So anon will probably write a fanfiction about this in some time it the future, but would like to see someone fill it out anyways. Basically, what anon would like is either: A)An AU where Norway is a human in this time period (preferably fem) and getting caught/killed for preforming witchcraft. or B) Norway as a nation and how this affects him more than it does Finland due to having magical connections, and how the Nordics help him cope during it. Anon isn't too picky when it comes to parings, and it could be hurt/comfort, angsty, or fluff, whatever you wish to do is fine. If you need any clarification or need to ask any questions, please feel free to~
Lukas wakes to the roar of a blood-frenzied crowd, maddened by the scent of iron soaking the air, the crackle of the blazing bonfire consuming bundles of dry wood.
"Kill the witch!" Someone screeches from far away, and Lukas tries to raise his head only to have it shoved toward the cold-packed dirt. He takes a deep breath, and the smell of his land lingers in his nostrils.
It's poor comfort, but Lukas needs it desperately at this time.
He's just managed to slump against the ground when he's dragged roughly to his feet. Legs buckling under his own weight, his tired body is forced to hold itself up. Lukas cracks open one swollen eye to catch blurred glimpses of the angry mob in front of him. His people.
Trying valiantly to support himself, Lukas blinks blearily before giving in to his body's urges and collapses toward the ground again. He used to be strong, used to be powerful and feared, but now with the rage of his people turned against him, Lukas is weak.
A hairy hand grabs the back of his collar and hauls him up again. Lukas lets himself dangle limply from the man's powerful hold, a puppet whose strings have been cut. He doesn't have the strength to keep his eyes open, not with blood dripping from a nasty cut in his forehead, his stomach too empty to growl, weakened from illness and plague. Lukas wonders if any of his brothers are in the audience, if they are seeing the price he has to pay for being himself.
Bitter laughter wells up in his throat, and Lukas has to chuckle aloud at the irony. Magic runs through his veins; his land stinks of it. It reeks from every surface, and the air is always thick with copious amounts of what they are now calling the Devil's work.
Lukas's deranged laughter is silenced by a strong blow to the back of his head. He rocks forward from the force of the hit and nearly bits his own tongue off. Not that it matters because everything will be ashes in a few minutes.
"Brothers!"
Ah, the execution has begun, Lukas notes grimly. His pale, pale hair is hanging in front of his eyes, and he can't see anything anymore. Lukas thinks that he sees Tino's horrified face, Berwald holding back an enraged Matthias, little Emil clutching his doll tightly... but they're all hallucinations, visions dreamt up by an exhausted mind and weary soul. There will be no comfort in this night, not when the red sparks are leaping from their father flame in a furious attempt to reach the stars.
"- practicing his vile deeds within the walls of our own village! With the blood of our animals spread across the floor, this thing was ready to contact the Devil himself!"
There is an outraged cry from the crowd. Lukas notices the sharp sting attacking his heart and can hardly bring himself to care. It hurts to hear his beloved language cursing him like this, but, Lukas reminds himself, they are mere humans frightened by things beyond their understanding.
"- we caught him, brothers! We stopped him and captured him to bring him before you for judgement!"
Really, it was all his fault. He was too careless, too confident and prideful. He had ignored all of Tino's worries, assured that his people would never harm him.
"And now, by the cleansing flame, let him be judged!"
Clearly, he was wrong.
The heat is drawing nearer now, and Lukas's pale Northern skin is flushing a bright angry red. There are men taking his arms and binding them with lengths of rope that Lukas remembers helping coil, lashing them to sails and setting ships free to the open waters.
Ah, he loves his land and his people, even if they do not love him.
"Burn the cursed witch!"
Lukas closes his eyes as he is tossed into the hungry flames. They lick along his body and consume each shred of tattered cloth that hangs off his thin body. Long tongues caress each curve of his body, and it's almost gently, the way they engulf him. Lukas merely waits with bated breath and steady eyes for the pain to start.
It starts quickly and ends quickly. Lukas inhales a lungful of smoke and coughs harshly, then screams. Then screams again. And again, and again, and again.
Because, oh, the pain is blinding now, and he's thrashing about, trying to escape from the hurt everywhere, and, oh, spirits, will no one release him from this torture? The fire scars every inch of him. It leaves no trace but a blackened trail of ash that sears itself into the very land.
