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Karli can not recall his mother. He never even realized there was anything odd about that until he was about four. He should have been sleeping. He knew that Thorfinn thought he was asleep. It’s nearly nightfall, and they are wrapped up in Thorfinn’s heavy travelling cloak. It is dark, and it smells sweet- like sweat and exhaustion, mixed with the smell of mead that had spilled on it. It is also cold. No matter how Karli tries to burrow into Thorfinn, trying to chase the elusive warmth that never seems like enough, he can not warm himself. He is not yet exhausted enough that the cold does not matter. He can hear someone talking. Then he realizes, tiredly, that Thorfinn is answering back. He can feel the rumble of Thorfinn’s voice deep in his chest, and when Karli lets himself listen, he realizes that the person speaking has been the prince, a strange, pretty man who watches Thorfinn and Karli too closely. Sometimes, when Thorfinn isn’t looking Karli will make faces at him, and the grim look on the prince’s face will melt away for a split second.
Seeing the prince smile should not make Karli as happy as it does. Karli does not like the prince. He’s just a rude crybaby who watches Thorfinn like he wants to either punch him or stay as far away from him as possible. It reminds Karli of the way Askeladd had looked at Bjorn.
Karli had liked Bjorn. Askeladd’s favour had done nothing but get him killed
Karli had not cried over Bjorn. He had learned over the years not to cry, and when things got too noisy, to cover his ears. He hated the noise. He hated the way his thoughts crowded his head when he was drifting off to sleep some nights. He hated it when Thorfinn left, and Karli could feel his chest tightening and an awful ache would grow in his throat, all of the things he did not know how to say getting backed up until he could barely breathe.
But Karli didn’t cry, because Karli was strong. Thorfinn said that all the time. He was always telling Karli how strong he was, and how proud he was, even if he never really said it like that. Thorfinn’s approval lived in all of the things he did not say, and it meant everything to Karli.
But the prince didn’t know not to cry. He was soft in all of the worst ways. Soft in all of the ways Karli wished Thorfinn was some days.
“-he doesn’t need a mother.” Thorfinn snapped, and Karli could feel his arms tightening around him. Karli leaned into it- he liked it when Thorfinn squeezed him just tight enough that for a split second, he felt like he was melting into Thorfinn’s arms and would never need to leave again.
“-Wasn’t what I asked.” The prince replied, bewildered. “I just- I just wanted to know if-”
Then, they are moving. Karli stirred when Thorfinn lept from the cart.
“Go back to sleep.” Thorfinn bounced Karli, like he had when Karli was just a dumb baby, too tiny to know not to trust Askeladd and other men with bright eyes.
The burn that takes up about half of Karli’s face where his skin had sloughed off in the aftermath of firebrightscary stings, and Karli buries his face in Thorfinn’s chest, searching out that warmth and knowing he will not find it.
Karli does not remember the concept of ‘mother’ until later, when they are in the prince’s palace and Askeladd’s blood has stained the floors in the throne room. It’s not a palace, exactly- more of a really big fort. Bigger than is probably practical, but that doesn’t stop some people from calling it a castle. For Karli it might as well be.
The prince did not get rid of Karli and Thorfinn After Askeladd died. Even when Thorfinn broke away from the men holding him back and begged Askeladd not to die. Karli did not understand the relationship between Askeladd and Thorfinn. It was strange and warped, twisted up from years of grief and anger that hardened and grew between them.
There was a familiar look on Thorfinn’s face when he held Askeladd, begging him to stay. It wasn’t despair or grief or anything like that. Even after Askeladd’s body had cooled all Thorfinn did was sit there, covered in blood. And Karli sat, frozen at the edge of the ring of men who had gathered to watch Askeladd breathe his last.
Karli did not remember what happened after. He did remember waking up next to Thorfinn, the two of them curled up together on the softest bed Karli had ever slept on. More than that, the two of them had been clean. All of the built-up grime from life with Askeladd’s men wiped away, and Thorfinn’s hair was brushed and pulled back. He did not look like Thorfinn at that moment. He looked too soft to be Thorfinn, all of the hard lines in his face relaxed and unwound.
Life after Askeladd was strange. Karli and Thorfinn slept in the same room as Canute. Thorfinn would follow him during the day, and Karli would stay in the room. A pretty lady had brought him more toys than Karli knew what to do with, and three times a day, she would bring him food. Hot food. Good food. Sweet porridges for breakfast, hearty roasted potatoes for lunch, and during supper he would eat with Thorfinn. They ate meat, then. Good meat, with spices and gravy. It was a strange change from the meals of charred rabbit and watery stews that Thorfinn would clumsily try to put together when they were traveling.
