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The clashing of metals rings in the air early in the misty morning. Gray sky frowning at the two young men moving as if dancing along with the grazing of their weapons. The sun hasn’t completely risen yet here they are, already starting their training. It was Canute’s idea and Thorfinn hasn’t said a word or two nor turned him down about it. He knows the royal needs to be trained on how to hold a sword, how to fight, how to defend himself. Given that he is his bodyguard and he will be there to protect him, circumstances do not always allow him to do so. The Danish forces have limited capable unit leaders although having a lot of powerful warriors and it takes a special kind for someone to lead a bunch of beasts. Thorkell is one. And sometimes, Thorfinn (he’s not fond of the idea, but Canute asked him to do it).
That being said, the King of England and his bodyguard are training so early in the morning.
Canute swings his sword in an attempt to defend himself from Thorfinn’s dagger but the weapon thwacks the hilt of his sword. Thorfinn’s speed truly makes up for his lack of height which makes it surprising to his enemies. Talking about surprises, that attack made Canute jump causing him to drop the weapon and stumble on the ground at the impact.
Thorfinn is also shocked himself, he did not realize it was that strong. Nevertheless, he is cautious not to inflict injury to Canute every time they train. Collecting himself, he watches as Canute’s palms touch the dirt, his entire body following forth. For a second, Thorfinn is worried but shakes the thought away. This is training after all.
“How many times do I have to tell ya,” he scowls, lowering his daggers as he approaches the royal. “Raise your weapon and do not wait for me to attack.”
Canute pushed his body to rise, his long blonde hair getting in the way of his vision. He tied it up in a high ponytail with a blue ribbon matching up with his training attire. He lifts up his head and sees Thorfinn holding out a hand until he remembers that his palms are now caked with mud.
“I’m fine, I can stand on my own,” he states calmly but Thorfinn’s eyebrows meet as though running out of patience and grabs his hand disregarding the dirt. Thorfinn pulls him up and just like that Canute is back on his feet again but the sudden tug from the warrior sends him off balance a bit.
“Tch, you’re so clumsy,” thankfully Thorfinn gets a hold of his waist while Canute grips the other’s shoulder, preventing the both of them from slipping into the mud.
Their close proximity allowed them to gaze at each other’s eyes longer than necessary until incoming footsteps caught their attention.
“Good morning kids! Oh-” Thorkell’s full-toned voice resonates in the open field. Just a few moments earlier, he is still sleepy but after seeing the two youngsters in a rather compromising position, he gawks and freezes into the spot and in a span of a second flashes an excited smirk. The way they hold each other will remind anyone of a romantic marriage proposal or a love confession.
“Looks like I am disturbing something! Thorfinn, finally asked his hand in marriage?” he teases.
Both of them stammers to answer and steps away from each other keeping their distance. The urge to throw his dagger at the annoying giant is stronger in Thorfinn.
Before the teasing escalates, Canute changes the topic by stepping forwards, asking Thorkell if his men are ready to leave for London. A few months ago after Edmund’s passing, Canute is now the sole King of England. His official coronation is to be held at the country’s capital in a month.
“I’ll leave the rest to you then,” Canute says, leaving the scene like someone is chasing him. Thorkell eyes his scowling nephew and grins. Thorfinn did not return the smile though and instead followed the King quietly.
“You should give them space,” an equally amused Asgeir appears on the man’s side and gives him a nugget of wisdom. “Normally, Thorfinn would try to wrestle you or curse you at the top of his lungs. Looks like the kid is changing.”
“Yeah, he’s learning a lot.” as much as he isn’t fond of the word self control , Thorkell admits that being around Canute changes Thorfinn into a decent human being. He remembers that the young warrior also did not react negatively towards Edmund’s death when everyone in the Danish forces bloody knows that he wants to kill him personally.
That reminds him, when did this all begin?
“He ain't acting like a vengeful spirit now huh,” Asgeir says and that makes something click inside Thorkell’s mind.
Ah, when Askeladd died.
“You mean to say, I should keep attacking?” Canute asks, washing his hands on a running river. Beside him, Thorfinn cleans his hands and his daggers.
“Yeah, don’t let your enemy get an opening,” Thorfinn replies monotonously concentrating on cleaning his weapons. Canute glances at him questioningly and his hair falls on his shoulder. Just then he saw that the ends of his hair have been stained with soil as well.
“That’s your weakness. And keep your weapons in front of you, not on the sides.” Thorfinn continues. He goes on and on about the proper posture on fighting and the things Canute does that are wrong when they train, all the while without looking at him. When he did not receive any reply, he turned to glare at the royal.
“Oi, are you liste-” he is cut off upon seeing Canute untied his hair and is busy cleaning it. Long, shiny, blonde hair being washed in the clear water. Thorfinn blinks and before he knows it he is reaching for a lock of Canute’s hair, touching it with his calloused hands.
It’s soft and smooth.
The act has taken him aback, his big blue eyes widen in surprise but he lets Thorfinn run his fingers through his golden tresses. Soon as Canute is done washing the muddied part, Thorfinn puts his hand away and acts as if it never happened.