Far away, the waves are crashing, the cliffs are trembling, and the sky rumbles with anger, but Lukas cannot comprehend any of this. His legs are gone now; they have crumbled from beneath him into piles of gray ash that fail to support him.
Lukas falls face-forward into the fire and cries with relief because the darkness is approaching quickly, it's rushing toward him with its hungry jaws wide open, begging for him to embrace it -
Lukas leaps.
Just as the inky ebony mass is reaching up, stretching black arms to wrap itself around him, Lukas is vaguely aware of screaming. It is not his own, for though his voice is not low in timbre, it is not high either. This anguished noise is the sound of a deep and manly voice straining to higher octaves not meant to be. In fact, it sounds like the voice is calling -
Norway jerks awake with hands flailing, gripping crazily at the sweat-stained sheets around him. He lets go immediately and starts to grip himself wildly, checking for centuries-old burns, scars from the trials he had to endure at the hands of his people.
And then Denmark is in front of him. His strong, steady hands are resting on Norway's shoulders, the callouses rubbing soothingly over soft cloth. Norway relaxes marginally because there is no smoke, there is no ash, and there is no fire. He slumps against the headrest, pillows cushioning his back, and passes a hand over bloodshot eyes.
A moment passes, and Norway peers through his long fingers to see Denmark staring at him, worried expression plastered firmly onto his stupid face, the fool.
"What are you looking at?" It comes out harsher than Norway intended, but he brushes the twinge of guilt aside easily. Denmark is still staring at him like he's managed to steal his battle-axe and toss it to the bottom of the ocean.
"... are you okay now, Norge?" The question is soft and hesitant, nothing at all like the loud and exuberant nation normally is.
Norway quirks an elegant eyebrow at the blond and scoffs beneath his breath. "Of course I am, idiot. Don't overreact."
Denmark is silent for a moment, and Norway's eyelids are drooping by the time he speaks up again.
"You were dreaming of the trials, weren't you?"
Norway stiffens. There is a reason nations hate talking about their dreams, hate what ghosts of the past are brave enough to haunt them in their sleep. It is because, for nations, all dreams hold fragments of the truth.
The truth is hardly ever pleasant for nations. Norway's dreams certainly aren't filled with sunshine and daisies. More often then not, they are filled with blood and screams.
He moves his hand to cover his eyes once again and lets out a dream-laden sigh. For Denmark, that is more than enough confirmation for him to scoot under the sheets next to Norway, wrapping his arm around Norway's slender frame.
Norway had not even realized he was trembling until he is resting in Denmark's steady hold. He exhales a shaky proclamation of fear that Denmark can never hear but always tell.
The taller nations presses a gently kiss to the side of Norway's head and tightens his grip fractionally.
"It's okay, Norge. It's over," he murmurs. Norway doesn't bother to correct him, doesn't bother to call out the elephant in the room, the one that both are fully aware of.
It's never okay for things like them, beings that are more than man. Nations will never rest, not even in times of peace and prosperity. They are cursed entities, there from the beginning of time and doomed to last until the end of it. It is worse for older nations like himself and Denmark because the path they walk is marked by the bloody footprints they leave behind, the tracks of a battle-axe dragged against the ground.
Things will never be okay, but Denmark's warm breath is resting at the top of his head, Denmark's strong arms are around him, and for a moment, it's more than enough.
-------
Sorry if it's not what anon wanted, but I tried my best. Hope you enjoyed it. Cheers~
I have no professional recording devices and a horrifying accent so it is condemned to stay buried within my computer for the centuries to come, though xD
Anyway, this was really, really good. My favourite part was There is a reason nations hate talking about their dreams, hate what ghosts of the past are brave enough to haunt them in their sleep. It is because, for nations, all dreams hold fragments of the truth. It was Insta-headcanoned. Ca-chaw.
I am very interested in you writing more stuff. Keep up the good work, authornon, this was awesome!
Late OP is late, gomen unu This was a lovely fill, Anon!Author <3 Its definitely what I was looking for, and the mix of angst and fluff was just right. I love how you characterized them, and just everything about this fill was lovely. Takk for the lovely read~ <3333
The words rings through Iceland’s head like a sirens call.
“Don’t look.” Denmark had said it as an order before he ran.
Iceland closed his eyes and did as told. He could hear Denmark yell at someone. He heard others shout back. Angry. They’re all angry. And scared.
Everyone is scared. Denmark is scared. Iceland is scared.
So Iceland doesn’t look. He doesn’t open his eyes until he hears a far too familiar scream.
