Go West, Young Man (Closed)

Prydania · Jan 14, 2021

25 December 2020
6:34 pm
On a Friday
Coire, Saintonge

Léopold-Christophe Beauvais carried a bottle of wine out of the kitchen as his wife Ásthildur got Christmas dinner ready to be served as she tended with the one year old Christian-Arnaud.

Anselma Reynholt, Léopold's wife's aunt, was speaking to his eldest, his daughter Mariette-Renée. Mariette was only four, but she knew enough Prydanian to communicate with her aunt. She'd picked up some from her mother, and then insisted her mother teach her more when she was first going to meet her uncle, the football star.

In fact Mariette would normally be talking her Uncle Tjörvi's ear off about everything football-related. She even insisted on wearing his jersey to Christmas dinner. Still, Anselma could see that her nephew looked exhausted. She was happy to save him from the relentlessness of an excited four year old.

"So you're excited, Mariette? You'll be five soon. Your mother tells me that's when you can sign up for football yourself" Anselma said.
She was truly grateful. For so many things. Grateful that, six years ago, a beaten and battered Tjörvi returned to Markarfljot. At only twelve. She was grateful that they had both survived the War- each having lost their families. And grateful that her niece had turned up alive and well in Saintonge. And now...her own sons Daníval and Jóhannes, along with her husband Gústav, were gone. They were taken by the same people who took her brother and his wife, and who left her niece and nephew separated and alone. Christian and Mariette though...they were the closest she had to grandchildren. And that she could see them and speak with them...that was worth being grateful for too.

"Yeah!" Mariette replied.
"I'm going to win too, like Uncle Tjörvi!" the four- nearly five- year old exclaimed, as she turned to tug on Tjörvi Hagtvedt's sleeve.

Anselma smiled and chuckled. She'd been holding Mariette's attention for a while, but the girl loved her football. And she loved her uncle. That her uncle was a football star was enough to make sure he was never far from her mind.

"Heh" Tjörvi replied, smiling.

"God bless him" Anselma thought.
"The lad looks like he's about to fall fast asleep in his dinner, but he's not brushing his niece off."

"Well I'll give you some pointers when you start playing" Tjörvi chuckled.

"Why not now?" Mariette asked, nearly bouncing in her seat.

"Because" Tjörvi winked, "you're not a football player yet. You need to be one before I can share secrets. Otherwise it's against the rules."

Mariette giggled, but the explanation seemed to sate her.

"Are you ok, Anselma?" Léopold asked before taking his seat. He too knew how his daughter could be. He didn't want Anselma run ragged. Not during their first Christmas as a family.

Anselma looked up with a smile and then turned to Mariette.

"Pabbi wants to know if you're ok Auntie Anselma" Mariette replied in Prydanian. Anselma herself didn't speak Santonian.

"Oh I'm quite alright. Mariette is a lovely girl. I can see she has her father's manners too!" Anselma said as she turned back to Léopold.

"Auntie Anselma says she's alright and that I have good manners, like you Papa" Mariette told her father in Santonian. Léopold chuckled and took his seat next to his wife, who was speaking to her brother.

"You really shouldn't worry about me sis" Tjörvi chuckled.
"We're all doing fine. You've seen the standings!" he beamed. The truth was he had no idea how he'd stack up in the Santonian league. He'd proven he belonged on the Prydanian national team, and had even won a gold medal at the Odinspyl. Logically he knew that he could play at a top level but he still doubted how he'd fair in Saintonge. This wasn't the six club Prydanian circuit. And yet there he was, helping his team with goals. Taking on more responsibilities with AJSTC's top scorer Matthias-Aymeric Bombardier out with injury, and not cracking.
But boy, was he tired. And Ásthildur could see it. And she wasn't falling for her brother's bravado.

"Yes, but I also know you're only one of two strikers now with Matthias out. They're running you ragged!"

Tjörvi couldn't help but smile. His sister had become quite the football fan since he'd arrived in Saintonge to play for AJSTC. No doubt Léopold was helping her. The man was an encyclopedia of football knowledge. And it was to his his brother-in-law that Tjörvi turned to save him from his sister.

"Léo, come on" Tjörvi said in accented Santonian, "tell Ásthi there's nothing to worry about!" Ásthildur gave her husband an inquisitive look and Léopold just chuckled.

"I'm not getting involved" he said, throwing his hands up in faux frustration.
"A nineteen game win streak is impressive though!" he said, throwing his brother-in-law a lifeline. Tjörvi seemed appreciative too, gesturing to him as if to say "see?"

"I'm just worried is all. You look tired. I just want to tell the coach to stop running my little bro ragged" Ásthildur insisted with a smile. The fact was that she had been very protective of him since they found out the other was alive. Even when Tjörvi was in Prydania...she felt protective. She couldn't help it. She never wanted to leave him all of those years ago. She'd tried to find him before a Santonian diplomatic team had saved her. She knew she wasn't at fault for their separation but for the better part of a decade she wasn't there for him. And now she could be. So she would be.

"I'm not that tired" Tjörvi tried to say, only for his own defence to be betrayed by a yawn. He smiled sheepishly with a blush as even Mariette giggled.

"Tjörvi," Anselma said, causing Tjörvi to gulp. His aunt was speaking in a tone that said she was serious.
"Tjörvi, you look very tired. Your sister is right. It's Christmas and you look like you'd be face down in your turkey if you didn't have us to keep you upright."

"Papa, Auntie Anselma says Uncle Tjörvi would fall into the turkey because he's tired!" Mariette relayed to Léopold. Léopold knew some Prydanian, but not a lot. Mariette was relishing her role as translator. Léopold just chuckled with a "thank you princess."

Tjörvi signed, but he knew better than to try and bluff his Aunt.
"It's just a bit harder because Matt is out with injury, but I'm holding up."

"Uncle Tjörvi says he's ok, but it's hard with Matt out. Who's Matt? Papa, is that Bombardier?" Marriette asked as her father motioned for her to keep her voice down.

Anselma reached an arm over her nephew's shoulder and pulled her in, giving him a kiss atop of his head.
"You always make me proud, but just make sure you're ok. Will you? We all love you and we worry."

"Yes Auntie" Tjörvi smiled.
"But please... can we not make Christmas about how tired I look? This shouldn't be about me."

"Well we're just all very proud of you" Ásthildur replied, patting her brother's hand.

"You're the star here anyway" Anselma added.
"Who else would be the centre of attention?"

"You, for starters" Tjörvi replied with a soft smile. He turned to Léopold and switched to Santonian.
"Thank you. I really mean it Léo" he said, with wide eyes.
"Thank you, for helping bring my Auntie down here for Christmas."

"It's my pleasure Tjörvi" Léopold replied.

Tjörvi then turned to his Aunt, switching to Prydanian.
"I know you told me not to worry about you, when I approached you about the offer to play in Saintonge. I know that's what you said, but I miss you. Thank you for coming...to meet Léo and the little ones, to see Ásthildur and I."

Anselma smiles and was on the verge of tears herself. She wanted to hug him right then and there. The fact was that for all three of them- Anselma, Tjörvi, and Ásthildur- this was the first Christmas together with what was left of their family. And it was Ásthildur who stood up.

"I wasn't sure how I would say this, in two languages. I think it makes it special though" Ásthildur began in Santonian, before switching to Prydanian.
"Because I have my Aunt here, with my little brother. And I..." she began to cry just a bit.
"...I don't know how God could have done this for me. I have you both here, with my family- with our family- after I was ready to believe the worst. You're my miracles. I don't know if Mamma and Pabbi, if Uncle Gústav and cousins Daníval and Jóhannes were looking out for us, but I thank God that you're both here."
She sniffled a bit before switching back to Santonian.
"And today is special, because I hope it will be the first Christmas of many where we're all together as one family."

Léopold rubbed his wife's arm as she sat, before standing himself. And reciting a prayer. It was in Santonian, but Anselma knew what was happening and quickly closed her eyes and bowed her head.

"My precious Lord, Jesus," Léopold began.
"I adore You with profound love and rejoice in the celebration of Your birth. Your love for us is unfathomable, it is glorious, transforming, awe-inspiring, and deeply personal. You chose to come and dwell among us, being born into poverty, rejection and humility. Yet Your mother knew whom she bore, Her heart was filled with the tenderest love as she adored her Child and her God. Help me, dear Lord, to come to love You with the heart of Your mother. Invite me to adore You with St. Joseph and the poor shepherds. Reveal to me the glorious power of Your birth and change my life on account of this perfect gift of Yourself. I love You, dear Lord Jesus. Help me to love You with all my heart. Newborn Savior of the World, I trust in You. Mother Mary and St. Joseph, Pray for me and for all. Amen."

"Amen" everyone said in unison.

For Tjörvi his brother-in-law's prayer was a time to think about what his sister had said. And she was right. It didn't even matter that everyone had to switch between two languages. His Aunt was here. Who took care of him when he had no one. His sister, who he refused to believe was dead, was here. Her loving husband was here, and their two children. Their wonderful children. He'd accept a dinner where every language in the world was spoken, just to be with everyone here. His only problem? He was deep in thought. And Léopold's "amen" jolted him out of a shallow sleep. He blushed with a smile, and thankfully no one noticed as everyone began to eat their meal.

OOC Note: A huge thanks to @Kyle for the idea behind this post

Prydania · Jan 20, 2021

25 December 2020
9:07 pm
On a Friday
Coire, Saintonge

"It's so strange to not see any snow on Christmas" Anselma said as she and Tjörvi made their way down the street that Léopold and Ásthildur lived on.

"It is, Auntie" Tjörvi replied, looking around.
"It sneaks up on me. I didn't even notice it until October and I realized I still didn't need to wear long sleeves. Now I have a closest full of sweaters and jackets I won't ever use!" he chuckled.

Anselma put her arm around her nephew and hugged him tight. They'd found each other again back in 2014, when Tjörvi managed to get back to Markarfljot. They were all each other had.

"I hope it's not too hard for you, with me here" Tjörvi said softy as she held his aunt. He was reluctant to come play for AJSTC, even as the thought of being closer to his sister, his brother-in-law, and niece and nephew was appealing. Along with the money. The Santonians said it wasn't that much, but it was more money then he ever thought he'd see.
And despite all of that, he couldn't leave Anselma alone back home. She had to convince him to go. He still sent back half of his salary to her though. It was fine. Even half of what he was being paid- even after taxes- was still more than he knew what to do with.

"Shush Tjörvi," Anselma replied somewhat firmly, but still smiling.
"Don't talk like that. You're pursuing your dreams. Please don't feel bad on my account. I'm so proud every time you score. I am worried though, with everyone else. You look so tired!"

"Auntie, please!" Tjörvi smiled.
"I told you I'm doing fine...please don't worry."

"Me not worrying will never happen" she said as she kissed her nephew's cheek.

Tjörvi nodded with a soft smile. He loved his Aunt. What she said though...it brought up a chance for him to broach a question he, Léopold, and Ásthildur had decided on bringing up with her. Tjörvi wasn't sure how to bring it up, but Anselma had given him an opening.

"Well, maybe you wouldn't worry about me so much...if I were closer."

"Tjörvi!" she replied.
"I told you to stop it. You're staying in Saintonge, to follow your dreams and that's that."

"I know Auntie" he laughed softly.
"But maybe you could be here too?"

The two walked in silence for a few moments, but it felt like an eternity.

"You're not coming back to Prydania, are you" Anselma said. Sounding a bit forlorn.

"I want to" Tjörvi said, correcting his Aunt.
"And I will. Some day. But I like Coire. I like being near Ásthi and Léo and the little ones. I like the team. I think I, God willing, could have a career here and become a permanent resident. I can go back home, once my playing days are done. That's in a long time though, so...I just don't want you to be alone. And neither do Ásthi and Léo. Besides, Saintonge has more resources to help you as you get older. You may worry about me, but I worry about you too!"

Anselma smiled meekly at her nephew and looked ahead as they walked.
"Markarfljot is my home" she said softly.

"I know Auntie..." he said softly as a knot formed in his throat for a moment.
"It's my home too. And I'll see it again some day, but right now I'm following my dreams here. Like you said. And you can be here too, with me. With your family. Remember when you'd come to Alaterva now and then to watch me play for the Lakers? You can do that all the time if you came here."

They came to a bench. It was a bus stop, but the streets were quiet.
"Come on Auntie, let's sit" Tjörvi smiled as he sat down with Anselma.

"I don't speak Santonian" she said softly. Tjörvi nodded. He'd only begun learning it himself when he found out Ásthildur was in Saintonge. Even now, his Santonian was accented. He wondered if it bothered his aunt though? Obviously she could converse with her niece in Prydanian, and Mariette knew enough Prydanian that she could talk to her great aunt. Still...Léopold didn't speak much Prydanian. Meaning that the family had to switch between Prydanian and Santonian, and act as translators. It wasn't a bad thing, at least Tjörvi didn't think so. Still...did his aunt consider herself a burden, for not being able to speak Santonian? His heart broke at the thought, and he kissed her cheek.

"I could hardly speak it when I got here. People here are nice though. And there are Prydanian immigrant groups that can help you. You'll pick it up in no time!"

"You know what they say about teaching an old dog new tricks" Anselma smirked, looking at her nephew.

"Auntie! Don't talk like that!" Tjörvi laughed, before taking a deep breath.
"I know that it's scary, to move your life. I did it though. And I can help you do it. You can live out your golden years here. No snow, family close by. Please Auntie, I know how you are. Promise me, you'll think about it?" he asked as he held her hand.

"Tjörvi" Anselma replied, placing her hand atop of his.
"I will. I promise."

The two of them sat there in silence for a moment. Both of them embracing each other. They were celebrating Christmas with family. Such a thing seemed impossible for both of them, even a few years ago. Whatever else happened, they cherished this moment.

Prydania · Feb 3, 2021

12 January 2021
7:31 am
On a Tuesday
Coire, Saintonge

The sun was out and the smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. Tjörvi Hagtvedt strolled a bit around the field, smiling as a slight breeze blew past. It was funny to him how often he'd thought of it, but it was true; he really did find it so strange to not need winter clothing in the winter! He was wearing his cleats of course, along with team shorts, but was wearing a shirt emblazoned with AJSTC's outreach training camp logo. He, Thorbjörn, Tobias, and Hugberg were all wearing the same getup, and they were all here for the same reason. AJSTC as a club focused on outreach to refugee kids, with a focus on Prydanians. The system was a good one- parents of refugee families knew their kids were doing something safe and healthy, the kids got a good education in football and sportsmanship, and the team got an inside track on any emerging talents among them. It was, after all, how Hugberg got into AJSTC's system.

So the team, seeking to put its best foot forward with the kids and their parents, sent their Prydanian players. Tjörvi had known about this. It was something the team had told him they'd ask him to do if he signed with them, and he'd agreed to it. It wasn't that he didn't want to do it; CEFA had run the Prydanian national team from 2013 to 2017, and their outreach programs in Prydania had found him, and given him a chance to excel at football. If he could do something for other kids affected by the Prydanian Civil War, well that was a nice idea! The problem was he wasn't sure how he fit in.
He wasn't a refugee. He spent the War in Prydania. Three years in a Syndicalist re-education camp in Alaterva that he DID NOT like to think about, and the rest back in his home town of Markarfljot, with only his Aunt as they tried to pick up what was left of their lives following the Syndicalist Republic's assault on their family. CEFA though, had given him a chance. He became a top young Prydanian football prospect, and was just old enough to make the Prydanian national team for the 2020 Odinspyl. Old enough to be the third wheel to Kurt Mörch and Peter Bach's attack.

"Tjörvi! Come on over here!" Thorbjörn waved him over happily. He smiled and walked over to his teammate. He wasn't afraid to say he adored the guy. It went back to Prydania, actually. When he was just a fifteen year old kid at the end of the War, and desperate to find his sister. Thorbjörn had helped boost a Twitch he had made that had helped him reconnect. It was a small thing but...in a very real way Tjörvi could thank Thorbjörn for finding his family.

"Hey," Tjörvi said with a soft smile.

"You ready to help some kids?" Thorbjörn asked. The guy had such a sense of energy about him, kicking a ball to Tjörvi.

"I...I mean yeah," Tjörvi replied, stopping the ball with the inside of his foot, dribbling a bit before bouncing it on the tip of his toes.

"You sure? You sound like something's wrong. Don't worry about it. They're kids, they won't bite!" Thorbjörn insisted, joking to try and calm whatever was bugging Tjörvi. It worked, to a degree. Thorbjörn, aside from helping Tjörvi find his sister, had also been very welcoming to him when he came to AJSTC.

"It's just..." Tjörvi began before kicking the ball back to Thorbjörn, "I'm not sure how I'll relate to the kids."

"You're kidding, right?" Thorbjörn asked, returning the ball.
"You're having a great season."

"I'm not a refugee like Toby and Huggiez," Tjörvi replied, nodding over to Hugberg and Tobias doing the same thing they were, kicking a ball back and forth.
"They know what these kids are going through, I don't."

"I'm not one either," Thorbjörn replied. It was true. He was actually born in Saintonge.
"But it's not that hard. In fact you can probably relate more than me. Refugee or no, you were affected. By the War I mean." Thorbjörn didn't want to go into it, he'd seen enough people from Prydania just not want to get into the specifics of their situations.

"Yeah, I guess," Tjörvi replied.

"Guess, nothing," Thorbjörn said as he walked over to Tjörvi and wrapped an arm around his shoulder.
"These are football-crazed Prydanian kids. And you're a star on that national team."

"Please," Tjörvi protested with a chuckle. "Kurt and Pete are the stars. I'm just the third guy."

"You had your moments when you guys won that gold medal!"

"Yeah, sure," Tjörvi replied with a smile. Thorbjörn patted him on the back as he called over Hugberg and Tobias.

"You guys ready? It's a great day for football, right?"

"Yeah," Hugberg replied.
"Sure thing. Never a bad day to help the kids, right?"

"Right," Tobias answered.
"Let's give 'em a fun day," he added before looking over at Tjörvi.
"Your first time doing something like this?"

"Yeah," Tjörvi nodded.
"I was actually on the other side when CEFA came to Prydania."

