#sunor week

[sunor-hq]

Will this event happen in 2020?

SunorWeek? It's possible! If there's any interest for it this year, please let me know. :>

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Sunor week day 4: seasons

[i-am-a--lionheart]

Sult

12th January 1518,

Copenhagen

 Emil was whining in his sleep, Lukas could hear it even though he as on the other side of the wall.

He knew he should be with the child that was probably crying because of the never ending hunger but the arms around him caged him. Matthias was asleep, Lukas could tell that much by the long and steady rising of his chest and the warm breath that hit his neck. The door was unlocked, a rare occasion that only occurred because Lukas had been unusually cooperative today. To escape the embrace that resembled both a home and a cage to the Norwegian, was quite risky, but he had more than one reason to try and wiggle himself out of the strong arms that always held him a little bit too tight. He desperately needed to find something to eat for his youngster since Emil had lost a lot of weight for his frail figure and needed to make sure that Berwalds wounds were treated right. Not that he did not trust Tino, but the boy was more a child than a teenager, not much older than Emil and he couldn’t help but worry about him as well.

Slowly and carefully he moved away from under Matthias’ arms – it would surely annoy the Dane to find that he was gone in the morning but when he was lucky and the eldest was in a good mood which he mostly was when he had had his way with him, it wouldn’t matter much. He managed to stand up without making any sound and reached for his tunic that had become far too wide for him. After he had pulled the clothing over his hurting, assaulted neck, he heard the familiar sound of his roaring stomach. For a second, he feared that this noise would wake Matthias up but it didn’t. They were used to be hungry, all of them. But no one was as starved as Lukas was because Lukas refused to eat in favour for Emil. He had to do this because Emil was still growing a lot, because he was still so small, because he was his little, dear brother and he could not, not ever let him suffer. Although he knew that he wasn’t as caring as he should be. A quick glimpse in his mirrored self in the window was enough to fully reveal all the reason he had to loathe himself more with every passing self.

He was wasting himself for whatever reason, he was giving himself away, he was throwing away his dignity, his pride, everything. Of course, he knew even if he did not do this on his own, Matthias would most likely take away everything without a second thought. Lukas lifted a hand to his neck and covered the deep marks with it. He liked to tell himself that this was some kind of love for he knew that he was loved by the Dane nearly more than he was by the Swede, but this was a lie. There could not be much love in such selfish actions. Quickly he turned himself away from his reflection, got a hold of his woollen trousers and put them on before escaping through the door.

Emil’s whining had grown louder but without a piece of bread or a leftover from their dinner yesterday (there were no real leftovers for weeks by now), he couldn’t return to his brother. He tried to mix different herbs to put him back to sleep because a sleep deprived body would demand even more energy resources, but Emil wouldn’t swallow the bitter medicine. Lukas did, maybe this was the only reason he survived on such a small amount of food.

Their kitchen on the ground floor of their home was dark and cold and with a blue flame appearing on his open palm, Lukas lightened the lamps on the cupboards. To lighten the fire in the oven would cost them precious wood and would probably wake his eldest up, so he had to find something that was already prepared which made everything even worse. He had knelt down in front of one of those cupboards where he used to store corn, oats and cabbage and was lightening the mostly empty insides when he heard the cracking steps of the staircase leading down to the kitchen. For a second he froze – despite being able to read their auras, with all of them being so close that they overlapped, he could never know who had come down. In a quick attempt to stand up, he nearly hit his forehead on the edge of the closet and when he finally stood straight again, he allowed himself to raise his gaze a bit slower. He had feared that Matthias had come down but instead, all he could see in the bluish light of his flames was Berwald, that held the far too small Icelandic boy in his arms. Despite having bandages on his whole upper body – the last fight between him and the Dane had gone too far again – he held the half sleeping child fast and secure. Emil was a lot more quiet now, he always was when the Swede was around. Lukas had believed it was because Berwald tend to frighten children – he frightened Tino every other day – but apparently, he had been wrong. The small hands of the Icelandic boy were clenched around what seemed to be a small, misshaped carrot which he was eating far too quickly. Berwald wasn’t concentrated on the child, instead he watched Lukas with a nearly unreadable expression in his turquoise eyes. Maybe, Lukas thought, the other looked down on him because he was sleeping with the Dane, maybe it hurt him because Lukas used to be with him all the time. Maybe Berwald hated him now, but Lukas knew the way the Swede gazed at people he hated and then it hit him. Berwalds slightly stoic face was distorted by worries. The light tunic was a size too large but Berwald knew that he grew thinner under it every single day. Without an exchange of words, the Swede stepped closer and carefully handed over the child. He knew that Lukas didn’t like it when others came too close to Emil, Berwald was no exception even though Lukas loved him. “You are hungry.”, he stated the obvious in a whisper as he leaned down to secure Lukas’ hold on Emil that was more awake now. “It doesn’t matter.”, Lukas answered in an even lower whisper.

