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roesslyngTitle: To Cleanse Your Tarnished Dreams
Characters/Pairing: Norway/Denmark
Rating: 13+
Length: ~2600
Summary: Once again, Denmark fought. Once again, he lost. And as Norway sews him back together, he wonders what will happen after this.
Other: This was meant as a companion to Wishing for Solace. I can't remember which specific battle the setting was supposed to be; maybe it was set some time during the Scanian War. Started writing this in 2012 and only just finished it now.
To Cleanse Your Tarnished Dreams
Without a word he ushered the men out of the room. All of them.
"Let it be," Norway said, his voice cool and even and firm, taking command of the situation with ease. "I'll handle this, thanks."
Most of them backed down, ducking their heads and stepping aside for him. Just as they should, he thought. But the pale-faced young man who had guided him there in the first place squared his shoulders and looked him in the eye, his lips pursed as he wiped the blood from his hands with a scrap of cloth. "Wouldn't it be better if we-"
"No." The word came out more sharply than he had meant it to. Belay that, Norway told himself. They don't know better than this. "I'll see to him," he repeated, but more gently that time.
The pale man relented, almost sagged, and nodded. "Yes, sir. But I will warn you, he's -"
"In a state, is 'e?" Norway didn't even look at him. Couldn't be bothered as he occupied himself with slipping off his gloves, unperturbed.
"An ordinary man would die from it."
Norway looked to him, and it was then that he realized the man was younger than he had first guessed - or perhaps it was just the light in the room and the worry in his eyes that made him look boyish. He'd be the same were it his king, Norway thought. That was it. In that light, perhaps the reaction wasn't so foolish. "He ain't an ordinary man, 'n whatever ails him now, he's dealt with worse before." He offered the man a look that he hoped was reassuring. "I'll see to him."
"Very well."
"I'll need hot water. Bandages. Needles and thread. The usual things. Have someone send it." He barely noticed the nod he received in response. With his mind on the room and the person who had been laid out in it, Norway pushed the door open and stepped inside.
There were lamps and candles burning bright throughout, cutting through the shadows in the room. One could say what one wanted about those nervous, troubled men, but they had at least made an effort. The light was still dim regardless, but Norway didn't care. It was more than enough for him to work by.
Denmark was laid out on the bed, and he stirred at the sound of Norway's approach. Blinked blearily up at him, tried to speak, and rasped something out instead. Grinned, as if amused by his own failure to speak, then tried again. "When'd you-"
Norway held up a hand. "None've that. Less gabbin', more restin'."
Denmark looked, for a moment, as if he would protest, but then he seemed to think better of it. A weak nod and a sigh, then he rested his head back and closed his eyes and left Norway to search his wounds.
He did it as he would anything else: carefully. Peeled back blood-soaked clothing with slow, smooth movements, exposing flesh that was so red and alive that it was almost rippling. Flesh, muscle, bone - all of it fresh and living. Far more alive than that of any mere man. Whoever had delivered that blow had cut to the bone, and that nation's flesh, thriving with the life of thousands, had rushed to cover it. The body had already begun to heal itself.
Norway carefully replaced the makeshift bandages. The body itself would take care of the worst of it very quickly, he knew. The rest would take longer, and he could see to it.
"Who was it what dealt you that, then," he muttered as he inspected the rest, careful in his touching, even if his patient was far less delicate than a human. Even if he didn't need to take any care with him, he was careful. It was the principle of the thing.
"Reckon you can guess, Nor."
"Reckon I can." He looked up and met Denmark's eyes. Vibrant, alive - wincing with pain, yes, but that could be dealt with. "And this?" He lifted his hand and gestured to the bruise at Denmark's left eye, deep and purple.
"Pissed him off, is all." A grin. "Wouldn't give up."
No, Norway thought. You never do. Giving up did not seem to be a concept that Denmark understood. Sometimes it seemed that no matter what agreements were reached, what treaties were signed, he always stepped aside, planned for a while, and then attacked again.
More than once, Denmark had thrown himself at the wall, and when he was met with bricks for his trouble, attempted to scale it. It was as if he thought that if he just tried again, just once more, he'd bring the wall down.
