[Fanfic] Sound Dues
Title: Sound Dues
Author: yuuago/Rukkilill/Roesslyng
Prompt: Denmark, Netherlands (/any nation) - Ships (1600s)
Other characters: None
Rating: 13+ ish for language and context.
Content notes: Takes place during the Battle of the Sound in 1658. ~1800 words.
Summary: Sometimes there just isn't anything you can do except wait for the wind to change - and for a friend to lend you a hand.
Sound Dues
The battle went on and there wasn't one thing he could do about it.
Denmark stared out at the water through his spyglass and bit the inside of his cheek. Those warships had been at it all day, their guns blasting and cannonballs ripping right through each other, and - damn it all - there he was, stuck ashore and unable to do a damn thing. He'd asked - insisted, even - that he be given leave to join up with Bjelke and give the boys a hand, on account of it wouldn't do to just sit there and watch while ol' Neds and his fleet did their best, would it, but Frederick had been firm about the whole thing. You're staying on land, the king had told him; no ifs, ands, or buts.
Normally he wouldn't be so keen to heed an order like that, not when there was a battle on, but the old boy was right. His ass wouldn't do any good if the northwest wind kept the Danish ships from entering action, and wouldn't you know it, that wind had been blowing all day. So, Denmark had given up arguing and then did what made the most sense under the circumstances: set out bright and early in the morning to find himself the highest point in the highest building that he could get to without trouble, sought out a window facing toward the water, and resolved to hunker down and keep watch until the blasted thing was over. Unable to do anything else, he did his best to make himself comfortable, squinted through the spyglass, and waited.
Of course, he couldn't see as much as he would have liked, even from the church tower that he'd gotten all cosy in. If it had been a clear day, and if those ships had been sent for a pleasure-call, he'd be able to see everything with downright clarity, by his guess. But between the smoke and the fire it was hard to see a damn thing. All the same, he didn't need a clear day and a spyglass to know what was going on. The explosions made plain as day everything that he couldn't see, and he could practically feel the vibration of the guns and the stirring of the water as one of the ships finally sank, though whether it was a Swede or a Hollander he couldn't tell. Every sensation rushed right down into him and he could feel it throughout his body, the foaming seawater running through his veins and his sides prickling at the sensation of battle along his coastlines. That wasn't anything new. After all, his body had been aching ever since that asshole Wrangel had taken Kronborg, hadn't it, to say nothing of the siege that Copenhagen had been under for weeks. That was the reason they were all here, wasn't it.
At least the Dutch fleet was giving him a break from the volley. Those damn Swedes had come right up to his front door and wouldn't you know it, his people had put up a good front but in the end there was nothing to do but lock up nice and tight inside the city walls and hope for the best. Denmark swore under his breath as he watched another ship catch fire. He couldn't stand just sitting there like that, and some day, sure as hell he'd make his brother pay for it.
It was hard to be sure how long he stayed that way, sitting curled up by the church tower's window while he watched the battle go on. If the way the weak autumn sun edged across the sky was anything to measure by, it had been hours. Even if the smoke obscured what would have otherwise been a clear sight - and it sure did, a whole lot of it - Denmark could tell that there were ships burning and ships sinking, the Sound swallowing them up as they went down, leaving nothing but the top mast sticking above the water. Well, let God take 'em, he thought as he shifted a bit and pressed closer to the window to get a better view. And let the United Provinces take the victory, else there'd be a whole mess of trouble, there was no mistaking that.
Finally, the wind changed.
Denmark breathed deeply when he saw that the smoke had begun blowing in a different direction. Eventually he saw the first of the Swedish ships begin to emerge from the blackness, then more, and after they pulled out they scattered in confusion. Shortly after that, as he watched, the ships in his own harbour began to pull out. A grin spread over Denmark's face. They'd been like dogs pulling at their leads the entire time; he didn't have one doubt about that. He trained his spyglass on the Trefoldighed and watched as Bjelke led the Danes to join the Dutch fleet.
That's it, boys, he thought as the Swedes turned tail and fled, some to Helsingør and Kronborg, some to Landskrona, with the Danish ships pursuing them. You might not've been able to take them down, but chase 'em far's you can, that'll do. Give 'em a scare. It's as good as over, anyway.
