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Post by Deleted on Nov 8, 2013 18:03:57 GMT -6
It was funny. When he was a little tyke, running circles around his men and playing with weapons that were too heavy and too big for him, he hated the weak. He didn’t why normal humans got old, couldn’t understand why men who were in peak physical condition became frail the longer the years went on. He knew that he didn’t like it; getting old and weak. What a silly boy, Denmark had been all those years ago. When he thought that his youth and strength and power would last forever. What would that little boy think, Denmark wondered, if he saw himself in this state? Old, tired, hardly able to move. Would that little boy be disgusted? Ashamed? Only the Gods knew the answer.
What mattered now was the other man across from him, so close and yet so far. Mathias tried to stretch his hand out, to brush away the bloodied bangs that hung in Lukas’ face, but his arm wasn’t cooperating. His fingers twitched a little, but that was it. The pain that still ran up and down his back reminded him that, were he human, he would probably be crippled for the rest of his life. Hopefully that wouldn’t be the case here. Hopefully his natural healing would prevent that outcome, although at the moment it felt like it wouldn’t be happening. His vision blurred and warmth gathered in the corners of his eyes. What was he crying for? With so many emotions warring in him, it was difficult to pinpoint exactly which one was making him so upset.
Slender, warm fingers, calloused from years of war and playing the violin, grazed his face, and the whirling tempest of emotions stilled somewhat. Mathias nuzzled into that touch the best he could, longing for the comfort it brought. The storm calmed, he realized that they should probably move. Get somewhere safe, if such a place existed, barricade the doors and tend to their wounds. For the first time in his life, however, Mathias doubted that it would really be as easy as all that. There could be something watching them, waiting to finish them off, or just taking enjoyment in seeing these two former conquerors in such a pathetic state. He sighed, frowning when he felt those fingers being retracted from his face.
“We have to go, Mathias…” Lukas croaked out, following by a series of deep, heaving coughs. The tears came back, as the Dane was able to finally sort out what emotions made him feel the worse. Despair. Fear. Concern. Helplessness. Some big brother- some leader- he was. He cursed himself internally, scolding himself for acting like such a happy-go-lucky idiot earlier. Maybe if he had taking the situation more seriously, if he hadn’t tried to lighten the mood with his stupid quips, things wouldn’t have gotten this bad. Lukas wouldn’t be so hurt. Lukas wouldn’t have almost died. The loud, heaving coughs stabbed at Mathias’ heart, and he chewed at his bottom him to keep himself from sobbing outright. “…I need you to help me,” Lukas said finally.
Right. Their situation. Giving a shallow nod he doubted the other Nordic could even see, Mathias willed his arm up. Whether it was his natural healing finally kicking in, or his own force of will, that finally made him grab Brynhildr’s shaft was unknown to him. Normally he would have been proud that he had made the blade stick as firmly as it was in his condition, but arrogance –and self loathing- was for another time. The floorboards creaked as Mathias put all his weight on Brynhilder, using her as a crutch to push himself up, and he wished to whoever was still listening that he wouldn’t yank the blade out before he could sit himself upright. Strength returned to his other arm, and he sued it to push himself onto his knees. The muscles in his back protested, tightening in pain as if telling him “lay back down, you stupid bastard!” but Mathias ignored it. Finally he was on his knees, and he looked up at Lukas with a lazy, almost-happy smirk.
“Lazy ass.” Lukas said, and for a moment everything seemed like it was normal. He almost wanted to believe that this was the end of some long, restless dream he had been having, and the Lukas in the real world was trying to get his ass out of bed. Mathias knew better, however. With another groan of the floor boards, Brynhilder’s blade finally came loose, knocking the Dane off balance. Thankfully he had managed to catch himself and not end up sprawled on the floor again. If he had he really would have been screwed. Both of them would have been. Thankfully his arms were working, his legs on the other hand…
“I can’t really feel ‘em.” Mathias admitted solemnly. He could feel tears rolling down his cheeks, and he wiped them away as quickly as possible. He had been crippled before, once. It was the most miserable time of his life, but he had been back on his feet in about a month. Now… Gods knew how long it would be until he could use them. Would he be like this for the rest of his life? How could he protect anyone like that?! “Oh Gods, Lukas, I can barely feel my legs anymore.” He continued in a trembling voice. Mathias took a breath and looked towards the room they were previously in. He could smell something burning and hear wood crackling under intense heat. Had someone lit the fire? Who? Was it safe? He glanced between Norway and the room, it seemed too peaceful, too perfect and safe, to really be so. “I think there’s someone in that room. Can you feel anything?” He started to crawl pitifully towards the door as he asked the question, stretching his neck as far as possible in an attempt to see inside. He mentally uttered a plea to Lord Odin that there would be nothing in that room. That they were finally safe.
