For the King, to Valhalla

OOC: Please read this OOC thread for a track listing as well as some background information on what I plan on doing here. Thanks for reading!

8 November 2032
12:02 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Styrbjörn Granseth began eating his sandwich; mustard and cold chicken slices.
"You know" he said with his mouth full to his friend Rafnar Sjöholm, "you should come over after school." He swallowed.
"I finally saved up enough allowance to get the new VasaMon* game. I'm going to the store after school, and you should come with me. We can play together."

"You have enough?" Rafnar asked, impressed before he sighed. Resigned to the fact that he knew he couldn't go.
"Pabbi wants me home. He's still mad I failed that math quiz."

"Oh" Styrbjörn said, sounding sad his friend couldn't come home to play video games.
"That sucks. I told you, you should have cheated off of me."

"Yeah" Rafnar replied as he poked around at his vegetables in his lunchroom tray, the conversation of kids all around them bouncing off the walls.

"He's not happy you did really well on that history test?" Styrbjörn asked. Styrbjörn was much better at math than Rafnar, but Rafnar was much better at history. Much better. He had to be stopped sometimes, from getting too excited as he talked about all sorts of historical facts.

"No" Rafnar rolled his eyes.
"He says I need to spend more time studying math."

"I could help" Styrbjörn offered.

"Pabbi and Mamma won't like it if they found out I was cheating off of you" Rafnar chuckled.

"No I mean really help you" Styrbjörn said with a nod.
"And you could help me with history!" he smiled.

"Heh" Rafnar chuckled, eating some of his peas.
"Maybe later. You need to go buy VasaMon!"

Styrbjörn smiled and nodded, taking another bite from his sandwich when Rafnar's eyes went wide for a moment.

"What's up?" Styrbjörn asked, his mouth full of sandwich.

"I know where we can go after school" Rafnar said, sounding a bit more subdued than usual. Fact was he was thinking about how to tell his friend this for a month or so. He'd just learnt about it then by reading a menntaskóli* history book his parents had got him.

"Oh? Where? I thought your pabbi wanted you home."

"I mean..." Rafnar replied, his hesitation coming from what he was about to tell his friend rather than any desire to disobey his parents.
"...it won't take long. And I think you should see it."

"Why?" Styrbjörn asked, now curious.

"It's your name" Rafnar replied.
"It's on a plaque downtown. I...um...I read about it. And checked it out on my own. It's definitely your name."

Styrbjörn stared blankly at his friend for a moment, trying to process everything.
"My name's on a thing?" he asked.

Rafnar nodded.
"On the base of a statue."

"What statue?"

"The one of the sad guy, holding the cross? Downtown by the market."

Styrbjörn knew exactly what statue that was. He'd seen it all of his life, but had never given it more than a passing thought.
"You gotta show me this."

---

8 November 2032
3:50 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Snow fell lightly against grey November skies as the two thirteen year olds, with backpacks in tow, made their way through the market area of Býkonsviði. Rafnar had himself a hot chocolate. Styrbjörn had refused one himself because he didn't want to spend any krossar. He had enough for the new VasaMon game and very little wiggle room.

"There" Rafnar said as he pointed at the statue. They approached it and Rafnar couldn't help but look at his friend. He had no idea how he'd react.

The statue was a sad looking monument, but one that blended into the background for Styrbjörn. He'd never had a reason to examine it, but he was noticing features of it now that he was getting close. His gaze was locked on the figure's sorrowful visage when he remembered why he and his friend were here. He looked down at the plaque at the statue's base.


"There" Rafnar said, pointing to the list of names.
"That's you."

Styrbjörn could hardly believe it. There was his name. Amongst the names of dead people. He read the full plaque again. It was surreal. He felt like...like he'd stepped into some upside-down world for a moment.

"A book I have says that it was someone with your name, during something called the Advent Executions."

"My uncle" Styrbjörn said softly.

"What?" Rafnar asked, a bit shocked.

"It was my uncle."

---

8 November 2032
4:15 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

"Mamma, I'm home!" Styrbjörn called out as he got come and brushed the snow off of his jacket before taking it off.

"Mamma says you're late!" Eyríkur, Styrbjörn's ten year old brother, called out from the kitchen where he was doing homework at the table. His eight year old sister Njála was far more welcoming.

"Did you get the new VasaMon?" she asked eagerly as Styrbjörn hung up his scarf.

"Sorry sis" he smiled.
"Something came up, but I'll get it tomorrow, I promise."

Njála nodded, seeming a bit disappointed, when Styrbjörn's mother Valfríður came out of the kitchen.
"You didn't get your game? I'm sorry sweetie" she said, kissing her son on the forehead.

"Mamma..." Styrbjörn protested, to no avail.

"Your brother is right though. You're late. It'll be dark soon."

"I know" Styrbjörn said.

"So where were you, if you weren't buying your game?" his mother asked. She didn't sound angry or accusatory. Still, she spoke with that authoritative motherly tone that implied Styrbjörn better have a good reason for his lateness.

"Well Rafnar wanted to show me something."

"Oh?" Valfríður asked. Rafnar was a good kid. She liked that her son was friends with him. He didn't get into any trouble.
"What did Rafnar want to show you?"

"He showed me the statue by the marketplace. The sad guy with the cross..."

Valfríður's eyes went wide at the mention of that statue. And she knew immediately what this was about. She and Þorfinnur were going to tell Styrbjörn the full story about his uncle and namesake some day...and it seemed that day had arrived out of the blue. He was thirteen now...it was perhaps inevitable at this point.

"...and I saw my name on the plaque. It says Styrbjörn Granseth was killed in 2015. Mamma, was that Uncle Styrbjörn?"

Valfríður took a deep breath.
"Your father will tell you when he gets home."

"Mamma, what were the 'Advent Executions'?" Styrbjörn asked, undeterred.

"I said your father will tell you." Styrbjörn began to speak up to ask why, but Valfríður knew that look and cut him off.
"I said your father will tell you, because he's the best person who can tell you. You should get started on your homework though, while I get dinner ready."

"But when will Pabbi get home?" Styrbjörn asked.

"The normal time" Valfríður replied.

"But..."

"Styrbjörn? Homework" Valfríður said assertively, in a way that made Styrbjörn drop his protests.

"Yes Mamma" he said, his mind still racing with questions he desperately wanted to ask.

---

8 November 2032
5:48 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

"Hey everyone!" Þorfinnur said as he got home, tossing his Freya Motors jacket over a living room chair.

"Pabbi!" Eyríkur and Njála said in unison as they ran to their father to hug him.

"Oh come here!" Þorfinnur proclaimed as he hugged his two youngest.

"Hey Pabbi" Styrbjörn said with a smile, taking off his headphones and setting down his literature homework on the coffee table.

"Hey" Þorfinnur replied with a smile.
"Too old to give your old man a hug?"

Styrbjörn blushed but smiled and hugged his father. He was about to ask him what his mother had told him to ask when his mother came out of the kitchen.

"Þor, could you come here for a moment?"

Þorfinnur looked up at his wife, a bit surprised.
"Yeah, um sure" he said, ruffling Eyríkur's hair as he joined his wife in the kitchen.

Styrbjörn could see into the kitchen, seeing his parents talk as his father sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He didn't dare try to eavesdrop though. Not with his younger siblings there who'd tattle on him. He didn't need to wait long though. Þorfinnur emerged from the kitchen with a smile.
"Eyríkur and Njála, go join your mother in the kitchen. Dinner is almost ready. I need to talk to Styrbjörn."

The two younger ones walked past him into the kitchen as Þorfinnur slowly walked to the couch where Styrbjörn was sitting. He sat next to his son.

"Pabbi..." Styrbjörn said, but his father didn't really reply. He stared off into the distance for a moment.

"You saw the statue?"

"Yeah...Rafnar showed me. Pabbi...was that Uncle Styrbjörn's name? Is that how he died?"
Styrbjörn wanted to know. He knew he was named after his uncle, and he knew his uncle had died sometime before he was born. How or why...well that was never spoken about. In truth because his parents didn't want to rush into those subjects. The children would learn all about the War and the Syndicalist era in due time.
In that sense Þorfinnur was ready for this conversation. He just thought- perhaps foolishly- that he'd had more time. Styrbjörn was thirteen though...he'd truly learn about the Syndicalist era and Civil War at school this year. It was in the curriculum this year. The first time Styrbjörn would learn about it in school.

"Yes" Þorfinnur said softly, nodding as he thought about his younger brother.
"I..." he paused. He had planned for this talk but now that it was here he just...he couldn't speak. At least for the moment.
"Your uncle died when he was just a year older than you. He was...he was killed. He was a martyr though. A real martyr. He died for what he believed in."

"The plaque" Styrbjörn said, "it said he was killed by the Syndicalists."
He knew in very broad terms what Syndicalism was, and that there was a war years before he was born. His father was a part of it. He'd seen bits of his old uniform. And pictures of his father when he was younger with his fellow soldiers. The broader context of the War, however, was unknown to him.

"Yeah" Þorfinnur replied quietly.

"Pabbi" Styrbjörn asked softly, sensing that his father was having trouble.
"What...what happened?"

"What happened was..." Þorfinnur had to stop. He almost said "your uncle died because I wasn't here to protect him," but he'd stopped himself. He'd been to grief counselling. He'd learnt to not blame either his father or himself for his brother's death.

"...what happened was that there was a war. Syndicalists were...well...they were dictators. They punished you if you didn't think like they did. I'd had enough. I just had enough, and I left. I left home to go to Austurland to join the FRE, and fight the Syndicalists."

"Those are your pictures..." Styrbjörn said. Þorfinnur nodded. He opted to not tell his son about his father's abuses and how that had driven him away too. He'd reconciled with Sigfreður years ago, and he'd been a loving grandfather to his children. He wasn't going to taint his son's view of his grandpabbi.

"Yes" Þorfinnur said.
"I had to leave to fight them...and I promised your uncle Styrbjörn I would be back. I would fight my way back here to save him. I...I failed."

"The Syndicalists lost though" Styrbjörn replied. He knew that much.

"Not soon enough..." Þorfinnur said.
"Your uncle turned to Jesús Kristur in those dark times. He prayed for peace, for the violence to stop." Þorfinnur nearly broke down. He nearly cried, but he stopped himself. He owned it to his son to explain.

"Your uncle never did anything wrong. All he did was pray for a better world and loved God. But religion...that was one of those things the Syndicalists didn't like. They hung him. They hung him with others who loved God like he did."

Styrbjörn sat there, horrified that such a thing could have happened.
"Pabbi..."

"I told Styrbjörn I would come back. But we didn't liberate Býkonsviði for another year and a half...I got back, but it was too late."

"Pabbi..." Þorfinnur looked into his son's eyes.
"...I'm sorry" he said as he hugged his father. Þorfinnur held his son close, tears in his eyes as he hugged him tight. He loved him. He loved his children with everything he had. He had seen the horrors of war, he'd lost his brother. It made him treasure the peace and tranquility he had with his family. He squeezed Styrbjörn and didn't want to let go.

"I love your uncle so much" Þorfinnur whimpered as he held his son. His eyes were getting blurry from the tears.
"I was so proud of him, for his beliefs" he added as he slowly released the hug.
"And I miss him so much. I remember when you were born. I saw your eyes...you have your uncle's eyes. I had to...I had to name you after him."

"Thank you for telling me, pabbi" Styrbjörn said softly, seeing the emotions it raised in his father. Þorfinnur nodded, wiping away some tears and smiling.

"I never told you before because you weren't old enough. You're going to be learning about the Syndicalist era and the War soon though. You should understand more when you do."

"I think I understand" Styrbjörn replied.

"You do?" Þorfinnur asked.

"My pabbi and uncle were both heroes" the thirteen year old said with a smile. Þorfinnur grinned and nearly choked as he chuckled.

"Come on. Let's get some dinner."

Styrbjörn nodded, following his father into the kitchen. For Styrbjörn it was, that story aside, a normal Monday evening.
For Þorfinnur, however, it was special. Every peaceful evening with his family was a blessing his brother had prayed and died for.

---

Brightest Star by Prophet, 3:46

*VasaMon- Gotta catch 'em all
*menntaskóli- high school

OOC Note: Thanks to @Kyle for the idea for the post.

8 March 2014
5:40 pm
On a Saturday
Saintes, Saintonge

Markthór lay in bed. He was in his dorm room at the University of Saintes. The rain pattered on the windows as he lay on his side, one pillow clutched to his stomach and one between his legs. His blankets draped over him loosely as he lacked the energy to wrap himself in them.
The clock blinked 5:40pm...and he just felt nothing. Earlier he had done what he usually did; he'd checked for news on his Aunt Júlíetta and Uncle Tjörvi, and his cousin Rúrik. And like every other time...nothing. No one knew anything. Kiojaleit was still far behind the front lines of the war, deep in Syndicalist territory. Finding out anything was impossible unless you knew someone, and Markthór didn't.
The only reason he kept at it-searching for information he knew likely wasn't there- was because he loved his family deeply. That he never got to say goodbye played into it. He felt like there was something left unsaid, and he wanted to know that his aunt, his uncle, and his cousin were ok so he could reach out and reconnect. He had, however, once again come up empty. Why did he keep it up though? When he knew nothing good would come of it? Of course he'd come up empty before though, so why had it gotten to him in a funk today of all days? He didn't know.

He closed his eyes, letting the patter of the rain relax him. He remembered one of the last nights he had back in Prydania. He didn't know it was one of his last nights in his homeland back then. His father had sprung the news they were leaving the night a few nights later. Back then though, he only barely understood what was happening around him in the world of grownups. And he and Rúrik spent that night pretending they were looking for hidden treasure. Each decked out with hockey sticks and goalie leg pads as they explored the fields by their farmhouse.
Their farmhouse...he'd grown up in the big city that was Saintes but that house...Jesús Kristur the memory of that house just made him smile. And then dip further into sadness, knowing it was lost somehow. He remembered sitting against the wall as he and Rúrik had finished their adventure at dusk, laughing and showing each other their finds- shiny rocks and lost coins.

It was so simple back then. He didn't really know what "Syndicalism" was, or what "collectivization" was. He was twelve. His cousin- who was practically his brother- was ten. And they had each other. And their adventures. He couldn't help but think....he wanted to just go back. Rewind time and freeze it at that moment. When it was just him and his cousin, back when the world didn't matter. The politics didn't matter. He teared up as he thought at that prospect. To just "be" in that moment forever. And as he thought on it he felt warm. He felt happy remembering Rúrik, remembering his home. The sights, the smells, the air of the central Prydanian countryside. The more he thought though, the more he longed to go back and freeze time, the warm feeling faded. Faded until there was just a cold pit in his stomach. He opened his tear-soaked eyes to his dorm room. He sighed and sat up, running a hand through his hair.
"I miss you bro" he said softly, breaking out in a soft cry before collecting himself. He forced himself up and made his way to his kitchen to make some dinner.

Jean-Louis Solé was getting a bag of chips from the kitchen of his dorm when he heard what he thought was crying from Markthór's room. It had ended as quickly as it had begun though and before he knew it Markthór was in the kitchen with him. And his eyes were certainly tear-soaked.

"Hey," Markthór said softly.

"Hey man," Jean replied softly. His friend and roommate was obviously bothered by something, but he didn't want to press the issue. He took his chips instead, heading to the common area with the couch and tv, but not before switching on the light in the kitchen.

"Here, some light will make cooking easier," he said with a friendly smile.

"Yeah," Markthór replied listlessly with a nod as he collected some cups of instant noodles. Jean just nodded himself. Part of him really wanted to ask what was bothering Markthór but he resisted the urge to say anything. He just took himself to the couch and turned on tv with his chips. He heard the sound of Markthór beginning to heat up some water, but then...he never came out. Surely he'd head on out to watch some tv as he waited for water to boil?

Jean didn't know Markthór when they were both assigned to the same dorm. Jean was studying engineering, Markthór was studying business on a basketball scholarship. And he was Prydanian, though he'd recently completed his national service to become a Santonian citizen. The Civil War in Prydania- and the stream of Prydanian refugees to Saintonge- was something Jean knew about, but it was an abstract thing until he met Markthór. Not that Markthór talked about it much. Jean knew Syndicalists had forced his roommate and his family from their home, and that was about it. Markthór was otherwise a pretty fun and easygoing guy.

Jean rose from the couch, and poked his head into the kitchen, to see Markthór sitting with his back against the oven, his knees pulled to his chest, and his face buried in his knees. He was...crying? It was soft. Like a whimper. Jean froze. Markthór hadn't seen him. He could go back. Pretend he didn't see him like this but...fuck, man. This guy was his friend.

"Hey dude..." Jean said, reaching to turn off the stovetop so the water didn't boil over, "...are you alright?"

Markthór just sat there, face buried in his knees, not saying anything for a moment, though his soft crying had stopped when Jean spoke. The truth was he was blushing, embarrassed having been found like this. Jean took a deep breath, and sat down on the kitchen floor across from him.

"If it's something you don't want to talk about, well, I get it, but I'm here to listen if you need someone to spill to."

Markthór sat there for what seemed like forever, petrified in place. He didn't even look up when he finally spoke.
"I'm never going to see my cousin ever again," he said in a voice that seemed to tremble on the verge of tears.

Jean felt a nervous lump form in his throat. So this WAS about something Prydanian. He didn't know if he was the best person to handle this- he was from an upper-middle class family from Saintes. He couldn't exactly relate to losing your family and home, and having to start a new life somewhere else. Problem was, there was no one else here. It was just the two of them. If anyone was going to comfort his friend it was him.

"Mark, I'm sorry," he said softly.
"Did...you hear something? Bad news?"

Markthór just sat there for another moment before he straightened his back against the oven, raising his head from his knees.
"No," he said listlessly.
"That's the problem. I never hear anything. Aunt Júlíetta and Uncle Tjörvi and Rúrik might as well..." he began to cry again, as his head hung. He was deeply embarrassed to be seen crying about this in front of someone. He'd tried to keep himself guarded about this, to do his own digging and his own research privately. He couldn't help it though. Why it spilled out of him today of all days he didn't know, but it was happening.

"They're not even names on a list," he whimpered as he cried, too ashamed to even look at Jean as he kept his head down.
"They're just gone..." he cried some more.

Jean felt frozen for a moment. This abstract thing- this thing he knew from the news- was just smacking him in the face. This far away War, and here was a victim of it. Someone he knew. Someone he liked, who was affected by this. He wasn't sure how to react, so he just tried to be empathetic.
"Rúrik is your cousin, yeah?" he asked.

Markthór nodded as his head hung. He was a basketball player- tall and lean- but his body just seemed to be crumbling like this as he sat on the floor. Like a mountain whose cliff-face had finally given way to the pressures of erosion.
"He's...he is...he was practically my brother," he mumbled.
"And my best friend," he added as he began to weep some more.

"Can you tell me about him?" Jean asked softly.

Markthór looked up, with tears in his blue eyes.
"He was two years younger than me," Markthór said solemnly.
"I protected him, because...because that's what I...I just did..." he began to cry again, but he clenched his jaw as he forced himself through the tears.
"He was my little cousin...my uncle and aunt and him, they lived in the same house as us. So he was also my little bro, and he'd always make me smile," Markthór said as he grinned for the first time that day.
"I think he was just trying to impress me, but he made me smile. I played hockey back home, and I taught him how to skate. I taught him how to shoot. We did everything together...we snuck out after dark to go on adventures in the wheat fields, or if it was too cold to go out we'd stay up in secret, watching wrestling late at night. We did everything together..." Markthór said, smiling softly as he reminisced, before his eyes teared up.
"I never got to say goodbye. Pabbi just said one night we had to leave. And that Aunt Júlíetta and Uncle Tjörvi and Rúrik weren't coming...I don't know why but I never got to say goodbye..."
Markthór couldn't help it this time, crying as he remembered his aunt and uncle, his cousin, and his family home, all with the sinking feeling that he'd never see any of them- or it- again.

Jean nodded through all of this, staying silent for a few moments.
"Mark, I... I can't say I know what it's like, but I hope your family is ok..."

Markthór just continued to cry for another moment.
"I can't even find them on a list of dead...if I knew they were dead I could have closure," he sniffed.
"I would know...I just know I can't..." he cried more, gasping for air as the tears came, "I just know I can't find them. I can't find them, and I never will...they're gone. Rúrik... oh God, I'm sorry...I'm sorry, whatever's happened to you I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." He surrendered to his tears, bawling with his face in his knees again.

"Mark," Jean began, but Markthór just continued.

"You know why I wear that armband with the old Prydanian flag when I play?" he asked his roommate.
"Some people give me shit because they think I don't want to 'assimilate.' Some people think I'm making a political statement. I'm not...I'm really not..." he began to cry more..."I wear it so Rúrik and Uncle Tjörvi and Aunt Júlíetta, if they're out there, can somehow know I haven't forgotten about them...and that I fucking hate...." he clenched his jaw tighter.
"I fucking hate the people who tore us apart." His eyes were wide now, and he was trembling.

"Mark," Jean said softly, reaching out to put a hand on his friend's shoulder, "I really mean this. I'm sorry. For everything. No, I can't relate, but that doesn't mean I don't...I don't feel for ya, buddy. I'm really sorry your family had to go through that."

Markthór nodded, breathing deep even has he trembled. He said nothing, just sitting there as his friend spoke.

"You keep talking about your cousin like he's gone, but he's not on any list right? That's a good thing. I know it seems hopeless when you don't hear anything, but there's nothing wrong with holding onto hope. If he's not reported as dead then Rúrik is probably still alive, and he's probably missing you too. And you'll see him again one day."

Markthór stayed quiet for a moment...his mind was jumping between dispair and the wilingness to believe in hope that his friend spoke about.
"You know what I want?" he asked softly.

"What is it, buddy?" Jean asked.

"More than anything, I want to be able to see Rúrik again, in my home country. With it at peace." It was...it was the ultimate wish for him because it echoed to what he thought about in bed. He couldn't turn back time to when he and Rúrik were carefree, but...to see him again, in a Prydania that was at peace, would be the next best thing.

"I want that for you too," Jean said without hesitation. The conflict that he occassionally glanced over when it popped onto the news had, that afternoon, become far less abstract and far more real to him.
"I really do."

Markthór sniffled, wiping away the tears from his eyes.
"Thank you, Jean," he said softly as he hung his head. Jean grinned, patting his shoulder.

"I can't imagine what you're going through, but it's the least I could do."

Markthór smiled and nodded.
"It was enough," he said as he sniffled.

Jean smiled back and stood up and looked at the instant noodles left uncooked on the counter, and then opened his wallet to see how much cash he had on hand.
"Come on, they're showing movies all night. I'll order pizza."

"At least let me chip in," Markthór said as he slowly stood.

"Nah, big guy," Jean said with a grin.
"Lemme treat you."

Markthór nodded, sighing before he hugged his roommate. Jean hugged back before Markthór made his way to the couch to find something on tv. He still didn't know what had happened to his family back home but... it just took a friend to remind him to have hope.

---

The Dawn Will Come by Rachel Hardy, 3:05

OOC Notes: Thanks to @Kyle for the idea for this post

2 January 2016
7:53 pm
On a Saturday
Hadden, Prydania

"You can't go on the air like this," William insisted, but Tobias just brushed past him. The ÚFP* and GRK* people were waiting for him.

"No, I can, and I will."

"Tobias," William said firmly, grabbing the Prince's arm and forcing him to look at him. You've just killed a man. Again."

"I killed a butcher," Tobias replied angrily.
"Ask anyone from here to Vættern if they're upset I killed Filip Fuglsang. None of the farmers will be...the ones who are still alive anyway."

William felt his heart racing. That look Tobias had...it was anger, but not full of rage...it was more a look brimming with righteous fury. That took William off guard. Tobias had always been an emotional kid, but he'd never seen him with so much...control...over his anger. He wasn't screaming or lashing out. He knew exactly what he'd done. And unlike with Gylfi Hjaltdal? He didn't seem to regret killing Filip Fuglsang.

"Tobias, these addresses are very important. They're our way to reach out to the country. The whole country. Even the people in Syndicalist territory."

"I know," Tobias replied.
"And I have a lot to say." If fire could be green it would look like what William say in the Prince's eyes. He turned from William and entered the studio. William stood in the hallway for a moment. He could stop him but...to what end? This was a scheduled broadcast after all...he entered the producer's studio as ÚFP and GRK people prepared everything as the clock got closer to eight o'clock. William took a piece of paper from the main desk in the room. Prepared remarks. He sighed. He knew Tobias wouldn't be following the script. Maybe that's why Tobias seemed so confident? He'd always been good at improvising speeches. He got that skill- being comfortable while speaking publicly- from his mother. Had he finally realized that? Had he finally grasped what he was good at, and was now unafraid to wield it?

William looked through the glass divider in the old radio station. He saw Tobias standing there. Not doing anything as he looked down. Part of him was concerned, of course, but a deeper part of him wanted to hug the boy. Yes, Tobias was twenty now- nearly twenty-one- but he was still the kid William had cared for in his mind. And as much as he was worried about what he wanted to say, he wanted to hug him. All of that righteous fury...he wanted to be able to help him with it, but right now the Prince just wanted...well...William didn't know. He suspected he'd find out.

Lights blinked on and Tobias the director leading the technicians gave Tobias the signal that he was live. The prince paused for a brief moment, before he begun. And yes, William was correct. He went off script immediately.

"I heard a lot of noise beyond our borders," he began.
"People try to keep me from it for my own peace of mind, but I still hear it. I hear people abroad say ‘oh we don't take sides, we just abhor war.’ As if I didn't abhor it? As if we didn't abhor it? It pisses me off...because I stand here with the blood of a butcher on my hands telling everyone listening, in Prydania or elsewhere, that I hate war. I fucking hate it. I feel angry right now. My blood pulses through me. The ringing in my head, my clenched fists, this is what war has made me, and I fucking hate it. So to everyone who sits from a comfortable perch and says 'oh I just wish the fighting would stop,' congratulations. You've managed the least brave thought there is to have. War is awful because I see it every day. I see dead people every day, people who died in my name who I never knew. I don't know how to handle that. I don't like it. I don't like seeing those people die. I don't like being reminded of my family's butchering. And I hate seeing my country torn apart. I love it, and it's torn and in pain, its people are scared and cold....and I hate it because I can't fix it. So I'm doing the only thing I can do. I'm fighting."

“We fight because we have no choice. To everyone who laments the fighting, I shake my head. What do you expect from us when you hear of the mass executions in Darrow, the Harrying of Hadden, the Advent killings, or the labour camps? Do you want us to let it happen? Just give up on the dream we have for our country to make it better?"

"I want nothing but a Prydania where the innocent aren't killed, the faithful don't have to be martyred, and people aren't forced into labour camps. I want that with all my heart, and so do millions of other Prydanians. We can only get that country, though, by fighting."

"Thomas Niselsen- who is still thinking I give these speeches because I somehow want him to respond to me with his lies- and everyone else who blames the war on the FRE is blind to that. And if you are still blind to that now, with the bodies of the faithful still hanging from the streetlamps in Býkonsviði, then you're truly delusional. I don't want war. I know it's awful, probably more than most people who say such things, because I live through it every day. I watch my country burn every day."

"I fight, and we fight, because there is no other way. We do it because that dream we have for our country- of peace- is worth everything to achieve. Even my own life. If the Syndicalist Republic wants to vilify me, if the foreign commentators want to pontificate about the evils of war, here I am. I'm not afraid. I'm a Stormlord, like my grandfather before me. And I will not give up on my country."
Tobias began to tear up as he continued to speak.

"If I should live or if I should die, let 'Prydania' be emblazoned on my heart. The land and and the people. I hate that both are suffering, and I will fight until I am gone to end the pain."

Tobias had given the whole speech looking down, to the side. Almost as if he were staring into a thousand yard abyss. He looked up now though, and nodded at the director, who cut the feed. He was done. His heart was still beating though... he'd killed a man less than two hours ago. And earlier... he thought about Jægdar. The deity his family revered when they were Thaunic. He thought about what had happened earlier that day...Jægdar, who was still worshipped by Prydanian Thaunics. He was a god of the hunt. Of the forests. Of the land. Tobias was a Messianist. He had been for three years now, but if his ancestors embraced the personification of the land then...then he would too. It wasn't a matter of who you worshipped...Tobias looked up into William's eyes on the other side of the glass.

It was simply a matter of fighting for the land, and its people.

---

Here I Am by Tommee Profitt, Brooke DeLeary, and Riley Friesen, 3:18

*ÚFP- Útvarp Frelsiprydansk- Radio Free Prydania, the FRE's clandestine radio station
*GRK- Gojan Rikskringkasting- Goyanean State Broadcasting, helped boost the FRE's message after Goyanes intervened in the Prydanian Civil War in 2013

9 December 2032
4:46 pm
On a Thursday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

The Miðborginni Ísíþróttavettvangur* wasn't that busy. Thursday afternoon wasn't exactly the peak time for hockey or figure skating. Pop music echoed from the east rink as a few people engaged in free skate, but the place was otherwise empty. Save for the players, coaches, and parents of Ísak Beck Grunnskóli's hockey team. The after school hours and the cheap price for ice time due it being the middle of the week made it perfect for practice.

Styrbjörn Granseth just finished tying his skates up when he fished a role of hockey tape out of his bag and began taping around his socks. He peaked up and frowned though.

"Rafnar, come on! We only have like..." he dug his phone out of his bag, "fifteen minutes until practice starts."

"I'm fine, don't worry," Rafnar smiled. He had his lower goalie pads on but not his chest guard, which was significantly more bulky than the player chest guard Styrbjörn could just slip on.

"You sure?"

"Yeah don't worry," Rafnar grinned. He was listening to music. It always helped him get into the mood to play hockey. He did, however, grab his goalie mask. It was plain white- a custom paint job was very expensive- but he'd made it his own with VasaMon, Verforvander, and Amitz-Brave stickers.
There was one other one though, a sticker of a character from a Captain Saintonge comic named Styrbjörn. He was a Prydanian themed sidekick for the Captain from years and years ago that played off the meaning of the name "Styrbjörn"; "Strong Bear." His friend Styrbjörn had given it to him for his mask and he proudly stuck it on the left side.

Rafnar began digging his chest protector out of his bag when he looked up, his eyes going wide. This was practice. You didn't wear game jerseys during practice. You could wear whatever other jersey you wanted and Styrbjörn had gone and done it- he'd brought back the Erkiengill Íshokkífélag* jersey.

Styrbjörn didn't mind though, in fact he was excited. It wasn't an Erkiengill game jersey, but one of their practice jerseys. It was grey with the logo, and not much else. The reason he had it- and loved it- was a Spilvel sponsorship patch. All ÍDP* teams wore sponsors on their practice jerseys, and Erkiengill's sponser was Spilvel.
Styrbjörn loved playing hockey, and he loved Spilvel, which is why he begged his parents to get him the jersey. And now finally- after his mother had forcibly taken it from him for a much needed wash- it was back!
Of course this was still an Erkiengill jersey and this was Býkonsviði. Which was why Rafnar was worried.

"Hey Styr," Reinhold Gamst, a defensemen, said seeing the jersey.
"You still wearing that? Come on! Erkiengill sucks!"

"They beat Skiodalr last night," Rafnar said. He was usually soft spoken- and that suited him well as players tended to let goalies have their space- but he wanted to speak up for his friend.

"Yeah well so did we two nights ago," Reinhold replied, referring to Konunglegur Býkonsviði*, the hometown team. He turned to Styrbjörn again.
"So what, you like Erkiengill? You a traitor?" he asked, teasing Styrbjörn.

Rafnar frowned. Reinhold was a defensemen, meaning he was supposed to work with him as a goalie. Reinhold, however, tended to talk a lot despite being lazy on the ice. Rafnar had to hustle extra hard in net when Reinhold was out there.

"Hey Styrbjörn just likes Spilvel," he protested.

"What? Those baby toys?" Reinhold chuckled.

Now it was Styrbjörn's time to frown. Spilvel had a special place in his heart. It meant a lot to his family and how he bonded with his father.

"They're not dumb just because you can't figure out how to build them," Styrbjörn remarked.
"And this guy who likes baby toys had to score three goals last week just to make up for your mistakes."

"Rafnar let those two goals in!" Reinhold protested.

"Yeah but you deflected one past me!" Rafnar replied.
"You're supposed to help the goalie, remember?"

"It's not my fault!" Reinhold shot back, now on the defensive.
"I didn't have my Toki's and poppterta before the game!"

The squabble, however, was finished when Coach Mordt- their history teacher- entered the room.

"The ice is almost clean boys, so get ready."

The team nodded in close to unison, the smell of freshly zamboni'd ice evident even in the locker room.

---

9 December 2032
5:03 pm
On a Thursday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Þorfinnur Granseth sat on the benches overlooking the ice and his son's team came out. He'd resisted the urge to wave at Styrbjörn, figuring he'd save the thirteen year old the embarrassment of his father waving.
It was relaxing though. He'd played hockey as a child, but hadn't since he left home to join the FRE during the War. Styrbjörn being into it meant he got to revisit the sounds and sights of a rink. The way the blades sounded against fresh ice, the sounds of pucks against sticks, boards, and pads. Speaking of pads...his son's team's goalie's father came up carrying two coffees.

"There ya go," Garri Sjöholm replied with a grin, handing Þorfinnur one of the coffees.

"Thanks," Þorfinnur said with a soft, nervous smile.
His son had been friends with Rafnar Sjöholm since they were both little, but Þorfinnur hadn't gotten to know Rafnar's father Garri too much. They'd met enough times, but they were never really close. It wasn't anything Þorfinnur had against Garri. He and his wife Láretta seemed very nice, and Rafnar was a pleasant and respectful boy. It's just that he was busy, Garri was busy, and they only had time to chit chat here and there when picking their kids up from whatever it was they were up to.

Valfríður, Þorfinnur's wife, was very different. She and Láretta were very close. It had been last Saturday evening, after the boys' game. They'd come home, Styrbjörn had put his gear away and gone up to shower while the younger kids were put to bed. Þorfinnur thought it was any other Saturday evening. And then...

"Þor, we should talk."

Þorfinnur felt his stomach twisting. You never wanted to hear that from your wife...his mind raced a mile a minute at what it could be, but thankfully Valfríður didn't waste time.
"It's about Rafnar's father."

"Garri?" Þorfinnur had asked.
"What about him?"

Valfríður was, despite her outward appearance, nervous about this as well. She'd known this for years and hadn't told her husband because he didn't need to know. Styrbjörn finding his name- his uncle's name to be more specific- on the Advent memorial had given her a new perspective, however. Their son could not be shielded from the memories and legacy of the Civil War and the Syndicalist Era. And it had been Rafnar who'd found out about the memorial plaque's contents too. It made this conversation doubly pressing. It would come out sooner rather than later.

"Garri's a former lieutenant in the Syndicalist Republican Army," she said.

Þorfinnur had been stunned. He needed a moment to collect his thoughts. He was angry at first, though he didn't show it. Therapy had helped him with that...but so had time. His wife had comforted him, and they'd talked. Garri was part of the mass pardon of Syndicalists in August of 2017, and didn't appear to be connected to anything terrible.

"Why are you telling me this now?" Þorfinnur had asked.

"Styrbjörn's getting to be that age. He asked about his uncle's death, he's going to be learning the basics of the Civil War in spring. And he will ask questions. I bet Rafnar will ask questions from his parents too. We all need to know this is coming, and not be surprised by anything."

So here he was. His turn to be at practice, and Garri was here. The sounds of the kids on the ice- the skates against the ice, the sounds of sticks and pucks and the instructions of the coach- echoed softly. Þorfinnur sipped his coffee.

"So...Valfríður told you?" Garri asked, sipping his own coffee.

"Yeah, after the last game," Þorfinnur answered.

"I swear to God, I thought you knew," Garri replied nervously.

"Valfríður doesn't tell me anything," Þorfinnur chuckled.

"Yeah, it's the same with Láretta," Garri grinned.
"I swear this is true, she didn't tell me you were former FRE until last Sunday."

"Look at our wives- saving us from ourselves," Þorfinnur said with a sigh.

"I wonder what they thought would happen. That we'd start throwing fists?" Garri chuckled before stopping.
"You're...not gonna try and fight me are ya?" he asked nervously, in a way that tried to come off as joking.

"I could ask you the same thing," Þorfinnur smirked before sipping coffee.
"But I've known ya for years. You seem like you're a good guy. You've raised a very respectful son."

Garri sighed with some relief. It wasn't just that he was former Syndicalist Republican Army. Þorfinnur had lost his brother in the Advent Executions. If anyone was going to carry anger over that to today, seventeen years later...well it would be someone like Þorfinnur. And Jesus...it was almost seventeen years later exactly. The Christmas decorations around the rink couldn't help but remind Garri. And probably Þorfinnur.

"Thank you" Garri replied, "your boy is a good kid too. I'm glad Rafnar has a friend like Styrbjörn."

