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Post by Finland on Jul 14, 2011 13:07:52 GMT -5
“They’re jus’ sheets, Tino… Vidar’ll get ‘em later.” A pause for a yawn. “I was jus’… gonna sleep like this. You’re… far too concerned… abou’… ‘ygeine.”
Somehow, Mathias’ sleepy protest that the cleanliness of the sheets was unimportant was endearing, causing perhaps the first sincere smile of the night to spread on Tino’s face. That was the Mathias he knew; he wouldn’t care about sleeping in a puddle of his own blood just so long as Tino would quit pestering him and let him sleep.
Still, leaving his wound as it was could not be done, even with their kind’s ability to heal so much more rapidly than any human. Though the wound was far too deep and raw for harsh lye, it was important that any fibers or splinters inside the cut were at least rinsed away.
And the way the Dane was struggling to speak caused concern. Though Tino acknowledged that it was likely due to the sedatives with which he’d drugged him, he worried that it might be due, at least in part, to something worse. If Berwald had hit Mathias just right, he might have jammed the delicate bones and cartilage of his nose back into his brain. Even a buildup of blood in the Dane’s sinuses, which appeared quite likely judging by the dark bruising around his eye sockets, could cause the speech difficulties Mathias seemed to be having.
Tino watched the Dane’s eyelids drift steadily downwards, wondering how long he would be able to stay conscious as he continued, “Besides, I think this ‘as dried stuck…”
Mathias was pulling at his undershirt, the offending article apparently cemented to his back with the dried blood from the wound. The way it caught and pulled looked painful. The Finn could imagine just how it would feel in his mind, cringing at the thought of fabric and skin and fine, blonde hairs all pulling each other and sending sharp little jolts of pain across his back.
“It don’t – doesn’t… matter, an’way… ‘s jus’ a scratch… I’ve ‘ad worse.”
The Finn shook his head and gave the most disapproving stare he could muster through his sleepiness and tensely wound emotions and the darkness of the room. Maybe Mathias had received worse blows over the years. During his days as a Viking, Denmark had been so reckless that his younger brother was almost positive he’d died on multiple occasions. There had been wars with foreign enemies where Tino or Vidar rushed to Mathias’ aid to find him with an arm or leg nearly severed completely. In comparison, a mere wound across the back, though deep, paled.
With a calm tiredness, Tino insisted, “I know you’re strong, but you underestimate how bad the damage is.” Dipping one of the towels into the basin, he continued, “I promise I’ll be quick about my work. Just let me take care of you so you can feel better and I’ll be out of your way…” In a thickly accented slur, he added, “Bror.”
The soft mattress dipped under him as the Finn climbed onto the bed, sitting behind the elder Nordic with his knees folded. Without waiting for a further cue – he’d be there all night if he waited for Mathias’ full compliance – he stuffed one of the dry towels tightly between his brother’s bottom and the bed, and used the wet one, now wrung tightly out by the shaky little sinews of his arms, to dab at the fabric just around the rip in his brother’s back. If he could wet the blood, Tino assumed, the fabric should slide right off and he could give Mathias a proper wash.
Worried by the increasingly frequent pauses between the Dane’s words, Tino felt he needed to prompt the man to talk. He couldn’t have him slumping forward and pitching off the bed unconscious.
“Well then, Tanska,” the Finn began, his voice gentle and low as he continued, “you were the one who wanted to talk earlier, hm?” He paused then as he gave an experimental tug at one corner of the bloodied undershirt, frowning as it stayed stuck. It was going to take a bit more work. He dipped the rag back into the basin. The water blushed a light pink.
“So talk to me,” he quietly pleaded. The rag was placed against the perimeter of the gash once again. Rosy, wet trails snaked down the white fabric of Mathias’ shirt and down the pale skin of his back, disappearing beneath the waistband of his pants and dripping onto the towel Tino had spread out. Squinting to see just how much of a mess he was making served to be little more than fruitless for Tino. The Finn would simply take the soiled clothes downstairs later and see if there was anything that could be done to salvage them.
It’ll be easier just to burn this shirt, he thought with mild frustration as he reached his hand up under the article to dab more directly at the dried blood. He cringed as he felt it tug away a fraction of a centimeter, shooting an apologetic look at the tousled blonde locks on the back of Mathias’ head. That couldn’t have felt nice.