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Post by Deleted on Nov 11, 2013 23:18:10 GMT -6
From his peripheral, Norway watched Denmark struggle though with every tremor that suffered through the Dane’s body, Lukas couldn’t stop himself from flinching in response. The years that he had told himself that he had hated Denmark, that he could drown in the icy Atlantic were dwarfed by the centuries, nay, the millennia they both had known each other and no small period of mixed feeling could stop Lukas from reacting upon seeing Mathias in such a pathetic condition. That being said however, there were still some questionable negative emotions that fumed through the Norwegians veins when Mathias shone one of his grins at him. Lukas’ eyes narrowed and his mouth became tight, not allowing himself be eased by that grin, which had an uncanny affect on Norway as shown throughout the centuries. This was not the time or place however to be bewitched by Denmark’s imbecilic charms, but when Brynhilder crashed to the ground Lukas reached out instinctively only to recoil with pain, his hand painfully covering his damaged shoulder. The pain was making it hard for him to take in deep breaths.
“I can’t really feel ‘em.”
Lukas peeked an eye open to look at Mathias, unclenching his teeth with a series of deep breaths, sweat stinging the wounds on his face with the strain against crying out entirely. The blonde’s gaze flitted down the taller nation’s downed form before returning to his face, not certain exactly what the other’s statement meant. Feel who? What? Lukas’ eyes opened fully in a flutter of blinks when he saw that Denmark was crying. While the occurrence was far from a rarity, Mathias was somewhat of a crybaby and this was common knowledge at least amongst the Nordics, the sight of the man’s rolling tears gave birth to a rising tide of dread in Lukas’ gut, the coldness of it icy over the burn of his wounds.
"Oh Gods, Lukas, I can barely feel my legs anymore.”
Lips parted, the metallic taste of his own blood once more began to seep into his mouth, as Lukas processed his Denmark’s words. Being a nation, they would survive dismemberment, with the limb fusing back with the body or even growing a new limb entirely, an exact replica with birthmarks and scars included, but the process took time and was excruciatingly painful. If Denmark truly was suffering from severe spinal damage, he would get well but considering that their advanced healing had been depleted exponentially, Norway found that he was truly at a loss as to what to do. Numerous times Lukas had put his life on the line for Mathias sake, just as Mathias had done for him, but it had been quite a while, at least a couple of centuries, since Norway had been in this sort of position. Modern times didn’t require swords anymore, words were sharp enough, and firearms worked better at a further distance; no longer did one need to face an enemy to kill him. So it was safe to say that the Norwegian was slightly out of practice for dealing with an injured Denmark.
As stunned and quickly falling into the despair of not knowing what to do as Lukas was, he watched blankly as Mathias crawled towards the doorway, muttering something about someone in the room. Norway just blinked in response, staring at Denmark, but then again, not staring at Denmark; Lukas was staring at his back. Blood had darkened the blue of his costume's coat, which had been sliced open revealing the bloody flesh of the blonde’s muscular back. The wound was ugly, severe, and the more Lukas stared, the more his own wounds on his face began to itch and burn. ‘Can you feel anything?’ Mathias’s wounds drifted through Lukas’ mind over and over until the emotions he was feeling began to filter into recognition. Pain. Despair. Quiet panic. Concern. Helplessness. The latter burned the brightest, rooting the Norwegian to where he pitifully knelt, summing up their injuries, their chances of escape, of recovery, and the possibility that their next monstrous attack could now be awaiting their arrival in the room they had claimed not that long ago. Funny… how things can change so quickly: one minute you’re fine the next, you’re laying on the floor, your blood soaking into the carpet.