The Dutch hung back. Well, Denmark thought, can't blame them for that. There's looking out for an ally, and then there's getting too involved for comfort, and sure as hell they would have orders not to go doing that. Isn't that how it is.
Denmark lowered the spyglass as the smoke continued to slowly clear away and the ships gave up the chase. He stood looking out the window for a short while, keeping his eye on what he could see of the Sound. The evidence of the battle was still visible as ever, the slowly fading cloud of black hanging over the water and over the top masts of sunken ships sticking above the surface. One, two, three. Maybe more. He counted them, bit his lip, then nodded. Even with that, it was clear as day who the victor was, and blessed be for that. It was over.
As he stepped out of the church, tired but relieved, the bells began ringing. Another set of bells answered them a second later, echoing their jubilation through a sky that all through the day had rung with the sound of cannons.
With a smile on his lips, Denmark headed off in the direction of the harbour. He needed to have a word with an old friend.
It was a long shot to go thinking that Netherlands would be there, and Denmark knew that he couldn't count on him showing his face. There hadn't been any hint that the man himself would accompany the force back when the whole desperate agreement had been made. But if Denmark knew Netherlands at all, he knew that he was the kind of guy who liked to see to it that his interests were protected - personally.
When he reached the waterfront he scanned the crowd in hopes of catching sight of him. Sure enough, helping unload one of the supply galliots was a familiar figure standing almost a head higher than most of his countrymen, still recognisable even with his striped scarf pulled up over his nose to keep out the cold autumn air. A sour look showed on what was visible of his face, but even for all that there was not one other nation in the world that Denmark would have rather seen at that moment.
"Hey!" he called, not giving a damn if anyone else could hear it, and grinned when his friend turned to look at him. And he sure did look at him; there was no escaping that raised eyebrow and the "What took you so long?" look.
Denmark went to him and threw his arms around Netherlands before he had a chance to say anything. Netherlands tensed in response, and Denmark didn't doubt that he was thinking of pulling away, but he tightened his hold on him and refused to let him do it. You've given me a hand, he thought, now give me this. As if sensing his thoughts, Netherlands returned the embrace, and even if it was more like a lukewarm pat on the back than the hug that Denmark would have liked, it would do.
"Neds, it's good to see ya'," Denmark said with a smile as they drew apart, still grasping at one of Netherlands' hands. It might have seemed clingy, but he didn't give a damn; he wasn't ready to let him go just yet.
"Wondered when you'd show up," Netherlands muttered as he pulled the scarf down from over his mouth and, as an afterthought, tugged his hand away in favour of putting it in his pocket, as if he'd had enough of that whole buddy-buddy business for a while and didn't want to give any more chances for it. He looked Denmark up and down, then frowned. "Y'look like shit."
"You're tellin' me." Having your capital under siege will do that to you, Denmark thought. There was no need to say it; no doubt Netherlands knew well enough about what had been going on. "Reckon I'll be all right, though, now that you've saved my ass."
Netherlands snorted and looked away, directing his gaze back to the galliot in the process of being unloaded. "I'm not doing this for your ass," he said.
Denmark shook his head, grinning. Netherlands' expression was serious as he swept his eyes over the boxes, and Denmark didn't have any doubt that he was calculating the cost of every crate, every barrel, every day spent, every ship sent and life lost, and weighting it against what good it would do him to have the blockade gone and the Sound open. "'Course you're not," he said finally, giving his friend a pat on the shoulder, which earned him a glare but, thankfully, not a shove. "Now, how 'bout you 'n me get out've here. We've got some catchin' up to do, yeah?"
For a moment, Netherlands didn't look at him, instead continuing to watch the crates come off the ship, his lips drawn into a thin line. Then a cold breeze blew their way, and he shuddered and pulled his scarf up over his nose again. "Fine," he muttered through the fabric. "It's fuckin' cold out." As if that was the only reason he agreed to it.
Just like ensuring that his interests would be protected was the only reason he had come in the first place.
You can say whatever you want about it, Denmark thought as he and Netherlands made their way from the dock and the harbour to seek out somewhere warmer, somewhere quieter, where they could have a word in private, away from the cold and the noise and the winds and that stretch of water with the masts of Dutch ships peeking out of the water and thick smoke still clearing. You can say anything you like, but you came here on your own. You came personally.
As far as Denmark was concerned, that meant something, whether Netherlands wanted it to or not.
