Work Text:
Canute awoke in the early morning hours. The sun had not yet risen, but far on the horizon a bright stripe of light was already forming, announcing the new day. For a brief moment he did not know where he was. The memories of the past weeks raged in his head, events flickered in randomly successive scenes before his inner eye. Ragnar, Willibald and him, captured by Thorkell's men. His father, who sends him to London, knowing that he would never be able to conquer the city. The fire in the forest and their rescue by Thorfinn.
Rescue?
Canute was not sure whether his deliverance from the hands of Thorkell could really be called a rescue. For what had it led to? A village. An entire village had been massacred just to prevent Thorkell from getting to them. 62 people, Christians, whom Askeladd had executed in cold blood. Women, children, even babies. For his sake. To protect him.
He felt sick.
He had not watched. Before the first head rolled, Ragnar had taken him aside and pushed him into this house. But not being able to see what was happening had made it no less bad. The cries of the people had been clearly audible even through the roar of the wind. Canute had sat at the table and waited. At the table of a family that had just died. Near the fireplace that they had lit a few hours earlier.
Ragnar had stood behind him, his hand firmly on Canute's shoulder. Had he not been with him, Canute would not have been able to keep his composure. Without him, he would have screamed himself to drown out the wailing of the villagers, thus destroying the last bit of respect that anyone was still able to feel for him.
At some point, the cries had died down. Askeladd himself had come to tell them that nobody had survived. That had been the moment when all the tension had left Canute. As soon as Askeladd had left the room, he had collapsed, relieved that it was finally over.
Canute squinted his eyes together, tried to repress all the cruel things he had seen and fall asleep again, but he would not succeed. Not even Ragnar's deep breaths could lull him back to sleep.
It was cold. The fire must have gone out hours ago. His coat, which he had spread over himself as a blanket, was unpleasantly clammy. For a brief moment he wished to return to a real bed and his own bedroom. But he was not allowed to be picky. This sleeping place was definitely better than a cart and it was pleasant to know that only Ragnar was here with him and that several house walls separated him from Askeladd and his men.
The darkness of the night had meanwhile given way to a diffuse twilight. Somewhere the call of an owl could be heard. And suddenly Canute could no longer bear the narrowness of the house. They had been out in the open for so long that it felt strangely oppressive to be locked up between four walls. He needed fresh air.
Quietly, so as not to wake Ragnar, he got up and slipped out through the door into the open a few minutes later.
Cold wind enveloped him and made him shiver, but he felt better instantly, took a deep breath and filled his lungs with the frosty air of that December morning. It was very quiet in the village. Nobody else seemed to be up yet. Probably the men had been partying hard until they went to bed. So unconcerned. As if they had not taken the lives of 62 people before. Canute found this both repulsive and enviable. If only he could forget so quickly.
He looked around. The footprints they had left the evening before had disappeared. The freshly fallen snow had completely wiped them out.
A short distance away, surrounded by scattered bare trees, Canute could make out a little hill in the snow. There it was. That was where they must have buried the villagers.
No, not buried. The hole into which they had been thrown could hardly be called a grave. Like garbage they had been dumped. And no one was there to mourn them. Their bodies would slowly rot away until there was no indication of how many people had died here. No one would remember them. Probably the hill would also disappear at some point and the people of this place, their lives, would be forgotten forever.
"I'm sorry," he whispered and a single tear left a hot mark on his cheek.
It was certainly not wise to leave the house alone. But he could no longer stand still. He had to move. He could not walk along the houses. He was too afraid that he might wake someone up. So he marched towards the shovelled up pit. With every step he took, he sank into the snow up to his ankles. The crunch of ice crystals under his feet sounded unnaturally loud in the silence of the early morning.
It did not take long before he had reached his goal. And now? Probably he should go back. He had stretched his legs and got some fresh air. That was all he had wanted. And yet, he could not just turn around. He couldn't look away, couldn't shake off the image of countless body parts stacked one on top of the other that appeared in his mind.
That was not right. That these people were dead was so unreal ... so absurd. A few hours ago they were still alive. Peaceful people, simple villagers who meant no harm to anyone. They had gone about their daily work, unaware that it would be their last day on earth. They had not been warriors who expected to die every day. Canute had heard their screams, but not one of them was the scream of a man who had really known how to defend himself. They had all faded away far too quickly. Askeladd's men had made quick work.
But no, it was not right to blame them or Askeladd for all this. In fact, it was not them who had brought disaster upon these people. It was he himself. His mere presence had once again led to bloodshed. They had died because of him.
A bitter expression flitted across Canute's face. "What a pointless death."
When he finally managed to turn away from the pit, he realized that he was no longer alone. Thorfinn stood leaning against a tree a few meters away and stared over at him. Canute's heart went out of rhythm with shock. How long had he been standing there? Had he just arrived or had he followed him from the beginning?
For a brief moment they made eye contact. Canute did not know whether he should say anything.
Good morning?
But was it?
What are you doing out here?