The itch and irritation in his facial wounds intensified and Lukas raised his arm without thinking to wait his face, just to bite back a hiss when his sleeve touched torn flesh. Shutting his eyes tight, it was then that he felt that his own tears where being squeezed out from his tear ducts, so much so that when he reopened his eyes lids, his vision was blurred with his salty tears. He was crying. Lukas didn’t know what to do, so he was crying, how pathetic of him. He stared sorrowfully at Denmark, thinking that he needed to get the big brute into the room, but indeed the scent of burning firewood was drifting from the chamber, so that might now be the safest action at this time. Besides, moving Denmark in his condition could only injure him further, or Lukas for that matter, rendering either one of them more useless. Norway was in a corner and his mind was blank on how to act, so he continued to kneel, silently crying, his expression sadly indifferent as were his eyes.
Movement at the end of the hall caught Lukas’ attention at the first thought that came to him was, ‘This is the end…’ They had remained out in the open for too long, another monster had smelt them out, and they were going to be torn to pieces due to tardiness and weakness. Blinking slowly, the rather large figure came into focus and was rapidly floating towards them, so fast that when the creature stopped a mere foot in front of Norway’s face, a rush of wind billowed his hair. Gazing up slowly at the creature’s large eyes, a sob finally broke through Lukas’ lips and he raised his hand to set it upon the huge hand which outstretched towards him gingerly in a manner of offering. Instant warmth flowed into his hand from the larger one, and Lukas leaned forward to gently rest his forehead on the joined hands, his long bands obscuring the tears falling freely from his eyes. Above him, great tears of shimmering light, flowed in response down the great green cheeks of the forest troll, Alv, who had been searching for his dearest of companions after the pair having been separated some time ago. To see Norway in such a condition filled the ancient creature with such sadness that he groaned loud enough that perhaps even Denmark heard him.
Speaking of Denmark, if the man were to look at Lukas, all he would see the Norwegian leaning against his own hand hanging in the air, head bent down, without any indication of the troll’s existence, except perhaps the amount of relax that had replaced the amount of tenseness in the blonde’s shoulders. Lukas swallowed, cutting short his tears and lifting his weary head, looking his friend in the eyes, the man did something that no longer came naturally to him around most people, but considering that who he was staring at wasn’t a person, it came much more easily. Lukas smiled. Not big and bright, but it was there, beneath blood, tears, fatigue, and relief.
“Du er sent ute, min venn”.
A deep rumble came the troll’s answer and Lukas dropped his hand as he dropped his smile, before he looked over at Denmark. They were nations, not pathetic, weak humans! Norway was not human, but even he knew when he had reached his limits and he had reached it. “I can’t help you, Mathis. Not this time,” he said softly, the sad admittance clear in his words, as was the anger. Of course when he asks Denmark for his help, Mathias is too injured to do anything about it. Glancing back at the huge forest troll, Norway didn’t even have to open his mouth before his friend bowed his head before levitating to be over the former King of the North and with incredibly gentle hands, the troll picked Denmark up with his huge hands. Lukas didn’t stay and watch, as he busied himself with grabbing Denmark’s once-again discarded weapon and continuing where Mathias failed using the axe’s length to help him stand. It hurt and his legs shook terribly, but the blonde succeeded.
Walking slowly, Lukas followed Alv carrying Mathias into the bedroom, him trusting in the troll’s superior senses that the room was uninhabited and safe, and as Denmark was set down in front of a roaring, surprisingly pleasant fire in the room’s hearth, Lukas shut the door and securely locked it. He set Mathias’ weapon against the wall by the door, a good place if they needed to grab it. Exhaustion whispered to Lukas to slide down the down and pass out then and there, but the man fought against the tempting sensation, merely leaning against the door to gaze towards where Denmark was and the inexplicable appearance of a multitude amount of medical supplies that were enough by the looks of it to treat an entire platoon. Tiredness brought with it exaggeration, just like when Lukas came and sat, or rather half collapsed, by Mathias’ side, the scream of pain from his torn shoulder blew out his eardrum. Alv had already busied himself with dragging a rather heavy looking wardrobe in front of the door while Norway gazed down at Denmark; the Norwegian’s face remained hidden in shadows.
Wordlessly, he reached over and grabbed a pair of scissors for cutting clothing, his eyes momentarily glancing at a pair of identical jars beneath what appeared to be note and Lukas swore he saw Denmark’s and his’ names on it but he was already with preoccupied with the decision before him, literally. “Should I treat you first, or myself?” His question was clear enough, spoken in Lukas’ normal smooth tone, but the man was pointedly not meeting the others’ eyes. If Mathias had seen him crying, it would be unwise to mention it while Lukas held surgical tools in his hands. Pausing for a moment, Lukas did glance down at the other to finished in a much softer, concerned tone, "Mathias?"