Norway cupped Denmark's injured face. Said nothing when Denmark grinned and tilted his head into his touch and babbled something about how nice it was to have such doting bedside care. He traced the edge of the bruise with his thumb and resisted the urge to put his eye out.
No good would come from that.
And it wouldn't be right, either. Not now.
It was a matter of principle.
The sound of the materials being brought in was quiet, hushed, but that didn't stop Norway from turning to look. Two men brought them in – baskets of bandages, basins of water, clean and steaming as the warmth hit air that was colder than it had any right to be. And they also brought with them a case of what Norway knew to be medicines, treatments for the pain, not that they would do much good now. Those men were nervous and pale and, under Norway's cold watch, hastily placed everything near to him and ushered themselves out.
That left the third, who had entered with him. Norway glanced at him, noticing that it was the one who had argued with him before. He stood, regarding not Norway, but Denmark, his eyes fixed on that nation, who thus far had taken no notice of him, resting, his eyes shut and his face blanched with concern.
Norway considered how to approach the situation. On the one hand, he understood very well what the troubled look on the young man's face was all about, but on the other –
He shook his head and took up the little box of medicines in his hand. "Here," he said, holding it out to him. "He won't need it. Take it to those who do. He wasn't the only one wounded this time around."
The man's gaze snapped to him, staring at him as if he were mad. "But – for the – "
"He isn't human," Norway said firmly, as he took the man's hand and pressed the box into it. "And he doesn't need treatments what do for humans."
The young man closed the box in his hands and looked from it to the nation on the bed. He bit his lip as his eyes swept over the bruises, the wounds, the blood-soaked strips of cloth that had served as in-the-moment bandages. For a moment he looked as if he would argue again, but finally he merely asked, "Then what will do for him?"
"Time," Norway said. "And peace and quiet. And wrappin' him up so he'll stop bleedin' everywhere, suppose."
A nod to show that he understood, even if he looked like he didn't believe it.
"And drink, too."
"For him?"
"For me. I'll need it if I'm to put up with him." Norway allowed something like a smile to curl at his lips. "He'll be right, don't worry. Some deep wounds 'n a few busted ribs ain't what you have to worry on here. It's the border-changes y'need to be concerned about with us."
The boy – for he did look hardly more than a boy – seemed to ease at that, and nodded. "I'll get you what you need." And he smiled back, as if unable to do anything else, seeing the humour in what Norway had said. And upon Norway's nod, he left, closing the door carefully behind him.
Far more to worry about from the politics of the thing than the physical damages, Norway thought as he turned back to Denmark. Sword wounds would heal. Bones would heal. The split in his side where he was dealt that ghastly blow would take hardly any time at all to close. The ramifications of losing yet another war were what would harm him. What would harm the both of them. He knew it, and Denmark knew it.
A moment later, the door opened again. It was the young man with a bottle and glass. He set it on the bedside table, cast one worried glance toward Denmark, then looked at Norway, as if asking if he could stay. Norway shook his head. No, he wasn't about to have any of that; and he was glad when, instead of pressing the issue, the boy ushered himself out.
"'S he gone?" Denmark muttered, opening one eye, glancing about the room with it as if worried that someone was listening. Perhaps he had good reason to be.
"Reckon so." Norway looked at the door once more, then turned is attention to more important matters. If someone happened to be listening in, he wouldn't concern himself with it.
He bent over Denmark and touched his face, bidding him to turn his head to look at him. When he did, Norway gave him a once-over again. Though Denmark might have tried to hide how bothered he was, there was pain in those familiar pale, droopy eyes, and regardless of Norway's thoughts on him, he knew he would have to see to it. "I'll get you fixed up," he muttered, cupping Denmark's face with his hand.
"Yeah?"
"Mmhm. Cleaned up and summat for the pain." He didn't say that it was because he wanted to. With anyone else, he might not be so kind, might just do what he needed to do and then go on his way. "You'd better understand this favour 'm doin' you," was all he said as he dipped his head to graze a kiss to Denmark's forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
There was a sound from Denmark. A wheeze - no, a chuckle, rising up from him and rasping over his lips and making his shoulders shake. "Don't you worry one bit. I know it." The grin Denmark flashed his way was broad enough to make Norway want to wipe it right off his face.