Berwald let out the quietest sigh as he backed off, his hand grazing the pale arm of the Norwegian softly. “It matters to me.”, he answered as he turned away from him. Lukas wanted to reach out to him but Emil kept both of his hands occupied. “Your bandages.”, he said in a slightly louder whisper. “Tomorrow, Stjärna.”, with this the taller one was gone.

Lukas carried the Icelander upstairs to their shared room, tucked him under the blankets and sat down next to him. He had brewed a tea infused with different herbs and had managed to encourage Emil in drinking it. The boy was snuggled against his brother, at peace now for at least a couple of hours. His eyes looked incredible tired when he moved his gaze to look at the Norwegian with an unusual earn expression. “You…need to eat too, bror.”, his whisper was slurred by his tiredness. “Ber worries.”,he continued. Well of course Berwald worried but that was for no use. There was not enough food – Tino and Emil were children and Berwald and Matthias mostly were out to hunt or were busy to kill each other. They needed it more than him. Emils eyes seemed very awake for another moment. “He loves you.” That left a deeper sting in Lukas’ soul than everyone could ever imagine and he held the tears back until Emil was fast asleep again.

He could survive the hunger, he really could, but how could he survive hurting Berwald by staying with Matthias? How could he survive his gaze on the bruises and bites?

How could he survive Matthias’ hunger?

[rukkilill]

Sweden/Norway + strange things in the woods | ~450 words, rating 0+ | Written for SuNor Week; prompt was folklore via @sunor-hq

At dusk

Don't go into the woods at night.

Especially not here, in these mountains forests, where untold things might be lurking.

Norway tells him these things, reminding him now and then to make sure he doesn't forget. Oh, Sweden's people have their stories too, and they're much the same. They both know the tales well, but Norway takes it so seriously. He seems to think that it's necessary to remind Sweden. As if he needs to know. As if he might forget.

This weighs on Sweden's mind as they make their way back along the forest trails to Norway's house.

The sun is sinking, dipping beneath the mountains, beneath the treetops. Their walk took longer than they had expected. At this time of year, the daylight hours are rapidly shortening, and it's becoming harder and harder to predict when darkness will fall. The lack of light isn't worrying, exactly. Norway knows these trails like the back of his hand, and there is no way the two of them could get lost.

But it still feels a bit uncanny out here in the dimming light. It might be Norway's fault, Sweden thinks.

Norway glances at him. He has his hands in the pockets of his windbreaker. The autumn breeze has mussed his hair.

"Worried?" he asks. As if there's reason to be.

Sweden grunts a reply. Shakes his head. No, he isn't, and if he was there is no way he'd admit to it.

"I wasn't fibbing about those tracks, you know."

Troll tracks, Norway had said when they came across a mysterious trail on their walk. Broad and long and set deep into the ground. They followed the trail for a while until they lost it. Of all the ridiculous things – it was a joke, Sweden was sure. Some locals playing a prank, perhaps. And then Norway doing the same with him, with all of his comments about how one shouldn't stick around a place where one had been, especially not with night approaching so quickly.

And now, here Norway is, reminding him of it, still playing that same joke.

It's nothing. That's what it is.

But that doesn't change the fact that the sky is getting darker by the minute.

Norway slips his hand out of his pocket and offers it. "They won't bother you if you're with me," he says simply. "Stick close, now."

After a moment, Sweden takes his hand, squeezing it gently.

The sun has almost set.

It might just be an excuse to get him holding his hand. Sweden wonders about it for a moment, and doesn't let go, deciding he might as well humour him. At least until they get back to the warmth and comfort of Norway's house.

There's no harm in that, after all. And one never knows what they might find in these woods – or what might find them.

[sildesalaten]

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Sunor week day 5