You know as much as I don’t like TotK the Colgera battle was masterful. That was literally an experience that was good.

Part 4 of the nameless thing (suggestions?)

Written this morning in a sudden burst of creativity! Also, thank you to the people who have left notes- even if there’s not many of you, it’s nice to know someone’s reading this!

Norway had always thought that he would be alone. No one else could see his spirits, no one believed in his faeries, and they were terrified of his magic. And for a while, that had not mattered. He lived, perfectly happy, in the forests of his home, with no desire to leave and seek new lands. Sometimes a human might approach; man, woman or child- all left soon enough, not wanting to confront the small, pale boy with centuries-deep eyes. He never felt lonely. Not when he had the land, and his magic. But the day came when everything changed- when two other boys stumbled across him practicing his spells, in the dead of night when they should have been asleep. Norway did not need magic to tell that they were like him. They were bound by something ancient and powerful to their people, a tie that in turn drew them to each other. So he had gone with them, much against his better judgement. 

This new life unsettled Norway somewhat. He could sit for hours in silence beside Sweden, never feeling uncomfortable, both of them expressing something words could not. A friend- that was what Sweden was. And Denmark...he was loud, boisterous, always smiling- that damned smile- and never left Norway alone. Even Sweden knew not to interfere with Norway's magics. But Denmark pestered him relentlessly, until he found himself wishing that he could show the other his spirits, if only it would make him go away. He wanted to share that world of spellcasting and mystery with Denmark, wanted to take him to the highest peaks of his land and watch the strange lights in the sky there. Denmark was a warrior, a fierce ball of energy, brave and brash and idiotic- everything Norway looked down upon, yet somehow combined to create a person he never thought he would end up liking. But that was what had happened. 'Land.' he said. Sweden beside him nodded, eyes fixed on the strip of green in the distance. The one who called himself king, Harald, had been particularly ambiguous about their destination, preferring to say that it was a place that would bring them greatness. Now it seemed they had arrived. A small rowing boat was let down. Suddenly Norway felt panic rising within him; this was not a place he could understand, a place where the bond of nation went by another name. 'Sve, where are we?' he said, forgetting in his worry to always call him Sweden, never the stupid nickname that Denmark used. Sweden only shook his head. A voice called his name. 'Nor, come on!' He looked down to see Denmark sat in the little boat, Harald and axe in tow as ever. Something inside of Norway twisted uncomfortably. Then he slipped over the side of the longboat and joined the others. * Arthur watched the sunrise through pinched, tired eyes. It was raining, as ever, and his blond hair was plastered to his forehead. But that was the least of his worries. On the horizon he glimpsed sails, painted bold red and white. Another attack; that was the third this month. The Vikings would come in their strange low ships, murder two dozen or so villagers, and if they were lucky, a couple might manage to scale the town's stout stone walls. They left with their bloodlust sated and pockets full of gold- that Arthur could tolerate. As long as his country remained free, he did not complain. The rule of the Romans was still horribly fresh in his mind. And yet, something was different this time. He sensed a strange pull from across the waters, a pull not unlike that between him and his brothers, pagan Allistor and quiet Dylan. This pull did not mean well. It carried strength, fury, the weight of a growing power...Arthur yanked up the hood of his cloak, and wheeled round, shouting for the guardsmen to ready themselves.

The coat of mail came first. It was followed by worn leather armour, rags stuffed between for extra padding, then a dark green tunic over everything. That was the extent of Arthur's protection for this battle. He slung a dented metal cap over his head, and picked up his sword. Let them come. We will never fall. This might be a mere raid; it might be something more. Harald Bluetooth was rumoured to be sailing with the party this time, a warrior feared even here in England. He had his own kingdom- a small thing yet, but he could be looking for more land to add. Arthur's heart hardened. I must not fail. He strode outside and joined his fighters at the battlements. They greeted him with a series of respectful nods. Arthur may have been small, but he had proved himself in war, defending against the attacks of his brother Allistor's barbaric people.

They did not have to wait long. The Vikings wasted no time, leaping ashore and running into the first houses they saw. Sometimes the thatched roof would set alight, and a man would run out, hands filled with gold. Other times one of the English soldiers stationed there stepped forward, covered in the blood of his dead foeman. 'Archers.' The sound of bowstrings tightening filled the air. 'Nock. Draw. Loose.' Volley after volley of arrows rained down upon the attackers. Some had thought to bring shields, and crouched safe behind them; others resembled oversized geese after a while. Arthur found his eye caught by a band of fighters at the western shore. One wore a cloak dyed brazen red, and handled his huge battleaxe with surprising grace. He was the tallest of the three; his two companions were smaller, almost child-sized. But they too aquitted themselves well, bringing down every Englishman that approached. And then Arthur understood. This was why he had felt the pull of another nation, why he had greeted the Viking boats with far more trepidation than usual. 'The wall is yours,' he told his second-in-command, a grizzled bear of a man who was the veteran of a hundred battles. 'Be sure that you hold it. I'm going down there.' Before he had a chance to reply, Arthur was sprinting down the steps, sword brandished in front of him. Voices called his name, but he ignored them utterly. 

He cut down every man before him, made fiendish by the need to know these others, to take their land and make them submit to England. Once, the tides of battle brought Arthur face to face with Harald Bluetooth. It was for a mere second, but that marked his only moment of fear in the whole day. 'Arthur!' He spun about, to see one of his own men in the doorway of a house. 'What are you-' A feathered shaft sprouted from his eye. He crumpled to the floor, dead. 'Who-' Arthur turned yet again, to see the shortest of the three nation-warriors behind him. He was stony-faced and deep-eyed, with a small bow in one hand. The other hand was held aloft, and in it sparks swirled- 'Wait!' yelled Arthur. 'I'm like you-' The sparks struck him in the stomach, making him double at the waist and cough. But through the pain, his mind whirled. His greatest secret, the thing that no one knew, whilst several people knew he was a nation...magic. Spirits and faeries, demons that were kind only to him, powers and spells he had to keep hidden. Now there was someone to share all that with. Someone who was an enemy. 'Nor!' a loud voice called out. It belonged to the tall one with the red cloak, who was in the middle of killing a gate sentry. He spoke some more words in a strange language, now hacking at the gate with his axe. 'What's he saying?' demanded Arthur. 'Nor' turned back to him with an expression of such blankness, that Arthur had never felt more insignificant. He shook his pale head slightly, then spoke. 'I am Norway.' Norway's voice was quiet and accented. 'We have taken your land. You must stay here. Sweden-' He called out over his shoulder in that same language, then ran off to join his tall friend. Sweden was not so tall, and less ethereal, but Arthur was intimidated the most by him. Brothers. They are brothers. As he sat there, waiting at the point of Sweden's sword whilst wild foreigners took his homeland, Arthur felt an inexplicable envy. He was alone: these three helped each other. For the first time since the Romans, he feared that he would soon lose his freedom.