Chapter Text
Strangely, as he deboarded the train, he felt as if he could still taste the sand between his teeth and the scorching hot sun over Afghanistan burning the skin of his face. He wondered how long it would take for him to return to reality - or how long it would take for him to stop waking up bathed in sweat in the middle of the night. He had departed for Afghanistan six years ago, a stupid, reckless teenager, barely nineteen years old, trying to escape the ravages of a broken heart. Yet, when he returned to England, his thoughts were still with the girl who sent him to the Middle East in the first place.
He wondered how she was doing. He wondered how she had been faring during the last six years while he risked his life in the desert hoping to forget her amidst the chaos, the danger, and death. To say that their break up had been ugly would be an understatement. In truth, it had all the makings of a Greek tragedy. They had been, both of them, teenagers, after all, and teenage breakups always had a tendency to be nuclear. Theirs definitely had been. It might have burned down the whole city if Heahmund had not left.
His father had been outraged, of course. No son of his should ever lower himself to the ranks of a simple soldier in the British army, let alone travel to such desolated places as the Middle East. Heahmund did not hold any illusions about whether or not his father loved him. It had been Ecbert’s fear of losing his younger son that compelled him to argue with Heahmund about his deployment. In the end, there was little he had been able to do about it, though. Heahmund had been of age - thus the army had taken him with open arms. Then again, Heahmund was sure that his father had something to do with the fact that he was home now. His deployment overseas was officially over and done with. If he wanted to stay in the army, he would be doing so on home turf. No one would say it, but Heahmund knew that his higher-ups were doing his father’s bidding in this regard. They were old friends, after all, and Ecbert Bishop, one of the most important and influential figures in Great Britain. One of his more legitimate companies was the supplier of the British forces when it came to weapons, after all.
If his father thought that him pulling the strings in terms of his army career would bring Heahmund back into the fold and the company, he was gravely mistaken. With his heavy backpack flung over his left shoulder, he walked away from the platform and into the hustle and bustle of the train station. A part of him was excited to be back home, at least for a bit. He hadn't seen his friends in six years, nor his older half-brother Aethelwulf. He had filled out these past six years. The boy who left back then was long gone now.
The hall of the train station was a beehive buzzing with activity even this late at night. The hands on the big clock on the north side of the hall just stopped at twelve. Midnight. He paused and craned his neck to see if he would find the driver that was supposed to pick him up. Outside it was pouring from the heavens, but knowing good old Michaels, he would still wait outside by the car under an umbrella.
“Heahmund!”
He scanned the crowd for the owner of the voice and didn't find Michaels, the driver, but his brother waving, a newspaper in his hand, his brown hair combed back neatly, wrapped in a sinfully expensive black coat over - what he could only assume - an even more expensive suit. He wouldn't have thought that he would ever feel such relief seeing his big brother. Their bond had never been particularly close, due to their age gap, but he appreciated his help when it came to dealing with their father.
Now he felt a smile tugging at his lips, seeing Aethelwulf, and so he quickly weaved his way through the crowd until he met him and allowed his older brother to pull him into a quick, one-armed hug. He was immediately punished for this short burst of sentimentality as he got a good whiff of Aethelwulf’s ungodly strong aftershave. After spending years around rugged men in a desert, Aethelwulf’s aftershave was an assault on his senses.
“What are you doing here?”
“What does it look like?” His brother asked with a grin. “Picking you up, Knobhead.”
Aethelwulf clapped his shoulder as they parted, and he noticed with some surprise that there was moisture in his brother's brown eyes. And, to his even greater surprise, he noticed that his own eyes were burning as well.
“What about Michaels?”
“I told him to take the rest of the night off. It's late, and he's not getting any younger, is he? Speaking of, I'm not getting any younger either, so shake a leg, Princess, it's been a long day.”
He followed his brother out of the train station while Aethelwulf kept talking, rattling off a list of things he had to take care of during the coming days now that the new year was fast approaching. He had missed Christmas - not that his family celebrated it much. Not in the traditional sense. Both his father and his brother had attended fundraising and charity events over Christmas anyway.
Heahmund stopped listening to Aetehlwulf’s ramblings at some point after they got into Aethelwulf’s car. It was new as far as he could tell but his brother had a thing for nice cars so he couldn't be sure that he didn't already have this one in his possession before he left. He watched the city fly past his window after Aethelwulf had pulled out of his parking spot and began his mad dash through the winding streets of the New Town, heading into the Old Town up the hill. At this hour of the night, it was quite peaceful and quiet in this part of town. The pubs had closed for the night and the partygoers preferred the clubs in the New Town anyway.