What a stupid question, after all Askeladd had chosen him as his bodyguard.
In the end he decided to just nod to him. Thorfinn did not return the greeting, but averted his gaze.
To Canute this gesture seemed like an invitation.
Do whatever you want to do out here, but do it fast, because it's cold.
He did not let himself be told twice, for he too began to shiver slowly and longed to return to the house and light a fire. Maybe he could even cook later. But first this had to be done.
He was sure he would not find peace in this village until the residents had been properly mourned and dignified buried. That was all he could do for them.
The strong wind last night had badly damaged the trees. Here and there Canute saw broken branches sticking out of the snow. It was a sad sight and almost seemed as if nature had decided to die like the people who had lived in her. From a distance, one of the branches appeared to him like the arm of a man buried alive, trying to fight his way back from the depths of the snow to the rescuing daylight.
Canute shook his head vigorously. He had no time to indulge in such fantasies.
Determinedly he ran towards the branch, grabbed it with both hands and pulled it out from under the masses of snow. The length was just right. He also looked relatively stable. Only the branches were disturbing.
Canute drilled the branch next to him into the snow and began to break them off. He knew exactly that Thorfinn was watching him and he felt the blood rise to his head at the thought of it. He hated it when all attention was on him.
It did not take long before he had removed the twigs and had thrown them carelessly behind himself. But he was not satisfied. You could still see exactly where they had grown and the bark made the branch very uneven. The best thing would be to carve it a little bit and to sharpen one of the ends on this occasion. Then it would hopefully still find a hold in the ground even after the snow had melted.
But how should he work the branch? He had left his sword in the house, not assuming he would need it. Which, he had to admit, had probably been rather reckless.
The sound of footsteps in the snow made Canute jump in shock. When he turned around, he saw that Thorfinn had stepped behind him. Obviously bored, he picked up one of the discarded twigs and began to listlessly scrape the bark off with one of his daggers.
"Will you lend me the second one?", Canute asked.
Thorfinn stared at him as if he had asked him if the snow was white.
Canute cleared his throat. "I mean your second dagger."
Thorfinn snorted.
"I know what you mean. But I'm certainly not putting a weapon in your hand, princess."
Canute pulled a face. Of course Thorfinn couldn't resist telling him off.
"Stop mocking," he demanded and ran over his arms as a cold gust of wind made his cloak flutter. "Is my sword not a weapon?"
"It's only there for decoration. I doubt the day will ever come when you use it."
Canute doubted that too. "Would that be bad? Is it so absurd to be against violence? Thorkell. You. All of you. All you ever think about is fighting. Always bloodshed. How many more people have to die in such brutal ways?"
"If you didn't want those people to die, you should have said something."
Canute held his breath.
"If you didn't want the villagers to lose their lives, then you should have objected to Askeladd."
"He..." Canute's voice broke. "He wouldn't have listened to me. If I had said something... it wouldn't have changed anything."
Thorfinn laughed. "Don't be stupid. It would have changed everything. You are the prince."
He was not stupid. He knew it. He knew it, and yet not a word of contradiction had passed his lips when Askeladd had given the order to execute. He had simply let it happen.
Thorfinn smiled dismissively. "For someone who wants to avoid unnecessary bloodshed so much, you remained very calm last night. Don't you find that hypocritical?"
Something tore in Canute. He felt the blush of anger rise in his face and warm his cheeks. Angrily, he pulled the branch out of the snow and swung it in Thorfinn's direction. He blinked in bewilderment, but had no trouble dodging Canute's clumsy attack.
"Oh, have I hit a sore spot, Your Majesty?"
The mockery virtually dripped from Thorfinn's voice, which made Canute even angrier. This man... how could this man dare to throw such words at him every time?
"You have no idea," Canute pressed out between clenched teeth. "You have no idea how I feel. Or why I am the way I am. You don't know me."
"Of course I don't know you. You're never talking."
Canute paused in confusion. This had not been the rude answer he had expected. He waited a few more seconds, but Thorfinn did not seem to feel the need to add anything. He started to work on the bark of the branch again and Canute watched him speechlessly.
Thorfinn was a mystery to him. He could be loud and disrespectful, he seemed to hate Askeladd from the bottom of his heart and was not interested in anything else but his revenge. Canute still had not figured out what exactly it had been that had stirred up Thorfinn's anger at Askeladd, but that beating him in a duel seemed to be his purpose in life, that was obvious.
And yet ... from time to time the anger disappeared from Thorfinn's eyes and something like compassion and honest interest in his environment flared up. At least until Askeladd crossed his path again. One of those few moments seemed to have come and, Canute himself was astonished about it, suddenly he could no longer hold his tongue. The words bubbled over his lips as if a long dried up spring had come to new life.
"I... I'm not so calm because I am particularly shy or cowardly."
Thorfinn clicked his tongue. "You said something similar once before. You were babbling something about being cautious."
Canute nodded affirmatively. "I am cautious. Without my father's consent I'm not allowed to make promises or say things that could be taken as a threat by others.