Translation: You're late, my friend
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Post by Deleted on Dec 4, 2013 20:52:53 GMT -6
He had considered death one or twice in his life. Let his mind drift to the ultimate end of his seemingly immortal life, happily spending his afterlife in Valhalla and recounting old stories with his previous Kings and playing with the dog who had passed away decades ago (animals could get into Valhalla, right? Surely they could). They had simply been thoughts; contemplations of an old fool who knew that, by his very nature, he would avoid Death's touch so long as his cities stood and his people breathed life into his land. He knew his cities still stood and that his citizens still lived, yet he could practically taste death on his lips, feel one of Odin's Valkyries standing over him, looking at him with silently pleading eyes to just let go. Or, perhaps, they pitied the pathetic soul who clung to humanity, rather than ascending to a more glorious plain of existence. More than that, more shattering than earning the disrespect of a Battle Maiden, was hearing Lukas' undeniable sob. Gods... how many centuries had it been since Lukas cried? Truly cried? Honestly, Mathias didn't even remember anymore. Lukas had always been the strong one, the stoic one who faced reality with a cold indifference; shit happens, and it was pointless to try and do anything about it. He was the emotional crutch whenever Mathias was at his weakest, but now Lukas was at his weakest, too. Alone, bleeding, severely injured and left to die.
Norway's acceptance of their helplessness dashed away what little hope Denmark might have still had, and more tears feel from his eyes, which widened slightly in alarm when he felt himself being lifted from the ground. No, no, no, no! The worst possible scenarios flashed through his mind; of some sort of invisible creature taking great pleasure in ripping him limb from limb like some sort of unwanted rag doll. Twisting bones until they broke and tugging at the appendages until the skin and muscles were severed completely. He shut his eyes and prepared himself for the mind-numbing agony of being torn apart, but it never came. Carefully he opened an eye, and saw that whatever was carrying him was doing so with the utmost care, like it was afraid it would break the Danish man if he was jostled too much. Mathias was sent down in front of the fire, and he stared into the joyously flickering flames unblinkingly, even if the heat made his eyes sting. He almost wanted to reach out and touch the fire, to make sure that they would actually burn, to make sure this was really happening. He decided against it, concluding that he needed at least his hands to be in good condition.
“Should I treat you first, or myself?” Mathias looked back to his companion, noticing that Lukas was avoiding eye-contact. He must have been disappointed that Mathias had been entirely useless and didn't even want to look at him. Honestly, the Dane couldn't blame him. All that talk about being Lukas' Knight in Shining Armor, and he couldn't do shit in the face of this new danger. Mathias wanted to jump up and put Lukas' injuries first, to try and redeem himself, but found his body completely unwilling to comply with his wishes. “Mathias?”
Me first. Then I'll treat you.” He promised, although all he really wanted to do was curl up in the other man's lap and sleep this nightmare away, like he had done so many times in the past. Lukas probably wouldn't allow that, however, and Mathias concluded that maybe he just shouldn't touch the other man more than he needed to for a while. At least until the shame passed.