“Tell me about one of your conquests,” he continued, trying to smooth over his slip-up by stroking Denmark’s ego. In Tino’s mind, his King-Brother needed a confidence boost now as the shambles of his kingdom lay strewn about downstairs and dripped down his back in cherry pink drops. What better way than by having him remember a time when he was stronger?
Dipping and wringing the cloth again, he brought it back to Mathias’ back and pressed gently, biting his lip mindlessly as he focused on causing as little pain as he could and waited for Mathias to talk to him.
At last, once the shirt and Mathias and likely the bed were sufficiently soaked, Tino was able to peel away the saturated material.
“Ahah,” Finland breathed in satisfaction, dropping the towel back into the basin with a wet slosh and wiping his hands against the mostly dry towel he’d shoved under the man. “You should be able to take it off now.”
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Post by Denmark on Jul 15, 2011 2:19:00 GMT -5
Unmoved, Tino continued calmly.
“I know you’re strong, but you underestimate how bad the damage is. I promise I’ll be quick about my work. Just let me take care of you so you can feel better and I’ll be out of your way… bror.” It was a hard proposal to argue with, even without the Danish endearment which always managed to charm the older nation. Tino must have known that because he clambered onto the bed without waiting for a response and shoved a towel partway under him, leaving Denmark pondering when the boy had become so assertive. Sweden and Finland, they both seemed to be getting stronger at his expense. It caused the expected mixed feelings. These days the only real way to get stronger was to make someone else weaker, usually an enemy, true, but it didn’t matter who. Mathias had of course hoped that his brothers would flourish but now he would have to find a way to put a stop to it if he wanted to retain his own position.
Mathias kept his eyes closed. Something wet and cold soaked through the thin undershirt where Tino was pressing. The towel must be damp.
“Well then, Tanska, you were the one who wanted to talk earlier, hm?” Mathias felt the material pull at his skin as it was gently tugged, still stuck in place. “So talk to me.” There was an element of pleading in the Finn's voice that the King couldn’t understand.
“Wha’ about?” The damp cloth returned to his back, sending rivulets of cold water trekking down to dampen the seat of his pants. It was quite unpleasant. He shifted a little but Finland was persistent, slipping a small hand under the material to better get to the dried blood. There was a sudden tug on the broken skin that came hand-in-hand with a deep pain that made his eyes water. Eyes flicking open, he lurched forward instinctively to get away from the pain. It subsided quickly, leaving only a dull throb and the faint taste of bile on his tongue. There was nothing better than an unexpected bite of agony to wake one up. “Tell me about one of your conquests,” the boy offered as a distraction. Denmark seized it gladly. “There were so many…” At least that tweak of torn skin had woken him enough to string some words together properly. Mathias forced himself to try to relax as the damp cloth touched his back again but the memory of the sharp jolt was making it difficult. He studied the hand in his lap, remembering how many times it had raised his axe in a victorious salute. “But they were long ago.” The silence that followed was heavy with accusation. Something told Mathias that it might be quite some time, if ever, before he had another victory. If his brother was capable of reducing him to this state then he would surely be easy pickings for his bold neighbours. Yet another reason for needing the Union to stay strong, though he couldn’t bear to admit it to himself. There was safety in numbers and their combined might was a fearsome force. He needed their support. “My fav’rite,” he continued determinedly, “was prob’ly against England.” He couldn’t help but smile. “You know I took him off his king twice?” Of course Tino knew. The kid was often bored with the story during deep winter when they were stuck in the great room together. “And then there was when I brought Estland home. That was a good day, too. And… oh, just every Viking raid we ever did. Those were the best.” Reminiscing about how great he was remained a pleasurable pastime despite the fact that the Denmark he was cataloguing was a far cry from how he was now. It hadn’t been very long ago, in the scheme of things. What the hell had happened?
Tino was still dabbing gently at the dried blood. It seemed to be loosening. The material was not as tight across his back as it had been before. He didn’t seem to be paying very much attention despite requesting this topic of conversation. The young never did get much enjoyment out of listening to stories of the glory days of their elders and the Dane was not a great storyteller tonight, anyway.