Þorfinnur smiled. He wasn't put off by this revelation about Garri, nor was he angry. It was just a bit awkward. Thankfully Garri said something else to save Þorfinnur from thinking of something not-awkward to say.

"I am sorry though. That Rafnar told Styrbjörn about your brother. That should have been something you told him on your own terms."

Þorfinnur looked at Garri, and felt his jaw tense up. The fact that Garri fought for the same people who killed his brother...but the rage subsided. Not because he stopped feeling sad over his brother's death, no far from it. Instead he felt...well...a mix of things.
The first was time. It had washed over old wounds and he no longer felt angry at everyone who'd supported the old Syndicalist cause like he'd used to. Garri wasn't the only former Syndicalist he knew. He'd made peace years ago with the notion that they'd simply fought for what they believed in. Even if it was wrong; they'd been pardoned. They started new lives. Didn't they deserve a chance to show they were worthy of the King's mercy?
The second was...Styrbjörn. Not his son, but his brother. His brother who had died praying for peace. Peace wouldn't have been possible if every grudge was held onto once the fighting stopped. Honouring what his brother died for- and the forgiveness he'd likely urge him to show- was what allowed Þorfinnur to heal along with the first point.

"Rafnar didn't mean anything by it," Þorfinnur said.
"He saw something interesting. He wanted to show a friend. Boys will be boys and all. Besides, have you seen the curriculum? They're learning about the War this year for the first time. I'd have to do it eventually."

"Heh...yeah," Garri replied nervously. Þorfinnur couldn't help but take note of that nervous chuckle, but he didn't pursue it. Instead he decided to find something to bond over.

"Maybe we were on opposite sides of some battles," Þorfinnur mused. Garri chuckled.

"Maybe. Where were you?"

"Hadden?" Þorfinnur asked. That was one of the bigger battles of the War.

"Nope," Garri replied.
"We were held in reserve. You guys kicked our asses so thoroughly I spend the aftermath of that Battle retreating west through the night with the remnants of our forces who made it out."

"Yeeesh," Þorfinnur replied. He couldn't imagine that was a pleasant experience in December.
"What about Jórvik?"

"Ha, yeah, I was at Jórvik," Garri nodded.
"My platoon was tasked with holding the approach to the Branbridge."

"Ah," Þorfinnur replied, nodding as he got into the conversation. The War was awful, but Garri knew that too. And since they both knew, since they both lived it...well it felt good to talk about it with someone who understood.
"I was part of a company that went south to secure Klerksdorp before pushing north."

Garri chuckled.
"Ha! I...I remember that. Like it was yesterday. Whoever was manning the radio on our south flank pissed himself over the air when you boys started shelling."

"It was a fight," Þorfinnur nodded, "I think your boys down there put the one guy who scared easily on radio because they made us earn the right to enter that city."

Garri nodded. He...he didn't feel good about who he fought for during the War. Still, he appreciated that Þorfinnur seemed to regard him and his fellow SLLH* soldiers as fighting men in their own right. He decided to ask the next battle.
"Býkonsviði?"

"The short answer is 'yes,'" Þorfinnur smiled.
"The complicated answer is that my squad was part of an offensive that took Maelifell and moved west. My squad got left behind to man a roadblock/checkpoint. I wasn't involved in the fighting here though. You?"

Garri chuckled. He was actually part of a very special moment from the War's final battle.
"Well I was there when Ejvind Borg surrendered."

"What? Like...you were in the city?" Þorfinnur could hardly believe it. That image, broadcast across the world, of SLLH Field Marshal Borg being escorted out of the Haraldvígi was burned into his brain. Even if he watched it huddled amongst his squad on a small handheld tv.

"I mean I was there," Garri nodded. "I was in the building. I was actually Borg's XO."

"You've gotta be shitting me," Þorfinnur replied nearly slackjawed, before looking around nervously. He didn't need it getting back to Valfríður or Coach Mordt he was cursing at their kids' practice.
Beyond that though, he could hardly believe it. This guy? Garri Sjöholm, his son's friend's dad who worked as an accountant for a furniture store in town, was the XO of Ejvind Borg when he surrendered at the end of the war? He could hardly believe it. He didn't believe it.

"You're pulling my leg" Þorfinnur insisted, but Garri was just as insistent.

"Hand to God," he said, raising his right hand.
"You can check. The arrest records are all public. I was the second ranking officer in the Haraldvígi when Borg surrendered to Eiderwig and Aubyn."

"What rank were you?" Þorfinnur asked. Garri was his age, and besides. The King's pardon had covered him. He couldn't have been Captain or higher.

"Lieutenant," Garri nodded.
"That's how desperate it was, that I ended up as the second highest ranking officer there after the damn Field Marshal," he chuckled.
"When Borg forced the Presidium to make him Chairman he put out a call," Garri continued, getting a bit more serious.
"He wanted all remaining Syndicalist Republic forces to retreat to the Haraldvígi to stand down if they could. Or to surrender to the FRE if it was more prudent to do that. We got a lot of SLLH soldiers coming to us. Broken, dirty, but ready for the War to be over, and just surrender with some dignity. The Militia though..." Garri shook his head.
"They just fled. Like cowards. So it was just us, the Army, there at the end to surrender."

Þorfinnur listened and nodded. He knew the SLLF soldiers and officers held the People's Militia in contempt, but he'd never heard it directly from a former SLLF officer before.

"But we did. We were all arrested. And then I got my freedom a few months later when the King issued the pardon."

Þorfinnur nodded.
"You've done well for yourself, I think. A wife. A good kid..."

"Láretta and I are actually expecting another one," Garri smiled.
"It wasn't planned but..."

"Til hamingju*!" Þorfinnur said happily. It was almost an instinctual reaction to hearing that news, but he did mean it. He was happy to hear it.
"Rafnar will love having a little brother or sister," he said. He knew. From experience.

"Thank you," Garri replied.
"It's nerve racking, but I'm exited."

"Well, my point is," Þorfinnur continued, "you're doing well since your pardon."

"You didn't have a pardon" Garri replied, "but you're doing well too. We both did alright considering what we went through."

Þorfinnur nodded and looked onto the ice. He smiled seeing Styrbjörn talking to Rafnar. And then Rafnar pulled his goaltending mask over his face and the stickers covering it stood out. It brought something to mind.

"It was awful what we went through, but they're why it's worth it," he said as he motioned to the ice.

"Well yeah," Garri said proudly as he looked out at his son.

"Think about it though," Þorfinnur continued.
"Hockey and Spilvel seem to be the only things that can pull Styrbjörn away from that VasaMon game."

Garri rolled his eyes.
"Yeah Rafnar too. All the trading cards..."

"That's the point though," Þorfinnur said as he smiled.
"They're thirteen and they care about video games, cartoons, sports, and whatever else. They're not fighting over politics. They don't have to worry about that or war. We gave them a world where they didn't need to worry about anything like that at their age. We gave them a better world than the one we had."

Garri nodded, smiling even as he looked down. The nervousness and uncertainty Þorfinnur had picked up on was back.
It was simple, really. Could Garri claim he had a hand in bringing this better world into being for his son? When he fought for a regime so guilty of so much suffering?

Þorfinnur studied him for a moment before asking him a question.

"Does Rafnar know about your past?"

"No," Garri replied worriedly as he gazed at their sons playing on the rink.
"And I'm afraid of what he'll discover..." he added as his voice trialed off.

Þorfinnur nodded. He felt for the guy. Garri had seen the history syllabus like he had. How could Garri feel, knowing his son would eventually discover his past? Þorfinnur took a deep breath and sipped some coffee before replying.

"I hope you don't mind the unsolicited advice, but...he's bound to discover it, sooner or later. He'll read a book or learn about something in school and he'll start asking you or looking around. I kept my brother's story a secret from my son for thirteen years and now he found out about it. Thanks to your son."
Þorfinnur put a friendly arm over Garri's shoulder, unthinkable fifteen years ago when the two men fought on the opposite sides in the War.
"You should talk to him to explain... so he won't be surprised or ashamed or guilted when he finds out. If you need advice, feel free to call me."

Garri held his coffee with both hands as he looked down, nodding before he looked up at Þorfinnur.
"Thank you," he said softly. The tenseness in his hands indicted he wasn't fully at ease though.

"You're a good father," Þorfinnur said with a smile.
"Your son might have questions, and he might be curious, but he'll never be ashamed of you."

"That means a lot," Garri replied softly, his grip on his coffee less tense. Þorfinnur smiled.

"So did you see us beat Skiodalr a few nights back?" Þorfinnur asked in refence to Konunglegur Býkonsviði's last win. He hoped the change in subject would let Garri know he fully supported him and that they didn't have dwell on such nerve-racking things. Garri seemed to get it, smiling and shaking his head.

"We're not beating Keris tonight if we don't get better control of the puck. We can't keep pulling out wins when we're losing the puck possession battle 20-40 every night."

"Tell me about it!" Þorfinnur replied.
"Poor Forsberg was shelled" he lamented, referring to Býkonsviði's goalie.
"He needs a break. Time for the defence to step it up."

Garri nodded in agreement as the two fathers continued to discuss hockey as they watched their kids practice. One former SLLH officer and one former FRE soldier, together.

---

*Miðborginni Ísíþróttavettvangur- Midtown Ice Sports Forum

*Erkiengill Íshokkífélag- Erkiengill Hockey Club

*ÍDP- Íshokkídeildin Prydansk- Prydanian Hockey League

*Konunglegur Býkonsviði- Royal Býkonsviði

*SLLH- Syndikalisti Lýðveldi Landherrin- Syndicalist Republican Army

*Til hamingju!- Congratulations!

---

Complicated by Avril Lavigne, 4:07

OOC Note: Thanks to @Kyle for writing a portion of the conversation between Garri and Þorfinnur

Býkonsviði- Weighing in at a health 3.8 kilograms, the first child of Prince Robert and Princess Hanna was born at Reynir Hospital just outside of Býkonsviði yesterday, 14 April 1995 at 3:07 pm.
The Royal couple announced their son's full name as Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók. Tobias, the Prince's given name, pays homage to the Saint King of Prydania from 1044-1076. Scylfing is an old dynastic name, hearkening back to King Baldr III Scylfing-Loðbrók, the King who restored the Prydanian royal family to the throne after two centuries of Korovan rule.

The son of the Prince and Princess' birth was a highly anticipated event, with reporters camped out just outside of the hospital to catch a glimpse of the new arrival. The scene mirrored that of Princess Astrid's birth five years ago. Like the Princess' birth, Prince Tobias' birth was hailed by His Majesty as a fundamental step in the rebuilding of the Royal family following King Robert VII, Queen Locke, and Grand Thane Baldr's tragic death at the hands of radical Syndicalist terrorists eleven years ago.

"His Majesty congratulates his brother and his sister-in-law on the birth of their son and the start of their family," a spokesman for Absalonhöll said. "Their union and progeny will strengthen the foundations of the nation radical terrorists sought to weaken just over a decade ago. Together Prydania remains strong."


15 April 1995
7:54 pm
On a Saturday
Reynir, Prydania

Robert tossed the newspaper across the table in the corner of the room before making his way to his wife's hospital bed, smiling softly as Hanna held their newborn son. He was sleeping in his mother's arms. She was singing him a lullaby.

"Sleep, baby, sleep," she sang softly, "Your dreams are for you to keep, the stars are gleaming, and all through the night people are dreaming..." she smiled as Robert sat back down in his chair next to her bed.
"The sun is gone, the day is done. Now lay down and rest, when you wake you shall see the sun again. For now the stars are gleaming for you," she whispered as she rocked Tobias gently in her arms.

"I've never heard that one before," Robert said as his wife finished, taking a seat in the chair next to her bed.

"It's from Austurland," she said with a smile.
"My mother would sing it to me."

Robert grinned, but it was a troubled one. Hanna's mother and father, Norma and Vernharð, should be here to see their grandson. They were, after all, Tobias' only living grandparents. Anders, however, had disallowed that. Whether it was because his paranoia made him think there was a security risk or he did it just to prove he could, Robert didn't know.
What he did know, looking at his day old son in his wife's arms as she sang old Austurland songs to him, was that he'd do anything to save both of them if he had to. Anything for his wife, and anything for his child. Timothée's warning from Saintonge rang in his mind as he watched them... Anders was dangerous.
And now...now Robert was responsible for a helpless, innocent life. One he was sure his brother would threaten if he felt it suited him. He shook his head a bit, to try and send the idea out of his mind. He'd cried tears of joy seeing Tobias born yesterday. He wanted to be filled with nothing but that joy...but his brother hung like a shadow over everything.

"Love," Hanna remarked.
"I think he looks like you."

Robert chuckled, his wife's remark snapping him out of the worry he felt contemplating how he'd keep his family safe.
"He can look like me as long as he gets your brains," he replied. He smiled seeing him. He just felt....he felt...he felt happiness seeing his wife and son like this.

"He deserves the rest," Hanna added.
"Having to deal with Anders today," she chuckled meekly. Robert smiled. Thankfully Axle had managed to sus out the listening devices Anders' Knights had put in place. It made it easier, to be able to speak freely.

"I don't think I've seen him that awkward in a long time. It looked like he didn't know what a baby was," Robert laughed.
"He can get bent though...did you read the paper? They're treating our son's birth like it's some great Social Commonwealth accomplishment. They won't even report on Gætir, William, and Tom's well wishes."

Hanna smiled and reached out, taking her husband's hand. She was sympathetic. Anders was always a domineering presence, but it had gotten worse for Rob since he found out what Anders had done to his parents and older brother all of those years ago.
"Love, right here and right now it's just us three," she said with a grin. Robert returned it and nodded. Even with hair that was a mess, even exhausted beyond belief...even just a day after giving birth, Hanna was the most beautiful woman in the world.

"I can't wait, you know," Robert said.

"For what?" Hanna asked, cradling her newborn son against her.

"Everything," Robert smiled.
"Hockey, hunting, motorcycles..." he winked.

"You're getting a bit ahead of yourself biker boy," Hanna chuckled.
"Right now the most excitement Toby is getting is seeing Grandmamma and Grandpabbi."

"Yeah, it's all set. As soon as we're back settled in the apartments we're off to Krysuvik. I wish they could be here though..." Robert said as he leaned back in his chair.

"It's ok," Hanna replied, trying to put a positive spin on it all.
"Pabbi will make up for it with twice the enthusiasm, and mamma will spoil Toby rotten."

Robert nodded, and thought to his own mother and father, and his oldest brother.
"You'll never get to meet them, Toby, but they're loving you from heaven," he thought before kissing his wife on the cheek.

"Thank God for your family," he added.
"What's left of mine here is nuts."

"Stig is nice," Hanna mused.

"Let's give the lad some time before we let Stig force him to run military drills," Robert chuckled, his amusement cut off by a yawn.

"Go back to the apartments," Hanna insisted.
"We'll be out of here tomorrow. The hard part is over, you don't have to keep camping out."

"Bullshit," Robert replied only for Hanna to scowl at him.

"Not in front of Tobias," she said seriously.

"Honey, he's not even two days old and he's sleeping..."

"I don't want him picking up that language," Hanna replied with a smirk.

"Well fine," Robert said with a tired yet amused sigh.
"I'll watch my language! You're kidding yourself if you think I'm leaving your side for a moment though." He kissed her forehead before he pushed the chair away from the side of the bed and pulled a cot the hospital had brought in closer to Hanna.

"I'll be right here, if you need anything," he said softly before kissing his son goodnight and lying down on his cot.

"You're such a lucky boy, my Sólskin*," Hanna whispered to her son.
"Your brave pabbi is here, and all the stars are gleaming for you."

---

*Sólskin- Sunshine

---

Catch Me by Thomas Bergersen and Sonna, 7:24

1 January 2013
10:49 pm
On a Wednesday
Markarfljot, Prydania

Tobias looked at his reflection in the window of one of the rooms in the Duttlungafullurdreki* pub. He saw his reflection. The blood was very visible in his messy blond hair. The two moons sat in the night sky, like piercing cold eyes against the blackness. God's eyes perhaps? Judging him? He looked at the moons, with nothing to say. Nothing to think other than "you're the omnipresent one, you tell me if I was wrong?" He looked down...if his hair looked bloody with just a few streaks his hands were still covered in red. In Gylfi Hjaltdal's blood. He felt his stomach turn as if his question to God was answered by the very literal blood on his hands.
He had wanted to kill Syndicalists for years. And now he had. Over ten years of built up rage, and he had taken a man's life. A man who was a Syndicalist. Who wasn't just a Syndicalist, but someone who had killed people indiscriminately. Including children. So why...why did he feel bad? Why did he feel guilty, now that he'd finally done what he wanted to do. What he needed to do? He'd finally extracted some measure of vengeance for everyone in his life they had hurt, and he felt awful.

Maybe it was William? How he'd laid into him. Yelled at him...

"You can't do that, Tobias! That man was a prisoner of war!"

"He was a Syndicalist! He killed people!" Tobias had bellowed back.

"He was a soldier!"

"He was escaping!"

"He wasn't going anywhere in this blizzard," William shot back.
"We were on his trail when we found you! That's what you do! You bring POWs in alive!"

Tobias just shook his head...William was right. He was right...Tobias began to chuckle.
"You're always fucking right, you know that? You always think you're right...HE WAS A FUCKING SYNDICALIST! I KILLED A FUCKING SYNDICALIST!" the seventeen year-old bellowed.
"I killed one! ONE! They owe me a whole lot more before we're even!"

"Even? It's not about being 'even,' Tobias," William replied, exacerbated.
"It's about doing what's right. Fighting for what's right. Killing POWs, even escaped ones, isn't right."

"They kill ours all the time! I hear about the hangings! Don't lie to me. Don't tell me they don't happen, I hear about them!"

"I wasn't going to lie to you Tobias. I..."

"So why don't we kill them?"

"Because we're better than them!" William insisted.
"Look at you. You're covered in blood. Is that what you want to be? Is this the person you want to be?"

"Protecting and avenging the innocent? Yes!" Tobias shot back. William had stood up. Ready to lecture the boy again when a rough, yet quiet, voice broke the tension.

"William, please," Axle had said.
"Get some rest. I'll talk to him."

"Axle I..." Tobias had tried to say, only for Axle to raise his hand in the Prince's direction.

"William," Axle repeated. William looked at Axle and then back to Tobias before taking a deep breath.

"You need to be better than this," William said as he took his leave from the empty pub. Tobias wanted so much to say something to William, but he held his tongue. He couldn't bring himself to say it, not after last time. Instead he uttered it to Axle when William had left.

"He acts like he's my fucking father."

Axle didn't respond to that.
"My room. 206. Go. Now. I'll be up shortly."

"I don't..."

"Go!" Axle barked.

Tobias was shocked. His anger aside, William had been like a father to him. Loving, strict at times...but Axle? He could tell Axle anything. He could trust him with anything and yet he seemed angry here. Angry with him. Tobias was sure Axle would understand and the fact that he seemingly didn't...it shook him a bit. Tobias' jaw clenched as he stood, making his way to Axle's room.

And so that's why he was sitting there, staring at himself in the window. Staring at the two moons, and trying to defend himself to God.
He turned as a door opened, with Axle coming in. He was holding a book in one hand and a glass of brennivín in the other.

"Axle, I killed a man who killed innocent people."

"Mhm," Axle replied. He didn't sit. He just stood, back against the wall. Sipping his drink.

"Why's that wrong?" Tobias asked standing up. He took the sheathed Jægerblað from his back and dropped it on the floor.
"Why's it wrong to avenge the innocent?"

Axle sat his drink down on the nightstand by the bed and thumbed through the book. It was an older book. Tobias couldn't see the cover, but the pages were yellowed.

"Is that what you are? An avenger?"

"Yes," Tobias said bravely.

Axle nodded, thumbing through a few pages before closing the book. And that's when Tobias saw it. It was Rómantíkin af Daga*, one of his chivalry novels.

"Bullshit!" Axle yelled, his calm, if annoyed, expression becoming angry in an instant, as he tossed the book at the Prince in anger.

"Hey!" Tobias yelled, dodging the book as it exploded into loose pages after hitting the window.
"What wa..."

"You're not a fucking avenger. You've got a Goddamn knight complex! Books like that shit have you thinking you can kill some bad guys and it's alright because they're bad guys. You fucking child..." he shook his head.

Tobias wasn't expecting that. He wasn't expecting that. He looked on with wide eyes, but it wasn't a gaze full of anger. Rather it was...vulnerability? It wasn't a nerve Tobias thought he had, but Axle had managed to touch it all the same.

"You go around now, wearing that..." Axle pointed to Jægerblað on the floor.
"And you think you're some kind of protector of the innocent. And so you kill people." Axle's voice was calm again, but it was shaking. Like it wanted to explode in anger again, at any moment.

"Person," Tobias corrected.
"I killed one person."

"Yeah that's how it starts," Axle grumbled.

"William couldn't tell me, and now you won't. Why can't I kill fucking Syndicalists? He killed people! HE KILLED PEOPLE AND NOW I'M WRONG? HOW THE FUCK DOES THAT WORK? You wanna...." Tobias' voice began to crack as he got angrier.
"You wanna yell at me? Insult me? Knight complex? Fine. I have a knight complex! I actually want to protect people! Avenge them! How fucking awful of me!"

"I want you to look at me..." Axle began, only to be interrupted.

"No! Someone had to do the..."

"LOOK AT ME, TOBIAS!" Axle bellowed as he stepped up to the Prince, grabbing each arm. The seventeen year-old was too stricken with shock that Axle had exploded like that, and that he'd grabbed him like that. He could only gulp.

"Look at me! I've been killing for this country long before you were even born, boy." Axle was shaking now, unsure of if he could keep himself together. He just wasn't sure what would come out. Rage or tears.
"I've been killing for a long time, and I'm still killing. Do I look like a knight to you? A protector? An avenger? I'm a fucking murderer, and you can be better than me. You can be more than me. You are more than me. I've..."

Tobias though, spoke. He was trembling.
"Are you..." he asked quietly.
"Are you really asking me that?" His green eyes were wide, filling with tears. His voice was trembling.
"You...you....." Tobias clenched his jaw together for a moment before continuing.
"You are a protector. You've kept me safe..." he felt like he'd break down into tears at any moment.
"You've kept me safe all these years. And you've....you....you were a protector and my mamma knew it because...she....lied to me to get me to go with you and..." he held his head down and began to cry....he just cried. He cried, resisting the urge to fall to his knees, yet not sure what to do... he just stood there...crying. It was his mother. It was how much he loved Axle. It was the hurt of disappointing him and William. It was the trauma of having killed a man. He just cried, shaking as he stood until a gentle embrace hugged him.

"Axle...." the seventeen year-old whimpered.
"I...I....I'm sorry I wanted to do the right thing. I wanted to do right. I wanted Katarína to have justice...Mamma and pabbi, Astrid, and Vera didn't get it...Krista didn't get it....Katarína deserved it...." he cried into Axle's shoulder as Axle held him.

"War is ugly Tobias...it makes us do terrible things," Axle replied.
"We can't afford to do more than we have to. It'll gnaw at our soul otherwise."
He let go of the embrace and grabbed Tobias by the arms again, straightening him out. He smiled just a bit. Behind the messy hair, the blood, the dirt, and tears... behind all of it was Robert Loðbrók. Tobias looked too much like his father to ignore. And Axle had made Robert a promise.
"Taking a life changes you. And not for the better. You're a kind boy, Tobias. Don't become like me."

"I...I want Katarína's soul to know someone cared," Tobias said softly, still on the verge of tears.

"When did you start believing in religion?" Axle asked, having know Tobias to be a rather insistent atheist for the past few years. Tobias looked down. Whether it was exhaustion, shame, or a combination of the two Axle couldn't tell. Even if he could guess.

"When I killed Gylfi," Tobias muttered, still not looking up.
"I realized I either sent him to hell or he was going to the same place as Katarína....and I can't accept that last one."

Axle took his drink from the night stand and handed it to to the Prince.
"You seem like you could use what's left of it. Go clean up."

"I..."

"Go clean up," Axle replied softly.
"We'll talk in the morning. Right now you need to have a stiff drink, wash up, and go to bed."

Tobias didn't say anything. He just stared at the glass in his bloody hand. He nodded, sipped the drink and winced, and stood. He began to leave the room when he heard Axle speak.

"Don't forget this," Axle said as he held out Jægerblað. Tobias looked at the sheathed sword in Axle's hand and stared at it for a moment, momentarily becoming transfixed by the leaf patterns on the leather sheath. He nodded meekly, too embarrassed to look Axle in the eyes as he took it. He made his way to his own quarters. Ready to collapse under the warm water for as long as it would run.

---

*Duttlungafullurdreki- Whimsical Dragon
*Rómantíkin af Daga- Romance of the Daisy

---

Burn by Three Days Grace, 4:28

2 May 2001
12:09 am
On a Wednesday
Rakjandi, Prydania

Jannik Leiftur scowled as he looked at his watch.
"You're ten minutes late."

"What are you gonna do?" Ingibjörn Moxnes scoffed, making his way into Jannik's apartment and grabbing a beer from his fridge.
"Call Tom up? Have him scold me for lateness?" he asked, popping the can open as he sat down on the couch, putting his feet up on the coffee table.

"'Yeah Tom, this is Jannik. Ingibjörn was late for our super secret meeting meant to screw with you!' Yeah. Sure. Don't make such a big deal about it, Jannik."

"Plans like this require precision," Jannik grumbled, grabbing a beer himself. Ingibjörn was the only person in the Syndicalist movement not named Thomas Nielsen who wasn't afraid of him, it seemed. And that's exactly why Jannik needed him. He needed someone who he could rely on. Someone who could do what needed doing and not snivel about.

"So next time, don't. Be. Late."

"Sure. Thing. Boss. Man." Ingibjörn replied sipping more beer. Jannik rolled his eyes as Ingibjörn continued.
"This is safe right? We're not going to have Óafmáan* or Knights of the Storm bustin' down the door or comin' through the windows, will we?"

"We're safe. But those will come later."

"Wha?" Ingibjörn asked. Jannik smirked. Ingibjörn Moxnes was a brash, confident guy, but he lacked a certain vision that Jannik prided himself on. And prided himself on keeping hidden.

"It'll get to that later. Right now..." Jannik said as he paced, "...we need to deal with a problem."

"Yeah. We gotta keep Tom from goin' soft. So what do we do? Raise a motion among the Party's National Committee? A leadership review might scare him straight."

"No," Jannik shook his head.
"Tom's from the mines, like us. The rank and file respect him. We've just finished purging the party of backsliding lawyers and bureaucrats. Ousting Tom won't just get the rank and file up in arms, it could allow those soft-handed pencil pushers to worm their way back in. No...Tom needs to stay."

"Yeah but he's goin' soft, you said it yourself," Ingibjörn replied.
"Look. If you want me and the boys to make it clear where he's gotta be then..."

"Fuck's sake Ingibjörn, you're not roughing up Tom," Jannik growled as he paced.

"Then what the fuck are we doin' here besides mental masturbation?" Ingibjörn asked.

"Oh I have a plan," Jannik said as he paced. He was nervous. He needed someone like Ingibjörn for this plan but...he didn't know if he could trust him to react well to it. Which is why he had a pistol strapped to an ankle holster. He'd put Ingibjörn down if he scoffed at what he was about to say. He couldn't let anyone- certainly not Tom- hear about it.

"Tom's friends with Prince Robert. And it's getting to him. He's been talking more and more about working with Aubyn and Ravn and Robert to try and topple Anders and Toft. He doesn't fucking get it!"

"Yeah," Ingibjörn nodded.
"He's wasting all of our time. Rob Loðbrók's a party boy. He ain't our fuckin' answer."

Jannik chuckled at Ingibjörn's lack of perception.
"That's not what Rob is...I know what he is, and I've hated him from the day I met him."

"What is he? A fuckin' fascist? I've heard he's alright."

"He's worse than a fascist," Jannik grumbled.
"He's a reformer. And if he ever pulls his head out of his ass and actually gets Tom, Aubyn, and Ravn on the same page...that's when we're fucked, Ingibjörn. Not if they fail but...if they succeed."

"Anders and the SoComms will be gone," Ingibjörn replied, sipping more beer.
"What am I missin' here?"

"They'll be gone, best case scenario we're splitting power with the Bandalag and Free Democrats three ways. The capitalists will water us down like beer at a Revenist picnic."

"I guess," Ingibjörn replied with a shrug.
"At first, though. Then we'll have some elections."

"Yeah isn't that grand?" Jannik rolled his eyes, still pacing.
"Right back to 1983. Where the two bourgeoise parties trade electoral victories and the working man, the industrial labourer, the backbone of this FUCKING COUNTRY....gets nothing but scraps. See Ingibjörn? That's the problem. If Tom falls any further down the path of reform we're destined to be slaves to capital, to the agrarian landowners, the FUCKING CHURCH, forever."

Ingibjörn sipped his beer.
"What do you want us to do about it? We're actually a smaller party now then we used to be thanks to your purges. You could snap your fingers today, wish Anders and Toft and all the SoComms into dust, and we'd lack the support to win any election."

"I'm not talking elections. I'm talking a coup. No power sharing with the other parties. No peaceful transition. And no. Fucking. Royals. We stage a coup. We seize control of the country. It would take planning. Planning and luck, but with a dedicated enough group and enough sway in the right disaffected groups in the military, we could do it."

Ingibjörn just watched Jannik for a moment, sipping his beer. Working out what he was being told in his head.

"I've been trying my best to pull Tom away from the idea that Rob Loðbrók's someone he can trust. I've been doing my best to convince him we don't need the other parties, that we can smash the whole system and take control, but he's not listening. He needs to be jarred back to my side. Our side."

Ingibjörn sipped some more beer before quietly replying.
"So what do we do?"

This was what scared Jannik. He'd been beating around the bush until now but here it was. He'd lay out his plan. And kill Ingibjörn if he had to.
"Kleifar," he said.

"What about it?" Ingibjörn asked. It was a small farming town. One of many that dotted Krummedike's hilly landscape.

"It's home to safe houses of ours. The town's reliable too. Loyal to the party."

"And...?" Ingibjörn asked. He had no idea where this was going.

"What would the Óafmáan and Knights of the Storm do, if they found out about the safe houses? If they got a list of names of doctors who helped our rank and file? What families were helping our operatives?"

"Well," Ingibjörn shrugged, "they'd kill 'em I imagine. Toft's boys aren't known for bein' subtle."

"It would be a slaughter," Jannik nodded.
"So that's why I'm going to leak all of that information to the Óafmáan."
This was it. His body was stiff. Ready to go for the gun if he had to. Ingibjörn looked at him...jaw clenched for a moment.

"Why the fuck would you do that?" he asked.

"Because," Jannik replied firmly, "if that happens, if the blood of our people run through the streets of Kleifar then Tom will realize the folly of waiting for Prince Rob to do the 'right' thing. He'll see I was right all along. And we, as a party, can do what needs to be done."

Ingibjorn set the beer down on the table as he removed his feet and sat up. A tense, uncomfortable silence filled the room.
"Innocent people, Jannik. Your conscience good with feeding those people to the fascists?"

"All working class people are Syndicalists. Whether they know it or not!" Jannik replied fiercely.
"Their sacrifices won't be for nothing if it convinces Tom of what has to be done."
He was ready. If Ingibjörn offered any resistance he'd draw his weapon...

Ingibjörn instead nodded.
"So what needs doing?"

Jannik chuckled to himself. Finally. After years of trying to pull Tom away from Robert Loðbrók and the path of death by compromise, he'd guide him to where he needed to be...leading Syndicalism into the new millennium, as the guiding light of the workers of then world.

---

27 May 2001
4:11 pm
On a Sunday
outside Kleifar, Prydania

Kkeifar burned...the shelling, the gunshots...it had been more than Jannik had imagined. Anders and Toft's boys had really brought all of the heavy artillery.
It was so much...the smoke and fire so visible...that Jannik had to look away. He couldn't watch. Still...it had to be done...and it was finally over. If there was any solace it was that the Óafmáan and Knights of the Storm did exactly what he expected them to have done. Fascists were easy to predict.
He looked at his watch. Tom should be halfway between Rakjandi and here... He pulled his cell phone out and breathed deep. He needed to sound convincing...
He dialed Tom's number...

"Yeah...Nielsen."

"Tom, you need to turn around."

"What's wrong?"

"You need turn around right now."

"Jannik, slow down. What's wrong?"

"It's gone. Kleifar's gone."

"Pull over," Jannik heard Tom say, before his attention returned to his phone.
"What do you mean Kleifar's gone?" he asked Jannik again.

Jannik breathed deep. He dug deep into his memory. To memories he'd long since tried to ignore. To forget. Now though...now they were necessary. The way the town priest would lust for his mother. The way she, a working class woman trying to help her family make ends meet with honest work, was afraid to turn him down. Until she finally did. And he was beaten for it. He gasped as he began to cry...
"The whole town Tom, it's gone. It's a fucking warzone here...but there's nothing left."

"Jannik," Tom replied, starting to panic.
"I need you to tell me what happened."

"The Knights of the Storm and the Óafmáan, they found the safehouses. Torched them. Shot them all....then they started shelling the town..."

"No. Jannik. No. They didn't just wipe out a town..."

"I'M FUCKING STANDING IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ASHES, TOM!" Jannik yelled as he paced a secluded country road that led into what was once Kleifar.

"I'll be right there," Tom replied, his tone dower.

"No! No, you gotta turn around. Go back to...fuck...I don't know," Jannik replied, sounding panicked.
"You can't be here though. I'm pulling out with the boys as soon as I'm off the phone."

There was a pause...and then Tom replied.
"Jannik, leave now" he muttered.
"We'll reconvene Keris."

"Is Keris safe?" Jannik asked.

"Safer than anywhere else," Tom replied.

"Ok boss. Be safe."

"You too Jannik."

Jannik hung up the phone. He looked at his watch as Ingibjörn Moxnes pulled up in an old truck.

"Much better. Right on time."

---

*Óafmáan- The Social Commonwealth Party's paramilitary branch.

---

Jumpin' Jack Flash by The Rolling Stones, 3:38

5 March 2016
12:02 am
On a Saturday
Hadden, Prydania

“Oh my gods,” Alycia laughed as she and Tobias made their way back to Hadden’s town hall. Their night spent together at the festival in the Convention Hall still fresh with both of them.
“I've never had that much fun dancing!”

“Yeah,” Tobias chuckled, “we don't have much but we know how to have a good time.” He smiled as he spoke, finishing a can of beer as he and Alycia made their way into a conference room that had been converted into a residence of sorts.

Alycia looked around. There was a cot in one corner. Next to a stack of old books. Alycia couldn't read Prydanian perfectly just yet but she recognized them as chivalry novels.
Tobias rummaged in a black backpack, grabbing two bottles of water and a pack of jerky.

“Not much as I said, but it’ll help stave off a hangover.”

“We Norsians aren't as soft with the drink as you Nords think we are,” she replied with a smile, though she took note of Tobias’ words even as he chuckled.
He'd repeated “not much” again. Her mother’s operatives had briefed her on Prydania’s recent troubled history. It wasn't so long ago- not even forty years ago- that Prydania was wealthy. And now...it was blown out, ravaged. Its people fought on though, and as she saw at the convention hall, they were still full of life. Even Tobias seemed in high spirits.
She thought back to their dance. To them holding hands. That's why she was in such high spirits. Was it why he was?

“But jerky sounds great. Far better than Norsian Army field rations,” she said as she drank some water and munched on the strips of dried meat.

Tobias drank as well as he leaned back in his chair. He looked at the beautiful, confident girl...this princess...who was with him.
“You don't need to spend your time with me,” he said softly.
“You have a mission here. And you've done more than enough to make me feel better.”

“Yeah, a fact finding mission. And who better to spend my time with then Prydania’s next King?”

“Heh…” Tobias remarked. Alycia regretted what she said, because Tobias instantly seemed to go dower. Alycia, trying to salvage his mood, looked to Jægerblað, propped up in a corner of the room.

“Speaking of that...is that Prydania’s King’s blade? We have one in Norsia. It's called Zimahlídat. It means ‘Winterguard.’”

“That is, já,” Tobias replied, still looking down with a nod.
“It's called Jægerblað. It means ‘Hunter’s Blade.’”

Alycia stood and grabbed the sword, unsheathing it. Its guard was styled in the shape of a stag’s antlers, and the hilt was of fine Andrennian oak but it was the blade that caught her eyes. The pattern of the metal...it was like liquid. And it seemed to move as she turned the blade in the light.
“It's beautiful,” she said softly.

Tobias stood, removing his sports jacket and tossing it aside as he gently took it from her hand.
“Yeah,” he said softly.
“It is. A symbol of my family. And what I’m supposed to be King of.”

“If it's anything like Zimahlídat it must be very important,” Alycia remarked as Toby took it to the table in the centre of the room and dropped the blade on it before sitting.

“We took Hadden and I killed Filip Fuglsang. I felt like...like I was ready. I felt like I could be a king.”