“You are coming, aren’t you?”
Only at that comment, did Heahmund zone back in. “Huh?” He asked, suddenly feeling like he had missed an important chunk of their one-sided conversation.
“The party, Heahmund!” Aethelwulf said as if he was talking to an absolute imbecile. “On New Year’s Eve? The costume party! Everyone will be there.”
His stomach turned. Everyone. Including Judith. His older brother’s wife. His Judith. The girl he always thought he would marry eventually. The girl his father had decided would make a better fit for Aethelwulf despite her being closer to Heahmund in age than his brother - despite them having been a couple. He wasn’t mad at either one of them. It hadn't been their choice, after all. It was what his father had wanted and what Ecbert wanted, he usually got.
“I don't kn-”
“You have to, Heahmund. You always loved it. Don't retreat into your shell now! We are all adults, aren’t we?”
Aethelwulf would have probably punched his shoulder if he didn't have his hands on the wheel and needed to pay attention to the slippery cobblestones. He wondered if it would start snowing soon. He remembered the city being glazed with ice and powdered sugar in his youth during Christmas time. Not that he had been able to enjoy it much, but the memory had always stuck with him. That and images from movies where the family would huddle around the Christmas tree in their pajamas while snow was falling outside, turning the world into a peaceful winter wonderland. He had always imagined one day celebrating Christmas like this. With his own family. His wife and a couple of kids running around. In the past, whenever he had fantasised about it, the wife in his fantasy had Judith’s face. He had been so fucking sure that they would build a family and a life together.
“Fine,” He relented with a sigh because he knew that his brother would not give up until he did. By all means, he would probably just drag his sad pathetic ass out of his bed on the night of the party and take him there in his pajamas. Because his father would expect Aethelwulf to force him. Simple as that. Aethelwulf. The loyal dog. “But I don't have a costume.”
“Don't you worry, Judith already got you one,” Aethelwulf said with a snort. And there was all the proof he needed that his brother wouldn't have taken no for an answer. Twenty minutes after he had picked him up, Aethelwulf parked his car in front of Heahmund’s home. His father hated his house. It was small and crooked and far away from their rich neighborhood, but it was his, and he loved it. He had bought it with the money his mother left for him shortly before he departed for the Middle East, and his father couldn't do anything about it. He bid his brother farewell because Aethelwulf couldn't wait to get home himself. Back to his wife. Back to the life Heahmund should be living. He only just arrived back in the city - and he felt drained already.
Everything here, every stone, every street corner held so many memories of his time with Judith. He felt pathetic. He really was a pathetic, love sick loser. Even six years later, he still couldn't let go of her or his fantasy of their lives together. In Afghanistan, it had been easier to see their relationship for what it truly was. A teenage romance that wouldn't survive the growing pains of adulthood. Sure, he had felt comfortable with Judith, and their relationship had been easy, but deep down, he had always known that it didn't fulfill either one of them. Something had been lacking, something had been missing, and they had both been miserable in the end.
Still, now that he was back in the city again, he felt like he hadn't left at all. He could still feel the pain of heartbreak resonating deep within him like some overly motivated monch had hit a gong a little too hard and now the sound was swinging and reverberating within him. It was ridiculous, but at the very least, he could acknowledge that it was ridiculous.
Maybe it would actually do him some good if he saw Judith and Aethelwulf together at that party. Maybe that was what his broken heart needed to finally mend and stitch itself back together. His brother seemed happy with her as his wife. Maybe she was happier with him as well. He walked up the three steps that led to his door, pulled his keys from his pockets, and unlocked the door. Silence greeted him like an old friend and he wondered when he had become such a fucking recluse. In the past, he had always been surrounded by others, his friends and people at school or from his soccer club. He had been the life of the party, rarely home, rarely alone with himself. Of course, he had cherished every moment he could spend away from the oppressive atmosphere in his father’s house or his overbearing presence, but now he let out a deep sigh of contentment when he closed the door behind him and switched on the light in the hallway. Home. Finally.
He didn't waste time looking around his house first to make sure everything was still as it should be. His brother had looked after the house, and if anything happened to his property, he would have told him already. So, instead, he climbed the janky stairs to the first floor and quickly entered his bedroom. Immediately, he was engulfed in the comforting sound of rain drumming against the large bay window. He fell into bed without taking off his clothes or even thinking about it. For a moment, he stayed like this before he turned on his side. There, in the faint light that came from a streetlamp outside, he saw the costume Aethelwulf bought for him and had to snort.