“Ahah.” Mathias felt warm breath on his skin as, peeling a corner of the wet shirt up, the boy exhaled, pleased.
There was a small splash behind them. Mathias supposed the cloth had been dropped victoriously into the basin. “You should be able to take it off now.”
“Joy,” he said with a small roll of his eyes, still of the opinion that none of this was necessary. It was a little easier to move without the shirt tugging at every movement, but it was cautious hands that pulled the sopping material over his head. He wrinkled his nose as a trail of moisture followed the shirt, leaving a track of cold water up his back and into his hair. Almost instantly he came out in goosebumps as his chest and damp back were fully exposed to the cool night air in his room.
He tossed the saturated shirt on the ground next to his torn coat.
“An’way,” he rounded off his story, “I’m pretty great. We done? C’n I lie down now?”
He did so anyway, turning onto his stomach and sprawling diagonally over the bed. His knee ended up in the wet-patch were the water had spilled through the towel and the waistband of his trousers was pretty soaked but it didn’t matter. He crossed his arms over his pillow and rested his chin them when he found that any physical contact to his cheeks, even to the soft feather-filled pillow, made his nose throb. He was going to have to sleep in some pretty awkward positions tonight. If Finland ever stopped fussing, that was.
At least lying like this his front wouldn’t be so cold should Tino go ahead and dab at the cut some more. And the bruises were mostly hidden, too. Stupid Sve and his stupid strong hands.
“’You really gonna try t’clean this stupid little cut? It’ll heal by i’self.” He wasn’t too bothered by the idea either way now that he had stretched out but he was too tired to keep speaking about his younger days. “But if you insist, lillebror," he paused in the middle to swipe at some drops of water that had caught in his hair. "It’s your turn to talk to me.”
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Post by Finland on Jul 18, 2011 12:29:30 GMT -5
It was with everything but when Mathias responded dryly with a curt, “Joy.” Tino supposed he couldn’t blame him. He’d been sedated, after all, and his anesthetist was now forcing him to stay awake. Nevertheless, he had done well. Just as requested, the Dane had told of what he considered to be his glory days. The conquest of England, capturing Estonia, the Vikings… Tino knew the stories well. He hoped remembering them made Mathias feel a little more like Denmark.
Mathias’ undershirt sailed across the dark room and landed with a wet patter beside the abused coat. “An’way, I’m pretty great.” Tino nodded his head absently, already busying himself with rinsing out the cloth to go another round with the watery blood now trailing down the Dane’s back. If the elder Nordic could just stay awake for a bit longer, he could have all the time to slumber that he needed.
The weary “C’n I lie down now?” had just registered before the little Finn turned to catch him flopping onto his stomach. It was weird for Tino to think that a king slept. It was human nature of course, though humans they were not, but to imagine that a king had to rest for about eight hours of the day, just like any soldier or serf or chambermaid, was intriguing. Humbling, in a sense, as if Tino hadn’t already seen his King humbled in the events of this night. Kings were supposed to be perfect and never show their weakness, when here, sprawled haphazardly across the wet and bloody sheets, was the epitome of weakness.
“Go ahead,” he responded. It seemed pointless to give permission since the Dane had already begun trying to find a comfortable position against his pillow, but Tino had been asked a question, and so a response was necessary.
Just as soon as he’d touched the wet cloth to pale, broken skin, Tino was presented with the question, “You really gonna try t’clean this stupid little cut? It’ll heal by i’self.” It wasn’t so much a passive aggressive “Leave me alone, Tino”[/i] as it was an honestly intrigued inquiry. Mathias was right – the wound would heal even if left untreated, but Tino thought it terribly uncomfortable to have to spend a night with raw flesh and broken vessels exposed to the cold, damp air. If it got infected, it would be even worse.
“Yes,” he responded calmly, already beginning to wipe the perimeter of the gash. He watched as his actions caused some of the scabs to reopen, fresh blood oozing out and pooling shallowly inside the cut. No matter. He’d have it clean soon enough.
“But if you insist, lillebror, it’s your turn to talk to me.”
Pausing for a moment, Tino looked down to study his hands. They were still small, and now wet and dripping with the diluted blood of his brother. These weren’t the hands of a warrior. They were that of a medic or a servant or a child. What stories could he tell that would keep the Dane’s attention?