He sucked his teeth and stayed his hand and held his tongue for good measure, wishing Denmark would do the same. It wouldn't do to gag someone who was, for all intents and purposes, his patient - but it would be better if he didn't give him reason to want to do it. "If y'know it, you can show yer appreciation by being quiet," Norway muttered. Then, as if to prove his point, he set to work.
To his credit, Denmark stayed as quiet as he could while Norway tended to him, and if he happened to hiss in pain as Norway patched him up, Norway wasn't about to say anything about it. "Got yourself in a right mess, you did," he muttered as he worked, unapologetic when Denmark let out a little whimper of pain, but willing to go more gently after that. He knew that inside Denmark was protesting, and one glance at him confirmed it. Luckily for the both of them, Denmark bit his lip and stayed quiet.
The bandages would do to hold him together. Were he human - Norway pushed the thought from his mind, not wanting to even think of it as he patched Denmark up, literally pulled him together. More than once he was painfully aware of the advantage of their position as nations.
Denmark drew in a sharp, pained breath and Norway slowed his movements, then wound the bandages more carefully. "You'll be right in a week," he muttered in spite of himself. Though he said it quietly, Denmark heard it perfectly, he was sure. But he didn't speak, and Norway was thankful for it.
The both of them were silent after that while Norway worked. He attended to each part of him in turn, cleaning his wounds, stitching him up, pulling him together. Occasionally he heard Denmark make a noise, and at the sound of it, Norway gentled his touch - but only a little, and only for a moment.
In time, all that was left was the pain itself, and that would be gone soon enough. Norway sat next to Denmark on the bed and held his hand. Squeezed it. He looked at Denmark, could see that he was in pain, and tried to decide what to do about it.
"Nor." Denmark's voice was strained, tired. "Fix it."
"Fix it yourself." The words escaped Norway's lips swiftly, as if without thinking. If that was how he was going to ask it, he'd get nothing. He rose from the bed and went to pour himself a drink, glad that he'd had the forethought to call for the liquor.
There was silence from Denmark's side of the room, and Norway duly ignored it. He didn't need to turn and look to know that Denmark's eyes were boring holes into the back of his head. Eventually, there came a sigh from that direction.
"Please, Nor."
Norway frowned and downed the glass. He could hear an edge in that voice. Not desperate, not quite. Denmark wasn't about to beg for it. It was more like a whine, and he was sorely tempted to refuse him. But when he set the glass down and turned to look at him, a smile crossed Denmark's face. It was broad, bright, warm, and relieved, as if he thought Norway looking at him meant that he would do as he asked, and he'd been worried that he wouldn't.
It was a look that made Norway want to punch him. Instead, he gathered himself together and went to the side of his bed. He cupped Denmark's head in his hands and instead of slamming it back against the headboard he bent to kiss him at the temple.
"I knew you would," Denmark muttered.
"Shut up," Norway whispered, not about to give him the satisfaction of getting what he wanted without criticism. "It's only on account've I can't stand your whining, d'you hear me?"
Though Denmark nodded, Norway knew that he was still too self-assured, too confident that he was doing it out of kindness. And maybe the way that his lips had brushed against Denmark's forehead had been enough to give him those false thoughts. It had seemed like a kiss, even if it wasn't. Norway gripped Denmark's hair, bunching and pulling it in his fingers. When Denmark hissed, he stopped. Maybe that was punishment enough.
Without another word he sank down onto the bed. He said nothing, just kept Denmark's head in his hands. After a time, he began to hum, and after that, as Denmark slipped into sleep, Norway began to sing, keeping his voice low and soft. It was an old spell, and one he knew well. He'd sung it so many times over the years to ease Denmark's troubles, and he didn't doubt that he would sing it to him again in the future.
Finally, Denmark slept. Norway drew away from him and for a while he sat watching him, his hands folded in his lap. Somehow, even when stitched and wrapped and cleaned, the air of pain in the room was just as prominent as it had when Norway had first stepped through the door.
What have you gotten us into, Norway thought, pursing his lips as he reached out to smooth his partner's hair. What is this war going to cost us?
His insides twisted as he looked at him. The thought lingered in his mind for a while, and then he pushed it back.
