touch. The Dane grinned and quickly tied the hide over his body, mindful of the little ropes of bright red cloth that were tied at the canines feet and front paws, creating a flashy show of color that Mathias liked so much.
Last but not least, Berwald was approached by Katyusha and Natayla. The two sisters made a small bow of their heads, the Ukrainian's eyes sparkling with joy, yet her sisters eyes were venomously cold. Berwald swallowed thickly.
Still on bended knee, the Swedish warrior was draped with the thick and heavy hide of a full grown black bear, the animal's legs dangling on either side of the Swede. The cuff of fur swirled around his bare chest and made it hard to breath, but soon the woman straightened out the pelt and handed Berwald the gold encrusted torch that he had left by the Bonfire. Berwald took the flame willingly, watching as the women nodded their heads against before they fluttered off stage to watch the show.
The drummers, harper's, fiddler and pipers had all been placed behind the men to the side, their hands posed over the instruments, waiting for the signal, their eyes trained on the men, their lips not even parting to breath.
This was it. This was the moment, the last challenge for Berwald to perform to prove himself worthy, to prove himself wanted by the Finn's affections. He had to snag a bride, he had to call attention to himself away from all the others. Well, perhaps wearing the skin of a dead bear and being painted up like some demon would do just dandy. Berwald thought bitterly.
Since he was the honored warrior he must first start the dance, he must be the first to raise his voice in a low growl, a grunt or a howl. It must be something intimidating, something that would be emitted from an animals throat. For that's what they were tonight, for this short space of time, they were vicious beasts. What they were about to do, were about to command, was like a deadly mating ritual of wild creatures, if one man should fall out of step, or should be shied away from a potential mate—well then, he would be sleeping alone tonight. Berwald did not want to be one of those men.
So, with a big bought of air and a quivering twang of courage in his heart, the bearish man waited, his eyes trained on a single patch of earth, his legs bent like a bow, his bare feet not even daring to skid themselves over the dusty ground. The weight of the bears skin weighed heavily on him, but he knew he would still be able to dance, still be able to growl and gnash his teeth together. He had to, he had to prove himself strong and cunning if he wanted to win a bride.
Berwald shifted his gaze till he could see out of the corner of his sea green eye, the other men, their backs bowed, sweat dripping from their faces as if they had stayed in that position for a good fortnight.
They were all nervous, all afraid that their work would be put to vain, that their dearest one that they kept in their heart would not approach them. But, if the Gods were really watching, Berwald only hoped that they would hear his heated prayer.
"Please, gr'nt m' T'no as m' w'fe..." he begged, his breath scattering away a few flecks of dust. The Swede sighed and closed his eyes, awaiting the course of the drums to lead his steps and body.
Then—it happened. It was a slow slither, a drawled out pick of a harp, only not. It was twangy and vibrating and it made all the hunters ears perk up, their gaze pricking into the sight of Arthur, his eyes trained onto a lute like instrument, the strings being tickled. Then soon the fiddle began to grow, the chestnut haired Austrian's fingers guiding the instrument with ease. Next came the piper, a small boy named Peter that Berwald had grown found of—had even considering adopting him once he wedded Tino (hopefully) since the boy had no real kin of his own save Alfred—and the man was not too keen on raising him.
Next it was the harpist, the Hungarian woman, wife to the Austrian, whose gentle yet strong fingers plucked and strummed the wide branched out curved harp, her eyes lingering onto Berwald, giving him a small smile for good luck. The Swede smiled softly back before returning his gaze to the ground. Breathe, just breathe, remember violet eyes. Violet eyes and smooth milky skin, soft dove winged hair, his sweet fluttering voice... Berwald murmured in his head, trying to clear his mind of everything but the beautiful face of the Finn. His soon to be wife.
But soon Berwald's calming thoughts were shattered. For, just as the song had breathed a sweet melody almost like chimes, the sound came to a thundering turn as the drummer, a young dutch man with a scar above his head, began to beat his palm along the deer hide tuned drum, the noise making a pounding vibration that bounced off of Berwald's skull, stunning the giant. It was only when he looked back up to see that every eyes was on him. Berwald froze.
