[APH/DenNor] Fireplace/Only Teardrops
Only Teardrops
14 January, 1814
Kiel, Duchy of Holstein
An invisible pressure hung loosely under the ceiling, threatened to fall and crush them to bits.
A gloomy atmosphere cast its ghostly shade on six faces.
On one side of the table stood a whiteheaded man in his fifties, bright brown eyes and good-looking features would have easily made an impression at the first sight, if they had been in a party but not this way-too-serious place. Next to him was the personification of the United Kingdom. It was just as hard to read the blonde man's mind as to tell what the other representative got up his sleeves. England's face still showed its usual stern, and slightly annoyed expression. And that his bushy eyebrows occasionally knitted together could be interpreted as neither impatience, nor an unvoiced eagerness to see which sorts of drama were about to come.
Besides the two Brits was another pair. With ten fingers interlaced, slightly twisting not because of anxiety but as a reaction to the tension all around, the Swedish statesman tried to keep his perfectly calm face. Occasions like this were no longer unfamiliar to the curly-haired man, yet this certain time was somehow... different. Well, however hard this was going to be, at least they would still gain more than lose. And with that thought, Gustaf af Wetterstedt silently let out a sigh, wondering if the quiet man on the right side of him was feeling the same.
Sweden was, to say without any emphasis, completely emotionless. That was not considered something abnormal though; maybe the last time those icy blue orbs showed some emotions other than blankness was when Russia took his beloved Finn away. The bespectacled nation sat in a deadly silence, his deep, intimidating eyes gazed at only one direction: the opposite side of the table.
And there were they - maybe the only two people in the room who appeared to be in a real trauma.
The first one was a Danish diplomat, who maintained a surprising - and admittedly admirable composure in such a situation. But people did not fail to notice drops of sweat betraying the man's effort to keep calm, as they grew bigger and rolled down his temples. Edmund Bourke felt his eyelids twitched, as he could no longer subdue the urging temptation to glance at his nation. But immediately the diplomat turned away, a feeling of regret weighed on his chest.
Denmark absolutely couldn't be helped.
His eyes wide-opened, cold, lifeless, staring at the flat wooden surface as though they could set it on fire if concentrating long enough. The Dane's face darkened with two bags under his eyes, his jaw turned as hard as steel, trying to cover his gritted teeth. His hands balled into two fists, so hard that the knuckles turned white.
Bourke did not dare to put one hand on his shoulder. Even if that was only a reassuring gesture.
The sky is red tonight
We're on the edge tonight
The two parties decided they'd waited long enough. Edward Thornton slowly voiced, as England just folded his arms watching.
"Firstly, in the name of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, we're here to convey His Majesty, George III of the United Kingdom's promise to return all occupied Danish possessions to your king. In exchange, Denmark is obliged to cede Hegoliland to the United Kingdom, where His Majesty is granted full and unlimited sovereignty."
Bourke secretly glanced at his country's representative. Denmark didn't seem to be listening.
"Also, as part of the anti-Napoleonic alliance, the United Kingdom demands that Denmark join our anti-French camp, maintaining an army of 10,000 men that is to be commanded by... the Swedish crowd prince. Also, Denmark must not in any case side with Napoleon Bonarparte, or any related forces in that term."
"Just go with their fucking demands, Bourke." Denmark suddenly growled, his voice hoarse. Bourke slightly jolted, but nodded.
He sighed, "Now it's the real beginning of troubles."
And it was.
"That's all we want from Denmark. Hope that with your own signature, Mister, from now on we would no longer be foes."
The room fell into silence again.
Sweden quietly watched his used-to-be comrade. Keeping his head high was still something too much for his ability, as the ruffled-haired Dane persisted on staring at the table. He didn't move an inch, but Sweden believed his eyes never told lies: those fists had just slightly... shivered.
"Let's 'et 'is all ended, W'tterstedt." He mumbled to the statesman.
The other Swede nodded, difficultly but full of determination.
"And now, seeing that the ball is in our court..."
Sweden noticed Denmark froze up as soon as Wetterstedt opened his mouth. He bit his lips, knowing what was about to happen.
"On behalf of our Mighty Charles XIII of Sweden, we hope you go with our solution for the sake of mutual peace. Denmark is going to cede the Kingdom of Norway to the Kingdom of Sweden."
The effect of the saying was more than they thought.
A booming sound pierced the room as two ferocious punches landed on the table. Bourke almost fell out of the chair, his face as white as a sheet. Denmark no longer stuck his eyes downwards, now they were aimed directly at the two Swedish negotiators. Sweden saw two balls of fire raging inside those red orbs. If they had been canons, he and Wetterstedt, for sure, would have now been two pools of flesh and blood.