He didn't want to find out.
The End
Characters/Pairing: Norway/Denmark
Rating: 13+
Length: ~2600
Summary: Once again, Denmark fought. Once again, he lost. And as Norway sews him back together, he wonders what will happen after this.
Other: This was meant as a companion to Wishing for Solace. I can't remember which specific battle the setting was supposed to be; maybe it was set some time during the Scanian War. Started writing this in 2012 and only just finished it now.
To Cleanse Your Tarnished Dreams
Without a word he ushered the men out of the room. All of them.
"Let it be," Norway said, his voice cool and even and firm, taking command of the situation with ease. "I'll handle this, thanks."
Most of them backed down, ducking their heads and stepping aside for him. Just as they should, he thought. But the pale-faced young man who had guided him there in the first place squared his shoulders and looked him in the eye, his lips pursed as he wiped the blood from his hands with a scrap of cloth. "Wouldn't it be better if we-"
"No." The word came out more sharply than he had meant it to. Belay that, Norway told himself. They don't know better than this. "I'll see to him," he repeated, but more gently that time.
The pale man relented, almost sagged, and nodded. "Yes, sir. But I will warn you, he's -"
"In a state, is 'e?" Norway didn't even look at him. Couldn't be bothered as he occupied himself with slipping off his gloves, unperturbed.
"An ordinary man would die from it."
Norway looked to him, and it was then that he realized the man was younger than he had first guessed - or perhaps it was just the light in the room and the worry in his eyes that made him look boyish. He'd be the same were it his king, Norway thought. That was it. In that light, perhaps the reaction wasn't so foolish. "He ain't an ordinary man, 'n whatever ails him now, he's dealt with worse before." He offered the man a look that he hoped was reassuring. "I'll see to him."
"Very well."
"I'll need hot water. Bandages. Needles and thread. The usual things. Have someone send it." He barely noticed the nod he received in response. With his mind on the room and the person who had been laid out in it, Norway pushed the door open and stepped inside.
There were lamps and candles burning bright throughout, cutting through the shadows in the room. One could say what one wanted about those nervous, troubled men, but they had at least made an effort. The light was still dim regardless, but Norway didn't care. It was more than enough for him to work by.
Denmark was laid out on the bed, and he stirred at the sound of Norway's approach. Blinked blearily up at him, tried to speak, and rasped something out instead. Grinned, as if amused by his own failure to speak, then tried again. "When'd you-"
Norway held up a hand. "None've that. Less gabbin', more restin'."
Denmark looked, for a moment, as if he would protest, but then he seemed to think better of it. A weak nod and a sigh, then he rested his head back and closed his eyes and left Norway to search his wounds.
He did it as he would anything else: carefully. Peeled back blood-soaked clothing with slow, smooth movements, exposing flesh that was so red and alive that it was almost rippling. Flesh, muscle, bone - all of it fresh and living. Far more alive than that of any mere man. Whoever had delivered that blow had cut to the bone, and that nation's flesh, thriving with the life of thousands, had rushed to cover it. The body had already begun to heal itself.
Norway carefully replaced the makeshift bandages. The body itself would take care of the worst of it very quickly, he knew. The rest would take longer, and he could see to it.
"Who was it what dealt you that, then," he muttered as he inspected the rest, careful in his touching, even if his patient was far less delicate than a human. Even if he didn't need to take any care with him, he was careful. It was the principle of the thing.
"Reckon you can guess, Nor."
"Reckon I can." He looked up and met Denmark's eyes. Vibrant, alive - wincing with pain, yes, but that could be dealt with. "And this?" He lifted his hand and gestured to the bruise at Denmark's left eye, deep and purple.
"Pissed him off, is all." A grin. "Wouldn't give up."
No, Norway thought. You never do. Giving up did not seem to be a concept that Denmark understood. Sometimes it seemed that no matter what agreements were reached, what treaties were signed, he always stepped aside, planned for a while, and then attacked again.
More than once, Denmark had thrown himself at the wall, and when he was met with bricks for his trouble, attempted to scale it. It was as if he thought that if he just tried again, just once more, he'd bring the wall down.