“YOU CAN'T DO THAT!” Thorfinn’s yell can be heard up to the last camp. They are inside the King’s chamber and literally no one but him (and Thorkell) are the only ones who have the audacity to yell in such a place.
“It’s for the better. I can move easier with cutting these.” Canute sits on the side of his bed holding a lock of his hair in utmost peace not until he tells Thorfinn that he decided to cut it short. “I will cut it before the coronation.”
“No.” Thorfinn who was moments ago standing in the doorway stomps his way in front of Canute looking betrayed and is that a pout?
“Thorfinn, why are you so against it? It’s my hair.” the King of England almost laughed at the statement. They have been in countless arguments and none of it is as shallow as him cutting his hair.
“Because, it’s,” shock fills him in because what the fuck, why is he so concerned about Canute’s hair?! Thorfinn growls and glares at the royal, masking the embarrassment that is starting to build up between them.
“Do you like it, Thorfinn?” Canute asks curiously, amusingly, and tries his very best not to sound like he is teasing him. He knows how Thorfinn hates to be teased with his feelings.
The question struck him harder than Canute thought and they both don’t know whether the reddening of Thorfinn’s face is because of an unknown rage or a confirmation that Canute is right.
“Hell no! Why would I like your stupid hair!” Thorfinn spouts without thinking then the next he looks so guilty of it and Canute figures it out. A roar of laughter echoes in the room as the King, ever so rarely, laughed joyfully at their silly argument.
“Stop laughing! Dammit.”
After a while, Canute sighs, it is time for him to retire. Thorfinn is about to storm outside but he calls him before the warrior is completely out of the room.
“Aren’t you joining me tonight?” the royal lays in his bed. His head on top of his arm staring at the warrior expectantly with a small smile on his lips.
Thorfinn stares back, still with a pout. But there is something in the view of the beautiful royal laying in the bed with his long hair splayed in the silky sheets that he finds irresistible, not that he is ready to admit that to both himself and Canute.
“Tch,”
It is a quiet invitation to companionship. Thorfinn closes the door and returns in front of the bed. Canute’s smile widens and moves to give a space for his lover.
As they both lay in the King’s bed. Thorfinn can hear the muffling of Canute’s chuckle.
“That is your weakness.”
The bodyguard turns his head on his side to look at him.
“What?”
Canute stifles a giggle as Thorfinn frowns at him.
“I was thinking of cutting it because it gets in the way of our training and also to look more Kingly,” he explains.
Thorfinn hates the idea but he knows that there is truth in that. Canute’s long hair has been the major cause of someone mistaking him for a woman. The King rules the Norse and it is kind of laughable how someone who looks like a goddess is called their leader.
“It suits you more,” the warrior mumbles, making the royal turn his head at him. “Your long hair, you look good in it.”
In two years that they’ve been together, Canute knows that hearing Thorfinn praise something or someone is like seeing a pig flying in the sky. Although he is aware of how he looks and the beauty he possesses, he did not expect that subtle praise coming from Thorfinn will make him at a loss for words.
“But just as you said, it’s your hair,” Thorfinn turns his back, facing the opposite side of the bed. The disapproval is still in his tone but it has cooled down.
“Do what you want.”
Silence follows and amidst the darkness, the shuffling of the blanket is the only thing that can be heard in the room. Canute wraps an arm around Thorfinn with a smile, burying his face at the back of his neck.
Thorfinn’s eyes are pinned at the crown sitting atop of a luxurious cloth in a table. He glares daggers at it like an enemy trying to steal Canute away from him.
“Stupid crown.” he curses as his face twists in disgust. Fucking stupid crown is the reason why Canute will cut his hair short. It should be grateful that it is not human or else he will personally send it to Valhalla. Then again a crown is not a living thing and therefore has no ability to be grateful.
At the moment, Canute is readying for the coronation alongside with a political speech of a newly ordained King of England. Thorfinn waits impatiently, unsure if he is ready to see him in a new hairstyle. What the fuck? He shakes the thought away, how could he be so shallow thinking about something so trivial?
“Thorfinn,”
His thoughts are cut short when Canute enters, wearing a dark cape, and much to Thorfinn's shock, the King's long hair remains.
"It's time." behind Canute is a few soldiers ready to usher them in front of the Englishmen. He picks up the crown from the table and put it gently on the top of his head. The first and last time he wore it was when King Sweyn died and he declared himself the commander of the Danish forces. After that, he made a promise to himself that the next time he will wear it is when he officially capture England.
"What's wrong?"
Thorfinn gapes at him checking Canute with his eyes from head to toe but particularly he checks if the hair got trimmed and whatnot.
"Your hair," Thorfinn says, almost a whisper.
"Oh," Canute smiles. "I decided to keep it this way."
It is fortunate for him to control the growing smile when Canute says he's no longer going to cut it. Otherwise, he will make a fool out of himself if the soldier saw him smiling at the thought of their King keeping his hair long brings him uncontrollable joy.
When everyone including Canute turned around to go and meet his people, Thorfinn cannot stop smiling from behind as he stares at the swaying of the beautiful blond hair as Canute walks.
Maybe the royal is right, Canute's hair is his weakness.
Or maybe, not just the hair.