※※※※※※※
“A knight in shining armor, really?” Athelstan grinned as they met in front of the town hall. Fittingly, his old friend was wearing a priest costume. The sun had set hours ago, and the sky hung over the city like a canopy of stars. He could hear the music from inside town hall.
“Aethelwulf’s idea,” He said with a shrug. “I didn't even want to come.”
“Glad you did, Mate,” Athelstan huffed. “I started to miss seeing that handsome face.”
“I’m sure you will grow tired of it soon enough,” He said and took a deep breath of the early night air. The first fireworks were already going off in the distance. Kids that couldn't wait until midnight, he thought. He dreaded going in there, dreaded meeting his old friends that were all gathered which he hadn't seen in six years. More importantly, he dreaded seeing Aethelwulf and Judith together.
As if Athelstan could read his mind, he clapped his shoulder. “Courage, my friend, you’ll see, this will be the best night of our lives.”
“I don't know,” he muttered. “Maybe I should go home. I haven’t seen Judith for six years. I didn't even come back for their wedding. It's going to be awkward.”
“Judith!” Athelstan groaned. “Bloody Hell, Mate! We are young, and this is the beginning of a new era! Tonight you will meet someone who takes your breath away and makes you forget that Judith ever even existed, I promise you! So come on now, stop being such a wet noodle and live a little! The girl of your dreams is waiting inside!”
It was silly and dramatic and cheesy, but it still brought a smile to his face. How could he resist if Athelstan put it like that? The girl of his dreams, huh? With a sigh and a fond shake of his head, he followed Athelstan through the open doors of the ancient building. Ever since he was old enough, he had come to the New Year’s Eve party in town hall. It would be a lie to claim that he didn't have fond memories of the lavish parties in this prestigious hall where the rich and powerful, the influential and the beautiful mingled to celebrate the new year in style. This was the place where he was expected to celebrate, not in some seedy pub. This was the place where the high society met. The lights were warm, and whoever took care of the decorations made the inside of the building look like something straight out of a fairy tale with candles, fairy lights, and fake ivy entwining around the marble columns. Waiters walked around with trays full of appetizers and drinks. Beautiful people in beautiful costumes mingled and danced. Athelstan quickly pulled him towards a group of his old friends.
He was greeted as if he had never been gone as the young men rallied around him. It was like no time had passed, and no one even addressed his prolonged absence or his time in combat. Before he knew it, he had a drink in his hand. He could see Aethelwulf prancing around the hall, dressed as the king he thought he would someday become. And, hanging off his arm, was his queen, Judith. She was holding a flute of champagne, but didn't drink, dazzling the men around them with her charming smiles. She was a shark among goldfish.
“Your brother seems right in her element,” Athelstan remarked as he followed Heahmund’s gaze, but he knew what Athelstan meant to say. It wasn’t Aethelwulf who was in his element. Heahmund couldn't help the feeling that he was seeing Judith for the first time for who she really was. This was not the same girl he had been so in love with six years ago. A part of him wanted to think that her marriage to his brother had changed her, but as he stood there and watched her charm the old men gathered around her and his brother, he understood that this was her. This had always been her.
He felt something in his gut twist and contract as Judith and Aethelwulf noticed him and started weaving through the crowd toward him. They were oblivious to his plight, smiling as they approached, like they were not stepping on the pieces of his broken heart, as if they didn't hear the shards crunch under their soles. Judith was still as beautiful as she was when he left, but the expression in her eyes had shifted. The softness was gone, replaced by something harder, more calculating. Maybe it had always been there. Maybe he had just been too blind to see it. She greeted him with a hug, before she took Aethelwulf's arm once more as if to make a point.
Before coming to this party, he didn't know how he might react to seeing her, how he might feel, but he hadn't expected to feel like this, to feel this finality in seeing her with his brother, to feeling so strangely empty and hurt seeing them together.
He wanted to leave right then and there but he didn't want to look like he was fleeing with his tail between his legs or as if there was bad blood between them. He didn't want his friends to think that he was butthurt or resentful, about something that couldn't be changed. He needed to be noble, the bigger person, nice, and understanding. That was what was expected of him. So he did what he always did in a situation where his emotions were running rampant. He swallowed his pain and smiled through the following stilted conversation. He accepted the drinks that were pushed into his hands, laughed at the jokes of his friends, and tried to avoid eye contact with Judith.
The first moment he got to excuse himself came around ten and he immediately took the opportunity to leave through a set of open doors onto a balcony. He breathed a sigh of relief as the cold, fresh air flooded his lungs - only to be disappointed for a second when he noticed that he was not, in fact, alone out there. Another young man stood by the banister, having taken refuge outside, as it seemed. He flashed him an awkward smile, and the young man reciprocated. He was quite the sight to behold. Brunette hair and skin like moonlight with the brightest pair of blue eyes he had ever seen. High cheekbones poked sharply through the skin, and to call him pretty would be an understatement, nay a crime even.