Norway.
Norway who had helped so many people. Norway who walked with fairies and spoke languages long forgotten by them all.
Everything is wrong with this. Iceland quivers and cries because there’s nothing else he can do.
Norway is tied to the stake.
“Witchcraft!” the people yell. Their voices are filled with anger and glee.
Iceland can’t tear his eyes away.
“Don’t look!” Denmark shouts again, running to his side and trying to shield the horror from his eyes.
But Iceland can’t listen to this order this time. He can’t look away as the torch falls to the pyre. Nor can he turn around as the fire spreads upwards; flames licking at Norway’s legs.
Norway’s screams alone could wake the dead – and somehow Iceland is certain that’s what happens – because something rumbles deep below their feet.
A nation can not die. A nation can not die. Denmark mutters those words again and again until Iceland isn’t sure he’s thinking it himself or just hearing it.
A nation can not die.
No, Iceland thinks, but he can hurt.
He feels the warmth of the fire on his skin, see his brother engulfed in flames till all he can see trough the fire and smoke is a blurred outline of the stake. Yet it’s not the screaming that gets to him the most. It’s the smell.
The smell of burning flesh and hay. The awful scent of wood and charred blood.
A nation can not die.
What a lie.
Iceland holds onto Denmark’s jacket with all his might, wishing, praying, hoping that those words won’t be a lie. Wishing the very magic that got Norway onto the pyre will get him off it.
It doesn’t.
The fire rages on till there’s nothing but ash left.
The people cheer. They laugh. They celebrate.
Iceland isn’t sure who’s holding who back any more.
He’s too small to hurt them himself, Denmark’s embrace is more than enough to keep him from rushing over and hitting his little fists against the people’s legs.
However, Denmark, he could do some damage. A lot of damage.
But Denmark can’t move.
Iceland feels him shiver and shake as much as he is, and there is an unmistakable sound of a broken sob as the fire leaves nothing but smoke behind.
“Where’s Nor?” Iceland asks. Refusing to believe this isn’t just a trick. It has to be a trick. Soon Norway will jump out from behind a tree and laugh. Soon, Iceland thinks – because he can’t afford to think differently. That’s what has to happen.
“Move along,” a man sneers at them as he kicks the ashes away.
“Don’t touch him,” Iceland tries to scream, but all that comes out is a muddle of words and tears.
“Den. Don’t let them touch him,” he sobs into the crook of Denmark’s neck as the people begin to rebuild the stakes and pyres.
“I’m sorry,” Denmark whispers weakly in reply. “I can’t do anything any more.”
His voice is so distant and so weak Iceland isn’t sure it’s even Denmark.
Ahhh, this so so heart-wrenching—poor Iceland! And Denmark... And most of all, Norway, of course. I love the confusion, because Norway certainly seems to be gone.. Great fill, I really enjoyed reading it!
Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it. I wasn't sure if I should post it since I didn't /really/ fill the OP's request. but after posting it elsewhere OP found it and said I should. so here we are..
ahm.... Anyways, I want to express all my love to it because even though it's not really going with what the prompt asked for, it's still a lovely fill nonetheless.
It's nice seeing this from Ice's view because people don't really include much of him during this time period (in my opinion, at least)
And Deeen. Deeeen. You show him weak and unsure and hesitant about how to handle the situation and it makes me love this so much more.
so thank you thank you thank you if you see this. def worth waiting 2 years for
I'm so glad you liked it! I've always found it interesting to explore how Nations who possessed magic would be looked upon during certain times in history - and the Witch trials is a good opportunity to highlight the darker side of history.
Ice is a great character and personally I think he knows (and saw) more than what people think.
8D Glad it didn't disappoint! I do so enjoy writing 'dark' fics. hehehe
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Any/Norway- Vardø witch trials
(Anonymous) 2013-01-19 10:33 pm (UTC)(link)Basically, what anon would like is either:
A)An AU where Norway is a human in this time period (preferably fem) and getting caught/killed for preforming witchcraft.
or B) Norway as a nation and how this affects him more than it does Finland due to having magical connections, and how the Nordics help him cope during it.
Anon isn't too picky when it comes to parings, and it could be hurt/comfort, angsty, or fluff, whatever you wish to do is fine. If you need any clarification or need to ask any questions, please feel free to~
More Than Man - Norway/Denmark
(Anonymous) 2013-03-21 02:23 am (UTC)(link)"Kill the witch!" Someone screeches from far away, and Lukas tries to raise his head only to have it shoved toward the cold-packed dirt. He takes a deep breath, and the smell of his land lingers in his nostrils.