There was only one thing on his mind.
Tentatively speaking, he began, “When I first came here, to live with you, Danmark, I… I was… excited.” Excited perhaps wasn’t the word Tino was looking for, but it would do. He had looked forward to it and was not at all objected to the idea of living with Sweden’s brothers. “Berwald often spoke your praises,” he explained, “About your strength and of the victories you and he shared during your conquests as Vikings.”
An absentminded smile spread across Tino’s face as he remembered back across the past one hundred and twenty five years, thinking of the day Sweden had received word that Margaret I was to unify the nations of Denmark, Sweden and Norway under one crown. Berwald had been proud. He was to stand side-by-side with Mathias and Vidar as rulers of the North; in their eyes, as the most powerful kingdom in history.
“I was weak– I still am– but I was glad I would get to be a part of this Union,” Tino added sheepishly as he dropped his cloth into the basin, pausing to use the mostly dry one from the bed to wipe up the excess water dribbling down Mathias’ sides. “I thought that I could be strong like you.”
Still working away at the Dane’s sore back, the Finn continued to reminisce. As the years progressed in the little timeline of his mind, flying by like a reel of snapshots (the first five years of the union, the second five, the third, fourth…) his smile slowly faded. It didn’t take long before the snapshots became significantly less happy.
From the beginning, the union had never been as equal as Margaret I claimed it would be. Denmark was obviously the favored child of the union. Norway and Sweden were subservient. Denmark saw nothing wrong with this. Berwald felt hurt and betrayed, though he would never admit it. Tensions built up between the two eldest brothers until the coil sprang and the first punch was thrown. There was no going back.
“It was…” Tino paused to gather his thoughts, wringing the wet cloth over the wound and catching the excess runoff in the dry cloth. Mathias’ wound was starting to look a lot cleaner now. The pools of blood inside the wound were gone and most of the remaining filth was outside of the wound itself. Painful, purplish fingers were starting to reach out of the gash and inch their way across the Scandinavian’s back, now. The bruises would be painful in the morning.
“It was hard,” he continued at last, exhaust and emotion drenching his voice. “The first time you two fought, it was hard. It never got easier. I… I hate to see you two fight.” The words wouldn’t stop once they’d started. It was like a dam had broken and everything behind it was now gushing out. Tino knew it was inappropriate to express such ideas before a king, these thoughts of rebellion and discontent, but Tino felt confident that Mathias was in no shape to turn and punish him for stating what was plaguing his mind now.
“You two are killing each other! I hate it!” A tear dripped down and landed on Mathias’ damp back, making a little clean circle in the red-hued water on his skin. Tino bade them to stop. I’m so weak, he scolded himself.
Giving a final wipe with the dry towel, which was hardly dry at all anymore, Tino cleaned up as much blood and grime as he could and concluded with a shattered, “What happened, Tanska? I just want my brothers back.”
He paused, then, collecting his thoughts and trying to comprehend the fact that he’d just spilled everything that he’d been bottling up for decades now. He hoped Mathias wouldn’t be furious. He hoped his acknowledgement of the collapsing empire wouldn't undo all the work he had done not just this night but also many others in making it appear as if all was normal. He hoped he hadn't hurt his elder brother in speaking the truth.
Yet, in a way, if he was truly, completely honest with himself, Tino didn’t care. That scared him.
_____________________ Sorry for depressing!Fin. Pfffft. This is probably the first time he's expressed outright dislike for the Union and the first seeds of rebellion have been planted, in other words the first time he's expressed more of a support for an independent Sweden than a unified Nordic group. *gasp*
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Post by Denmark on Jul 21, 2011 1:57:01 GMT -5
The cloth that had began to tenderly bathe the outline of the gash stopped in its ministrations.
"When I first came here, to live with you, Danmark, I... I was... excited."
Mathias merely grunted at that revelation. So was he. He'd dreamed about uniting the Nordic countries ever since life had begun to take them different ways. If there was anything that growing up had taught him it was that he loved having his family around. Not just the countries, either. He'd grown close to his adopted human brothers, his various bosses' sons, but inevitably he'd outlived them all - even the ones who didn't get slaughtered in battle. As a result, he'd cleaved to his brother-nations and loathed having them out of his sight, where he couldn't offer them protection. He'd lost a lot of human brothers over the centuries - he wasn't going to lose a fellow Nordic.
