Måla den röd [R] [Denmark]

[sweden]

THIS THREAD WILL CONTAIN MATURE CONTENT OF A VIOLENT NATURE. It's called a bloodbath for a reason.

November 8th - 1520 - Stockholm

It had started with minor things really. Small things that had all come together and ignited into a roaring proclamation, the union had to go. It was Denmark's own arrogance that had caused the problems, that itself was something the Swede had no doubt about at all. Minor encroaches that disrupted trade had just rubbed his people up all the wrong way, and then that whole taxation thing had come about. It was all just a matter of idiocy, had Eric done as was agreed and discussed the taxes with the four estates then things wouldn't have escalated so quickly. It had though, of course it had. A revolution had come about, one that had at long last expelled the Danish from his land... Only to merely have them reaffirm their hold again if but a moment later. He wanted to be free from the shackles of his stupid union, this vile union that had been a mistake since its very creation. It was not good for his people and by hell they knew it... Mostly... Mostly they knew it.

His country was divided. Not in the sense of a civil war, but in the same way that could lead to one. Or at least it would had one side not been drastically larger than the other. After Engelbrekt more and more people were falling to support the anti-unionists, and thus so too was he. Granted he'd never cared much for the Dane and his attitude, however at the time his people had been content and in some small way this had gone towards pacifying him to the situation. Now though they were crying out to once and for all pull away and be themselves. Sve didn't just want this any more. No, now he needed it with all he was. Every part of him ached with the need to just be free and independent. He and his people were ready, they were ready to be free from his whole mess Denmark had forced them into... But things didn't always go to plan, and this had most certainly not been a part of the plan.

His people had accepted the Danish King as their own. He'd taken the vows and been anointed, it had seemed fine. For the first two days they celebrated, even Berwald had watched on without interjection through it (though it would have been to late to do anything had he wanted to at any rate, the man was his king now too). Even on this day things had seemed fine, or at least far better than they were actually now going. Really it had started simply enough. Christian had invited nobles and generals alike to a celebratory feast of sorts at the palace, and of course through invite of the king they attended. Indeed he himself was even set to go having been forced into clothes he found embarrassingly ornate. Whilst still muted (and frankly plain in the eyes of any other) the damn frills and ruffles peeved him somewhat. It was whilst walking along the hallway and muttering as he tugged at the hem of his shirt in discomfort that the actual depth of the problem arose.

Disallowed from bringing a weapon to the court room he'd been at an utter disadvantage when someone had jumped him from behind. That had been the prelude to his current situation.

"Le'me go!" He barked sharply, pulling against the bindings on his arms as he did. To say he was angry was a serious understatement. From the way his scowl was deeper than the norm, to the way an almost feral glare took his eyes. It was so damn obvious that he'd gone way past angry and into the realm of furious, furious at the moronic blond across from him. He could hear the yells and cries of outrage from his people... His people who needed him right now. He supposed it was a small mercy they were not yet screaming, for now they were not being harmed. He couldn't say how long that would last, and so it was utterly imperative that he get to them. There was no choice in the matter. He had to get to them no matter what the hell was in his way, and right now there were only two things. The ropes holding his arms firmly behind his back making them impossible to break, and that damn Dane... Two simple things that he had to remove.

Pulling again whilst his feet paddled uselessly against the floor, causing his back to arch slightly from his forced sitting position, it was clear all he was going to do was deepen the friction burns. "Damm't..." His voice was little more than a hissing whisper as eyes narrowed further. "Le'me go, Denm'rk!" It was clear it wasn't a request, and nor was it even close to such. His words were a flat out order. Of all the shit Denmark had pulled in his time this was sizing itself to be the best of the worst. To do this was just... Low. No, it was lower than low. To trick his people at such an occasion? It was the sort of sick behaviour you'd expect from the barbarians of old, not now.

It seemed he'd thought too much of Mathias and his people. What a fool he was... It was not a mistake he'd make again, but then again he shouldn't have made it in the first place. Of course this had been a trick, how could it not have been?! He'd had minor suspicions of course but what could he do about it? If the man was the King who controlled the Kalmar union then he was also the man Sweden had to follow without disobedience. He couldn't simply just up and point accusing fingers where he'd had no proof. This was the result of that though, the result of his own idiocy. Except the unexpected they say. Well that was good and all, and indeed he'd not trusted the man... But for him to do this during such an occasion? No, that was lower than even Sweden would have thought Christian and his followers would fall. He'd not seen this coming, but who could blame him for such?