Immediately the men behind him began to shiver alive, their legs straining back and forth, as if they were twangy legged beasts, jaws slacked, teeth glinting, eyes dangerously wide and showing white. Then they began to take large gasps of breath and linger around the clearing, like hungry wolves, for they knew that's how they had to act. They had to circle their bride, capture her eyes lest she be stolen by the jaws of another male. If that happened, well, then, they would fight for their fair maidens hand.
Suddenly the crisp voice of the Hungarian spoke, her words clear and slow, heated and vibrant.
"Find a bride on this warm Midsummer's night. By the fated number seven pick a flower under yer neck, let not your lust bite..." The woman paused, her eyes flickering to Berwald and only to Berwald. The Swede, stiff and nervous, let out a deep breath before he allowed his body to shudder awake, his eyes scanning the crowd, finding quiet easily the gaze of the violet Finn, staring right in front of him.
Tino was perfect, even with white, black, and blue paint speckled all over his face. The Finn's lips were plump, his chest a beautiful milky white, his ears tinted crimson, face mixing in with the white powder to create a pink velvety blush. Berwald, his stare burning into Tino, took a step forward, his heart shaking awake.
"Sway her hips, enchant her breath, muddle her eyes and make her forfeit..." The Hungarian sang again, her voice like the gentle twinkling of the stars.
Berwald stood to his full height before crouching downward again with the other males, his body surging forward slowly, like a stalking bear, his teeth combing over his lips to bite at the air. Every eye was watching him, seeing who the brave and great warrior Swede would choose for his bed tonight.
"Pick your bride like a summer flower, let your heart be filled with unrelenting desirous power." She sang, her voice riveting under her breath, shaking almost.
Berwald quickened his footsteps, his legs moving with the fastness of the fiddle, with the gracefulness of the harp, with the joys of the pipe and the hunger of the drum. Round and round he went, the other warriors following after him as if they were on the hunt, as if they were searching for something. Yet it was not meat, blood, nor flesh that they meant to rip to shreds and consume—no, it was a maidens virgin touch that they all wanted upon their bodies, and they were just about ready to howl for it.
But not a breath nor a whisper escaped any man's lips, no, they had to wait for the giant Swede to call out. To yell, to scream, to bellow and shout, to cry to growl, to grunt. They had to wait for the honored warrior, the best out of them all to make their first move, their first pick. Then, it was time for them to feast as well.
They all danced like ravenous animals, stomachs crouching to the ground till their grins flashed wild and they sat up to their feet with a movement so quick it would put a leaping deer to shame. The animal pelts on their bodies swayed and dragged against the foot printed floor, the smell of dried flowers, heat, flesh all swarmed around them and made their nostrils flare. They all licked their lips hungrily and stalked around the burning fires, feeling like cadged lions.
Then, as Berwald's body was hugging the wall of flames, his gaze caught a flash of violet, a flash of eyes that shot through his heart and made his footing reel back, almost backing up into the crouched figure of Mathias who was licking his lips like a starved Coyote, begging to be fed.
Berwald shifted his legs forward again, careful not to fall, and strode over on all fours to the front of the clearing, feeling a bit ridiculous right about now. But he had a job to do, he had to find his bride and make it be known that the maiden was his, if anyone else touched her—well, lets just say that man was in for a world of hurt.
So, still on all fours, the man, the bonfires blazing at his back, his fellow hunters pining an drooling, clawing their hands into the earth as if they truly did believe they were animals, that they were like the famous Berserk's, famed for their strength and cruelty.*
No. It was not the feat of strength nor cruelty that rode through them like a violent wind, it was the promise of sweet smooth flesh underneath them, that called and growled and bit into their hearts and coiling stomachs, so Berwald, feeling that enough torture had past into the silent crackling of the fire and the sounds of the musicians, drew his fingers back from the earth to stand up to his full towering height, like a bear standing on it's hind legs, powerful and strong.
Berwald swarmed his gaze over the mystified people, their mouths open, eyes wide, like the moon on a winter night.
All the maidens that were swarmed at Berwald's feel giggled and blushed, pressing themselves closer to the man's feet. Berwald stepped away, the women cooed and frowned out with stubbornness. Berwald paid them no heed, instead he made his way to stand by the front of the clearing, his eyes smoldering into the orbs of a certain Finn. A certain Finn who was gasping for breath, who couldn't belive how much of a man the Swede looked before him, his muscles powerfully taut, his skin rolling with sweat, the contours of his hips creating shadows from the gleaming of the fire... And those eyes. Those river stone eyes that burned into Tino's very soul and made his toes curl and his breath stop in his throat.