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Post by Deleted on Dec 7, 2013 21:45:28 GMT -6
“Me first. Then I'll treat you.” Yeah, right… Lukas had heard that before, on the battlefield, in bed, it didn’t matter. Lukas was already eyeing the cloth-cutting scissors and his own costume planning how he could possibly stitch up his own flesh like some gruesome puzzle. Looking back over to Mathias’ back, the Norwegian began to reach over to begin to cut the Dane’s coat but stopped and frowned. Norway’s own blood soaked pirate’s coat was rather tight, constricting movement of his sore body, so he sat back and set down his scissors. Using his one able hand, he painstakingly unclasped all his jacket’s buttons to open it before he shrugged and shimmed his good arm from the sleeve, revealing his surprisingly crisply white chemise. Hurriedly, he ripped off his cravat and retaking the scissors he began to slowly cut up the length of his sleeve, biting his lip the closer he got to his wound. With a faint gasp, Lukas was able to pull off the coat, tossing it half-heartedly a couple feet away. The bagginess of the chemise was lightweight to Norway’s torn shoulder, though much the material had been rip away anyways, and almost Lukas’ entire left sleeve was soaked with his blood. Without a second glance to his own wound, the blond returned to Denmark. His progress was slow going but Lukas didn’t let himself stop. Alv helped him as he cut through Mathias’ thick coat to pull back the material or hold it. Only once did Lukas speak to Denmark, a curt “Now shut up and don’t move” before he proceeded to carefully cut around Denmark’s slashes and peel back his coat like a bloody banana. Eventually, Lukas made the last cut through Mathias’s collar, rendering the coat only being worn by its sleeves and revealing the extensiveness of Mathias’ wounds. Lukas had to fight off the impulse to say something, like “Oh, Mathias….” and simply just frowned. The wounds were bad, the cuts deep and it was amazing that Denmark hadn’t passed out already, so Lukas had to give him that at least, he had always been so strong. Beside him, Alv gazed at the slashes and wordless passed to Lukas a bowl of water and cloths. So began Lukas’ tedious work of moping up most of the blood to clean the wounds. It wasn’t long before his towel was cloaked with blood but what had made Lukas pause, was when he wrung out his towel the water remained clear, clean, untainted by blood as was the towel. “Interesting…” The Norwegian mused idly, before returning to his work. Once Mathias’ pale skin was clean and the true form of the cuts were shown in the firelight, the puckered, torn skin was rimmed with an angry red tinge and Lukas feared the possibility of infection. Thinking of what he should do, a piece of paper was passed to him by a huge troll hand and in the firelight, Lukas read, Norway and Denmark, Congratulations on your successful kill of Tagamar, the Umbra Bestia. Enjoy the fruits of your labor. While you can~ From now until you leave the room, no monsters will bother you. We need you at full strength on after all. The food is safe to eat, there are medical supplies to treat your wounds, and the fire will not go out. Enjoy~ The Inhabitants. “Hm…” Lukas muttered out of thought, his expression revealing no reaction to the ghostly message, and it only took a moment for him to set the paper aside. He considered tossing it in the fire but figured he might piss off these “Inhabitants” out of disrespect, and gestured to be handed the stitching supplies. Now came the gruesome part. “Hold him,” he said softly and waited until the troll had set his massive hands on the back of Mathias’ thighs and his head before Norway plunged in, literally. Stitching nation flesh Lukas had done before, but doing this one-handed was difficult and he was unable to do so as gently as he would have wanted to. It was slow work, the wounds were long, and there were three jagged cuts down the length of the Dane’s burly back. Sweat had begun to make the back of the blonde’s neck itch and it seemed that with each pull of the needle, Lukas felt more and more tired. After what seemed like hours, but who knows the true time since the fire burned as brightly as it did when they had arrived, Lukas finally impaled Mathias once last time before he cut the thread and sat back with his shoulders sagged and examined his work. In one word, messy, by his standards, but the stitches would stand as long as Denmark didn’t act like an idiot, which he was, and Norway hadn’t looked towards the other man’s eyes once during his tending. Blinking exhaustedly, Norway held up his hand, wanting some bandages or something, but instead a small container was plopped into his hand, baring Mathias’ name. Confused for a second, Norway read the label: “The Inhabitant’s Brand Name Heal-All Cream!” The instructions were clear, apply heavily, and there you go; how convenient that when Lukas managed to open the canister to reveal the mint-green ointment, that there looked to be enough to smother all of Mathias’ wounds. “Don’t you dare scream,” He said evenly in a no-nonsense tone, and proceeded to dunk his fingers into the goop and slather the stuff onto Mathias' open wounds. If it hurt, Norway wasn’t going to ask, and worked through the dipping of his head, the tug of sleep tempting him to drop to the side, and relied on Alv’s presence and strength to hold Denmark. Soon enough, the container was empty and assessing his handiwork, Norway could have sworn that already much of the angry redness of Mathias’ skin had lessened. Wiping his hand, Norway almost stopped there but, with a groan, he leaned over for some bandaging and simply draped the strips of material down the slashes, lessening their exposure to the open air. Good enough. He was done, finally. Sitting back Lukas was surprised to find himself breathing hard, his face itching with sweat irritating his own cuts, and it seemed that his left shoulder was bleeding again. Great. The room was warm, the dancing shadows of the fire calming and familiar, and considering how incredibly tired he was, maybe Lukas should just lay down on his side and sleep for a century or two. Gazing blearily at Denmark’s back, Lukas sighed. “Mathias,” he spoke softly, intimately, all edge dead from his words, “Given your… state, you shouldn’t be moving for a week if that. You can’t… shouldn't help me”. His words came out broken, tired, and sad. Blindly reaching over to pick up the scissors once again, Lukas turned to finally look Denmark in the face, “Hvile, Danmark… No need to worry about me”.Translation: Rest, Denmark
