[fanfic] Battle of Svolder
Title: Battle of Svolder
Author/Artist: imadera
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Sweden, Denmark/Norway
Rating: G (I don't know)
Warnings: None... I think? Slight degrading.
Summary: In the aftermath of a battle, there'll always be one losing side. And that side always have to pay... one way or another. It's the year 1000...
Sitting on his knees, arms hogtied at the wrist behind his back, Norway glared at the wooden floor. Eyes narrowed and teeth gritted, he silently cursed everything and everyone in his mind. Including those two bastards. Including his own king.
...Including himself.
How could it have come to this? It shouldn’t have come to this. He should have won. What went wrong? Where was the faulty action? Who was to blame? Damn it. Damn it all! And damn them! The gloating bastard and the silent asshole.
When the sound of a door opening was heard, the Norwegian didn’t raise his head. He wasn’t going to look up at them, like subjects did to their kings, like dogs did to their masters. Never. He continued glaring at the floor, noting, at the edge of his vision, how two pair of boots came to a halt in front of him. There was the sound of the Dane’s voice, low, for once, as he spoke to the Swede, who answered him in his usual cut-short and few word way. The all had the same language, but with different lilt to it. Denmark had slightly stronger sound to his words, Sweden a more melodic (only heard when the idiot deigned to speak longer than three to four words in a row), and Norway himself had a more lighthearted way of speaking. Little Iceland, still young, seemed to retain that flowing sound that they’d all had when the boy was born some centuries ago. Come some more long years and Norway could bet on it that they’d all have a way of speaking that would be passable as different, if intelligible, languages. Not that it mattered at the moment. Because right now, his two captors were seemingly done with excluding him from the conversation.
“So. Not so tough now, hm? Why didn’t you run? Like your king.” The bastard knew full well that Norway’s king had chosen the waves to being captured and at the mercy of his enemies. Some could see it as running, perhaps, but he chose to see it as the will of someone who would never surrender. Rather go into the halls of Valhalla-Christ... The change was still too soon. It took time for a nation to get used to a new religion. And especially one imposed so completely, and so quickly, as Óláfr Tryggvason had Christianity. He had only been king for five years and now they-
The sound of Sweden placing a hand on Denmark’s shoulder resounded through the silent room, causing Norway to blink as it disrupted his train of thought.
“D’n’t be too h’rsh.” Sweden said as he turned, hand still on Denmark shoulder. The Dane blinked at him, head turned to the side to look at the other’s face in profile.
“What do you mean? You know me,” he said with an almost puzzled face, arms crossed over his chest, something he’d done earlier.
“’S wh’t I mean.” And with that, the other nation left the room without looking back even once.
Norway hadn’t meant to do it, but had raised his head ever so slightly to just be able to raise his eyes to see Sweden leave. Now he stared at the door as the taller nation closed it behind himself and the sound of his footsteps died away. He couldn’t shake it, but there was something, almost unnerving, in Sweden’s leaving.
“Hey.” Norway didn’t even blink at the drawl that had a slightly degrading tone to it. He just kept his eyes on the far away doorway.
And then there was a blade at his side. Dark indigo eyes slowly fell to the cold metal gently pressed against his cheek. If it wasn’t removed soon, the indention it caused in the skin would begin to bleed. Norway leisurely followed the axe blade to where it connected to the long handle made of wood. His eyes didn’t go further up than to where Denmark’s gloved hand held onto the pole. He wasn’t going to raise his head more than he already had after all.
There was an audible sneer from above and the axe blade was slowly retrieved, leaving behind an angry red line that immediately let a small ruby drop roll down the side of Norway’s cheek. The axe didn’t go far though and was instead thrust in under the smaller nation’s chin, forcing his head up.
Not moving his eyes, muscles in his neck taut, the journey up was slow, no thanks to Denmark. Finally, eyes meeting, Denmark’s blank face veered up into a lopsided smirk.
“Hi,” he said simply as Norway pointedly stared right back at him, face unmoved, unchanged, indifferent, except for the anger faintly visible in his dark orbs. “So nice to know that you’re paying attention, eh, Nor?” Denmark’s swift removal of the cold metal beneath Norway’s chin allowed the shorter nation to drop his head to stare at the other’s feet.
“You don’t mind if I call you Nor, do you?” Denmark nonchalantly asked as he leisurely whirled around and began to slowly walk away, almost sashaying if Norway had any say about it. “Of course you don’t.” The taller nation replied for the bound one even if he wasn’t gagged.
Leaving the polearm to lean against the wall to the side, Denmark returned to Norway’s side in that same comfortable pace. Crouching down, he placed both elbows at either knee and leaned his chin on the heels of his hands. Staring down, all the while grinning, at the profile of Norway’s unmoving face, he seemed to wait for something. Perhaps for Norway to move, to say something… to ask what would happen next? Norway remained unmoving however and as the seconds ticked by Denmark either found it boring or his patience just ran out.