“I heard,” Alycia remarked. “You called yourself a Stormlord. BNSI reported that just doing that rustled a few Syndicalist feathers.”

Tobias chuckled, but he didn't look up from his gloomy gaze, locked on his family’s ancient sword.
“I lied, in that address. Because I said I was a Stormlord, like my grandfather before me. ‘Stormlord,’ though, is just an old name for Prydanian kings and queens. The last Stormlord wasn't my grandfather. It was...Anders. And I can't shake it. He just…” he grunted and ran both hands through his hair, trying desperately to not lose it in front of Alycia.

Alycia just stared for a moment, reaching out and stroking his shoulder.
“You're Anders’ heir. Not him. There's a difference.”

“Same blood. Same weakness,” Tobias muttered.

“Toby,” Alycia said, her own tone turning from concerned to serious, “we aren't our forebearers. Trust me,” she said, rolling her eyes at the thought of her mother.
“And whatever it is that made Anders who he was, I know it isn't in you.”

Tobias grunted before turning to her.
“It's more than that. I...I used to defend him…” he said, almost as if admitting the words caused him pain.

“When?” Alycia asked, concerned. She’d never heard Tobias say much about Anders, much less defend him. The few times he’d mentioned him he did with disdain.

“When I was younger,” he admitted.
“When I was a child, William began to...to...raise me. He said he was going to teach me how to be King, because I would be King some day. I was just getting to the point where I could, I guess, move on from watching my parents die. I mean, I wasn’t waking up screaming every night. It hurt still but...I wanted to be brave.”

Alycia nodded along, listening.

“William told me all about Anders. How what he did helped destroy this country. That the Syndicalists and him were just two sides of the same coin. And I...I didn’t want to hear that.”

“You were only a kid, Toby,” Alycia said, trying to get him to understand that, but he just shook his head.

“I was an angry kid. And I yelled. I screamed. I refused to accept it because...he was there. Right along with Mamma and Pabbi and Astrid and Aunt Vera, he was there. Uncle Andy. I didn’t...I just didn’t know. I was seven...just fucking seven!” his voice got louder as he got angrier. It startled Alycia, but Tobias quickly breathed deep to calm himself down.
“When you’re seven you don’t understand politics. You don’t understand Anders III was a fasicst. You just....you just see your Uncle being killed.”

He stared blankly down at the sword on the table for a moment before signing and looking at Alycia.
“I still refused to believe my Uncle was a bad person, into my teens. That’s when I actually met people...people who suffered under my Uncle. People who lost loved ones because of my Uncle. I couldn’t...I couldn’t run from it. I had to accept it. I had to, because…”

“...because the pain of those people was real? Because maybe, maybe you saw in their loss the same loss you felt, when your parents died?”

Tobias nodded. He grabbed his water bottle and gulped more down before looking at Alycia again.
“Yeah… and now every time I feel like I can be what I’m supposed to be, I feel him. Not just that he existed, but that I defended him. That I believed he was good, while my countrymen suffered because of him.”

“I think that you feel that remorse, is why you aren’t him,” Alycia said softly.
“I don’t think Anders ever felt anything close to that, anything as compassionate as that.”

“How...how do you know?” Tobias asked. He didn’t sound angry or hostile. His voice was soft, and his tone was curious. He truly wanted to know how Alycia could have that kind of insight.

“I...know people like that,” she replied, a bit nervously. She wasn’t sure she was ready to admit to Tobias just what her mother was.
“Norsian court politics can be intense. I know more than a few like your uncle. You’re not like them. I listened to that address. Where you called yourself a Stormlord. You didn’t say it because you thought it sounded grand. You meant it. And conviction is, like compassion, something people like that don’t have.”

Tobias reached down, holding the sword by the wood of the hilt. He turned it, the light dancing off of the blade.
He smiled. Alycia’s words were calming. He didn’t...he didn’t fully feel like he’d gotten over what he was feeling, but the crushing doubt of his Uncle Andy was far less intense. He smiled at Alycia. For a moment there nothing but calmness. And then...he heard something. It wasn’t a voice. No, a voice had form to it. This wasn’t even a whisper. Just a thought, a sensation that shot across his mind. An echo of an echo of an echo…he thought he heard...his mother. What she said, or he thought she said, he couldn’t decipher. He couldn’t even really be sure it was her. Just that this voice, if that’s what it was, seemed like her’s in some indescribable way. He didn’t feel sad though, as much as he missed her. It could just be his over-active mind playing tricks on him, but even if it was, the reminder made him happy. And he was happy here too.

“Thank you Alycia,” he said with a soft smile.

“I’ve told you before, you can call me Aly,” she replied with a smirk.
“And now that we’ve shared a dance you have no excuse not to.”

Tobias blushed but smiled. Part of him felt like...like he should kiss her? His heart raced, and he hadn’t felt this way since, well, Krista. He bit the inside of his lip, more out of nerves than anything, and smiled.
“Alright Aly.”

Alycia grinned. She too felt something stirring, but she was here on a mission. So she waited for a moment, and so did Tobias. When nothing happened she stood.
“I’ve had a wonderful night, Toby. Thank you for the dance.”

Tobias felt nervous, but in a bit of a good way. He stood with her.
“Thank you too, for taking me out. And getting my mind off of stuff.”

“It was fun,” she grinned, giving him a hug before she parted with him.

Tobias blushed as they hugged, and could barely gather his words to wish her a goodnight. He kicked his shoes off, letting himself drop to the cot he was sleeping on. Since Krista. He hadn’t felt this way since Krista…

Alycia ran a hand through her hair as she left Hadden’s city hall to meet up with Colart, holled up at an inn in Hadden that had survived the battle. Prince Tobias… she smiled. On one hand, he was royalty, even if he didn’t look or act like it. And she was sure now, with the Syndicalist armoured forces smashed and the Goyaneans and Andrennians on the ground, that he WOULD be King of Prydania sooner or later. And when that happened Prydania would have a new monarch, one who wasn’t tied to his family’s failings. And who could make things better. It was...comforting to know that she wasn’t alone in what she thought of her mother’s government back home. That she wasn’t an outlier. Tobias was like her, and knowing she wasn’t alone made her feel better.
And on the other hand...the way he held her hand, the way they danced. Her heart fluttered.

---

Everytime We Touch by Jonothan Young and SixteenInMono, 3:31

OOC Note: Posted with permission of @Zyvun

9 November 2032
12:27 am
On a Tuesday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Styrbjörn Granseth slowly made his way down the hall just outside of his room. He wanted to be quiet. He didn't want to have to explain to anyone what he was doing. Or face his parents' wrath about being woken up so late. He'd gone so far as to slip on slippers. The rest of his outfit, baggy plaid sweat pants and an Ísak Beck Grunnskóli* Hockey t-shirt that was a size too big, really gave him the right look for late night snooping.

Styrbjörn wasn't trying to be mischievous though. His father had told him the story of his uncle's death- his uncle he was named after- just before dinner. He'd been thinking of it all night. And he...he just had to do this.
He quickly stepped through the hall...pausing for a moment before stepping over a spot in the carpet. It was no different from any other spot, but he knew that part of the floor creaked. He passed his brother and sister's rooms quickly but quietly and made his way down the stairs, stepping over that one step that he knew creaked like that one spot of the floor. Finally though, he was on the first floor of their home. He was thirteen, and very much wanted to assert that he was brave, but he still had that sense little children do, that their house is somehow eerie after dark, when everyone's gone to bed. He stood at the base of the stairs a bit, taking in his surroundings. The light snowfall outside added to the mood.

He saw where he wanted to go though. It was a short cabinet in the family room, just outside the door that led to the kitchen. Styrbjörn walked over, sure that now that he was downstairs he wouldn't have to work as hard to stay quiet, stood in front of the cabinet. He pulled his phone from his baggy pocket and turned on the flashlight, looking at the pictures on top. They were normal family stuff- a few shots of him and his brother and sister with his mother and father. A few pictures of his mother with her parents and his father with his. A picture of him with his paternal Grandpabbi Sigfreður. There was one from the War. It was of his father as a young man standing next to a young Eðvar Mordt, who was currently his history teacher and hockey coach. They were both in FRE uniforms, smiling with each putting an arm around the other's shoulders.
And finally, the picture he was looking for; his father as a thirteen year old, with a pair of skates tossed over his shoulder. Standing next to his Uncle Styrbjörn, only nine in the picture. His uncle was holding what looked to be a cup of hot chocolate and standing awkwardly in some skates. They were both smiling.
Styrbjörn studied the picture. He wondered where it was taken, before he recognized a few hints from the structure of the building. That was the Miðborginni Ísíþróttavettvangur* where he played hockey! Only whereas now it was nice and clean and modern here it looked dirty and rundown in the picture.

He took the picture- it had always been there but he'd never paid it much mind before- and sat down crossed legged on the floor. He held the light from his phone up to it, studying the two kids in it. He could see his father in the thirteen year old. He was very young here, a bit lanky, but he could see his father. He looked at his uncle next. His father had said he had his uncle's eyes. He moved his phone so it was facing up, next to the picture. He opened up his photo library and found a selfie he'd taken. He looked back and forth- they were both blue, but then so was his father's. No, it wasn't the colour. He could see it. He wasn't the spitting image of his uncle, but if you just focused on the eyes and dimples...there was a strong resemblance. He felt his heart flutter noticing that.

"Was Pabbi taking you skating?" he asked softly.
"I hope he was nice..." he added, thinking on how his father always made sure he was nice to his own younger brother and sister.
"I think he was though, he got you a hot chocolate," he smiled before sighing.

"I'm sorry uncle," he said.
"I just want to know you...Pabbi always talks about you, and I just found out how you....how you died. I'm really sorry..." he said, feeling tears begin to form in his eyes. He set the picture down and went back to the cabinet. He wasn't interested in the pictures that sat on top, instead he opened the drawers, slowly as to not wake anyone up. He took out two heavy photo albums and sat down with them next to the first picture he'd looked at. These were curious things, photo albums. Every picture he took was stored on his phone. Still, they were fascinating to go through. He thumbed through the pages, using his phone's flashlight to illuminate the photos. Stuff with his father and his fellow soldiers from the War. His father and his family. His mother and her family. His parents with him and his siblings. Finally he found them. Pictures of his father and his uncle as kids. The first one he saw nearly choked him up; it was of an eight year old Þorfinnur and a four year old Uncle Styrbjörn, playing with Spilvel bricks. He couldn't help but wonder if his Grandmamma Elina or Grandpabbi Sigfreður took it.

The next one made him chuckle. They were both a bit older; Þorfinnur, his father, was ten and his Uncle Styrbjörn was six. His father was wearing a Konunglegur Býkonsviði jersey, though it was oddly missing the crown, and holding a stick. His uncle was wearing pillows strapped to his legs and arms with belts, holding a goalie stick, and wearing a noodle strainer on top of his head. A tennis ball and random Spilvel blocks were sitting idly by their feet.
"Oh no," Styrbjörn chuckled.
"Pabbi forced you to be a goalie! My friend Rafnar is a goalie. He's a good guy..." he said softly, as if he were talking to his uncle.
"He told me about your memorial. And then Pabbi told me how brave you were." He sat quietly for a bit and then looked up at the ceiling.

"I'm sorry I never got to know you, Uncle Styrbjörn. I know Pabbi misses you very much. He still cries. I don't know what you can do in heaven, but...please don't be sad when you see him cry. He just misses you a lot. He's sad he didn't get home in time to save you. I know he tried his hardest..." now he was getting sad again, and looked down.
"I'm sorry Uncle Styrbjörn," he said. "I don't want to make you sad with my crying too..."

He thought for a moment, of something happy.
"Pabbi shared your old Spilvel bricks with me. I don't know if I made anything as good as you did, but Pabbi and I love to build things. And I'm showing Eyríkur and Njála how to build stuff too. Njála is a really sweet sister. Eyríkur is annoying, but he's alright," he said, as if he were introducing his uncle to his siblings.
"No..." he sighed.
"Eyríkur's my awesome brother. I love him...I'm sorry I said that, but you know how it is. Well...I guess you were Pabbi's younger brother. Like I said, he loves you very much and misses you. And I'm sure he'd apologize for strapping pillows to you and shooting a tennis ball at you with a hockey stick," he said with a smile. He stayed silent for a moment before looking down at the pictures.

"I just...wanted to say hello. I'll never get to meet you, until I see you in heaven. And I wanted to just...talk to you, now that I know your story. I told Pabbi that he and you were heroes, and I believe that. You were so brave. I hope that I can be as brave, like even half as much. I hope I can live up to your name too, and be a good person like you were. I hope you're happy in heaven, and proud of us..."
Styrbjörn wasn't sure what else to say so he just repeated the Lord's Prayer.

Faðir vor, þú sem ert á himnum.
Helgist þitt nafn,
til komi þitt ríki,
verði þinn vilji,
svo á jörðu sem á himni.
Gef oss í dag vort daglegt brauð.
Fyrirgef oss vorar skuldir,
svo sem vér og fyrirgefum vorum skuldunautum.
Og eigi leið þú oss í freistni heldur frelsa oss frá illu.
amen*

He finished the prayer, appropriate for his saintly uncle, and collected the photo albums and the framed picture, putting everything away.
He briefly glanced over at the kitchen. He could get a Toki's and maybe some eplaskífur* pastries his Mamma had made...but he shook his head. No. He wasn't going to steal snacks. Not after just talking to his uncle. Instead he just quietly filled a glass of water and head upstairs back to bed. Careful not to step on the stair or spot on the floor that made the creaks.

---

*Grunnskóli- Middle School
*Miðborginni Ísíþróttavettvangur- Midtown Ice Sports Forum
*Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come,
your will be done,
on eras as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
amen
*eplaskífur- a puffy pastry with an outer layer like a pancake, baked with apple bits inside, hence the name which means "apple slices"

---

Meadows of Heaven by Nightwish, 7:10

17 August 2031
5:49 pm
On a Sunday
Hafragil, Prydania

Tobias looked over his shoulder. He smiled meekly looking at Alycia. All of these years later at she was still his rock. He had no idea what he'd have done if she wasn't here....

He looked down at Krista Brink's tombstone. He'd insisted they move her body here after Hafragil had been liberated. She deserved to be put to rest in her hometown. And then...then he said his final goodbyes after the war.

He had never forgotten Krista. Alycia had been the one to help him finally move on though. She comforted him, and he'd fallen in love again. They had gotten married, had three children... children...

Here he was. Tobias walked closer towards her grave slowly. His legs felt like concrete. Finally he dropped to his knees before the gravestone.

"og Mamma*..." Tobias muttered as he traced the engraving on the headstone.
He began to cry. Not forcefully, not loudly, but softly. He just cried softly for a few moments before sniffling and forcing himself to stop.

"We had a child..." he sniffled, gripping the top of the gravestone tightly.

"Fuck you, Axle," he thought, his grip tightening, before shaking his head as if he were trying to erase the thought he'd just had. Axle was dead. First Magnus. Then William. Then Stig. Now Axle. Everyone...everyone he relied on, everyone who he trusted as a child...they were dead.
And Axle had told him...finally told him...what he'd kept secret for twenty-one years.
It all caused him to cry again...his mind was a mix of clashing emotions; Axle...Krista...their child. Their child...that brought...a sense of clarity.

"I don't...I don't even know if they were a boy or girl. I don't know what you would have wanted to name..." he stopped. It didn't matter. It didn't matter at all. Only one thing mattered.

"My sá litli*," he said through his tears, "I love you. I love your mother...and I hope you're both in heaven...please be ok in heaven...please..." he said as he whimpered, lowering his head before the tombstone, as he began to fully cry, touching the grave marker as he bawled.

"Please be in heaven and know your Pabbi loves you....please be ok in heaven...please...I love you..." he bawled as leaned forward against the tombstone, crying his eyes out. He had a child. He and his first love had a child he never knew, who was taken from the same war that took so much else from him.
"Please be ok in heaven," he repeated, "and know your Pabbi loves you..." he cried. He had no idea how long he cried. Eventually though, he stopped.
"I'm so sorry...I'm so sorry I never..." he gasped and shook his head. He never knew. He couldn't have known. He couldn't blame himself.

"I hope you know I love you, and your Mamma," he said in a solemn voice.
"I never forgot her. And will never forget you either," he said as tears rolled down his cheeks.

He just knelt there for a few moments. Thinking. Remembering his time with Krista. It felt like a lifetime ago, and yet...it was still so vivid. How she was his one source of light in a bleak world.
He closed his eyes, and tried to remember being fifteen again. He reached out and for a brief moment he felt like he could feel her hand before pressing it against the headstone. He wept softly again for a few moments more.
He wasn't even sure he fully processed everything. Axle had told him this just yesterday. And he was mourning his death on top of everything.

What he could process was that Baldr, Hael, and Hanna were the loves of his life. He loved them unconditionally and that same feeling tugged at him here. He ran his hand atop the gravestone as tears rolled down his cheeks.

"You never got to see the world..." he said softly.
"There's so much I could tell you, about your Mamma, about what...what happened. You would have been born into a dark world, but you would have seen it get brighter and..." he cried again. He didn't try to force himself to stop this time, just crying softly.

"You have brothers, and a sister," he finally said as his crying ceased.
"Baldr has a lot of energy..." he smiled softly. "Hael is quieter, but he's got a huge heart," he said with a nod.
"Hanna is my little girl...your little sister. She's the sweetest thing you've ever seen...I just...I..." he sniffled and gripped the top of the tombstone tightly again.

"I just need you to know that I love you, and I always will..." he said.
"I wish I had known...I wish I could have seen you, and that you hadn't been taken from this world before you knew it. I love you..." he said, kneeling there as he held the top of the tombstone.

He knew Krista and their child were in heaven and that they were ok. He believed this deep in his soul.
This didn't change the longing be felt. The feeling in his gut that he was incomplete. He just knelt there as a summer breeze blew through the graveyard.

Eventually he stood. He wiped his eyes of tears.
"Part of me doesn't want to go," he said softly.
"I owe you both so much, but I will see you both in heaven some day. I love both of you..." he said before turning. He wiped away more of his tears from his eyes, approaching Laurids Hummel and a contingent of Knights of the Storm by the graveyard's entrance.

"Your Majesty, are you ok?" Hummel asked as Tobias nodded.

"Yeah..." he said quietly before turning to Hummel.
"Yes, Lord General. Yes."

He looked out towards the car. Alycia stood there waiting, the children in the car. He wouldn't tell them. Not until they were old enough to understand.

Tobias made his way back to his wife, looking at her with bloodshot eyes. He...he couldn't think of what to say.
Alycia didn't care. She just held him. Held him under the August sun.

---

*Beloved daughter and friend
*and Mother
*sá litli- little one

---

Pearl of the Stars by Coheed and Cambria, 5:05

8 June 2014
2:46 pm
On a Sunday
Outside Njaroey, Prydania

"Faðir vor, þú sem ert á himnum.
Helgist þitt nafn,
til komi þitt ríki...*"

Patrik Huseklepp muttered recited the Lord's Prayer, clutching his crucifix as shells could be heard in the distance. The advance from Alaterva had begun. And for Patrik that meant the long march back from Austurland to Lundr, in the Vesturmarch. The long road back home.

Of course right now he wasn't going anywhere. His leg was done up in a cast in the makeshift field hospital in what was, until very recently, a small town pub.
Still, Patrik could hear the shelling. The push to Njaroey was underway. And all he could do was pray.

"Verði þinn vilji,
svo á jörðu sem á himni...*"
Patrik continued the prayer, only to have someone else finish.

"Gef oss í dag vort daglegt brauð.
Fyrirgef oss vorar skuldir,
svo sem vér og fyrirgefum vorum skuldunautum.
Og eigi leið þú oss í freistni heldur frelsa oss frá illu.*"

Patrik turned in the cot, finishing the prayer when saw who it was.
"Amen, Your Highness," he said as he lowered his eyes respectfully.

"Please don't," Tobias said as he sat next to the cot.
"I should be lowering my eyes to you," he added with a smile.

"Well..." Patrik almost added "your Highness" again but stopped, considering Tobias' reaction.
"I don't know about that. My name is..."

"Captain Patrik Huseklepp. I know," Tobias smiled.
"I heard about what you did at the Skógarhlið. You saved a lot of people. A lot of children."

"Lieutenant," Patrik said, softly.
"Lieutenant, Your Highness. I only took command because Captain Tröen was killed."
He looked down again, this time because he'd used "Your Highness" again. He felt he had to. He wasn't going to correct the rightful King of Prydania without showing him proper respect. Tobias nodded, making peace with it. He couldn't control what Syndies called him, why should his own side be any different.

"Well," the Prince said, pausing just a bit as the sound of shelling echoed through the pub, "you acted like a Captain. I'm pretty sure you'll be one soon. That's why I wanted to meet you. To thank you, for what you did. You held an unholdable line and saved so many people. Thank you, Captain Huseklepp," Tobias said with a smile, as he diverted his gaze.
He tried not to, but the feeling that he should was intense. It weighed on his soul. This man was a real hero. A real leader. He couldn't help but show him as much deference as he could.

Patrik nodded, the sounds of fighting echoing in the distance.
"It's what I had to do."

"You could have died," Tobias said softly. It was remarkable to him. In all the years since this War started the FRE had worked hard to keep him out of danger. For Patrik to be in a combat situation where death was a real possibility, and to be ready to do their job until the end, seemed heroic beyond magnitude.

Patrick shrugged.
"It's what needed doing...so I stepped up. I did it. My country needed me."

"You..." Tobias remarked, "you weren't scared?"

"Of course I was," Patrik replied. He found the Prince's questions curious. This was the first time he'd met him. He'd seen him of course, at Haland, heard his address during the 2013 Winter Offensive, and heard of what he did in Markarfljot. The Prince Tobias who was sitting next to his cot, however, seemed far less sure of himself.
"I did it because I want to fight for my home. And because I believe in you," he said matter of factly.

Tobias blushed. He really wasn't comfortable with that. He went to say something but stopped. This man was a hero. He shouldn't be questioning his motives. So instead he nodded and tried to steer the subject away from him.
"You're from Vesturmark, right?" he asked.

"Yeah," Patrik replied. "Lundr..." he said longingly.

"You miss it," Tobias replied. It wasn't a question. He could tell.

"I had leave when I was fifteen," he remarked.
"My uncle was a priest. So we were some of the first the People's Militia came after. Pabbi and Uncle Ásgeir didn't make it. Mamma, my sister Rakel, and I did," he said with a sigh.

"I'm..." Tobias began, lowering his eyes. "I'm sorry. I know what it's like to lose someone. I'm sure they're proud of you, in heaven."
It was all he could think of saying. His own faith was rather new, but that added to the strength of conviction.

"I hope..." Patrick replied, "because all I can do is to fight what I believe in. Uncle Ásgeir was devout. He believed in turning the other cheek," he chuckled.
"But I think he would understand."

"The Bible says it's not a sin to stand up to injustice," Tobias said confidently. Patrik noticed the change in the Prince's demeanour and nodded.

"Yeah...and I couldn't not fight after seeing what was happening. I heard about what you did in Markarfljot, I think you feel the same way," he said smiling at the Prince.

Tobias bit the inside of his lip. What people knew about Markarfljot wasn't all that happened there. Though Patrik...maybe he'd understand. Better than Axle and William maybe? But no...he decided he wouldn't bring it up. He nodded, hiding his uncertainty.
"I've seen too much suffering," he said softly.
"Not just my family. I've seen the camps, the 'agricultural homesteads,' which are basically camps. I've seen people die for no reason. There has to be some sense to it all. So opposing that, standing up to the people who do that, is the only thing I know how to do."

Patrik nodded and smiled. He recognized adolescent uncertainty in the Prince. He was nineteen. Patrick himself was twenty-five.
"Your speeches are rather confident. Do you draw on that conviction?"

Tobias chuckled.
"I'm confident because a speech is easy. Good and evil. So yeah, I draw on that conviction. But..." he sighed.
"It's different in the world, isn't it? It's one thing for me to say we should stand against evil. It's another to see people like you dying for me."
Tobias shifted as he spoke. He'd said it. What has been weighing on him. He wasn't sure how Patrik would take it. Would he be disappointed? Was he someone who was worth being disappointed in?

"I said I fought for what I believe in," Patrik said, noticing Tobias' discomfort. He smiled softly. He wanted to put his mind at ease.
"And what I believe in, like I said, is standing up for what I think is right, fighting for my home, and you, Your Highness." He was worried how Tobias might react to the honorific, based on what he had said earlier but he felt was necessary.

Tobias almost replied with "why?" but stopped himself. He knew why.
"I know why but...I just feel like I'm unworthy of having someone I don't know, someone brave from Lundr I never met, risking their life for me," he said smiling meekly.
"I've given some speeches and I've tossed a Syndie around. You're a hero."

Patrik lay there, his fingers dancing over the crucifix around his neck. He looked over at the Prince and thought for a moment. He had an answer for him, but it was a feeling. Nothing he could explain. So be decided to talk. And just see if he could shape that feeling into an explanation.
"I guess I could go on about symbols, but the truth is that you're like me. I'm not a symbol. You are, but that doesn't matter because we both want to fight the people who hurt others. I've seen people hung in their own church pews, Tobias. If that's not evil, then I don't know what is. Maybe it's because you've suffered loss too, I don't know. Your speeches though, you understand that. You understand that there are times when there is evil, that must be opposed. You're everything the people destroying our country aren't. They justify terrible things because of ideology. You simply stand for what's right. Not because it'll get you a crown, but because it's the right thing to do. And that's someone I would be honoured to call my King."
Patrik held out his hand, and Tobias took it. The Prince though, still seemed unsure, not looking up.

"Our people need their King. Be what our people need, and allow us to lay our lives down so you may be what you need to be," Patrik said with a grin.

"That's form somewhere," Tobias said. He couldn't place it, but the words sounded familiar. He was sure it was from one of William's lessons.

"Já," Patrik replied.
"It's what Lord Marshal Gunnar Eiderwig said to King Rikard I, during the last battle of the Syrixian Crusade," he added.

"Oh..." Tobias replied, but his thought was cut off by Patrik.

"King Rikard wanted to die fighting alongside the Knights of the Storm. He thought it was honourable, but he had to be told that he had a different calling. Prydania needed its King then. And it needs its King today; you. Allow us to fight in your name, so you can be what you need to be."
Patrik squeezed Tobias' hand before letting go to grip his crucifix again.

Tobias thought for a moment. He felt his heart racing.
"I hope I can be what everyone needs me to be," he said softly.
"I'm not even twenty. I'm not a politician. wasn't even..." he paused. He didn't want to be reminded of his parents' deaths.

"Look around," Patrik said with a chuckle.
"That's what politicians accomplished. I don't think we need one more of those. We need you though."

Tobias looked at this man, this war hero. This man who risked his life to save innocents when all hope seemed lost. He was, at least in part, inspired to do that because of him. It was an immensely humbling experience.
"You have no idea how honoured I am, that a man like you would say that, about me."

"Well...believing in you, and home. It's why I did what I did."

Tobias nodded.
"I never really had a home," he said softly.
"I've moved all over the place. I haven't been to the closest thing I had to a home in twelve years. Could you tell me about Lundr?" he asked with a smile.

Patrik grinned.
"It's one of those places that's only really special if you're from there. All the mundane stuff people wouldn't give a second thought to if they passed through just sort of have this special meaning though."

"That's the stuff I want to hear about," Tobias said, smiling.

Patrik chuckled.
"Well I remember one time..."

Tobias listened. There was something comfortable about listening to someone's stories from a more innocent time. And Patrik was happy to share. Talking to the Prince for what turned into hours. About the other reason he fought.

---

*"Our Father in heaven,
hallowed be your name.
Your kingdom come..."

*"Your will be done,
on eras as it is in heaven..."

*"Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our debts,
as we also have forgiven our debtors.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil."

---

Heavy is the Crown by Daughtry, 3:55

OOC Notes: Thanks to @Kyle for the idea for the post and the song suggestion!

11 November 2012
8:42 pm
On a Sunday
outside Hlio, Austurland, Prydania

Tobias couldn't help but watch the light dance off of Jægerblað's blade. Whoever made this sword- be it the godly smiths of legend of some more terrestrial creator- had truly made something beautiful. The way the metal seemed to flow like liquid...

"Hey," Fylkir Kaldbak said softly as he entered the room, causing Tobias to snap out of his daze.

"Hey," he said back, clutching the old sword's hilt.

"Thanks, for this," Fylkir said as he handed Tobias back his computer.

"Don't worry about it," Tobias said with a smile, setting his laptop down next to his cot.

Fylkir nodded and returned the smile, his a bit more nervous as he sat down on his own cot. There was a warm, soft light that illuminated their bunker. It almost made it cozy in spite of the concrete walls. The relative warmth as the November winds echoed outside helped. Still, the warmth couldn't raise the spirits of the two seventeen year olds.

Tobias watched as Fylkir dug out a stack of old magazines from his backpack. They were all computer magazines. Some from before the War even. He'd known Fylkir for two years- he must have read through that stack a hundred times easily. But Tobias didn't blame him. How often had he read the same bad chivalry novels?

The prince sighed, setting his sword down by his cot as he lay down.
"Fylkir?" he asked.

"Huh? Já?" Fylkir asked looking up from his magazines.

"Do you believe in the fairy tales our mammas and pabbis told us?"

Fylkir was taken back. He didn't expect that. Nor was he really willing to answer. He'd lost his own parents two years ago, victims of the People's Militia.
He'd have made it a point to ignore such a question, but he knew Tobias had lost his parents too. That he understood just what he was asking softened Fylkir's knee-jerk response.

"I don't know Toby," he said. "The world's fucked up. It doesn't seem very magical."
Fylkir was a bit curious about what brought this on. Tobias and he had actually bonded over feelings of mutual loss, helping each other cope in a distinctly adolescent way as they each tried to deal with everything they had gone through.
So for Tobias to talk about fairy tales...

"Are you sure you haven't been reading too much of those books?"

Tobias looked over at his stack of chivalry novels and shook his head.
"It's not that. I..." he said, pausing because he wasn't sure how to say this.

"Já?" Fylkir asked.

"I...saw something."

"Huh?" Fylkir asked, sitting up in his cot and sounding a bit confused.
"What kind of something?"

Tobias looked straight ahead for a moment. He was tense with nerves. He was unsure if he should have told Fylkir this...he'd kept it secret since he first got Jægerblað. He hadn't told Axle, William, or Stig. Not Rylond. Maybe because Fylkir knew- truly knew- what he felt, it made him more easy to confide the impossible in?
"You need to promise me something," Tobias said, his voice shaking just a bit.

"Sure, já, anything," Fylkir replied. He meant it. He'd been there for Tobias over the past two years. He wasn't sure what could have gotten him like this though.

"Don't tell anyone else what I tell you."

Fylkir nodded.
"I won't tell anyone. I promise."

Tobias smiled and sighed before he began.
"I...I see and hear things. When I touch the sword," Tobias said softly. Almost embarrassed by the words. He didn't even look at Fylkir.

Fylkir didn't know what to say at first. So many things ran through his mind. Tobias wasn't crazy- he knew that much. Was he right? Was his friend too invested in his chivalry novels?
He just took a deep breath and decided to be understanding in the hopes of Tobias sharing more.
"What sorts of things?" he asked.

"It's not all the time," Tobias said softly, but quickly. His head was pounding. He knew what this sounded like. He knew he sounded like he was speaking nonsense. And even though he had opened up to Fylkir he wasn't sure if he wanted to share everything. Rather he decided to share what had promoted him to tell Fylkir in the first place. What he had seen last night.

"Last night I woke up. I didn't know why. I felt tired, but I couldn't fall asleep. So I lay here, hoping I would drift off. I sort of just absent mindedly reached down and grabbed Jægerblað's hilt. And when I did I saw..."
He stopped himself due to nerves.

"What?" Fylkir asked, trying to sound calm and reassuring, even if he thought his friend was merely suffering from an over-active imagination. Probably coupled from stress. There was a lot in the world to be stressful about.

"I saw something so peaceful," Tobias said, turning to face his friend.
"I saw myself. I was standing near the top of Mt. Rauðtindur, looking down at the river. I was..." he began to chuckle softly, "I was wearing some old outfit. Like a hunter would wear, in the olden days, with a green cloak. Clasped with a golden deer head clasp..." he said as his heart pounded quickly.
"I know it sounds crazy and absurd, but I...I saw that version of myself, and I saw that version of me wasn't scared or angry. He looked...I looked...happy. I was just..." he stopped. He didn't know what else to say.
"It just felt wonderful," he added as he let his head drop.

Fylkir listened. What Tobias was telling him was both fantastical sounding and also not what he expected. He set his magazines down and got off his cot to sit next to Tobias' cot.
"I think I know what this is about," he said as he sat next to his friend.

"Já?" Tobias asked, sitting up on his cot as Fylkir came over.

"You saw yourself happy and not afraid," Fylkir said.
"Isn't that what we all want? There's nothing wrong with imagining something better."

Tobias didn't say anything for a moment, merely looking into the middle distance with a solemn expression. When he spoke he was quiet. Almost a whisper.
"Then why was I wearing some old medieval outfit?"

"Because," Fylkir smiled, "you've been reading too many chivalry novels," he said teasingly.

Tobias chuckled, but the laugh was short lived. He was still staring into that middle distance, into the bunker's concrete wall.
"I miss mamma and pabbi...I miss Krista. I even miss Astrid," he smiled meekly.
"If I did imagine myself that happy by myself then...why can't I do it more often?"

Fylkir got up onto the cot next to Tobias and hugged him. Tobias hugged back, clutching his friend. He began to cry softly. And Fylkir felt it. He began to tear up as well. His own mother and father...he clutched his friend tight. For a moment he seemed as sad as Tobias was, as lost. And then an idea shot though his mind.
His friend, someone who knew exactly what he felt, needed help. He needed something else to focus on. He needed an escape from the terribleness around them. He knew what his escape was. Maybe it could be Tobias' as well.

He slowly let go of Tobias, and saw the laptop he'd returned early. He stretched to grab it.

"What are you doing?" Tobias asked through sniffles and red eyes.

"You know what I've been doing on your computer?" Fylkir asked.

"No, what?" Tobias asked.

"Twitcher."

"What's a Twitcher?"

"It's a website," Fylkir chuckled.
"Social media. You can post as yourself, and see what other people are saying from all over the world."

"Saying? About what?" Tobias asked.

"Anything. Sports, movies, you know. Stuff like that." Fylkir had left out politics. The idea he'd had was to give Tobias something to be preoccupied with. So he could get his mind off of everything happening around him. If even for a few moments a day.

"I can...post as myself?" Tobias asked as Fylkir booted the laptop up.

"Já, but," Fylkir said, "you need to be careful. You can't just pour your heart out."

"But you said..."

"Toby, this is important. You can't post anything sensitive. If you go on here as you then you know the Syndies will be watching and reading. So you can't give away any import info about where we are or anything like that."

Tobias nodded as he watched Fylkir type away on his laptop.
"Maybe," Tobias said softly, "you could help. Like, if I ran what I wanted to post by you."

"Me?" Fylkir looked up from the laptop in surprise.

"Já," Tobias said with a smile.
"You know a lot more about this than I do."

"Haha," Fylkir chuckled.
"Look at me, I'm the crown prince of Prydania's social media manager."

"What's a social media manager?" Tobias asked, his previously dower mood perking up due to curiosity. It made Fylkir smile. It proved his idea was working.

"People who help run social media accounts for important people," he answered.

"I'm important?"

"Shut up Toby, you know you are."

Tobias blushed and smiled, staying quiet until Fylkir was done.

"Ok. So now just fill in these fields," Fylkir said as he handed the laptop over to Tobias.

"Hmm," Tobias muttered.
"Ok..." he filled in the appropriate info and clicked "enter."
"So now what?"

"Well," Fylkir said.
"What do you want to say to the world?"

Tobias looked at the blinking cursor on the screen. He tried to think...but too many things rushed through his mind. It was all a blur of things he wanted to say. And then an idea struck him.
"You said Syndicalists would be reading this?"

"Yeah," Fylkir said.
"I imagine they would follow everything you say very closely."

"Well they can read this then," Tobias said, typing quickly before handing the laptop back to Fylkir.
"What do you think?"

Fylkir looked over the post Tobias had written and smirked.
"Your social media manager approves," Fylkir said, hitting enter.
"Congratulations Toby. Welcome to Twitcher."

Tobias smiled, and part of him was giddy. For the first time in a while he'd have some window into the wider world.


Tobias Scylfing Loðbrók

@TSLoðbrók • 9y


I'm still here. #FRE

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364.6k Retwitches • 759.2k Likes

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Fanfares and Flowers by Mikolai Stroinski, 3:11

OOC Note: Thanks to @Kyle for the idea for this post

12 June 2016
3:48 pm
On a Sunday
just outside of Leiolfsstaoir, Prydania

"Move! Move! Move!" Captain Hjalti Stensby barked as his men began to burn the crops of the North Fölurpunktur Agricultural Homestead.
"Leave the Royalists nothing when they get here!"