"Well so were we, when we came to Saintonge," Hugberg replied happily as he motioned to Tobias.
"Don't worry. It'll be fun."

Thorbjörn nodded. Good, everyone was on the same page. Now it was time to be the boss. The team had put in him charge here, and he needed to make sure things were ready.
"Ok good, now everyone knows what drills they're running, so set them up. Kids will be here in less than half an hour, so let's go!"

12 January 2021
8:17 am
On a Tuesday
Coire, Saintonge

Tjörvi clapped as he encouraged the kids through his drill, a rolling drill.
"Ok, come on," he said encouragingly. There were four cones on his portion of the field, and he was instructing the kids on rolling the ball under their foot. It wasn't how one played football, but it was key to developing good ball control. He demonstrated again, slowly at first.

"So you go like this, side to side and then when you get here to this cone..." he switched to moving forward, "you keep the ball like this. I know it doesn't seem like much, but once you get the handle on it you can do this..." he smiled and picked up the pace, rolling the ball under his foot side quickly, easily between his feet and flipping the ball up, causing the kids' eyes to go wide in unison.
"But," he continued, "you just have start slow so you can get used to it!"

He watched as the kids began doing the drill, smiling. The kids were between eight and twelve...twelve. The age he made it back to Markarfljot after the FRE liberated Alaterva. After three years in...that place. It was also the age his aunt convinced him to give the local CEFA camp a try. That camp not only allowed him to have a future in football, it allowed him to focus on something positive. His Aunt Anselma and football- two things that saved him from an endless depression.
He looked across the faces of these kids- how had their families struggled? That he could relate- Thorbjörn had been right after all- caused his heart to flutter. He grinned as he stopped a kid who was trying to go a bit too fast.

"Hey, it's ok," he said as he put his hand on his shoulder, getting him to stop.
"You're just starting out with this drill, yeah? You're losing control because you're not used to it yet. You need to learn how it goes." He took a spare ball under his foot and rolled it as he moved side to side again, slowly.
"Your muscles need to learn how it goes before you can speed up."

"Thank you Herra* Hagtvedt," the kid replied, smiling nervously. Tjörvi couldn't help but laugh. He hadn't heard anyone referred to as "Herra Hagtvedt" since his father was alive. It was a good memory too, of his father. And the idea of being called "Herra" just made him feel strange in a "oh God I'm old" way. Not that he'd say that out loud. Thorbjörn wouldn't let him get away with it!

"Just call me Tjörvi," he said to the kid with a laugh.

"Really?" the kid replied excitedly. His parents had always told him to be super respectful to grownups but...

"Yeah," Tjörvi smiled. "What's your name?"

"Geri Bergholt," the kid replied, sounding a bit timid. Tjörvi nodded.

"Glad to meet you Geri," he said. "Let's go try the drill again, yeah?"

"Ok!" Geri said with a nod as he followed Tjörvi back to the first cone.
"Um...Tjörvi?" he asked nervously.

"Yeah?" Tjörvi asked, looking down.

"You..." Geri said softly.
"You're my favourite player."

Tjörvi's eyes opened wide at that. He was shocked.
"For AJSTC?" he asked.

"Of all time!" Geri replied.
"You won gold for Prydania, and you knocked out Goyanes. You beat the world champs! You're my hero!"

Tjörvi was a bit taken aback and felt his heart suddenly thrust into his throat. He'd imagined he could give these kids a good camp, and that he could relate, but here was a ten year old Prydanian refugee kid...telling him he was his hero. Because he gave him a reason to be proud. He felt his heart sink back to where it was supposed to, only to race for a moment as a few tears formed in his eyes. He smiled wide and overcome the wave of emotion though, and pat Geri's shoulder again.

"That means a lot Geri," he said softly.
"I'm really honoured...and do you think you can do the drill again? Nice and slow? I promise you can go faster once you get the handle on it" he said, remembering he needed to be a teacher, even if he was a role model.

Geri nodded and began to go slow, managing to make it from one cone to the other, before starting to the next leg.

"Good job!" Tjörvi clapped.
"Nice and slow!" he repeated, smiling. Thorbjörn was right. He could connect to these kids. And it did mean something. He could be here for them.

*Herra- Mister

OOC Note: Post approved by @Kyle

Prydania · Mar 1, 2021

19 January 2021
12:06 pm
On a Tuesday
Coire, Saintonge

Ásthildur made her way out of her townhouse carrying a bowl full of salad and a plate with some chicken and potatoes, and a side of bread and cheese, all lovingly wrapped in plastic wrap.

Her poor brother...God. She was sure he hadn't even begun to unpack the kitchen supplies she gave him.
She was relieved though. Relieved that he'd only moved next door. After all that time apart...it felt good to have him living with her family when he moved to Coire. It was the first time since they'd been separated that they had lived under the same roof. It made Tjövi moving out hard, even if it was literally to the next townhouse over.

She knocked... no answer.
"Hmm," she pondered, balancing the lunch she'd made her brother as she pulled out her phone and checked her calendar. No...there was no practice today. She shrugged. If Tjörvi found time for a social life outside of football? All the better. She'd just leave the lunch in his fridge and leave him a note.

She mastered the balancing act of switching her phone for her keys, using the spare key Tjörvi had given her to open the door and made her way down the short hallway into the living room. She suddenly gasped, dropping the food.

“Tjörvi!” she called out, rushing to his prone body on the floor next to the couch in the sparely decorated living room.

“Tjörvi! Wake up! Oh God! Please be ok!” she was full of panic, full of worry. For her brother to be alive after all of this time...to have lived his dream, winning a gold medal, and reuniting with her...only to fall to some illness. No. She wouldn't let that happen!
“Tjörvi! Please wake up!” she said as she went to try and wake him. Only to be knocked back by Tjörvi jolting upright!

“Yeah! I’ll be right there!” he gasped as he awoke, his speech changing from Santonian to Prydanian mid sentence. Ásthildur looked on with a worried and frantic wide-eyed gaze.

“Tjörvi?” she asked.
“Are...are you ok?”

“Huh?” Tjörvi asked, surprised to see his sister as he looked around.
“Oh? Oh! I'm home! Hi Ásthi!”

“Wha...where...what? Are you ok?” a confused and shocked Ásthildur asked.

“Um…” Tjörvi ran his hand through his hair, “yeah? I think...yeah. I must have rolled off the couch after taking a nap. Couldn't remember for a moment if I was here or the team clubhouse,” he chuckled. Ásthildur, however, was not amused.

“Þú hræddir mig til dauða! Asninn þinn!*” she said, punching his arm.

“Ow!” Tjörvi protested.
“I’m fine!” he insisted as he pulled himself up to sit on the couch.

“You still scared me!” Ásthildur insisted, sitting down next to him.
“I thought you were sick. Or hurt.”

“Just tired,” Tjörvi insisted with a smile.

“So what they're saying on all the sports shows is true. You're exhausted with only two strikers!”

Tjörvi smiled wider, liking it when his sister talked football, even if he was sure she got most of it from Léopold.

“Maybe,” Tjörvi replied.
“But it's ok. A few afternoon naps will fix it,” he added before looking over by the door and seeing the plate and bowl on the floor, the food thankfully contained by the plastic wrap.
“What's that?”

“Lunch, you kjánalegt*,” she chuckled.
“For you! I figured you wouldn't have unpacked the kitchen supplies I got you and…” she looked into the kitchen, seeing stacks of boxes, “...I was right! So I made you lunch. Better than fast food.”
She collected the bowl and plate and brought it over to the coffee table, unwrapping it for her brother. She smiled at him as he excitedly looked over the food and began to enjoy the bread and cheese.

“Thank you sis!” he said with his mouth half full.

“You're welcome,” she replied, her smile only growing, before hugging him tight. She couldn't help it. Going from the edge of calling an ambulance to seeing her baby brother healthy and well was too much. She'd thought she'd lost him forever when they were separated during the War. She wasn't going to miss a chance to take care of him now.

Tjörvi chuckled as put his food down as he hugged her back.
“It's ok. I just rolled off the couch.”

“The fall didn't wake you?” Ásthildur asked as she let him go from her hug.

“I was really tired,” he insisted.

“Then go to sleep in your bed!”

“The couch is really soft and fluffy though!” Tjörvi insisted as he bounced on the cushion as he was sitting on it.

“Well ok you do you then,” she said, getting up and making her way to the kitchen.

“Where are you going?” Tjörvi asked.

“To unpack your kitchen supplies. It won't ever happen otherwise,” Ásthildur replied.

“Ok,” Tjörvi said with a chuckle as he continued eating.

“We’ll go shopping after your game this weekend,” she said from the kitchen as her brother ate.
“This place is way too plain looking.”

“I think it looks alright!” Tjörvi replied, munching on potatoes.

“You have a lawn chair next to the television, Tjörvi.”

“Oh...well you know, it works, já?” he asked.

“Nei,” Ásthildur replied, sticking her head out of the kitchen before returning to unpacking.

“I’m sorry about your team's loss though,” she added, referring to AJSTC’s 2-0 loss to AS Beaucaire.

“Eh…” Tjörvi replied as he ate.
“Twenty-one wins in a row is impressive.”

“I hope,” Ásthildur continued, hoping she wasn’t going to upset her brother, “that the rumours that Jacob called Snæbjörn slurs aren't true.”

“No it's not true,” Tjörvi replied, flopping down onto the couch.
“It was a miscommunication between our defence and there was an argument but no one said any slurs…” he sighed.

“You know,” Ásthildur replied, looking out of the kitchen again.
“Just because you're a football player doesn't mean you have to flop all the time.”

Tjörvi laughed and pulled himself up to sit up as Ásthildur came out to sit next to him.
“There. You have a functional kitchen.”

“Thank you stórasystir*,” he said as he leaned against her. She smiled and held him tight.

“Of course, litlibróðir*,” she replied.

“It's just frustrating,” Tjörvi grumbled. “You have this François-Louis Villault out there saying all sorts of kjaftæði* and now people are trying to inject it into my team and it's not there.”

Ásthildur smiled softly and rubbed her brother’s arm as she held him. She was relieved to hear that there weren't any slurs being tossed around on his team.
“You shouldn't worry about people like Villault. They speak loudly but they're small in number.”

“But you and Mariette and Christian...even Léopold, if they go after him…” Tjörvi said nervously. Ásthildur rubbed his arm again. She couldn’t blame him for his nervousness. Tjörvi never talked about the re-education camp the Syndicalists tossed him in, but it wasn’t something that could be forgotten. She was sure. So she understood why perhaps radical political dialogue might agitate him.

“Do I worry about what my children might hear someone call their mamma? Yes,” she said. “And God forbid them too! But the world is mostly good. And people in this country are mostly good. You know that. I’ve seen your Twitcher feed.”

Tjörvi chuckled. It was true. The Santonians of Coire had been very welcoming, and he had the pictures on Twitcher to prove it.
“I know,” he said with a smile.
“But I love you and I worry. And then people spreading rumours about the team, it has me brjálaður*.”

“Well the only thing you should worry about is learning how to cook. I can’t bring you lunch every day,” Ásthildur chuckled.

“You would if I asked nicely,” Tjörvi said with wide eyes, causing Ásthildur’s chuckle to turn into a laugh.

“Yeah, you got me. But come on, you should learn how to cook."

"I can bbq!" Tjörvi insisted, but Ásthildur rolled her eyes.
"Burgers every night won't impress the ladies."

Tjörvi blushed and chuckled.
“Dating, right, maybe when the season’s over.”

“You need to get out more, you really do,” Ásthildur said as she patted him on the back and got up.
“Do you need anything else before I head out?”

“You brought me lunch and unpacked my kitchen! What more could I ask for?” Tjörvi said with a smile.

“Well ok. I need to head back to...oh wait!” Ásthildur asked as she was halfway down the hall to the door.
“Has Aunt Anselma gotten back to you? About moving?”

“Not yet,” Tjörvi replied.
“But I don’t want to pressure her. It’s a big decision.”

“I know, but tell her we have room at our place, now that you’ve moved next door.”

“I will!” Tjörvi replied. “I just don’t want to make her nervous.”

“Well you’re sweet. You’ll figure it out. I’ll see you later!” Ásthildur said as she left her brother’s new townhouse.

“Bye!” Tjörvi called out as his sister closed the door.

“Rolling onto the floor. God. What would Mamma and Pabbi say? He needs a girlfriend,” Ásthildur muttered to herself, rolling her eyes.

*Þú hræddir mig til dauða! Asninn þinn!- You fool, you scared me half to death!

*kjánalegt- silly

*stórasystir- big sister

*litlibróðir-little brother

*kjaftæði- bullshit

*brjálaður- crazy

Prydania · Mar 5, 2021

WARNING
The following post contains themes of sexual abuse. Please do not read if you find such themes upsetting or offensive. Thank you.
-Pry

21 May 2014
9:46 am
On a Wednesday
Markarfljot, Prydania

Anselma Reynholt was a bundle of nerves as she waited in the waiting area of what was, a long time ago, the town's local office for fishing and hunting licencing and certification. FRE soldiers moved to and from it though, using it as a general purpose administrative centre.
Markarfljot was not freshly liberated. Syndicalists had been driven out of it and the surrounding countryside four years ago, just after her brother Felix, his wife Berghildur, and their children Ásthildur and Tjörvi vanished at the hands of the Syndicalist People's Militia.

The liberation of Markarfljot, however, did not come soon enough to save her husband Gústav or her children Daníval and Jóhannes from additional Militia purges. It all felt like a cruel joke. Everyone she cared about...taken. Except for her. Did the Militia do that on purpose? To make her suffer? She wouldn't put it past them. She had no love for the Syndicalist Republican Army, but at least they acted like proper soldiers. The Militia were just thugs- often drunken thugs- with uniforms and guns. She'd raised her children to be respectful and proper, but after all she had been through? Well she didn't feel an ounce of shame about spitting on captured Militia members when the FRE took the city four years previous.
Since then Markarfljot's FRE administration had grew. It was a functional town, albeit in a slapdash sense. Though the FRE liberation of Austurland in 2013 had helped a great deal. There was no longer the threat of Syndicalist takeover. And now Alaterva was liberated. Which was why she was here.
Sitting alone.
Tense.
Waiting for someone to speak with her. Her foot tapping the dirty tiled floor nervously.

They said they'd found Tjörvi. If that was true...maybe they could find Ásthildur? Maybe? Her brother and her sister-in-law were dead, but their children- her niece and nephew- were just gone. She didn't dare to dream about the best case scenario, not after what had happened to her, but if they'd found them...

"Anselma Reynholt?"

She looked up. The man standing before her was wearing FRE fatigues, but no additional armour or gear. Obviously someone who did desk work.

"Yes?" she asked, nervous all over.
"They said, they told me, that they found my nephew Tjörvi?"

"So you are the wife of Gústav Reynholt and sister of Felix Hagtvedt?"

"Yes," she answered, a bit more agitated.
"I already told the fellow that when he asked me at my door. Do you have my nephew?"

"I'm sorry Fröken*," the official replied as he looked over some papers he was holding.
"I just needed to confirm. Yes. We found your nephew Tjörvi. He was being held in the Syndicalist Re-Education and Realignment Complex in Alaterva."

"He's been there? This whole time?" Anselma asked, her heart racing in her chest. She wanted to see him, now.

"As best as we can tell. They destroyed a lot of the records before we took the complex."

"Did...did you find his sister too? Her name is Ásthildur Hagtvedt and she's four years older. She'd be sixteen now and..." she said panicked, before the FRE official cut her off.

"I'm sorry, Fröken Reynholt. The agent who you asked earlier ran the name, but no child at that complex has your niece's name as far as we can tell. We're still sorting through the files, but we've got a complete roster of names from the children. We can ask if anyone knew her."

Anselma nodded, and clenched her jaw for a moment, before taking a deep breath. It was better than hearing that she was dead, and she still had her nephew.
"May I see my nephew now?" she asked.

"We need to go over something first..."

"Herra* Soldier," Anselma replied rather formally. The old teacher in her coming out for a moment.
"You have my nephew, and for that I am grateful. But I have been through too much to wait here and answer more bureaucratic questions. Please. Take me to Tjörvi."

"I understand," the man said taking a deep breath himself.
"Fröken, I understand more than you know. Believe me, but this isn't red tape. You need to know that your nephew has been at the mercy of the Syndicalist People's Militia for five years. He's... in a bad state mentally. Our agents can't seem to get through to him. Even our specialists who deal with traumatized victims. He's just been inconsolable since we found him."

"I need to see him then, now," Anselma said as she stood. The agent sighed.

"We sedated him to give him a physical exam. In addition to undernourishment he's showing signs of abuse. Physical, and sexual. I wish I could say it wasn't common among the children in these complexes but..."

Anselma had heard enough. She pushed her way past the soldier, and past the door that led the building's offices.
"Which one? Which one is my nephew in?" she asked firmly.

"Fröken Reynholt! Please, hold on!" the agent called out.
"I just need to make sure you..."

"I understand," she said firmly, on the verge of erupting, though she calmed herself down. She wanted to eviscerate whoever it was who hurt her nephew, but it wasn't this man. This man had helped bring him back home, had helped save him. And he didn't deserve the wrath she so badly wanted to let out.
"I just..." her rage subsiding into sorrow as she held back tears, "I need to see my nephew right now. He needs family. He needs someone who loves him."

The agent gulped, nodding.
"This way, Fröken," he said as he led her down the hallway to an unassuming office door. He opened it slowly. And she saw him, sitting at a table, his gaze angled downward. Wearing the drab, blue outfit Syndicalist prisoners wore. They were too big though, like they were meant for an older child. And his hair had been shaved to a short buzzcut. Still, it was Tjörvi. Through the ill fitting clothing, the hair cut, five years of aging, and the haunted look, that was Tjörvi.

He noticed the door opening and began to cry again. Bawling as he clutched himself across his torso. He just...he couldn't help it. The pain. Abuse. Humiliation. The haunting memory of his dead mother in the snow. And now...he didn't even have his friends from the complex to comfort him.
He just broke down, crying at the mere sight of anyone. Holding himself as he rocked in his chair. The agent sighed and stood aside for Anselma. Her heart tore in two, seeing her nephew like this. She wanted to cry too, but she couldn't. He needed her to be strong.