"Because it could be interpreted politically?"
"Yes"
"You're repeating yourself. It may be that your father feels that he has been passed over and may be angry with you, but he won't make you a head shorter.“
The corner of Canute's mouth twitched. "That's not the point."
Just a few feet away from them, another branch was sticking out of the snow. Canute pulled this out as well, broke it in two because it was too long for his purposes, and began to break off the twigs.
"It's not that I am afraid that my father might reprimand me for a thoughtless remark. When I say that something could be interpreted politically, I don't mean that it's interpreted as political by the people living here, but", Canute breathed deeply, "by him.“
"By him?", asked Thorfinn perplexed.
"Is that really so difficult to understand?" He turned to Thorfinn and was amazed that Thorfinn pressed one of his daggers into his hand. "Thank you," Canute said in surprise, and set about adjusting the two branches further.
"Can't you imagine how it will affect my father when he hears that I have made a non-aggression pact with Wales? It looks like I'm interfering in his politics. I am not the one conquering England, remember that. I have no right to interfere."
"You're the prince. You're his son."
Canute stopped. "One wrong word and I'm neither one thing nor the other, only a threat."
Thorfinn's answer was silence. The wind freshened and blew coldly around their ears, while in the distance the first voices could be heard and doors opened. The new inhabitants of the village awoke.
"I'm not a coward," Canute concluded. "I have only learned to keep my mouth shut when it's appropriate. To protect myself."
"If you ask me, that sounds even more like a coward."
A sad smile flitted across Canute's face. "If you say so"
Canute had finished in the meantime. He had been able to remove most of the unevenness that had spoiled the branches, and the end of the longer branch had also been sharpened. Now he only needed something to tie them together.
"Tell me, Princess..." Thorfinn looked suspiciously at his work. "What exactly is this all about?"
"Oh," Canute, who had not even thought about how strange the whole procedure must have looked to Thorfinn, cleared his throat. He held the branches in front of him, exactly as he wanted to tie them together, until he saw knowledge flashing in the eyes of the other boy.
"A cross," he added nevertheless. "I want them to be remembered. I don't want them to be left here like garbage. They should have a proper grave."
Thorfinn stared at him for a long time, so long that Canute felt the warmth in his cheeks again.
Yes, he was not shy. But ducking away for years and making himself invisible had paid its price. Too much attention was indeed uncomfortable for him. He was not used to it.
"Wait here," Thorfinn said, then he turned around and ran back to the village, where he disappeared in one of the houses and Canute could not see him anymore.
Quite carefree, thought Canute. Thorfinn was his bodyguard after all. He should not leave him out here alone. But how could he be upset about that, when he had walked all the way out here by himself before, quite thoughtlessly and alone?
Canute blinked up to the sky, which stretched out over him in bright blue. The twilight had given way to the first rays of sunlight that gently tickled his nose. The sky above Mercia was wide and blue, not a single cloud was visible.
A new day had dawned. A day that 62 people would never experience.
~*~
"Enough!"
Thorfinn flinched and almost dropped his father's dagger as the prince's voice sounded louder than ever before over the snowy lands.
It had become evening. The sun sank into the horizon and high above him Thorfinn could already see the first stars. It had been a beautiful day, that was going to be followed by a clear night.
Thorfinn was sitting at the edge of a well and had spent the time polishing his daggers. Askeladd had given him a angry lecture in the morning because he had left the prince alone in the snow a good distance from the village. For once he had wanted to do Canute a favor and looked for a string in one of the houses and what did he get from it? Baldy's anger.
In any case, Askeladd had then ordered him not to leave Canute's side again. He hated it when the old man gave him orders, but when it came to a promised duel, he gritted his teeth and carried it out. Just like always.
The cross that Canute had made that morning was enthroned on the burial mound and cast a long shadow on the three people praying in front of it.
Or reather … had prayed. Thorfinn had not listened to Willibald's words, but whatever he had said must have stirred up the prince. He had jumped up and gave the priest an unbelieving look. Small wafts of air floated up to the sky as he took a deep breath to speak. Ragnar looked at him in astonishment.
"Did you say … you doubt the Father?" asked Canute before he pointed his finger accusingly at Willibald. "And you call yourself a Christian? You should fear the Lord! We must not doubt the Father's love! Every father … every father loves his own child."
As he spoke, the prince's voice grew softer with every word. The last words were nothing more than a whisper that reached Thorfinn's ears before Canute turned on his heel and returned to the village without paying attention to him. Ragnar followed him immediately while Willibald, completely unimpressed, remained kneeling in the snow.
Thorfinn looked after the prince. He knew he should follow him too but he did not feel the need to stay near him until he calmed down.
Every father loves his own child, huh? What a bold statement.
Especially from someone who was obviously afraid of his own father.
You really are a cowardly hypocrite, Thorfinn thought and sighed, while behind the cross the sun disappeared on the horizon and colored the snow blood red.