"Repeat whatever fucking shit you've just said." He grunted, not too loud but with a murderous tone.
Wetterstedt gulped. But Sweden calmly whispered.
"Don't 'ose ya nerves. Keep movin'."
"In return, Swedish Pomerania is to be handed over to the Kingdom of Denmark, as a compensation for the cession of Norway in a pending final peace."
"LIKE HELL I NEED YOUR HALF-HEARTED SYMPATHY, YOU BLOODY WANKERS!"
Denmark violently stood up, his chair fell backwards and crashed with the floor in an ear-splitting noise. On the other side of the table, Thornton gave England a nudge, commenting sarcastically in a low tune.
"He sounds pretty like you."
"Hn, guess so..." The nation slightly blushed.
Denmark would have climbed over the table and landed a hard punch on the other Nordic's face, if Bourke had missed a second to grip his arm, struggling to pull the enraged man who had almost set one foot on the table back to his seat. Still trying to break away, Denmark stared at Sweden with his carnivorous eyes, roaring in uncontrollable madness.
"Such a nice little game is it, Sverige? Why the fuck haven't you laughed your head off at the loser's face? Hell yeah, you've made a brilliant move to separate us, you damning asshole!"
He burst into a hysterical row of laughters, continued yelling at the taller nation, who had been silently listening to curses and swearings.
"Let me tell you this, your dirty trick is to be doomed, because we aren't a horde of nuts like you all expect. Such a demand shall never be tolerated. Get your fucking ass home, and don't even dream to touch a finger on him, you freaking bastards."
"Sir, no, please think of your own survival!" Bourke was now clutching at both his arms, begging in utmost desperation.
"YOU TOLD ME TO LIVE ON THESE SHITHOLES' COMPASSION?"
"But, sir, there's nothing we can do other than this!" The diplomat's voice slightly quivered but remained firm and assertive. "We... We are literally the greatest loser of this seven-year war. The war costs left us bankrupted, and it's simply impossible to let this war rage on once we're exhausted of resources. And... And now that Napoleon couldn't hold his troops in Northern Germany, we're officially isolated. Please, sir, it's our king's own efforts for us to be here, for any slightest chance that Kingdom of Denmark sees a path to move on, but not further sinks into this dreary swamp."
"I won't fucking mind my own existence if we ever lose him, idiot!"
"Sir, hasn't our king told you before about what made him go all this way? It's not some blind loyalty to that Napoleon guy, but... yes, he was just trying to protect the him that you've been mentioning. To protect Norway's exposed situations, and defend him from the Swedes' territorial ambitions. Everything we've done so far... say, it's not only for your sake, but his also."
Denmark had stopped his arrogant attempts to launch an attack. He sweated and heavily panted, his burning eyes revealed something besides hatred: pain.
Bourke continued, "Norway has been suffering from severe famine since Britain blocked his ports six years ago. I think they could hardly forget these days' hardships, and sir, it's no point in making him endure more. And I bet you know, his people have been calling for... independence. Such a wave couldn't be raised with only the civilians' desires, but... I apologize on my words, sir, their own nation himself must want to break free."
"..."
"Denmark, please, listen..."
"ALL RIGHT, MIND YOUR OWN FUCKING BUSINESS WITH THESE WANKERS!"
Denmark roared and stormed out of the room, slamming the door shut behind him.
Bourke felt a distraught choking his throat, as he could no longer breathe a word.
Sweden let out a barely audible sigh. He turned to the Danish diplomat, keeping his voice calm and neutral.
"I h'pe ya keep a cool 'ead and we profoundly appreciate ya 'ooperation, Mister."
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"What's with this sobbing mess all of a sudden, Danmark?!"
"Norge, do you really wish to leave that bad?" Denmark couldn't hold his tears, hiccuping. Huge droplets of water soaked the thin layer of fabric on Norway's shoulder.
"Why, Norge, why? I'm so sorry for being an asshole, but... but... please Norge don't leave me alone! I can't... I can't... stand you being with him, I would fucking die to see that jackass Sverige make you his property!"
Norway just stood still, patting on the other's back. His eyes darkened with shock, and sorrow.
"Don't leave, Norge... Don't walk away from me to be his servant, his ally, his... his whore. Just for this time, I beg you... I'm.... I'm sorry... I'm terribly sorry, Norge..." Denmark cried.
"I won't, Danmark. Don't cry."
Norway said, his voice flat and monotonous as usual, but pulled the taller man closer to him, gently stroking the other's tangled strands of hair. His eyes closed for a moment, then opened again. A strange light shone inside those deep indigo orbs.
"If we can't be together... I will still be nobody's possession."
No shooting star to guide us...
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26 July, 1814
Hvaler, Norway
"URGENT! THE ENEMIES ARE MOVING CLOSER, TWENTY MILES TO THE NORTHEAST !"