"Tjörvi," she said, entering the room, her voice soft.
"Tjörvi it's me, Auntie Anselma..."

He looked up. He looked up through tear soaked eyes, shaking and gasped. He was trembling. He'd been crying so hard, and for so long, that he was trembling. He sniffled, and tried to talk.
"Auntie?" he asked. He felt his heart leap through his chest. An uplifting feeling take hold of him.

"Yes, yes, it's me," Anselma replied, trying her best not to cry along with her nephew as she entered the sparse office and crouched by his chair, looking at him...
"Oh my God, Tjörvi, I'm...I'm here, sálitli*. I'm here," she said tears running down her cheeks.
"I'm here, and no one will ever hurt you again."

Tjörvi looked at his aunt, his reddened and tear soaked eyes wide open. Seeing someone he never thought he'd ever see again. He broke down and cried again, this time tossing his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder.
"Auntie Anselma..." he cried, holding her as tight as he could.

She cried softly as she held him. Squeezing him, doing what she could to make him feel loved. Safe.
"You're safe now," she said quietly.
"Now and forever..."

15 September 2017
2:09 pm
On a Saturday
Markarfljot, Prydania

"I'm home Auntie!" Tjörvi called out. He was early. The football academy usually went until four on Saturdays, but today's last few hours were heavily defensive focused. He was a striker. So he, along with the other strikers and midfielders, got to leave early.

CEFA had come to Prydania to take control of the national team in 2013, when Austurland was taken by the FRE in the Civil War. They ran the team as an apolitical entity. They also set up football academies across the country. A good will gesture, to help children who had suffered from the War. Now, with the fighting over, the Prydanian Football Federation had taken back control of the national team. Though they kept the academies going with CEFA.

Anselma knew her nephew loved football. Her sister-in-law had always complained about him kicking balls into their fireplace grate. And football seemed to be what worked best at getting Tjörvi out of the shell he'd built around himself after five years of abuse in that God-forsaken place the Syndicalists had tossed him into.
So she'd encouraged him to sign up for one of the academies. And it worked. The smiling, happy boy Anselma remembered returned thanks to football.
In fact the program he was in now was advanced. The Prydanian Football Federation had earmarked him as a promising prospect. And so he was with other top prospects. All of them young, all of them using football to cope with the world around them, and all excited for it thanks to Prydania's surprise run to the World Cup this past summer. Their war-torn country had, just after King Tobias' coronation, made it to the Finals of the World Cup. That they lost on penalties didn't matter. It gave everyone involved in the Football Federation energy. And Tjörvi was no exception.

"They let us go early, so I picked up some lunch from one of the food trucks! It's steiktsv..." he paused, seeing a woman in her 20s wearing medical scrubs in the kitchen smiling.

"Hello Tjörvi," Marie-Laurence Barbier said in Prydanian, though her Santonian accent was obvious. Tjörvi tensed up. He'd come out of his shell with his friends and coaches at the academy, and with his aunt. The Santonian nurse who helped his aunt with her health issues was a kind enough woman, but he was still closed off with people he didn't really know. Running into her unexpectedly just made him that much more nervous. He looked down, and just stood in place, his hands tightly clutched on the styrofoam containers of food.

"Hi," he said nervously. He'd forgotten that Marie would still be here, since he was home early. She nodded. Marie knew Tjörvi was a quiet kid, and kind of closed off. She didn't know the specifics of why, but growing up amidst a war couldn't be easy. She wanted to help though. It was the same instinct that led to her volunteering to head to Prydania in the first place, once the Syndicalists had been defeated.

"Your Aunt is watching tv. Her heart is doing much better today," Marie continued.
"I can take the food if you like. I'll get it on plates for both of you."

Tjörvi stood there, tense for a moment before nodding.
"Yeah," he said quietly before he gulped.
"I mean yeah, thank you," he said meekly.
"That would be really great," he said as he handed over the containers to Marie, keeping his eyes downcast.

"How was football?" she asked as she parsed the food out onto two plates.

"Oh," Tjörvi began, relaxing a bit. It wasn't so awkward to talk about football.
"It was fun. We got out earlier because they're focusing on defence today. Last week was offence, so I'm kind of happy for the break," he said with an awkward chuckle.

"My brother plays football recreationally, back in Saintonge," Marie said, handing him a plate of steiktsvínakjöt and potatoes.
"It's a great game. Come on, let's go see your aunt."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. If I had realized you would still be here, I'd have gotten you some too," Tjörvi replied. He would have, even if another order would have wiped out all of his krossar.

"That's ok, I ate earlier," Marie replied as they entered the living room.

"Tjörvi," Anselma said with a smile.
"Come on, sit down!"

Tjörvi happily complied, sitting next to his aunt. She wasn't that old, only in her mid forties. Still, her atrial fibrillation had gotten to the point where she needed some care.
Marie took a seat in a chair next to the couch, as Tjörvi sat with his aunt.

"Marie said your heart is doing better today," Tjörvi asked optimistically. He'd lost his parents, his sister, his uncle, and his cousin. He didn't want to think about losing his Aunt. He couldn't bear it.

"Well small miracles, you know," she said as she began to eat.
"I feel wonderful though."

"You'd feel even better if you stopped checking your heart rate," Marie replied with a smile. "That's what I'm here for. You don't need to worry yourself."

"And maybe, talk to the school?" Tjörvi asked.
"Maybe teach less? It will be less stress for you."

"You're just saying that because you don't want me as your math teacher next year," Anselma replied, teasing her nephew.

"You wouldn't fail me would you?" Tjörvi asked, giving her a wide eyed stare.

"Now, Tjörvi, there's only one answer with any math problem. And the numbers don't care if I'm your aunt," she said in a faux stern manner, betrayed by her smile.
"And I'm not taking time off or lessening any workload. The country needs teachers, and I'm doing my part. Besides, I can't afford to take time off. Not until you become a famous football star."

Tjörvi chuckled, and took his Aunt's hand.
"I just worry."

"So do I. About you. That's why we take care of each other," Anselma said with a smile. Marie grinned, watching the two before returning her attention to the television.
As closed off as Tjörvi could be, he did love his aunt. And Anselma loved him. It was sweet to see. She didn't intrude into their conversation though, just watching television with them.

"Did you hear back from the government?" Tjörvi asked after a pause.
"About Ásthildur?"
Now that the FRE was the government- now that the Syndicalists were gone- there was a chance that the government could find his sister. He hadn't seen her since they were separated the night thier parents were killed. There hadn't been any other word. Not even of her death. Which was what both Anselma and Tjörvi held onto. If they didn't hear that she was dead then they would choose to believe she was alive.

"They don't know where she is," Anselma said, gently shaking her head.
"They can't find any record of her from any of the Syndicalist files."

"Oh," Tjörvi said softly, trying and failing to hide how much that news affected him. Anselma rubbed his hand softly.

"You can't give up hope," she said to her nephew.
"I had given up hope, and then they brought you to me. And who could imagine that after all that fighting we'd be sitting here? In peace?"

Tjörvi nodded, and then looked up. Not at his aunt though. At Marie.

"Saintonge has a lot of Prydanian refugees, Marie?" he asked.

Marie had been listening but had chosen again not to involve herself. The matter was family business and she didn't want to intrude. Tjörvi had asked her though...

"Yes," Marie nodded.
"It's how I learnt Prydanian. Many of our patients hadn't yet learned Santonian."

Tjörvi smiled and turned back to his aunt.
"Maybe Ásthildur is in Saintonge?"

Anselma looked at her nephew. The notion sat with her for a brief moment. Part of her didn't want Tjörvi rushing into assumptions with nothing to back it up, but it was a possibility... maybe the government didn't have any records of her being in Syndicalist facilities because she was never in any? Maybe she did go to Saintonge...

"I'm sorry Marie," Anselma said, "I know you're not a government worker, but would Saintonge have taken Ásthildur? She was eleven when she and Tjörvi were separated. Would they have taken her, without any parents or guardians?"

Marie nodded.
"Yes. They would have. If she found herself with anyone in the diplomatic corps they would have. Especially when she told them what happened to her family."

Tjörvi nodded.
"Erik reunited with his cousin," he said, revealing what had spurred this line of questioning on.
Erik Tynning was one of Tjörvi's friends from the football academy.

"His family didn't know what happened to his cousin's family, but the Santonians found them in their country. They talk all the time now."
He was getting excited, now.
"Erik said they could find people, even if they weren't in Saintonge."

"I don't think that's possible," Anselma said, trying to caution her nephew. She wanted him to keep hope in his sister being alive, but she also didn't want him believing in the impossible.
"How could Saintonge find people if they're not in their country?"

"Actually," Marie added, "that's possible. Seventy-five percent of Prydanian refugees in Highton and Goyanes passed through the 'Santonian Line' and so the Santonian government would have information on where they are, at least."

Tjörvi was smiling now, and managed to jump as he sat, folding his legs under him on the couch. It was quite a sight. Marie had never seen him so animated.
"Do you know...where we could go?"

"The consulates would be able to help," Marie said.
"The two closest are in Alaterva and Haland." In fact the Alaterva consulate was where she was working through.

Tjörvi nodded. He knew both cities. His football academy sent them to both to meet other regional groups for mini tournaments hosted by each city's pro team. It was especially good for him when it came to Alaterva. He was able to associate the city with something besides the five years in that Syndicalist camp.
"A train ticket to Alaterva and back costs x190," he nodded. He only had x124 and change left over after buying lunch. Thankfully he had a job doing garden work- pulling weeds and cutting grass- for one of his coaches.
"I'll be able to afford it after a week working for Coach Bragi after school. And I'll go, and find Ásthildur for us!"

Anselma smiled and nodded. Maybe, just maybe, it would bear fruit? She worried of course. That it would come up empty. And Tjörvi would be crushed. She had told him to hold onto hope though...
"I'll go with you," she insisted but Tjörvi shook his head.

"No! You need to stay here. With Marie where she can take care of you. I'll go in a week, once I make enough," he insisted.
"I know Alaterva, I can manage," he added reassuringly.

"I can help with that," Marie interjected, before getting up and walking into the kitchen. Tjörvi sensed what was going to happen.

"I'll be right back Auntie," he said getting up to follow Marie.

Marie found her bag on the kitchen counter and fished her purse and wallet from her gear. She pulled out a blue x200 bill. And she was startled hearing Tjörvi behind her.

"You don't need to," he said softly.

Marie turned around, holding the bill in her hand.
"It's not a problem, really," she said as she approached him.
"It'll help you get a ticket, and you don't have to spend any of your money. You work hard. You shouldn't have to waste it, to find your sister."

"I'd spend every kross I had to see Ásthi again," he replied.
"I'd give up anything. Football, money, anything."

Marie was moved by how his eyes just...they seemed to full of so much pain.

"I know," she said softly.
"But now you don't have to."

"You already take care of my Auntie," Tjörvi said, choking up.
"I can't...I mean..." he began to tear up.
"She's everything. I love her so much. And you make sure she's healthy. And happy..."

"Tjörvi I..." Marie began, but he continued.

"I..." his voice began to dip slightly before he forced himself to speak at a normal volume. As much as he wanted to curl up and just vanish when around people he didn't know...he owed it to Marie to at least not cower.
"I know I can be quiet but I really am grateful for you helping my Auntie. Thank you..." he said trembling. He stepped forward and hugged her. It was awkward. Opening up to people was hard for him. Marie just gently hugged him back though.

"You're welcome," she said softly.
"Your aunt is a strong woman. And she's proud of you. She tells me how brave and talented you are, every day."

Tjörvi squeezed her.
"I can't take your money," he said softly.
"You're keeping my Auntie healthy. I can't take anything else from you."

Marie smiled and pat him on the back. He let go, looking down to hide the tears in his eyes.
"Here you go," she said, handing Tjörvi the bill.

"But..."

"It's just money. Money comes and money goes. But this will help you find your sister sooner. And then you'll have her back forever."

"Thank...thank you..." he said as he reached out and took it.
"I'll pay you back, I promise," he added as he stuffed the bill into his pocket.

"You don't need to worry about it," Marie insisted.

"Well...what if...next time I get lunch I get you some?" he asked sheepishly.

"Deal," Marie replied with a grin.

16 September 2017
12:26 pm
On a Sunday
Alaterva, Prydania

Tjörvi had spent the last night looking at the only thing he had to remember Ásthildur by; an old family photo of his parents, Aunt Anselma and Uncle Gústav, his cousins Daníval and Jóhannes, and his sister and himself. It was taken a few years before the Syndicalists came for their family, and Ásthildur looked younger than he remembered her being when they were separated, but he still treasured it. He thought about it, and about what he'd say to his sister if he could find her, all night and during the train ride over.

Finally though, he was where he had to be be. He gulped as he stood before the Santonian consulate. There was a big fluttering red-and-white flag with a heart in front, symbolizing that it was an extraterritorial jurisdiction of another country. A jurisdiction that had saved millions of his compatriots. He hoped that his sister was one of them.
He was nervous though. This was something different for him. He was going to a foreign country's consulate. It seemed like a big deal. He gulped and entered, and then grinned.
"I guess I've been to Saintonge now," he said to himself before nervously approaching the front desk. And then he realized a huge flaw in his plan.... he didn't speak any Santonian. He stopped in his tracks, blushing as a woman at the desk looked up.

"Hello," she said in accented Prydanian. Tjörvi breathed a sigh of relief. Of course they'd speak Prydansk here.

"Hello..." he said nervously as he approached the desk, blushing.
"My name is Tjörvi Hagtvedt..." he paused, already feeling flustered. He fixed his posture. This was an important building. He should stand up straight, like his aunt always told him to.
"Sorry, I'm just...I'm looking for someone. My sister. I haven't seen her since the War, and I was told your government might have information on her?"

The woman at the desk nodded, giving him a sympathetic look. The fact was that they dealt with a lot of similar requests. Even if they did have the information this boy was looking for, well...it would take time. There was some sort of project in the works, between the Santonian government and the new Prydanian government to make the process easier and more proactive, but it was just in the planning stages.
"If you leave me her name, your name, and your address we can run her name, but there are a lot of people who are looking for family. It might take some time before we find any information."

"Oh," Tjörvi replied, sounding dejected. It wasn't what he expected, but he didn't know what he expected, exactly? Maybe that he'd give them Ásthildur's name and they'd run a quick search? It was fanciful and wishful but... but he was being told he'd have to wait. Just like the government had told his aunt she'd have to wait when she inquired, before telling her they couldn't find Ásthildur. He felt a sinking feeling. Just yesterday he'd had hope that this would work and now...now it just felt like it had failed, even if it hadn't.
"There's nothing else you can do?" he asked.

"I'm afraid not. I will have your request processed as soon as possible, but there are a lot of names being searched."

Tjörvi felt himself breathing heavily as anger and sadness built up inside of him, before he breathed deep to calm himself. Blushing at the idea that he'd break down in front of this person who worked for a foreign government.
"Ok," he said sounding dejected.

The woman at the desk felt her heart go out to this boy, but there was only so much she could do.
"Here," she said, handing him a pen and a blank sheet of paper.
"Just write her name, your name, your address, and the year you think we might have seen her. It doesn't have to be exact, it just helps us narrow down the search a bit."

Tjörvi looked down, the realization that he wouldn't leave here with answers now forcing his quiet, defensive nature in front of strangers to re-assert itself. He began writing when suddenly...

"Oh," the woman at the desk had a realization. It was far from official but it could help. And she couldn't have this boy leaving looking so dejected.
"You could try Twitcher."

"Twitcher?" Tjörvi asked. He'd heard of it in passing from some kids at school at the football academy.

"It's a website," the woman replied.
"You create a profile and you can post whatever you want. You use special phrases to tie what you say into conversations with other people. Prydanians have been using the phrase 'ástvinir'* to share stories about missing family. We sometimes use it ourselves, to help coordinate with people who might know people we're looking for. Maybe someone knows your sister, wherever she is. If they're on Twitcher and they see your post they'll help you."

"I um, I don't really go online much," Tjörvi admitted. They had a computer but it was his aunt's that she used for her work.

"Here," she invited him to come behind the desk.
"I'll show you. Then next time you're at a computer you'll know what to do."

Tjörvi gulped.
"Seriously?" Going behind a desk at a foreign consulate seemed like a big deal.

"It's easy," she said, waving him over. So he went over, and was exposed to the world of Twitcher.

16 September 2017
3:56 pm
On a Sunday
Markarfljot, Prydania

"What did they say?" Anselma asked as Tjörvi came in the front door. She had to admit...as much as she wanted to make sure her nephew had realistic expectations the chance that maybe, just maybe, the Santonians knew where Ásthildur was exciting.

"I left her name with them," he said with a nod.
"They said they had a lot of names to work through, but they'd get back to us if they found something."

"Oh," Anselma replied, sounding a bit dejected.
"Well just keep hope and..."

"Also, I need to use your computer Auntie," Tjörvi added before blushing. And adding "please?" when he realized he might have come off as demanding.

"What for?" Anselma asked.

"The lady at the Santonian consulate said we might be able to find her if we used Twitcher."

"Oh," Anselma was a bit taken aback. She knew what Twitcher was, but it wasn't something most kids here knew about. Internet access wasn't high...but Polykor was always laying new lines. And she'd heard the kids from families who were on those lines mention it with increasing frequency at work.
"Sites like that," Anselma said, "can be home to a lot of gossip and a lot of nonsense," she said with the certainty of someone who who considered social media a "fad."

"But Prydanians are using...they say it's a hashtag... to find family lost during the war. Auntie, what if Ásthi is on Twitcher? Or someone she knows is? We could find her this way!"

"If I let you use my computer..." Anselma began, causing Tjörvi to smile wide, "...then you only use Twitcher for this. Promise me?"

"I promise Auntie!"

Anselma smiled.
"Let's get you set up then."

