[Fanfic] Wishing for Solace
Title: Wishing for Solace
Characters/Pairings: Denmark/Norway, Iceland
Rating: 13+ for violent imagery
Length: ~1500 words
Summary: It's 1675 and soon they will be tangled up in yet another war with Sweden. Denmark is hopeful, Norway is frustrated, and the silence is far too thick.
Many thanks to noyadespate for help with concept and proofreading.
Wishing for Solace
The papers were laid out on the table, or perhaps it would be better to say that they were spread haphazardly over it. As Norway read them, his quick eyes darting over the neat lines of notes, he tried to rearrange them into something resembling order. He ignored Denmark, who had pulled the chair out from the table and situated himself in it and had been talking without stop for the last few minutes on the very subject of which these papers dealt. He put Denmark from his mind, bent over the table, looked through the documents, and tried to hear himself think.
"So this is the plan," he said finally as he looked up from the last page. He held back all heaviness from his voice, weariness from his eyes, all questioning from his face when he turned to look at him. Give him nothing, Norway thought.
"Huh? Yeah! C'mon, you gotta' keep up, Nor. I just told ya'. Judgin' by how Brandenburg beat him at Fehrbellin, it's a sure thing. Sweden won't know what hit 'im. So, here's what we'll do - "
"Hmm." He gave the page one more look, allowing Denmark to summarize it for him while he ignored him again, then set it back on the table with the others.
The air felt cold. The entire room felt cold. Norway drew in a breath. Held it. Exhaled onto his hands and tried to think, tried to ignore the chill that went through him, twisting like a knife in his gut. Tried to ignore Denmark beside him, who - at least for the moment - had finally ceased talking in favour of a quiet to match Norway's silence. Tried to ignore the thought - surfacing once again - of holding him, binding him, cutting out that tongue. Throwing him into the sea. It wouldn't be worth the trouble.
When Norway looked at him again he was smiling that smile, broad and infuriating. He said nothing, and Denmark took that silence as a call for comfort. That smile grew even wider, those eyes merry and hopeful, as if Denmark truly believed what he was saying. "It's all right. We'll get it back, y'know. We'll get all of it back."
Norway's fingers twitched. What he would give for the strength to overpower him, bend him over that table, take his throat in his hands. Crush his windpipe. There is no we here, Norway thought. It's only you. But he said nothing, and traced the woodgrain with his finger. Left his face blank, not one hint. Held his tongue because to do otherwise would do him no good.
The brush of warm fingertips against his wrist made Norway stop. He looked at Denmark's hand and the anger surfaced again, but a quieter voice accompanied it. It wasn't Denmark's fault, not entirely. It wasn't. He wasn't made up only of those who dictated their paths. He was more than orders and contracts and as Norway looked at his hand and at the faint tracings of blood flowing through it, he knew it had the pulse of Denmark's people, all of them - the common ones too, who were not much different from Norway's own.
That didn't stop him from wishing he could break every damn bone in his hands. Grind his wrists into dust. Hear his armbones snapping like twigs.
"It's late," Norway said as he drew away from that hand. He didn't want to look at his face, but then he did. Denmark was still smiling, but not so confidently, not so strongly, the light fading when the positive response he had been expecting didn't come.
"Well, fine, how about - "
"I'm tired, Denmark." Norway said it with as much steadiness as he could muster. Denmark stared at him, more used to being ignored than being interrupted, then smiled again, as if suddenly they were on the same page.
"'Course you are! That's what I was sayin'."
Norway turned away from him as he rose. Knew what he'd had in mind, and was glad he hadn't actually said it. He didn't want to think about it, not that night. "I need a proper sleep," he said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "An' so do you."
"Well..." Denmark scratched the back of his neck, unable to argue with that reasoning, though Norway wouldn't have cared if he had tried, and turned to the papers on the table once more as if needing to look over them, though they had already turned the issue over so many times that night.