Smoke drifted up to the clouds above. The smell...of burnt ash. It steeled Stensby, only for his attention to drift to a worker in blue work clothes, leaning against the side of a People's Militia truck.
"Hey! You! Back to work," he barked, walking closer, only to notice it was a kid. Ten years old. Maybe eleven.
"Back to work kid," he growled, grabbing the kid by his collar.

"It's too hot..." Sigtýr, the kid, replied.
"If I start lighting any more fires I'll burn up."

Stensby growled, slapping the kid into the dirt.
"Fucking sveitalubbi," he mumbled, pulling his sidearm.

Sigtýr groaned in the dirt, feeling the heat from the fields. He looked up...he felt like he was in hell. And he began to cry softly, pressing his forehead to the ground. Expecting the bullet.
Stensby was ready too, aiming his pistol when his radio crackled.

"Um sir? We have a situation."

"What?" Stensby asked, looking back towards the compound, seeing smoke rise from the buildings. Unlike the fields...that wasn't intentional. He didn't have time to think before the sound of artillery shook the ground. He went to look down, and saw the kid scamper away. He shot once, missing, and chased after him....

12 June 2016
4:02 pm
On a Sunday
just outside of Leiolfsstaoir, Prydania

The North Fölurpunktur Agricultural Homestead compound was chaos. FRE and Andrennian soldiers descended upon it, as People's Militia attempted to hold the line, their position compromised by an inmates' uprising. The prisoners had risen up when word reached them that the Syndicalist Republic Army of northern Fölurpunktur had broken along the banks of the Leir River.

"For the Republic!" a Syndicalist Militiaman called out, only to be gunned down.

"For the King," Þorfinnur Granseth grunted, lowering his gun as his squad made their way through the compound. Smoke was everywhere, but the rioting prisoners, some of whom looked half starved to death, cheered them as they made their way through. Many removing makeshift masks and lowering weapons to show they weren't a threat.

The Syndicalist lines had collapsed soon after FRE and Andrennian soldiers had breached the compound. These weren't Syndicalist Republic Army soldiers, no. These were People's Militia- thugs with uniforms who folded when they had to face people who could fight back. They were chased down by the prisoners they tormented, worked half to death. Pulled from their offices...from the armoury...delivered up to the FRE and Andrennians.

Þorfinnur Granseth and Eðvar Mordt made their way towards the loading platform that looked out upon the fields, as far as the eye could see.
Fields that, in better times, belonged to a multitude of families. Working the land. Feeding a nation-and more. It was bad enough that the Syndicalists had enslaved these people to work on land that was stolen from them. Now they were, in one last spiteful gasp, trying to burn it all down.

"Makes you think, eh?" Eðvar said as he looked out over the inferno.

"Já..." Þorfinnur replied.
"This...this is what my pabbi let my brother die for? He let my brother die in the name of...what? Killing and enslaving innocent people? Is that why my brother had to
die?" he asked, trying his damndest to hold back tears.

Eðvar sighed. He wouldn't have said anything if he knew this was how Þorfinnur would react. He just put an arm around his friend's shoulder.
"You helped free a lot of people today. A lot of kids. Your brother would be proud of you."

Þorfinnur nodded and looked down.
"All the good it'll do. Look at that fire..."

"Crops can be replanted. Lives can't be regrown," Eðvar said.
"Besides, Command has people trying to put it out. They'll save what they can."

"Either of you boys speak Andrennian?"

Eðvar and Þorfinnur both turned around to see an Andrennian soldier, wearing Lieutenant markings. He was accompanied by a sobbing woman in a blue prisoner's outfit.

"Yes," the Prydanians both replied in Andrennian. They were from Býkonsviði, where Andrennian was widely spoken enough to pick it up.

"The name's Lt. Aleksi Saavarta," the Andrennian replied. Both Eðvar and Þorfinnur saluted, but Aleksi quickly set them at ease.
"This woman came to me...I can't speak Prydanian.

Þorfinnur looked at Eðvar and then to the woman, approaching her and taking her hand.

"My name's Þorfinnur," he said in Prydanian.
"What's wrong."

She pointed out towards the inferno.
"The Militia took workers out to help set the fields on fire," she cried.
"My son, Sigtýr, was taken. They haven't returned. Please..." she began to bawl.

"Fröken," Eðvar replied.
"We have specialists out there helping put out the fires. I am sure they will find..."
He couldn't finish the sentence. Þorfinnur began marching towards the fields.

"Þor!" Eðvar called out.
"Where are you going?"

"To save someone," he called out. He felt the heat of the fires intensify as he walked towards the burning fields, squinting as he held his hands up to shield himself. Still... Styrbjörn...his brother...he couldn't let someone else die...not another child. He grit his teeth and was about to force himself into the fields when a hand yanked him back.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Aleksi yelled at him in Andrennian.
"You'll die! You don't have the right gear to go in there!"

Þorfinnur looked back at Eðvar trying to comfort the woman and then back at Aleksi.

"Fuck!" he called out. Aleksi didn't speak Prydanian, but he got the meaning of that.

12 June 2016
4:08 pm
On a Sunday
just outside of Leiolfsstaoir, Prydania

Sigtýr dropped down to the ground. Both to avoid inhaling the smoke of the burning wheat and to avoid being seen by Captain Hjalti Stensby. He knew the Captain as a vicious man, and he knew...he just knew...he'd die.

"Please God please," he muttered. He had been born on this compound...his mother having been imprisoned here while pregnant. The Syndicalist instructors beat you if you mentioned God...but his mother had taught him about God in private. And now, hiding amongst stalks of grain he knew would be consumed by the fire, hiding from a vicious man, he prayed.
"Please God, Mamma loves You...take care of her when I'm gone..." he said before he began to cry...

Captain Stensby held his gun as he looked through the maze of half-ablazed wheat, coughing as the smoke invaded his lungs.
"Fucking kid..." he mumbled. Truth was he was ready to give up. The compound was lost. That much was certain...he could still make a break for it though. Get to the river. Get out of his uniform. Lay low...

And then he heard crying. And his hand gripped the pistol he was holding tightly.

"Praying to God? In this place?" Stensby growled as he came upon Sigtýr.
"Look around kid, this is hell on Eras. If God's real he left this place a long time ago."

Sigtýr looked up as the Syndicalist Militia captain made his way through the wheat, fire framing his form as he raised his gun.

"Please God, please..." Sigtýr clutched his hands in a ball at his chest and looked down.
"Please..."

"Fuckin' nonsense..." Stensby growled. He aimed his pistol and then...

A gunshot.

Sigtýr winced, jaw clenched...but he felt nothing...he looked up, seeing Stensby standing before him, a bullet hole in his chest. Stensby looked ahead, in shock, and tried to aim his gun, only for a second shot to drop him to the ground.

Sigtýr looked up, and saw a man. In a black jacket and tactical gear, wearing a gas mask and holding a pistol. With a sword strapped across his back. The gas masked visage looked down, and the man holstered his pistol...

12 June 2016
4:12 pm
On a Sunday
just outside of Leiolfsstaoir, Prydania

"You need to find my boy," the woman, Hædý, whimpered.

"Fröken," Eðvar said softly.
"We have people who are equipped for this scouring those fields. They will find your boy, I know it."

"You don't understand..." she cried.
"His pabbi is gone. He's all I have..." she cried. Eðvar couldn't help it. He hugged her tight.

"You don't have anyone who could go in there?" Þorfinnur asked in Andrennian, ripping his helmet off to run his hand through his hair in frustration.

"No," Aleksi said.
"Our best bet is to let your people do their jobs. Maybe they can find the kid."

"Look," Þorfinnur growled.
"The last time I waited for someone to do right by a kid he fuckin' died and..." he shook his head and turned. He just sat on a concrete block in the loading area and shook his head some more.
"He fuckin' died...and I still can't save someone..." he began to cry.
His brother...now this woman's child. How many others would he have to hear die? See die?

"You can't save everyone," Aleksi said as he came over behind him.

"My brother died in the Advent Executions. I really don't wanna hear that bullshit...sir," he muttered.

Aleksi bit his lower lip. He remembered hearing of that. Fuck, that was brutal.
"I'm sorry to hear it soldier..."

"Já, thanks..." Þorfinnur muttered.
"I want to fight, for him, but what use am I if I can't save someone?"

"We saved a lot of people- men, women, and children- by liberating this camp," Aleksi replied.

"And I still couldn't save someone who needed it," Þorfinnur replied, looking down.

Aleksi was about to reply. About to tell him that it was about doing what good was possible when Hædý's voice cut through everything.

"Sigtýr!" she called out as she and Eðvar rushed out to the loading area facing the fields. Þorfinnur and Aleksi looked up, and were shocked to see what they saw...

A man in tactical gear and a gas mask was carrying a child out of the burning inferno. He moved against the burning fields behind him, marching on as he delivered the child he was carrying, keeping his face pressed to his shoulder so he wouldn't inhale the smoke. The fire dancing behind him illuminated his silhouette and Eðvar noticed something strapped to his back.

"Look..." Eðvar pointed.
"Look at what he's got across his back. Is that..."

The man dropped to a knee to set Sigtýr down. The boy bent over to cough a few times, looking up at the gas mask-clad face. Tobias pulled the mask off of his head, his mop of dirty blond hair a mess as he set the mask on the ground.
"Are you ok?" he asked.

The boy nodded.
"Já Herra*," Sigtýr said.
"I...I thought I was going to die..." he clutched Tobias tight, and the Prince hugged him back, before looking up.

"Let's get you to your Mamma," he said softly.

Aleksi, Eðvar, and Þorfinnur watched as Hædý approached her son and the Prince. She hugged her son and Tobias at once, as the three soldiers watched on.

"Is that..." Aleksi began to ask.

"That's our King," Þorfinnur said, watching on.
"That's our King."

---

*Já Herra- Yes sir

Battle Hym of the Republic by Mark Morgan and Mary Ramos, 4:03

OOC Notes: Posted with the approval of @Andrenne. And thanks to @Esplandia for the music idea!

27 August 2012
8:27 pm
On a Monday
Brokey, Prydania

Rain fell along the docks of Brokey. Not a heavy rain, but a steady rain. Naómí Varmdal looked on nervously, at the two figures seated on crates at the end of the dock.

"He's my brother," she grumbled.

"The captain wants to talk to him, you heard him. No one interrupts."

Naómí looked over at Bergsteinn Wold.
"Yeah well captain or not, he's not keepin' me from my brother," she began to make her way down the dock when Bergsteinn stopped her, moving his jacket to show the gun in his belt.

"You're gonna shoot me Bergi?" Náomí scoffed, only for him to put a hand on her shoulder and get an ice cold glare in return.

"Come on," Bergsteinn grumbled.
"You know how he is. Let him talk to him."

Náomí grumbled but nodded. Ronnie Frost had kept them all alive so far, attacking Syndicalists when they could.

But this wasn't a Syndicalist...well it was. But it was more complicated than that. Ronnie was currently with Kjell Varmdal, her little brother.
She worried what would happen, but Bergsteinn had convinced her to hang back. Ronnie Frost had kept them alive. She could indulge his need to interrogate if it meant she'd get to see her brother again.

---

"Eighteen, eh?" Ronnie asked.

"Nineteen," Kjell replied as the rain came down on both of them. Though the hood Ronnie was wearing gave him more cover.

"Nineteen and sailin' for Syndies," Ronnie observed.
"You're from Kollsloekr and you're fightin' for the people who commandeered your town's livelihood?"

"They did more than commandeer the fishin' fleets," Kjell replied.
"They commandeered people to. Me. Told me if I served in their navy my son and wife would be taken care of."

"You saw how Syndies take care of people like yourself in Darrow," Ronnie replied. He didn't raise his voice but he spoke in such a way that it felt like you were being yelled at even if he was speaking calmly. And here he was disturbingly calm.

Still, the hangings two days ago had hit Kjell hard. He wasn't from Darrow, but Darrow was very important around these parts. He'd been there plenty of times with his father when he was younger. The people there were people like him, like his sister. Like his family. And what was worse...he couldn't even process what had happened. Showing any sense of shock, sadness, or even quiet mourning for those hung in Darrow would have gotten him labeled a "backslider." He couldn't afford that. He needed to stay in the Syndicalist Republic Navy's good graces. For his own family's sake.

Kjell looked down.
"I hope every motherfucker who was involved in hangin' those people gets what they have comin'" he said as his voice shook.
"Every fuckin' one."

"You could do that you know," Ronnie mused.
"Tear off that traitorous fuckin' rag..." he reached in to pat the Syndicalist Republic flag patch on Kjell's sleeve.
"...and sail with me. Your sister's one of the best hands I have. You'd be a good addition if you got half the natural talent for seafarin' she has."

Kjell looked down the docks. He could just make Náomí out.

"Will you save my family?" Kjell asked.

"In Kollsloekr?"

"Já," Kjell replied. "My wife Kára and son Jan."

"And you want me to do what?" Ronnie asked.
"Sail into Kollsloekr, fight off the People's Militia and Syndie-aligned cops, and get your wife and kid out?" he scoffed.
"We ain't exactly an outfit ready to be stormin' beaches, in case you haven't noticed."

"You took out my ship. And two others. Three Syndie destroyers are at the bottom of the Auburn Channel because of you. Fuck, you know how fuckin' scared the rank and file of the navy is of ya? You're Ronnie Frost!"

"Sinkin' Syndie ships ain't the same as stormin' a town," Ronnie replied.
"A good sailor knows how to use the sea to his advantage. Your lot's sailors..."

"They aren't my lot!" Kjell shot back.
"You think I wanna sail for these people?"

"I don't care what ya want, boy," Ronnie replied.
"I care what ya do."

"I didn't have a choice...I need to keep my family safe."

"You don't need to do anythin' but what you want to do."

"That ain't how the world works..." Kjell began, only for Frost to cut him off.

"Don't tell me how the world works! Ten fuckin' years ago the rat bastards came to me. Offered me a chance to hand over the KPS Stormurhöfn if I joined their Sailor's Committee. Never mind the fuckin' treason, imagine Nielsen and Leiftur with a fuckin' aircraft carrier. No..." Ronnie shook his head.
"I scuttled the ship instead. Lost an eye in the process," he said as he tapped his eyepatch. And now I life out here, sleepin' and livin' in moist, damp ships and hideouts, fighting just to FUCKIN' SURVIVE!"

Kjell was taken aback. For the first time Ronnie actually raised his voice.

"I could have both my eyes, some cushy job in the Syndie navy, livin' high while normal people are starved, beaten, and hung. But I live this life because it's the right thing to do. It ain't comfortable, it ain't convenient. But it's right."

Kjell looked down as the rain fell on him.

"So what will it be? What's right? Or what's convenient?"

Kjell looked up at Ronnie.
"You're askin' me to join your crew and fight the Syndies...while leavin' my wife and baby boy to the mercies of the people who hung those folks in Darrow."

"I'm askin' you to help me fight the people who hung those folks in Darrow," Ronnie retorted.

"I can't...I need to get back. I need to make sure my family's ok."

"I don't wish your son or wife any harm, I really don't," Ronnie replied.

"Then why do you want me to leave them?"

"I'm not askin' you to leave them. I'm askin' you to do the right thing. Right or wrong, your choice. Your family's just a factor. I don't wish 'em dead. I'd save them if I could, but I ain't about to spare Syndie ships on account of one baby and one woman."

"That's my wife, and my son," Kjell replied.
"You can't expect me to just...leave them."

"Those people at Darrow were someone's son or daughter, someone's brother or sister, someone's mother or father."

"Já," Kjell replied. "And as much as I want to mourn them, I need to make sure my family doesn't join them."

Ronnie lowered his head a moment before looking up.
"I actually get it ya know. I understand. I know exactly what I'm askin' of ya, and I know it's not easy. But these ain't easy times. And I have to make sure the enemy doesn't have people who can man their ships."

"I'm not a Syndicalist," Kjell replied, beginning to cry.
"Everything they've done...I hate it. But I'll endure everything they tell me to do, to keep my family safe."

"I respect that," Ronnie said softly.
"But I can't let you go back."

He stood and drew a pistol and fired. One bullet, dropping Kjell to the dock...

---

"No!" Náomí cried out as she pushed past a shocked Bergsteinn, running up as Ronnie made his way back up the dock.

"You son of a bitch! You low-life piece of shit!" she cried out, drawing her own sidearm at Ronnie as the rain came down.

"Get out of my way, Náomí," he said quietly.

"No! You..." she began to shake as she looked past him, to her brother's body.
"You..." she trembled some more, before she began to bawl, even as she held the gun up.
"You killed my brother..."

"He wanted me to let him go back to the Syndicalist Navy. I couldn't do that," Ronnie said gruffly.

"YOU NEVER LET ME..." Náomí collapsed to her knees, still holding her gun up at him.
"You never....never let me talk to him...I could have changed his mind I could have...I could have..."

"You couldn't have done a thing...he was goin' to fight against us, for his family."

"Kára...Jan....you killed her husband. His father..."

"I killed a Syndicalist sailor."

"YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!" Náomí yelled as she stood up.
"You killed him! From me, Kára, and Jan...you took him...and I'm going to kill you."

Ronnie walked a step closer, narrowing the gap between them as the rains fell.
"You're an excellent sailor Náomí, but you're not going to shoot me."

"I'm going...I'm going to kill you, and I'm going to find my sister-in-law and nephew..."

"Then shoot me already," Ronnie replied. His voice was heavy. What he'd just done was weighing on him, as much as Náomí didn't want to accept that.

Náomí aimed at Ronnie, through the rain and her tear-filled eyes.
Her finger pressed against the trigger and...
She looked past him again. To Kjell. Then back at Ronnie. She just needed to pull...but she couldn't. She lowered her head. And began to cry again. Standing limply in the rain, crying because she couldn't imagine her baby brother wanting her to shoot anyone. She cried as Ronnie walked past her. And she took off, running to Kjell's body.

"Oh my God..." she said as she dropped to her knees to cradle him, stroking his hair gently. First Thorlákur...now Kjell...she cried as she cradled her little brother.
"Kjell..." she cried in the rain.
"Kjell..." she clutched his body and just sobbed. Sobbed as the rain came down.
"I don't know how...I don't know how but I'm going to make sure Kára and Jan are ok...I'm going to make sure...ok? Ok? Please..." she cried.
"And I don't know how, but I'm going to make sure you get justice..."

---

"What...what do you want us to do with the body when Náomí's done?" Bergsteinn asked, still shocked by what he'd seen.

"Dump it in the sea," Ronnie replied quietly.
"The Syndies are starvin' the whole country. No reason the fish have to suffer too."

---

The Black Rainbow by Coheed and Cambria, 7:33

6 October 2015
9:06 pm
On a Tuesday
Bygde, Prydania

"Love?"

Kaleb said nothing as he came home.

"Love?" Asfrith asked again, getting up to go to his husband...his husband who just stood there, by the door, looking off into the middle distance.
They called it a lot of things. Shell Shock. Battle Fatigue. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Regardless...it was something Asfrith worried he would have to see some day, having married a soldier. He thought he'd been lucky. Kaleb's role in Army Intelligence meant that he rarely saw actual combat. But now, as Asfrith got close to him, he saw that look. That look that he'd been afraid of seeing. The look that he'd begun to count his lucky stars that he'd never see.

"Love," Asfrith repeated, his voice trembling with worry, "what's happened?" He didn't need to ask if Kaleb was ok. It was clear he wasn't. He went to hug his husband, but stopped. He knew...well he'd read...that people like this, well, sometimes they didn't respond well to sudden movement. He very gently put his hands on Kaleb's arms and began to stroke them gently. He was concerned. For his husband, and even why he'd come home like this. Surely the Army would have protocols for this? Surely they'd see him like this, and make sure he was alright?

Kaleb just stood there, looking off into the distance, as if he were looking through Asfrith, and dropped his satchel. It fell to the floor with a thud. He still didn't speak.

"Kaleb," Asfrith said, his voice still shaking, "I'm worried. Please, talk to me. What's happened?"
Asfrith knew Kaleb had been deployed to Hadden. Something about Royalist terrorists. And there were whispers of something that had happened. The news wasn't saying anything but that there was a crackdown against "anti-revolutionary terrorists." Asfrith wasn't an idiot...he knew that when the news said something like that it was never that simple, but he'd been happy to hear Kaleb was alright and would be coming home. Only...this is who came back. A Kaleb who just looked through him as if he wasn't there.

Asfrith was about to speak when Kaleb finally did.
"Fire...everywhere," he said, shaking.
"Bodies everywhere. The streets..."

"What happened Kaleb? I was following the news on RÚV. They said there was a crackdown..."

"The RÚV...the RÚV lies..." Kaleb said, still shaking as his husband held him more firmly. Asfrith gulped. He knew the government was never a hundred percent truthful but...it was for the greater good. Or at least what he told himself.

"Lies?" he asked softy.
"Lies about what? Love, talk to me. Did the FRE do something? Did they kill..."

"THEY DIDN'T KILL ANYONE!" Kaleb screamed. Asfrith pulled back, shocked as he let go of Kaleb's arms. Kaleb began to cry, even as he tried to power through it.
"They...I....they did....I..." he stammered. His mind was a mess...he was trying to hold onto his worldview. The same worldview that caused him to join the Syndicalist Party, believing it was the guardian of democracy and equality. The same worldview that caused him to join the Soldiers' Committees and help the Party seize power against the fascists. It was crumbling. Crumbling under the weight of what he'd seen, and that pressure of trying to hold it together in mind coupled with his trauma left him a stammering mess. And then...

He collapsed. He collapsed to his knees, grabbing his chest with his arms as he cried. Asfrith quickly knelt down to hug his husband, and Kaleb cried into his shoulder.
"They didn't kill anyone...the FRE didn't kill anyone...we did....we killed...we killed all of them..."

Asfrith just breathed heavily. He never asked his husband about his work. He knew he could never tell him. And he'd accepted that some things had to be done for the greater good but...but he'd never seen Kaleb like this. And he was at a loss. Kaleb was always the sure one, the certain one...he just hugged him tight.
"I love you," he whispered.
"I love you so much."

Kaleb cried into his husband's shoulder.
"I saw it, they killed everyone. We killed everyone. Leiftur and the Militia killed all of those people....all over the street..." he couldn't get the image of a dead Shaddaist boy wearing a skullcap dead in the streets of Hadden, blood leaking from his mouth. Or the piles of bodies from the farming towns outside of the city. Or the fire....
"They killed everyone...."

"Babe, love, please," Asfrith said frantically.
"I love you, I'm here for you," he said as he squeezed his husband.
"Can you tell me what happened?"

"I told you, Leiftur killed everyone, all of the bodies, all of the fire..."

Asfrith nodded, and ran a hand through Kaleb's hair.
"The news said it was a crackdown, on terrorists..."

"NO!" Kaleb cried out, weeping in Asfrith's arms before hugging him back tightly, afraid that his loudness might push him away. And he couldn't...he couldn't bare to be away from him right now.
"No...no....there were no terrorists. Leiftur just...did it. Because he could. He just killed all of those people. All of those innocent people...."

Asfrith breathed deep. He felt...scared...for the first time in a while. In a way that he didn't think he'd have to feel again when Anders III and the Social Commonwealth fascists were toppled.
"Did...did you tell command? Who do we need to call?" he asked softly.

"There's no one..." Kaleb wept, "no one..."

"There's got to be someone."

"No, the Militia and Leiftur do what they want. The Army won't do anything. I'd be arrested if I even said anything," he said sniffling as he clutched Asfrith. He felt cold.
"I can't go to anyone. I don't know what to do..."

"What do you mean?" Asfrith asked.

"I can't...I can't..." Asfrith and Kaleb let go of each other as Kaleb clutched his uniform before pulling it from his torso and tossing it aside.
"I can't Asfrith. I can't go back..."

"You're going to quit the Army?"

"I can't..." Kaleb replied before crying again.
"I can't...Leiftur would come after me if I tried. I know...things..."

Asfrith gulped. The things he'd never asked his husband about.

"The FRE didn't kill all of those people," Kaleb added, trembling.
"We did...we did and I can't do it anymore..."

"All of the killings..." Asfrith said softly. Kaleb nodded.

"They keep killing people...I keep lying to myself. But I can't. I did it for you, so we could be together, but I can't anymore. I'm sorry..." Kaleb broke down crying again as he hung his head.

"For me..." Asfrith replied softly.
"Kaleb, I only every wanted you," he said with a meek smile as he held his husband once more.
"I love you...no matter what...but I don't know what to do...I want to help you, love, please..."

Kaleb clutched his husband's arms as he was held.
"I can't go back to the Army. I can't go back to Leiftur...but they will come after me, and you. They'll come after you to get to me...I know what I have to do."

"What is it, love?" Asfrith asked, beginning to choke up. He was scared. He was worried. A million things flashed through his mind. That they'd have to divorce or that Kaleb would have to take his own life for his safety, both of which had him on the verge of tears as he shook his head.

"I need to go to the FRE," he muttered.
"I need to go to the FRE and I need to tell them everything..."

That cut through Asfrith's burgeoning emotional state like a knife through butter. He needed a moment to process what he'd heard.
"The FRE...you've been tracking them for years," he said softly.
"And they're fascists, they...no."
Asfrith shook his head.
"No. You remember what it was like Kaleb, under Anders?"

"You don't understand," Kaleb replied. "The RÚV lies. The government lies. I've...I've been out there..." he sniffled.
"You've been here, in this bubble. This...this Party bubble, because that's where I thought you'd be safe but....he Party lies. They all lie."

"I don't understand Kaleb. The Party lies? About fascism? We both lived it. The Party didn't make that up..."

"The FRE isn't SoComm. They're not fascists. The Party tells you that, because...because...why wouldn't they? I went along with all of it, because...because the ends justified the means. I kept telling myself that Asfrith, but I can't...I saw the bodies. I saw the dead men, women, and children. I saw the farms on fire...I saw everything. It was a harrying. They destroyed everything. I can't...I can't be on the side that does that."

"You're going to go to the FRE, and you're going to help a Loðbrók?"

"They aren't fascists. I've been tracking that fucking kid, for thirteen years. He isn't a fascist either. I don't know...I don't know what he is...but I can't let people like Jannik Leiftur win control of this country. I already did that once and I saw....I saw all the dead..."
"I can't, Asfrith...I need to do this...I know it's scary, but it's the right thing. I helped make what happened in Hadden possible. I need to fix it...I need to do what I can to fix it."

Asfrith hugged his husband tight and cried softly.
"I'm scared, Kaleb..."

"I am too...but do you trust me?"

"Always," Asfrith answered almost instantly. It made Kaleb smile meekly.

"I know it hurts, but I don't know what else to do, but to do this."

"Whatever you do," Asfrith hugged his husband tight, resting his arm on his shoulder.
"I'll be with you, until the end."

Kaleb whimpered and nodded. His world had collapsed into a field of ash, fire, and the innocent dead. He knew what he had to do, and the fact that his love was with him made even the impossible choice seem possible.

---

With You Til the End by Tommy Profitt and Sam Tinnesz, 3:15

25 February 2003
7:53 pm
On a Tuesday
Somewhere in Austurland, Prydania

Axle thought for a moment, moving his borðspil* piece inward towards the centre of the board. Tobias looked on, at the pieces before him, and seemed to be studying it in the way little boys often look when trying to problem solve. He seemed unsure as he reached out to the king piece and moved it, his hand shaking. If Axles trolls penned him in...

"Hmm..." Axle mused. He could have ended the game early, but he'd held off. He wanted to teach the boy how to play, after all. Not crush him mercilessly. So he held off from going in for the kill.

"Borðspil?" Axle turned, seeing William walk in.
"Isn't borðspil a bit...on the nose...to be playing with him?"

"Maybe the game's deeper lessons will rub off on him," Axle replied with a soft chuckle.
"Or maybe he'll just have a good time playing a game."

"What deeper lessons?" Tobias asked as he looked up from the board.

"Nothing," Axle said, as he moved one of his troll pieces harmlessly to the left.

William took a seat watching them play. It had been five months since the start of this madness, and Tobias was finally starting to open up. He was finally starting to sleep through the nights, without waking up screaming or crying.
There was little for William to smile about presently, but the fact that Tobias seemed to be getting better was one thing he was happy about.

William watched as they played borðspil, his earlier comment ringing in his own mind. Borðspil was a Nordic game, one that resembled chess at a glance but was very much unique. One player controlled the King and his armies in the centre of the board. The other played troll armies surrounding the King and his forces. The player who played as the trolls had to try to eliminate the King's forces and hem the King in. The player who played as the King's forces had to try and survive and escape to one of the board's four corners to win. On the nose indeed.

William sighed. It was entirely possible it was the only game available in the nearby abandoned farmhouse they raided. So perhaps he shouldn't be too harsh on Axle for his choice of activity. William just didn't want anything that might put stress on Tobias or remind him too much about the bleakness around him.

"Time for bed," William said after a few minutes, having glanced at his watch.

"But we're still playing," Tobias said softly.

"The game will still be here in the morning," William insisted.

"Axle..." Tobias said with wide eyes, hoping he'd allow him to stay up. Axle chuckled softly.

"Sorry, Will's the boss, you know that."

"But I'm not tir..." Tobias began before yawning. He was blushing when he stopped.

"Come on," William chuckled, picking the seven year old up as he led him through the catacombs of the large Fascist War-era bunker they were holding out in. It was a larger one too, making the prospect of having to move on from it soon less than ideal. Even if it was necessary.

"Goodnight Axle," Tobias said softly as William took him.

"Night, pal," Axle replied, leaning back and pouring himself another glass of brennívin.

William took the prince to a small room, more of a semi-hidden enclave in one of of the bunker's two main rooms, and carefully set him down in a cot. Tobias grabbed a thin blanket to wrap himself in. Thankfully the concrete walls of the bunker kept the Prydanian winter outside from getting in. Even still, Tobias had a certain look about him. He was sad. That much was certain.

"Hey," William replied, sitting down next to Tobias' cot.
"A few years back...I lost my wife, and my daughter."
Tobias looked at him, not saying anything...just a look of sadness in his eyes.

"I..." William began..."I didn't know what to do. It felt like I couldn't go on. I know how it hurts to lose people you love, Toby. Which is why I'm so proud of you. You're very brave."

Tobias looked up at William, and then down.
"I don't feel brave."

William nodded, reaching out and stroking the prince's hair.
"Being brave doesn't mean you're not scared, or sad..." he began. "It means that even though you're scared and sad you keep going. I know how sad things have been. But every day you get up, and the people who hurt us don't know it yet, but every day when you get up you tell them you're brave and won't let them beat you."

Tobias nodded, smiling ever so slightly.
"Thank you, Uncle Will..."
William grinned and nodded.

"You need your rest. So sleep well. And I'll make sure Axle doesn't cheat by moving game pieces."

"Ok," Tobias said with a yawn, already drifting to sleep now that he was in bed.
William sat and watched the boy for a moment. This was it. More than anything else, this was what Robert and Hanna had trusted him with.

"Sleep well, Toby," William whispered as he got up, only for a half asleep Tobias to mumble "...love you Uncle Will..."

William grinned and made his way back to Axle.
"He's out."

Axle nodded.
"It'll be easier when he can be with the other kids again."

"Yeah," William replied smiling, pouring himself some brennívin.

"Well," Axle shrugged.
"Here's to one more day."

"One more day," William said, holding his glass up to clang it against Axle's.

"Ralt."

---

*borðspil- a Prydanian board game

---

Varúð by Sigur Rós, 6:37

11 April 2011
9:17 pm
On a Monday
Somewhere in Austurland, Prydania

"Wood's in," Tobias grunted as he entered the cabin, dropping the pile of wood and sighing with relief as he pulled his gloves from his hands. It didn't matter that the only heating the cabin had was an old fireplace and stove, and it felt like a typical Prydanian January outside despite being April. It wasn't a bunker. He could see the sky.

"Good," Axle said, sitting next to the fireplace.
"Throw a few longs on the fire."

Tobias obeyed without much hesitation and then shed his jacket, revealing an old ragged sweater with a few holes that was a bit too big for him hanging from his frame as he warmed himself in the recently-fed fire. He pulled his boots off so his feet could be warmed too before blowing into his hands.

Axle watched him, sipping some beer as he thought. Tobias had been a sort of way since Krista Brink's death. Axle had given him his space. The boy deserved his chance to mourn the one person who made him happy in this fucked up world. So he'd flat out refused William's requests that he "talk" to him. He was willing to let Tobias process his grief in his own way.

And then he noticed Tobias taking another turn. He'd blown up at William once already, less than two weeks ago. And he'd grown increasingly focused on weaponry. Sometimes doing nothing but fine tuning guns, and shutting everyone around him out. So Axle watched Tobias warm himself, before he got up to grab his hunting rifle from the door.

"You should sit down," Axle said, sipping more beer.

"I'm just getting my rifle."

"It's dark out and the snow's fallin' heavy. You don't need your rifle. Sit down."

Tobias looked at Axle, feeling his heart race. He felt a pang of anxiousness because Axle had never spoken to him that directly before unless it was a life or death situation.
"I just wanna clean it," he said softly.

"You've been cleaning and realigning the blasted thing every day for the past two months. It's as aligned and clean as it's going to get," Axle said, firmly.
"Now come on, sit down. We need to talk."

Tobias gulped but nodded and crossed his legs, sitting next to the fire, on the floor. If William filled the father figure role for Tobias then Axle filled the "cool uncle" role. It's why even at his most defiant Tobias rarely disobeyed him.

"What's up?" the prince asked.

"I wanted to ask you that," Axle answered.
"You've been very quiet lately, except when you get angry."

Tobias blushed a bit, and looked down, before looking to his side, at a window.
"I'm just thinkin'," he said, breathing deep.

"About guns, it seems. If it isn't that rifle it's all those Breca D-16s."

"I'm just tryin' to put together the best one," Tobias insisted.
"Some have a busted barrel extension, or a cracked site. I just want to put together the best one I can."

"Something tells me this isn't just about hunting. You don't hunt with a D-16," Axle said with a shrug. Tobias grunted softly, and turned from facing Axle to facing the fire.

"I'm just tryin' to protect myself," Tobias remarked.

"Yeah..." Axle nodded.
"I'm just worried you're going to protect yourself from someone who you don't need to protect yourself from."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Tobias grumbled as he stared into the fire.

"It means you're a fifteen year old..."

"I'll be sixteen in three days."

"It means you're a sixteen year old with guns. Kids make mistakes."

"I'm not a kid..." Tobias said softly.

"I just don't want you getting lost in your own head obsessing over this stuff. People could get hurt."

"Depends on the person."

"Innocent people, Tobias," Axle insisted. Tobias stared at the fire for another moment.

"There are no innocent Syndicalists," he muttered.

Axle finished off his beer and leaned forward in his chair, just a bit.
"That's a topic of must contention, but not every Syndicalist deserves to die, 'innocent' or not."

"Why not?" Tobias replied quickly. He wasn't blinking. He was just staring into the fire.
"They hurt people. They hurt everyone."

"People are complicated," Axle replied.
"They do things for complex reasons. Your father trusted the Syndicalist Party for a long time. So did I."

"Pabbi's dead, and you're here. Look at what that got you two," Tobias said, his calm demeanour hiding a racing heart.

"I'm here," Axle replied, "because I promised your mamma that I would protect you."

Tobias continued to stare into the fire, but the mention of his mother triggered something. It dug up a thought that he'd been having for months and months now....
"My mamma..." he said, his heart pounding now.
"She just left me..." he said. "She left me AND SHE LIED TO ME!" he gripped his head, and lowered it, curling his knees up to his chest.
"She fucking LIED TO ME AND LEFT ME...."

Axle was shocked. He didn't know what to say, other than something to help Tobias. He didn't want him hurting like this.
"She didn't leave you she..."

"YES SHE DID! YES SHE FUCKING DID!" Tobias yelled as he stood up, his eyes were wide and full of tears as he looked at Axle. Axle set the empty beer can he was holding down and stood up to meet Tobias' gaze.

"You need to listen to me, boy. She didn't. She..."

"SHE TOLD ME I'D SEE HER AND PABBI AGAIN! BUT SHE JUST GAVE ME TO YOU! SHE TOLD ME...SHE TOLD ME..." he collapsed to his knees, clutching his chest as he cried.
"I just wanted to see them again....I wanted to see them again but they were gone....I had to watch them die when mamma said...she said....she'd see me again but she lied..." he broke down in tears, crying at Axle's feet.

"Tobias, you need..." Axle tried to interject, but Tobias kept going as he cried.

"Krista was taken...but mamma lied...I....I never got...I never got to see...until she died...." he cried, on his knees, bent over. Axle breathed deep and sat, crossed legged, before Tobias. He didn't do anything. He just let him cry, hanging his head and clutching his chest. How long had he held onto this? Did Krista's death just bring this all to the surface? Had he been holding onto this since he was a small child?