Tjörvi typed slowly as he navigated the Twitcher sign-up page.
"User handle?" he muttered to himself.
"Well...it's going to be easier if people know where I am..." he typed out @tjörvierímarkarfljot

"Display name?" he typed out Tjörvi Hagtvedt. He contemplated a Prydanian flag and a football emoji in his display name but opted not to. He still didn't fully "get" this, and didn't want to "break" his profile.

Finally he was ready. He filled out a few other fields, uploaded a picture of himself for the avatar, and hit "create profile."

And then had a page before him...with a blinking cursor. He could type anything. Anything at all, and send it out to the world.

"I love you and miss you Ásthi," he typed before backspacing. No. As much as that was true, it wouldn't be helpful. He had to be as direct as possible. So he began typing. Explaining himself as best he could without violating the character limit. Finally...he capped it off with #ástvinir and hit "Send Twitch."

He nodded. Whatever else would happen- either here or from the Santonian consulate- would happen. He'd done all he could though. Even if it felt like it wasn't enough.

Little did he know that two Santonian footballers of Prydanian descent would pick up his Twitch. And help it reach a wider world...

*Fröken- Ms
*Herra- Mr
*sálitli- little one
*ástvinir- loved ones

Prydania · Apr 8, 2021

WARNING
The following post contains themes of sexual abuse. Please do not read if you find such themes upsetting or offensive. Thank you.
-Pry

26 January 2021
6:09 pm
On a Tuesday
Coire, Saintonge

"You're here!" Tjörvi exclaimed happily seeing Thorbjörn Kjellander at his front door for his house blessing party.

"Of course!" Thorbjörn replied, giving him a hug before stepping aside.
"And look who I found sniffing around the clubhouse!"
Tjörvi's eyes went wide. It was Hyltir Hyldegaard. An AJSTC player who had been out doing his National Service all season. And who Tjörvi had wanted to meet for years.

"Hey," Hyltir replied offering his hand.
"It's nice to finally meet you Tjörvi. I've heard you've been having a great season."

It was now Tjörvi's turn to get touchy-feely though. He hugged Hyltir tight.

"Ha!" Hyltir replied.
"You're an affectionate one! Or has Thorbjörn's hugging habit worn off on you?"

"Heh, sorry," Tjörvi replied, letting go as Thorbjörn laughed.
"It's just...I don't know if you remember and I wouldn't be mad if you don't, but a few years ago you and Thorbjörn helped me find my sister after we were separated in the Civil War."

"Oh my God, you're that kid?!" Hyltir asked, that Twitch suddenly coming back to him.
"She was here in Coire, right?"

"Right over there!" Tjörvi said, pointing to the townhouse just to his left.
"I had a lot of options from foreign teams after the Odinspyl but I decided to play for AJSTC to be closer to her and her family...they're here actually. Come on in!"

Hyltir followed Thorbjörn in, thinking for a moment about Tjörvi. How hadn't he realized that his team's new striker was that kid in Prydania he'd helped via Twitcher all of those years ago? Memories of Tjörvi's story came back to him though. And they reminded him of his cousins. Matthea and Bjartmar.
Hyltir's mother and father had fled to Saintonge during the SoComm years, and he himself was born here. His aunt and uncle had stayed in Prydania though. They had died at the hands of Syndicalist Militiamen, and his cousins had been raised by his grandparents ever since. It was only recently that they'd emigrated to Saintonge to be with their family, but Matthea in particular was still very withdrawn much of the time. Hyltir thought that maybe, just maybe, Tjörvi was someone she could relate to? He'd approach it another time though.

"Hey," Tjörvi said, speaking his passable Santonian.
"This is my sister Ásthildur, her husband Léopold-Christophe, and my friends Leif and Varmar from Santonian language classes at the university and..."

"Thorbjörn Kjellander! Hyltir Hyldegaard!"

"...that would be my nice Mariette-Renée," Tjörvi chuckled.

The four year old girl ran up to the two football players who had just arrived.

"Mariette, be polite," Léopold insisted only for Thorbjörn to chuckle and crouch down to her level.
"It's ok! Tjörvi has told us all about you. You're going to be a football star someday too?"

Mariette smiled, nodding.
"I watch every game!" she insisted.

"She does," Ásthildur replied, with a chuckle.
"Like clockwork."

"This place looks pretty good," Hyltir remarked.
"You have an eye for decorating?" he asked Tjörvi.

"Ha," Ásthildur laughed.
"This room was nothing but a couch, a lawn chair, and a tv before I got here. It was tragic. I needed to save him, so any poor girl he brought him wouldn't think he was entirely hopeless."

Tjörvi chuckled and blushed as Hyltir laughed.

"Hey, I'll give you all the tour, and you can all make fun of me in new rooms," Tjörvi joked, leading them upstairs.

The townhouse was a basic layout, much like Ásthildur and Léopold's that Tjörvi had just moved out of. The upper floor had a number of bedrooms and a bathroom, though only two bedrooms were furnished.
The first was Tjörvi's bedroom. It was, like the living room, spruced up thanks to Ásthildur. Pictures of Tjörvi with his aunt and his friends from both the Prydanian national team and his old club Alaterva VF dotted the dresser, along with his gold medal from the 2020 Odinspyl.

The other room that was furnished upstairs was a training room. It only had an exercise bike and a treadmill, and the only decorations being the flags of Markarfljot, Prydania and Coire, Saintonge hanging from the walls opposite the exercise machines.

"It's not much but I like the flags," Tjörvi remarked.
"Just a little bit of home...and my new place!"

"Why is the Markarfljot flag pointy like that?" Léopold asked.

"It's based on an old viking banner," Tjörvi replied.
"I like it, because it pissed off the Syndicalists," he said with a smile.

The group migrated downstairs and Leif asked about the spare rooms.

"Any plans? You could probably fit a nice table tennis set in one."

"Oh please don't," Ásthildur begged.
"Please don't go full bachelor. Léo had a table tennis set in his apartment when I met him. And it took having Mariette to get him to give it up."

Mariette looked up at her father with wide eyes and Léopold chuckled.
"You're so much more fun than table tennis, sweetie," he said, causing the four year old to grin wide.

The party settled down in the living area, Tjörvi occasionally excusing himself to answer the door as more people arrived.

Hugberg Steenstrup and Styrfinnur Bergenhammer were among the additional arrivals. Hugberg being a teammate of Tjörvi's and a friend he made at the Odinspyl, and Styrfinnur being a Prydanian-born striker for Loudun, the team AJSTC just played over the weekend.

"Styrfinnur, Tjörvi, Tjörvi, Styrfinnur," Thorbjörn said, formally introducing the two.

"It's good to meet-meet you," Styrfinnur remarked.
"You had some good moves out on the pitch though."

"So did you!" Tjörvi replied. They had each scored a goal in the game they'd just played.
"Thank you for coming though. I'm glad you could come before you left town."

"Hey no problem. Who doesn't like to unwind?"

The party continued as Tjörvi began to grill for people, and showing Hugberg how. He'd promised him he'd teach him for months now.

"That's beer huh?" Hugberg asked pointing to the spice-looking stuff Tjörvi was putting on the hamburgers.

"Well kind of, it's spice that's 'beer infused.' I don't know what it means, really, but it gives it kind of a beer taste."

"So that's how my uncle does it," Hugberg mused.

"I learnt how to grill from one of my coaches at the academy back home," Tjörvi nodded.
"To help my aunt so she didn't have to do all the cooking. This stuff," he held the beer rub spice bottle up, "is a bit different from the stuff you'd find in Prydania. It's not as strong, but it's still good."

"You can probably get the Prydanian stuff at a Prydanian food specialty shop," Hugberg suggested but Tjörvi grinned.

"I did. It's in the kitchen. I'm going to have to start subtle if I'm going to bring these Santonian boys around," he winked, referring to Hyltir and Thorbjörn. Who were Santonian born and raised despite coming from Prydanian families.
"They get me wine, I'll give them Prydanian-style burgers. Cultural exchange for everyone!"

Hugberg just chuckled as Tjörvi taught him the art of grilling, especially timing and how to tell when something was done.

The party went on as food and drink were shared, people mingling and sharing stories.

Eventually the night wound down though. It started with Ásthildur and Léopold taking their leave to get Mariette home- it was a school night after all- and relieve their babysitter of looking after their one year old son, Christian-Arnaud. Mariette was disappointed, but consoled by the fact that every footballer there signed her AJSTC jersey.

Styrfinnur was next. His team was leaving Coire and he had to be up early to head back to Loudun. Lief and Varmar took off as the clock reached ten in the evening, each needing to be up early for work the next day.

So it was just Tjörvi and his teammates Hugberg, Thorbjörn, and Hyltir. Tjörvi was talking to Thorbjörn and Hugberg when Hyltir came out of the bathroom.

"Hey, Tjörvi, would you mind if we talked for a bit?"

"Um, yeah, sure, is everything ok?" Tjörvi asked.

"Yeah," Hyltir replied.
"I just wanna get to know my teammate! Maybe outside by the grill on the patio? It's a nice evening."

"Sure," Tjörvi said as he stood up and grabbed a beer from his fridge.
"You want one? Or wine?"

"Wine, thanks," Hyltir said with a grin. "White would be good."

Tjörvi nodded. He wasn't quite used to wine and so didn't buy any when he moved in. Léopold though, he'd insisted. Everyone needed wine! If only for company. So he got him one bottle of red and one of white. And had insisted on proper storage when Tjörvi tried to lay the bottles down sideways in his fridge.
He poured a glass of white wine and took his bottle of beer as he and Hyltir took off to the patio.

"What do you think they're talking about?" Hugberg asked.

"Eh, Hyltir just wants to get to know Tjörvi. We actually helped him out, a few years ago after the Civil War in Prydania was over. We amplified his Twitch looking for his sister."

"Oh wow..." Hugberg replied, looking at the two through the sliding glass doors.

"Yeah," Thorbjörn replied.
"So Hyltir probably just wants to get to know him a bit."

"You seem like you like Coire. Own place, fitting in on the team..." Hyltir began as he took the glass of wine from Tjörvi as the two sat down on lawn chairs.

"Everyone- the team and the people in the city- have been really great. And it's exciting. This is actually the first time I've been by myself."

"Oh?" Hyltir asked.

"Yeah. I was put into a Syndie camp at seven..." he said softly.
"But I lived with my Auntie back home in Markarfljot after the FRE liberated us. I lived with Coach Höj when I played for Alaterva. And then with my sister and brother-in-law when I moved here."

"You seem to be managing though," Hyltir replied.
"I mean...I can't imagine what you went through, but you're on your own. Doing well."

"It's lonely, I admit. And this townhouse...it's made for a family. I only got it because I could still be next to my family, but there's a lot of space I don't use."

"Heh," Hyltir replied, sipping his wine. It was as good a time as any to broach the subject.

"I can't believe I spent all of this time not realizing you were that kid we helped back in 2017."

"It's ok," Tjörvi replied with a smile as he sipped his beer.
"You helped me find my sister. I'll always be grateful."

"And now you're playing for us. Who knew that kid would end up a gold medal winner and a AJSTC scorer?" Hyltir said with a smile.

"My Auntie always said that good things happen, if you don't give up hope," Tjörvi replied.

"She's right," Hyltir replied.
"Look, man. I don't want to prod...but..." Hyltir sighed. He wasn't sure how to broach this so...this was the best he could do. Just say it.

"I remembered a bit about what you went through. I really don't want to prod but...I wanna ask if you could do me a favour?"

"Um..." Tjörvi was a bit unsure what Hyltir was getting at, but he meant it when he told him he'd always be grateful.
"Sure, anything."

Hyltir nodded and sipped more wine.
"My grandparents and cousins from Prydania joined us here, not too long ago. My aunt and uncle were killed, and my grandparents have been looking after them since."

Tjörvi nodded along, recognizing some parallels to his own story. And then Hyltir got to the point...

"My cousins, Matthea and Bjartmar. Bjartmar is adjusting well, even if his Santonian isn't good. It's getting better. Matthea though...grandmamma says she was in..." he paused for a moment. "Some sort of horrible Syndicalist camp."

Tjörvi couldn't help but feel a pit open in his stomach. He breathed deep to keep calm as he tried to keep the worst memories away. Hyltir noticed his distress.

"I'm sorry man, I don't..."

"No. No...it's fine," Tjörvi replied.
"Please continue..."

"Grandmamma won't tell me what it was. She says it's Matthea's right to tell me. I don't want to push her, but she's been very sullen and withdrawn. She doesn't want to engage with anyone. I didn't want to push her, but I wanted to help her. So I asked...and she won't tell me."

Tjörvi nodded. He understood that. He'd never told his sister what he'd been through. He couldn't. He just...he just couldn't do it.

"I want her to be happy," Hyltir said softly as his thumb wiped away some condensation on his wine glass.
"But I can't imagine what she's gone through."

"She doesn't want to burden you," Tjörvi said softly.
"I've never told my sister about what happened to me because..." he felt himself getting overwhelmed by emotion.
"It was such a miracle to find her. And a blessing to see she was with a man she loved with a family. I didn't want to bring down that joy with my own...problems. Matthea doesn't want to do that to you."

"Maybe I can't relate to any of that," Hyltir replied softly.
"But I know...they're not problems. It's not your fault. Or her fault. Whatever was done to you, it was them. Not you."

Tjörvi nervously scratched at the label on his beer bottle, looking down for a moment...

"Come on," Thorbjörn said as he stood up.

"Where are we going?" Hugberg asked.

"Out there."

"But it's just the two of them."

"Yeah but they'll need us. Sad stuff's happening."

"How do you know?"

"Big bro instincts. Come on."

The two went onto the balcony, surprising Hyltir.
"Hey guys, if you don't mind..." he began but Thorbjörn shook his head, seeing Tjörvi looking down.
"We're here for emotional support," he said as he and Hugberg pulled lawn chairs up.

Tjörvi smiled, though kept looking down, as Thorbjörn and Hugberg came out. He decided to say something to show Hyltir that it was ok that they were here.

"I know it's not my fault," he said to Hyltir.
"And Matthea knows that it's not her fault too. But...knowing and feeling are different. Trust me. I know how your cousin feels. She loves you Hyltir, but...it's hard to cope with this. With what we've been through."

Hugberg gulped. He remembered when he and his cousin Styrbjörn were at the safe house in Haland. And how they'd see the children at the Syndicalist controlled camp from a distance.
Thorbjörn just listened.

"You seem to have coped," Hyltir replied.

"I had football," Tjörvi said with a nod.
"My camp was liberated when I was twelve. I was reunited with my Auntie, and that's when CEFA began running academies in safe zones in Prydania. She urged me to join the one in our town. It saved my life. I had something...something else to focus on. And strive for. But I still remember what happened and..." he couldn't help it. He went from relatively collected to crying softly.
"I'm sorry," he said, lowering his head to hide his tears. Thorbjörn reached over and wrapped a hand over his shoulder.

"It's ok man, you're with people who care about you. Please don't apologize."

Tjörvi nodded, and Hyltir blushed.

"I should be apologizing to you...I'm sorry. I didn't mean to dig this up..."

"You just want to help your cousin..." Tjörvi replied, struggling to get his tears under control.
"It's hard," he sighed as he got his emotions under control, if even just for a bit, as he sniffled.
"It's hard because we have people we love...but we can't open up to them. So what can we do?"

"I was hoping..." Hyltir gulped, "I was hoping it would be ok if I introduced you to Matthea? Maybe you two could open up to each other? You would understand what each other went through."
Hyltir had started this hoping Tjörvi could help his cousin, but it seemed to him more and more that they could help each other.

Tjörvi drank some more beer and looked down again. He...he felt a sense of relief? Maybe...he could open up to someone who knew what he'd been through.

"I'd like that Hyltir," Tjörvi said softly.

"Thank you," Hyltir replied, still feeling guilty that he'd caused Tjörvi to remember this stuff. He seemed so...happy and fine. He didn't expect him to be as sad as his cousin was under it all.

"If you need to talk..." Hugberg said, patting Tjörvi's knee, "we're here."

"Thanks but...I can't..." Tjörvi said solemnly.

"Why not?" Thorbjörn asked, raising a finger up to stop Hyltir from protesting.

Tjörvi blushed. He'd been playing football since he was thirteen. He'd spent a lot of time in a lot of locker rooms over that five year period. Locker rooms were curious places, and not the sort he'd feel comfortable opening up about what was done to him. AJSTC's locker room was no exception. He got on well with his team, but he just couldn't...
"It's..." Tjörvi began, before choking up. Thorbjörn suspected what was up. And he'd poked around online, reading testimonials from people who had been liberated from those camps. He did it when Tjörvi came to AJSTC, in case he needed to help him. And Tjörvi's reaction- trauma mixed with embarrassment- confirmed everything.

"Tjörvi..." he began.
"Nothing that happened is your fault. And it doesn't make you less of a man. Look at you! Almost a goal a game. You're a machine my guy! Those monsters couldn't break you. No matter what. You can tell us. And if anyone- and I mean anyone- gives you shit for it they can answer to me."

"And me," Hugberg said, patting Tjörvi's knee again.

"I just finished my National Service," Hyltir nodded. "I just learnt how to kill a man with my thumb. So no one better mess with my bros," he said as he smiled at Tjörvi reassuringly.

"I was beaten," Tjörvi nodded.
"And starved. And worked until I nearly fainted, making ammunition. They liked to put us kids on those assembly lines. Said our smaller hands were good for making bullets..."

Hugberg felt his heart twist. The miserable faces of the children he saw at the Haland camp...he went to pat Tjorvi's knee, but Tjörvi grabbed his hand instead and squeezed.
"And then they'd choose us. Every night. To use us..." Tjörvi had no idea why he'd just said that. Maybe it was Hugberg's hand he was holding. Maybe it was Thorbjörn's assurances. Maybe it was how Hyltir wanted to understand him...
Maybe it was all of it.

But he cried. He couldn't help it, remembering the drunk Militia soldiers selecting them at night. How he'd pray every night not to be selected- but to himself. They ABSOLUTELY chose you if they heard you praying.
And he cried as he tried to fend of the memories of what happened after he was selected...
...all the while hoping and praying that his teammates, his friends, really wouldn't think less of him.