Norway took that time to step away from him, gliding silently across the floor. He stopped at the entrance to the room and looked back at him, watched him as he bent over the table, studying the plans in the candle-light.
"Good night." The words slipped out of his mouth before he could think about it. He blanched and stepped out of the room, not wanting to hear Denmark's reply.
His brother was in the hall. Iceland stood just outside the door, leaning against the wall, looking up at him with a sleepy, questioning expression, and Norway knew that he had heard everything that had been said, or at least everything that Denmark had said.
"You'll be leaving tomorrow, won't you," Iceland said, rubbing his eyes.
"Hmm," was Norway's noncommittal answer. "You'll be gettin' yourself to bed, and never mind about that." He hoisted his brother into his arms - not without difficulty - and began making his way to Iceland's room, wondering when he'd gotten so big. It was as if Norway had completely missed it. Maybe he had.
"Both've you are leavin'. I heard him say." Sleepy mumbling by his ear, fingers tightening in the fabric of his clothing. "I want you to stay."
"Can't." And that word seemed to be enough, at least until they were in the room with the door closed, alone together in the dark and the quiet. It satisfied Iceland until Norway had tucked him under the covers and turned to leave.
"But why can't you stay here?"
Why, indeed. Norway licked his lips and groped for the right words, knowing that "It's how it is" wouldn't fit, not in this case. No matter what he said, it wouldn't be the answer Iceland wanted.
"On account've it's what he wants," he said finally as he sat down on the edge of the bed, not sure which 'he' he really meant.
Iceland frowned, looking far too displeased with that. "What do you want, though?"
Norway bit his tongue. A warm bed, hot cider, and not being dragged into things, he thought. Prosperity. Peace. Lasting peace. He couldn't say it, not even in that room, not even to his brother.
"Ain't a matter've wanting," he said finally. Iceland looked at him sideways, as if not at all convinced, and Norway swept in and elaborated before another 'why' could slip out of his brother's mouth. "'S a matter of doin' what needs doing."
Iceland pouted and pulled at Norway's sleeve, not to be consoled by that. "But I don't want you to go."
"Can't always have what we want," Norway said. He reached out to touch his brother's hair and even if that pout didn't go away, Iceland tilted his head into his touch, and that at least was something. Norway knew that even if he didn't understand everything, at least he understood that. Can't have what we want. Yes, Iceland knew.
He waited for Iceland to ask him to stay for the night, but when his brother didn't ask it, he rose from the bed again. His hand was on the door when he heard it.
"Stay here." A pause. "Please." Norway could practically hear the sulk in Iceland's voice, and it brought a smile to his face, which disappeared as he turned around and said nothing, merely nodded. Yes. He would stay. He had to leave in the morning, but for a while, he could stay.
In the night, in the dark, Norway stared up at the ceiling. Iceland was warm beside him, curled up next to him under the covers. He could hear the steady sound of his breathing. In. Out. In. He slid his arm around his brother and drew him closer. Iceland mumbled in his sleep, but did not wake. Norway thought, and did not sleep.
The words went over and over in his head.
What do you want?
We'll get it all back.
It isn't a matter of wanting.
Bones snapping. Silence. Peace. Solitude. None of it. We can't have what we want, Norway thought, and turned over in the bed. Nestled against Iceland and shut his eyes.
None of them could.
---
*Judgin' by how Brandenburg beat him at Fehrbellin, it's a sure thing: Referring to Sweden's loss to Brandenburg in the Battle of Fehrbellin. Sweden's forces, which at the time were quite formidable, hadn't suffered such a defeat of this kind in a long time. King Christian V of Denmark was encouraged by this and saw it as an opportunity to recover Skåne and other Danish territory lost to Sweden in previous wars, among other things. Despite being advised against conflict with Sweden, he attacked - and the Scanian War between Denmark-Norway and Sweden followed. (In the end, it proved to be a fruitless effort, as Denmark-Norway came out of it with no territorial gains, and a damaged economy to boot.)
