Work Text:
Love
Canute had always found it difficult to take his eyes off Thorfinn. From the first moment they met, he had been magically drawn to him.
At first it had been horror that prevented him from looking away. Thorfinn had stood and sulked when Askeladd had introduced them to each other. Disparagingly he had looked down on Canute and criticized his behavior. Never before had a person met him with so much disrespect. Canute had never felt so humiliated. Even today, when he thought back on it, he could feel the stab in his heart that had gone through him. The stab that made him realize what a pathetic figure he must be in the eyes of his fellow men. The sting that made him realize that all the years he had spent ducking away to survive had taken their toll. And what good had it done him? He had wanted to protect himself and had run directly to his doom. He knew quiet well why his father had ordered him to accompany him to England.
Horror was followed by curiosity. Thorfinn had been so completely different from him. Canute had seen some terrible things in his young life, but Thorfinn's attitude, the way he moved and always seemed to be on guard, made his own past seem downright ridiculous. After all he had been able to grow up sheltered and protected by Ragnar. Thorfinn, on the other hand, seemed like a wild animal fighting for survival. Brutalized by the many years away from his family, his heart filled with the desire for revenge.
Canute had felt the need to get to know him. And he wanted to tell him about himself in return. It had been a strange fascination he felt for the boy of the same age. Even though he was so rude, even though he had the audacity to smile at him and call him Princess, he could not take his eyes off him. For Thorfinn stirred something in him, made his soul cry out. To him Canute was no prince. Just a hopelessly timid young man with no backbone, no voice. A good-for-nothing? Perhaps. A coward? Quite possibly. But never a majesty, always just Canute. And that had warmed his heart. So much so that for a short time in a small village in Mercia he had given himself over to the idea that they could become friends.
Life however, as it always was, had other plans. He soon had other plans.
Ragnar's death, Askeladd's men standing against him, Thorkell's relentless pursuit, and last but not least Willibald's words had awakened him. If early death awaited him anyway, even if he tried not to attract attention, why hide? Powerless, intimidated, a pawn on a never-quiet battlefield that cost hundreds of lives.
He had had enough. Enough of all the fighting and senseless bloodshed. Enough of being Canute. If it took a prince, no, a king to set this world right he would be that king.
The next time he consciously perceived Thorfinn he was already dissolving. The boy who had captured his gaze had become a wreck even before Askeladd's death. Fear of an uncertain future, the question of the meaning of his desire for revenge tormented him. And when Askeladd died by his, Canute's, hands, he finally shattered into a thousand pieces. Only a vague shadow of himself remained.
Canute had sold Thorfinn into slavery because the thought of another reality, of a friendship that could have arisen, did not let him sleep at night. He did it without giving him another glance. To his followers it looked like mercy. For raising his dagger against him Thorfinn deserved to die. That he was allowed to live on was incomprehensible to many.
But Canute knew he had not killed just one man that day.
It had been two.
When he had pierced Askeladd's chest with his sword, his hands trembling, the pounding of his own heart loud in his ears, he had also pierced through Thorfinn.
Yes, he would let Thorfinn go. But what he did could not be called living anymore.
He was dead, the attraction extinguished. Canute would never see him again, his gaze would never linger on him.
And he was convinced that it was a good thing.
Again and again he had recalled Willibald's words. No love, only discrimination.
Ragnar's feelings for him. He had seen with his own eyes what it had driven him to. Sixty-two lives had been extinguished out of a stubborn desire to protect him. Ragnar had been a kind-hearted man and yet he had not intervened, had not stopped Askeladd.
If Ragnar had been willing to go so far what would Canute do if he gave in to his desire for a friendship? What would he be capable of?
If Thorfinn were by his side he could not be the man he needed to be to transform this world. He was absolutely sure of that. If Thorfinn were by his side he would be no better than all the others who were willing to commit the worst atrocities or turn a blind eye to them in order to keep the one person they cared about safe.
He would be nothing but a hypocrite.
Years had passed. Years in which Canute felt he was losing a piece of his humanity with each passing day. He had left his self behind a long time ago. Perhaps his first murder had not been that of Askeladd and Thorfinn. It had been himself that he had obliterated on that long-ago winter day, surrounded by the icy cold of the snow. All that remained was the man who soon called himself King of England. But every human life he took along the way, every intrigue, every battle that was fought - for him, not because of him - dulled him, took away all emotion, made him deaf and blind to what he had once called love.
Not a tear did he shed over Harald's death. They had been brothers but what meaning had that had? He did not allow himself to mourn him. He had no right to do so since he was the one who had ordered his death. For Canute Harald's demise had been only another necessary evil in order to get a little closer to his goal. Family ties were irrelevant on the path he had chosen. He would no longer favor anyone.
A paradise on earth, that is what he had wished for, but it was still far away and he was aware that even in the entire span of his life he would never be able to achieve more than laying the foundation for this world.