Tino gave out a shuddering gasp before he desperately tried to control himself, his gaze never leaving the Swede's for a second.
"The man who is strong, the man whose eyes are wise and whose heart is aflame like a candles wick, shall find true love here at the bonfires, by his flowers pick..." The lingering voice of the Hungarian sang, her gaze never leaving the two Nordic men who looked to be in their own time span, their own little world where nothing else mattered but themselves, but the way they looked at each other, saw each other, loved each other.
Berwald took a deep breath before he reach out his hands, fingers shaking. He reached out by the light of the growing and screaming flames, by the lingering looks of the hunters and the fixed eyes of the villagers. He reached out with confidence, with clarity, with power and strength—he reached out with love.
And with that reach, his fingers light brushed against the perfect and soft face of Tino, the Finn's breath catching in his throat.
Everyone gasped with the Finn, their eyes widening, their minds not understanding it. Why would the Swede not chose a woman, a long haired maiden with pretty eyes and round full breasts and a skinny waist? Why the man—why such a scrawny looking boy?
But Berwald didn't care if they didn't understand it. They didn't have to, only Tino and him had to understand it and they did. It was as if it was written upon their hearts with glimmering gold. They understood it because they knew what it was. It was love.
Berwald cupped the Finn's face in his hands and the Finn didn't pull back, didn't shy or mumbled or scream with fright. No, the blonde Finnish man sighed into the touch and allowed the Swedish warrior to pull him up, to press him to his arms and to caress his heart to his.
The, the Swede, pulling back slightly, gazed into the Finn's eyes before giving him a slow, long and lingering kiss that played against the Finn's lips so sweetly, leaving him reeling in his step for air. But Berwald caught him and pressed him to his chest once again. Tino smiled sheepishly and wrapped his arms around the Swede's powerful body.
Then, with his sea green eyes thrown up to the sky, thrown up to the moon—Berwald opened his mouth and made an earth shuddering growl that could match the sound from mighty bear himself.
The sound was made, the flowers pick was chosen, the Swede had chosen his bride.
Suddenly a bellow of cackles, growls, howls, grumbles and caws erupted behind the Swede as the other hunting party screamed from the top of their lungs with joy, their eyes wild, mouths open to reveal sharp teeth. Berwald, baring his own snarl, glared at the men who were advancing near the Swede and the Finn, Mathias especially being bold by pretending to nip at Berwald's hands like a tricky Coyote.
The Bearish man let out a low growl of warning before he set the Finn back down onto the ground, his face a bright red, a wide smile on his lips, his head still cloudy from the kiss.
Mathias howled low in his throat and licked his lips before sliding next to Berwald, the Swede, pressing the lit torch in the Danes way, backed up to the right, leaving the man to go to his hunting.
At the given steps of movement from the Swede, the Dane lunged at his prize.
His hands screwed themselves into Nikolas's shoulders as gently as they could before the Dane grinned wildly, his eyes as bright as the sun.
The Norwegian only had a few seconds to react before the Dane viciously pressed his lips to Nikolas's in a claiming kiss that made the Norseman clench his fingers into the hide of the Coyote pelt for balance.
Once the Dane, gasping for breath, released the Norwegian, Nikolas panted wildly, clutching his hand to his heart. But he didn't pull away, didn't smack the forceful man on his cheek and storm away. All he did was look at Mathias with a weighty stare, his mouth parted, eyes hazy before he, grabbing his composure, nodded and turned his head the other way, his cheeks roasting into a bright red.
Mathias, his eyes widening, cackled and threw his head back into a victorious howl, hearing behind him the other shouts and cry's of the hunting party as they too, feasted upon their victory at choosing their bride.