Characters/Pairings: Denmark/Norway, Iceland
Rating: 13+ for violent imagery
Length: ~1500 words
Summary: It's 1675 and soon they will be tangled up in yet another war with Sweden. Denmark is hopeful, Norway is frustrated, and the silence is far too thick.
Many thanks to noyadespate for help with concept and proofreading.
Wishing for Solace
The papers were laid out on the table, or perhaps it would be better to say that they were spread haphazardly over it. As Norway read them, his quick eyes darting over the neat lines of notes, he tried to rearrange them into something resembling order. He ignored Denmark, who had pulled the chair out from the table and situated himself in it and had been talking without stop for the last few minutes on the very subject of which these papers dealt. He put Denmark from his mind, bent over the table, looked through the documents, and tried to hear himself think.
"So this is the plan," he said finally as he looked up from the last page. He held back all heaviness from his voice, weariness from his eyes, all questioning from his face when he turned to look at him. Give him nothing, Norway thought.
"Huh? Yeah! C'mon, you gotta' keep up, Nor. I just told ya'. Judgin' by how Brandenburg beat him at Fehrbellin, it's a sure thing. Sweden won't know what hit 'im. So, here's what we'll do - "
"Hmm." He gave the page one more look, allowing Denmark to summarize it for him while he ignored him again, then set it back on the table with the others.
The air felt cold. The entire room felt cold. Norway drew in a breath. Held it. Exhaled onto his hands and tried to think, tried to ignore the chill that went through him, twisting like a knife in his gut. Tried to ignore Denmark beside him, who - at least for the moment - had finally ceased talking in favour of a quiet to match Norway's silence. Tried to ignore the thought - surfacing once again - of holding him, binding him, cutting out that tongue. Throwing him into the sea. It wouldn't be worth the trouble.
When Norway looked at him again he was smiling that smile, broad and infuriating. He said nothing, and Denmark took that silence as a call for comfort. That smile grew even wider, those eyes merry and hopeful, as if Denmark truly believed what he was saying. "It's all right. We'll get it back, y'know. We'll get all of it back."
Norway's fingers twitched. What he would give for the strength to overpower him, bend him over that table, take his throat in his hands. Crush his windpipe. There is no we here, Norway thought. It's only you. But he said nothing, and traced the woodgrain with his finger. Left his face blank, not one hint. Held his tongue because to do otherwise would do him no good.
The brush of warm fingertips against his wrist made Norway stop. He looked at Denmark's hand and the anger surfaced again, but a quieter voice accompanied it. It wasn't Denmark's fault, not entirely. It wasn't. He wasn't made up only of those who dictated their paths. He was more than orders and contracts and as Norway looked at his hand and at the faint tracings of blood flowing through it, he knew it had the pulse of Denmark's people, all of them - the common ones too, who were not much different from Norway's own.
That didn't stop him from wishing he could break every damn bone in his hands. Grind his wrists into dust. Hear his armbones snapping like twigs.
"It's late," Norway said as he drew away from that hand. He didn't want to look at his face, but then he did. Denmark was still smiling, but not so confidently, not so strongly, the light fading when the positive response he had been expecting didn't come.
"Well, fine, how about - "
"I'm tired, Denmark." Norway said it with as much steadiness as he could muster. Denmark stared at him, more used to being ignored than being interrupted, then smiled again, as if suddenly they were on the same page.
"'Course you are! That's what I was sayin'."
Norway turned away from him as he rose. Knew what he'd had in mind, and was glad he hadn't actually said it. He didn't want to think about it, not that night. "I need a proper sleep," he said, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. "An' so do you."
"Well..." Denmark scratched the back of his neck, unable to argue with that reasoning, though Norway wouldn't have cared if he had tried, and turned to the papers on the table once more as if needing to look over them, though they had already turned the issue over so many times that night.