Thorbjörn stood, and he beckoned Tjörvi to stand too. Tjörvi nodded, still crying as he stood. Thorbjörn hugged him tight. He didn't say anything. He just hugged Tjörvi tight, and beckoned Hugberg and Hyltir over. They each stood and joined the hug willingly, hugging tight.

Tjörvi cried, his head in Thorbjörn's shoulder. He couldn't hold anything back. He'd never told anyone this. His Aunt Anselma knew, but even then...he'd never gone into specifics with her. He'd finally unburdened himself. And it felt...it felt...good if sad, as he cried.

Eventually the hug dispersed and they all took their seats again...

"Hyltir," Tjörvi said as he sniffled.

"Yeah?" Hyltir replied softly.

"I'd be happy to meet your cousin. And help. She deserves to know she's not alone."

Hyltir nodded and smiled.
"Thank you," he said, his voice still soft. He still felt...he felt guilty. For bringing this up, but he was happy that Tjörvi still wanted to help.

"No. Thank you. All of you. Thank you," Tjörvi replied. Feeling an old weight at least partially lessened.

OOC Note: Thanks to @Kyle for both writing a few bits and for giving me permission to use some of his characters!

Prydania · Apr 13, 2021

WARNING
The following post contains themes of sexual abuse. Please do not read if you find such themes upsetting or offensive. Thank you.
-Pry

28 January 2021
12:03 pm
On a Thursday
Coire, Saintonge

Tjörvi didn't own formal clothes...not before he signed with AJSTC. He never had one growing up...he never had the opportunity to have one. Even after FRE lines stabilized.
He spent his childhood after his rescue from the Syndicalist camp going to church in his normal clothes, always washed by his aunt. She insisted that just because they didn't have formal clothing it wasn't an excuse to look dirty.

And then AJSTC signed him. They wanted him for a press conference to introduce him and he had to get some formal clothing. It was Jakob Höj, his coach on Alaterva VF and the Prydanian national team, that bought him a suit, some dress shirts, and a tie for the announcement.

He was wearing some of it now. He didn't know how to dress for this, really, but he felt he needed to wear something else besides a t-shirt and jeans. So he wore jeans, a polo shirt, and the sports jacket from his suit.

"Yeesh," he ran his hand through his hair as he waited outside of Hyltir's place.
"What have I gotten into?" he asked himself. Hyltir had asked him to meet his cousin Matthea, from Prydania. She- like him- had survived something terrible in a Syndicalist re-education camp. And Hyltir, worried about his cousin being so withdrawn and nervous, had asked Tjörvi if he could be a friend to her. Someone who understood what she went through.

He was only 18 though...19 in a few months. He didn't even fully understand what had happened to him. Football had helped him deal with it, but was he truly qualified to help someone else?

He breathed deep. All Hyltir wanted was for him to be a friend for Matthea. He could do that, right?
He checked his phone for the time and then...

"Tjörvi?"

He looked up, and saw her. She was conspicuously underdressed compared to him, wearing jeans, sneakers, and a dark blue hoodie. It was a men's size hoodie- probably her brother's or cousin's. It seemed to swallow her, but she seemed to like that, nervously holding herself across her stomach. She seemed to wear it as protection almost. Her blonde hair in a simple ponytail.

"Já," Tjörvi replied with a smile.
"Matthea?" he asked.

"Já," she answered with a nod.
"I recognized you from tv. With Hyltir."

"Oh," Tjörvi replied with a blush.
"Thank you," he added as she came up to him on the sidewalk. She had trouble looking at him. Tjörvi noticed that right away. It had taken him a long time to be able to look at anyone straight on. He still had trouble with it at times, if he was meeting someone new. He'd likely have been doing the same to Matthea if he hadn't been struck by her beauty, in spite of her rather plain dress. And doing that brought to his attention how she diverted her own gaze.

"I'm still new here myself," he added with a friendly smile. He was nervous as all hell but he could see how withdrawn Matthea was. He had to be the forward one here. It was scary but...
"There's a really good Predician place. Pasta and pizza, the whole deal. Maybe we could grab lunch?"

Matthea nodded.
"I could do that, yeah. It sounds nice, she said with a faint smile.

"Cool," Tjörvi said with a nod. "I know the way."

The two talked as they walked, with Tjörvi leading the conversation. They spoke about how they were finding Coire. They found early agreements in deciding it was too hot and that the people were nice. Matthea tended to keep her head down but did look up to smile or laugh at a few jokes. It was during one of these times that Tjörvi saw that her eyes weren't blue- they were grey instead. That meant she was thoughtful and empathetic, according to folklore from back home. And they added a sense of charm to her.

"I'm sorry I'm not very talkative," she said as they arrived at the restaurant.

"Don't apologize," Tjörvi replied with a smile.
"All the Prydanians I know here have either been here a while or they're born here. It's nice to talk to someone else who's recently arrived."

"Born here...like my cousin," Matthea said.

"Yeah," Tjörvi replied with a grin before ordering. He didn't speak Predician, but he was getting proficient enough in Santonian to order lunch.

"Your Santonian is really good," Matthea said with a smile as they took their seats.

"You're the first person to tell me that," Tjörvi chuckled.
"But I know enough to get around."

Matthea nodded and signed. She reached out and rotated the pepper flake shaker in her hand.
"I know why my cousin asked me to talk to you," she said.

Tjörvi was a bit shocked. He...didn't expect that. Nor was he sure what she meant exactly.

"I love Hyltir but...he's from here. Born here. He wouldn't get it." She looked down. And her jaw clenched. Tjörvi knew that look. She was holding back tears. So he said...what was on his mind.

"And you don't want to tell him, because you're embarrassed. You know it's not your fault but you feel embarrassed anyway. And you don't want to burden him- or your brother- with what happened. I know..." he sighed.
"I feel like that every day."

"Bjartmar managed to stay out of the camp, but he had to help grandmamma and grandpabbi get by after mamma and pabbi died. He had to do so much. I can't..." she began to break down, crying very softly. Blushing deep.

Tjörvi just reacted. What was the first thing in his mind? Comfort. He didn't dare touch her. He knew exactly how she'd react to suddenly being touched by someone else. So he just spoke.

"He loves you so much... so does your cousin. Know how I know? Because my Auntie loves me, and my sister loves me. I can't burden them with what happened to me either but..."

"What happened to you..." Matthea said.
"You mean...."

"I..." Tjörvi replied.
"I thought you knew..."

"I thought Hyltir wanted me to...meet someone like me, who was a new arrival...I didn't think..."

Now it was time for Tjörvi to avert his gaze.
"I spent five years in a Syndicalist camp just outside of Alaterva," he said softly.
"I only got out when the FRE liberated the city."

"Bygde," she replied, looking away herself.
"My camp was outside of Bygde...God that's fucked up. Calling it 'my camp.'"

"I don't think so," Tjörvi replied.
"But if...if you didn't know I was...you know...why did you open up to me?"

Matthea looked up.
"You just...seemed nice. And I guess...Hyltir wants me to open up more. I guess I owed it to him to try."

"Hyltir loves you," Tjörvi said with a nod.
"But you don't have to open up to anyone if you don't want to. But...but I...I..." he needed to take a breath. Lest the memories of his abuse become too vivid.
"I have been through what you've been through, Matthea. All of it. So if you need to talk I am here..." he was on the verge of tears himself. Admitting what had happened to him to his teammates at his party, that was the first time he'd said those things.

"But you...you're a star. You're a football player. You won a gold medal..." Matthea said softly.

"It doesn't matter," Tjörvi said, looking down.
"I can still smell the scent of the dorms. The sweat, the rancid...seed. I can still imagine what it's like to be lying in that bed, scared and hurt and alone and..." he began to cry himself. And this time it was Matthea who said something.

"With the instructions from the intercom blaring every day. I can still recite them..."

"You are entitled to shelter and food. Everything else must be earned through loyalty to the Party," they easy said at the same time. It made both of them, with red, tear soaked eyes, smile a bit.

"I know exactly what it's like," Tjörvi said.
"And if you need to talk, I am here."

Matthea nodded.
"Thank you..." she said quietly.
"I can still smell it too...all of it..."

"We're safe here though. You and me," Tjörvi replied.
"No one can hurt us anymore."

Matthea winced and nodded as she held back tears and reached out for Tjörvi's hand before stopping. She knew he wouldn't like to be touched suddenly.

"It's ok..." Tjörvi said softly. He reached out and they held each other's hands. Just as the food came.

Both Matthea and Tjörvi began to feel more comfortable talking about happier things as they ate, their understanding of each other's trauma helping that comfortable feeling.

"So you like art?" Tjörvi asked.

"Já," Matthea said softly as she ate a slice of pizza.
"On Viedéo. I follow artists who share 'how to' tips, and I share my work on Twitcher."

"I need to see!" Tjörvi replied.
"I can't draw anything else but stick figures."

"You're an artist. On the...what's it called? Field?"

"Pitch," Tjörvi replied happily.

"Whatever you call it, you're good. Probably better than I am at drawing."

"Let me be the judge of that," Tjörvi replied.

"The last thing I drew were the hills around Hildisey. At least from what I could remember," Matthea said with a nod.

"Maybe..." Tjörvi said, feeling bold.
"One day, maybe, you could show me around Hildisey." He was blushing. He had no idea how she'd take it. She looked up at him- he was lost in her grey eyes- and then she smiled.

"Only if you show me around Markarfljot."

"Deal," Tjörvi said with a wide grin.
"Hey Matthea?"

"Já?"

"I know how hard it is, to be with people and to trust people. So...thank you for agreeing to come out to lunch with me."

"I..." Matthea smiled meekly as she looked down. She pulled her legs up so she was sitting crossed legged in the chair.
"I'm glad I came too."

Tjörvi smiled and felt a sense of relief wash over him. He nodded.
"One last thing about what happened and then I promise we won't talk about it again unless you want to."

"Ok..." Matthea said curiously.

"They're gone. In jail, or dead, for what they did to us. We're still here. We're stronger and better then they are."

"I wish I could feel that way," she replied softly.

"I know," Tjörvi said with a nod. "If you feel down though, just ask Hyltir for my number."

Matthea just perked up.
"Can I see your phone?"

"Um...sure," he said. He was blushing. Was she going to give him her number. He handed it over and waited for it back. She was done in short order.
And she had entered her name into his address book, not with a number but with a Twitcher handle.

"You can message me there whenever," she said with a smile.

"Twitcher?"

"My escape," she said with a grin.

"Well thank you," Tjörvi said, smiling himself.
"Maybe...we could get lunch again?"

"I'd like that," Matthea said quietly.
"I'd like that a lot."

Tjörvi grinned. Against his worst insecurities, he'd actually managed to connect with Matthea. And he was already looking forward to seeing her again.

Prydania · Apr 14, 2021

28 January 2021
1:18 pm
On a Thursday
Coire, Saintonge

Matthea gave Tjörvi a shy wave and smile as they got back to Hyltir's family's house, before slipping inside.

She peaked out through the door's peephole, watching as Tjörvi looked up at the door and then walk away. He was cute. And beyond that, he understood. She smiled softly and backed away from the door, turning as she made her way to the staircase. She'd just started to ascend when she heard her cousin.

"Hey Matthea," Hyltir said softly, poking out from the kitchen. He knew not to startle her.

"Hey," Matthea replied with a smile. Not a nervous smile she put on to convince her family she was ok, no...she was actually smiling. And Hyltir picked up on that.

"I hope you had a good time with Tjörvi," he began as she stepped down and approached him.
"He's a really good guy and..."
Hyltir stopped, wide eyed as his cousin hugged him.

"Thank you," she said softly as she squeezed him tight.

Hyltir didn't know what to do at first. He knew Matthea didn't like to be touched. He slowly put a hand on her back, patting her gently.

"I'm glad it went well," Hyltir replied softly.
"I really am..."

"Thank you," Matthea said again, squeezing Hyltir a bit longer before letting go.
"He's a really great guy," she added, giving her cousin a smile.

Hyltir couldn't help but smile too. She seemed... happy.
"Bjartmar and I were going to go out for dinner. Maybe you would like to join us?"

"Yeah..." she said with a nod.
"Yeah I'd like to."

Hyltir grinned.
"That's great!"

"Yeah..." Matthea said with a smile.

"I'll let you know when we're going, it won't be for hours though."

"Ok," Matthea said with a pleasant smile.
"Just um, knock on my door, já?"

"Ok," Hyltir said with a nod as his cousin went upstairs. Whatever Tjörvi and her had done...it seemed like a good thing.

Matthea didn't have much space to herself but that was fine...she changed into a loose t-shirt and sweat shorts as she tossed herself onto her bed...

Tjörvi...
Finally. Someone she could talk to. Who understood what she went through.
She thought back to what he said. How he knew...exactly...how she felt. How she couldn't tell her loved ones...but he knew. And he wanted her to know if she needed to talk...her laptop pinged. Twitcher. It was Tjörvi sending her a friend request. She accepted and then just a few moments later...

Twitcher Private Message:
tjörvierímarkarfljot: hi! I had a great time today.

stjarnaleitandi: me too i can't wait until next time.

tjörvierímarkarfljot:

She smiled and grabbed her sketch book and flipped through to a blank page. She grabbed a pencil and began to draw...

She just met him. And yes, her cousin introduced him, but still. She wanted to hug Tjörvi so much right now....just because...because...he understood. She could bare her soul to him. Every nightmare every bad memory...and he would get it.
She was also in awe of him. Here was a guy who was abused. Like her. And despite the pain she saw in his eyes, and heard in his voice, he could carry on. He was friendly, he was outgoing. If he could get to a point in his life where he was like this...could she?

She sketched some more and and began to cry, at what she was sketching. They were happy tears though. She just wanted to hug him- it was strange to feel that way about a guy you just met, right? But...it was how she felt. She sniffled again as she wiped away tears with the back of her hand.

She set the sketch pad down and pulled the laptop over.

Twitcher Private Message:
tjörvierímarkarfljot: hi! I had a great time today.

stjarnaleitandi: me too. i can't wait until next time.

tjörvierímarkarfljot:

stjarnaleitandi: thank you for listening. and being there. sorry for crying.

tjörvierímarkarfljot: Thank you too And it's ok I cry too. It's hard not to.

Matthea went back to sketching and cried softly again, but breathed deep as she drew. It was a simple scene. Just the corner booth where she and Tjörvi had lunch in. It made her feel safe though. Like he did.

Prydania · Apr 23, 2021

3 February 2021
1:09 pm
On a Wednesday
Coire, Saintonge

“So, what was it like, winning a gold medal?” Matthea asked. She was smiling slightly. It made Tjörvi smile himself even as he blushed at the question as they were sitting at a café.

“I’m…I mean, it feels surreal, I guess. I was so happy when it happened. My teammates and I, we were just all over the moons, ya know?”

“Does that mean you’re not still excited?” Matthea asked, sounding a bit disheartened. Tjörvi noticed that and shook his head emphatically.

“No, no, I am,” Tjörvi smiled.
“I just mean that when it happened it was like ‘oh my god we did it we did it!’ but now I look at my medal and the pictures of us celebrating after the game and I’m kind of in shock. Like ‘holy cow, I did that!’ It’s just very surreal. I almost don’t believe it.”

“I do,” Matthea said with a smile and a nod.
“You’re a good football player. I don’t follow sports much, but it’s hard to escape football when you’re in a football player’s family, you know?” she chuckled.
“So, I see you’re doing well, and Hyltir says you’re good. So, I’m not surprised you won a gold medal,” she said with a grin.

Tjörvi blushed but chuckled.
“Thank you. I mean I’m sorry…it’s just that…”

“You’re nervous with compliments" Matthea said knowingly, rubbing his hand gently.
“I get it.”

“Thank you,” he said. Matthea was right…he wasn’t great with compliments. Matthea though, she understood. And he didn’t need to feel awkward about it.

“It was special though, what you did,” Matthea continued.
“I’m not a sports person,” she repeated, “but when you won, for home, it was special.”

Tjörvi smiled meekly.

“So you’re a hero back home,” Matthea said, still with her soft smile, as she played with the straw in her glass of water.
“Why did you come here?”

“Well…” Tjörvi said with a shrug.
“I wasn’t well known outside of Prydania before the Odinspyl. Only diehard football fans who tracked young prospects knew who I was outside of Prydania. But then I eliminated Goyanes…”

“I saw that goal,” Matthea said, her soft smile widening. She couldn’t believe it at the time, that the guy she was watching eliminate the World Champions had gone through what she had.

Tjörvi laughed.
“It was wild! But then after that, after the whole tournament, teams from elsewhere began to call. I don’t even have an agent!” he chuckled.
“We’re so-and-so Football Club from Highton, so-and-so from Ulstome, from Naizerre, from Goyanes, Syrixia, it was crazy! And they were tossing out big numbers!” he chuckled.

“So you came for the money?” Matthea asked.

“If I came for the money I’d be somewhere else,” Tjörvi said. “Santonian teams don’t really shell out the big numbers foreign players. AJSTC offered me more money then I thought I’d ever see but I could have been much richer if I chose somewhere else.”

“So why Coire?” Matthea asked.

“I met Hugberg Steenstrup during the Odinspyl, and he played for Coire. Which was where my sister and her family lived. He invited me after the tournament. I needed to clear my head after the gold medal game and all of the offers, so I came, to visit both Hugberg and my family. AJSTC approached me while I was here and offered me a deal.”

“So you came here for your family,” Matthea smiled.

“Yeah,” Tjörvi grinned.
“I didn’t want to leave home actually… my Auntie took care of me, and I couldn’t just leave her. But when she heard that the team from where Ásthildur, Léo, Mariette, and Christian lived was offering me a deal she said I had to go. And I couldn’t argue,” he chuckled.

“I didn’t want to come either,” Matthea said as she continued to play with her straw.
“I was…well, a lot of things."

Tjörvi nodded.
"It's always scary to go to a new place, yeah. I was hesitant, even with my Auntie's insistence, but I'm glad I did."

"It's not just fear," Matthea said with a sigh.
"I miss the sites and smells of home, you know?"