The End
Author: yuuago/Rukkilill/Roesslyng
Prompt: Denmark, Netherlands (/any nation) - Ships (1600s)
Other characters: None
Rating: 13+ ish for language and context.
Content notes: Takes place during the Battle of the Sound in 1658. ~1800 words.
Summary: Sometimes there just isn't anything you can do except wait for the wind to change - and for a friend to lend you a hand.
Sound Dues
The battle went on and there wasn't one thing he could do about it.
Denmark stared out at the water through his spyglass and bit the inside of his cheek. Those warships had been at it all day, their guns blasting and cannonballs ripping right through each other, and - damn it all - there he was, stuck ashore and unable to do a damn thing. He'd asked - insisted, even - that he be given leave to join up with Bjelke and give the boys a hand, on account of it wouldn't do to just sit there and watch while ol' Neds and his fleet did their best, would it, but Frederick had been firm about the whole thing. You're staying on land, the king had told him; no ifs, ands, or buts.
Normally he wouldn't be so keen to heed an order like that, not when there was a battle on, but the old boy was right. His ass wouldn't do any good if the northwest wind kept the Danish ships from entering action, and wouldn't you know it, that wind had been blowing all day. So, Denmark had given up arguing and then did what made the most sense under the circumstances: set out bright and early in the morning to find himself the highest point in the highest building that he could get to without trouble, sought out a window facing toward the water, and resolved to hunker down and keep watch until the blasted thing was over. Unable to do anything else, he did his best to make himself comfortable, squinted through the spyglass, and waited.
Of course, he couldn't see as much as he would have liked, even from the church tower that he'd gotten all cosy in. If it had been a clear day, and if those ships had been sent for a pleasure-call, he'd be able to see everything with downright clarity, by his guess. But between the smoke and the fire it was hard to see a damn thing. All the same, he didn't need a clear day and a spyglass to know what was going on. The explosions made plain as day everything that he couldn't see, and he could practically feel the vibration of the guns and the stirring of the water as one of the ships finally sank, though whether it was a Swede or a Hollander he couldn't tell. Every sensation rushed right down into him and he could feel it throughout his body, the foaming seawater running through his veins and his sides prickling at the sensation of battle along his coastlines. That wasn't anything new. After all, his body had been aching ever since that asshole Wrangel had taken Kronborg, hadn't it, to say nothing of the siege that Copenhagen had been under for weeks. That was the reason they were all here, wasn't it.
At least the Dutch fleet was giving him a break from the volley. Those damn Swedes had come right up to his front door and wouldn't you know it, his people had put up a good front but in the end there was nothing to do but lock up nice and tight inside the city walls and hope for the best. Denmark swore under his breath as he watched another ship catch fire. He couldn't stand just sitting there like that, and some day, sure as hell he'd make his brother pay for it.
It was hard to be sure how long he stayed that way, sitting curled up by the church tower's window while he watched the battle go on. If the way the weak autumn sun edged across the sky was anything to measure by, it had been hours. Even if the smoke obscured what would have otherwise been a clear sight - and it sure did, a whole lot of it - Denmark could tell that there were ships burning and ships sinking, the Sound swallowing them up as they went down, leaving nothing but the top mast sticking above the water. Well, let God take 'em, he thought as he shifted a bit and pressed closer to the window to get a better view. And let the United Provinces take the victory, else there'd be a whole mess of trouble, there was no mistaking that.
Finally, the wind changed.
Denmark breathed deeply when he saw that the smoke had begun blowing in a different direction. Eventually he saw the first of the Swedish ships begin to emerge from the blackness, then more, and after they pulled out they scattered in confusion. Shortly after that, as he watched, the ships in his own harbour began to pull out. A grin spread over Denmark's face. They'd been like dogs pulling at their leads the entire time; he didn't have one doubt about that. He trained his spyglass on the Trefoldighed and watched as Bjelke led the Danes to join the Dutch fleet.
That's it, boys, he thought as the Swedes turned tail and fled, some to Helsingør and Kronborg, some to Landskrona, with the Danish ships pursuing them. You might not've been able to take them down, but chase 'em far's you can, that'll do. Give 'em a scare. It's as good as over, anyway.