“You know, my king married that lady who snubbed yours. Sigrid Storråda, wasn’t it?” Denmark observed the other for some kind of reaction but wasn’t rewarded for his taunting. “...The one you demanded change her beliefs.” There. The slightest of tightening in the facial muscles. Denmark’s grin widened a degree and he dropped his arms to rest on his knees. “Can’t stand that, can you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as a smirk also wormed its way into his smile. “Sverige wasn’t too happy with you after that. That’s why he didn’t mind it when the woman went and accepted proposal from my king. Of course...” He trailed off here and slowly stood up, beginning to circle Norway in an even more unhurried way.
Norway’s body remained unmoving, but without Denmark at his side to see his every movement, he allowed himself to grit his teeth lightly and narrow his eyes slightly in a glare directed at the floor. Someone else entirely than the floor was in mind though.
“...there was a condition I had to agree to before anything was finalized,” Denmark finished and again crouched down but this time right behind Norway, making the other, involuntarily, jerk slightly and tense up. Denmark leaned in and, without touching Norway, whispered in his ear. “You had to be subjugated.”
One hard blink, mind reeling slightly, Norway flipped his head over his shoulder at those calmly spoken words. At the same moment, Denmark hooked an arm around one of Norway’s bound ones, to keep the other relatively still, and captured Norway’s chin with his other free hand in a steady grip. The kiss was hard and hot. And it was only the beginning.
Notes: Yep, I know Sigrid Storråda (Sigrid the Haughty in English) is of contested historicity. But it's hard tohave this one without her. XD; Besides, I don't go into her background here at all. And Olof Skötkonung MUST have had a mother. >_> He ain't like our dear nations after all. XD;
I could have written the pre-battle happenings and the battle itself. Perhaps I will at some point. >.>; It's just that this is what I had done. ^^;
About her English cognomen... >.>; Haughty? That doesn't sound like the equivalent to Storråda to me. I mean, stor - big, great. And råda... all the meanings and origins for that word that the Swedish Academy's Dictionary (SAOB) gives all follow the same pattern. Råda means to govern or have control over. Which probably, in that case, came from her having control over a lot of property that she got during and after she divorced king Erik Segersäll (Erik the Victorious). So, Sotrråda for me means "big-owner". Could be translated as landowner too, if you want an equivalent, so Sigrid Landowner. *shrug*
Author/Artist: imadera
Character(s) or Pairing(s): Sweden, Denmark/Norway
Rating: G (I don't know)
Warnings: None... I think? Slight degrading.
Summary: In the aftermath of a battle, there'll always be one losing side. And that side always have to pay... one way or another. It's the year 1000...
Sitting on his knees, arms hogtied at the wrist behind his back, Norway glared at the wooden floor. Eyes narrowed and teeth gritted, he silently cursed everything and everyone in his mind. Including those two bastards. Including his own king.
...Including himself.
How could it have come to this? It shouldn’t have come to this. He should have won. What went wrong? Where was the faulty action? Who was to blame? Damn it. Damn it all! And damn them! The gloating bastard and the silent asshole.
When the sound of a door opening was heard, the Norwegian didn’t raise his head. He wasn’t going to look up at them, like subjects did to their kings, like dogs did to their masters. Never. He continued glaring at the floor, noting, at the edge of his vision, how two pair of boots came to a halt in front of him. There was the sound of the Dane’s voice, low, for once, as he spoke to the Swede, who answered him in his usual cut-short and few word way. The all had the same language, but with different lilt to it. Denmark had slightly stronger sound to his words, Sweden a more melodic (only heard when the idiot deigned to speak longer than three to four words in a row), and Norway himself had a more lighthearted way of speaking. Little Iceland, still young, seemed to retain that flowing sound that they’d all had when the boy was born some centuries ago. Come some more long years and Norway could bet on it that they’d all have a way of speaking that would be passable as different, if intelligible, languages. Not that it mattered at the moment. Because right now, his two captors were seemingly done with excluding him from the conversation.
“So. Not so tough now, hm? Why didn’t you run? Like your king.” The bastard knew full well that Norway’s king had chosen the waves to being captured and at the mercy of his enemies. Some could see it as running, perhaps, but he chose to see it as the will of someone who would never surrender. Rather go into the halls of Valhalla-Christ... The change was still too soon. It took time for a nation to get used to a new religion. And especially one imposed so completely, and so quickly, as Óláfr Tryggvason had Christianity. He had only been king for five years and now they-
The sound of Sweden placing a hand on Denmark’s shoulder resounded through the silent room, causing Norway to blink as it disrupted his train of thought.
“D’n’t be too h’rsh.” Sweden said as he turned, hand still on Denmark shoulder. The Dane blinked at him, head turned to the side to look at the other’s face in profile.
