Chapter Text
There were two things the people of the South knew about the North.
The first was that winter came early, and second was that the Vikings never came without a reason.
So when the ships bearing the crest of the Haaland Clan appeared beyond the horizon, the kingdom of Real Madrid of the South watched with wary eyes. As among the men who arrived was the young heir of the Vikings of the North, Erling Haaland.
He was eleven years old when he first stepped foot inside the Southern kingdom. He was already being taught how to hold a sword, how to ride, how to command men twice his age. He had been told since he could remember that one day, the North would be his responsibility. He was expected to be strong. Honorable. And a leader worthy of his people. But on that particular day, Erling was more interested in escaping what the future holds.
He sneaked out and found his way into the gardens behind the palace, where he discovered a boy sitting beneath an old tree. The boy was about his age, though he looked nothing like the children Erling had grown up around. His clothes were simple, his hands scraped and dirty, and there was a book resting open on his lap.
Erling stared at him curiously. The boy noticed his presence and stared back. "Why is there a viking here?"
Erling frowned, still not yet that familiar with the language spoken in the South. "Hva mener du?" (What do you mean?)
The boy looked him up and down. "Oh right, you vikings speak different language in the North." The younger boy realized and spoke once again, "Well, you don't look very scary."
For perhaps the first time in his life, Erling had no answer. He just gazed back at the boy who has offended him a little but at the same time has piqued his interest. Then the boy smiled gently. "I'm Jude." Erling, hesitant at first, eventually sat beside him. "Erling." he introduced.
And that was how it began. Not with a treaty. Not with a battle. Not with the promises their fathers had made between kingdoms. Just two children beneath an old tree, neither of them knowing that the friendship they formed that afternoon would one day become the most important thing either of them had ever known.
The years that followed then passed quietly. Erling returned to the South whenever his clan had business with the kingdom and Jude was always waiting for him. They grew together despite the distance between their worlds.
The future king of the North learned the streets of the South, the general's son learned the stories of the Vikings. They trained together, argued over meaningless things, stole food from the kitchens, and, whenever Erling had to leave, Jude would stand at the docks and promise that they would meet again. They always did. Neither of them questioned why.
They were simply boys who had found a home in each other. For a while, that was enough.
Before kingdoms turned against each other, before crowns became heavier, before blood stained their very skin, and before the North would be forced to remember the South for something other than its warm summers and golden fields.
There was a time when Jude Bellingham knew exactly what stands up for. And there was a time when Erling Braut Haaland believed that, no matter what the future demanded of him, there would always be one person waiting for him at the end of the road. They were young then.
And the world had not yet taught them how cruel it could be.