Norway took that time to step away from him, gliding silently across the floor. He stopped at the entrance to the room and looked back at him, watched him as he bent over the table, studying the plans in the candle-light.
"Good night." The words slipped out of his mouth before he could think about it. He blanched and stepped out of the room, not wanting to hear Denmark's reply.
His brother was in the hall. Iceland stood just outside the door, leaning against the wall, looking up at him with a sleepy, questioning expression, and Norway knew that he had heard everything that had been said, or at least everything that Denmark had said.
"You'll be leaving tomorrow, won't you," Iceland said, rubbing his eyes.
"Hmm," was Norway's noncommittal answer. "You'll be gettin' yourself to bed, and never mind about that." He hoisted his brother into his arms - not without difficulty - and began making his way to Iceland's room, wondering when he'd gotten so big. It was as if Norway had completely missed it. Maybe he had.
"Both've you are leavin'. I heard him say." Sleepy mumbling by his ear, fingers tightening in the fabric of his clothing. "I want you to stay."
"Can't." And that word seemed to be enough, at least until they were in the room with the door closed, alone together in the dark and the quiet. It satisfied Iceland until Norway had tucked him under the covers and turned to leave.
"But why can't you stay here?"
Why, indeed. Norway licked his lips and groped for the right words, knowing that "It's how it is" wouldn't fit, not in this case. No matter what he said, it wouldn't be the answer Iceland wanted.
"On account've it's what he wants," he said finally as he sat down on the edge of the bed, not sure which 'he' he really meant.
Iceland frowned, looking far too displeased with that. "What do you want, though?"
Norway bit his tongue. A warm bed, hot cider, and not being dragged into things, he thought. Prosperity. Peace. Lasting peace. He couldn't say it, not even in that room, not even to his brother.
"Ain't a matter've wanting," he said finally. Iceland looked at him sideways, as if not at all convinced, and Norway swept in and elaborated before another 'why' could slip out of his brother's mouth. "'S a matter of doin' what needs doing."
Iceland pouted and pulled at Norway's sleeve, not to be consoled by that. "But I don't want you to go."
"Can't always have what we want," Norway said. He reached out to touch his brother's hair and even if that pout didn't go away, Iceland tilted his head into his touch, and that at least was something. Norway knew that even if he didn't understand everything, at least he understood that. Can't have what we want. Yes, Iceland knew.
He waited for Iceland to ask him to stay for the night, but when his brother didn't ask it, he rose from the bed again. His hand was on the door when he heard it.
"Stay here." A pause. "Please." Norway could practically hear the sulk in Iceland's voice, and it brought a smile to his face, which disappeared as he turned around and said nothing, merely nodded. Yes. He would stay. He had to leave in the morning, but for a while, he could stay.
In the night, in the dark, Norway stared up at the ceiling. Iceland was warm beside him, curled up next to him under the covers. He could hear the steady sound of his breathing. In. Out. In. He slid his arm around his brother and drew him closer. Iceland mumbled in his sleep, but did not wake. Norway thought, and did not sleep.
The words went over and over in his head.
What do you want?
We'll get it all back.
It isn't a matter of wanting.
Bones snapping. Silence. Peace. Solitude. None of it. We can't have what we want, Norway thought, and turned over in the bed. Nestled against Iceland and shut his eyes.
None of them could.
---
*Judgin' by how Brandenburg beat him at Fehrbellin, it's a sure thing: Referring to Sweden's loss to Brandenburg in the Battle of Fehrbellin. Sweden's forces, which at the time were quite formidable, hadn't suffered such a defeat of this kind in a long time. King Christian V of Denmark was encouraged by this and saw it as an opportunity to recover Skåne and other Danish territory lost to Sweden in previous wars, among other things. Despite being advised against conflict with Sweden, he attacked - and the Scanian War between Denmark-Norway and Sweden followed. (In the end, it proved to be a fruitless effort, as Denmark-Norway came out of it with no territorial gains, and a damaged economy to boot.)