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The giant of a Swede sighed, rubbing a dirty sleeve across his sweat-covered brow. How long had he been at war, conquering neighboring villages and proclaiming their lands his? It was midwinter, the sun barely creeping up over the horizon but sitting so close to the fire had made the pale-skinned man pink in the face and drenched with sweat. His men were around him in hide tents and shored up earth in their makeshift encampment, a few dogs curled up deep in the snow.
The Swede's latest prize, however, was still unconscious, leaned up against a log-turned-chair and wrapped in several warm blankets and his own heavy wolf-fur cloak. Sea Green eyes fell upon the mostly hidden face, a hint of soft pink lips peering out from the folds of life-saving cloth and fur. His latest prize, a victory from a Saami tribe far east of where he normally roamed, was contained warm and safe. Sitting beside the bundled form was a small white dog, that pawed at the unconscious form and whimpered now and then.
Wincing a little, the tall man swathed in warm and durable homespun cloth and tanned leather limped to the fire's edge, pulling a chunk of well-roasted venison from the spit by the fire. They had feasted on it earlier, the first fresh food in days, after the victory over the nomadic tribe. Limping back over, he tossed scraps of the still-warm meat to the little white dog, whose dark eyes and nose were following the Swede's every movement. The small dog soon approached Berwald, eager for the scraps of meat but still clearly frightened of him and his stern gaze. With roughly calloused fingers, he pulled the meat apart and held out a peice.
"C'me on lil 'ne, Ah w'nt h'rt ya." he said softly and in a tone very surprising for someone who looked as fierce as he. The little dog finally tiptoed over, gingerly taking the meat from him and ate wolfishly, tail starting to wag just a little bit. His stern face softened a bit as she begged for more, his fingers tearing off bits for her to eat
"Th'ts a g'd g'rl. Y g'tta h've f'd t' st'y w'rm. C'me h're..." he said slowly, before picking her up. She panicked for a moment, squirming violently before his fingers stroked her head softly. He didn't hold her, but let her footpaws rest on his lap. From head to tail he petted her, softly and slowly until that little curly tail began to wave again. The little spitz first sat, then lay down, snuggling against the front of his tunic and shivering slightly.
The man draped his arm lightly around the little dog, fingers softly running through her neck fur. His arm cut the chill of the night breeze as a few snowflakes began to fall. Huddled against the wind, a small shiver ran through him. His warm cloak was still wrapped around the smaller figure.
Each man had taken a prize in the form of another being from the village. He, the one the men called Berwald, had selected a soft-skinned, violet-eyed beauty from the spoils. The stern-faced Swede was the only one awake and on watch, the whimpers and cries of both pleasure and fear having finally died down. The tall man was the only one not enjoying his new prize. He reflected back to earlier that day, when they had stormed the Saami village in the early-morning hours, taking what they wanted and leaving nothing of use behind. Clad in warm, durable Saami clothing and in the midst of the lightning-fast raid, the Swede hadn't been able to tell whether they were female or male, but the slightly wider shoulders had made him suspect a cross-dressed male. In his heart, Berwald knew the person he had stolen away was different, but he didn't know just how much different they would be.
Timo twitch and slowly stirred. His head was foggy, what happened? He felt a little chilly and shivered as he slowly opened his eyes. His eyes went wide in fear and he opened his mouth in a silent scream. Raiders must have come in the night and kidnapped him mistaking him as a female with the clothes he was wearing. All because he lost a bet with his friend. Panicking he shrieked and stood up stumbling about. Running into things and knocking them over. He was scared and tears welled up in his eyes. What happened was he raped!? Was he going to be raped!? What about his family and friends, what of them. But he was most scared for his beloved Hanatamago. Where was she? What had happened to her? Was she alright? He screamed again in hysterics. “Help! Hana! Help! Anyone!”
The huge Swede stopped the smaller man with an arm strengthened from hours of swordplay and hunting with the longbow. His fingers pressed against the Finn's shoulder, not hurting but just strong enough to stop him.
"C'lm down. Yer f'ne." he said simply, tone not angry and yet silently expecting compliance. His speech was heavily accented and it was clear he didn't talk much. Berwald pressed on the Saami's shoulder enough to push him to sit down in the warmth of the cleared area before the fire.
"R'lax, Ah'm n't g'nna h'rt ya. Yer lil dog's 'v'r h're." as if on command, Hana rocketed like a shot from the spot where she was happily chewing a discarded, roasted bone, and right into her owner's lap. Licking at the smaller man's face with deer breath, her tail waved happily before she looked to Berwald with ears pricked as the norse conqueror limped about the illuminated area. The smell of human blood was a bit stronger on him than it should have been, even with blood on his clothing, and he cursed quietly while a hand occasionally went to his calf.