Axle waited for Tobias to quiet down, his crying turning into sniffling and whimpering.
"Come here," Axle whispered. Tobias looked up with tear-soaked eyes, still clutching his chest. He sniffled and nodded, hugging Axle, and burying his face in his shoulder.
"I love you, Axle..." he whimpered.

"I love you too, Toby," Axle replied.
"And so did your mamma."

Tobias let his body go limp in Axle's arms.
"She..." he began, only for Axle to interrupt.

"Shhh," Axle insisted, letting the prince go. Tobias just knelt there, by Axle, his heart racing and eyes still full of tears.
"Your mamma did one of the bravest things I've ever seen anyone do." Tobias looked up, looking wounded, vulnerable. Axle was a former intelligence agent. And in his young mind he'd seen and done everything.

"Your mamma had to lie to her only child, her sólskin*, because it was the only way he'd be safe. She lied to you, to protect you because you wouldn't have gone with me any other way. I looked into her eyes when she told you that she and your father would see you again, and it cut her to her soul to say that, knowing you'd never see each other again. She did it, to protect you though, because she loved you more than anything."

Tobias gulped and began to cry again, softly this time.

"And," Axle continued, softly, "I promised her I would never let anything happen to you."

Tobias tried to stop crying, gasping a bit as Axle continued.

"And one thing I won't let happen to her son is letting him become someone who would break her heart. Your mother loved you, Toby," Axle fought the urge to tear up, "and she wouldn't want you becoming a man who kills innocent people."

Tobias lowered his head again, and breathed deep.
"I'm just....people I love keep dying. I need to do something."

Axle hugged the boy again, and Tobias hugged him back tight.
"You will. By being a person your mamma knew you could be."

Tobias breathed deep, trembling in Axle's arms. He was a seven year old child, wondering why his mamma and pabbi weren't there when his mamma said they'd be. And he finally knew why. All of the loss he felt...was because of a heartbreaking act of protection.

---

*sólskin- sunshine

---

Carry on Wayward Son by Neoni, 2:59

26 May 2017
10:16 am
On a Friday
Býkonsviði, Prydania

Axle looked ahead through binoculars as wind blew through his hair. The armoured jeep he was standing in was part of a convoy heading towards Býkonsviði's outer neighbourhoods. The fighting had progressed, with Syndicalist lines falling back deeper into the city. For the first time in the War the FRE controlled part of the capital.
Smoke from the fighting was visible, but distant enough, for this trip to happen.

He sat down, shutting the portal in the roof as he grabbed a radio.
"Skov calling into Command. Status update?"

"The outer city is under control. Rooted out Militant insurgency. You're good."

"And Keris?"

"Krummedike and the Kanadians have 'em pinned down. You're good to come in."

"Understood, Skov out," Axle answered, leaning back in his chair.

"I told you it was fine," Tobias said softly. He was leaning against the window, looking ahead.

"Forgive me for wanting confirmation from command and not taking your word for it," Axle smirked.
"You're a bit too excited to be objective about it," he added.

"It's..." Tobias said as a sign that read Nú inn Reynir* passed them by, "...where I was born."
The sign passed quickly but the Syndicalist emblem and the bits that indicated who were and weren't able to leave were covered in spray paint.

"I've kept you safe all of these years," Axle replied.
"I'm going to do my damndest to finish the job."

Tobias smiled, turning to face him as the covey rolled into Reynir.
"Thank you, for being there with me when I had to leave. And for being here when I come back."

Axle nodded, smiling slightly. He remembered that day all too well, fifteen years ago. The fear and the heartache he saw in both Hanna and her son. He thought to say something but he didn't. Not for a long moment, as he just let everything sink in. Symbolism wasn't something he focused too much on. He was a practical man.
Tobias was returning to the city of his birth though. The same city he had to take him from a decade and a half ago. Forget the symbolism of the rightful King of Prydania returning to the capital. The boy he'd seen grow up was getting to return home.

"It was my honour," he replied, finally.
"To keep my promise to your mamma and to be able to watch you grow up," he added, looking ahead. He was always awkward with overly emotional stuff. Thankfully Tobias knew that, and knew how to reply, hugging Axle tight. Axle chuckled, patting Tobias' arm around him as the jeep pulled to a stop. FRE soldiers in the transports ahead and behind their jeep pooled out, and Tobias looked up from hugging Axle to see the crowds.

"Holy shit..." he muttered.

"The Crown Prince of Prydania is finally returning to the capital," Axle chuckled.
"It means a lot to a lot of people. Especially people who have been living under Syndicalism the longest."

Tobias went to get out but Axle put a hand up to stop him.
"It's safe, já?" he asked the driver.

"Area's clean," the driver replied.

Tobias was twenty-two, but he lit up like he was twelve hearing he could finally set foot in his home town again.

The scene was wild. FRE soldiers formed a perimeter around the transports and what was once the local People's Militia headquarters, though the Syndicalist emblem had recently been pried off the outside. Old Oslo tanks of an Andrennian make with FRE emblems dominated the space next to the building.
Still, the soldiers weren't needed. The crowd didn't swarm him, even as they cheered. Some were wearing normal clothing, some were wearing makeshift body armour- civilians who had helped the FRE in the fighting- and some were wearing the blue overalls the Syndicalist Party forced its political prisoners to wear. And all cheered when Tobias smiled wide and raised a hand to wave. Some flew the barbed cross flag of the Kingdom of Prydania, and others were holding up white cards that were burning.
They were Syndicalist Party membership cards and Syndicalist Republic ration cards. Tobias went to say something, when a voice cut through the noise.

"Welcome home, Your Highness."

Tobias turned and ran towards William, hugging him tightly as he stepped out of the former Syndicalist Militia HQ.

"William," Tobias said as he hugged him tight.
"It's so good to see you."

William hugged Tobias tightly for a moment before pulling back.
"We'll talk later, but I think some people want to see you."

Tobias, smiling wide, nodded at William before turning to the cheering crowd.

"Do you want a loudspeaker?" William asked.

"Já..." Tobias said as he looked upon the cheering crowd.

"Do you know what you're going to say?" William asked.

"Not at all," Tobias said softly, still feeling a bit overwhelmed.

William nodded. He'd come to trust Tobias when it came to this sort of thing, and ordered a FRE soldier to fetch a loudspeaker from inside.

Tobias took it when the soldier handed it to him, making his way towards the crowd. There was one guy, who looked about his age, close up with a barbed cross flag. Tobias hugged him tight.

"Hey man, what's your name?" he asked.

"Um..." the young man said in shock.
"I'm Lini. Lini Arnholm, Your Highness."

Tobias nodded and shook his hand.
"I'm happy to meet you Lini," he said.
"I have to give a speech now. Would it be ok if I borrowed your flag?"

"What?" Lini asked. The cheering was loud enough that it was hard to hear the person next to you.

"Can I borrow your flag for a speech?" Tobias asked again, chuckling.

"Of course!" Lini replied back, handing the flag to Tobias. The prince took the flag with one hand, the loudspeaker in the other, and ran over to one of the FRE tanks parked outside, climbing up. He'd grown up in a militia. He knew how to climb a tank.

Tobias raised his hand holding the flag he'd gotten from Lini, the crimson and white banner fluttering a bit in the light summer breeze. The crowd cheered louder. Tobias then lowered it, and brought the loudspeaker up.

"Hello!" he said excitedly. More cheers erupted, but they soon quieted down as Tobias began to speak.

"Five days ago I told the world that I was claiming the throne of this country!" There were more cheers.

"And I meant it because it's time this country had a government that cared about the people, instead of punishing them for living. The people of this country, from east to west and north to south, are wonderful! And I'm going to be the King of this country for every one of them. To give them a country they deserve. A free country!"

There were more cheers, but Tobias continued through them.

"I'm not naive, but I know this is possible because of my grandfather. People tell me how great this country used to be when he was King. And we can do it again. You and me, everyone!"

Tobias raised the flag again as he stood on the tank, addressing the crowd just blocks away from where he was born.

"I know we can do it again because I know this country is full of good people. It's why no matter what happened, freedom won! Is winning! And will win!" he breathed deep as he kept holding the hand clutching the flag above his head as the crowd erupted again. He noticed a few camera crews in the crowd too.
Some were FRE crews. Others had GRK logos from Goyanes, or Lodestar logos from Sil Dorsett. And some had STV markings from Saintonge.
Tobias felt his jaw tighten just a bit, staring into the STV cameras for just a moment. As if to say "I'm still here, and eventually you'll have to deal with me."

It was a passing moment of defiance though. He pumped his fist holding the flag as the breeze caught it again, and said "may God preserve Prydania" before hopping down from the tank.

"Thank you," he said to Lini as he handed him his flag back.

"No, thank you, Your Highness!" Lini replied, hugging him.
Tobias chuckled as the hug ended.
"'Toby' is good enough," he said with a grin before shaking his hand again and heading to William and Axle. The battle for Býkonsviði wasn't over. Still, he hugged both William and Axle when he got to them.

Freedom was finally at hand.

---

*Nú inn Reynir- Now Entering Reynir

---

A Hero Comes Home by Idina Menzel, 4:19

15 June 2020
7:45 pm
On a Monday
Saintes, Saintonge

Markthór stared at his computer screen as his finger clicked at his mouse furiously, at nothing in particular. He was nervous. Very nervous. He was going to see Rúrik. Just the thought of it made him want to cry. He leaned forward and pressed his hands into his temples as he breathed.
He'd imagined this day almost daily for the past twelve years. He breathed deeply though to collect himself and pulled up a picture on his computer. It was from their farmhouse, their home, back in central Prydania. Him, Addý, his Mamma and Pabbi, Rúrik, Aunt Júlíetta, and Uncle Tjörvi. He was trembling a bit looking at it.

Addý was the first to establish contact. It was such a shock. He remembered when she told everyone that Rúrik and Aunt Júlíetta were alive...how their father struggled to deal with the news that his beloved nephew and sister-in-law were still alive back in Prydania, while his brother wasn't. How Markthór had a million questions for Addý she couldn't answer. All because Rúrik popped up in a RÚV article.

Markthór rarely showed it, but he had a religious side. He had to have one. Sometimes faith and asking God to protect his family back in Prydania was all he had growing up. Of all the people in and around Kiojaleit the author of that article could have come across...it was his cousin. His best friend. He could only conclude it was a miracle. Much less a miracle that Rúrik had survived what he survived.
Markthór knew all about the Syndicalist collectivized agricultural compounds. It broke his heart to think of his little cousin in a place like that.

He wasn't anymore though. Another miracle perhaps? He'd reached out to Rúrik after Addý. He didn't know what to write staring at the Twitcher private message screen, but he eventually did it. And they'd agreed to talk. Rúrik should be calling any moment now. It was sundown in Prydania. Which meant that work on the farm was finishing up. He was moments...possibly seconds...away from speaking to his cousin for the first time in a long time.

"Will he be mad?" Markthór asked himself.
"Would he be angry me for leaving while he was left to the mercy of the Syndicalists?"

He felt a pit open in his stomach, trembling as he waited. He leaned forward a bit, closing his eyes to force himself to breath deeply. He so badly wanted to see his cousin, talk to him. Actually talk to him...but he was also scared. Scared he might be angry. Scared that maybe too much had happened to truly reconnect?

"Please God," Markthór said as the seconds seem to drag by.
"I know I've asked you for a lot over the years...and I'm so humbled you've given me as much as you have, but please. Let my cousin know I love him."

He wasn't sure how long it was after he said that. The words echoed in his mind and seemed to distort time. It could have been a few seconds or a few minutes, but eventually a ringing sound chimed from his computer. Markthór looked up with wide eyes, and there it was. Rúrik was calling. Markthór's hand trembles a bit as he clicked accept. Whatever happened...

A window popped up on screen and Markthór saw him. His cousin. He recognized him from his Twitcher profile but seeing him...
"Oh my God...it's you," Markthór said, smiling. Rúrik wasn't a kid anymore, but he was still him. His curly blond hair, the way he smiled...

"You have no idea," Rúrik replied. He looked tired. Tired but boundlessly happy.
"I can't believe I'm seeing you either, Mark."
Rúrik began to smile, and laugh in a way that transitioned into a soft sob. As much as Markthór had spent the last twelve years worrying about his family, so had Rúrik.

"I'm sorry," Rúrik said as he sniffled.
"I...I...there were days I never thought I'd see you again and..." Rúrik lowered his head as he tried to collect himself.
"I'm sorry," he said with a blush.

"Heh," Markthór chuckled softly.
"I'm...I mean....I'm barely holding it together," he replied, chuckling again even as tears rolled down his cheeks. He was elated beyond words, just to see his cousin alive.

"You were always stronger," Rúrik managed to say, looking up at the web cam with reddened eyes.

"No," Markthór replied adamantly. He had no idea how he should broach Rúrik's time in the camp, but he knew one thing. If Rúrik survived...
"You're one of the strongest people I know," Markthór added.

Rúrik managed a soft smile. He understood what Markthór was trying to get at, and he felt uneasy about how he should talk about that himself. So he didn't. He just nodded.
"Thank you, Markþór," he said as he leaned forward a bit, reaching out as if his webcam was Markthór's head, and lowering his own.

Markthór leaned forward a bit too, and nodded.
"I...I was sure I wouldn't see you again, either. I can't...I still can't believe that I'm talking to you right now. Rúrik, I missed you so much. You have no idea..."

"I missed you too..." Rúrik said softly.
"I thought about you a lot. When things weren't so good. I thought about what you'd do, or say, to make me feel better. Like you used to."

"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I left you. I..."

"No," Rúrik replied. It was his time to be adamant.
"You didn't leave me."

"I..."

"Mark, God has paths for all of us," Rúrik said with a smile.
"I spent years hoping you were out there and ok. And now I know you were. I...I can't thank God enough."

"I couldn't...I mean. I mean I just...missed you a lot," Markthór replied.
"I felt like I should have done more and..."

"You're here now, that's all I want," Rúrik said as he leaned back in his chair a bit.
"And you're doing more than ok! You're a big basketball star!"

"I wouldn't say that," Markthór said with a chuckle and blush.
"I do alright for myself."

"Víf showed me how to make a playlist on Viedéo," Rúrik said excitedly.
"I have a bunch of your highlights from university and the pro league lined up. I'm going to watch them after you qualify for the Odinspyl!"

Markthór laughed.
"I'm honoured," he said with a smile.
"And thank you. It'll feel great knowing you're watching..." he paused for a moment before asking a question.
"Víf, that's your wife?"

"Já!" Rúrik said excitedly.
"We met shortly after I was liberated. She's been helping me with the farm."

"You got the farm, I heard! Is it going well? You look tired. I hope that's a good tired," Markthór said, remembering his pabbi and uncle back in Prydania having a sense of content exhaustion after a long day's work.

"It is," Rúrik replied.
"It's been a lot of hard work, but we just joined a... I think it's called a co-operative? Some Santonian program that set up shop here actually. We've been busy, but things are good."

"I'm really happy for you, bro," Markthór smiled.
"Pabbi is very proud of you. And I know Uncle Tjörvi would be too."

"Thanks Mark," Rúrik replied, looking down a moment at the mention of his father. He remembered how the last time he saw his father it was when Syndicalist Militiamen took him away at gunpoint after barging into their home. Who the fuck does that to people and thinks it's ok? He had to breath deep to get past that anger.

"Is everything ok? I'm sorry if I..." Markthór said as he sensed his cousin's anger.

"It's ok, you're fine," Rúrik replied with a smile.
"It's um, just some stuff. It's not your fault."

Markthór nodded, a bit concerned but also figuring it was best not to prod.
"Well if you need to talk, I'm here for you, bro," he said.

"Thanks," Rúrik replied with a smile.
"In happier news I don't know how much Addý told you but Víf and I are expecting."

"She told me!" Markthór replied excitedly.
"That's so great! Do...do you know what it'll be?"

"A boy," Rúrik said with a nod.

"And names?" Markthór asked.

Rúrik gulped. He had a very good reason for choosing the name he chose, but the whole story was a bit heavy to dump on Markthór just now. So he went for the shorter version.
"Mamma said that if she and Pabbi had another boy after me they would have named him Týr. So that's what we're going with. Týr, your nephew."

"I can't wait to meet him," Markthór said.
"The little guy will get me in trouble though. Nicole will get one look at him and ask me when I'll be ready for kids."

"Addý told me you got married. To a nice Santonian girl," Rúrik grinned.
"She's very lucky. Because you're..." he paused and began to feel tears well up again.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.
"But you're my big cousin. My big brother. And my best friend. She's very lucky to have you, because you're..." he paused again to wipe away some tears.
"God, I can't believe I'm actually talking to you. After all this time."
He cried softly for a moment.

"Rúrik," Markthór said softly, feeling overwhelmed himself.
"I wasn't there, for a long time. I'm here now though. I'm here, ok?"

Rúrik looked down and smiled meekly, nodding.
"Thank you."

"I have a question for you," Markthór continued.

"Já?" Rúrik asked looking as he wiped some tears away.

"I really want to see you. And see the farm again. Addý does too. I know you're busy but is there a ti..."

"November," Rúrik said, excitedly.
"Sorry...but November. Harvest will be done by then, but the weather won't be so cold that we can't so some fun stuff. And Týr will be here by then!"

"Ok," Markthór replied with a chuckle.
"I'll see if I can swing November! God...November. I could be going back in November. That's wild."

"And I'll see my bro in November," Rúrik chuckled.
"But I mean...there's going to be plenty of time to show you around here. I want to know all about what my big cousin's been up to. Tell me all about being a basketball star."

Markthór chuckled with flushed cheeks.
"It started in middle school. I had a friend in school here, a Santonian guy, who introduced me to it..."

Markthór had no idea when he began that story that he'd spend another three hours talking to his cousin. First about his basketball career. Then about hockey back in Prydania. And then to sharing stories about their marriages...Markthór felt his heart flutter through all of it though.

He had his cousin back.

---

Weight of the World by Citizen Soldier, 3:55

1 January 2013
3:59 pm
On a Wednesday
Markarfljot, Prydania

Markarfljot had two churches, one for the Courantists and one for the Laurentists. Tobias had no idea which to go to as he walked through the streets of the town in a daze. The image of Knud Buch holding his dead daughter...Katerina. She didn't have to die. She didn't have to die!
That just kept blaring through his mind, a tempest of anger even as he seemed calm, walking through the streets. He made a decision to go to the Laurenist church. His atheism fell from him, much like the larger flakes of ash that fell from his mop of dirty blond hair.

He entered the church- it was sparse, even for a Laurenist church- but it was clean and properly done up. One of the few protected churches in Prydania right now. He shuffled in, still in a daze. He undid the strap holding the sheath Jægerblað was in from his back, and set the sword down as he sat in the closest pew to the alter.

Why was he here? He still didn't know. He just...he couldn't think. Katerina Buch...an innocent child. The image of her dead body flashed in his mind. So did the face of the Syndicalist commander who ordered the shelling who they'd captured. He fumed with anger, lowered his head, eyes clenched shut...and then he saw his father. Why this memory sprung to mind, he didn't know. In his anger, he remembered. He was five. Hiding under his parents' bed in their Royal apartment before they moved into Absalonhöll...

He laughed as his father's smiling face popped into view.

"Found you!"

Tobias laughed as his pabbi pulled him from under the bed.

"Oh Toby, you're getting big!"

"I am?"

"Yeah! I won't be able to carry you much longer!"

Tobias remembered hugging his father tight after that, as he carried him to his mother in the living area that had a wide view of Býkonsviði. He remembered his mother's face. Smiling.

"Pabbi took so long to find you, Toby! You're getting good at hiding!"

He remembered his parents' happy faces. He remembered seeing them shot on television just two years later...the image of their bodies dropping...Katerina Buch's dead body. Tobias began to cry softly. He just cried for what felt like a few minutes, before looking up with red, tear soaked eyes at the alter.

"God..." he said softly.
"I don't know what to do..." his voice was quiet.
"I know I haven't come to You in a long time...but I don't know what to do..." he was shaking. He'd been a committed atheist as of an hour ago.
"I don't know how to stop any of it...but I have to. They all say I have to. I want to stand up to evil, but I don't know how. Please..." he lowered his head.
"Please God...I don't know what to do..."

He closed his eyes again and saw someone else. His uncle. Anders, seated upon the old, oaken throne of St. Vortgyn. He stood before him...and the memory shattered. A memory from the last year of his life before the Syndicalists killed everyone. Anders in court. Why though...why did he see his uncle? He just saw black now, as he clenched his eyes shut, tears leaking out and rolling down his cheeks. Why Anders? Why? Was God trying to show him something? Or had his mind just plucked some other memory from his childhood? His thinking was cut off by a voice.

"Your Highness...I'm glad to see you're ok after the attack."

Tobias, still leaning forward in the pew, looked up, his eyes reddened and full of tears.
"Pastor Wejryd," he said softly.
"I'm...I came because not everyone is ok."

Sigemund Wejryd sat down next to him.
"I heard," he said shaking his head.
"I'll say a prayer for Katerina. And Knud. No parent should have to bury their child."

"Thank you," Tobias said softly, looking ahead, almost as if he was tranced. In reality his mind was just racing.

The Pastor paused for a moment. There were only a few delicate ways to raise this point.
"Your Highness, I wanted to say that it fills me with hope to see you here seeking comfort after what happened. If you ever need guidance you can call on me."

"What do I do?" Tobias asked, almost instantly. Desperate for some sort of religious guidance.
"I talked to her, last night. I shared kransekage* with her. Now she's dead... like that. I don't know what to do."

"You can stand up to the people who killed her," Pastor Wejryd replied matter of factly.
"I heard that you did already. That you tossed the Syndicalist officer who ordered the attack on his ass."

"Doesn't Kristur* tell us to turn the other cheek?" Tobias asked.

"Já," Pastor Wejryd replied.
"He does. But God gives everyone the right to defend themselves. Or the innocent."

"That seems contradictory," Tobias said softly.

"It's not really, Your Highness."

"Tobias," Tobias insisted.

Pastor Wejryd smiled. The Prince may have shed his atheism but he still insisted on forgoing formalities.
"My apologies," he said softly with a wide smile before getting serious again.
"If a man comes to you to insult you, then Kristur tells you to turn the other cheek. If that man puts a gun to your head- or that of an innocent nearby- then God gives you the right to protect yourself and them. Kristur weeps at the loss of life, but He marches along with those who fight tyranny."

Tobias didn't know why, but that bit about God marching with those who fight made his heart flutter.
"I wish I could be that sure of myself, Pastor," he muttered.
"But I watched Thomas Nielsen gun down my mamma and pabbi. I just...I want to believe in God, Pastor. But..."

"Your anger is so great you want to do more than stop people who hurt innocents. You want to hurt them back."

Tobias whimpered softly and nodded.

"A desire for revenge is natural, Tobias. We all feel it...but remember your convictions. Fight the tyrant, do not become what you fight. Keep Kristur's love in your heart, and you will not falter."

Tobias continued to look ahead to the alter. He nodded...but he still felt like he was in a trance. He didn't know what to feel...

---

17 August 2017
12:04 pm
On a Thursday
just outside Býkonsviði, Prydania

Tobias did falter, later that night. He'd caught up with an escaping Gylfi Hjaltdal- the Syndicalist officer who ordered the shelling that killed Katerina Buch- and beat him to death in an abandoned farm house outside of Markarfljot. It was the first time he'd taken a life.

Gylfi Hjaltdal was an enemy soldier. And he'd ordered a pointless attack that killed innocent people- including a little girl. And yet what he did bothered him. On some level it bothered him. Pastor Wejryd's words all of those years ago explained it. He had failed to be better than his enemies.

So that's why he was standing here on a secluded spot along the bank of the Ryon River, waiting for a friend. Holding a box containing Thomas Nielsen's ashes. He was going to try and be better. It was hard though. His knuckles were white as he clutched the box.

"Hey Tobias. Or is it Your Majesty now?"

Tobias looked over his shoulder and smiled, hugging Hymir Giæver.
"It's Toby, like it's always been," he said happily.
"Thank you for coming."

"You pardoned me yesterday, I couldn't turn down a request after something like that," Hymir teased. He chuckled along with Tobias. It was good, being able to see him in person after over a year of having to go through Axle Skov as a messenger.

"I appreciate it, really," Tobias said.

"Don't mention it," Hymir said, his eyes going to the wooden box Tobias was holding.
"Is that..."

"That's Uncle Tom," Tobias said, still clutching it tight.

"Uncle Tom?" Hymir asked, shocked to hear Tobias refer to Thomas Nielsen like that.

"My pabbi and Thomas Nielsen were friends once," Tobias said as he looked down at the box.
"He would visit sometimes. I remember him. He was Uncle Tom for a while. Until I saw him..."

Hymir nodded. He was four years younger than Tobias. He didn't remember the events of the Syndicalist coup in much detail, but he knew Tobias watched Nielsen execute his family.
"Yeah..." Hymir said, reaching out to pat his friend's shoulder.

"I haven't called him 'Uncle Tom' in years. Since before the War..." Tobias muttered.

"What can I do to help?" Hymir asked. He could tell Tobias was having trouble with this.

"I want to do so many things to these ashes," Tobias said softly.
"I've wanted to piss on them, flush them down a toilet, let the Army blow them up with a mortar blast. Or just douse the whole thing in gasoline and let it burn. Ashes from ashes."

Hymir didn't say anything after Tobias finished. He just let his friend have a moment to collect his thoughts.

"But you told me not to be vindictive. And a kindly old pastor taught me to be better than the tyrants. I haven't always lived up to it, but I want to try. I want to...give Thomas Nielsen more than he gave my family."

Hymir nodded, repeating what he'd said earlier.
"What can I do to help?"

"Thomas Nielsen wasn't always the dictator he ended up as," Tobias said, so low it was almost a whisper.
"You believed in the best parts of the Syndicalist cause. Could you...say something?" The young King looked at his friend with wide, pleading green eyes.

Hymir was surprised at the request but he saw that Tobias was being serious. He could also see that this was pretty difficult for his friend. It was that last part- wanting to make things easier- that compelled him to agree.
"Já," Hymir said.
"I can."

"Thank you," Tobias said as he stepped closer to the river, sliding the box open. Hymir followed and began to speak.

"Herra* Nielsen," Hymir began.
"None of the titles we were instructed to refer to you as seem right, after all that's happened. But..."
Hymir paused. He had no idea he'd be performing Thomas Nielsen's eulogy today. He needed a moment to think.

"We all believed in you. I think we did because we all sensed deep down you wanted a better Prydania. Those of us who believed in the Party could still feel that, even after you'd done everything you did. It doesn't make me happy knowing that though. It makes me sad...because so many people had to die. You let us down because we believed in you and you led us to madness..." he paused.
"I hope that maybe you understand your mistakes in the afterlife and someday you're able to rest in peace."

Tobias just looked down at the ashes in the open box after Hymir finished. He nodded ever so slightly and dumped the ashes into the river. Eventually to be carried into the Pale Sea.

"Thank you," Tobias said softly.

"Don't even think about it," Hymir replied, patting Tobias' shoulder again. Tobias put his hand on his friend's.

"Come on. We'll get lunch."

"You really don't have to..." Hymir insisted but Tobias smiled.

"I haven't seen you outside of a cell in over a year. Let's catch up."

Hymir grinned and nodded.
"Sure thing," he said as he and Tobias made their way to the cars waiting a bit away from the river bank. Hymir got into a jeep baring the Royal Guard insignia, but Tobias stopped. He turned and looked at the river one last time. Did Thomas Nielsen ever think it would end this way back when he visited his friends Robert and Hanna and played with their infant son? Did Robert ever imagine his mentor and friend would kill him, and that his son would be the one to toss that mentor's ashes out to sea?

No. No one could have imagined it would end like this. Certainly not Tobias. Even five hours ago he had convinced himself to dump them into Býkonsviði's sewers. It did end like this though. The story of the Prince the Miner, of Rob and Tom...what they did. What they could have done. What happened...it was over. Tobias looked at the bank of the river where he dumped the ashes for a brief moment longer before he joined Hymir in the jeep.

---

*kransekage- a Prydanian pastry eaten on New Year's Eve
*Kristur- Christ
*Herra- Mr.

---

Smells Like Teen Spirit by Malia J, 4:01

19 August 2017
9:36 am
On a Saturday
just outside Býkonsviði, Prydania

Tobias unwrapped another piece of candy and offered it to the child next to him.

"No," the small boy named Kætil insisted.
"It's yours."

"But you knocked the candy out of the Tunnuköttur*," Tobias said.
"Maybe you should give it to your younger brother?"

Kætil, who was only six, nodded and took the piece of candy and gave it to his four year old brother Sigvid, who was sitting nearby with their mother. The space in the shack was crowded and dirty, but Tobias didn't mind. He'd spent nights in worse places.

"Thank you," Thorfrid, the boys' mother, replied.
"For coming by and setting up the Tunnuköttur, and everything else," she added. She was still blushing a bit, at the King seeing what her and her sons had been reduced to. A shack in a refugee camp. Though the easygoing way he acted helped put a lot of that worry to rest.

"It's my pleasure," Tobias replied.
"I wish I could do more..."

"They say you've invested in housing," Thorfrid replied.

It was Tobias' turn to blush.
"Who told you that?" he asked.

"People talk. Some of it is true, some of it isn't," Thorfrid shrugged, holding her four year old.

Tobias nodded.
"This is," he said.
"I gained access to my family's wealth after I was made King. I have more money than I know what to do with so I helped pay for new housing."

"Will it be ready by winter?" Thorfrid asked, matter of factly. And Tobias, well...he felt a pit open in his stomach. He liked helping people, and he hated letting people down.
"Maybe, but I can't promise anything. I hope that as many people as possible can spend this winter as warm as possible, but I don't know what will or won't be done by then. But if not...I'll beg and plead to anyone I need to, to get places like this all the supplies they need."
His heart was racing. He'd just met Thorfrid and her boys just an hour or so ago. It was random. He'd talked to a few people in this camp, and he just...ended up here, after setting up the Tunnuköttur game. Kætil, bless him, was too young to be in awe of Tobias as King and just insisted he visit his mother and brother.
And Tobias hated having to give unsure answers to questions as basic as "will my family be warm for the winter?"

Thorfrid smiled a bit. It was not what she was expecting from someone she had only seen on television and heard on the radio. Tobias- this King that was younger than her- seemed desperate to prove himself to her of all people. He was unsure, but also insistent on making sure she knew he was going to try and do right, and it was adorable. He reminded her of her older brother, God rest his soul. And it was a far departure from the Prince-turned-King who gave defiant speeches.
"I can't expect you or anyone else to provide my sons and I a home out of thin air, Your Majesty, but thank you for doing what you can."

Tobias nodded.
"Are you from Býkonsviði? If not I hope that when public housing is ready the city can be a true home for you and your boys."

Thorfrid blushed a bit.
"I'm from....close by, but home is where my sons and I are."
"The boys were born here," Thorfrid added. She didn't feel compelled to admit they were from different fathers.
"But I've been from a few places over the years."

Tobias nodded.
"I know what it's like to not have a home and having to move around."

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, you got to return home. But for me? Home is never going to be there again. Sankt Tobias om Skjern is gone."

Tobias nodded, looking down. He knew about that town. And what happened there.
"I'm sorry," he said softly.

"Why? It isn't your fault," Thorfrid replied matter of factly. She could see him shaking just a bit. And Tobias...he just breathed deep to collect himself. People were wrong about him. Everyone tried to tell him "don't take the weight of the world on your shoulders," but he didn't. He didn't think in terms that large. He just wanted to help people as he came across them. Sometimes it was too much.

"I'm sorry," the King repeated, and smiled meekly seeing Thorfrid's disapproving stare at his insistent apology.
"I mean...you have a lovely family, the three of you. I think, well, you deserve...." he paused. He was trying to figure out what to say. He was a King, but he was also someone who grew up with nothing. He was adored and revered while essentially being an Austurlander sveitalubbi*. Could he say what came naturally to him- to speak simply and directly- and not come off as patronizing? He sighed.
"I think you deserve better than what you and everyone else here got, and I'm gonna do my best."

Thorfrid looked around. The shack she had was better than most. It was more than a tent, afforded to her by the informal power structure in the camp because she had two young children. This though, it couldn't be all she had, this broken, rundown place. It couldn't be Kætil and Sigvid's future. She had scraped by and fought to survive only to end up here. Here was her country's King though, the voice that promised the Syndicalist tyranny would be over, and it was. Prince Tobias' promise that the people who slaughtered her mamma, pabbi, and brother along with most of the rest of her town would be brought to justice was kept; maybe King Tobias' promise that she and her children wouldn't have to live in squalor could be kept.
"Thank you, Your Majesty," she said respectfully with a soft smile.

"You're very welcome," Tobias replied, getting out of the rickety chair he was sitting on to kneel by Kætil.
"I need to go, but you're going to protect your Mamma and litli bróðir*, right? Look after them?"

"Já," Kætil replied, and Tobias smiled, eliciting a smile from the six year old. He held up his hand, and Kætil excitedly gave him a high five in the awkward yet enthused way only little kids could manage. He then turned to Sigvid.

"You be good, listen to your Mamma, ok?" Tobias said, still smiling. The shy four your old nodded, but still smiled meekly and gave the King a high five when Tobias held his hand out. Thorfrid smiled herself watching the display.

"I didn't mean to keep you long," she said, only for Tobias to shake his head.

"You didn't," the King replied as he stood. He felt awkward, having to leave these people like this, but he had to. And Thorfrid knew that, but he felt strange.
"Be well, and stay safe," he said with a grin.

"Thank you, again," Thorfrid said with a reassuring nod. Tobias returned it in kind and left the shack, returning to what could be described as the controlled chaos of the refugee camp outside of Býkonsviði. Tents, and the occasional shack, dotted the landscape, creating alleys and walkways of haphazard shapes, dotted with pits that were used as firepits in the evening. The burnt ash in them giving their use away. And the kids- most of them barefoot- playing football or langurafli* in the dirt.

None of it was necessarily new to Tobias. He'd seen squalor before. He'd lived it at times, but it still bothered him. And it reminded him of the dream he had the night before his coronation- the test wasn't the War, the test was what would come after. He looked around again, when a football hit his ankle.

"Here!" a boy of about ten called out from a group of kids across the way. Tobias smiled and nodded, kicking the ball back.
"Thank you!" the boy called back before returning to the game with his friends, before turning around mid-run to add a quick "Your Majesty!" Tobias chuckled, waving back before he stuck his hands in his pockets, walking down the walkways between the tents and shacks. Soldiers were about, to ensure his safety, but Tobias made a point not to stick too close to them.

"Your Majesty," a man said. He was sitting in front of a blue tent, next to a woman who looked about his age. They were both about ten years older than he was.

"Hello," Tobias replied.
"Can I join you?"

"You'd like to?" the man asked.

"Já," Tobias nodded.
"I would, if I'm not imposing."

"Well who are we to refuse you?" the woman replied with a friendly smile.

"I mean if you wanted to tell me to piss off you wouldn't be the first," Tobias said, returning the smile. The woman and man both chuckled and the woman motioned for him to sit. Unlike Thorfrid and her family, this was public. People tended to look over and gravitate towards them a bit, but Tobias just kept the focus on the couple, sitting across a makeshift small fire from them.

"Name's Gærrar, my wife Hallbera," the man said. Tobias nodded. He'd long given up introducing himself to people.

"Thank you, for having me," he said instead.

"You're welcome, Your Majesty," Gærrar replied.
"But I kind of want to ask why."

"Because you all here deserve to know that people in power care about you," Tobias said matter-of-factly.

"You're not doin' it for the good press?" Gærrar replied, earning him a gentle shove from Hallbera.

"If I wanted to," Tobias replied directly with a subtle smirk, "I could tell the RÚV to talk about how great I am all the time without having to come out myself. I'm here 'cause I want to be here."

Gærrar laughed and turned to Hallbera.
"See babe, I knew I wouldn't get in trouble." Hallbera just rolled her eyes. Tobias chuckled.

"So you said people in power care about people like us," she asked.

"Já," Tobias answered.
"It's been a while, but the government does that now. Again." He felt the need to throw in the "again," remembering what people said about his grandfather.

"Hasn't in my lifetime," Gærrar replied matter of factly and Tobias nodded.

"Or mine, but I aim to try," Tobias said softly.

Gærrar nodded.
"So how's it gonna show that?"

"Housing, aid, there are companies from Goyanes and Saintonge and Predice who will be looking for local workers. We have programs to help with that," Tobias said, still feeling inadequate in a way.

"Will Aubyn's the PM. You've been close to him your whole life, já?"

"Don't prod," Hallbera insisted, but Tobias nodded.

"Já, I have been."

"And if I don't vote for him in the elections you promised, your men aren't comin' after me?"