Norway cupped Denmark's injured face. Said nothing when Denmark grinned and tilted his head into his touch and babbled something about how nice it was to have such doting bedside care. He traced the edge of the bruise with his thumb and resisted the urge to put his eye out.
No good would come from that.
And it wouldn't be right, either. Not now.
It was a matter of principle.
The sound of the materials being brought in was quiet, hushed, but that didn't stop Norway from turning to look. Two men brought them in – baskets of bandages, basins of water, clean and steaming as the warmth hit air that was colder than it had any right to be. And they also brought with them a case of what Norway knew to be medicines, treatments for the pain, not that they would do much good now. Those men were nervous and pale and, under Norway's cold watch, hastily placed everything near to him and ushered themselves out.
That left the third, who had entered with him. Norway glanced at him, noticing that it was the one who had argued with him before. He stood, regarding not Norway, but Denmark, his eyes fixed on that nation, who thus far had taken no notice of him, resting, his eyes shut and his face blanched with concern.
Norway considered how to approach the situation. On the one hand, he understood very well what the troubled look on the young man's face was all about, but on the other –
He shook his head and took up the little box of medicines in his hand. "Here," he said, holding it out to him. "He won't need it. Take it to those who do. He wasn't the only one wounded this time around."
The man's gaze snapped to him, staring at him as if he were mad. "But – for the – "
"He isn't human," Norway said firmly, as he took the man's hand and pressed the box into it. "And he doesn't need treatments what do for humans."
The young man closed the box in his hands and looked from it to the nation on the bed. He bit his lip as his eyes swept over the bruises, the wounds, the blood-soaked strips of cloth that had served as in-the-moment bandages. For a moment he looked as if he would argue again, but finally he merely asked, "Then what will do for him?"
"Time," Norway said. "And peace and quiet. And wrappin' him up so he'll stop bleedin' everywhere, suppose."
A nod to show that he understood, even if he looked like he didn't believe it.
"And drink, too."
"For him?"
"For me. I'll need it if I'm to put up with him." Norway allowed something like a smile to curl at his lips. "He'll be right, don't worry. Some deep wounds 'n a few busted ribs ain't what you have to worry on here. It's the border-changes y'need to be concerned about with us."
The boy – for he did look hardly more than a boy – seemed to ease at that, and nodded. "I'll get you what you need." And he smiled back, as if unable to do anything else, seeing the humour in what Norway had said. And upon Norway's nod, he left, closing the door carefully behind him.
Far more to worry about from the politics of the thing than the physical damages, Norway thought as he turned back to Denmark. Sword wounds would heal. Bones would heal. The split in his side where he was dealt that ghastly blow would take hardly any time at all to close. The ramifications of losing yet another war were what would harm him. What would harm the both of them. He knew it, and Denmark knew it.
A moment later, the door opened again. It was the young man with a bottle and glass. He set it on the bedside table, cast one worried glance toward Denmark, then looked at Norway, as if asking if he could stay. Norway shook his head. No, he wasn't about to have any of that; and he was glad when, instead of pressing the issue, the boy ushered himself out.
"'S he gone?" Denmark muttered, opening one eye, glancing about the room with it as if worried that someone was listening. Perhaps he had good reason to be.
"Reckon so." Norway looked at the door once more, then turned is attention to more important matters. If someone happened to be listening in, he wouldn't concern himself with it.
He bent over Denmark and touched his face, bidding him to turn his head to look at him. When he did, Norway gave him a once-over again. Though Denmark might have tried to hide how bothered he was, there was pain in those familiar pale, droopy eyes, and regardless of Norway's thoughts on him, he knew he would have to see to it. "I'll get you fixed up," he muttered, cupping Denmark's face with his hand.
"Yeah?"
"Mmhm. Cleaned up and summat for the pain." He didn't say that it was because he wanted to. With anyone else, he might not be so kind, might just do what he needed to do and then go on his way. "You'd better understand this favour 'm doin' you," was all he said as he dipped his head to graze a kiss to Denmark's forehead, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
There was a sound from Denmark. A wheeze - no, a chuckle, rising up from him and rasping over his lips and making his shoulders shake. "Don't you worry one bit. I know it." The grin Denmark flashed his way was broad enough to make Norway want to wipe it right off his face.