It's poor comfort, but Lukas needs it desperately at this time.
He's just managed to slump against the ground when he's dragged roughly to his feet. Legs buckling under his own weight, his tired body is forced to hold itself up. Lukas cracks open one swollen eye to catch blurred glimpses of the angry mob in front of him. His people.
Trying valiantly to support himself, Lukas blinks blearily before giving in to his body's urges and collapses toward the ground again. He used to be strong, used to be powerful and feared, but now with the rage of his people turned against him, Lukas is weak.
A hairy hand grabs the back of his collar and hauls him up again. Lukas lets himself dangle limply from the man's powerful hold, a puppet whose strings have been cut. He doesn't have the strength to keep his eyes open, not with blood dripping from a nasty cut in his forehead, his stomach too empty to growl, weakened from illness and plague. Lukas wonders if any of his brothers are in the audience, if they are seeing the price he has to pay for being himself.
Bitter laughter wells up in his throat, and Lukas has to chuckle aloud at the irony. Magic runs through his veins; his land stinks of it. It reeks from every surface, and the air is always thick with copious amounts of what they are now calling the Devil's work.
Lukas's deranged laughter is silenced by a strong blow to the back of his head. He rocks forward from the force of the hit and nearly bits his own tongue off. Not that it matters because everything will be ashes in a few minutes.
"Brothers!"
Ah, the execution has begun, Lukas notes grimly. His pale, pale hair is hanging in front of his eyes, and he can't see anything anymore. Lukas thinks that he sees Tino's horrified face, Berwald holding back an enraged Matthias, little Emil clutching his doll tightly... but they're all hallucinations, visions dreamt up by an exhausted mind and weary soul. There will be no comfort in this night, not when the red sparks are leaping from their father flame in a furious attempt to reach the stars.
"- practicing his vile deeds within the walls of our own village! With the blood of our animals spread across the floor, this thing was ready to contact the Devil himself!"
There is an outraged cry from the crowd. Lukas notices the sharp sting attacking his heart and can hardly bring himself to care. It hurts to hear his beloved language cursing him like this, but, Lukas reminds himself, they are mere humans frightened by things beyond their understanding.
"- we caught him, brothers! We stopped him and captured him to bring him before you for judgement!"
Really, it was all his fault. He was too careless, too confident and prideful. He had ignored all of Tino's worries, assured that his people would never harm him.
"And now, by the cleansing flame, let him be judged!"
Clearly, he was wrong.
The heat is drawing nearer now, and Lukas's pale Northern skin is flushing a bright angry red. There are men taking his arms and binding them with lengths of rope that Lukas remembers helping coil, lashing them to sails and setting ships free to the open waters.
Ah, he loves his land and his people, even if they do not love him.
"Burn the cursed witch!"
Lukas closes his eyes as he is tossed into the hungry flames. They lick along his body and consume each shred of tattered cloth that hangs off his thin body. Long tongues caress each curve of his body, and it's almost gently, the way they engulf him. Lukas merely waits with bated breath and steady eyes for the pain to start.
It starts quickly and ends quickly. Lukas inhales a lungful of smoke and coughs harshly, then screams. Then screams again. And again, and again, and again.
Re: More Than Man - Norway/Denmark, Part 1b/2
(Anonymous) 2013-03-21 02:26 am (UTC)(link)Far away, the waves are crashing, the cliffs are trembling, and the sky rumbles with anger, but Lukas cannot comprehend any of this. His legs are gone now; they have crumbled from beneath him into piles of gray ash that fail to support him.
Lukas falls face-forward into the fire and cries with relief because the darkness is approaching quickly, it's rushing toward him with its hungry jaws wide open, begging for him to embrace it -
Lukas leaps.
Just as the inky ebony mass is reaching up, stretching black arms to wrap itself around him, Lukas is vaguely aware of screaming. It is not his own, for though his voice is not low in timbre, it is not high either. This anguished noise is the sound of a deep and manly voice straining to higher octaves not meant to be. In fact, it sounds like the voice is calling -
Re: More Than Man - Norway/Denmark, Part 2/2
(Anonymous) 2013-03-21 02:42 am (UTC)(link)Norway jerks awake with hands flailing, gripping crazily at the sweat-stained sheets around him. He lets go immediately and starts to grip himself wildly, checking for centuries-old burns, scars from the trials he had to endure at the hands of his people.