Everyone. Yes, he'd let his people blame the country if they so needed. Whilst he'd never reveal who he was he'd still happily take their curses to his name. Not for self blame them, no. Berwald was not fool enough for that. Instead he'd turn their anger to the true cause, and with it cut down the tyranny that had controlled him and all he was as a nation for far too long. He had to know though... He had to know what the hell was going on here. Not the why and the how because right now they were were of lesser importance. All he needed to know was how his people were, and from there he could better judge what to do. To lose his head in something like this was not what anyone needed right now, and that was perhaps the greater restraint on him for the moment.

"Wha's 's all abo't? Yah gonna do to 'em?" Again his words were not meant to be given in a requesting fashion, they were demands. One would think that in such a vulnerable position he'd be more amicable toward the matter, but no. Instead he acted in much the same fashion he always did, outwardly cold and stoic. He had a knack for keeping things to himself, be it intentionally or not it was how he was. Thus with that in mind perhaps trying to judge him at present would be a mistake unless you knew what to look for. He didn't declare his emotions for the world for all to see, but that did not at all mean they were not there. No. More than anything it meant it was safer to keep him in your sights. Unlike Denmark who was emotionally open and predictable Sweden was not. He was the polar opposite and thus unpredictable. Perhaps this was simply another factor in people's fear of him. They didn't know where they stood or what he'd do next...

Just as he alas did not know what was to come next here. In the name of the god though don't let it be as bad as his mind was forcing him to believe.... With the Danes it probably was as bad as that... If not worse.

[/color]

---

- If people want me to translate what he's saying then ask and I'll do so xD
- Title means 'Paint it red' by the way :I -bad sense of humour-

[kit]

Denmark had bound Sweden, hands and feet and life, to the very seat his king so coveted - the Swedish royal throne. His hands shook with the ties, and he'd pulled the ends together far tighter than strictly necessary around Sweden's midriff. Satisfied with his handiwork, he slipped behind the throne, to forcibly bind Sweden's hands together in what must've been a painfully awkward position.

Never one to sit by idly, Sweden put up far less resistance than he'd expected, and all he really got, was an angry, clipped, "Le'me go!"

The knot he'd been tying slipped, and he dimly muttered a shaky, "Shit, stop moving." under his breath, before redoing it.

There, that was two knots secured, one more to go for safety's sake. Moving before Sweden again, Denmark looked doubtfully down at the Swedish man's feet. It was something his boss had asked - no, ordered - him to do, but the third tie wasn't really necessary, was it? It wasn't like Sweden could move at all anyway. Plus, he had a weapon on him, whereas his captive was completely unarmed. Risking a kick to the face wasn't worth it, and Denmark stepped back, fidgety and nervous and entirely unsure if what he was doing was right.

Christian II was so confident that he knew what he was doing. Denmark really wasn't. His countrymen loved their king, and credit had to be given where it was due. In an effort to concentrate power with the monarchy, his king had neglected the clergymen and nobility that so many of his former kings had catered to like puppies. Instead, he'd had been fair and generous and supportive to the farmers and workers that made up the mass majority of his population. And it was with the support and manpower of the everyday peasant that Christian had even made it this far - into the capital of Sweden, where he'd been successfully acknowledged as king.

Everything had been going so well. The events planned for the following day were entirely overkill, in Demark's opinion, and Denmark was honestly sick of being told to pick fights with Sweden for what a few men in high power believed was the right political course of action. The selfishness of men sometimes astounded him to no end, but he was guilty of it too. A large part of him liked having control of everything - of the Kalmar Union, of Sweden, of everybody around him. He liked winning and hated losing, and he really believed that he'd won enough here. It was just so disappointing that no matter how he'd tried to convince his current and past bosses otherwise, they never listened. And he couldn't disobey.

He also couldn't meet Sweden's eyes. In another historical time-line, they might've been best friends. They had so much in common in terms of interest and culture, despite polar opposite personalities. But in this time, with the events of tomorrow, Sweden would probably hate him forever, and with good cause.

"Wha's 's all abo't? Yah gonna do to 'em?" Sweden demanded, sounding far more nasty than was normal for anyone in his position. Denmark flinched instinctively, expecting a follow-up punch to the face as was often the case when he heard that tone, and shook his head to clear his thoughts when none came.

"Sverige..." he began, and trailed off uncertainly.