"Já," Tjörvi said understandingly.
"I get that feeling sometimes."

"Like sometimes on certain days I just look at the horizon and the sky," Matthea continued.
"It reminds me of home. And I remember it for a bit...I guess some people would say 'after all that happened you should want to get away' but..."

"...home is where you feel safe," Tjörvi said with a nod. Matthea smiled.

"Já. This was just more change."

"I felt like you did," Tjörvi said with a nodded.
"But it wasn't when I came to Saintonge."

"When then?" Matthea asked, confused.

"I was seventeen and my rights as a football player were secured by the Alaterva Lakers. Alaterva was where my camp was...I was terrified of living there."

Matthea's grey eyes went wide. She shivered at the thought of her own camp.

"I had only lived in two places by that point," Tjörvi said.
"Markarfljot, where I was from and where I lived with my family, and Alaterva. Where I was kept at...that place."
He looked down nervously but Matthea stroked his hand.

"Thank you," Tjörvi said.
"I was so afraid of going back there but I did. Because it was my dream to be a football player. And I developed whole new memories with my teammates. The fear went away. Now I think back to Alaterva and I remember the good times. And maybe we could make good memories of Coire for you."

"That's Alaterva though, Tjörvi," Matthea said with a sigh.
"I know it was hard for you," she gripped his hand, "but it was still home. Here...everything and everyone is different. I can't even speak the language," she muttered as she gripped his hand tighter.

"I began learning Santonian when I found out Ásthi was living here," Tjörvi said.
"But Léo can attest I wasn't very good," he chuckled.
"I have been taking classes though. They've helped me a lot. You can come with me," he said with a smile.
"We can learn together."

Matthea bit her lower lip and looked to her side, across the street. The people, the storefronts, even the signs. They were all intimidating. And as she was looking Tjörvi moved his hand, so that his was now holding her's.
If she could do something as simple as reading the storefront signs, then they wouldn't be so intimidating. And if she did it with Tjörvi...
"You'll be there?" she asked.

Tjörvi lit up with a wide smile for a moment. He didn't expect that necessarily, but hearing it just made his heart sing.
"Já, I'll be there," he said with a nod.
"You and me, my friends. We'll learn together."

Matthea began to chuckle, looking down a bit. Tjörvi was happy to see it, when she was happy, but he was also curious.
"What's so funny?"

"Hyltir," she said.
"He'll be shocked when he sees me learning Santonian."

"I think he'll be excited," Tjörvi replied with a nod.

"Excited," Matthea agreed with a nod, "and shocked."

"The next class is tomorrow night," Tjörvi said.
"At the university. I can meet you at your place, and we could go together."

Matthea felt the nerves flutter in her stomach. She'd agreed to it but tomorrow? That was really soon. She blushed a bit. Tjörvi picked up on it.
"We don't have t..."

"No. Tomorrow is good. What time?"

"I can be at your place at six o'clock," Tjörvi replied with a grin.

"Excellent," Matthea replied, still blushing, but smiling now.

Tjörvi spent the walk back to Hyltir's holding Matthea's hand. He was a bit shocked. He knew that people who went through what they went through...well...physical contact could be hard. Tjörvi even still struggled with it if it was someone he didn't know or if it was sudden, outside of a football match.
And as happy as he was as he that she was holding his hand...he was very cautious with how anything would progress. The truth was he was nervous himself.

"I'll see you tomorrow at six?" Matthea asked as they stopped at the front door.

"Já," Tjörvi smiled.

"I can't wait," Matthea answered. Tjörvi smiled, nodding.

"Me either. I've really liked getting to know you," he said nervously.

Matthea wrapped her arms around him, hugging him tight.
"I've really liked getting to know you too," Matthea replied, letting go with a blush and smile on her face.

Tjörvi returned the grin and hugged her back.
"Tomorrow," he said letting her go, waving as he walked backwards down the sidewalk.

"Tomorrow!" Matthea called out after him, waving once more before heading back inside.

She walked in, finding Hyltir and her brother Bjartmar watching tv. Bjartmar was about to ask her how lunch was when she excitedly made her way past, heading upstairs.

"Hey cuz, bro. No time to talk..." she said with a bit of a giggle.

"Was she laughing?" Hyltir asked.

"Yeah..." Bjartmar replied.
"I haven't heard that from her in years. It's one of of your teammates you set her up with?"

"Yeah," Hyltir nodded.
"He's been through what she's been through. I thought it would be good if she had someone to talk to, about all of that."

"She still hasn't told me everything," Bjartmar said, looking up the staircase.

"Me either," Hyltir said.
"But he did...and it's not good. So I'm happy to give them their space."

"Whatever works," Bjartmar nodded.
"I'm just happy she's happy-ish again."

"Yeah...me too," Hyltir replied.
"Me too."

Prydania · May 11, 2021

4 February 2021
10:04 pm
On a Thursday
Coire, Saintonge

Tjörvi was jolted awake on his couch to find his tv playing STV Prydansk's late night programming. He groaned as he rubbed his eyes, muttering to himself.

"Might as well head to bed if I'm passing out on the couch."
He'd turned the tv off and was ready to head upstairs when his cell phone went off, startling him. He wasn't great with sudden noises during the best of times, but he'd mentally checked out for the night. His startled feeling turned to excitement, however, when he saw the caller ID. It was Peter Bach.

"Peter!" he said happily, flopping back onto the couch.
He didn't know Peter all that well at first. He'd played against him in the FDP* during his stint playing for Alaterva VF, but he only got to know him when he was chosen as the third striker for Prydania's men's football team for the Odinspyl.

And even then he was shy. Shy because...well...that's what he was. He never fully escaped what happened to him in that Syndie camp, and new people...people he didn't know...were intimidating.
And Peter Bach and Kurt Mörch could be intimidating. They were the two loud, bombastic stars of the Prydanian team. Tjörvi was just...there. At least that's how he felt. Until Peter caught him alone trying to hold back tears one day in the locker room during the Odinspyl.
Tjörvi had thought he was alone, and he began to cry as memories from what was done to him flooded back. That happened- even if he felt good, was having a good day, they could just surface. And Peter was there. He asked him, gently, what the problem was. It was in stark contrast to how Tjörvi knew him.
Peter had lost his mother during the Harrying of Hadden. He knew trauma from the War. Tjörvi almost told him right then and there what had happened to him in that Syndie camp. Maybe the fact that he didn't know Peter that well helped? He had less preconceived judgments. And he was so close. The words were on the tip of his tongue. He desperately, painfully wanted to tell him that day, but in the end he just...couldn't. Peter nodded. Pat him on the shoulder and said if he ever wanted to talk he would listen.

Four hours later Tjörvi scored the only goal of a 1-0 game that eliminated Goyanes- the World Champions- and sent Prydania onto the elimination round of the tournament, and eventually a gold medal. That goal, in all likelihood, was the reason he had a chance to play here for AJSTC.

He'd finally told Peter what had happened to him. After he had told some of his AJSTC teammates. He owed Peter that much. And Peter had been understanding. Comforting. It was actually quite amazing how different the Peter Bach you saw in interviews and on tv was to the Peter Bach you saw when you got to know him.
Needless to say Tjörvi was excited to speak to him, even if he was ready to go to bed just before his phone rang.
"What's up?" he asked cheerfully.

"Hey Tjörvi," the captain of the Prydanian national football team replied.
"I just wanted to call. Check up on you. It seems like you're doing well for AJSTC!"

"Thanks," Tjörvi replied with a smile.
"It's been amazing. I don't know what to say, but the team has been great and welcoming. It's a great place play."

"Family nearby helps I bet," Peter said, and Tjörvi nodded even if Peter couldn't see him.

"Já it's been really nice."

"So...you're doing ok in Saintonge?" Peter asked. Everything's going well?"

"Já," Tjörvi said, "Coire is a nice town. The people have been very welcoming. It's a bit too warm," he chuckled, eliciting a laugh from Peter, "...but other than that it's a really great place."

"I'm glad to hear that," Peter replied.
"I admit I was a bit worried. People keep talking about this François-Louis Villault fellow and I was worr..."

"I don't know much about Santonian politics," Tjövi replied, cutting Peter off.
"The parties seem a bit weird honestly, but that Villault guy is just a loud asshole. The vast majority of people here don't agree with him...and no one's ever said anything like he's been saying to my face."

"People say things online that they wouldn't say to your face," Peter replied, his voice still sounding concerned.

"I know," Tjörvi said softly.
"But people here are welcoming and nice. That Radical stuff, it barely comes up."

"I'm just worried about you, is all."

"Thanks Peter..." Tjörvi replied, smiling softly.

"Of course," Peter said cheerfully.
"So you're scoring up a storm, what else is new?" he asked. There was one thing he knew of, and he wanted Tjörvi to say it. He was excited for him. Tjörvi, though, replied with something else.

"Well...Thorbjörn, one of the guys I told about what happened to me, right?"

"Já..." Peter replied, sounding a bit nervous.

"He told me that the team offers mental health programs for players. They have a psychiatrist that they could set me up with to talk about everything."

"Oh wow..." Peter replied. He wasn't expecting that, but it sounded great. He waited to hear what Tjörvi thought about that, and was a bit disappointed.

"I don't think I will though..." Tjörvi said softly.

"You should," Peter replied bluntly. Almost without thinking of it. It was a near-natural reaction.

"Peter..." Tjörvi replied.
"I can't just...talk....about it. It's..."

"I know it's humiliating, and painful to remember...but you'd be talking to someone who knows how to help you. Your teammates, me...you can get support from us, but we can't help you like a psychiatrist can."

"What...what if..." Tjörvi began to say, stuttering a bit as Peter listened. He wanted to hear if Tjörvi was on the verge of tears, but he didn't seem to be.

"Já?" Peter asked, softly and unassumingly.

"What...if...because this doctor works for the team...he tells someone? Like for the team and...and they don't think someone like me...is...enough of a man? To..."

"Tjörvi? Tjörvi...ok. Listen," Peter said quickly. He could sense that Tjörvi was getting overwhelmed.
"I don't think less of you, you know that."

"Já..."

"And neither do your teammates there."

"Já...but you're all players. What about management?"

"No one would hold what happened to you against you, unless they were sick in the head," Peter said emphatically.
"Much less a doctor. A psychiatrist knows how to deal with this stuff. They will understand you. Besides they can't tell anyone. It's against the law."

"How do you know?" Tjörvi asked.

"Well for one," Peter replied, "I've been going to therapy for years. If the team you play for is offering it at no cost, then yes. Do it. It's helped me a lot. It can help you too. The Syndies and War fucked us all up, buddy. There's no shame in needing help putting it all back together."

There was silence on the other end so Peter continued.
"And I know that no doctor can talk to anyone else about what happens with their patients."

"Maybe..." Tjörvi began, "that's just a law in Prydania?"

"It's the same sort of laws everywhere," Peter replied with a chuckle.
"You're ok though, right? I'm not hanging up unless I know you're ok."

Tjörvi smiled and sniffled, collecting himself.
"Já, I am... I am. It's just scary..."

"Take it from me that therapy works," Peter said softly.
"The team offers it. Your teammate told you about it because he cares. Go. It'll be good for you, I promise."

"Ok..." Tjörvi said with a smile.
"Thank you, Peter."

"You're welcome!" Peter replied cheerfully.
"Now..." he added, the mischievousness in his voice obvious.
"I heard you had a girlfriend and..."

"Um!" Tjörvi said with a deep blush.
"Sorry Peter. It's late and I think you're breaking up. Thanks for calling!"

"What? Tjörvi..."

"Talk to you later! Bye!" Tjörvi said as he hung up, chuckling. He wasn't ready to get into that. Unfortunately Peter left him no choice.

Text Message:
Peter: We'll finish this convo later

Tjörvi: All I'll say is she's sweet and I really like her!

Peter: That's great. Góðanótt*!

Tjörvi: Góðanótt!

*FDP- Fótboltadeild Prydanski- Prydanian Football League
*Góðanótt- Goodnight

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

Prydania · May 16, 2021

11 February 2021
7:02 pm
On a Thursday
Coire, Saintonge

"Bonjour, je m'appelle Matthea," Matthea said, slowly but excitedly, her lips curling into a smile.

"Bien!" Tjörvi replied happily.

The two were sitting on the couch in Hyltir's family's living room, each crossed legged with a Prydanian-language "Learning Santonian" textbook resting on their laps.

"It sounded so bad," Matthea replied with an embarrassed laugh.

"Oh, no!" Tjörvi insisted, "you're doing so well!"

"I can't speak it nearly as well as you can," Matthea replied. She didn't sound dejected though, and was clearly enjoying herself.

"You think so? I think my accent is pretty bad," Tjörvi laughed.

"It's charming, now that I can kinda understand Santonian," Matthea said with a smile.

"Merci!" Tjörvi said with a chuckle.
"But I'm still learning too," he added in Prydanian.

"Yeah, it's a real 'blind leading the blind' situation," Hyltir said, entering the living room with a plate of fries.

"Oo fries," Tjörvi said reaching, only for Hyltir to pull the plate away.

"Voulez-vous des frites, Tjörvi?" Hyltir asked.

"Oui," Tjörvi replied with a smirk, and Hyltir handed him the plate, sitting down at the chair.

"Comment vont les études?" Hyltir asked, turning to Matthea.

Matthea blushed and looked down for a moment. She thought she knew what her cousin was asking but she had to try and think of the right words.
"Oui, j'ai beau..." she began, feeling a bit more confidant upon seeing Hyltir's encouraging smile.
"beaucoup appris?" she said.

"That's not bad," Hyltir replied with a teasing faux-critical attitude that promptly got a pillow tossed at him by Matthea.

"I think that's pretty good!" she said insistently but also with a chuckle. Hyltir smiled. She was finally coming out of her shell.

Tjörvi smiled too, and nodded.
"It was really good," he said as he munched on a fry.
"Let's say we were back at the pizza place we went to when we first met," he said to Matthea, his heart racing at that thought.
"Do you think you could order?"

"I donno," Matthea replied.
"I can only say things slowly. People might...be upset if I slowed up the line."

"People are friendly," Tjörvi said.
"I think they would understand."

"Bonjour madame," Hyltir said, interjecting. "Que voulez-vous aujourd'hui?"

Matthea looked wide eyed at her cousin and then back at Tjörvi. Tjörvi looked back at her, and took her hand gently, smiling encouragingly.

"Une..." Matthea said, thinking back to her vocabulary banks.
"Une...tranche...pepperoni?" she asked.

"Can you believe that Tjörvi?" Hyltir teased.
"She didn't order you anything."

"I still have another pillow here to throw at you," Matthea said, laughing.

"But that's good!" Tjörvi said.
"It'll take some practice but you're coming along. I knew you could do it."

"I still don't think I am," Matthea said softly.
"But thank you..." she added, rubbing her thumb over his hand.

"Do you think we could head back to that place though?" Tjörvi asked, his heart beating in his chest nervously.

"How about some other place...nicer?" Matthea replied softly. Hyltir raised an eyebrow.

"Oh..." Tjörvi said before nodding. "I'd really like that. And we can help each other order!"

Matthea grinned, squeezing his hand as Hyltir watched on. He felt somewhat awkward seeing this, but he was happy. The truth was that he didn't really expect romance between Tjörvi and Matthea. He had arranged for them to meet because he thought Tjörvi could help, by being someone Matthea could relate to.
But if there were romantic sparks then... he was glad. That his cousin had found someone.

"Well," he interjected after Tjörvi and Matthea had made dinner plans for a few nights from now, "what if I asked 'Quel chemin vers la mairie?'" He was here to help with their studies after all.

"Um..." Tjörvi began, struggling himself. He'd gotten better at speaking Santonian and could handle himself in most cases, even if it was accented. Trying to work out directions and translate in his head though, was a lot.

"It's ok," Hyltir said. "You can always say 'I'm sorry Sir, I don't know...'"

"Je suis désolé Monsieur, je ne sais pas!" Tjörvi said happily.

Hyltir nodded as he let Tjörvi and Matthea get back to their studies, occasionally interjecting a phrase or question here or there to push them along.

11 February 2021
9:37 pm
On a Thursday
Coire, Saintonge

"I can't wait until Monday," Tjörvi said to Matthea as he stood with her by the door.

"You have a game this weekend," she replied with a chuckle.
"And dinner is what you're excited for?"

"Dinner with you, já," Tjörvi said with a wide grin. They hugged, each squeezing the other before Tjörvi took his leave, making his way down the sidewalk as he began his walk back to his place. He wasn't even a block away though, when he heard a male voice call out in Prydanian.

"Hey wait up!"

Tjörvi turned around startled, but breathed deep seeing who it was.

"Hey, Bjartmar, right?" he asked.

"Já," Bjartmar replied as he approached in the dark. Tjörvi was relieved to see someone he recognized calling to him and approaching him, but it was Matthea's brother. That was still cause for concern. Was he going to do the "protective brother" thing and threaten him?

"Hey man," Bjartmar began.
"Do you have a moment?"

"Um..." Tjörvi began, feeling nervous again. Still, Bjartmar seemed calm.
"Yeah sure. What's up?"

"I wanted to thank you..." Bjartmar replied.
"For helping my sister."

"Oh..." Tjörvi began.
"You're welcome. I mean it's been great getting to know her and..."

"I mean," Bjartmar said.
"I know. I know about...the camps."

Tjörvi's face drained of colour and he began to speak, even if he could only stutter.
"I mean...it was...um..."
He'd told Matthea. And his teammates. And Peter. That was all. Had someone told Bjartmar? He wasn't ready for what happened to him to get out.

"No one told me," Bjartmar said, assuringly.
"Matthea hasn't told me, no one has. But..." he ran his hand through his hair nervously.
"Hyltir told me that you and Matthea could relate to each other, but he never told me what. Thing is Hyltir is Santonian. He didn't know what happened until you told him. But, well... I stayed out of the camps back home. We heard rumours of what happened though. Drunken Militia guards weren't quiet. When the FRE liberated the camp, and I saw Matthea the way she was...I knew the rumours were true. That the People's Militia did horrible things..." Bjartmar began to cry... Tjörvi had to steel himself against his own memories, but he reached out.