"Sir! The Swedes are coming!"
Norway stood on a gunboat, his hair floated in the ocean breeze, the cloak covering his small frame fluttered violently like a sail catching a stormwind. The platinum hairclip sparkled like a tiny sword in the middle of a clash. The Norwegian's eyes were like seas of purple before a squall, peaceful on the surface, but boiling with furious waves deep under. His voice was low but sharp, startling the soldier with a brief order.
"Tell them to prepare for a retreat. Top priority: evacuate all vessels. You have one hour."
"Anything you say, sir."
The man quickly disappeared from his sight. Norway gazed at the dull horizon, knowing that a strong gale was about to blow.
The Treaty of Kiel had further enraged his people. The impression that he was sold by Denmark like a cattle spurred some calls for arms, and such was the independence movement that a constitution was signed in Eidsvoll last May, declaring the birth of an independent Norway. Sweden was apparently triggered though, and the fact that his army was advancing further proved he would not accept any intentions of breaking free or re-unifying with Denmark.
Well, the latter was not what his people wanted either... But a promise is a promise. And that stupid Dane sobbing his heart out was not Norway's favorite sight by any means.
"I'll show you where to stop, Sverige."
Eye for an eye
Why tear each other apart?
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3 August, 1814
Copenhagen, Denmark
His heart was bumping like a bird trying to escape its cage.
He couldn't believe it. They had won. Norway had won. The Swedish forces had been repelled yesterday, in the battle of Lier. It looked like Christian Frederick was well on his way, and that lieutenant colonel - Krebs or something similar, surely wasn't an ordinary guy. Denmark didn't know whether to laugh or worry at this moment. This victory without any doubt boosted his soldiers' morale, but in the long run Norway was still inferior to that damned Sweden. He still remembered the blows that bastard gave him before running away with his little Finnish babe. Such power along with his massive arm forces and warfares, this would be a war in which his poor Norge stood little chanc...
No way. He slapped at his own face, taking in a deep breath. His Norway was not a weakling to bully. They had together rampaged countless territories back in their golden era, when Norway was a real barbarian whose infamy spread throughout the North Sea. Those blue eyes showed no intentions of sneaking away in dangers, and even on that horrible day - perhaps the worst of his life, from them emitted a burning will as the Norwegian's hands gently wiped his watery eyes.
And what did he say back then? 'If we can't be together... I will still be nobody's possession.'
Denmark clenched his fists. I believe in you. Come back to me as who you are, my dearest love.
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14 August, 1814
Kristiania, Norway
His legs went limped, his body ached, and bitterness squeezed his heart like a steel-gloved hand. Norway eventually stopped, collapsing onto the ground. Resting against the brick wall, the blonde raised his tired but seething eyes, staring at the giant who was slowly towering on him.
"What are you waiting for, Sverige? We're doomed. Now I'm all yours to play." Norway snickered.
The Swedish man just gazed at him, his face emotionless. After a while, he offered a hand to the defeated Norwegian.
"Ya should 'ave known the 'imits, N'rge."
"No! It's you that should have!" The smaller man yelled.
"N'rge, that's en'ugh. Bernadotte has prop'sed a cease-fire. We don't 'ant further damages to be inflicted on both 'ides. And, there's no 'oint in pushing ya up against the wall."
"Ha, many thanks for being such kind-hearted."
"Not like that, N'rge. Ya did impose consider'ble blows on us. Ya've pr'ved that ya're to be standing on the same height as me. I've n'ver doubted that, N'rge, but this time ya've showed b'th sides' p'ople that ya're n't a mere province of Konungariket Sverige. Ya're the one 'nd only K'ngdom of Norway."
"You'll never understand, Sverige."
Norway whispered, his voice shivering. He looked straight into the other's turquoise eyes, a sad smile tugging at his lips. Two streams of tears started rolling down the blonde's cheeks. Burying his face into two wounded hands, Norway sobbed, his heart throbbing with memories of pain.
"He means everything to me... I never expected this day to come, when he has to wake up alone in his freaking dirty room, without me throwing a pillow at his face as a reminder to tidy his fucking mess. He will shout out my name, frantically run around looking for me like a stray kid. He's just a giant baby after all, and a baby without care from now on... Danmark... Danmark... I'm sorry... I'm terribly sorry, Danmark..."
Please tell me why
Why do we make it so hard?
Look at us now
We only got ourselves to blame
It's such a shame...
'As an aftermath of the Swedish-Norwegian War, negotiations were held in Moss, Norway on 10 August 1814, and after a few days, a cease fire agreement, called the Convention of Moss, was signed on 14 August 1814. King Christian Frederick was forced to abdicate, but Norway remained nominally independent within a personal union with Sweden, having its own constitution and parliarment."