The Union had been the logical step.
"Bewarld often spoken your praises. About your strength and of the victories you and he shared during your conquests as Vikings."
Now that was news. The Swede very rarely had anything positive to say about Denmark. Mathias' ears pricked up, hoping Tino would elaborate.
Unfortunately, reciting compliments was not on the Finn's mind. A towel swipped at the Dane's sides as the boy continued. "I was weak - I still am - but I was glad I would get to be part of this Union. I thought I could be strong like you."
The thought of Tino's admiration made it impossible to stop himself from puffing up with pride.
Still, the notion that Tino would ever be as strong as Mathias was cute but pretty much impossible, as he saw it. Even the most die-hard of Finnish nationalists could see that the Dane's build and mentality was a far cry from what Tino currently possessed. But who know what could happen with the Nordics' help? The future could take them anywhere.
"It was..." There was a pause in which the wound was flushed and then finally pat dry. The feeling of water running between the cut edges of skin was strange yet painless, and Tino's hands were careful. The boy made an excellent nursemaid with his gentle temperament and delicate fingers. It was quite relaxing being the subject of his tending.
"It was hard. The first time you two fought, it was hard."
Suddenly, not so relaxing. All of the muscles in his newly-cleaned back tensed, all the way up to his jaw.
It was surprising, to say the least, that Tino would offer his opinion and dare to break the unspoken rule that these fights were never, ever mentioned. Mathias stayed silent, but whether that was because he didn't trust himself to speak or because he was speechless was difficult for him to figure out.
He supposed they'd been building up to this all night. Now that he looked back on it, it was inevitable that they'd mention it. He'd even almost instigated this conversation himself downstairs. But it was different when it was someone else bringing it up. It felt more like dissent, like criticism, whereas he'd been despairingly looking for support, or at least someone to squeeze his shoulder and tell him that it was supposed to be like this, that he was doing okay as King.
"It never got easier. I... I hate to see you two fight."
He found his teeth were tightly grit. Perhaps if Tino had been able to see the King's face he would have stopped this line of discussion.
It wasn't like Mathias enjoyed fighting with his brother. He hated it just as much as Finland, if not more. But... he couldn't back down, either.
"You two are killing each other! I hate it!"
The tears were evident in the boy's voice. Peversely, Mathias found them aggravating. Maybe it was because the boy was keeping him awake to whine at, or maybe because the Dane himself wasn't permitted tears, no matter how wretched he felt.
Or maybe it was the accusation inherent in the statement, or the recognition that he was failing to keep his family happy and healthy. All in all, Finland was insinuating that he wasn't being a very good King.
It didn't help that Denmark doubted any of that concern was directed toward himself.
Staying his anger was the fact that it was Tino. Tino didn't usually complain. He'd certainly never presumed to pester the Dane with petty grievances before, and Mathias wasn't so hard-hearted that he didn't care that his brother was in turmoil. This also happened to a line of worry that they shared.
The towel, now damp, gave a final pass over his back.
How curious that Tino was pursuing this topic. So unlike him.
It must have been the alliance with Sweden, the Dane decided, which was causing this uncharacteristic assertiveness. He supposed it made sense that Tino would be affected by the Berwald'a influence.
That was a provocative thought. It made it easier to see Finland's outcry as a symptom of a disease. Rather than brewing anger, the Dane began to consider the path back to normalcy. Something needed to be done about Sverige. Something more effective than some heat-of-the-moment punches.
He had an idea about how to do it, too. The pragmatic Danish king had already mentioned it, but Mathias had shied away from what seemed like insanity and an unforgivable betrayal. Times were changing, however, and desperate measures were looking more attractive.
"What happened, Tanska? I just want my brothers back."
Well, of course. [/color]
Denmark twisted around, ignoring the cut and his bruises, and pulled himself into a sitting position so he could face his young brother. He leaned against the headboard, hoping the exertion it took to get up like this hadn't been apparent. Brr, but it was cold.
"We haven't gone anywhere, Tino. We're both right here. Where we belong."