Tobias felt that, in his gut. Anders. Fucking Anders. His fucking uncle had been dead fifteen years but he managed to stick around in his head.
"No one's gonna come for you if you don't vote for Will," he replied earnestly. It was a fair question. Hallbera looked to be in her late 20s, Gærrar a bit older. Both had only ever known Anders and Toft's SoComms and Nielsen's Syndicalists.
"I mean it when I said we're going to have freedom in this country again."

"Again," Hallbera replied.

"I never met my grandfather," Tobias replied, referring to Robert VII.
"But I know what happened under him. I need to believe that's possible again, for everyone here."

Gærrar looked at Hallbera, and she smiled back him. Gærrar nodded.
"I'm sorry for grillin' you, Your Majesty," he said to the King.
"But it isn't often someone important wants to sit with us. I figured 'why not make the most of it?'"

"Já," Tobias shrugged with a smile.
"I'm just happy you agreed to meet with me."

Gærrar nodded. The King was sitting with his wife and him, on a patch of grass that barely offered protection from dirt. And he didn't seem put out.

"What's your future look like, in your heads?" Tobias asked.

"I want to get a job...I was in the carpenter's collective before I got drafted by the Syndies, and I just want work. I want work and a home, so I can start a family."

"We don't want to start one here," Hallbera added.

Tobias nodded. He needed to make sure that somehow the kids here got shoes. If the Nordika* nations wouldn't make it happen he'd get Arrow Athletics to make them.
"I get that..." he said softly.
"We're going to have programs, like I said. If you're a carpenter then I can imagine the government would love to hire you to help build the houses people here need."

"Send some people my way, and I will," Gærrar replied. Tobias grinned. He knew that, in less than a week, there would be an entire government agency up and running to help people find work.

"We will, don't worry," Tobias nodded.

"I mean it," Gærrar said nodding.
"I pray for the day my biggest worries are hockey and football."

"Which teams do you like?" Tobias asked.

"I guess they're called Konunglegur Býkonsviði* again."

Tobias smiled.
"I like Stormurholmr, because I grew up out east. But I'm trying to like the Býkonsviði teams. I guess I have to if they have the Konunglegur title again, já?"

"Damn right," Gærrar chuckled, before sighing. Tobias smiled meekly. He saw something. For a moment Gærrar was enjoying himself, thinking about sports. And then it dawned on him, he was still here. Tobias bit the inside of his lower lip. He couldn't fix his situation now. Not here, but soon. Until then well...he could just do what he could here and now as he sat with him.

"Fucking Alemriche, losing on penalties," he said, referring to the World Cup Finals the other month. Prydania's team- an apolitical CEFA-run outfit- had gone on a surprise run. And had played Alemriche in the Finals just after Tobias' coronation.

Hallberra smiled.
"I know we should have been lucky just to be there, but once we were in penalties...it felt like we could win."

And then Tobias shot a glance to Gærrar, and smiled seeing that happy look return to him.
"Funny business with the ref," Gærrar added.
"You know how CEFA is. Don't want charity cases like us winning."

Tobias chuckled as the fire in the makeshift pit was fed. It wasn't even noon yet, but he was ready to spend all day here. Talking about football if he had to, as if that were a chore for him. The truth was, though, he'd talk about whatever he had to. To convince these people, the most vulnerable victims of his country's catacysm, that they weren't alone.

---

*Tunnuköttur- Barrel Cat, a game where candy with cat-themed wrapping is put in a small barrel. Children hit the barrel with sticks to get the candy.
*sveitalubbi- redneck, hick, rural person
*litli bróðir- little brother
*langurafli- "long catch," or more properly called "capturing chains," a game of tag where everyone who is tagged joins hands to try and tag everyone else
*Nordika- Prydanian term for the UKAG powers, Andrenne and Goyanes
*Konunglegur Býkonsviði- Royal Býkonsviði

---

I Found a Reason by Cat Power, 2:02

OOC Note: Thank you to @Kyle for inspiring this post with this Twitcher post.

12 September 2002
7:46 pm
On a Thursday
somewhere in Austurland, Prydania

"You'll have ten minutes. Not a second more. Ideally we wrap this up beforehand."

William nodded as he stared at the barren interior of a cabin, only containing a single radio on a table and a chair. He turned back to Axle and nodded before he approached the radio and took a seat. Axle slowly followed, leaning against the table and looking at his watch to start a timer as William grabbed the receiver.

"Hello."

There was a cackle before the voice of Thomas Nielsen came over the radio.
"William you gave quite a speech."

"Thanks," William muttered, rolling his eyes.
"Get to the point. Why am I here?"

There was a pause, before cackle returned.
"Amnesty. Of a kind."

William leaned back in the chair, looking at Axle, who continued to look at his watch.

"Oh?" William remarked, leaning back to talk into the receiver.

"Hand over Robert's brat, and you'll get free passage out of Prydania. Leave forever, we'll never come for you. And you can put this behind you. Forever."

William felt an unease wash over him. Thomas referred to Tobias as "Robert's brat." It was unnerving.

"You don't think that'll work, do you Tom?" he asked.

"Why shouldn't it? What's one kid against freedom for the rest of your life?"

"I don't suppose patriotism would be much of an answer?"

"You were no Anders lover," Thomas replied.
"What's one more Loðbrók?"

William chuckled softly, though it was mostly to hide his own unease at Thomas' behaviour. He knew Thomas Nielsen. Had for years. And as much as they had their disagreements? Well the death of a seven year old was never something he thought him capable of.

"I'm not leaving this country to the sort of person who'd kill a child, Tom."

"He's not a child. He's a Loðbrók. And..."

"Robert's brat?"

"What?"

"You heard me Tom. You called him Robert's brat."

"So what if I did?"

"I don't have much time, Tom, so I'll make it quick. I didn't know Rob all that well. He was in your camp. Then when things got crazy a few years back he came to me to ask me to protect his boy if anything went tits up. I always wondered why he didn't come to you. Well the last month or so's made that pretty fuckin' clear."

"Don't you dare talk to me about my personal..."

"It isn't personal, Tom. You're not getting Tobias. And I'm not giving you this country."

"I already have one, Will. I'll have the other soon. The only thing you need to ask yourself is whether you want to be alive or dead when it happens."

William paused and breathed deeply before speaking into the radio again.
"I don't deal with men who shoot twelve year old girls."

There was another pause. This time on Thomas' end.
"There are plenty who fuckin' do Will, and have. And if you don't hand the kid over I will sick Leiftur on every town, hamlet, and church until I find him. And you."

William felt his blood go cold, lowering his head. He'd been Thomas' political rival for years and years, but he'd always tried to assume the best about him. Now though...something clicked.

"You've always been a fucking psychopath, haven't you?"

"You've signed your death warrant."

"Goodbye Tom. You and Anders will have a lot to talk about when you join him in hell."

"Fuck you, William."

William nodded, setting the receiver down, switching the radio off.

"That was productive," Axle remarked.

"It was enlightening," William replied as they left the cabin.
"It was enlightening in the worst way."

"That Tom's mad?" Axle asked.

"Já. And he's sending demons."

20 April 2007
6:42 pm
On a Friday
Somewhere near Kings' Lake, Prydania

"Tobias?"

"Já?" the twelve year old replied, standing by the entrance to the kitchen of the safehouse.

"How's your studying going?" William asked.

"Alright," Tobias replied nervously. William and Jörn, who he'd just met, sat at the kitchen table.

"What are you studying?" Jörn asked.

"History," Tobias replied. Jörn smiled.

"That's my favourite," he replied.
"Some say I have a knack for it."

"It's alright," Tobias said with a shrug.

"Maybe I could help you with it? Make it a bit more fun?" Jörn asked.

William chuckled.
"Get back to reading Toby. Jörn can help you after we're done talking."

"Ok," Tobias said with a nod before he turned back around to go back into his room and get back to his books.

"He doesn't have much to say," Jörn observed.

"He doesn't have much family left," William replied.
"And he doesn't get to be around friends much. And worst of all? He's getting to be that age," he said with a chuckle.

"Heh, teenagers aren't so bad if you know how to talk to them," Jörn mused.

William shrugged and got up to grab two beers from the icebox, handing one to Jörn as he sat back down.

"So what brings you out this way?"

"It seemed imperative I see the heir to the throne. And meet you, to offer my assistance."

William cracked his beer open and took a sip.
"Imperative? It's been five years."

"Nielsen's coup affected a lot of people. I've been...predisposed."

William took another sip of beer.
"And what's it that you're here to offer?"

Jörn smiled, cracking open his own beer before taking a sip.
"Well, like I told the kid, I have a certain knack for history."

"You're offering to be his tutor?" William asked, a bit amused.

"Call it what you want," Jörn replied.
"The boy needs to learn his heritage. His destiny."

"I didn't think you believed in destiny?" William asked.

"Not like you think of it," Jörn replied.
"We make our own. And that kid..." he gestured with the hand he was holding the beer in to point towards Tobias' room, "can be something special for the people of this country. He just needs to believe it himself."

William sipped his beer some more.
"He's just a kid...there's a fine line between protecting him and exploiting him in what we're doing. I don't want to cross it."

"Neither do I," Jörn replied.
"I just want him to be who he was born to be."

"Born to be?" William raised an eyebrow.
"He's the son of Robert VII's youngest son. That he's even the rightful heir to the throne at all kinda tells you how fucked we've gotten."

Jörn smiled.
"I knew his mother. And his father. The two of them, in one kid? He was born to be a leader. No matter what."

"So you're going to fill his head with stories of Hart Kings and Stormlords?" William asked.

Jörn shook his head.
"I like you William, but you never shook your biases."

"My biases?" William asked.

"Já. Look. What did you learn about knights? You know, in the medieval period."

"That they were blood thirsty sons of bitches."

"And chivalry?"

"An idealized code of conduct used by feudal elites to paint their enforcers in the best of light."

"I bet you learnt that Rikard I only went on crusade to direct the knightly class' aggressions outward instead of against the people."

"Já, what's the point of all of this?" William asked.

"I don't mean to be coy..."

"Yes you do. You get off on being the smartest guy in the room."

Jörn chuckled and shrugged.
"Well my point is that's all bullshit. There were knights who took their oaths seriously. And there were knights- including Rikard I himself- who sent to Syrixia on Crusade because they believed in it. But see...that's my point. Your biases. Rooted in the same desire to demystify the past. And in the end you end up painting complex people with complex motives in stark black and white."

"And what? You're going to teach Tobias that Rikard I was right to burn down swaths of the Syrixian jungle?"

"No Will. I'm going to teach him that the people who lived a long time ago gave no thought to how they'd be remembered in history books. They lived their lives and did their best. No matter what we say about them today, some of them were heroes. And he has it in him to be one too. That his family legacy is more than his uncle's."

William took another sip of beer.
"Jörn, I want to make something clear. That kid..." he paused. He felt his heart race.
"I've kept that kid safe for five years, and I'll keep him safe for as long as I need to."

"Because he's all you have."

"You better watch your mouth."

"I mean it as a compliment. Because you're all he has too. You may not believe me Will, but you're a knight. And a damn good one."

William breathed deep again.
"I lost my daughter and wife. I'm not losing him. So whatever you want to do, whatever you fill his head with, you keep him safe."

Jörn nodded, pushing the beer away before he stood up.
"Tomorrow then. I'll head out."

"Why?" William asked.

"You're not the only knight here, Sir Will. I have a quest of my own," he said with a wink, before making his way to Tobias' room.

"Hey Toby," Jörn said as he approached the prince.
"Ever hear of Æschere Loðbrók?"

William sat back in his chair. Tom had sent demons. But Jörn wasn't one of them. He was on the side of angels.

---

May it Be by Enya, 3:34

​

3 June 2011
9:17 pm
On a Friday
Somewhere in Austurland, Prydania

“Aim and…”

Tobias pulled the trigger and the stag fell. He held still. He knew not to get up. He let the shot echo...if there were any Syndicalist agents around…
He just kept looking straight ahead, holding his rifle. Axle looked around to survey the area, gun drawn, before pulling his walkie talkie from his belt to his mouth.

“Clear?”

“All clear,” the voice on the other end answered.

“Ok, come on,” Axle pat Tobias’ back. The prince stood up and slung the gun over his back, as he followed Axle.
“You’re getting better. It’s good to see the practice has paid off.”

“Thanks,” Tobias said, dropping to one knee and setting his rifle down as he pulled a knife from his boot to begin field dressing the downed hart.

Axle smiled. He was happy to see Tobias picking up on his lessons. The truth was Tobias was too. He was eager to show Axle that he knew what he was doing, as he began to skin the kill. Though his excitement was tinged by nervousness. There was something he wanted to ask.
“Axle?”

“Já?”

“You said something a few months ago, when you told me about my mamma?”

Axle grunted softly. Tobias had, since that night, seemingly managed to deal with a lot of those memories better than he had been. He didn’t want to see him relapse.
“Já,” he replied cautiously.
“What’s on your mind?”

Tobias looked up, pulling his hand from his gloves to wipe some sweat away under the summer sun and adjust his hat before slipping it back in the bloody glove to continue field dressing the kill.
“You told me that you and pabbi used to trust the Syndicalists.”

“Oh,” Axle said. He didn’t expect that.
“And you want to know why?”

“Well…” Tobias shrugged.
“Something happened.”

“Your pabbi and I,” Axle said as he took a seat in the grass next to Tobias, “had different reasons. You know what I did back in the day…”

“Kind of. You never go into details.”

“All you need to know is that I killed for this country. I hated my job, but I also thought it was necessary. Until your uncle and his SoComm goons came in. And then it was less about necessity and more about...violence. I thought it was time we embraced a more internationalist outlook. I was a cynical bastard and…”

“You? No,” Tobias said with a smirk as he interrupted Axle.

“Hush,” Axle replied, returning the smirk.
“The Syndicalists back then seemed like the last party that wasn’t just cynical politics as usual. So I thought...they were worth my support.”

“And...pabbi?” Tobias asked, focusing on his task field dressing the deer again.

“Your pabbi,” Axle sighed, “...how do I put this nicely...he was too smart for his own good, he didn’t realize how dumb he was.”

“Eh?” Tobias asked, still focused on his task.
“I was told pabbi was smart.”

“He was,” Axle shrugged. “He was well read, and he was fascinated by medieval literature. He could have been a scholar in another life.”

“But you said he was dumb.”

“Toby, your father was the King’s brother by the time he got to university. He didn’t need to try.”

“So he wasn’t as smart as people say?” Tobias asked, sounding a bit disappointed.

“No, he was,” Axle answered.
“And that was his downfall. See...he didn’t need to apply himself. He could have gotten any degree he wanted, just by asking. Instead he applied himself. Especially after he met your mamma, who was legitimately a very bright young woman. But see...Rob thought that because he’d excelled in school exerting himself despite not having to that he knew more than he did. He didn’t realize that his royal upbringing still left him incredibly naive and privileged. And Nielsen preyed on that.”

Tobias drove the knife deep and cut the skin from the deer, gritting his teeth.
“Preyed on him?”

“Your father knew your uncle had to be opposed. Nielsen, back in the 80s and early 90s, was a very charismatic fellow. So much so that the SoComm government was afraid of jailing him. It could have started riots. He spoke about a need for change, of fairness. It appealed to your pabbi. He wanted to change things for the better. Nielsen became his mentor.”

“You say he preyed on him,” Tobias replied.

“I don’t know how else to explain it,” Axle shrugged.
“There were always radical elements in the Syndicalist Party. Leiftur’s guys. Nielsen though...back then? He appeared to keep them in line. He even worked with the Bandalag and Free Democrats against the fascists. He was idealistic, but not radical. That’s how it seemed anyway. And that Thomas Nielsen, he befriended and mentored your father.”

“And then he shot him…” Tobias muttered.

“Já,” Axle replied.
“Which is why I say he preyed on him. The Thomas Nielsen your father believed in, and who he supported, was a fucking sham. All the jackals, the radicals he appeared to keep in line, he was just waiting for the moment to strike and unleash them. He took your father in and, when he trusted him, betrayed him. Your pabbi wanted a better future for this country, and Thomas Niselsen used him long enough to get what he wanted before killing him.”

Tobias didn’t say anything. He just clenched his teeth as he cut skin from muscle, for a bit. Processing what he’d been told.

“Some people, of course, don’t say that,” Axle shrugged.
“Some people say Tom changed. That he and your father really were close, and something happened to wedge them apart. But that’s a load of shit if you ask me.”

“Why?” Tobias asked.

“I don’t see how it’s possible. To treat a man like a friend, and then shoot him. I’ve killed a lot of people, but I’ve never lied to any of them like that.”

“If I ever see him, I’m going to kill him,” Tobias muttered.

“You’re sure about that?” Axle chuckled.

“I think if I’m allowed to kill one person it’s Thomas Nielsen,” Tobias replied assertively.

“Well maybe, but things don’t always work like that. I know that, God willing we win this war, William will want him to stand trial.”

“He made my pabbi ‘stand trial’ too,” Tobias muttered.

“Well a real trial I mean,” Axle explained.
“Or who knows? Maybe an errant bomb will kill him? Or maybe he chokes on fuckin’ breakfast one day? Who the hell knows? Real life doesn’t deliver you the people who have wronged you on a silver platter for revenge.”

“He took my family from me,” Tobias sighed, setting the knife down and leaning back against a tree as he tossed his gloves aside.

“Life sometimes fuckin’ sucks,” Axle said matter-of-factly.
“It kicks you when you’re down, and it doesn’t give you your shot at revenge. Life isn’t a movie.”

“Thanks,” Tobias rolled his eyes.

“I’m not going to blow sunshine up your ass,” Axle replied.
“It is how it is. You got friends though. You got Stig, Klara, and Laurits…”

“Ugh,” Tobias groaned at the mention of his cousins.

“Well them aside, you have William. And me,” Axle added, with a smile.
“We all care for each other, já?”

“Já,” Tobias nodded.

“We’ve all been fucked by life somehow. Let’s do what we can to love each other, and let fate figure out the rest.”

“Fate’s been pretty shitty to me,” Tobias replied.

“Já,” Axle nodded.
“But fate’s fucked me before. I’m still alive because, when fate seemed to push me into a corner, I managed to get out. And that’s what you’ve gotta do. Make your own fate. The Syndies want you dead. Tell ‘em to fuck off and keep living. Keep loving.”

Tobias nodded, thinking about what Axle had told him. It made sense, but he had this nagging feeling.
“I still want to shoot Thomas Nielsen,” he grumbled. Axle laughed, which caught Tobias off guard.

“That’s natural. Now get back to dressing that deer.”

Tobias smiled and slipped on his gloves again. He grabbed his knife and continued the process of field dressing the deer.

“I don’t think I’d make the mistake pabbi did,” Tobias mused.

“Oh and why’s that?” Axle asked curiously.

“Well William was telling me about the left. The Syndicalists and all of that. I can’t trust anyone who claims they know what it takes to get to utopia. They’re likely willing to kill for it.”

Axle chuckled. That sounded like William, the consummate Conservative.
“It’s not bad advice,” Axle shrugged.
“But I have some of my own.”

“Já?” Tobias asked.

“Utopia isn’t possible, and people who are willing to kill for it are just thugs, regardless of what their ideology is. But just because utopia is impossible doesn’t mean you should give up on trying to make the world better.”

Tobias stopped what he was doing to think.
“How will I know the difference?”

“Anyone who wants to ‘revolutionize’ society’s a drullusokkur* who isn’t to be trusted running a fucking shoe store let alone a country. People who just want to help others though? That’s the sort of person you can trust. That’s the sort of person your pabbi and mamma trusted all of those years ago to keep you safe,” Axle said with a smile. Tobias grinned back, chuckling.

“And another thing,” Axle said.
“One more bit of friendly advice.”

“Sure?”

“I know you have questions but, I mean this, don’t focus on what got your parents killed.”

Tobias felt his heart race for a moment, and he bit the inside of his lip.
“You want me to remember them, the good memories?”

“Is that so wrong?” Axle asked.

“It was nine years ago,” Tobias muttered. “I have these memories of my mamma and pabbi but...they’re faded. I wonder if I’m even remembering them at all. Or if it’s just a memory of a memory.”

“Focusing on how they were taken from you won’t help with that.”

“The anger is clearer though.”

“You don’t have to forget it, just let the memories of their love be stronger.”

Tobias clutched the knife tightly. He didn’t know if he could do that, but Axle wanted him to try.
“Ok,” he said softly.
“Ok.”

---

*drullusokkur- toilet plunger, used to mean “bastard”

---

Judas (Orchestral Version) by J.D. Spears, 4:46

19 August 2008
10:56 pm
On a Tuesday
outside of Brokey, Prydania

“We need to go. Now.”

Tobias looked up from his reading, having gone from calm to panicked at a moment’s notice.
“I need to…” he began, but William cut him off.

“Take what you need, leave everything else.”

Tobias felt a sinking feeling- he'd have to say goodbye to some of his things, but that's how it was sometimes. The only things that were truly his were in the black backpack he grabbed. He quickly slipped on a black hoodie and a pair of boots. Everything else, trinkets he’d collected since he came to Stormurholmr, books, they all had to be left.

William pulled the hoodie over the boy’s head. They still had time…

He shut off all the lights in the cabin and started the process...he'd turn this place into a boobytrap for any Peoples’ Militia members who poked around too long.

“We have twenty minutes. Come on,” William said in a hurry as he finished twisted knobs on the gas lines. Tobias nodded. He didn't need William to say the “explode” part.

“You remember what happens if we get separated? Where to go?”

“Já,” Tobias nodded, his heart racing. He was scared to death, but at thirteen he was desperate not to let it show.
“Where’s Axle?”

“Buying us more time,” William answered, wrapping his arm around Tobias’ shoulders and leading him out the back. The back would allow them to head into the woods, and they could make it to the coast where they had a boat waiting, to the north.

The atmosphere outside was pristine for a summer evening. Disarmingly quiet. Which is why William put his hand on his sidearm, a Breca .38 pistol.
“Come on, let's go.”

Tobias nodded, following William into the night…

---

...He had him. He fucking had him. Six years and he finally had him! Kaleb Stahl’s motorbike cut along the woods heading west. The Loðbrók Prince was so close. He and his protector were just out of sight and once he had them…

---

“Get down,” William muttered. Tobias dropped down, squatting as he looked up under the edge of his hoodie as William drew his pistol. William wasn't a soldier. He knew that. Tobias knew that. Still…
“Ok. I need you to stay here, behind this tree,” William muttered.
“You know what to do, when you hear the gunshots.”

“Wait forty-five seconds, if you're not back, stay low and get to the boat.”

“Good boy.”

“William?”

“Já?”

“Please be careful?”

William breathed deep. It was dark, but he could make out the tears in Tobias’ green eyes.
He nodded.
“Be brave, ok?”

“Ok,” Tobias said as he stayed crouched down.

William gulped. He knew what he had to do. There was no room for error. He left the Prince’s side and slipped behind a thick tree trunk, pistol drawn. And then Tobias felt his nerves go on end when William vanished into the darkness of the forest.

William continued to breathe deeply to control his nerves. Axle’s advice. He slid behind another tree. He saw the brown uniformed figure of a People’s Militiaman. Axle had sent him a message about their numbers. If he could take out this one then Axle would buy them enough time to get out.

The Militiaman turned, heading towards him. William aimed his weapon…

---

Kaleb was catching up. He saw him. He saw the silhouette of the boy and the full grown man with him under the light of the moons. He drew his weapon and was about to fire when the bike his targets were driving turned into the forest…

---

William stepped out from the brush just to the People’s Militiaman’s left and fired. The shot called out into the forests and the Militiaman dropped. William shook. He'd shot men before but he never got used to it. Still, he began counting as soon as the Syndicalist agent hit the ground.


“Twenty-two...twenty-three…” William found Tobias crouched down where he'd left him among the forest, counting with his eyes clenched shut.

“Toby, Toby, quiet,” he whispered.

Tobias almost disobeyed William due to sheer relief but caught himself, instead just hugging William tight. William nodded, relieved himself, as he patted the boy on the back.
“Come on. We need to go.”

Tobias, looking up with tears in his eyes, nodded.

---

Kaleb thought he heard a shot echo through the woods as he followed his targets through the woods. It was dangerous to ride in a motorbike through the woods. Doubly at night, but he was so close…

He saw the bike he was following turn again...no. He'd catch them…

And then through the branches whacking his helmeted head one after the other the bike vanished!
“Not this time…” Kaleb growled as he kicked up the speed. And then...as the moons shined through the trees...he saw the bike he was after. The driver leaned right, pulling off a tight turn around a thick tree. And for the brief moment the driver was facing him he let go of his bike, firing a shot as he was tossed back.

“FUCK!” Kaleb yelled, not having time to dodge. He braced for the bullet to hit him. Instead it hit his bike, causing him to lose control. The bike slid out, and he had to let go, tumbling to the ground as his bike crashed into a tree.

Kaleb was dazed, but he was so close! He forced himself through the daze, ripping his helmet off and drawing his sidearm.

“COME HERE, YOUR HIGHNESS!” he yelled mockingly. He was limping, but the fool he was chasing had tossed himself off his bike to make his shot. He would be in bad shape too. Not to mention the young Prince he was after.

The figure he was chasing ripped off his helmet, pulling himself up.

“Skov…” Kaleb growled, aiming to fire. He could see his bike, trashed. The limp figure of the prince was crumpled up on it. With any luck he was dead. He’d finish the job if he wasn't.
“Are you willing to die?”

Axle breathed. He hurt all over but he'd already gotten what he needed.
“Better killers than you have tried!” he called out.

Kaleb growled, took aim and… and then he looked on in terror. Skov aimed not at him, but at the body of the Prince. Unless it wasn't and…

Axle fired. The explosives, packed into the back of his motorbike and aimed at Kaleb, ripped through the forest, knocking both men back.

---

“What was that?” Tobias asked.

“Don't worry about it,” William answered. No use in stressing the boy out further by telling him it was Axle.
“We’re almost there.”

Tobias followed William as they came upon the coastline. A boat was waiting for them.
“You know what to do?” William asked.

“Já,” Tobias nodded. He tossed his backpack off, kicked his boots off, tossed his hoodie off, and put his backpack back on before swimming out to the boat. William tossed his jacket and gun aside, kicking off his shoes to follow suit.

William was pulled up by men in the small boat, a small gunboat if one were being generous. He saw that another man had already tossed a blanket over Tobias. The man who pulled him up tossed one over him.

“William Aubyn?” a gruff voice asked.
“It's been a while.”

William nodded.
“Well it's good to see you again.”

The source of the voice nodded, the man in a black navy coat making his way to the Prince.

Tobias looked up at this man, who looked utterly terrifying on account of his eyepatch. He gulped. Only for his fear to turn to nervousness as the man dropped to a knee.

“Commander Ronald Frost, His Majesty’s Navy reporting. An honour to meet you, Your Highness.”

Tobias looked over at William, who gave him a reassuring smile. And then back at the man kneeling before him.

“Thank you...Commander. For saving William and I,” he said with a voice that was shaking partially due to his nerves and partially due to the cold.

“Don't worry, Your Highness,” Ronnie nodded, rising to two feet.
“We’ll get ya where you need to go.”

Tobias nodded, clutching his blanket as William made his way over. He wrapped an arm around him. Tobias, after all of this, let his desire to seem strong just fade away. And he readily accepted William’s comforting embrace as their boast vanished into the night.

---

Fire burned in the aftermath of the explosion as the woods around Brokey danced with embers.

Kaleb Stahl shook his head as he desperately tried to regain his orientation. He'd...he'd been tricked! But no! The intelligence he’d been given...Prince Tobias Loðbrók was here!

“SKOV!” he called out, still dazed as he tried to find a path to where Axle and his bike had been before the explosion, trying to avoid the fires where he could. The bike was twisted metal. Fire burning…

“SKOV!”

He looked around. He couldn't see Axle Skov’s body. Or the body of Prince Tobias. Just fire and twisted metal.

“SKOV!”

And then another explosion ripped through the woods, to the north. He stumbled back to his own bike and pulled the radio receiver.

“THIS IS STAHL! REPORT!”

Static…

“SOMEONE FUCKING REPORT!”

“The house...it went up!”

“What? How?”

“Tripped gas line, most of the squad was inside!”

“Do you have any leads on the target?”

Static…

“DO YOU HAVE LEADS ON THE TARGET?”

“No sir. The target is gone. No trace…”

“AAAAGGGGGHHH!” Stahl swung the radio receiver, smashing it against a nearby tree trunk.

“SKOV!” he yelled out again in pure frustration.
“SKOV!”

---

“That's right,” Axle grumbled. He was hurt. Too hurt to make a run for it. Instead he was laying in a sandstone chasm deep in the woods. The Grænakapellu was what the locals called it. Whether the Syndies knew about it would mean life or death for him, but for now Axle readily discarded his gear to press his body against the cool moss coating the rocks.

Stahl’s screams of “SKOV!” could just barely be heard. And Axle just chuckled.
“That's right. You know my name.”

---

King by The Amazing Devil, 4:40

OOC note: Thanks to @Esplandia for the choice in music that inspired this post!

8 December 2015
1:58 pm
On a Tuesday
Hadden, Prydania

Tryggvi Natvik puffed on a cigarette as he made his way through the defensive formations that guarded Hadden from the south. It was cold as shit, and the concrete and steel maze that they were in as Syndicalist Republican Army soldiers filled offered little warmth.

"You got another one of those, comrade?" Dýri Leirdal asked as he and a few others were gathered around a radio.

"Na," Tryggvi shrugged.
"Last one, and I'm not spending anymore ration cards on cigs, that's for damn sure. Sorry."

Dýri nodded. Ration cards were cut across the board. Burning down the farms around Hadden- and then terrorizing the city- tended to weak the flow of goods into the local market. So everyone had to do some state-sponsored belt tightening. And you sure as hell weren't going to complain.

"Well," Dýri asked.
"You mind sharing? Just a puff. We're freezing our asses off here."

"Já," Tryggvi nodded, "sure." He handed the cigarette to Dýri who took a puff.

"Can I get one?" one of the other soldiers asked.

"I'm here to fetch Dýri, so you fuckers are on your own," Tryggvi said as he took his cigarette back.

"Já," Dýri nodded.
"Just give me a minute."

"What are you all listening to?" Tryggvi asked.

"RÚV," Dýri replied.
"The government just hung six Courantists, a Shaddaist and a Laurentist."

"They really went ahead and did it?" Tryggvi asked, sounding shocked. He'd heard of the arrests a few days ago.

"Já," Dýri said solemnly. He turned up the volume. The clear-worded, firm female voice the Party liked for its major announcements blared over the RÚV.

"Eight backsliding fascist sympathizers and peddlers of counter-revolutionary superstition were hung just moments ago. As our brave men and women continue the fight against fascist insurgents and Imperialists in Austurland we can look towards our capital secure that our Revolutionary government is taking the steps necessary to safeguard us from threats within. Furthermore..."

Dýri turned the volume down and one of the other soldiers spoke up.
"Most of 'em were kids you know." He just sounded....tired.

Dýri grunted and kicked the soldier who brought that up. A few People's Militia soldiers passed by. Leiftur's people. And politically fanatical. You really didn't want to get caught saying the wrong thing around them. Or the officer with the red, black, white, and purple armband who strolled up.

"Comrades!"

The group nodded, saluting.

"You all look a bit worse for wear," the political officer said with a smile that would be disarming if you didn't know how ruthless these people were.

"Sorry Sir," Dýri replied.
"Just cold as fuck."

"Well cold can keep you alert!" the political officer replied.
"Besides, keep your chins up. The government just sent a message to the fascists and Imperialists across the way there, that we're not to be trifled with. Revolutionary fervour will triumph. Like it just did in Býkonsviði. In our midst or across the battlefield, we'll crush 'em."

Dýri, Tryggvi, and the others shot each other quick glances and nodded, saluting. That this man could so easily call the killing of innocent people- kids mostly- a triumph was terrifying. You couldn't show that though. You had to agree. You had to agree and look like you never considered anything else even possible.

"I mean no disrespect sir," Tryggvi said to the political officer in his best "please buy this bullshit" voice, "but I need to go. I was sent here to fetch Private Leirdal. We're to receive new assignments from HQ in the city."

"I won't keep you then," the political officer replied. Saluting. They returned it and quickly headed out. Both Tryggvi and Dýri wanted to say something but...the maze of steel and concrete could have another political officer or Peoples' Militia soldier around any corner. It was best to say nothing. At least until you got into the city and were more sure of your surroundings.

Of course Hadden was a mess. Hastily boarded up storefronts and apartment windows, burned building facades, and piles of rubble still told the story of the Harrying. It had been two months, and the city still looked like it did a few days after the event. Still, the two soldiers felt more safe talking now that they were walking down the sidewalk, with a decent ways to go before the next checkpoint.

"Yeah fucking triumph in Býkonsviði. Never mind us tryin' to fight off the FRE, Goyaneans, and Andrennians. No. It's Thomas Nielsen hangin' teenagers. That'll safeguard the fuckin' Republic," Dýri muttered.

"You hear the news? 'Our men and women fighting in Austurland.' Bitch...we're fighting in Midland. I haven't seen Austurland in two fucking years," Tryggvi replied. Dýri chuckled and nodded. Hadden was under seige from the Nordika powers and the FRE. Hadden. The heart of Midland, but no. The War was "just" in Austurland.

The two continued as they passed what was once a Sayfansinn grocery store. There was a line. People looking to spend their rations on what food there was in Hadden now that the crops that would have been harvested were piles of ash under the snow. The sad, depressed faces in the cold weren't the worst though. No, it was the girls from the Republican Young Syndicalist League. They were wearing brown uniforms similar to the Peoples' Militia, though they were lacking the weaponry. And instead had red shashes across their wasists. They both looked to be in their late teens or early 20s. Pretty girls, the both of them, until you got to what was in their heads.

"The enemy will come, crash against our defences! Our Army, Our Militia, the People's Army, the People's Militia, will prevail!" one yelled. The other saw Tryggvi and Dýri.

"There are two of our soldiers now! We salute you champions!" Dýri and Tryggvi both looked at each other and then saluted back before going on their way.

"Fuckin' people just want a chance to get some bread, and it's not bad enough it's cold as Satan's taint. They gotta hear those two on top of it all?"

"If they wanted to help us," Tryggvi replied, "they could pick up some guns and get out there. Before Eiderwig's guns start hammering us."

The two approached city hall. Itself surrounded by concrete and steel barriers, and barbed wire. Still, they were happy to be inside where it was warm.
"That's where Leiftur's at," Tryggvi nodded, looking up at a series of offices up the staircase.

"I hear Borg's listenin' to him," Dýri replied.

"Doesn't have a choice," Tryggvi replied.
"This whole operation's the Party's game now. The Comrade Chairman wants Leiftur to be his eyes and ears. Borg's gotta run everything by him now."

"Já..." Dýri muttered. That's what scared him.

8 December 2015
1:58 pm
On a Tuesday
on the road to Hadden, Prydania

Sergeant Hendrik Meyer heard the name. They all did. Styrbjörn Granseth was one of the eight people hung by the Syndicalists in Býkonsviði. He didn't know what to do. He wanted to turn...to offer his condolences, but it was like the cold air stuck his eyes to the radio in his hands. The visible breath from crisp air hung around them for a moment when suddenly there was movement. Hendrik turned, and it was Þorfinnur Gransth.

"Granseth," he said as Þorfinnur walked away from the side of the road to the middle of the asphalt. Þorfinnur didn't react. He just dropped his gun, took off his helmet and dropped that too. And then he dropped to his knees. Hendrik didn't call out for him again. He just sighed. How do you talk to a man who just heard his little brother had died?

He looked around at the rest of his men. They all looked down, disheartened. He was about to speak up when someone else spoke.

"I'll talk to him," Eðvar Mordt said softly. Hendrik nodded. He just pat his shoulder once. He knew Þorfinnur and Eðvar were friends, having run away to join the FRE together.

"Just let them have a moment," Hendrik said to the rest of his men. He sighed. And said a quick prayer.

---

Eðvar knew Styrbjörn. He'd been his friend's little brother all of his life. He was a sweet kid too. Was. That was hard to grapple with. And it made Eðvar's jaw clench. That the Syndicalists would kill a sweet kid like that...it made him angry. But Þorfinnur... Þorfinnur didn't need his anger. That much was clear when Eðvar approached him and heard his friend's soft crying. He wasn't sure what to do himself...so he just decided to be a friend. He knelt down next to Þorfinnur and wrapped his arms around him. Þorfinnur didn't fight it. He didn't embrace Eðvar back. Þorfinnur just knelt there limpy, as his friend held him.

He couldn't...he really couldn't think. Styrbjörn...his brother. His brother who he promised....
"I'm sorry..." he whimpered. It's all he could say. It's all he could say because he remembered...he remembered his brother. He remembered playing with him. Being there for him when he'd get scared. Teaching him how to skate...he'd promised him he'd see him again but now he was gone. He was just gone...it was his fault. He'd left him.