Looking pointedly to something beyond Sweden's head, Denmark pasted on his best, and most convincing fake happy grin. As far as he knew, Sweden thought he was a simpleton when it came to emotions, and he liked being known as an open book. It made things like this easier to deal with in the aftermath. It was almost sad that he'd had so much experience, really. When everything was over, he'd be forced to smile and pretend like he hadn't just murdered hundreds of innocent men like they didn't matter. Men who'd even just recently pledged themselves to the Danish crown. Men that were at the moment, for all purposes, Danish subjects. Being able to grin and pretend that he was doing the right thing was much better than the alternative, which was probably to go crazy.

"Hey, listen. It'll all be over soon. I just need you to stay here for a while longer. My boss is afraid that you'll do something stupid and mess tonight up okay? Tonight is kind of important." He wasn't lying, at least. Not that it would make any difference later.

The tension between them was so thick it could have been cut with a knife. Denmark awkwardly stood in front of Sweden for some time, before seating himself in the queen's throne, beside his captive.

Suddenly, he giggled. The madness of the situation was finally getting to him. Here he was, playing queen to Sweden's king, when just beyond the throne room, the real king was barking orders to capture and confine the rest of his dinner guests, to be executed come dawn next morning. This would be the last time he'd be able to sit beside Sweden for a long time. It would take a lot to forgive this.

When he closed his eyes, he could almost pretend that they were still awkward acquaintances, meeting formally for the first time under orders to play nice, in hopes of someday establishing a massive, unified Northern European empire. Unfortunately it'd been a giant dick measuring competition from the very start, and they'd disliked each other immediately. Both of them still held grudges over the few times they'd met way back in their childhood, when it was about who had the coolest viking helm, and who'd made the most awesome pillage instead of who'd be the dominant entity in a three-way political marriage that none of the nation personifications particularly cared for. It was too bad, really. Norway and Sweden had been growing on him in their three hundred or so years together, and he even almost liked Sweden, sometimes.

"It'll all be over soon." Denmark repeated, more for himself than for his angry captive, shit-eating smile still plastered to his face. He laughed again, darkly amused by the hidden multiple meanings held true with that one line. Sweden couldn't possibly understand yet, but he would, very soon.

There were only four more hours to go until dawn.

((ooc: I'll come back and proofread this tomorrow! So much more jack-assery coming up soon ;A;))

[sweden]

Watching the man hovering before him he bored into him with a hard glare. It was a look that would both peel paint and send many a person running. It would undoubtedly do neither to Mathias. He supposed he gained a vaguely guilty satisfaction when the man flinched away at the sharp words, though he knew it was wrong of him to thing such. In the end he couldn't really give a damn about that. In the grand scheme of things the Danish along with their damn country had done worse. At times their relations had been mildly pleasant, though that was more from times long since past. Back then it was only personal differences acting as buffers, and of course these had become a rivalry of sorts. At the time it hadn't been so bad... Not so bad at all.

"Sverige..."

That would perhaps be the biggest inclination that something was terribly wrong. A simple name really, however the uncertainty and the fact it was not in fact clipped down to a simple 'Sve' just made it... Well it made it wrong. There was little other definition for that, and indeed the refusal of eye contact just set everything on edge. Whatever was going on here was enough to have the Dane worried, perhaps even flustered? He didn't know. All he knew was that the moron was grinning again, that big idiotic smile plastered across his face and just mocking Berwald.

"Hey, listen. It'll all be over soon. I just need you to stay here for a while longer. My boss is afraid that you'll do something stupid and mess tonight up okay? Tonight is kind of important."

What the hell did he mean by that? No, he knew what it meant. The implication was that it was obviously something Sweden would not agree with, and so try and reject. If that was so then a part of him didn't want to know, a large part as it so happened. It wasn't so much through a selfish desire to hide himself from the truth, more there was a pang of fear from it. For a boss who could have simply ordered him to stay to do this... What did that mean? Well it meant that the target of this wasn't just him, and nor was it just his people. Rather his people as a whole? He wasn't sure... He wasn't sure at all. “St'p'd?” He grunted sharply, tugging hard once more at the ropes. In the end it got him nothing, and nor was it going to... But fuck, how could he just sit by and wait for whatever it was to come and go? He couldn't. Well actually it seemed he could, and actually would... But if only he could get these damn ropes off. If only he could be free of them and the Dane, then he'd be more than able to stop whatever the hell this was.

In the end of the day he couldn't; the tugging was getting him nothing and nowhere. Instead he simply chose to finish his comments for now. “No m're st'p'd th'n yah self!” Growling slightly he snorted as fingers scrabbled against the rope desperately. If he could find a purchase he had some chance... there was none.