"Are you ok?" he asked.

Bjartmar nodded.
"I'm sorry..." he sniffled.
"I tried to talk to her soon after she came home. I thought if she knew I knew what happened then she could talk about it, but it made it worse...she became inconsolable thinking I knew she was...dirty."

Tjörvi blushed and looked down, those very same feelings- of feeling dirty- rushing over him. Bjartmar, however, pat his shoulder.

"I learnt that as much as I loved my sister I couldn't help her. So I had to sit there quietly, watching her suffer, pretending I didn't know anything. I even lied to Hyltir when he asked me if I knew what was wrong...but you..."

Tjörvi looked up, still blushing.
"You've been able to help her because she knows you understand. And I've been able to see my sister smiling and happy again for the first time in a long time. Thank you."

Tjörvi was on the verge of tears himself...
"I...I never had anyone I could open up to..." he said.
"I thought if my sister or Aunt knew...they'd know I was dirty too...Matthea knows though. And I know she understands."

"That's why I'm so happy she has someone like you. Neither of you are 'dirty,' man. But...you help each other. And I'm grateful, as her brother."

Bjartmar hugged Tjörvi gently in the warm darkness of the Coire evening. Tjörvi gently hugged back before they released. He still
kept his eyes down.

"I want you to know, your sister is very sweet. I enjoy being with her...and I want you to know I want to make her happy," he said sincerely, if a bit awkwardly.

"You do," Bjartmar said with a nod.
"I'm sorry man, I didn't mean to keep you, but I had to say this, so you knew how much you meant to her."

"It's ok," Tjörvi said.
"I appreciate it...but, what you know, please don't spread it around?"

"I haven't told anyone. And I won't."

"Thank you," Tjörvi said.
"I...I knew some people knew what happened in the camps. I just..."

"It's not your fault," Bjartmar said, patting his shoulder again.
"Any anyone in the community who knows, knows that. We aren't going to tell anyone. That's for you, for Matthea, and everyone else who went through that, to tell."

Tjörvi nodded.
"Thank you," he said softly.

"Have a good night, man. And good luck this weekend."

"Heh," Tjörvi chuckled.
"Thank you."

"Anytime," Bjartmar said as he turned around, walking back. Tjörvi watched for a moment before he turned himself, ready to head home.

He wasn't sure how to process everything quite yet, but he knew one thing- he made Matthea happy. That was enough to light up his heart. Because she made him happy too.

OOC Note: Written with @Kyle's approval

Prydania · Jun 12, 2021

WARNING
The following post contains themes of sexual abuse. Please do not read if you find such themes upsetting or offensive. Thank you.
-Pry

12 February 2021
8:04 pm
On a Friday
Coire, Saintonge

Matthea leaned against Tjörvi as they watched television. It was a sitcom. They both liked those shows. Nothing too terribly offensive, and little that would pick at either of their yet-to-fully-heal wounds.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Tjörvi asked, as he turned the tv volume down.

Matthea nodded softly.
"I want to talk about it with you," she said with a soft grin.

Tjörvi smiled himself, and held her gently as they relaxed. He had been scared to hold her, knowing what that felt like for people like them. And she was nervous about it for reasons Tjörvi suspected, but they had gotten to the point where they could hold each other.

"I'm all ears," Tjörvi said softly.

"I have been getting them since I got out of the camp," Mattthea said softly. Usually I would have to sit down, grab my head. I think it was made worse because I thought I looked like a freak..."

Tjörvi kisses her on the cheek.
"No, no, no," he said softly.
"Please don't think like that. You have to do what you have to do. You're not a freak."

"You're just saying that because it applies to you too," Matthea said back with a smile.

"Maybe," Tjörvi replied.
"But I knew my Auntie loves me and I would still be embarrassed when she found me having a panic attack. But people who love us, they understand."

Matthea nodded.
"But as bad as they were they weren't like what happened last night."

"You lost consciousness," Tjörvi said. Matthea never told him that. He just knew...because it had happened to him before.

Matthea nodded.
"I was alone in my room, and I was watching Interflix. I just...needed something new. All of these sitcoms just got to me. I needed something new...so I decided to watch a drama instead."

"Mmhm..." Tjörvi said as he held his girlfriend. They were boyfriend and girlfriend now. They'd mutually decided.

"And then..." Matthea began to breath heavily.

"It's ok, it's ok," Tjörvi said softly, holding her close.
"It's ok. You don't need to talk about it if you don't want to."

She whimpered but breathed deep, overcoming the wave of anxiety.
"No, it's ok..." she said softly.
"There was a rape in the show...and at first I tried to close my eyes and try to power through it. Then I tried to think of stuff, anything else. Santonian lessons, Hyltir's bad shower singing, anything. But..."

"You got up. You felt you needed to walk around."

"Yeah...this happened to you too, didn't it?"

Tjörvi nodded.
"At school, of all places. Thankfully everyone understood. A lot of people back home were affected by those camps in some way. They gave my Auntie the day off so she could take me home, after they found me passed out by my locker."

"You seem so...you don't seem scared to talk about it," Matthea said softly.

"That's because I have people in my life who helped me. I want to help you," Tjörvi replied.

Matthea hugged him tight.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"I love you."

"I love you too," Tjörvi whispered.

"I remember," Matthea continued, "getting out of bed. I just wanted to pace around my room...I felt like I had to, but my heart kept racing. And my knees felt like jelly. I didn't pass out at once. I collapsed to my knees and then fell down..."

"Did Hyltir or Bjartmar find you?" Tjörvi asked.

"No...I was only out for like two minutes," Matthea replied. "I came too completely disoriented but it wasn't long. But I felt so..."
She buried her face into his arm and began to cry softly.
"It felt like before...in the camps, after they were done. I felt weak and scared, and unsure of what just happened..." she said before crying softly again.

Tjörvi looked down for moment. He began to tear up too because he knew that feeling all too well. Trying to come to grips with what was done to you, after forcing yourself to detach from your body as much as possible as you were used...violated. And that disorientation after a panic attack was a lot like it.
He didn't let himself cry though. He had football, which had helped him cope. And now it was paying for his professional therapy. Matthea didn't have that. All she had was her shame, her shattered sense of self worth. Tjörvi was not used to being the comforting one, but he had to be, for her. He hugged her tight.

"I know," he said softly, kissing the top of her head.
"I know..." he repeated.
"You're safe now though. Your bro, your cousin, me...we won't let anything happen to you. I promise you." He squeezed her.

"Thank you," Matthea said softly, kissing him back, on the chin. She rested her head on his shoulder.
"You told me football helped you cope," she asked softly.

"Yeah," Tjörvi said with a nod.

"How did it help?" she asked.

Tjörvi smiled a bit and began to rub her arm as he held her.
"I had friends," he said. "I never told them what happened to me, but everyone was affected by the Syndies some way. So I didn't have to. Well all just helped each other have fun, and enjoy this sport we all loved. But it was more than that."

"What do you mean?" Matthea asked, just above a whisper.

"Football was something for my own mind to focus on. I could focus on drills, or imagining plays in my head. I could imagine scenarios with my teammates and what I would do in them. Sometimes I even thought about the jerseys! How I would redesign them."

Matthea giggled at that. Tjörvi chuckled and blushed.

"But it was something for my mind to focus on. It didn't have to drift back to that dark place all the time because there was something else I enjoyed thinking about."

"I wish I could have something like that," Matthea said, sighing.

"What do you mean?" Tjörvi asked. He was legitimately shocked.
"You do."

"What are you talking about?" Matthea replied.
"I'm so uncoordinated. I'd be a disaster at any sport."

"It doesn't have to be a sport," Tjörvi replied.
"You have your drawings. I've seen them. They're good, and you're getting better. Not bad for a self-taught immigrant girl," he smiled.

She blushed but nervously kissed his lips quickly.
"They're just stuff I do in my spare time."

"Sounds like a hobby to me," Tjörvi said, grinning, still feeling the sensation of where she kissed him.

"I donno..." Matthea sighed.

"No, I mean it," Tjörvi grinned.
"Look, I know your room at Hyltir's is small but it's just me here. This place is meant for a family, but it's just me. I have more than enough unused rooms. Maybe we could turn one into a studio for you."

"Studio," she said softly.
"You said it like I'm going to be a professional."

"Maybe you will be," Tjörvi grinned.
"But it doesn't have to be. It can just be your space. To draw and paint, whenever you want, whatever you want. It'll be your hobby, to focus on."

"Will you tell me they're all great even if they're bad?" Matthea asked with a meek smile.

"Unconditionally," Tjörvi replied.

"Awww," Matthea said softly, kissing him again. This time a bit longer.

"I hope..." Tjörvi said softly, "that it's different. With me...I mean..."

Matthea nodded, smiling.
"With you, it's wonderful," she whispered. She ran her hand through his hair, kissing him again, as he kissed her back...

Prydania · Jan 5, 2022

WARNING
The following post contains themes of sexual abuse. Please do not read if you find such themes upsetting or offensive. Thank you.
-Pry

13 February 2021
11:01 pm
On a Saturday
Coire, Saintonge

Matthea was ecstatic. Tjörvi and Hyltir's team, AJSTC, had won! They'd won a lot this year actually, but this win was special! AJSTC had beaten Saintes-Saints-Brice FC, the defending champions. It not only helped put distance between AJSTC and SSBFC atop the standings...but Matthea's guys scored!

Her cousin Hyltir had scored AJSTC's fourth goal but her boyfriend Tjörvi...he'd scored the third. He'd scored the game winning goal!

Matthea was not usually a sports fan, but seeing her cousin and boyfriend do well made her light up.
She had swung by Hyltir's place first, after the game. But now she was here at Tjörvi's.

"Hey love!" she said as she entered, looking around. Tjörvi had told her to meet him at his place. And after the game she'd just seen she couldn't wait to see him.

"Matthea!" Tjörvi called out. He leaned back over the back of his couch, head sideways as he saw her in the hallway.
His heart leapt. He was still buzzing from the game but seeing the girl he loved.... he hopped up to his feet and excitedly ran to Matthea, wrapping his arms around her.
"Guðminngóður* I looooovvve yooooouu," he said goofily as he held her.

"Mmmm," Matthea hugged him back smiling. She wanted to melt into him. He always felt so warm and... she sniffed. Tjörvi smelled of something. And it wasn't sweat from the game. His hair was damp, indicating he'd showered since getting home. No...he smelt like...beer. The smell...that smell of beer on a person's breath...her heart began to race but she breathed deep. It was Tjörvi. She'd be ok...still she fidgeted in his grasp. She would normally have rested her head on his shoulder but that just got her closer to the smell.

"Hey um...is everything ok?" Tjörvi asked. He wasn't so drunk that his words were slurring, but he still sounded tipsy.

"Já, já," Matthea said smiling, meekly.
"Congratulations," she added.
"You won the game! I'm so proud!"

Tjörvi grinned and kissed her softly. Matthea closed her eyes and kissed back...but she tasted it too. The beer and her head leapt into her throat. And this time the taste as well as the smell...she froze. Her heart was racing a mile a minute.

"Are you sure...you're ok?"

Matthea smiled, nodding.
"Já I'm fine, I'm fine..." she said pushing the memories from that dark place away. This was Tjörvi...

"Come on," Tjörvi said, holding her hand as he led her to the couch.
"Take a seat, I'll get dinner."

"Tjörvi," Matthea said with a grin. She was going to say something about him not needing to make dinner and then...she wasn't in her boyfriend's house. She was in that dark, cold place. She felt the coarseness of the oversized denim uniform on her chilly skin...trembling at the sight of the People's Militia guard tugging her by the hand.

The image was just there for a split second in her mind but it felt so real.

"You're tremblin'..." Tjörvi said, worry breaking through his tipsy cadence.

"It's ok," Matthea said putting on a smile. It was a smile Tjörvi knew well. He put it on all the time...when he tried to convince people he was ok when he wasn't. But in his slightly inebriated state he felt just comfortable enough to trust his girlfriend that she was ok.

"You just sit down...I've got dinner cookin'" he said with a nervous smile of his own. He was worried but...he didn't know what could be upsetting Matthea. He hoped dinner would help calm her though.

"It's not gourmet or anything," he said as he walked back into his kitchen.
"Just frozen stuff I could bake in the oven from the butcher's but it should be good!" he said as he checked in what he had been preparing.

Matthea nodded and sat on the couch, her knees feeling like jelly as she felt a panic attack coming on.
"No no no," she thought.
"He deserves more than that, he doesn't deserve to have me thinking of...them..."

She breathed deep, ignoring the empty beer bottles on the coffee table. Deep breaths. Deep. Focus on Tjövi. How much she loved him... try to not think of these thoughts. But they just...felt burned into her brain...

Tjòrvi observed the frozen potstickers and chicken balls and onion strips. They were still a way's off from being done.
He sipped some more beer from the bottle by the oven, not realizing this was the first time he'd ever drank alcohol with Matthea and smiled.
She was upset about something. And in his slightly inebriated state he had a fun idea...

His kitchen had two entrances. One from the hall that led to the front door and the other to the living room. He slipped out of the former, and snuck around where Matthea was on the couch.
He leaned over her and kissed....

She was in the middle of breathing exercises, trying to get her heart rate down and her anxiety to dissipate.
"It's just a smell, it's just a smell, it's just a smell it's just a smell itsjustasmell..." she told herself when suddenly someone was kissing her from behind! That sudden, uninvited touch...that smell of beer...she was back in that Syndicalist camp. Naked, on a dirty mattress...a drunken People's Militia guard behind her...

"NO! NO! NOOO!" she called out, pushing Tjörvi away, and trying to run. Only her knees were like jelly. She collapsed with a thud and cried out...crawling and curling, crying as she gripped herself...

"Matthea!" Tjörvi called out, rushing to her at first before she yelled "NO! PLEASE NO..."

"Matthea what's..."

"I'll obey the Party..." she whimpered as her head hung... and that...stopped Tjörvi in his tracks.

"I'll obey the Party..."
It echoed in his mind. It was something he'd said. Pleaded. Cried and pleaded on the off chance it would convince the guards not to rape him...

He stood there...looking confused and hurt...Matthea had gone through what he did. Why was she...

"Matthea..." he said softly as he stood in place...
"Matthea...what's wrong?" he asked as his voice croaked. He didn't want to see her upset. And the idea he was the cause made him tremble.

Matthea looked up, her eyes blurry. The debilitating feeling in her gut, down her spine, and in her knees began to ease. She cried softly as she blushed. She was beginning to realize she'd had a panic attack in front of him.

"Tjörvi I'm so sorry..." she cried before pulling her knees to her chest and burying her face in them. She was now overwhelmed by another feeling, that she'd let him down by ruining the evening by having a panic attack.

Tjörvi stood there, thinking. He focused, trying to overcome the slight tipsy feeling he still felt.
He was confused...and worried. He trembled slightly.

"What's wrong...Matthea what's wrong? I love you..."

Matthea looked up. And through her tears she could see Tjörvi was on the verge of tears himself. They were alike...suffered the same traumas, were both soft spoken...Tjörvi was further along in coping with it all...so despite being soft spoken, he took it on himself to the forward one in the relationship...he knew that. Matthea knew it. And she could see that all of this...was testing him too.

"I'm so sorry..." she whimpered.
"I just...I had a panic attack..."

Tjörvi nodded...he understood that. He understood and he felt some relief that he hadn't done something wrong. He could suffer from them too, and he knew how to handle them.

"It's ok..." he said with a smile.
"Please don't apologize," he added as he went and dropped to his knees. He went to hug her when she pulled back. She didn't mean to, it was just instinctive...instinctive to smelling beer on someone's breath.

Tjörvi blushed.
"What's wrong? What did I do?" he asked meekly.

"Your...your...breath..." she said trembling.
"It's...you're drunk. I...the beer it..."

Tjörvi fell back on his ass and breathed slowly. His breath. He tasted the stale taste of beer on his tongue. And what she'd said about the Party...obeying the Party...

He began to feel a pit open up in his stomach. How he's feel alone and violated. As grown men...in those brown uniforms...and the smell of whisky and beer on their breath...

He trembled. Realizing what he'd done. He trembled and pulled his own knees to his chest.
"Matthea...no no no...oh my God please...I'm sorry," he said. His voice was trembling. Shaking. As unstable as it could be while still being understandable.
"I...I don't...I...please I...didn't..."

He looked up at her. And she saw his face full of utter shame and regret...And he felt it. He'd...he'd reminded the woman he loved of the monsters who'd hurt them both. No... no. He shook his head.
"Please..." he said, as he trembled. He couldn't...no. He couldn't. He just couldn't live with himself.
"Please forgive me..." he said barely above a whisper.

Matthea slowly breathed deep, and crawled to him, gently wrapping her arms around him.
"I love you," she whispered.
"I love you...don't feel bad. Not on my account...I'm sorry I ruined your special night," she said softly. She felt her heart lodged into her throat. Tjörvi worked hard to be where he was, and his team had won a huge victory. And her fucking problems ruined what should have been a great night.

Tjörvi though...he shook his head as Matthea spoke. He knew her. He could hear the guilt in her voice and he wouldn't let her beat herself up over this. He reached for her hand and held it gently, pulling it to his lips as he kissed. Then he stood up, and walked into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" Matthea asked. Tjörvi though, he just turned off the oven and removed the burnt food. He then grabbed the beer bottle by the oven and emptied it down the sink. And then he opened his fridge taking two six packs of beer out. He popped each bottle open and poured each one down the sink.

Matthea watched, feeling her her heart race.
"You don't need..." but she stopped, seeing the focus on Tjörvi's face.

Finally, with the beer done, he pulled out two bottles of wine from the fridge. One red and one white. They were given to him by his brother-in-law Léo when he moved in. He opened both, dumping them down the sink as well.

Matthea pulled herself up to the couch and Tjörvi came and sat on the opposite side.

"I'm so sorry..." he said. Matthea went to respond but he just kept talking.
"I'm so sorry I reminded you of those..." he began to cry as his own dark memories roared back.
He looked at her, with tear-filled red eyes.
"I love you so much...and I will never let you down again."