The Dutch hung back. Well, Denmark thought, can't blame them for that. There's looking out for an ally, and then there's getting too involved for comfort, and sure as hell they would have orders not to go doing that. Isn't that how it is.
Denmark lowered the spyglass as the smoke continued to slowly clear away and the ships gave up the chase. He stood looking out the window for a short while, keeping his eye on what he could see of the Sound. The evidence of the battle was still visible as ever, the slowly fading cloud of black hanging over the water and over the top masts of sunken ships sticking above the surface. One, two, three. Maybe more. He counted them, bit his lip, then nodded. Even with that, it was clear as day who the victor was, and blessed be for that. It was over.
As he stepped out of the church, tired but relieved, the bells began ringing. Another set of bells answered them a second later, echoing their jubilation through a sky that all through the day had rung with the sound of cannons.
With a smile on his lips, Denmark headed off in the direction of the harbour. He needed to have a word with an old friend.
It was a long shot to go thinking that Netherlands would be there, and Denmark knew that he couldn't count on him showing his face. There hadn't been any hint that the man himself would accompany the force back when the whole desperate agreement had been made. But if Denmark knew Netherlands at all, he knew that he was the kind of guy who liked to see to it that his interests were protected - personally.
When he reached the waterfront he scanned the crowd in hopes of catching sight of him. Sure enough, helping unload one of the supply galliots was a familiar figure standing almost a head higher than most of his countrymen, still recognisable even with his striped scarf pulled up over his nose to keep out the cold autumn air. A sour look showed on what was visible of his face, but even for all that there was not one other nation in the world that Denmark would have rather seen at that moment.
"Hey!" he called, not giving a damn if anyone else could hear it, and grinned when his friend turned to look at him. And he sure did look at him; there was no escaping that raised eyebrow and the "What took you so long?" look.
Denmark went to him and threw his arms around Netherlands before he had a chance to say anything. Netherlands tensed in response, and Denmark didn't doubt that he was thinking of pulling away, but he tightened his hold on him and refused to let him do it. You've given me a hand, he thought, now give me this. As if sensing his thoughts, Netherlands returned the embrace, and even if it was more like a lukewarm pat on the back than the hug that Denmark would have liked, it would do.
"Neds, it's good to see ya'," Denmark said with a smile as they drew apart, still grasping at one of Netherlands' hands. It might have seemed clingy, but he didn't give a damn; he wasn't ready to let him go just yet.
"Wondered when you'd show up," Netherlands muttered as he pulled the scarf down from over his mouth and, as an afterthought, tugged his hand away in favour of putting it in his pocket, as if he'd had enough of that whole buddy-buddy business for a while and didn't want to give any more chances for it. He looked Denmark up and down, then frowned. "Y'look like shit."
"You're tellin' me." Having your capital under siege will do that to you, Denmark thought. There was no need to say it; no doubt Netherlands knew well enough about what had been going on. "Reckon I'll be all right, though, now that you've saved my ass."
Netherlands snorted and looked away, directing his gaze back to the galliot in the process of being unloaded. "I'm not doing this for your ass," he said.
Denmark shook his head, grinning. Netherlands' expression was serious as he swept his eyes over the boxes, and Denmark didn't have any doubt that he was calculating the cost of every crate, every barrel, every day spent, every ship sent and life lost, and weighting it against what good it would do him to have the blockade gone and the Sound open. "'Course you're not," he said finally, giving his friend a pat on the shoulder, which earned him a glare but, thankfully, not a shove. "Now, how 'bout you 'n me get out've here. We've got some catchin' up to do, yeah?"
For a moment, Netherlands didn't look at him, instead continuing to watch the crates come off the ship, his lips drawn into a thin line. Then a cold breeze blew their way, and he shuddered and pulled his scarf up over his nose again. "Fine," he muttered through the fabric. "It's fuckin' cold out." As if that was the only reason he agreed to it.
Just like ensuring that his interests would be protected was the only reason he had come in the first place.
You can say whatever you want about it, Denmark thought as he and Netherlands made their way from the dock and the harbour to seek out somewhere warmer, somewhere quieter, where they could have a word in private, away from the cold and the noise and the winds and that stretch of water with the masts of Dutch ships peeking out of the water and thick smoke still clearing. You can say anything you like, but you came here on your own. You came personally.
As far as Denmark was concerned, that meant something, whether Netherlands wanted it to or not.
The End