Was his voice reassuring? He couldn't tell. He was too busy thinking about how he was going to restore balance to his family, weighing up the damage he would have to do with the eventual outcome.
There were still some undried tears on the boy's face.
How sweet.[/color]
Mathias reached forward to brush them away with his thumb, keeping his hand cupped around that small jaw, and offered a smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"And it takes more than a fight to kill one of us," he pointed out. "You know that."
He could drive a pike through Berwald's head and the Swede will still come back in the morning as he usual disagreeable self, but he decided against mentioning it aloud.
“"Don't worry, lillebror. I'm going to fix it all. You trust me, right? We'll always be together, us Nordics.”
Of course. Of course. It hardly needed to be said outloud.
The sadness in his brother's eyes was making his mind up for him. All he had to do was take out Sweden's monarchy. Surely, like any snake, cutting the head off would end the fight. Berwald would have no choice but to give up this absurd pig-headedness. The thought of doing the deed still made his stomach turn uneasily, but he told himself it was for the greater good. Tino needed this. They all did. The unrest was bad for their household. One more act of brutality, and then they could put the whole sorry mess behind them. Well, Berwald might fight a little, not unlike a beheaded animal, but soon the twitching would stop.
He gave the Finn's cheek a gentle pat. The skin was ridiculously smooth. Tino must not even need to shave yet. Definitely still in need of protection. He withdrew his hand, rubbing his thumb over his knuckle to dry it
Finally, Mathias addressed Tino's real concerns.
“Besides, Berwald 'n' me... We're tough. We heal quick. Things are fine between us.” Something twisted in his stomach at the lie he wished was true. The fake smile flickered and fell as his gaze dropped to his collection or of old and new bruises, his thoughts to the nose and his back. “Or, they will be, I promise. It's normal for brothers to fight a bit, isn't it?”
He nodded in affirmation, then ruined the effect a bit by biting his lower lip. He was a terrible liar, and all too aware that when people said that, they were usually referring to verbal arguments.
"I know what I need to do. I'll fix everything," he promised again.
Just as soon as I weaken Sweden enough that he's never a problem again.
I see depressing!Finland and raise you a slightlyunhinged!Denmark.
Something tells me that all hell breaks loose shortly after this night.
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Post by Finland on Jul 24, 2011 21:47:46 GMT -5
Crisp sheets rustled and the soft mattress dipped as Tino felt Mathias shift. He could feel the elder looking at him. He didn’t have it in him after what had just been verbalized to make eye contact. The Finn felt like someone had ripped him open and emptied him out and now he was just void little shell, angry and scared and tiny on his brother’s giant bed.
Tino wondered how Mathias would react. Would he choose to play the role of a King, berating the servant for having the gall to say such insolent things? The penalty for treason – the boy knew it all too well. A little tremble ran through his body. Human or otherwise, the sense of utter dread that came in knowing one faced being led on rope to the execution shed was crippling. At this premonition, Tino’s breath hitched in his throat and a small hand instinctively drifted to his neck. How easy it would be to send an axe through his delicate throat.
Or would he act like family and realize that his little brother had been brave enough to finally admit that what had been troubling him for so many months now? He had never been the type to coddle, to praise every small deed or to lavish with comforting words after a scraped knee. It wasn’t in his nature.
Nevertheless, he was more than capable of demonstrating a need to protect those in his household, and here sat Tino, more than in need of protection. And maybe a good hug.
“We haven’t gone anywhere, Tino. We’re both right here.”
Mathias was wrong. They had gone somewhere. Maybe not their bodies, though even Berwald’s flesh was absent from the house this night, but their minds had been drifting further and further apart. Their wills, their aspirations for the fate of the union, their opinions of one another… Somewhere along the line, the brothers had diverged.
The empty tone of the Dane’s voice alone was enough to lead Tino to believe that even the King didn’t believe his own lie.
Before he realized what had happened, Tino felt a gentle grip on his face. He jerked a bit as cool, rough fingers gripped his chin and a thumb grazed his cheek, wiping warm tears away. The pressure from the elder’s callused fingers irritated Tino’s salt-chapped, delicate skin. Annoyingly delicate, as he often thought of it. He felt like a little maiden, soft and pink and not at all like the weathered warrior he’d been growing into.