“What do you mean? You know me,” he said with an almost puzzled face, arms crossed over his chest, something he’d done earlier.
“’S wh’t I mean.” And with that, the other nation left the room without looking back even once.
Norway hadn’t meant to do it, but had raised his head ever so slightly to just be able to raise his eyes to see Sweden leave. Now he stared at the door as the taller nation closed it behind himself and the sound of his footsteps died away. He couldn’t shake it, but there was something, almost unnerving, in Sweden’s leaving.
“Hey.” Norway didn’t even blink at the drawl that had a slightly degrading tone to it. He just kept his eyes on the far away doorway.
And then there was a blade at his side. Dark indigo eyes slowly fell to the cold metal gently pressed against his cheek. If it wasn’t removed soon, the indention it caused in the skin would begin to bleed. Norway leisurely followed the axe blade to where it connected to the long handle made of wood. His eyes didn’t go further up than to where Denmark’s gloved hand held onto the pole. He wasn’t going to raise his head more than he already had after all.
There was an audible sneer from above and the axe blade was slowly retrieved, leaving behind an angry red line that immediately let a small ruby drop roll down the side of Norway’s cheek. The axe didn’t go far though and was instead thrust in under the smaller nation’s chin, forcing his head up.
Not moving his eyes, muscles in his neck taut, the journey up was slow, no thanks to Denmark. Finally, eyes meeting, Denmark’s blank face veered up into a lopsided smirk.
“Hi,” he said simply as Norway pointedly stared right back at him, face unmoved, unchanged, indifferent, except for the anger faintly visible in his dark orbs. “So nice to know that you’re paying attention, eh, Nor?” Denmark’s swift removal of the cold metal beneath Norway’s chin allowed the shorter nation to drop his head to stare at the other’s feet.
“You don’t mind if I call you Nor, do you?” Denmark nonchalantly asked as he leisurely whirled around and began to slowly walk away, almost sashaying if Norway had any say about it. “Of course you don’t.” The taller nation replied for the bound one even if he wasn’t gagged.
Leaving the polearm to lean against the wall to the side, Denmark returned to Norway’s side in that same comfortable pace. Crouching down, he placed both elbows at either knee and leaned his chin on the heels of his hands. Staring down, all the while grinning, at the profile of Norway’s unmoving face, he seemed to wait for something. Perhaps for Norway to move, to say something… to ask what would happen next? Norway remained unmoving however and as the seconds ticked by Denmark either found it boring or his patience just ran out.
“You know, my king married that lady who snubbed yours. Sigrid Storråda, wasn’t it?” Denmark observed the other for some kind of reaction but wasn’t rewarded for his taunting. “...The one you demanded change her beliefs.” There. The slightest of tightening in the facial muscles. Denmark’s grin widened a degree and he dropped his arms to rest on his knees. “Can’t stand that, can you?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as a smirk also wormed its way into his smile. “Sverige wasn’t too happy with you after that. That’s why he didn’t mind it when the woman went and accepted proposal from my king. Of course...” He trailed off here and slowly stood up, beginning to circle Norway in an even more unhurried way.
Norway’s body remained unmoving, but without Denmark at his side to see his every movement, he allowed himself to grit his teeth lightly and narrow his eyes slightly in a glare directed at the floor. Someone else entirely than the floor was in mind though.
“...there was a condition I had to agree to before anything was finalized,” Denmark finished and again crouched down but this time right behind Norway, making the other, involuntarily, jerk slightly and tense up. Denmark leaned in and, without touching Norway, whispered in his ear. “You had to be subjugated.”
One hard blink, mind reeling slightly, Norway flipped his head over his shoulder at those calmly spoken words. At the same moment, Denmark hooked an arm around one of Norway’s bound ones, to keep the other relatively still, and captured Norway’s chin with his other free hand in a steady grip. The kiss was hard and hot. And it was only the beginning.
Notes: Yep, I know Sigrid Storråda (Sigrid the Haughty in English) is of contested historicity. But it's hard tohave this one without her. XD; Besides, I don't go into her background here at all. And Olof Skötkonung MUST have had a mother. >_> He ain't like our dear nations after all. XD;
I could have written the pre-battle happenings and the battle itself. Perhaps I will at some point. >.>; It's just that this is what I had done. ^^;
About her English cognomen... >.>; Haughty? That doesn't sound like the equivalent to Storråda to me. I mean, stor - big, great. And råda... all the meanings and origins for that word that the Swedish Academy's Dictionary (SAOB) gives all follow the same pattern. Råda means to govern or have control over. Which probably, in that case, came from her having control over a lot of property that she got during and after she divorced king Erik Segersäll (Erik the Victorious). So, Sotrråda for me means "big-owner". Could be translated as landowner too, if you want an equivalent, so Sigrid Landowner. *shrug*