And then Denmark is in front of him. His strong, steady hands are resting on Norway's shoulders, the callouses rubbing soothingly over soft cloth. Norway relaxes marginally because there is no smoke, there is no ash, and there is no fire. He slumps against the headrest, pillows cushioning his back, and passes a hand over bloodshot eyes.
A moment passes, and Norway peers through his long fingers to see Denmark staring at him, worried expression plastered firmly onto his stupid face, the fool.
"What are you looking at?" It comes out harsher than Norway intended, but he brushes the twinge of guilt aside easily. Denmark is still staring at him like he's managed to steal his battle-axe and toss it to the bottom of the ocean.
"... are you okay now, Norge?" The question is soft and hesitant, nothing at all like the loud and exuberant nation normally is.
Norway quirks an elegant eyebrow at the blond and scoffs beneath his breath. "Of course I am, idiot. Don't overreact."
Denmark is silent for a moment, and Norway's eyelids are drooping by the time he speaks up again.
"You were dreaming of the trials, weren't you?"
Norway stiffens. There is a reason nations hate talking about their dreams, hate what ghosts of the past are brave enough to haunt them in their sleep. It is because, for nations, all dreams hold fragments of the truth.
The truth is hardly ever pleasant for nations. Norway's dreams certainly aren't filled with sunshine and daisies. More often then not, they are filled with blood and screams.
He moves his hand to cover his eyes once again and lets out a dream-laden sigh. For Denmark, that is more than enough confirmation for him to scoot under the sheets next to Norway, wrapping his arm around Norway's slender frame.
Norway had not even realized he was trembling until he is resting in Denmark's steady hold. He exhales a shaky proclamation of fear that Denmark can never hear but always tell.
The taller nations presses a gently kiss to the side of Norway's head and tightens his grip fractionally.
"It's okay, Norge. It's over," he murmurs. Norway doesn't bother to correct him, doesn't bother to call out the elephant in the room, the one that both are fully aware of.
It's never okay for things like them, beings that are more than man. Nations will never rest, not even in times of peace and prosperity. They are cursed entities, there from the beginning of time and doomed to last until the end of it. It is worse for older nations like himself and Denmark because the path they walk is marked by the bloody footprints they leave behind, the tracks of a battle-axe dragged against the ground.
Things will never be okay, but Denmark's warm breath is resting at the top of his head, Denmark's strong arms are around him, and for a moment, it's more than enough.
-------
Sorry if it's not what anon wanted, but I tried my best. Hope you enjoyed it. Cheers~
Re: More Than Man - Norway/Denmark, Part 2/2
(Anonymous) 2013-03-21 01:38 pm (UTC)(link)Re: More Than Man - Norway/Denmark, Part 2/2
(Anonymous) 2013-03-22 07:00 pm (UTC)(link)I have no professional recording devices and a horrifying accent so it is condemned to stay buried within my computer for the centuries to come, though xD
Anyway, this was really, really good. My favourite part was There is a reason nations hate talking about their dreams, hate what ghosts of the past are brave enough to haunt them in their sleep. It is because, for nations, all dreams hold fragments of the truth. It was Insta-headcanoned. Ca-chaw.
I am very interested in you writing more stuff. Keep up the good work, authornon, this was awesome!
OP
(Anonymous) 2013-04-05 03:05 am (UTC)(link)This was a lovely fill, Anon!Author <3 Its definitely what I was looking for, and the mix of angst and fluff was just right. I love how you characterized them, and just everything about this fill was lovely.
Takk for the lovely read~ <3333
Re: Any/Norway- Vardø witch trials
(Anonymous) 2015-02-09 05:19 pm (UTC)(link)The words rings through Iceland’s head like a sirens call.
“Don’t look.”
Denmark had said it as an order before he ran.
Iceland closed his eyes and did as told.
He could hear Denmark yell at someone. He heard others shout back.
Angry.
They’re all angry.
And scared.
Everyone is scared.
Denmark is scared.
Iceland is scared.
So Iceland doesn’t look.
He doesn’t open his eyes until he hears a far too familiar scream.
Norway.
Norway who had helped so many people.
Norway who walked with fairies and spoke languages long forgotten by them all.
Everything is wrong with this.
Iceland quivers and cries because there’s nothing else he can do.