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4 November, 1814
The United Kingdoms of Sweden and Norway
Norway looked out the window with soulless indigo eyes. Charles XIII of Sweden had been elected the King of Norway, marking the commencement of the two states' union.
The sky was overcast with grey sea of clouds. How much he missed home, missed the pool of sunshine residing on the windowsill of his bedroom, missed the charm of the morning coffee cup added with a spoon of butter. He missed him, the foolish Dane who never got his head neatly combed, and always begged for a kiss on the forehead as a good night for all those years they'd been together.
"N'rge."
He didn't want to turn his head to the voice. How could Sweden know he was seeking for privacy to drown himself in those nostalgic thoughts?
"I know it's h'rd for ya. But to m've on we must learn to l't go."
"..."
"Sink'ng in wh't was the past only leads ya n'where."
"Listen, Sverige. For now I'm here with you, but nothing can steal me from him. No matter how long it takes... no matter how much more we have to suffer... Time will bring him back to me, and if it won't, I swear I'll go and destroy what is called the 'time' itself. Carve my words into your king's throne, Sverige."
A long silence followed Norway's words.
Then Sweden suddenly uttered.
"If 'nly he said 'he same thing to Russia..."
Norway turned backwards, his eyes wide-opened in shock and disbelief.
A drop of tear silently rolled down the Swede's face.
It was too late for Sweden to realize his impulsive moment of weakness. Norway stepped closer, wrapping two arms around the other male, resting the tall man's head on his shoulder.
"I'm s'rry, N'rge..."
Holding the taciturn Swede whose soul he once concluded to be drained of all emotions, and who was literally crying into his shirt, Norway remained silent, feeling waves of melancholy swallowing him into the depth of pain. The nation's lips curved into a smile that quickly faltered, leaving on his tongue only the bitterness of regret.
They were all fools, and liars.
And the fools should get tired of drowning each other in an ocean of tears.
"I forgive you, Sverige."
How many times can we win and lose
How many times can we break the rules between us
Only teardrops...
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"4 November, 1815
Stockholm, The United Kingdoms of Sweden and Norway
Danmark,
It's been one year. It feels like we split apart just after a night's sleep.
Don't get carried away like a hyperactive brat when you hold this letter. I'm thinking about telling them to strap you to a chair before giving you my words.
Don't waste time worrying about me either. It's way too much for your tiny brain to hold such many things at the same time. It's OK here. Sverige grants me freedom to run my own kingdom, and sees nothing wrong with me staying in touch with you. I know you still bear some fucking creepy things in your mind, like Sverige hanging me upside down and whipping me and so on.
Just take care of yourself while I'm not there to do that. Try to avoid any conflicts that those morons are indulging themselves in. Don't show me any other scar on your back when I return home. When the old ones got ached, pressing that bag of herbs on them like I usually did. Or at least ask someone to do so, since I know you lazy ass won't want to leave your bed just because of a 'minor pain' like you always tried to convince me.
I'm now Sverige's person but I will leave and fucking kill you if you ever attempt to do something stupid again. Staying well and happy till I return home. Home, that sounds so far for the time being... Hey, don't be in a flood of tears as I know you will when reading to this part. I'm not forever absent because you'll forever fool around being on your own. Act like an adult and take good care of your own people, they're the ones who need you but not me.
Everything's kinda alright here, but don't you dare bear the thought that I won't come back just because living with Sverige is tolerable enough. I don't know when, but one day I'll definitely return. I know I can hardly expect any good treat from you clumsy foolish thing, but remember to prepare me a cup of butter coffee once I knock your door again. Perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps next week. Next year, next century... It doesn't matter. Just remember I'll certainly be with you again.
So now just do me this little favor: wipe your tears and smile again. I never feel comfortable seeing you cry. I never do, Danmark.
Take care and wait, because I'm also waiting like you are.
Norge
P.S: Jeg elsker deg."
The blonde Dane's hands were violently shaking as he finished the last line of the letter. But he did not shed a single tear, a huge grin lit up his slightly childlike face, though sadness flooded in the man's cornflower blue eyes and his sigh sounded just as disappointed.
Denmark read the letter again and again, chuckling at his lover's threatening words, his fingers slid across the familiar handwriting as if he were caressing the Norwegian's silky cheeks and luscious lips. He closed his eyes, leaning against the rocking chair; the roll of parchment lay on the man's chest, silently and peacefully.
"I'll always be waiting. I believe in you. Jeg elsker dig, Norge."
How many times do we have to fight?
How many times till we get it right between us?
Only teardrops...
-End-
A/N:
Theme song: "Only Teardrops" by Emmelie de Forest
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