Eventually, after they moved to another different fortress, Karli was allowed out of the room during the days. This fortress was crawling with servants. He would watch the servant’s children some days. They seemed so happy, playing their stupid games together, and Karli wanted more than anything to storm over and kick the shit out of them for being so happy when Thorfinn looked so sad all the time. It wasn’t fair. None of it was. Why did they get so happy when all Karli wanted to do was cry?
Karli hadn’t liked Askeladd. He scared Karli, and he hurt Thorfinn. Askeladd was bad. So why was Thorfinn so sad when he died? And why did Karli half miss him some days? He missed Bjorn, too. Bjorn had been funny when he wanted to. He always told stories around the fire, and sometimes, when Thorfinn wasn’t around because of Askeladd, Bjornm would let Karli ride on his shoulders, and Karli could see everything from up there.
Karli didn’t remember what happened to Bjorn. All he could remember was the snow and the taste of blood in his mouth. Bjorn was gone, and Karli knew better than to ask where he had gone.
Karli watched as one of the servant’s children fell, scraping his knee. His lower lip wavered as blood pooled, and he ran towards the maid, who must have been his mother. She stopped scrubbing the laundry for a moment, turning to hold him as he wailed.
Karli reached up to touch the burn scar that took up half of his face.
“Thorfinn, who was my mother?”
Thorfinn froze, no longer attempting to coax Karli’s little arm through his nightshirt. His gaze flickered to Canute, who sat in his bed, pouring over a scroll. The torches were still lit. They would be lit for a few hours yet until Canute finally gave up on whatever he was reading and went to bed. “Why?”
“Is she dead?” Karli asked, point-blank.
“Yes.”
“Oh.” Karli wasn’t sure if he was disappointed about that. He had already sort of known that. If she were alive, she probably wouldn’t have given him to Thorfinn. “Was she pretty?”
“Very.” Again, Thorfinn glanced at the prince. Karli followed his gaze, frowning.
“Did Canute know her?”
“What?” Thorfinn asked, startled.
“Hmm?” Canute looked up, meeting Karli’s eyes.
“Did you know my mother?”
“...No?” Canute looked at Thorfinn. “What’s this about?”
Karli’s gaze wavered between them, the tiny cogs in his head turning. “Wait- is the prince my mother?” That would make sense. If Canute could be pretty like a lady, it made sense for him to be Karli’s Momma. That would also explain why he kept Karli and Thorfinn around. ‘
“WHAT?” Thorfinn spluttered. “I- no? Where did you even-”
“I mean… I guess you are technically my son?” Canute said thoughtfully.
“He’s what.” Thorfinn asked.
“I adopted him, remember?”
“No! I do not remember that. When the holy hell did you adopt-”
“Wait.” Karli cut in. “Am I a prince?”
“I mean, if we’re being technical…”
“Can we just- back up?” Thorfinn held up his hands. “Canute, when the everloving fuck did you adopt Karli?”
“Oh. Right. Probably around when we first showed up? Gunnar saw me, a gang of mercenaries, and a baby, so one thing led to another and he just kind of assumed I had a son.”
“And you just let him?” Thorfinn asked, bewildered.
“Well. Yes? Only after…” Canute trailed off. “Well, after Askeladd-”
“Don’t.” Thorfinn cut in. “Just- don’t.”
Silence.
“Right.” Canute cleared his throat. “Well. I had two options, alright?”
“And one of them was adopting Karli?”
Canute stared down at the form in front of him. “The other was selling you both.”
More silence. “Oh.” Thorfinn said quietly.
Karli’s stomach churned uncomfortably. He knew what happened when children went to slavers.
“I guess, yeah.” Canute shrugged.
Silence, again.
Thorfinn cleared his throat. “...How many people know?”
“Me, you, Karli, and a handful of my advisors.”
“Alright!” Thorfinn said, his voice unnaturally high. “Well- okay. And I’m…?”
“Legally? His mother.”
“Legally.” Thorfinn rubbed his eyes. “I see.”
Karli brightened. “Wait, so Thorfinn’s my Mama?” He looked up at Thorfinn, his eyes bright. “Does that mean I can call you Mama?”
“Well, I guess you’re a prince! So sure!” Thorfinn laid on the small palett where he and Karli slept. “I’m going to bed.”
“Goodnight, dear.” Canute said in a sing-song voice.
“Fuck off.”
“Goodnight!” Karli laid next to Thorfinn, warm and full, with the dim light of Canute's candle casting shadows around the room. Thorfinn smelled like soap and leather, and all Karli could think was that this was exactly where he was meant to be, curled up with Thorfinn.
Maybe tomorrow, he would try to play with the other children.