"I'm sorry I left...." he sobbed, as Eðvar held him.
"I'm sorry I wasn't there to save you..." he was sobbing now, uncontrollably sobbing. It broke Eðvar's heart to see his friend like this...but he wasn't in any condition to try and talk him through this. Not now.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry Styrbjörn, please forgive me...." he felt his tears freezing as soon as they rolled down his cheeks. He felt his throat going horse, but he didn't care. His brother was dead. His brother was dead and he wasn't there to protect him. Like he always had. He'd let him down....

"Please... no...no...no..." Þorfinnur said as he cried. He couldn't. He couldn't hold back...he just cried until he finally clutched his friend's arm around him, bending over a bit as he knelt.

Eðvar just held him in place, as best he could. He was on the verge of tears too, but he couldn't let himself give in to those. His friend needed him.
"Þor...Þor I'm sorry..." he said as his friend's crying seemed to wane a bit.
"I'm so sorry..." he pulled him closer to hug him.

Þorfinnur cried some more as he was held.
"I let them kill him..." he managed to say as he sniffed and cried.

Eðvar shook his head.
"No..." he said softly.
"No you didn't. They killed him...not you."

"I let them!" Þorfinnur cried out, as the realization that he'd never see his brother again hit him once more.
"I let them kill him I'm sorry Styrbjörn please forgive me..." he cried.

"Þor," Eðvar said softly.
"You gotta listen to me."

"Styrbjörn," Þorfinnur cried softly, "I love you..."

"He knows that," Eðvar said back.
"He knows you love him. He's looking down at you, from heaven, and he knows you love him. I know he's looking down right now, and he wants to hug you so bad..."
Eðvar had to fight to hold back the tears, "he wants to hold you so bad and tell you that he loves you, and that you're not to blame."

"I left him...I let them do this to him..." Þorfinnur whimpered.

Eðvar was about to say something when another voice cut him off.

"You left to fight the people who do this to kids."

Eðvar looked up. It was Seargant Meyer and the rest of their squad.

"Searge, I..." Eðvar began, but Hendrik just held up a hand and knelt in front of them, as the rest of the squad followed, kneeing around them,

"Granseth..." he began softly. Þorfinnur Granseth and Eðvar Mordt were both eighteen. As were most other members of his squad. A few were nineteen. One was seventeen. At twenty-three he was the old man, the boss. The leader. And yet he felt he was just as much a kid as they were...but he couldn't show it. And this...he had no idea what to do in a situation like this. But if his men looked up to him then he'd use that for some fucking good.

"Granseth," he repeated, and Þorfinnur looked up with red, bloodshot eyes. Hendrik offered him a smile and nodded.
"I need you to listen to me, ok?"

Þorfinnur whimpered, nodding as tears continued to roll down his cheeks.
"I'm sorry Searge..."

"No you're not," Hendrik said.
"You're mourning. You don't have to apologize for mourning."

Þorfinnur nodded, and lowered his head, but Hendrik wasn't done.

"And you aren't sorry for your brother 'cause you got no reason to be."

Þorfinnur looked up, looking wounded, still unable to control himself much.
"I left him and..."

"You left him to fight the people who did this," Hendrik said. He sounded and looked like he was made of steel, even if he was shaking inside, and wanted to hug this guy who he'd come to see as a brother in arms over the past two years. He had to be made of steel, for moments like this.
"You left him because there are monsters killing kids, and a whole lot worse, and you came here, to fight 'em. Because you're not a monster. You're a fucking hero."

"I left him...I could have stopped them and..."

"No," Hendrik said firmly, but not aggressively. He reached out to hold Þorfinnur by the back of the neck, nodding as he looked at him.
"They'd have killed you too," he said softly. He was really shaking now.
"They'd have killed you too, because they're monsters."

"I promised him I'd be back..."

"You'll get back. You'll get back home when we finally crush those bastards. Mordt's right. Your brother's looking down at you right now, but he doesn't think you've killed him. He's proud of you and what you're fighting for."

Þorfinnur let his head hang as he cried. He felt cold. He felt cold all over, even as his uniform kept him mostly warm. He wanted to just collapse into the road. Fade away like dirt and dust...but instead he felt himself growing warmer as his squad, they all began to huddle and hug. Þorfinnur wasn't sure how much longer he cried like this. It felt like hours, but truthfully it couldn't be more than a few minutes.
"I miss you..." he said softly.
"I miss you Styrbjörn, I miss you so much..."

"We're not going to let you miss him alone," Hjalmar Garnes, the seventeen year old, said.
"You're hurting so we're hurting."

"Thank you," Þorfinnur said in a raspy voice.

"Garnes is right," Hendrik said.
"They hurt one of us, they hurt all of us."

Eðvar continued to hold his friend close, and nodded.
"Styrbjörn was a good kid. And you were an amazing big brother, you know that?"

Þorfinnur cried again, leaning into his friend's embrace as their squad all held each other.

"And I meant what I said," Eðvar said softly.
"He's in heaven, and he wants to hug you right now, and we're all doing it for him," he said as tears began to roll down his cheeks too. He couldn't hold them back forever.
"Your brother's in heaven," he repeated, "but you need to fight like you're going to Valhalla."

Þorfinnur looked at his friend, still shaking himself. Eðvar nodded.

"Sarg is right," he continued.
"We came here to fight these fucking pricks. We're meetin' up with everyone else for the push on Hadden. And you gotta make them pay for what they did. 'cause I sure as shit will. And I know we all will."

"Já," came from all ten of them, huddled there. Þorfinnur felt hands pat his shoulders, his back, his arms...he nodded at his friend, and looked his Sergeant in the eyes, nodding too before he lowered his head once more to cry again.

"We're gonna stay here as long you want," Lateef said with a nod.
"No rush in going anywhere," he added, even as a winter wind cut through them all.

Þorfinnur nodded, and just let himself be embraced by his squad. He felt like he'd been tossed into a black hole...but there was warmth in that abyss. There was warmth.

"Thank you," he said softly.
"Thank you."

---

Tomorrow We Fight by Tommee Profitt and Svrcina, 3:19

OOC Note: Thanks to @Kyle for the idea for the post and the music selection!

25 July 1984
8:25 pm
On a Wednesday
Bayyah Nah Tyrooz, Astragon

The scent and smoke and sweat of a casino were nauseating at half past eight in the evening.

Herman von Klaw smirked as he collected his winnings. He'd been cleaning up all night. Just a nice diversion from his other plans. This new player though...he was a Prydanian. No doubt the Astragonese couldn't tell one Gotic accent from the other, but von Klaw could distinguish it easily.

"Alaterva or thereabouts?" von Klaw asked.

"Very good, Herr von Klaw," the tuxedoed Prydanian gentleman with dark hair and hazel eyes remarked as he took a drag on his cigarette.
"You know your Prydanian accents."

"I make my way around," von Klaw replied with a smirk.
"You know of me though?"

"Já," the Prydanian gentleman replied.
"A man of your stature often has a reputation that proceeds him."

The conversation was interrupted by the dealer continuing the game, and von Klaw growled. The Prydanian had beaten his hand.
"You have some nice moves," he said slyly.

"I thought I noticed winter creeping over your shoulder," the Prydanian replied. Von Klaw froze for a moment. Winter...did he know? Was he on the trail of Kurt Ventur?

"What?!"

"The cold winds of defeat. I sensed your luck had to change," the Prydanian replied with a smile. Von Klaw chuckled softly.

"We'll see about that. What do you say we raise the limit? Fifty thousand dram? Perhaps you'd like to take a chance? Mr...eh? I'm afraid I'm at a disadvantage not knowing your name."

The Prydanian gentleman smiled, taking another drag on his cigarette.
"Skov...Axle Skov."

That name...it had popped up before, though von Klaw could not confirm much.
"Ah Herr Skov. One of my associates spoke of you."

"Nothing bad I hope," Skov replied.
"It's your winds of fate against mine, eh? I hope the winds of winter don't curse you again."

Von Klaw narrowed his eyes. ÖSU? A friend of Ventur's from his homeland? Something else?
"You wish to put the evil eye on me?" he laughed.
"We have a way to deal with that where I come from."

"Well you may hex me," Skov retorted, "but let's see what it does for the cards."

Another hand went Skov's way.

"You seem to be unbeatable, Herr Skov."

"Well for the moment," Skov quipped.
"But this sort of thing can't last."

15 September 2002
11:43 pm
On a Sunday
outside of Jórvík, Prydania

Axle sprung awake in a dark cabin, his memories from decades ago vanishing. He was pulled back into his seat as he jolted awake.

"Commander Skov," a voice said calmly, echoing through his haziness. He managed to focus long enough to see him though. Syndicalist Republican Army Intelligence Special Agent Kaleb Stahl.

"Oh Christ," Skov muttered, seeing Stahl. The boy was only twenty-one. Either he was an overachiever or, more likely, one of Leiftur's Party stooges.

"Not excited to see me?" Kaleb asked. Axle looked around. He had three Syndicalist Army grunts with him.

"I've shot in and out of less welcoming places," he said with a shrug.

"Ah that's that Skov wit that everyone talks about!"

Axle just rolled his eyes.
"I'm going to assume you didn't ambush me in my cabin to make small talk."

"Your cabin? No. This cabin belongs to the Syndicates and people of Prydania," Stahl replied with a smirk. It didn't seem to phase Axle though.

"Then consider me a caretaker for future generations," Axle said with a laugh.
"Now what the fuck do you want?"

"Well you're doing more than just enjoying some country living, Axle. Where is he?"

"Where's who?" Axle replied, knowing full well who they meant.

"I'm not in the mood to put up with you playing dumb," Kabel shot back, his voice starting to get angry. Axle didn't smirk, but he wanted to. Kaleb was showing his youth and his inexperience. He was loosing his cool. And beyond that he was keeping him in his cabin. His turf.

"Well if you didn't want to play coy then you shouldn't have tried to interrogate Axle Goddamn Skov..." he laughed before letting out a loud scream as Kaleb drove a knife into his thigh.

"AHHHHHHHHAA....you....you..." Axle cried out.

Kaleb grit his teeth and pulled the knife out.
"Já? What?" he asked firmly.

Axle's screams turned to pained laughter.
"You might as well cut off my whole Goddamn leg, because I'm not telling you where he is..."

Kaleb grew frustrated and, still gripping the bloody knife, he gripped both arms of the chair Axle was sitting on.
"Why not? What do you have to lose?"

Axle just laughed for a moment before he looked Kaleb in the eyes.
"Everything."

Kaleb gave a frustrated laugh and backed up before turning around to run his hand through his hair before turning around again.
"I've read your file. Commander, Royal Marines. ÖSU Special Agent, licence to kill. Over fifty-five confirmed kills in the line of duty. Orphaned. Dedicated agent, but problems with authority."

"Heh," Axle smirked.
"I suppose you also read my second grade report card."

"No," Kaleb replied coldly.
"But I know you were friends with Prince Robert. Is that why you're protecting his kid?"

"We all have multiple reasons for doing anything."

"Huh," Kaleb said, walking back towards Axle.
"I also know you had no love lost for the Social Commonwealth government."

"Very good...you sure you didn't read my second grade report card?"

"I said I wasn't in the mood for games."

"I'm not playing a game," Axle said coldly.
"I'm just trying to figure out what the fucking point of this is."

"Join us."

"Oh you've got to be kidding," Axle laughed.

"I'm serious. You were disgusted by the fascists as much as we were. Why are you helping them now?"

"Because I'm not," Axle shot back.
"If you don't want to play my games, then return the fucking favour. I'm not keen to play Syndie propaganda bullshit."

"You worked against the fascists, why not work for us?"

"Well," Axle mused.
"There is the small problem that your glorious leader killed my friend."

"Prince Robert was a reactionary. You must have seen the trial."

"I've also seen BunBun the Crazy Bunny on tv. I try not to believe everything I see."

"It doesn't matter. Your psychological profile is clear. You understood how fucked up things are. Help us make them better."

"There's something you need to understand," Axle replied.
"I may be a cynic. I had to be to do what I did. But do you know why I did them?"

"You're a violent man. Maladjusted. The ÖSU gave you an outlet."

Axle chuckled.
"No...you see I killed all of those people for my country because despite being a cynic I believe in a better tomorrow. And I know your lot isn't it."

"And Robert's son is?"

"Maybe," Axle replied.

"Well," Kaleb said, leaning forward with his hands on the chair arms again, "I will find him. With or without your help."

"No you won't," Axle said.
"Because he's tomorrow. And tomorrow never dies."

Kaleb looked at him confused, but Axle just lifted his good leg up and brought his foot down. The shock triggered a radio signal from a device in his heel, and soon the cabin was rocked by an explosion....


Kaleb pulled himself up off the ground but collapsed onto his back. His coughed. Ash and smoke filled his lungs as he pulled himself from the inferno. He coughed as the fire danced against the night sky, and finally pulled himself to his feet. He looked around.

He saw one of his soldiers crawling from the wreckage, and the bodies of two other soldiers. He looked around frantically. Skov? Where was Skov?

"AXLE!" he cried out.
"AXLE!"

He looked around.
"SKOV!" Kaleb cried out. Out into the dark abyss of the night.

---

Surrender by k.d. lang, 4:00

19 January 2013
2:04 pm
On a Saturday
outside of Darrow, Prydania

"I didn't think I'd see you here," William remarked as Stig Eiderwig stood next to him and Jörn.

"I'm here to make sure Skov doesn't kill my nephew," Stig muttered.

"Is Stig Eiderwig afraid that Axle Skov might be a tougher son of a bitch than he is?" William asked with a chuckle. Stig just shot a moderately annoyed look back and William sighed, deciding to change the subject.

"Is the Starrfelt situation being handled?"

"Já," Stig nodded.
"I have Black Division on it."

"Hveiti," William muttered.
"I still don't know what to make of him."

"He does his job well," Stig replied.
"It's all I care about."

William nodded. He hadn't wanted to put Max Hveiti in charge of the FRE's intelligence gathering operations but Stig had insisted. William wasn't about to argue now.

The silence, however, was broken by Jörn.
"I taught him how to sword fight," he said.
"Why are we putting him through this?"

"Because," William replied.
"The War's here. And Tobias needs to be ready."

"Axle's going to run him ragged," Stig muttered.

"I promised Robert I'd keep his son alive. If him getting exhausted in the snow is what it takes..."

---

Tobias breathed heavily as his boots cracked the snow under him, running along the frozen river and diving behind a thick log.

"No time to rest, no time to die," Axle called out.
"The enemy would be closing in. Act now."

Tobias pulled his Fyrirmynd .32 pistol from his belt and popped out from behind the log. But between the cold that bit his cheeks and his exhaustion from being run through Axle's scenarios all day, his throat parched for thirst in the ice cold, he couldn't concentrate. The bullet skimmed the outer edge of the paper target propped up on an old fence.

"Congratulations. You've given a Syndie Militiaman a nasty flesh wound," Axle said dryly.

Tobias collapsed into the snow, his back up against the log.
"I'm tired..." the seventeen year old Prince muttered. He was. He was also miserable. He was sweating through his clothes under his jacket and his pants, the sweat and cold mixing to make him feel awful.

"I could tell you," Axle grumbled, "that the enemy doesn't care if you're exhausted. Doesn't care if you're hurting all over. He aims to kill you. And will."

"Stahl's...been trying to kill me for...eleven years..." Tobias said, breathing deep. He breathed deep for air, and the cold winter air stung his lungs. He winced at that.

"Kaleb Stahl..." Axle said as he walked over to the collapsed Prince, "isn't to be underestimated. He's one reason your father and mother are dead."

Tobias looked up at Axle angrily.
"What did you say?"

"I said Kaleb Sta..."

"No! What does it mean?"

Axle raised an eyebrow. Tobias wasn't making much sense, but he'd been pushing him hard all day. He can chose not to point out the Prince's flawed line of questioning.

"If Kaleb Stahl and others like him hadn't done what they did, your mother and father would still be alive."

"Thomas Nielsen killed my parents," Tobias insisted.

"Já," Skov replied.
"And he could do that because rats like Kaleb Stahl were Syndicalist moles in the Army. They paralyzed the Army's response to the Syndicalist coup long enough for them to seize power. Why do you think they sent him to kill you? You can't underestimate him."

Tobias breathed heavily, his own sweat and exhaustion stinging against the cold of winter. He looked down, saying nothing for a few moments before speaking.

"I'm tired."

"I know," Axle replied, expecting that.
"But this is important. We're in open war now."

"That's why you're finally teaching me to kill. When you wouldn't before?"

Axle didn't say anything for a moment. He just pulled out his own handgun. It was of the same make and model as Tobias'.

"We had a fellow, in the ÖSU. His name was F."

"His name was a letter?" Tobias asked curiously.

"No," Axle laughed.
"His name was Algy Básrynd," Axle remarked. "We called him F because he was ÖSU's Fjórðungsstjóri*."

"Oh," Tobias replied, not sure what Axle's point was.

"See," Axle continued, "F did two things for me. He assigned me this," he held up his own Fyrirmynd .32 pistol.
"This gun saved my life more times than I care to count, and that's why I gave you one. He also gave me some advice," he said, looking down.
"Advice you need."

Tobias brushed some of his blond hair from his eyes as he looked up at Axle, the man who saved his life, more times than he cared to count.
"What was it?"

Axle felt his heart flutter. F...Algy...he tried not to think on friends and acquaintances who he'd lost. In his life doing that could be paralyzing. Remembering his old quartermaster though, here and now...
He sighed, let his head dip, and turned to Tobias. Snow stuck to his beard.

"Never let them see you bleed."

Tobias looked at Axle, and the words rang in his head. His tired, exhausted, both hot and freezing head... Part of him wanted to insist that he was still tired, but he wanted to prove himself.
"I...can go again."

"No," Axle said as he stood, securing his gun in his belt and helping Tobias up.
"Let's get you rested."

Tobias grinned and leaned into Axle as Axle wrapped an arm over his shoulder. Leading him back to William, Stig, and Jörn.

"Do not go quietly into the maws of the monsters at your hearth, dare to defy Ragnarök," Stig muttered watching the two approach them.

"I didn't know you were well-read in the classics," Jörn remarked, sounding genuinely and pleasantly surprised.

"I'm not," Stig remarked.
"I find classic literature painfully boring," he added, causing Jörn's smile to turn to a frown.
"But some bits stuck with me."

"William, Jörn," he added as Tobias and Axle trudged through the snow towards them.
He nodded in the direction of his nephew, and turned. Tobias was safe. And he had a war to win.

---

*Fjórðungsstjóri- Quartermaster

---

Why Do We Fall? by Hans Zimmer, 2:08

1 August 2015
2:07 pm
On a Saturday
Erkiengill, Prydania

Karl Sonnenburg sat as he listened to his Erkiengill counterpart start the conference off, flanked by two Syndicalist flags at his podium. He smiled slightly as Torrad Hager wrapped up his introduction.

“And now, allow me to formally begin the 2015 Syndicalist Party Central Region Subconference by introducing the Party Chief for Býkonsviði, Herra Karl Sonnenburg!”

Karl smiled and stood, clapping softly as everyone else there, various local party officials from central Prydania and state media, foreign delegates from Cogoria, and Militia officers applauded for him. He then made his way to the podium and shook Torrad’s hand. They were technically of equal rank. Torrad was head of the Party in Erkiengill. Karl was head of the Party in Býkonsviði. Yet the status of the capital- and the proximity it gave him to Chairman Nielsen and the rest of the Presidum- meant that Karl de jure outranked anyone here.

And he'd earned his stripes. It was a week ago that he'd dutifully done what was demanded of him by Leiftur. The Shaddaists. They'd been a messy situation since the start of the Syndicalist Republic.

Shaddaists had actually been represented well in Syndicalist Party history. The Shaddaist Labour Bund of Prydania was one of the founding organizations of the Party, and Rune Leth’s Syndicalist government in the 1920’s featured the country's first Shaddaist government ministers.

But Leiftur...to call him anti-Shaddaist would be incorrect in Karl’s mind. He didn't hate them as a people. It was more...he had a deep dislike of religion in any form. It was no secret that he was behind the Party’s more overtly hostile shift against religion, even before the Syndicalist Revolution. And he had Nielsen’s ear. It was Nielsen that let him send the Militia into every church they could find to torture and kill…

But the Shaddaists...anti-Clerical measures were easy with most of the population. If you disavowed the Church or the Thaunic Temple you could take part in this great new Syndicalist society. For most Shaddaists though, their religion was tightly intertwined into their distinct ethnic identity.

It made dealing with them hard. Especially when there was the legacy of anti-Shaddaist persecution from the Social Commonwealth. The 1984-2002 regime had been more subtle about it, but Shaddaists were ultimately marginalized and shut out of public life in most areas, with a few notable examples. And the 1937-1951 regime was...well...murderous would be an accurate description.
How could the Syndicalist Party, even the strong-armed adamantly anti-Clerical version of the Party, deal with Shaddaists and not call to mind the horrors of the fascists they so vehemently opposed?

Leiftur’s ultimate answer a week ago was not to care. He'd sent Karl the order. The local Býkonsviði Syndicalist Party was going to “make an example” of “reactionary religion.” And Karl saw it through.
The small Shaddaist temple that the Party had on-and-off tolerated was burnt down. Cohens* were dragged out into the street and shot. Community leaders and intellectuals- long the focus of People’s Militia observation- got the same treatment. Anyone- even women or children- who attempted to stop them got dragged off for “political rehabilitation.”

It was brutal. It made Karl uneasy. To see so many dead people- dead children too because often the Militiamen couldn't help themselves- lying in the streets as homes and shops burned up...the smoke and the bodies unnerved him. But he did it. Not because he wanted to, but because Leiftur had ordered it.

Would he have handled the situation, the Shaddaist Question, more delicately? Já he would have, but he wasn't the Interior Minister. He wasn't the boss’ right hand man. Jannik Leiftur was.
And besides...maybe it was a good outlet for the local Militia? The Royalist uprising in the east was gaining ground and pushing towards Hadden. Karl didn't like having to be so harsh...so brutal...in weeding out the regime’s enemies, but it was stress relief. The positives- and not the downside of the horror that it caused even some Party members or the international outrage his actions had wrought- were what he clung to.

In better days he might have been disgusted at himself for justifying the slaughter of innocent people as acceptable stress relief but...it had been a long thirteen years. He'd been hardened. So despite his unease, he was here. And he wasn't going to be apologetic.

The party officials clapped as he finished shaking Torrand’s hand, and then took his place at the podium.

“Assembled local Syndicalist Party delegates,” he said.
“There's been a lot of talk about the uprising in the east but I stand here to remind you all, and the world, that we are still here!”

Applause broke out.

“That the Party of Leth and Nielsen, the ONE Party of freedom in Prydania is still here!”

There was more applause. Karl smiled and nodded.

“And I promise you, the fascist uprising can crash against us, but in the end we will….”

bang! bang! bang! bang!

The crowd sank into a gasp and panic as Karl Sonnenburg stumbled back as bloody wounds pierced his chest, collapsing.

Axle Skov immediately turned to the spotlight that was shone on him, pivoting from firing down from the Cogorian diplomatic group in a balcony area to face the spotlight and put a bullet in it before forcing his way through the panicked crowd. He'd got the bastard. Now he had to get out of here.

---

Police and People’s Militiamen scrambled to put the conference hall on lockdown. Orders of “no one gets out!” were barked over and over as the doors were all covered.

Axle wasn't planning on using the door though. Militiamen were on his trial as he raced up a flight of stairs, tucking his pistol into the holster under his light tan jacket. He ripped off the fake ID badge that identified him as a Cogorian diplomat, tossing it aside as he forced himself through a door. It was unlocked. Like Max had promised him. He didn't have time to evaluate. He knew what he had to do...so he did it. He jumped through the open window, down to a balcony on the other building across the alley, with a thud.

“I’m too fucking old for this,” he growled as he tossed himself into the window to avoid the hail of gunfire.

The apartment he was in was empty but that was by design. He wasted no time making his way to the closet and kicking down the wall. It was fake. A front to hide his escape. He dropped down the shaft. They'd be coming into that apartment any moment now...but he moved like a demon, getting down into the building’s guts and eventually able to make his way into an empty janitor’s closet through an old maintenance door.

The street outside was chaotic. Axle didn't have much time left though. He couldn't remain out here. He turned down a street as crowds of people jostled to see what was happening, when a truck with a Syndicalist Republican Army emblem pulled up.

“I heard things went off perfectly,” a young man in a Syndicalist Republican Army uniform remarked.

“Brodi,” Axle growled as he hopped in.

“We have the papers needed to get out,” Brodi remarked.

“Then drive!” Axle insisted, and Brodi wasted no time. The jeep blending into the other Syndicalist government vehicles that were frantically driving through the city.

“Disguise is in the bag behind you,” Brodi remarked.
“But it went well? I heard the bastard’s dead over the radio.”

“What can I say?” Axle grumbled as he crawled into the back as the jeep made its way through the city.
“I had a great view to a kill.”

“Well it sound like your aim’s as good as it's always been,” Brodi remarked.

“I've had lots of practice,” Axle muttered.
“Keeps certain skills sharp.”

“Why you?” Brodi asked. “Hveiti could have sent anyone.”

“I volunteered,” Axle replied as he hastily slipped on the Syndicalist Republican Army uniform.

“Why? I don't mean any disrespect but aren't you a little old for…”

“Payback,” Axle snapped.
“I volunteered for payback against that fucker Karl Sonnenburg.”

“Huh…” Brodi shrugged.
“I didn't know you were Shaddaist.”

“I’m not,” Axle replied, applying the fake moustache and mole before slipping back into the front seat.

“But you said…”

“Yeah I’ll tell you about it if you can get us out of this city alive.”

“Sure thing,” Brodi nodded.
“Sure thing.”

Axle nodded and put on a Syndicalist Republican Army hat and pulled it down as he leaned back in his chair. Breathing deep…

They managed to pass through the checkpoints, their forged papers all checking out. On account of not being technically forged.

And once they rumbled along country roads...Brodi couldn't help himself.

“So...you mentioned payback.”

“You're a talkative fucker, aren't you?”

“Well you piqued my curiosity.”

“Well,” Axle mused.
“Do you need to be a Shaddaist to be abhorred over what happened a week ago?”

“No,” Brodi said matter of factly.

“So where's the fucking curiosity coming from?”

“You...volunteered to do this? On principle? You asked to be the guy to shoot Karl Sonnenburg. That seems personal.”

“It wasn't. For me. But for someone else…”

“Who?” Brodi asked.

Axle finally felt comfortable enough to take off the fake moustache and mole.
“You're in the ÖSU. You're trained to observe. Have you ever noticed that Max Hveiti never eats pork?”

“No…” Brodi replied confused for a moment before turning to Axle in shock.
“He's…”

“Já,” Axle replied.
“He almost took this assignment himself. I volunteered to keep him alive, because he was going to treat it like a suicide mission.”

“Why...I mean...I never knew he was a Shaddaist. Why did he hide it?”

“Because of people like Karl Sonnenburg,” Axle grumbled.
“Now drive.”

Brodi nodded, still processing what he'd been told. And Axle...Axle sat, resting as he licked his wounds. He couldn't do this anymore. But this one time, once more dance in the fire, was worth it.

---

*Cohen- Shaddaist religious leader

---

A View to a Kill by Duran Duran, 3:35

3 February 2013
4:49 pm
On a Sunday
Krysuvik, Prydania

"My country is beautiful at sunset. Even in the winter. Especially in the winter. The way the setting sun dances over the horizon, and how it plays off of the gusts of snow, is haunting in its beauty."

"When I was really little, before all of this started, my pabbi told me a story. That at certain angles the sun setting on the horizon creates a green flash. 'It's a trick of the light' he told me, but it was a sign. It explained my family's green eyes. Because we always had our vision on the horizon. We were explorers."

"I've thought about that recently. I've thought about a lot, actually. My family though...they've been on my mind more and more frequently."

"My uncle was a tyrant. I spent years denying that, as a child who clung to the memories of his family who he'd lost. And when I finally accepted the truth I spent years still trying to understand him. But I can't understand Uncle Andy. Not after meetings people who suffered because of him. Or seeing the people the Syndicalists abuse, knowing my uncle's regime did things just as bad."

"I want to cry. I can't. Not anymore. I've cried enough. No one's ever told me to stop but I feel like I have to. William wants me to speak to the people. I have. And I've told myself I can't cry. It's not what they need. But I want to cry because like my country, my people are beautiful."

"My people's music, our stories, the people themselves...they're all wonderful. And I can't help but cry seeing what the Syndicalists have done to them. What my uncle did to them. They are, though, probably stronger than I am. I've seen amazing courage in the eyes of the people liberated from the labour camps and the collectivized compounds. I've spoken to people who want to rebuild, and not dwell on the awful things that happened to them."

"It's enough for me, at my most emotional, to ask if I'm cut out to be a leader for them. I'm sitting here on an old fence overlooking a field outside of my mamma's hometown wondering that. People who knew my mamma are reassuring. 'She cared about everyone,' I'm told. 'You get it from her.'"

"I...I want to cry. Because I wish she was here. I wish she was here to tell me if I'm doing the right things. If I'm saying the right things. Or if I should be saying anything at all. I want to cry because I miss her..."

"I miss her and I miss my pabbi. I miss them both. I want to cry because as much as I want to hold them I'll never be able to. But I know something now. I know that my mamma and pabbi are in heaven. The wind and cold bite my face, but that idea fills me with hope. Some day I might see them again."

"All I can do is do my best though. I don't think I'm a hero. I'm just someone with nothing. But who I was born as means something. And I need to do something. If only speak out and tell my people they're not alone, and that the monsters who kill innocents are being stood up to. I don't know if my mamma and pabbi would think I'm doing any good...but it's what I think I have to do."

"My gloved fingers clutch the old wood the fence I'm sitting on is made of. The dance of snow and warm colours of sunset has given way to the darkness of night. The wind howls, but I'm used to the cold. It doesn't bother me. Maybe that's why I can still see the beauty of my country even in the dead of winter? Maybe that's why the sadness in the soul of my people doesn't stop me from seeing the warmth underneath?"

"My family went from being explorers to Saints and Kings. Somewhere along the way it gave birth to two tyrants. But if we could change before we can change again. My pabbi and mamma are in heaven...I can't help but smile and tear up as I think of them looking at the two moons. I want to cry so bad, but I don't. They refused to be monsters like my uncle. There's hope for my family. My country. My people. Three things others might write off. But I see the beauty in all of them. And I will protect them."

---

The Born King by Daniel Pemberton, 2:31

11 July 2016
2:38 pm
On a Monday
outside Axlarhagi, Prydania

Major Jonas Solhjell leaned his head back against the tree trunks He was disarmed and had his wrists secured behind his back.

"We should just kill him," Fylkir mumbled.

"Já, I agree," Bjarkar added. Rylond just glared at the Syndicalist Republican Army Major before shaking his head.

"He's Army not Militia."

"Like it makes a fuckin' difference?!" Bjarkar growled only for Solhjell to speak up.

"It does actually. I probably hate the Militia as much as you do."
It was a half truth. He really did hold the People's Militia in contempt. And he hoped he could gain some sympathy with these teens who had managed to ambush his squad.

Rylond ignored the Syndicalist Republican Army Major for now.
"Tobias is gonna be back soon. We'll figure it out when he's back."

Solhjell looked up. He recognized the son of the outlaw Thane of Jórvík. And this band of teenagers was running with not just him but the son of Prince Robert....

"Need your Loðbrók master to tell you what to do?"

Bjarkar gripped his gun but Rylond put his hand on it and looked over at their captive.

"You'll need to forgive my friend there," he said. "He's just a bit angry on account of...well...everything you did to his family."

Solhjell looked up at Bjarkar. Teenager or not, Bjarkar had a gun. He didn't.
"What did I do to your family?" he asked, trying to sound neutral.

"You took our farm away," Bjarkar replied, coldly.
"Then imprisoned us on what used to be our land and worked us to the bone. That's what you fucking did."

Solhjell looked at the kid and tried not to betray any emotion. He was an officer. He'd been a junior officer in the Royal Prydanian Army when he'd thrown his lot in with the Syndicalists during the coup. That was to say he had his ideals, but he was hardly an ideologue. And his past dealings with the Militia had left him a bit cynical regarding his own government.

"Bjarkar is it?"

Bjarkar simply nodded.

"I'm sorry the policy of collectivized agriculture wasn't carried out as well as it could have and your family suffered. But that wasn't me or the Army. It was the Militia and..."

Rylond had to grip the muzzle of Bjarkar's gun to keep him from shooting him right then and there.

"I was there," Rylond said, trying to stay calm.
"I was there when we liberated them, and others. Not just the agricultural homesteads. I saw what your sort did to those kids in Alaterva." He had to keep himself calm, even if the memories of what he'd seen there made him half likely to throttle this Syndie himself.

Solhjell felt himself go cold. There were rumours of what happened in those "re-education" camps for kids. And with the more falling into FRE's hands, them and the Goyaneans and Andrennians were telling every news outlet around the world. The Syndicalist Republic denying it only held up so much with the sheer number of testimonies.

Of course Jonas Solhjell knew first hand what the Militia was capable of. The Red House...that still enraged him, what the Militia had done under his watch. And even more that his reports on the matter seemed to result in no real change. He knew that Rylond Jórvík had seen something just as bad, or worse, if he was at the Militia-run Alaterva camp.

"That was the Militia not..."

"I don't want to fucking hear it," Rylond growled.
"We had to clear your Army out of the camps and homesteads. You all fucking know what's going on. And you're still fighting for the Syndies."

"We all have our reasons, Lord Jórvík," Solhjell replied mockingly.

Rylond crouched down until he was eye level with the restrained Major. He was tense all over. His heart raced. He wanted to erupt but he managed to weather the instinct.
"Let me guess. Your father was a factory worker. Miner. Maybe a dockworker? Dockworker sounds likely. I know a Keris accent when I hear one."

"You were right the first time," Solhjell replied coldly.

"And so after Anders, this is what you decided to fight for, is that it?"

"Já," Solhjell replied.
"And I'm not going to let some noble's kid tell me..."

"WHAT YOU'RE FIGHTING FOR PUT MY FRIEND IN A PRISON CAMP WHEN HE WAS EIGHT!" Rylond yelled, unleashing his anger verbally so he didn't shoot his captive.

"AND WHAT YOU'RE FIGHTING FOR KILLED MY OTHER FRIEND'S PARENTS IN COLD BLOOD...AND IT'S NOT EVEN JUST THEM! EVERYONE!" Rylond yelled.
"EVERYONE! YOU'VE HUNG CHILDREN AND PUT PEOPLE IN CAMPS!"

He was fuming. Solhjell was too. His first instinct was to reply "Anders did it all first," but the words flaked to bitter ash on his tongue. He felt his knees turn to jelly. He didn't know what to say, and so settled on something somewhat provocative.
"Are you done?" he grumbled.

Rylond looked at his friends and then back at Major Solhjell.
"No fucking working class sob story justifies any of this," he growled.
"And I'm tired of hearing it as an excuse."

"I meant it when I said I hate the Militia," Solhjell replied.
"And I mean it...if they've hurt any of you, I'm sorry. It's not what I believe in."

"I don't care what you believe," Rylond growls.
"I care what you do."

"You don't know what I've done," Solhjell shot back.

"Well," Rylond growled.
"We'll figure out what to do with you when Tobias gets back."

"Loðbrók masters?" Solhjell asked through gritted teeth.

"No," Rylond shot back.
"We just make decisions together."

---

11 July 2016
2:42 pm
On a Monday
outside Axlarhagi, Prydania

"Jægerblað," Kari Fiskaa said as Tobias set the sword down on her table. The old woman pulled the sword from its sheath just a bit to observe the liquid-like texture of the blade.

"Forged by ancient smiths in Andrenne. I doubt anyone could make a sword like this today," she said as she slid the sword back fully into its sheath.

"There are some Andrennian soldiers outside if you'd like to ask. I'm sure they'd love to give their thoughts," Tobias grinned.

"Maybe," Kari shrugged.
"But I doubt any would be as special as this one," she pat the leather sheath decorated with oak leaf patterns.

Tobias nodded just a bit and looked at the sword. It meant a lot to him, if only because it was a memory of his family. One that stretched far beyond Anders, into the realm of myth and legend.

"But you didn't come here to talk about swords," Kari added.

"No," Tobias replied.
"Jörn said you could help. We need parts for this..."

Tobias lifted a radio from the floor onto the table.
"I didn't think you would, but Jörn said..."

Kari put up a finger to shut the Prince up and leaned over the radio, brushing some grey hairs from her eyes and adjusting her glasses.

"Hitma H/F model, 1986, já I have parts," she said as she straightened up.
"What do you need?"

"You do?" Tobias asked, shocked, before mentally going over what was broken.
"New capacitors," he said.

"Let me check out back..." she said.
"I have all sorts of junk in the back shed. But your Andrennian friends don't have anything?"

"'fraid not," Tobias replied.