Norway is tied to the stake.
“Witchcraft!” the people yell. Their voices are filled with anger and glee.
Iceland can’t tear his eyes away.
“Don’t look!” Denmark shouts again, running to his side and trying to shield the horror from his eyes.
But Iceland can’t listen to this order this time.
He can’t look away as the torch falls to the pyre.
Nor can he turn around as the fire spreads upwards; flames licking at Norway’s legs.
Norway’s screams alone could wake the dead – and somehow Iceland is certain that’s what happens – because something rumbles deep below their feet.
A nation can not die.
A nation can not die.
Denmark mutters those words again and again until Iceland isn’t sure he’s thinking it himself or just hearing it.
A nation can not die.
No, Iceland thinks, but he can hurt.
He feels the warmth of the fire on his skin, see his brother engulfed in flames till all he can see trough the fire and smoke is a blurred outline of the stake.
Yet it’s not the screaming that gets to him the most.
It’s the smell.
The smell of burning flesh and hay.
The awful scent of wood and charred blood.
A nation can not die.
What a lie.
Iceland holds onto Denmark’s jacket with all his might, wishing, praying, hoping that those words won’t be a lie.
Wishing the very magic that got Norway onto the pyre will get him off it.
It doesn’t.
The fire rages on till there’s nothing but ash left.
The people cheer.
They laugh.
They celebrate.
Iceland isn’t sure who’s holding who back any more.
He’s too small to hurt them himself, Denmark’s embrace is more than enough to keep him from rushing over and hitting his little fists against the people’s legs.
However, Denmark, he could do some damage.
A lot of damage.
But Denmark can’t move.
Iceland feels him shiver and shake as much as he is, and there is an unmistakable sound of a broken sob as the fire leaves nothing but smoke behind.
“Where’s Nor?” Iceland asks. Refusing to believe this isn’t just a trick.
It has to be a trick.
Soon Norway will jump out from behind a tree and laugh.
Soon, Iceland thinks – because he can’t afford to think differently.
That’s what has to happen.
“Move along,” a man sneers at them as he kicks the ashes away.
“Don’t touch him,” Iceland tries to scream, but all that comes out is a muddle of words and tears.
“Den. Don’t let them touch him,” he sobs into the crook of Denmark’s neck as the people begin to rebuild the stakes and pyres.
“I’m sorry,” Denmark whispers weakly in reply. “I can’t do anything any more.”
His voice is so distant and so weak Iceland isn’t sure it’s even Denmark.
Nations don’t die.
Nations don’t die.
Nations don’t die.
Iceland repeats those words like a mantra.
“Nations don’t die,” he whispers. “We don’t just, die… Do we?” Iceland’s question is laced with uncertainty and fear.
Denmark knows he should lie. Make up something.
He knows Iceland will be happier if he just tells him everything will be okay.
“No….” Denmark mumbles in return. “They don’t… not unless the country does. But… I’m not sure any more at all…” he admits in sincerity.
“So he’ll be back, right?” Iceland asks pleadingly.
“I hope so,” Denmark replies weakly, and Iceland realises that there is nothing they can do but wait.
Re: Any/Norway- Vardø witch trials
(Anonymous) 2015-02-10 03:52 am (UTC)(link)Re: Any/Norway- Vardø witch trials
(Anonymous) 2015-02-10 06:00 pm (UTC)(link)I wasn't sure if I should post it since I didn't /really/ fill the OP's request. but after posting it elsewhere OP found it and said I should. so here we are..
Good to know people like it!
OP
(Anonymous) 2015-02-10 06:16 am (UTC)(link)ahm.... Anyways, I want to express all my love to it because even though it's not really going with what the prompt asked for, it's still a lovely fill nonetheless.
It's nice seeing this from Ice's view because people don't really include much of him during this time period (in my opinion, at least)
And Deeen. Deeeen. You show him weak and unsure and hesitant about how to handle the situation and it makes me love this so much more.
so thank you thank you thank you if you see this.
def worth waiting 2 years forRe: OP
(Anonymous) 2015-02-10 05:59 pm (UTC)(link)I've always found it interesting to explore how Nations who possessed magic would be looked upon during certain times in history - and the Witch trials is a good opportunity to highlight the darker side of history.
Ice is a great character and personally I think he knows (and saw) more than what people think.
8D
Glad it didn't disappoint! I do so enjoy writing 'dark' fics. hehehe