A brief moment passed in which Tino worried that the other might gouge that rough digit into his eye socket as punishment for what he’d spoken. As the hard tip of the Dane’s fingernail trailed just under his eyelid, barely brushing the feathery lashes, the Finn made not even a twitch.
But the attack never came. The thumb continued on its way under the boy’s eye and slid back down his cheek. The young Nordic allowed himself a quiet sigh of relief. Eyes downcast at the forearm extended toward his face, the smile that contracted his brother’s mouth went unnoticed.
“And it takes more than a fight to kill one of us. You know that.”
There was nothing deniable about that statement. They weren’t humans. They weren’t entirely mortals. Tino had spent a good many years uncertain of what he was, and it was only quite recently, perhaps during the first few days of their union, that he finally began to fully grasp the concept that he was a nation – Suomi.
Still, he had all the emotions of a human, and one of the more prominent emotions was sympathy. Grief. Heartache. No matter if Berwald or Mathias or any of his other brothers died and sprang up perfectly healthy the next morning, as they often did, there was still the suffocating interim in which Tino would have to look at his brother’s pale, lifeless corpse sprawled out in whatever puddle of blood he’d fallen into or covered in whatever gashes he’d gotten just before the moment of death. There would still be hours where his heart refused to beat and chest refused to fill with life-giving oxygen.
Somehow, the little blonde couldn’t find the words to express these emotions to Mathias. Even if he could, he wasn’t sure Mathias would understand. A little nod was his response.
“Don’t worry, lillebror. I’m going to fix it all.”
Maybe the sleep aids dulled the sense of reality that always seemed to escape the man’s scope of reason, but Mathias sounded so positively sure of himself that his little brother couldn’t help but find himself caught up in the promise. Tino hoped he could fix everything. He hoped they could go back to how it was in the beginning when Denmark and Sweden fought side by side and not as opponents. At the same time, he kept his feet firmly planted on the ground and his head well away from the clouds.
Easier said than done, dear brother.
“You trust me, right?”
A nearly silent sob rushed out of Tino’s chest before he could stop it. Unable to even trust his own King, his own brother – he was in turmoil.
“Well, I—”
“We’ll always be together, us Nordics.”
The hopeful little remark, Mathias had said it so effortlessly, caused the Finn’s lip to quiver, a few more tears spilling down over lid and lashes and raw cheek to be wiped away by the hand gripping his jaw.
Even as Mathias seemed to be sealing the promise with a tender pat to the cheek, Tino knew it was a lie.
“Besides, Berwald ‘n’ me… We’re tough. We heal quick. Things are fine between us. Or, they will be, I promise. It’s normal for brothers to fight a bit, isn’t it?”
Not like this.
“I know what I need to do. I’ll fix everything.”
Without the will to even argue, Tino gave another feeble nod.
“Alright.”
He slipped off the bed, then, bare feet connecting with the cold floor.
“Lie down, then. You need your rest.” It seemed that the Dane’s words had been becoming more and more clear as he talked, and the little medic didn’t want him wide awake after the numbing effects of the herbal sedatives wore off. Yanking on the sheets to work them out from under Mathias’ body, Tino continued, “Will you be alright sleeping alone or would you like me to stay the night here to watch over you?”
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Post by Denmark on Jul 28, 2011 2:07:23 GMT -5
The younger nation seemed to take some comfort from those words because the tears were soon forgotten and domestic tasks returned to. Finland simply nodded, no questions of 'how?' or labouring the point of how much violence had been occurring in the house. The boy must have known that Mathias' word was as good as done.
“Alright,” said Tino. Pure, simple. No haggling, no disbelief, no pestering. The response cued a wash of relief over Denmark, as much as having provided his brother with some reassurance as not being challenged over his plans. Not even an eye-roll, like Norge might have offered.
Mathias gave a small smile and nodded again in confirmation. It would be alright. Eventually. A little bit more of this power-struggle and then it would be all finished with. The Dane wasn't very good at plotting but his King and advisors were; they would direct him correctly. There would be no more domestic conflict. Just the five of them, happy and safe in each others company.