He'd never really wanted a part of this union, it was a sham from the start. Started by a Dane it was all just some vile way for them to gain power, nothing more. Slap the name union on it and people thought I was all well and good, and to the Danes it probably was (he couldn't really comment on the Norwegians, they seemed content for the most part). To the Swedes though it had become less than satisfactory, and as such the terms were wavering. It could have worked perhaps, had the Danish been less greedy in their morals... Had Denmark not been just so... Well Denmark-ish he supposed. The man was vulgar and arrogant, he seemed to have no limits and respected no one. Whilst they had many an interest shared until the fool learned how to appropriately deal with people (and by this the definition of deal would fit the general populace, and not just Denmark's view) it was simply not going to happen.

Blanching as the man set next to him only to start giggling like some kind of hyena he pointedly started ahead. He didn't want to know what Mathias found amusing, and frankly nor did he care. His interest did not extend much past two things. Freeing himself, and damn well putting an end to whatever madness was about to ensue because yes... he knew there would be a hell of a lot of it later.

Even now though the irony of their positions did not pass him. Denmark was putting himself into a subservient position to Sweden, because the king after all was the leader. It was no doubt just a thoughtless blunder on the other's part; after all, Sweden knew the other would never deliberately mark himself as second best... Though in this case the king was the worst. The real thing was screwing things up badly, he had betrayed them. All of them.

"It'll all be over soon."

For who though? What the hell did that even mean exactly? There was the cliché version that was usually associated with troubles coming to an end, the one that implied death, and the other hinted to that ever converted happy ending. Sweden doubted it was any. If anyone could throw a new meaning onto five simple words it was this blonde fool.

“Th'n le'me go!” He once more hissed. He did not want to be here, and nor did he need to be.

In the end he really did know the other wouldn't free him, and so all he could do was struggle to hell. Stronger or no in his current positioning it was utterly impossible to actually sever the binds, and was that not just ironic? He and the Swedes were always bound by the Danes, physically or politically. After this outrage the bindings would be no more.

Tyrants did not last.

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OH NOSE, NOT THE JACKASS-ERY D:
sorry this is a bit bleh, still getting used to the ol' chap XD
I'll proof this tomorrow when my mind isn't... mush

[kit]

Denmark sat silently, idly in his seat for some time. When the silence became too awkward and the tension too thick, he jumped out of his seat and began pacing. On his second lap around the room, he took a short detour from the path he’d been treading, to kick Sweden just below the left kneecap.

”Shut up.” He was glaring now, shit-eating grin long gone because keeping it up was taking too much effort. ’You don’t know anything so just shut up.” Angry blue met his own eyes defiantly, and he kicked at the other again, harder, before returning to his pacing and picking up momentum.

As much as he generally adored one-upping Sweden, this wasn’t fun. Maybe it was like that ancient proverb, or something, where some wise guy once said, ’It’s all fun and games until somebody gets hurt.’ So it used to be a fun game, and now it was just a game - a game he was going to win at a cost he wasn’t sure he wanted to pay. Unfortunately the choice wasn’t his this time. There was so much more involved than just himself and Sverige. Sometimes he really hated politics.

The power balance within the Kalmar Union had always been a tenuous passive-aggressive struggle between himself and the miserable captive before him. With the coming events of the following morning, a Swedish rebellion of a massive scale would be inevitable. If he won the game, it’d be game over. There would be no one else to constantly push at him and challenge him and completely undermine his authority. Norway was too passive. The neighbors were too weak. He’d be a powerful, dominant figure in Europe, with a soaring economy and well balanced industry, and all of his people would prosper. But if he lost, the consequences would be even worse. He’d lose the Union he’d tried so hard to build and maintain for ages, and Sweden would probably kick him while he was down. Sverige had never been a sympathetic figure when it came to him.

Denmark didn’t know what to do, and he hated the feeling. He wasn’t a thinker, he was doer. Impulse had always been the impetus behind everything he did and it wasn’t in his character to so meticulously plan out something like what Christian had. He wanted to scream that it was self sabotage, but couldn’t, and had to instead settle for taking his growing anger and frustration out on the only person around him.

It was almost dawn. Even if he couldn’t see the sunrise, he could feel it. And it was almost time for the final match of this game they were playing. Only Sweden didn’t know what they were playing, and Denmark couldn’t afford to lose.

He’d been pacing on and off, and stopped again now in front of Sweden. All this thinking had made him borderline furious, and the lack of sleep made him shifty and nasty. ”This is all your fault, you know?” He couldn’t help but lash out. He needed to vent, to release everything he’d tried so hard to bottle up for the past year out on
something, anything, and Sweden was so conveniently there.