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Post by Deleted on Dec 26, 2013 17:27:40 GMT -6
Ah, so Lukas hadn't fallen for the lie. Typical Norway. Swearing to protect and heal Lukas through everything that the world threw at them only held integrity for so long. After saying the same thing over and over when he was at his worst, on the battlefield, in the trenches, trying to cling to life as his wars against Sweden ravaged his lands and his health, it had become less a promise and more a force of habit. As much as he wanted to shield Lukas from the horrors of the world until they both died, there were times when he couldn't, his ego and undying devotion be damned. With a sigh he yielded to Lukas' care, briefly taking time to mourn the destruction of such a nice coat as he felt the shears at the back of his neck cut through the collar. The cloth was soothing, though. So many people had forgotten how nice a cold, wet cloth could feel on fresh wounds, opting to use more advanced means of cleaning and closing wounds. Soothing as it was, the feeling of something grazing open wounds always somewhat unnerved him. It was unnatural and wrong for skin to be cut open so deeply, even for someone who had made a living off of war.
Lukas' voice broke the silence, and the sudden, yet gentle pressure on his thighs and back reassured Mathias that the invisible creature in the room with them wasn't out to make this process as painful as possible. Maybe it was that troll he sometimes caught Lukas talking to- Alv, or something similar. Mathias had called it “Alf” once, and sweared that he felt the troll glare at him in indignation. Norway's death glare was bad enough, but the death glare of some mythical creature he couldn't see was even more terrifying. But that was neither here nor there, and he actually found himself unable to go back to the realm of happier memories. Not at the moment, anyway. Not that he could if he wanted to, not with that damn needle going in and out of his skin. Mathias drew his arms up and buried his head in them. He hated getting stitches, and the painfully slow pace Lukas was going at just made it worse. Slowly feeling his torn skin being pulled back together, the constant prick of the needle made his skin crawl and his stomach knot uncomfortably. Needle in, needle out, in, out, in, out, in, out...
After what felt like an eternity the stitching was finished, and Mathias let a breath out through his nose. It felt like the slightest movement would split the stitches open, and he hated that. Being immobile like this, not being able to move, it pissed him off honestly, but he knew that he couldn't be as... jittery as he once was. “Don’t you dare scream,” Lukas spoke again. Mathias was about to question why -did his back look that bad? Was it some sort of patchwork of flesh and stitching?- but he got his answer when something cold was smothered across his back, although the chill soon gave away to a sharp burn as the... whatever it was covered his wounds. Cold things weren't supposed to burn, and the Dane sucked in air through his teeth at the sensation, his back arching downward in a subconscious attempt to get away from the unpleasantness. The burning was soon replace with a odd kind of numbness, almost tingly; some kind of pain killer maybe? Whatever it was, Mathias hoped it would heal his wounds quickly, Gods knew how long he could stand just laying around before he got restless, and Norway's pained groaning just strengthened his desire to protect the other nation from any more harm. He would beat a monster back with his own severed arm if it meant Lukas could have a few seconds more to get away.
His treatment complete, the only sounds in the room was the crackling of the fire and Lukas' heavy breathing. Mathias buried his face deeper in his arms and swallowed down the lump in his throat. It was time to be the strong one, and acting like a crybaby wasn't the way to do it. It was an act Lukas probably would prefer Mathias didn't play, given the circumstance, but it had become something like a crutch. If Lukas was the emotional crutch, than the Dane's own pride and devotion was the mental one. Just stay confident, and everything will turn out fine. “Mathias,” that tone made him want to pull Lukas into his arms and kiss him. Make the night mare go away and provide comfort and security. He would have, if he could fucking move –why couldn't he fucking move?! “Given your… state, you shouldn’t be moving for a week if that. You can’t… shouldn't help me”. Oh Gods, a week. He shook his head stubbornly, not wanting to believe the diagnoses, the harsh dose of reality that left a bitter feeling on his tongue and felt like someone had shoved cotton down his throat. “You can't help me”... those words were so familiar, so painfully familiar. Mentally he was transported back to 1814; the last war against Sweden Denmark-Norway would ever fight, the Treaty of Kiel, Norway being ceded to Sweden. Mathias remembered that year so vividly it felt like it happened the other day. Lukas had said: “You can't help me anymore. Stop trying to. I don't need it.” He forced his mind to come back to the present, not wanting to rip open any more emotional wounds.