He sucked his teeth and stayed his hand and held his tongue for good measure, wishing Denmark would do the same. It wouldn't do to gag someone who was, for all intents and purposes, his patient - but it would be better if he didn't give him reason to want to do it. "If y'know it, you can show yer appreciation by being quiet," Norway muttered. Then, as if to prove his point, he set to work.
To his credit, Denmark stayed as quiet as he could while Norway tended to him, and if he happened to hiss in pain as Norway patched him up, Norway wasn't about to say anything about it. "Got yourself in a right mess, you did," he muttered as he worked, unapologetic when Denmark let out a little whimper of pain, but willing to go more gently after that. He knew that inside Denmark was protesting, and one glance at him confirmed it. Luckily for the both of them, Denmark bit his lip and stayed quiet.
The bandages would do to hold him together. Were he human - Norway pushed the thought from his mind, not wanting to even think of it as he patched Denmark up, literally pulled him together. More than once he was painfully aware of the advantage of their position as nations.
Denmark drew in a sharp, pained breath and Norway slowed his movements, then wound the bandages more carefully. "You'll be right in a week," he muttered in spite of himself. Though he said it quietly, Denmark heard it perfectly, he was sure. But he didn't speak, and Norway was thankful for it.
The both of them were silent after that while Norway worked. He attended to each part of him in turn, cleaning his wounds, stitching him up, pulling him together. Occasionally he heard Denmark make a noise, and at the sound of it, Norway gentled his touch - but only a little, and only for a moment.
In time, all that was left was the pain itself, and that would be gone soon enough. Norway sat next to Denmark on the bed and held his hand. Squeezed it. He looked at Denmark, could see that he was in pain, and tried to decide what to do about it.
"Nor." Denmark's voice was strained, tired. "Fix it."
"Fix it yourself." The words escaped Norway's lips swiftly, as if without thinking. If that was how he was going to ask it, he'd get nothing. He rose from the bed and went to pour himself a drink, glad that he'd had the forethought to call for the liquor.
There was silence from Denmark's side of the room, and Norway duly ignored it. He didn't need to turn and look to know that Denmark's eyes were boring holes into the back of his head. Eventually, there came a sigh from that direction.
"Please, Nor."
Norway frowned and downed the glass. He could hear an edge in that voice. Not desperate, not quite. Denmark wasn't about to beg for it. It was more like a whine, and he was sorely tempted to refuse him. But when he set the glass down and turned to look at him, a smile crossed Denmark's face. It was broad, bright, warm, and relieved, as if he thought Norway looking at him meant that he would do as he asked, and he'd been worried that he wouldn't.
It was a look that made Norway want to punch him. Instead, he gathered himself together and went to the side of his bed. He cupped Denmark's head in his hands and instead of slamming it back against the headboard he bent to kiss him at the temple.
"I knew you would," Denmark muttered.
"Shut up," Norway whispered, not about to give him the satisfaction of getting what he wanted without criticism. "It's only on account've I can't stand your whining, d'you hear me?"
Though Denmark nodded, Norway knew that he was still too self-assured, too confident that he was doing it out of kindness. And maybe the way that his lips had brushed against Denmark's forehead had been enough to give him those false thoughts. It had seemed like a kiss, even if it wasn't. Norway gripped Denmark's hair, bunching and pulling it in his fingers. When Denmark hissed, he stopped. Maybe that was punishment enough.
Without another word he sank down onto the bed. He said nothing, just kept Denmark's head in his hands. After a time, he began to hum, and after that, as Denmark slipped into sleep, Norway began to sing, keeping his voice low and soft. It was an old spell, and one he knew well. He'd sung it so many times over the years to ease Denmark's troubles, and he didn't doubt that he would sing it to him again in the future.
Finally, Denmark slept. Norway drew away from him and for a while he sat watching him, his hands folded in his lap. Somehow, even when stitched and wrapped and cleaned, the air of pain in the room was just as prominent as it had when Norway had first stepped through the door.
What have you gotten us into, Norway thought, pursing his lips as he reached out to smooth his partner's hair. What is this war going to cost us?
His insides twisted as he looked at him. The thought lingered in his mind for a while, and then he pushed it back.
He didn't want to find out.
The End
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