Berwald limped over to the still-hysterical Finn and handed him a plain wooden bowl filled with the venison he'd fed the little dog and himself earlier, a chunk of rough-grain bread and some rich drippings from the roasted deer itself - definite prize food in that the drippings were not only flavourful but good for energy and staying warm.
The Swede limped back to his sitting spot, hunched over and wincing as his fingers turned crimson with blood. "Skit..." he hissed.
“No I will not calm down!” The little Finn stood up dropping the bowl of to the ground. He kicked one of the poles to the tent making it fall over. “Why did you kidnap me?! What's going on?! Where am I?!” He was getting angry now and violent something he rarely did but when he was he was force to be reckoned with. He kicked and destroyed things for a few minutes until he realized his kidnaper was hurt. ‘Serves him right!' he thought. The blonde picked up a now scared Hana, petting her made him calm down a bit. After he rationalized a little bit that destroying his campsite did nothing to help himself. He just stared at his bleeding capturer not knowing what to say or do.
Surprisingly, the taller man didn't yell or even raise a hand, but let the saami rage before hobbling with obvious pain and righted the fallen tent poles. Half of the wall was mud bricks, the other half heavy tanned and waterproofed hides stretched over tent poles and 'beams' to make a very warm and very dry home away from home.
Blood now was pooling on the floor of the dimly lit dwelling, two small fat-fueled candles flickering, several of them having been extinguished in Timo's rage fit. The Swede was interested in the fire in the violet-eyed man's eyes, something in that defiance more arousing than it should have been. Sea Green eyes, firm but holding something else behind them, compassion or sympathy perhaps, watched the saami-clad man for a moment more while the small dog was placated.
Wordlessly, the giant warrior unwrapped his leg to the knee, a very painful wound on his half freely dripping blood, even in the dim light. He cursed under his breath a bit, before pushing his fingers into the deep gash and withdrawing a disgustingly covered-with-flesh-and-gore saami arrowhead, sharply barbed and probably for hunting rather than fighting.
"D'mmit..." he cursed, sight reeling into black at the pain. The arrowhead skittered across the ground, falling from the warrior's bloodied hand.
The short man looked on as the other man looked like he was about to pass out. HE had attacked HIM why should he feel sorry for the beaten man. Timo sighed, he just couldn't let the man bleed to death. He took a fresh clean looking clothe and dug around in what looked like a medicine purse in the corner. He found what he was looking for and brought the herbs with him to the viking. Timo knelt down and began to clean up the wound with warm water that was close to the fire and apply the healing herbs and fresh bandage. As he was helping his capturer he looked up at him. Violet eyes met sea-green ones. There was something in those viking eyes that lead him to believe HE was the more violent of the two. "I'm sorry I trashed your tent." He mumbled as he looked away. "But what would you have done if you woke up in a strange place finding yourself been kidnapped and expected to be raped!" He found himself ranting again.
The panting conqueror looked a little bit pathetic as the Finn patched up his wound. He was fairly quiet through it all, making little grunts and breath-catches as the smaller man tended to him. He watched through slightly blurred eyes, trying to focus on anything *but* the stinging pain and ache of his leg.
"Ah dun r'pe 'nyb'dy." the Swede finally said, having been listening to the little Finn ranting. He laid back against some of the supplies, feeling a bit lightheaded now. Berwald's voice finally sounded again, "Ah p'cked ya 'cuz ya d'dnt d's'rve t' be r'ped. N'body m'sses with wh't Ah cla'm."
The Finn was a little taken aback. Did he really just say something like that? Anger boiled up in him again for some reason. "You don't even know me! Why would you care if I were molested and raped?!" He hollered and started panting as he got himself all worked up again. This... this viking was getting on his nerves! All he wanted to do at this point was take Hana and go home. But yet again something... in his chest told him something different. It was flattering. No one had ever said anything like that to Timo before. He blinked before turning away.
" Just keep using those herbs and clean bandages for that wound. I'm going home!" He picked up the fluffy white dog and stepped out of the tent. His eyes went wide at the sight before him. For some reason it didn't occur to him that he was in the middle of a viking campsite very far from home.