Matthea moved closer to him and gently wrapped her arms around him as he spoke.
"You deserve better than to have me associate you with those monsters."

Tjörvi placed his hand over Matthea's.
"I will always be here for you," he said softly.
"And I will never drink again."

Matthea looked at him.
"You don't need to do that. Please don't stop doing something because..."

"No," Tjörvi said softly.
"I love you. And I won't do anything that hurts you. Nothing...I mean it. Never another drop of alcohol." He trembled a bit.
"I'm so sorry..."

"I'm sorry too..." Matthea whispered. Tjörvi didn't say anything in response. He just grabbed her. And pulled her close. They held each other. Until they each drifted into sleep.

*Guðminngóður- Ohmygod

OOC Note: Thank you to @Kyle for the idea for this post.

Prydania · Jan 13, 2022

WARNING
The following post contains themes of sexual abuse. Please do not read if you find such themes upsetting or offensive. Thank you.
-Pry

22 February 2021
12:34 pm
On a Monday
Coire, Saintonge

"Are you sure about this?" Matthea asked as she curled up on the couch and ate a cracker.

"I think so," Tjörvi said as he brought the cheese plate out.
"Santonians like their cheeses don't they?" he added with a smile.

"I remember...well...I don't remember the name. But I remember there was a kind of cheese the Bayardi made," Matthea said, leaning forward to examine the different kinds of cheeses, hoping one might be similar to that Bayardi cheese she liked when she was little.

"I think I remember that?" Tjörvi said as he sat down next to her and threw his arms around her.
"I love you," he said with a peaceful smile.

"Tjörvi!" she giggled.
"I'm trying to eat," she said smiling ear to ear as she pried an arm free to slip some cheese onto a cracker.

Tjörvi just held her feeling at peace for a few moments. No practice today. Nothing but them. They could relax and enjoy each other's company. Matthea munched on the cheese and cracker combination she'd tried and shrugged.

"It's ok," she said, bringing a hand around to stroke Tjörvi's head.
"You're really sure it's a good idea?"

"My therapist does," he replied softly.
"And she's been so helpful so far."

Tjörvi sat up looking at the cheese plate. It was his idea to try a proper Santonian cheese plate but he wasn't hungry. He was nervous.

"Will you tell Léo?" Matthea asked softly.

"I..." Tjörvi replied before pausing. Then he nodded.
"He's my bro. And he loves my sister. He's my family."

"You aren't scared?" Matthea asked.

"I am, but...I told my team. Sort of..." he smiled.
"Truth was they guessed it."

"Guessed it?" Matthea asked curiously.

"Between my embarrassment and testimonials they saw about camp inmates they guessed what happened to me."
He blushed deep looking for a moment before he sighed.
"And they were so understanding...if they know my family should know. But Auntie might have figured it out already..."

"I think Bjartmar knows, like that..." Matthea nodded.
"He stayed out of the camps. But probably heard things."

Tjörvi kept quiet. Bjartmar, her brother, had confided in him that he knew about what went on in the camps. But it wasn't Tjörvi's place to tell Matthea that.

"After last week I just...I think my therapist is right," Tjörvi said with a nervous smile.
"I'll tell Auntie, I'll tell Ásthi and Léo. It'll be a relief to confide in them. And they deserve to know."

"Please be strong," Matthea said. It was her turn to hug him now.
"And remember they love you."

Tjörvi nodded, re-assuring himself, but a thought crept into Matthea's head. Tjörvi's family loved him. So it would be ok.
And her family loved her too.

"I'm going to tell my family too," she said.

Tjörvi re-adjusted himself as he sat.
"Are you sure?" he asked softly.

"Já," Matthea nodded.
"Because of the same reasons. And because I don't want you to be alone."

"Awww," Tjörvi cooed with a smile. He kissed her cheek before straightening up and putting a crumbling blue-tinted cheese onto a cracker.
"Only do it if you're sure though, sure you're ready..."

"Are you?" she asked. Tjörvi bit into the cheese and cracker and nodded.

"Já," he said as he swallowed.
"Já I am."

"Then so am I," Matthea said with a nod. Tjörvi smiled at her, swallowing the last of the cheese and cracker combo he'd tried, and kissed her lips. Matthea kissed back, and then raised an eyebrow.

"Your lips taste like grapes."

"I think that's what they worked into the cheese," Tjörvi chuckled.

23 February 2021
7:09 pm
On a Tuesday
Coire, Saintonge

"Tjörvi!" Anselma said as she hugged her nephew.

"Auntie," Tjörvi smiled as he swayed while hugging her. It was so good to have her next door.
"How are you settling in?"

"Oh you know, managing. I'm far too old to be making a movie like this," she laughed as she hugged her nephew.
"But it's so good to see you again."

Tjörvi hugged her tight. His aunt was the closest thing he had to a parent, and she'd always been there for him. He whimpered softly before breaking the hug.
"I hope the kids haven't run you too ragged?" he asked.

"Oh Mariette and I get along just fine, don't we?" she asked as the energetic six year old ran up.

"Auntie, Tjörvi's here!"

Tjörvi grinned. His niece was obsessed with football and was ecstatic that she had a famous football player as an uncle.

"Já he is," Anselma said, "and let's give him some space, ok?"

"Ok Auntie," Mariette replied as she looked up.
"Can you come to the park and play later?" she asked her uncle, trying to calm herself down.

"I promise I will," he said, kneeling down to face her.
"But I need to talk to Auntie, and your mamma and pappa about something grown up, ok?"

Mariette looked at him, not fully comprehending what her uncle was saying, but knowing enough that she should nod. Tjörvi hugged her. He was just a year older than she was when he watched his parents die in the snow and was taken away to that awful place. He hugged her nice and tight, thankful to God that she was blissfully ignorant of the "grown up" stuff he had to talk to her parents and great aunt about.

"I promise we'll play as soon as we're done, ok? But you have to promise to look after your brother upstairs while we talk. It's grown ups only."

Ásthildur walked down stairs at that moment, looking slightly dishevelled as she hugged her brother.
"Christian is finally asleep," she said, referring to her one year old.
"So you go upstairs, don't wake up your brother, ok sweetie?"

"Yes Mamma," the little girl said as she began to hum and sing a playground song as she hopped up stairs.

"So," Léopold said as he emerged from the kitchen with two glasses of wine.
"What's going on?" he asked as he handed one to Tjörvi, but he just politely shook his head.

"Thanks Léo, but I'm, um, not thirsty." He didn't feel like going into his newfound issues with alcohol. Léo took it well.

"Eh, that's ok. Someone will drink it," he said, offering it to his wife. Ásthildur chuckled.

"I need it, Christian...that boy doesn't like bedtime."

The four of them made their way to the living room. Tjörvi sat down on the aydin of one of the chairs, bent at the waist as he collected himself. His nerves had gone from nothing to as tense as possible just now...

"Is everything ok?" Anselma asked. It had been Tjörvi who had asked to speak to everyone after dinner.

"Já...yes," he said softly, switching from Prydanian to Santonian.
"Everything is fine," he said reassuringly.

"You three have been some of the most important people in my life," he said as he steeled himself. He had an idea of what he wanted to say and he focused on that, not letting emotion overwhelm him.
"I love all of you, with all of my heart, and I owe it to each and every one of you to open up about my...past. What I...lived through."

Anselma gulped. She knew what her nephew had lived through. Seven years ago, when she found him at that FRE office in Markarfljot, told by the FRE officer that he'd been sexually abused.
She'd never spoken of it with him. She didn't need to, because when she saw her then-twelve year old nephew she saw a broken boy who just needed someone to love him. Protect him. And that's what she did. She never asked, never made him recollect from those dark days.

"I love you all," Tjörvi said, "and I want to trust you with this."

Ásthildur looked at her husband, and then to her brother. She, like her aunt, had never asked. And unlike her aunt she never knew. She knew that the night the People's Militia came for them her parents were killed. And then she and her brother got separated. She came to Saintonge as a refugee not knowing if her brother was even alive. And then...
"You don't have..." she began to say softly, only for Tjörvi to shake his head.

"You never asked. I'm so grateful for that," Tjörvi said to his sister and he breathed deep.
"But I'm ready."

Léo just took his wife's hand and held it. She'd confided in him, years ago, about how terrified she was that Tjörvi might be dead.

"Ásthi," Tjörvi, said softly.
"The night we got separated in Markarfljot's market, I got picked up by the People's Militia."

Ásthi nodded but she found herself having to hold back too. It wasn't just the night she lost her brother. It was the night she lost her parents. They had lost their parents.

"The People's Militia? Oh the Syndicalists, yeah," Léo said.

"They were animals," Anselma said in quiet, accented Santonian. Tjörvi nodded.
"They took me to a processing centre. They said since my parents had been counterrevolutionaries I had to be re-educated...I told them I missed mamma and pabbi. And I got beaten on the spot for it." He closed his eyes, though he was doing a good enough job finding his centre.
"I won't tell you all what happened every step of the way, but hey made us work, they lectured us. They drilled it into our heads that the Syndicalist Party was..."

He shook his head.

"They made me," he said as he looked down.
"I had to praise the people who killed mamma and pabbi Ásthi..." he began to cry.

"No no no," Ásthildur said softly as she left her husband's side to hug her brother.
"Please don't feel that way...please. Mamma and Pabbi love you, in heaven. You know that..."

Tjörvi nodded, sniffling. As he held his sister.
"We were beaten and worked hard," he added through sniffles and deep breathing.
"But..." he felt his jaw want to close up, but he forced himself to keep talking.
"Each night the People's Militia guards, drunk, would come through our bunks...they'd choose us..."

"Jésus Christ," Léo muttered. He knew where this was going. So did Anselma, who joined her niece in embracing Tjörvi.

"They chose some of us every night...no matter how much we begged...they'd take us...." he gasped and began to cry as he was held by his sister and aunt.
"I was...I was just a kid..." he began to whimper.
"I was just a kid and...." he shook his head.
"They raped me. For five years. For five years..."

He finally let the last bits of himself holding back go, and cried in his loved ones' arms. He didn't tell them anything. How when he turned 11 he was "traded" to another guard who "liked 'em older," or how close he'd come to killing himself. He didn't share that, how at a certain point he would have taken his own life if he could because even at a young age he couldn't deal with the humiliation. The feelings of being utterly violated and worthless.

"I didn't know..." he cried softly.
"I didn't know where anyone..." he was trying to speak, but the crying came too hard.

"I'm here, sálitli*. I'm here," Anselma said, as she held her nephew. It was the same thing that she said to him seven years ago when they returned him to her, after his camp had been liberated.
"I'm here, and no one will ever hurt you again."

It seemed to work, calming Tjörvi. He breathed deep and whimpered as he leaned against his aunt. Léo sat his glass of wine down and moved to the edge of his seat on the couch.

"I remember, when your sister spoke of you. She would say how full of life you were. She missed you so much...but...I see what she was talking about. You're one of the bravest people I've ever met."

Tjörvi looked at his brother-in-law through teary eyes.
"You've taken such good care of my sister...you're a great father to her children...I didn't want to burden you..."

"It's not a burden. If you need anything, let me know. You're my bro," he said with a grin.

Ásthildur though, had let go.
"Litli bróðir," she said softly.
"I had no idea..."

Tjörvi just blushed.

"I didn't..."
"If I had just held onto you tighter..." she began, but Tjörvi shook his head.

"It's not your fault for not holding onto my hand tighter," Tjörvi said.
"And it's not my fault for being 'weak.' It's theirs. For forcing us to run into the snow together in the first place. The people who killed mamma and pabbi, and took me are to blame. Not you."

"If I had known..."

But Tjörvi broke away from his aunt's embrace to hug his sister's.
"The chance I might see you again is why I never killed myself in that camp Ásthi. Thank you..."

Anselma rose to her feet and kissed her niece and nephew on the heads as they embraced.
"Léopold," she said, her accent thick but understandable.
"Would you help me in the kitchen? I think some hot chocolate is in order."

Léo nodded, smiling. Anselma didn't need his help with chocolate. But his wife could use a moment with her brother. He just kissed her atop the head and patted Tjörvi's shoulder, before joining her in the kitchen. As Tjörvi squeezed his sister tight. Not wanting to let go a second time.

23 February 2021
7:12 pm
On a Tuesday
Coire, Saintonge

Bjartmar's hand gripped the couch arm as he waited for his sister to tell her story. He quickly looked across the room. Matthea, his cousins Hyltir and his brother and sister, his grandparents, and his aunt and uncle.

He was nervous, sad, angry...because he knew what his sister had been through. He knew because he heard rumours. He knew because he heard from drunken People's Militia in town, and he to keep calm knowing that the girl they bragged about raping that night might have been his sister. He never told Matthea that he knew what she went through. He just tried to be there for her, like a good brother would, but she'd been closed off. Meeting Hyltir's friend, who went through much of the same, had helped her though.

"Bjartmar, Hyltir, Hrolleifur Hvönn,” she said as she turned to her brothers and cousins, “grandmamma, grandpabbi, frænku*, frændi*,” she added softly.
“I want to thank you all for your patience with me,” she began. She felt her nerves down to her toes and fingers tingle.
“I know I’ve not been the easiest to…um…deal with.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” her aunt, Hyltir’s mother, replied.

There was a pause, an uncomfortable one. Bjartmar looked at his aunt, and then his sister. He both wanted to say something also…keep quiet. He wanted to be there for his sister, but this wasn’t his time, or his story, to share.

“You’ve been through a lot,” her aunt continued. “And you know we’re here for you.”

Matthea looked down for a moment. It looked like she was sad or scared. In reality she was just gathering her strength. Tjörvi was doing it. She would do it, so they’d be together.

“It’s ok, Matthea.” She looked up. I was her grandmamma. She’d only told her grandmamma and grandpabbi what happened.

“I know,” she said softly. She looked at Hyltir. He had asked her what happened when she first came to Saintonge. She hadn’t told him. Maybe that’s why she looked at him?

“I don’t know what you know about the Syndicalist camps back home,” she said to her Santonian relatives. That alone was enough to make everyone tense. Everyone knew enough. It was her uncle, Hyltir’s father, who spoke up.

“Barbaric places,” he said. He tried not to come off as too upset. He could tell where this was going.

“Well I…was in one,” she said. It felt good, to say it. To get it out. But the relief…was double edged. The rush of emotion was so strong…she began to sob softly.
“I was…I….” she began to say as she cried. She had trouble finishing her thoughts.

Hyltir looked at his brother and sister and then at his crying cousin. He, like his father, knew about the Syndicalist camps in Prydania. Everyone knew. The images of liberated survivors and their testimonials were broadcast all over the Goyanean GRK, Silean LodeStar News, and even Santonian STV. His cousin…was there.

“Fucking rapists,” he said, out loud. He wasn’t sure if he actually said it at first, or if he just screamed it in his mind. But the way everyone looked at him, the way Matthea looked at him through tear soaked blue eyes, made it clear.

“Hyltir!”

He expected it to be from his father but it wasn’t. It was his other cousin, Bjartmar, who looked at him sternly. Bjartmar had reached for his sister’s knee to comfort her. Hyltir was shocked. Bjartmar was usually easygoing. He’d never heard him raise his voice. But he looked angry now. Hyltir looked at his father…and though the stern tone had not come from him, his father gave him a look that said he agreed with his nephew. And that…made sense. Bjartmar had a far more impactful history with this.

“I’m…sorry,” he said as Bjartmar hugged his sister. Matthea just curled up in her brother’s gasp. They had their grandparents. They had their cousins, and their aunt and uncle. But their parents were gone. They were the only direct relations each other had.

Bjartmar held his sister…he wanted to say he was sorry. Sorry that he was helpless to watch that camp from afar as she suffered inside. Sorry that he couldn’t do anything. He had his chances to join the FRE but he never took it. With Matthea in that place…his grandparents needed him. But now…now he was wondering. If he had joined the FRE, would he have done something proactive to help his sister and others like her? He wanted to apologize for leaving her, even if he knew it wasn’t his fault, but…he said none of this. He just held her. Held her head against his shoulder. And she knew.

“Thank you, stóri bróðir*,” she said softly.

“I’m sorry,” Hyltir said, sheepishly. Matthea looked at him through blurry eyes and shook her head against her brother’s shoulder.

“Why?” she asked in a horse voice.

“For…my outburst. You didn’t need to hear that,” he said softly.

Bjartmar wanted to say that he just…didn’t get it. That this may have been a far away war on tv for him, but it was their lives. But he didn’t. This wasn’t the time for him to get angry at his own cousin over his good intentions. It was Matthea’s time. And she spoke softly.

“You were mad, because you care about me, cousin,” she said. She was still resting her head on her brother’s shoulder. His grip was almost like a shield for her.

“Please don’t be sorry.”

Hyltir nodded. He looked at his siblings. He was the oldest. He’d take the lead. He got up to where Bjartmar was holding Matthea and sat down next to him. Bjartmar let her go as she sat up between them, red eyed and crying. She leaned forward and looked at her cousin.

“Thank you, for feeling angry at what happened to me,” she said meekly.
“I wasn’t able to show the anger I felt the whole time I was there.”

“I never thought someone in my family…” he said, referring to the camps, before he stopped. He said something else instead.
“I’m so thankful to God that you had Bjartmar and grandmamma and grandpabbi to be there for you.” He looked at Bjartmar with a look that was half affirming, half apologetic. Bjartmar smiled softly and looked down for a moment.

“And you have us,” Hyltir’s father said.
“Your whole family. We’re here to help you. That’s what family does.”

Matthea looked at her uncle and smiled softly. Her big brother to one side. Her big cousin to her other side. And she felt love. Surrounded by love. And she knew that Tjörvi…the love of her life…was bearing the same wounds. And they’d each see each other again, liberated from their burdens.

With only their love remaining.

*sálitli- little one
*litli bróðir- little brother
*frænku- aunt
*frændi- uncle
*stóri bróðir- big brother

OOC Note: Thanks to @Kyle for some help on breaking through some writer's block

Go West, Young Man (Closed)

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

Það er alltaf sólríkt í Býkonsviði

Prydania

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