“Hvile, Danmark… No need to worry about me”.
“I'll always worry about you.” Mathias replied, lifting his head out of his arms to look at Lukas. “Forever and always. You'd have better luck asking the sky not to be blue.” He gave a small laugh, although it didn't have nearly as much vigor as it once did.
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Post by Deleted on Jan 7, 2014 11:31:22 GMT -6
“I'll always worry about you. Forever and always. You'd have better luck asking the sky not to be blue.”
Denmark’s words caused Lukas to pause, the scissors gripping his torn and bloody chemise’s sleeve in its maw, and tired, icy blue eyes flickered down towards the grinning, wounded Dane. The other man’s pained laugh roused a tightening feeling in the Norwegian’s chest and was mirrored by the crackling of the fire, as if the flames were mockingly echoing the rare expression of joy in this hellhole. With his tight, stoic-as-ever expression, Lukas’ thoughts were nearly indecipherable as he studied Mathias’ smiling face and considered his touching words one syllable at a time. Though he saw him now, Lukas didn’t need to physically look upon the Dane’s face to see him, having spent millennia with the other, the Norwegian knew every eyelash, smile wrinkle, the curve of his mouth, and even understood the man’s wild hair all from memory, but seeing him even know in the room’s firelight, bloody and beat up as bad as he was himself, still had that forgot-how-to-breath affect.
“Lucky me…” he said finally, Lukas' voice still soft and low, though distant sounding, lost in his thoughts, or maybe he was just that tired that even his speech was losing strength. Nonetheless, Lukas finally tore his eyes off of Mathias and back to his sleeve where he continued his tedious and slightly unnecessary work of cutting up his shredded sleeve, until the material mostly fell away save for the scraps he needed to peel away from clotted blood with a tight expression. That all said and done, Lukas sighed and slowly began to unbutton his shirt, firelight darkening one side of his face and cast his bloody hair in a reddish, golden hue. Button by button, Lukas’ leanly toned, pale chest and abdomen was revealed, as was the angry red tinge of his aggravated skin around his shoulder. The fire exposed the extensity of what the demon panther had done, though luckily no bone was showing, as far as Norway could tell mindful of the blood. Exhaling long and slow through his nostrils, Lukas eyed his injury evenly having seen dismemberment and disembowelment galore and more though the centuries so his stomach had long since ironed against exposed flesh and muscle.
‘This is going to take a while and I must stay awake long enough or else I'm screwed…’
“Hey Mathias,” he said suddenly as he reached once more for the stitching needle and thread while Alv groaned solemnly from the corner, “How about a story? Ja? Ja... story time for Mathias…” Trailing on, a shade of his typical sarcasm in his words. Grabbing the towel and rewetting it, so his could begin wash away some, if not most, of the dried blood so he could properly see the pieces of flesh so he could stitch the patchwork up. “You know this one,” he continued through tight teeth, “Because if you didn’t then old Hans might just drop down the chimney here and bitch slap the hell out of you”.
Lukas sucked in a breath and began his story the moment the needle pierced his skin. “In a thousand years… people will fly on the wings of steam through the air, over the ocean! The young inhabitants of goddamn America will become visitors of old Europe. They will come over to see the monuments and the great cities, which will then be in ruins, just as we in our time make pilgrimages to the tottering splendours of Southern Asia. In a… thousand years, they will come….” Lukas’ usual calm and passionate storytelling voice was replaced by tight and hard words, covering the sting as he impaled his inflamed skin and pulled. Cursing helped this and he even managed to spit a bit at the mention of America’s name, the bastard who had invited them all to his accursed place; what a stupid kid that one was...