He was King of England.
King of Denmark.
But that was not enough. It needed more. Much more. He could not stop for a long time.
Then: A farm. A name.
Thorfinn
Canute froze. This could not be. Thorfinn was dead.
And yet, when the stranger who called himself Thorfinn faced him, there was no doubt.
Their eyes found each other immediately. And as when Canute had first met him he could not resist the attraction. Not even Thorfinn's completely bruised face made him turn away.
Thorfinn had changed. Hatred and anger had long since left his eyes, had disappeared with Askeladd's death. But the emptiness that had spread within them afterwards, that absolute, infinite emptiness, had been filled over time. Canute could read calmness and confidence in them. Before him stood a man who had found himself. He had managed to sweep together the shards of his existence, to painstakingly put them together and to emerge anew from this structure.
Although time had shaped them both they were still fundamentally different. Thorfinn knew who he was, Canute had thrown himself away, existed only as a means to an end. As then he felt the stab in his heart that made him realize he still was a very pitiful creature.
And as then he wished to confide in Thorfinn. The longing deep in Canute's heart which had been buried for so long awoke to new life, rolled over him like a high wave and washed him away with it.
Thorfinn spoke politely, aware of his position.
You've learned to behave, Canute told him.
And hated it. A completely irrational panic rose in him. He himself had ousted Canute, had let the king take his place. But to be recognized by Thorfinn as just that king hurt. By Thorfinn, for whom he had never been more than a boy of the same age.
Friendship. Love. Discrimination.
He had wanted to lock this feeling away and never let it get out again but now he found himself craving it. In order to achieve his goal he had to mime the king. He had to play this role to the bitter end. To fall back into his old self now was dangerous because he was far from reaching paradise on earth. Everything he had built up so far was on shaky ground and a wrong decision based on a sentimental emotion could mean failure.
Thorfinn had been dead. He should have stayed that way.
For what choice did he have now? If he stood in his way, even attacked him again, Canute would have to kill him. This time on a path of no return. He would have to do it so that his dream had a future, so that he would not be a hypocrite. Because in a world with Thorfinn by his side he would be discriminating all the time, favoring him all the time. How could he save other people, create a better world for them, if he himself was no different from them?
Canute. Should you abuse your power to get through, I will ...
If he made the same mistakes as they did?
I will...
All would be doomed to failure.
Flee.
Suddenly everything was quiet. The men who surrounded them were silent. Both his subordinates and the red-haired man who had not left Thorfinn's side the whole time. All that could be heard was the sound of the waves breaking on the shore. Even Canute's thoughts paused for a moment....
Had he heard wrong?
The man who once knew only violence and revenge, whose animalistic wails after Askeladd's loss still robbed him of sleep would not fight. He would flee.
Flee because he knew how Canute's power worked. Flee because he knew it would be a pointless conflict, a pointless death.
Canute's heart grew incredibly light. He could not suppress the laughter that rose in his throat. Uninhibited it burst out of him. At first raspy, awkward, as if his voice had forgotten how laughter worked. Then louder and louder.
Yes, they were fundamentally different. They had grown up under completely different conditions. Yet something united them. The ruthless harshness of the world, useless fights, losses. Thorfinn, too, had had enough, wanted to break out of it. Their world could not continue like this. In this endless succession of bloodbaths, in which even the victors were basically losers. Thorfinn understood that. Thorfinn understood him.
He had long since discarded the polite phrases. To Thorfinn he was Canute and always would be. A little more grown up. Definitely. And with more power in his hands than was good for him. Without a doubt.
But Canute. Always Canute. Never a majesty, never the king he had to be for the rest of the world. It felt good to be himself again. Even though this state would only last as long as he knew Thorfinn was with him.
A conversation. A goal. A promise.
Together they would create the world they wanted. Each in his own way, but hand in hand.
He is a beautiful man, Canute thought. Had perhaps always thought so. Had probably realized years ago what was hiding behind the darkness that had eaten away at Thorfinn's soul. A strong man. A good man. Better than him, better than anyone else. And because he had sensed this, he had not been able to avert his gaze.
Love is discrimination, Willibald had said. Canute had held on to that all this time and it was hard for him to part with that point of view.
But perhaps love was also cohesion. Confidence. And the prospect of a peaceful future created together.
Loving someone without harming others. Protecting without hurting. To flee instead of going senselessly to one's death. Was it possible to love a person above all else and still value other people, not to deliver them to the knife in favor of the beloved? Was such a world conceivable?
Canute was not yet convinced. But if there was anyone he trusted to create such a world it was Thorfinn. He would not put any obstacles in his way, but while he pursued his own plans, he would wait anxiously for results.
Canute smiled. A cool breeze ruffled his hair.
It felt good to have a comrade.
It felt good to have a friend.
Oh
Maybe he was closer to believing Thorfinn than he had thought.