Emotional crisis apparently averted, the damaged king yawned and glanced at his window. The night was still dark and cold against the glass. It may have been his imagination but he thought there was a smudge of dark grey over the horizon that indicated there were few night-hours left. If Berwald was still out there he must have found somewhere to turn in for the night. If that was the case, Denmark was jealous. He had been about to fall asleep ever since the fire was started – had, even, before Finland had unintentionally woken him for a meal and a drink and to fuss needlessly over back wounds.
“It's very late.” Mathias stretched his stiffening legs, feeling the mattress shift under him as Tino obediently rose from the bed with a patter of bare feet. The Dane congratulated himself on having at least one well-trained brother-servant.
“Lie down, then. You need your rest.”
That was a fair and welcome observation. He grunted as the small Finn reached for the bedsheets and tugged at them, shifting his weight obligingly so the sheets could slip from underneath him before the weaker Nordic did himself some damage from hauling on them like that. Sleep would be sweet. Maybe by the time he woke he would have healed. Perhaps he would rise invigorated, ready to work at whatever direction his boss thought fit to take.
Even the thought of finally resting made the room swim with a fresh wave of tiredness. He was definitely ready for bed.
”Will you be alright sleeping alone or would you like me to stay the night here to watch over you?”
The seat of his pants was still damp with water and crunchy where he'd knelt in something at the knee. so he began to remove them in preparation for getting more comfortable. He was so busy wriggling out of his clothes that he barely heard his brother's ridiculous proposal.
”I haven't been scared o'th' dark f'r a long time,” he said with a frown, unwittingly revealing that at some point he had been. It hadn't been so much a fear of the dark as a dislike of being shut up alone. He still wasn't too keen on that side of things.
Actually, on second thought, he didn't much want to be alone for the rest of the night tonight, either. It had a been a rough evening so far. He couldn't explain why he wanted Tino to stay but knew that a strange emptiness would well up within him when the boy left and pulled the door shut behind him.
With that in mind, he successfully sloughed his trousers off and dropped them on top of his other damaged clothes and continued aloud, “It will b' freezing in your room, though. Should stay here where it will be warmer.”
As he finished speaking, Mathias twisted onto his stomach again, propping his chin on a pillow. The position all but guaranteed an aching neck upon waking but there was little that could be done about that. Any contact to his nose or back would still be excruciating enough to prevent him from getting to sleep.
”Hurry up'n'lie down, lillebror.” The Dane closed his eyes and waited for the tell-tale sinking of the mattress as the other repositioned himself on the large bed.
A strange night all round. A snarky comment, a violent brawl, some tender care from an unexpected source. It still smarted that no one had come to his aid. Norway hadn't bothered to stir himself, Sweden hadn't bothered to come back and check that he was at least still alive. Finland had only ended up helping him because the boy had been left with no other choice. Well, maybe those reactions were just a symptom of a volatile household and he'd get a little more love and attention when things were more stable. He could be back to be the indulgent older brother and they could play games and drink and eat and go for runs and laugh and...
If Tino did as he was bid Mathias wasn't aware of it. The second he closed his eyes he felt the heaviness of sheer exhaustion descend upon him and by now his thoughts were completely muddled. The rugmelsgrød had given him some energy but it was not up to the task of reversing the effects of the fight, the blood-loss, or even the strange herbal tea he'd been given. He didn't even have enough energy to pay attention to his own thoughts, let alone what his brother was doing even though just seconds before he'd been adamant he wanted the small Finn around. Mathias didn't even bother to pull the sheets over himself.
He did, however, manage to mumble ”Takket, lillebror,” though whether it was loud or well-articulated enough to be intelligible was not much of a concern.
There was a lot more he wanted to say but sleep was seductive and would not be put off any longer. His intent to order Finland not to mention the night's events to anyone, another plea for trust and support, and even a sorry for his failings with a cry for another chance died on in the face of mounting drowsiness. There was just enough time to say “Jeg elsker dig” - or did he only think he said it? - before he was finally, blissfully, asleep.
No nightmares, no dreams, no fear for the future, no guilt for the past. Just sleep. It was exactly what he needed.
So sad to write the final post - I have been thoroughly enjoying this thread. Unfortunately I don't think I could realistically keep Denmark awake for much longer... lazy b******.
Thank you for threading with me, O Mighty Nordic Admin.
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