It seems that everyone had chosen a male bride, to the surprise of the village onlookers. Ludwig had wooed Feliciano into a stupor of 'Ve~ Ti Amo~ Ve~'. Toris had, before even saying one word to the giddy Polish man, had been pulled by his arm on to of the giggling blonde before being kissed heatedly by Feliks. Afterwords it was the Lithuania himself who took the initiative and began the kissing to Feliks girlish delight. Antonio, after having much trouble from the angry Italian, had convinced Lovino that he did actually 'kinda-sorta-did-wanna-be-the tomato-bastards-bride-even-though-his-smile-was-stupid-and-crap. Gilbert, after realizing that Rodrich the Austrian and Elizabeta the Hungarian were married to each other, had a hard time convincing them to both marry the Prussian. So, with still a glint in his eyes, he swooped down and caught the shy eyed son of Francis, who Gilbert still couldn't remember what his name was. But as long as the curly haired guy was good in bed, the Prussian was happy.
So, the hunters making their way back to the middle of the clearing, all gazed to the fire before letting a smile or a grin flit over their lips. Them with an upraised hand, Berwald' raised the torch and made one last grunted howl, the other men joining in a chorus of cries.
The Warriors dance, was complete.
…...
Well, did ya guys like the Warrior Dance? I hope so, because next comes the Maidens dance hee hee!
Authors Notes:
-Or his height, as tall as the sacred Ash tree that looms over the forest with pride.* -An 'Ash' Tree was the scared Tree in Norse Mythology.
-With sight, sound, taste, and touch. It was all burning and sparking into a madden dash of heat and something more tangible—lust.*--I probably explained this already, but during this festival (I celebrate the British/Roman version of 'Litha') the Midsummer bonfires was a time for couples to go into the forest and fornicate under the stars—that's why during pagan times a lot of children were born In March, a perfect and sacred month for childbirths.
-"These men that you all see before you—they are the villages best warriors. Each man poses a great power, a great ability that has granted them the honor to stand before Ymir's broken bones and flesh, to stand before the vulnerable and unlit flame of the Sun."* -In Norse mythology, and in parts of Germanic text since the two were actually quiet similar with myths and Gods, the creation myth is that Odin and his brothers killed the Frost Giant Ymir who created all the giants in the land. After they killed him they took his skull and raised it to form the sky, his brains became clouds and his broken bones and teeth became rocks and his skin and hair became trees and plants. Cool, huh?
-"But..." the Germanic man's voice grew low, like the suns soft retreat behind the hills once night has fallen. Yet night would not make such a victory tonight, oh no. It was the suns time to reign, for the essence of the God to take a hold of the fires of day and feast from the joys of light.*-The Sun was an important thing in every culture. In Norse Mythology the Sun was not a God, but the daughter of Mundilfari who boasted that she was more beautiful then every light in the world, so Odin plucked her and put her in the sky to guide the dawn chariots. In British lore and Wiccan religion, the sun is the main God, the horned God and is seen as a deity.
-"And now, with such an honor, we hand the torch of lights, the torch of Kenaz to the young warrior. Light the Bonfire as you will."*-'Kenaz' is a rune that represents fire and torches and the power of creativity.
-"May the day of the sun and the potency of Venus shine upon you and your Midsummer Bride this Litha!"*- 'Venus' was the Roman Goddess of love and Sexuality. 'Litha' is the Roman equivalent to Midsummer and is still celebrated by fellow pagans every summer, including by me~~!
-His hands still gripped the hungrily licking torch, the flames glowing as bright as Idun's youthful golden apples themselves.* -Idun was a Norse Goddess who had golden apples of youth to keep the Gods youthful and handsome.
-Then with a quick and hurried motion, the two unwed women carefully navigated among the crouching men, placing on an animal skin onto their back, to help give them strength and skill during their dance.* -Many cultures, including the Norse, felt that if you wore an animals skin during a certain event, that animal would loan you it's powers. Kind of like shape shifters.
-The Foxes tail had small edges of string that were tied to the bark and cones of cinnamon sticks, the smell biting into the air. *-Cinnamon is an herb connected with love and lust.
-So, still on all fours, the man, the bonfires blazing at his back, his fellow hunters pining an drooling, clawing their hands into the earth as if they truly did believe they were animals, that they were like the famous Berserk's, famed for their strength and cruelty.*- 'Berserk's' were a real band of Norse warriors. There name is derived from the word 'berserk' because they were unstoppable and uncontrollable during fighting. They were like paid mercenaries who wore the skins of bears and wolves and ate mystic mushrooms and herbs to make them fight fiercely. They would rape, steal, and kill until the battle was over.