“Well that’s all said and done….” A pause issued by a grunt and a few deep breaths, before the Norwegian continued to stitch and retell, ignoring the fresh blood dripping down his arm and any expression or words Mathias might be saying, “The Thanes, the Danube, and the Rhine still roll their course, Mont Blanc stands firm with its snow-capped summit, and the Aurora Borealis, the Northern Lights, gleam over the land of the North; but generation after generation has become dust, whole rows of the mighty of the moment are forgotten…. Like those who already! Oh, faen!” Pausing yet again, Lukas squeezed his eyes tight as a tremor coursed through his body. His hand was shaking bad and his work was even slower than it had been with Denmark’s back but nevertheless, he took a moment to collect himself before soldiering on, sweat dripping down his neck, “Like those who already slumber under the hill on which the rich trader, whose ground it is, has built a bench, on which he fucking can sit and look out across his waving corn fields.”
The more Norway recited the story, memorized word for word from years of reading the fairy tale stories, which he knew Mathias adorned beyond any human’s capacity. However the more he spoke, the harder his breathing became but he refused to stop his work. He didn’t look at Denmark, he didn’t look at the looming forest troll staring at him with timeless eyes of concern, Lukas just kept his narrowed eyes on his work. With each sentence he spoke, the more his voice began to shake, his words interrupted by his laboured breathing, and the closer he got to finishing, the more he had to pause to rest, take a breath, or stare venomously into the fire; Norway was as stubborn as he was aware how good looking he was, which was a fair amount as clarified by hundreds over the centuries.
“One day devoted to seeing Germany, and one for the North, the country of Oersted and Linnaeus, and for…. And for… N-Norway, the land of the old heroes and the young Normans. Ice, Iceland…. Iceland…. Island…” Finally Lukas dropped his hand and rather than admitting to the sob hiding in his throat, he carelessly cut the thread with his teeth and threw the needle towards a dark corner. Refusing to look at Denmark, with shaking, angry hands the hunched-over blonde grabbed a clean cloth and dabbed away the little tributaries of fresh blood scurrying down his arm. Raising his hand, the little container of so-called Inhabitants’ cream flew into his palm from a troll’s light toss and fumbling with the lid, he unceremoniously jabbed his fingers into the goop and smothered a hearty glob onto his quilt-like shoulder.
“A…. f…faen….” Squeezing his eyes tight thankfully didn’t wring out any stupid tears, though while his body initially seized from the cream, the tingling numbing agent soon swept through his shoulder and Lukas sighed out a shaking breath of almost relief. Blindly grabbing a towel, Lukas wiped his hand before draping the cloth over his coated shoulder and nearly fell over right then, finally succumbing to his exhaustion, but there was work yet to be completed. Shifting his position to sit crossed legged, Norway opened his slightly bloodshot eyes, lifted his hand, and tugged out his beloved Nordic cross hairpin and without even a glance, tossed it carelessly at Mathias’ face, hitting his nose without even a glance; cold, distant, wounded, and tired in the heart. The shorter man sought out the miraculously clean bowl of water, picked it up, and tilting his head back poured the cool water over his face and hair mindful of his shoulder, to wash away the blood. Emptied, the bowl was set down with a thud and Lukas heaved a sigh and savoured the coolness of the water on his neck, back and crown.
Taking a towel, he began to dab away his torn up face, his longer bangs were unhindered by his hairpin thus shadowing his eyes, “You sent me all those stories while I was living with Sweden, which by the way what happened between us is still none of your business. Anyway… I read them all, you know. Just didn’t tell you when you wrote me”. Throwing the stained towel, Lukas finally gave in to his body and stiffly, painfully laid down next Denmark, though not touching him. Before he allowed himself to fully relax in the fire’s heat, Norway once against scooped up the faintly mint-smelling cream and in a sweep ran his fingers down his face, coating his scratches, before his hand thumped onto the floor to announce Norway’s silent and seamless tumble down the rabbit hole of exhausted unconsciousness.
Note: Story- "In a Thousand Years" by Hans Christian Andersen. There you have it King! I left it off to lean towards some sort of time skip, the length of which you may happily decide, that being said if you wanted to just do a time skip, awesome, or start another thread, that's fine too. My poor Norway, he needed some sleep so either way he's passed out for some time just as Denmark needs to rest too! Hope you like it!
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