The Swede stood and promptly followed with a heavy limp and reached out, grabbing the Finn by the wrist lightly and gently. "If ya le've, ya w'll b' k'lled. My men w'nt b' k'nd t' ya 'cuz yer s' pr'tty..." he said gruffly, putting his hand on Timo's shoulder as he was trying not to put weight on his injured leg. "Ya dun h've 'nywh're t' go 'nyw'y. Th't sm'ke is fr'm wh'ts l'ft of yer v'llage..." he said, a sad tone to his voice. It hadn't been the Swede's decision to ruin the village, merely go to actually trade for some medicinal herbs, but his men had gone overboard and bloodthirsty. In the chaos, Berwald had even gotten into the spirit and looted a single residence, having found Timo inside and hauled the flat out pretty young man off as his own prize.
The Finn blushed at being called pretty. He wasn't pretty... pretty is what you call women. And he was a man, an unattractive fat man at that. Hearing that his village... his family... his life was gone, Timo fell to his knees and silently began to cry again. What was he going to do? Where was he going to go? WHo was he kidding, he was going to be this giant, scary man's sex slave until he got tired of him and eventually kill him too. Hana, the little white dog, ran to the crying man's side whimpering. At least he still had Hana. The small blonde cradled the small dog, tears staining her white fur.
"Ah'm s'rry." he said quietly, "Ah j'st w'nted s'me m'd'cine..." the giant of a man sighed, tending the spark of fire in the middle of the tent-house hybrid, the flame growing steadily stronger and warmer in the room. He settled a small iron pot by the coals, a few handfuls of snow contained within. A few mixed herbs from a bag were tossed in, and soon a relaxing aroma began to fill the room.
The shorter man tentatively sat back down in the tent near the fire still cuddling his small white dog. He wanted to just curl in a corner and die. "Wh-what kind of medicine exactly were you looking for?"
"Ah j'st w'nted s'meth'ng fer mah men wh'n th'y h'rt..." the Swede said eventually. Soon enough, Berwald handed a small wooden cup to Timo, a nice smell coming from the cup. He had poured himself a cup, and was sipping on it tentatively.
The Fin sniffed the contents of the cup and took a small sip. It was good! "Well couldn't you have asked... instead of pillage and plunder my home town?" The blonde asked with a little venom in his voice.
"Ah tried t' go 'lone, but m' men wo'ldnt h've it. Ah t'k a sm'll p'rty but th' r'st f'llowed 'nd did wh't th'y w'nted. Ah j'st w'nted s'me of th's..." he said, opening a nearly empty pouch to reveal a few scraps of angelica plant, or as he knew it 'kvanne'.
"Ah th'nk ya c'll it vä'nönp'tki*?" he asked, tucking the little pouch away.
"Ah re'lly tri'd t' st'p 'em, but th'y wo'ldnt l'sten t' m'." he looked down again, fiddling a little with his tunic. There was legitimate remorse in his voice.
The Finn glanced over to the viking. He could tell the man was truly sorry for what his men did to his precious village. "Well maybe you should grow a pair and tell your men off then!" The blonde mumbled, a little of his Finland rage showing through. He immediately realized he shouldn't have said something, his eyes went wide and he stared at the ground.
The Swede's eyes darted to the raging Finn. He let a snort-chuckle mix. "D'nt ya th'nk Ah tri'd th't?!" he said sharply, raising his voice just a little bit.
"Ah tri'd t' git 'em t' le've ya 'lone, th'y wo'ldnt l'sten." He fell silent for a moment, before speaking rather quietly, "N'w ya got n'thin' b't a lil' dog t' l'k f'rward to. Ah'm s'rry."
"Well if they were my men they would have never defiled me. Cause if they did I would have blown their fucking head off!" The Finn also raised his voice as well, getting pissed again. Not necessarily mad at the viking in front of him per say, just pissed off and upset that this had to happen to him. He picked up Hana and began to stroke her,trying to calm himself down.
'tis cuz th'y 'rent m'ne, in a w'y..." he trailed off, clearly bitter about something or other. He shook his nead, "N'ver m'nd." he grunted, busying himself with poking the fire and making another container of tea. The tall viking was also busying himself with moving things around from the Finn's rage, and was resetting a tent pole as blood crept down his leg once more. He'd overdone it. "Skit..." he hissed.
"Will you just sit down!" The Finn, irritated still, scolded the Swede noticing the blood going down his leg. "You've opened the wound again... now I have to bandage it again." The small man grabbed the herbal sack again and made the Swede lay down to fix his wound again. "Stop moving around so much... or it'll never get better." He mumbled.
Berwald found himself on his cot, leg bared for Timo to patch up. He hadn't torn anything, but the clotted blood came loose and his movement had made it worse.
"Hn." he grunted as the Finn proceeded to diligently rebandage his wounds. The viking wasn't going to fight the grumpy Finn, especially when the young man was such a good healer.