”If you hadn’t tried to change the Union, all this wouldn’t have happened! Why did you have to go and mess everything up? We were happy together weren’t we? Until you started wanting more. This is all your fault!” Denmark slapped Sweden, hard, eyes wild and dilated.

((OMG IM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE ;A; -- will proofread sometime later, probably.))

[sweden]

The Dane was like a damn well trapped animal. Pacing back and forth, on edge? Yes. That dug at the Swede, the fact Mathias thought he had any damn right to have an issue with this situation when he was the instigator. It was hypocritical to say the least. How anyone could be quite so big headed Berwald did not know, for the life of him he'd never met anyone bar Denmark who was quite so... infuriating. Low, too, it seemed.

As the other stopped before him he narrowed his eyes slightly. He couldn't say he didn't expect the blow his knee, Denmark had always been the type to do whatever the hell he wanted. If that meant lashing out at someone then what would he care? He didn't. He was just a bullheaded brat who wanted his own way. Still, it was pretty freaking painful leaving it hard to ignore. Admirably or not there was only the vaguest twitch of pain as he fisted his hands in response, nails digging into his palms somewhat. He wouldn't even ask why, because of course he knew. "'d'ot," he quipped out suddenly. He was a damn easy scapegoat right now, more so when tied to a chair. Didn't that just sum up the situation of he and his people though? In a physical sense yes. The ropes that bound him were the union and Danes, both forces repressing the Swedish and in effect ensnaring freedom. This had been his situation for yes, really. It was only now that it was in a physical sense. Like everything though it wouldn't last, nothing run in tyranny did.

”Shut up. You don’t know anything so just shut up.”

No, that was true, he didn't know anything. However whose fault was it that he'd been told nothing? It certainly wasn't by choice that he was in the dark about the matter, he'd not gone out of his way not to know what was going on. No, more than anything he wanted to know. It just so happened that there was a pain in the ass Dane stood in the way of that information, one who seemed pretty damn intent on trying to remove his freaking kneecap. How charming. Usually he'd have just moved, the problem there was obviously the fact that a freaking chair was right in the damn way of that. Alas since it was going nowhere nor was he.

“’s not my fa’lt!” He grunted. “’f yah told me ‘d kn’w.” Evidently violence wouldn’t really get Mathias anywhere, not with Sweden. Or at least not on such a small scale as just damn well kicking him. With them beating the shit out of the other more seemed to be how it usually went, and indeed this didn’t compare. More than anything it was like poking fun at something very angry, a dangerous game in itself. Eventually you'd more often than not find yourself bitten back, indeed this was no different. The matter of the fact though was that Sweden knew better. Waiting could so often give you the chance to kick the other where it really hurt, and this was exactly what he was damn well waiting for. A chance to actually get his own freaking point across, and it really was one of simplicity.

”This is all your fault, you know?”

For a moment he neither said nor did anything, waiting instead for the inevitable rant. No doubt all of it would try and pin it on Sweden. Tsk.

”If you hadn’t tried to change the Union, all this wouldn’t have happened! Why did you have to go and mess everything up? We were happy together weren’t we? Until you started wanting more. This is all your fault!”

Scoffing as the man struck him he did little more than scowl for a moment, raw handprint showing ever so wonderfully in a similar fashion to a brand. "My fa'lt?" With a snort he snapped his right leg out and up to catch the other in the fork of his legs. Any fool would have known not to get so close, but it seemed this fool had turned to madness.

"D'n del'de yer self!" He hissed bitterly. "Yer people only w'nted what w's good fer thems'lves! Yah tr'ed t'take away o'r freed'm on th'ngs. Ev'ryth'n' w's done 'n Denm'rk. 't wasn't a 'n'on at all!" And that was indeed how it was. Everything was done in Denmark, or at least through it. The Swedes wanted a degree of free government for their people... but could they have that? No. No, because the Danish only wanted to best benefit themselves and their own people. They didn't care about the others in the union, just as long as their own people prospered then screw the rest! Well he was sick. He and his people were damn well sick and tired of it all. And no, it was damn well not their fault. It was that of the Danish, this was their doing and he'd be damned if he was taking the blame for what this idiot was doing. Had they bothered to listen to anyone else there'd have been no problem.

As an after thought though he couldn't help but add; "'n I was neve' happy." Perhaps it wasn't strictly true, it was simply more that he couldn't strictly remember being happy due to the whole thing. Sad, but true.

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I'd just like to point out that only sissy girls slap people <3