"Well that's fine. I should...oh!"

"Já?" Tobias asked.

"I don't know how long I'll be back there," Kari said.
"It's a mess frankly. Could you just make sure my sweet cakes don't burn? They're in the oven."

"Oh, that's what that smell is," Tobias replied, sniffing the air.

"Já, I just need to make sure you take them out when they're ready if I'm not back."

Tobias sighed and smiled, giving her a nod. He'd been denied the chance to enjoy home cooking. There was something wholesome about the smell of the cakes and took a seat in the kitchen as Kira made her way to the shack out back.

Tobias pulled a chair up to the oven. The sweet cakes were baking. He ran his hand through his hair and leaned back, looking around. It was a normal looking kitchen in a normal woodland cabin, but despite having electric lights and an electric kitchen there was no phone...

He looked back at the sweet cakes in the oven and then leaned forward, his elbows on his thighs, his head down.

He'd killed someone. In cold blood. The Darrow Hangings, the camps and agricultural homesteads...they didn't soothe his soul much. He grit his teeth. Were William and Axle right? Hell...they were.

And because of that....he shook his head as he looked down at his lap.
"Mamma...Pabbi..." he said softly. He missed them. And what they would say. Would they understand that he'd only killed that person because it was a War? Or would they be disappointed....

But he felt his chest tighten. He didn't have his mamma or pabbi because the Syndicalists took them from him. He clenched his jaws and fumed for a moment. He was being asked...told...to be better than the people who were destroying his country.

"Anders did..." he muttered.
"Anders did this and that..." he continued. It was true. Syndicalism was what it was because of Anders. A reaction? No...that was giving the Syndicalist Republic too much credit. It was a parallel to Anders. He thought back to what William had taught him.

"Extremism begets extremism. Your uncle was a monster who created monsters."

That meant it was up to Tobias to be different. Not just retaliate with more violence.
"But it's a war," he said. He didn't know who he was talking to. His own subconsciousness perhaps? An embodiment of what he expected Will, Axle, and his mamma and pabbi would says

"The Syndicalists can't be beaten peacefully...where's the line? Do you even know it?"

Silence, save for the ticking of the clock.

"Já," Tobias muttered.
"Thought so."

Just then he started smelling something burning. The cakes! And just before he could look up, a smack hit him across the back of his downturned head!

"My cakes are brining! You let them
burn!" Kira declared as she shoved Tobias aside to pull the cakes from the oven, all thoroughly burnt.

"Oh!" Tobias said nervously, looking around.
"I'm sorry I just..."

"You were supposed to take them out when they were ready!"

"I'm sorry I was...I just...."

"You lost track of time?" Kira asked.

"Já..." Tobias replied with a blush as he ran his hand through his hair.

"My dear boy..." she said walking up to him.
Your capacitors are on the table. And I wish you well...but I have cakes to remake. So I will have to send you on your way."

Tobias was going to say something but Kira already had gone to work collecting ingredients from the kitchen.

"Thank you, Fröken Fiskaa," Tobias said respectfully.
"And I'm sorry..."

"Have you ever baked before?" she asked as she went through her kitchen.

"No," Tobias replied, after thinking about it.
"I haven't."

"Then...perhaps it's not so bad. We all make mistakes. At first," she replied, giving him a faint smile...

---

11 July 2016
3:10 pm
On a Monday
outside Axlarhagi, Prydania

Fylkir eyed Major Solhjell.
"I don't like keeping him alive."

"Killing him won't make you feel better," Rylond muttered.
"I need to keep telling myself that."

"He's a self righteous prick," Bjarkar muttered.

Rylond just stared at the Major. He couldn't disagree with his friends...but he was going to have to keep them from seeking out their vengeance until...

"Who's this?" Tobias asked as he and his Andrennian guards approached the camp sight.

"Syndie officer we caught," Bjarkar muttered.

"Prince Tobias," Major Solhjell remarked.
"They've said so much about you."

Tobias just ignored him for a moment.
"What's the deal? Alone?"

"We ambushed his squad. The rest are...well..."

Tobias nodded and turned around to face the Major.

"That's Anders' sword, isn't it?" Solhjell asked. Tobias looked over his shoulder at Jægerblað but otherwise have the Syndicalist nothing. At first. He began to walk to him, and then crouched down.

"You know how to use that thing?" Solhjell asked.
"Easy for a kid to hurt himself playing knight."

"I know enough," Tobias said, "to fight off one of your assassins with it."

"Heh," Solhjell smirked.
"So... they've been waiting for you. Something about what to do to me."

"You remember my uncle?" Tobias asked.

"Já."

"Then you'd know if I was anything like him we wouldn't be talking," he said through gritted teeth. He looked over at his friends.

"The radio's fixed. We can contact Níels. And deal with him properly."

"You're going to shot me, just do it now," Solhjell growled.

"No," Tobias shot back.
"You're going to get locked up. And then you'll stand trial. For whatever you're complicit in."

"Victor's justice then."

Tobias looked him in the eye.
"No."

---

Monster by Imagine Dragons, 4:11

4 June 2017
4:35 pm
On a Sunday
Mecklenburg, Alemriche

Peter Bach was still grappling with what he'd just heard.

“I love...I love you too pabbi…” he said over the phone to his father.
“You're sure you don't need me to come home?” he asked.

“You're staying where you are,” Rafn Bach said, barely able to contain his emotion.
“You're going to stay where you are.”

Both were trying to insist on something while also holding back emotions but it was hardly unique right now. The whole locker room was abuzz. The War was...over. Amidst everything else, the War was over.
Their surprise run in the World Cup suddenly seemed very small, because the impossible had happened.

“I’m not leaving you alone if you need me,” Peter insisted. He'd seen the news footage. Of celebrations breaking out across Prydania with the collapse of the Syndicalist Republic. It seemed so surreal. The Syndicalists still held the central farmlands and Vesturmach at the start of the year. And then...the Vorkraftaverk- the Spring Miracle. The FRE utterly rolled over the last of the Syndicalist lines and now...finally...the War was over.

“You stay where you are,” his father repeated.
“You stay where you are and you keep playing. Show the rest of the world what Prydanians can do.”

Peter looked around at the locker room, full of his teammates all abuzz and then nodded, letting his head hang.
“Yes pabbi,” he said with a smile.

“Remember, no matter what happens, I’m proud of you.”

“I love you pabbi.”

“I love you too,” Rafn replied. Peter said his goodbyes and handed the phone back to Storm Bendixen. He didn't have one himself. The players who did were passing them around so everyone could have a chance to call home now that the War was over.

The War was over. Even as everyone talked to loved ones and each other there was a surreal sense about that realization. Storm handed the phone to the next guy over and Peter locked across the room.

Henrik Lange sat in silence. The Prydanian Captain seemed lost in thought. Peter gulped. He wanted to go over, but he was intimated. Henrik had been playing on the national team since it was the team of the Syndicalist Republic of Prydania, before CEFA took over and made it politically neutral in 2013. He wasn't a Syndicalist though. That much was clear to Peter as they all kept one ear turned to the news from home as they continued their remarkable run.

But Henrik, because he was this veteran, this consummate leader, intimidated Peter. He was just an alternate. He hadn't seen much play. Still…

He got up and walked over to Henrik and sat down next to him.
“Are you doing alright?” Peter asked. Henrik turned to him. Henrik was always so calm and collected but he seemed to be holding back something.

“It’s…over Pete.”

Peter nodded, looking at the Alemriche news on the television in the locker room. The talking heads kept cutting back to William Aubyn’s address from the Alþingi before they all continued on with their commentary.

“Do you...think it’ll be ok?” Henrik asked. Peter looked at the captain confused. Was he...asking him to be comforted?

“I…” he said softly, unsure how to answer.

“I haven't dared to consider this,” Henrik said quietly.
“Not since the Advent killings.”

Peter nodded.
“I lost my mamma during the Harrying of Hadden.”

“I didn't know anyone who died during the Advent in 2015,” Henrik said softly.
“But…” he reached down into his bag. There was a hidden pocket inside. A flap of fabric hid the zipper. And he pulled out two medals, one of St. Michael. The other of St. Kaldor.

“You're a Courantist…”

Peter was shocked. He shouldn't have been, plenty of people from Prydania were. But Henrik was just so private.

“They said I couldn't talk about it even after CEFA took over. We couldn't offend the Syndicalists…” his voice strained as he grit his teeth. Peter was taken aback. He rarely saw Henrik lose his cool. But the team captain let his head hang.

“I never let myself get hopeful after the 2015 Advent,” he said.
“But now...it's over. I don't know if it'll be ok.”

“I think it will be,” Peter said with a nod.

“You think so?” Henrik asked. Peter was still sort of in shock that his team captain, who was like a rock, was asking him this.

“Já,” Peter nodded.
“We've been waiting for this chance. Now we have it,” he said with a smile.

Henrik nodded before his attention was called.

“Henrik?”

“Storm.”

“We should figure something out,” Storm said. Peter watched intently. Storm was the Deputy-Captain and a former Syndicalist. It was weird. Apparently back in 2013 CEFA had picked Henrik as Captain as he had been the Captain of the last Syndicalist national team. And found out he was actually a secret FRE supporter. Storm was a Syndicalist and chosen as Deputy-Captain. They were told to not say a word about politics publicly but work together to bring an apolitical team together and smooth over any private political arguments on the team. Though Storm hadn't been a Syndicalist supporter since 2015 apparently. The Harrying had been the final straw for him. That gave Peter an...interesting view of him. He still didn't know how he felt about the team’s top defender.

“Já, we should,” Henrik said looking over the locker room. Everyone was still either talking to loved ones on a phone, waiting for a chance to do it, or glued to the tv. The television now showed Prydanian refugee communities in Alemriche celebrating in the streets before showing similar scenes in Goyanes and Saintonge.

“We’ll talk to coach. And then get everyone together. We need to figure out what we’re doing.”

“Doing?” Peter asked, interjecting himself into a conversation between his team’s two leaders. Both looked at him and he immediately blushed and gulped.

“We need to figure out if we’re going to make a statement of some kind,” Storm said, ignoring Peter’s nervousness.

“CEFA said we need to be apolitical” Peter replied but Henrik shook his head.

“They can get bent if they think we’re staying quiet about this. Besides, apolitical about what?” He smiled softly.
“The Syndicalist Republic doesn't exist anymore.”

“Já…” Storm replied contemplatively.

That's what really hit Peter. The Syndicalist Republic was gone...the people who killed his mamma were gone...he almost let himself succumb to the wave of emotion and cry but then the locker room door opened.

Everyone looked up as Jakob Höj, the team coach, entered. He stood in the doorway for a moment as he looked around at all the players who were looking at him. He had some sort of red and white flag in his hand.

Jakob felt his heart racing as he stared back at the team of young men who looked to him...they looked to him. Yes, what had just happened, what had just scorched across the news, was bigger than football. So much bigger than football but...they still looked to him.
He stood there for a moment, but it felt like forever. They weren't even supposed to be here. Everyone expected this team to lose in the group stages but...here they were. Preparing for a semi-finals matchup against Maloria. A run no one thought was possible.

And now this on top of it all. What could he say? Or do? He sighed. There would be time for talk later. Instead he walked to the far end of the locker room, where a white banner displaying the plain, apolitical Prydanian national team logo CEFA had come up with and tore it down. He then took the flag he was holding, the old barbed cross flag of Prydania, and hung it up in its place. It wasn't “old” anymore.

“About damn time,” he said before turning and leaving.

Peter was shocked at what he'd just seen. He'd always thought Jakob Höj was a Syndicalist. What he expected to happen when he entered that locker room and what he did...he was still focused on his just-departed coach when Henrik stood up.

“Team meeting in half an hour. Everyone get in touch with who you have to back home.”

4 June 2017
5:45 pm
On a Sunday
Mecklenburg, Alemriche

Jakob Höj was alone in the hotel bar, purposefully seeking out a quiet corner.
He was...he was contemplating a lot. He tapped away on his cell phone.

Starri Tokik: We’d love to have you if you wanted to come in but are you sure? Things are...you really don't understand how crazy things are here.

Jakob Höj: I can see on the news. No I can't understand it but I want to come home. I've got a chance to do something meaningful here.

Starri Tokik: Like I said we'd love to have you. We could use you.

Jakob Höj: I’ll be in Alaterva as soon as this tourney is over to work out details.

Starri Tokik: Shit. You're really serious.

Jakob Höj: Já, hey give me a few. Something’s coming up. Will talk later.

Click to expand...

Jakob noticed Peter Bach approaching and set his phone to the side. He liked Peter. Hot headed but he had potential to grow into a great footballer. He smiled.

“Peter, what brings you around?”

Peter, however, wasn't smiling. He seemed to be holding back something, and he sat down.

“You weren't at the team meeting, coach,” he said. It was bold. He was just twenty. This was his first taste of international play. And he was merely an alternate striker. You didn't talk to your coach like that in that situation...but what happened today was so much bigger than football. And he was ready to give his coach...Syndie or not...a piece of his mind.

Jakob nodded, looking at Peter. He could tell he was...angry about something.
“Henrik and I talked,” Jakob said, “about what would happen if the War ended during this tournament. We went over what he'd do if it did. I suspect you're all putting the flag- the real flag- on your sleeves for the Maloria game?”

“Wha?” Peter replied, feeling shock replace his righteous indignation.
“How did you…”

“Henrik and I agreed it would be good to do,” Jabob nodded with a smile.
“Sometimes a team needs to hear things from
their captain and not their coach.”

Peter looked on shocked. His anger had been disarmed for a moment. Jakob noticed it and smirked, bemused by that.

“You're not a Syndicalist?” he finally asked. Jakob looked on shocked, and then chuckled.

“Did the thing with the flag not make it clear I wasn't?”

Peter regained some defensiveness.
“Some people do things for show.”

“I wouldn't have agreed to this job,” Jakob replied, “if CEFA asked me to say anything about the Syndicalist Republic. I only did it because they promised me it would be politically neautral.”

“But you're from Saintonge,” Peter replied.

“No,” Jakob corrected him.
“I’m from Sauoadalr,” he said with a smile.

“You know what I mean,” Peter shot back.

“I really don't because já I've lived in Saintonge for a long while but how does that make me a Syndie?”
On some level he was offended by Peter’s accusation but he knew he was an emotional young man. And so much was happening...it was hard not to feel overwhelmed at sixty-eight. Peter was only twenty.

“They have Syndies,” Peter said.

Jakob’s first instinct was to point out that Saintonge had saved quite a bit of people during the Harrying of Hadden, but stopped himself. Peter had lost his mother in that nightmare and it would only make things worse to go talking about that. So he instead thought for a moment and chuckled.

“I've lived in Saintonge for…Kristur...forty three years. And I’m tellin’ you, the politics still make my head spin. You know the current government is a coalition of two right wing parties and a left wing party? I still haven't figured it out,” he chuckled.

“So Syndies are in government,” Peter replied, thinking this proved his point.

“No,” Jakob laughed.
“The Green Party isn't Syndicalist.”

“What's a green party?”

Jakob chuckled at that but shrugged.
“It doesn't matter. My point is Santonian politics are kind of nuts. Even their syndies are different. I don't think very many of them are too broken up about what happened today.”

“I've never seen you say anything…”

“Pete, I shut the fok up about politics to keep you and everyone else safe.”

Peter was shocked.
“To keep us safe?”

“Já,” Jakob replied.
“CEFA came to me and asked me to coach this neutral team. So I insisted it had to be neutral. I wasn't going to do anything for the Syndicalist Republic. They said that was fine if I just promised to not say anything political. So I agreed.”

“But everything that's…”

“Pete, I knew if I didn't say a Goddamn word about politics it would give me currency with CEFA. Currency I could use to tell them that under no circumstances would I let them hand one of my players over to the Syndicalist government if they said something out of turn.”

Peter looked on dumbfounded. Jakob continued.
“I'm old enough to know when it's better to shut my mouth. People as young as football players though…” he shrugged.
“I figured at some point someone would say something and those power hungry chipmunks in the Syndie government would demand CEFA hand them over. I needed to be able to spend some political capital to tell them to fok off.”

“I…” Peter began slowly, “I was going to say something. When those Silean journalists found out I was from Hadden.”

“You were new to the national team program,” Jakob nodded.
“You were one of the ones I was worried about. I knew what happened to you. And you joined so soon after the Harrying of Hadden. I didn't know what to expect.”

“I almost said...I almost cursed out the Syndicalist government when I was asked one too many times.”

“They would have demanded you get handed over as a Prydanian national, and they would have tortured or killed you. And I wasn't going to let that happen. But I had to be quiet to make those demands.”

“You would have done that, for me?”

“I didn't agree to do this job just to coach football. I would have stayed as an assistant at Stade de Saintes if I just wanted that.”

Peter looked down and nodded. Jakob looked over at him curiously. He was emotional...but he was trying to sort those emotions out. It was ok. Jakob was feeling overwhelmed by everything he was feeling. His next coaching job wasn't going to be his old position at Stade de Saintes for a reason…

“You didn't say anything though,” he finally said to Peter. Not you...not anyone. I've been running this duct tape operation for four years,” he chuckled.
“I've never once had to deal with someone speaking out like that. Why didn't you?”

“Henrik,” Peter said softly.
“He...convinced me. And I think a lot of us, that we had to stay focused.”

“Henrik’s a smart one,” Jakob said.
“A natural leader. In better times he'd have a World Cup to his name. He's better than I was, and I managed to stumble into one!”

“Maybe…” Peter began, softly laughing at Jakob’s description of Prydania’s 1969 World Cup win. “Maybe we can win him one here.”

Jakob smiled.
“I don't think you all realize how proud I am of you all. And how special what you're doing is for home.”

“It's just football,” Peter replied, unsure.

“And even our new King is a football fan,” Jakob winked.
“But let's go win one for Henrik. Assuming you're done accusing a poor old man of being a Syndicalist,” he chuckled.

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, feeling crummy how he'd just assumed something like that.

“It's ok,” Jakob replied.
“We’re all dealing with a lot today.” If only Peter had any idea what he was talking about via text before he got here.

“But let's win one,” the coach said.
“For Henrik, and for Prydania.”

Peter smiled and nodded.
“For the King.”

“To Valhalla,” Jakob said with a wink.

---

We Are One by 12 Stones, 3:27

OOC Note: Thanks to @Kyle for helping me with Jakob Höj's backstory!

10 May 2016
12:06 pm
On a Tuesday
Krummedike, Prydania

Hymir Giæver watched as the sun danced into his cell through the reinforced glass.
It wasn't so bad. He had his own cell. He had clean clothes, if worn, and he had three meals a day. They were rations, but still. It was about what he was eating in the People's Militia.

The People's Militia. He looked around. His cell had a toilet and sink. A clean cot and blankets. But it was still prison.

Prison. Because he'd been captured. What the Syndicalist Republic had said was impossible was happening; the Syndicalist state was collapsing. That he was rushed to the front was evidence of that. That he was captured in Lundr was evidence of that.
He'd been fighting in mining country- a Syndicalist heartland. Which meant that the FRE had pushed them that far back. And yet the insanity of the Syndicalist position- that Vesturmarch and the mining country had to be defended and that the FRE fascists were doomed to failure- had only dawned on him now that he was here. In prison.

FRE fascists...

He looked around. The cell he was in was sparse but it was perfectly fine for jail. And when he closed his eyes...

He saw the agricultural homesteads. And the "conscripted labour" camps the Party had sent the farmers to in mining country. The FRE made it a point to send him and other captured Syndicalist soldiers to see them.

He opened his eyes to rub them and stare at the sunlight in the window again. He'd been captured.
And he wasn't in a camp.

He just thought on that. Half sure that there would be retaliation. But there wasn't.

He wasn't in a camp. His mind lingered on the thought until it echoed into silence.

...

"Hymir."

Hymir's gaze lingered on the light dancing off of some dust before he answered.

"Tobias, Your Highness."

Hymir turned his head to look at the Prince as Tobias dragged a chair over to the other side of the bars.

"I told you that you don't need to call me that," Tobias said softly as he set the sheathed sword strapped across his back down on the floor.

"I don't know why I keep doing it," Hymir replied, adjusting on his cot to face his visitor.
"Thank you for coming though."

"It's ok," Tobias said as he sat down.
"But I said I would," he smiled softly.

"You didn't have to."

"I wanted to."

"Why?"

Tobias looked up at Hymir and bent over as he sat in his chair, resting his elbow on his thighs for a moment.
"Because... you got through to me I guess. I went looking to find a Syndicalist to kill and you got through to me."

"I'm glad," Hymir replied, smiling, before looking down at Tobias' feet.
"Why do you cary that?" he asked pointing to the sword.

Tobias chuckled.
"Well as you saw it's shockingly effective."

Hymir laughed softly.
"I guess it is. I never thought I'd ever be in a sword fight."

"Neither did I until I was given Jægerblað."

"The Party," Hymir said, voicing a thought before he realized it might upset Tobias. He paused but Tobias seemed curious more than upset. So he continued.
"Says it's all chauvinistic superstition."

Tobias smiled softly and shrugged.
"What's it called? Dialectical materialism?"

"You know what dialectical materialism is?" Hymir asked, sounding shocked. He just figured Tobias Loðbrók of all people wouldn't be well-read on Syndicalist ideology.

"I know the basics," Tobias replied nodding.
"And don't look so shocked," he chuckled. He smiled. His heart wasn't racing as much as it had been when he first got here.
"I know my stuff."

"Fair enough," Hymir laughed.
"But it's just a sword, right?"

"It's..." Tobias said softly as he looked at the sword on the ground for a moment before returning his attention to Hymir.
"Well I've seen too much to dismiss the idea of symbols. I guess...I guess I'm proof of that too," he grinned.

"I guess so," Hymir said with a shrug.
"I just...I guess I just assumed people did what they did for simpler reasons."

"I think they do," Tobias mused.
"But symbols, they're important. And they work to give people hope. But the reason I carry that sword...it's not because it inspires people."

"Oh?" Hymir asked. He had to admit he was curious. This old weapon, from some bygone age in the past...it had cut through the propaganda to peak his interest.

"I carry it," Tobias replied quietly, "because it's one of the last things I have from my family."

Hymir went quiet. He had been taught the Loðbróks were all criminals who deserved to be killed off...but when he met Tobias, when he saw rage in his eyes...he saw someone hurting. Tobias had been calmed my much the same instinct. Hearing Hymir invoke his own family...

But Hymir had learnt that Prince Tobias wasn't the fascist the Syndicalist Party said he was. And after he'd seen the misery in the liberated camps he'd come to see that the Syndicalist Party lied about a lot. Maybe what he'd learnt about the slain Royal family wasn't all true.

"Your government drove me away from my home and took my family," Tobias said softly. Though he didn't sound angry. More forlorn.
"That sword's the only heirloom I have. It's been with us for generations. So I guess..." he smiled meekly.
"I guess it's like history I can cling to. Your government's done a lot to try and erase my family from history."

Hymir thought of what to say. Tobias still didn't sound angry. He was sad, forlorn. He was looking...for answers? It made sense to him. He was too.

"They say your family did bad things. But...I saw what the government did to innocent people. So maybe..." Hymir shrugged.
"I don't know what to believe."

"My uncle did bad things," Tobias replied, not insisting on it, just speaking calmly if sadly.
"But my Aunt was a quiet and sweet woman. My mamma and pabbi were..." he closed his eyes, and tears formed. Hymir went to speak.

"I'm sorry I..."

"No...it's ok..." Tobias breathed deep. He'd managed to get over that emotional wave.

"I didn't...well...I didn't mean it, Tobias. I'm sorry. I'm sorry about what happened."

"I'm sorry about what happened to your pabbi too," Tobias said softly as he looked down.

"Thank you," Hymir replied.
"But um...I don't know. I've been told a lot of things and..."

"And no one cares," Tobias said softly.

"Pardon?"

"I mean..." Tobias shifted in his seat.
"My pabbi was a prince. My mamma was a commoner but once you marry a prince I guess you're not that anymore. Most people saw her as a princess. No one thinks we were real people. We're symbols or whatever."

"You said you were," Hymir replied.

"Já," Tobias nodded.
"But I didn't ask to be. I just got handed off to someone by my mamma one day. I was never with her or my pabbi again."

There was a deep silence between them.

"Your people talk about me like I can't relate to people like you. But I do, Hymir. I'm really sorry your pabbi's gone, because so is mine. If I could hug you right now I would. But..."

Again, there was silence between them.

"...but people like you seem shocked that I would miss my mamma and pabbi because they're just symbols to you. But they were my...well...my mamma and pabbi."

Hymir listened, and contemplated. And then he spoke.
"I'm sorry."

Tobias looked up. He didn't look shocked or angry or happy. Just still...forlorn and sad.
"Thank you," he said softly.

Hymir nodded. There were many things he wanted to say in response but at a certain level, Tobias was right. He'd never considered Tobias- or any of the slain Royals- as having the same sort of motivations as he did until he saw the hurt and anger in the Prince's eyes when they fought.

"But that's what..I don't know what to believe in..." Hymir replied.
"I was a Syndicalist because I believed it would help people like me. But I saw what the Party's done. It's hurt other people. That's not what I wanted. I don't think it's what my pabbi would have wanted..."

"I used to believe," Tobias muttered.
"That it didn't matter. It was after the Darrow hangings. I thought anyone who supported this regime was culpable. Because who cares if it's not what you wanted? It's what they did. And if you supported them still then...you supported killing those twenty innocent people. Or anyone else they killed or hurt. But now I don't know."

"You don't know?" Hymir asked. He was trying to suss out what Tobias was saying.

"You're a good person Hymir. You're also Syndicalist People's Militia. I don't know what that means."
Tobias leaned forward a bit, uncertain.

"I don't either," Hymir admitted.
"Not after I saw those camps and the people in them."
He saw Tobias nod, and decided to ask a question on his mind.

"You said, when we met, that you wanted to make things better. What does that look like?"

Tobias looked at Hymir and bit his lip a bit.
"I think it looks like no one being taken from their homes, children not being taken from their parents. And it looks like a world where people don't need to choose between food and boots."

"You remembered my boot story," Hymir said with a smile.

"Já I did," Tobias replied, smiling himself.
"I don't want anyone to go hungry."

"I don't want people to lose their parents..." Hymir answered.

Tobias nodded.
"I'm still angry though..."

"What do you mean?"

"When I see...I..." Tobias breathed deep.
"When I see Syndicalists. I'm angry. Because of my parents and everyone else they've hurt. But I'm trying not to be angry, Hymir."

"I..." Hymir felt his heart race. He couldn't blame Tobias but he also...he also felt a lot of weight on his shoulders. Thankfully his surroundings made it clear he wasn't going anywhere or doing anything for a while. That made it easier to deal with.

"I'm always here to talk, if you want to talk. Though maybe not in a cell."

Tobias smiled.
"I'd let you out if I could...but believe it or not I can't tell the FRE what to do. They don't listen to me most of the time. But..."

Tobias pulled an old looking pocket notebook and pen from one of his many cargo pants pockets and scribbled something down. He tore the page from the notebook and handed it over.
"Here. I can ask the guards to let you use a cell phone whenever you like. If you text this I'll be there."

Hymir reached out and took it, examining the note.
"Thanks..." he said.
"I appreciate you coming. I really do. You're not like what I thought. I guess it makes me feel like things might be ok."

Tobias chuckled.
"That's how I feel about you."

Hymir chuckled. Tobias adjusted in his seat some more and seemed content not to go anywhere for a while. And so they talked...

---

Kashmir by Led Zeppelin, 8:38

OOC Note: This is a series of posts comprising a single story arc called "Turnaround Point". This is the start of the story arc. Many thanks to @Prydania for letting me work on this!

Music: Disturbed – Saviour of Nothing

Prestsjarðir, Býkonsviði
21 September 2015
05:30 AM

“Come back to us safely, my son,” Sigurlinn Kausrud murmured as she hugged Kolfinnur. He had changed a lot. He towered over her now. He had mellowed… a lot. A far cry from the angry, unruly boy she previously had to contend with. He’d just been home for a month, but that September morning, it was time again to say goodbye.

“I will try, Auntie,” Kolfinnur replied, a hint of forlornness creeping into his voice. “But this is my responsibility.” He wasn’t Sigurlinn’s son; he was her nephew. But circumstances had forced them together.

Kolfinnur Grundt was just six when in April 2002, the Social Commonwealth’s Óafmáanlegir secret police murdered his father, a labour organiser among the stevedores in Býkonsviði. The Óafmáanlegir tortured and killed Hallkell Grundt in front of his young family. Hallkell’s wife Mundhildur and their three children were also threatened. Kolfinnur could still remember the fear in the eyes of his younger sister as the Óafmáanlegir mock-executed them. Good thing Louisa was too young to remember. Gunnsteinn was just a baby. Their mother… pleaded for her life and that of her children. The Óafmen extracted a heavy price: his mother’s dignity, taken in the same bedroom she shared with her husband, her husband that the Óafmen had just killed.

Back then he was too young to realise it. His mother never told him outright what happened. She tried to put on a brave face afterwards, but she was never the same. Mundhildur Grundt found comfort with her sister-in-law Sigurlinn Kausrud, whose young husband was also executed in the raids that night. Seven weeks later, Mundhildur had a miscarriage and bled to death. Kolfinnur and his siblings became orphans at a young age; their childless Aunt Sigurlinn took care of them as if they were her own children. Aunt Sigurlinn never remarried and focused on raising Kolfinnur, Louisa, and Gunnsteinn.

Despite the love Aunt Sigurlinn showed them, Kolfinnur never got what he truly wanted from her aunt: answers. Kolfinnur was just able to piece together what happened to her mother from the hushed conversations of her aunt and the people around him. Questions swirled in the young Kolfinnur’s mind. The baby that her mother lost – was that their sibling or was it the result of what happened that April night? Where are the people that did it to his father and his mother? Was there justice done?

The lack of answers frustrated Kolfinnur. The seeds for vengeance were planted that April night, the anger nurtured it over the years, and it started to explode as Kolfinnur grew up. Sigurlinn had difficulty processing that the once sweet, innocent boy was growing into an angsty, difficult teenager. Kolfinnur seemed to be angry at everything, except his siblings.

“Big bro… do you really need to leave?” The seventeen-year-old Louisa asked sadly as she went up to her brother and hugged him tight as if she didn’t want to let go. She looked up at him with her blue-green eyes. “Finn, I’m afraid something’s going to happen to you.”

Kolfinnur sighed, his green eyes starting to water. “This is my responsibility,” he whispered to his sister. “I must do this for pabbi. And mamma…” He wiped the tears off Louisa’s cheeks. “You know we can’t have those old fascist royalists back in control, after what they all did to us.”

Fourteen-year-old Gunnsteinn joined the group hug. “Please come back to us, big bro.” He was getting teary-eyed too. “We almost lost you.”

Kolfinnur hugged back and kissed his younger sister and brother on their heads. “I want to be back. I want to see you two again.” He didn’t know whether he would be back. He wouldn’t want to make a promise he might not be able to fulfil. The royalists were gaining the upper hand in Austurland and reports of Syndicalist casualties were trickling in, causing apprehension in people who had family members serving in uniform. Kolfinnur was feeling that from Louisa and Gunnsteinn. But Kolfinnur could not shirk from responsibility. He could not shirk from avenging his parents. He could not shirk from ensuring that his sister and brother are safe. Especially now.

Sigurlinn also joined the huddle. There was still that sweet Kolfinnur she knew. Kolfinnur was always protective and tender towards Louisa and Gunnsteinn. When Kolfinnur was a child, Sigurlinn would sometimes hear his nightmares, flashbacks to the time when Kolfinnur locked himself in a closet, with his siblings, to hide them from the Óafmen, while their mother was bravely facing the brutes and their torture. Sigurlinn felt that Kolfinnur’s feisty and brave attitude was just a façade to hide that vulnerability deep inside. Sigurlinn tried multiple times to get through Kolfinnur’s head, but he always blocked her out. But that morning, he was letting her into his circle.

“Auntie, thank you for everything that you did for me and my siblings,” Kolfinnur murmured to Sigurlinn.

Kolfinnur had definitely changed. Gone were the outbursts of anger. Gone were the arguments that Louisa and Gunnsteinn had to intervene to calm down their beloved older brother… who seemed to listen to them even at his worst. Instead, during the past month, they enjoyed their time together. Kolfinnur matured a lot, too; he acted older than his age of twenty. Kolfinnur urged Gunnsteinn to study hard so he wouldn’t have to take up arms. Kolfinnur shooed away Louisa’s manipulative suitor, who never attempted to woo her again, as Kolfinnur’s fearsome reputation was well-known in their neighbourhood. Whether it was the militia or the time in prison that changed Kolfinnur, for Sigurlinn, it was good either way.

The militia became Kolfinnur’s outlet for his anger and thirst for justice. At sixteen, he joined the Syndicalist People’s Militia. He joined the militia because the Syndicalist People’s Army only accepted legal-age recruits – meaning those eighteen and above. Kolfinnur was then selected to be part of the infamous and the dreaded militia band of Captain Ingibjörn Möxnes, a close associate of Syndicalist leader and Interior Minister Jannik Leiftur.

In Captain Möxnes’ band, the militiamen were encouraged to be ruthless and beastly. The teenaged Kolfinnur channelled all his anger to that end. Anything that is the enemy must deserve their proper fate. Men in Captain Möxnes’ band had contests on who could be the most brutal, most coldblooded, most ferocious.

Captain Möxnes’ band spread terror throughout the interior of Prydania, and Leiftur just let them do it. But in 2013 at the small southern Prydanian town of Hjallerup, Captain Möxnes’ reign of terror came to an end. Captain Möxnes died in a shootout with the Hjallerup police and the Syndicalist Republican Army in the presence of Santonian diplomats. As to why, the Prydanian public didn’t know. Everything was kept hush-hush. Even Kolfinnur wouldn’t spill the beans to Sigurlinn.

Kolfinnur then spent twenty months in jail, accused of murder. Sigurlinn only got this curt answer from her nephew: “In a war, people die.” He preferred not to talk about his time in Captain Möxnes’ band or his time in jail. Sigurlinn suspected that her nephew’s time there was horrible, but as usual, Kolfinnur blocked her out again when she pried.

In January 2015, Kolfinnur Grundt was freed on a technicality. He was just seventeen, a few days short of eighteen, when the alleged crime occurred. Due to pressure from Leiftur, most of the militiamen in the Hjallerup encounter were freed anyway, but one by one, in order not to attract unwanted publicity.

Kolfinnur Grundt was then re-commissioned as a Lieutenant in the Syndicalist People’s Militia, assigned to the city of Kylefjord. During the past year, Leiftur also decorated and promoted many of the Hjallerup militiamen after their release, Kolfinnur included. In June 2015, the twenty-year-old Kolfinnur Grundt became a Captain in the Syndicalist People’s Militia, one of the youngest to reach that rank so early. He wasn’t given the command of a band of militiamen like the other captains in the militia, but he was a Captain nonetheless and he could pull his rank. Being a Captain meant that he was practically on the same rank as most of the leaders of the militia bands operating in the countryside. He was able to move back and forth between the different bands as a trusted officer in the disorganised militia command that was based not on merit, but rather on affinity and familiarity. Captain Kolfinnur Grundt only answered to one superior, who allowed him to do as he pleased. Still, Captain Grundt did not slack off; he remained a dedicated militiaman, fulfilling orders even from fellow captains and plugging the gaps in the disjointed militia command. Maybe he was a Lone Wolf. Or a Glorified Grunt.

Kylefjord was just located a few hours west of Býkonsviði. During his time there, he was able to visit his family in the capital every now and then. His superior then approved a six-month furlough for Captain Kolfinnur Grundt to be with his family, starting in September 2015.

Events intervened. The Civil War intensified in the latter half of 2015, and the militia suspended furloughs that lasted more than one month. Captain Kolfinnur Grundt had to report back to duty.

“I’d want to be with you some more, but I have a duty to do,” Kolfinnur said to his aunt and siblings as he kissed them goodbye and said his parting words.

“Gunnsteinn, study well and protect Louisa from the maniacs in the neighbourhood.”

Gunnsteinn happily saluted, obviously proud of his older brother. “Yessir, Captain Big Bro Finn!”

Kolfinnur chuckled as he ruffled Gunnsteinn’s blond hair. He then turned to Louisa. “Take care of yourself. Take care of that mobile phone. That’s difficult to get nowadays. I will be in touch with you through that.”

The crying Louisa nodded. “Yes, Finn. You also take care of yourself.”

“Auntie, please take care of Louisa and Gunnsteinn for me while I’m away,” Kolfinnur said, holding his aunt’s hands. “I cannot thank you enough for everything.”

“I will, my son,” Sigurlinn replied, trying to stop herself from crying. “Always remember we all love you. Please come back to us…”

“I hope I will,” Kolfinnur answered. “I love you all, but I must go…”

Kolfinnur then picked up his bags and left out of the door. Whether he would be able to enter that door again, who knew?