He was dressed as some sort of demon or devil, he supposed, with horns sprouting from his head like a ram and his legs clothed in fur like the hind legs of a goat. A hoofed-devil if ever he saw one. The dark eyeliner around his eyes was a bit smudged, but only served to make his eyes stand out even more. There was something ethereal, something wholly otherworldly about him.
Suddenly, and without warning or explanation, he felt flustered. “I see I wasn't the only one thinking of escaping the party for a bit,” He muttered after he caught his breath again.
“It's not a good hiding spot, though.” The other man said with a smirk. He felt like he knew him, like they had met before, but Heahmund couldn't figure it out. He just walked up beside the man and leaned against the banister, registering that the other man never stopped looking at him as he approached - like a hawk or a cat watching its prey. He couldn't help the strange fluttering feeling in his stomach, wondering if the canapes might have been spoiled. He had only once felt something similar. With Judith.
“Do I know you?” He asked eventually even though he felt silly asking. Maybe they had met at one of these parties before, he thought, but then again, he would have remembered this man.
“Maybe from a dream?” The young man offered with a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. His voice was soft as he spoke, every word carefully chosen, with the slightest hint of an accent that Heahmund couldn't place, almost like a childhood lisp coming through against all efforts to hide it. It was - there was no other word for it - endearing. “Or another life? We might have been lovers in a past life.”
He felt his ears grow hot at the implication, but couldn't stop a laugh from leaving his throat. A part of him thought that he should be angry at the man for even implying he could be anything but straight, but the anger never came. How could he be angry when this guy smiled at him like this? What was wrong with him?
“So, why did you decide to hide out here?” Heahmund asked, trying to quickly change the topic.
The other man shrugged. “It became a little too much, I needed a break. And you?”
“Same,” Heahmund huffed. “I’ve been gone for six years, and it's the first time all my friends are in the same place again. I’m not used to this anymore. The noise and … parties, I guess.”
“Where have you been those past six years?”
“Afghanistan,” he said. It was the first time he talked about it since his return. His friends didn't want to darken their mood with questions about the war, and Aethelwulf liked to pretend like he had been studying abroad instead. “I was in the armed forces. Can't recommend it.”
“I might cancel my plans for a vacation in Afghanistan then,” The other man chuckled. Just as Heahmund wanted to ask him for his name, though, another person walked out onto the balcony.
“Heahmund?” His brother’s voice caught his attention, and as he looked at him, Aethelwulf's eyes darted from him to the stranger with an expression he couldn't quite place. “Come back inside, I want to introduce you to someone.”
At this moment, he wanted to strangle him. He didn't know why, but he didn't want to part from the stranger, wanted to keep talking to him. Instead, he stepped away from the banister and nodded at the stranger, sending him an apologetic smile.
“I already told you that I want nothing to do with the company,” Heahmund whispered as they reentered the ballroom. He could feel the stranger's eyes following him. Aethelwulf, however, didn't acknowledge his complaint.
“Do you know who that was?” He asked sharply, his voice too barely above a whisper.
“No, why?”
“That was Ivar.”
“Who?”
“Ivar Lothbrok?” Aethelwulf hissed and then flashed a smile at some elderly lady walking past them. “Youngest - and if rumors can be believed, favorite - son of our mortal enemy?”
“I don't have a mortal enemy. You must mistake me for our father.”
“You know very well what I'm speaking of, Heahmund. Ragnar Lothbrok has been after our family’s fortune and influence like a bloodhound for decades now as has his father before him.”
“And why is that, if I may ask you. Is it because he envies our fortune or because he desires to expand and thus needs Father’s less than legal businesses to fail?”
“Heahmund!”
“Do not take me for a fool, brother, I do know what is happening behind the curtains. I might not have been around these past six years, but I've had access to news, brother. I've read stories about accidents and warehouses going up in flames. A bloody turf war, concealed and hidden in plain sight. You and Father are both excellent actors, however, I am not. You know my stance. Either way, the son is not the father, and I thought that Ivar was quite pleasant.”
He might not know much about Ivar, but he couldn't deny that he had felt this strange sort of familiarity and attraction towards him - against all odds and better judgment. He wondered if Ivar felt the same way. That Ivar was the son of Ragnar Lothbrok might be a problem for Aethelwulf and definitely for his father, but Heahmund, for some weird reason, could think of nothing else but his desire to meet him again. It was true that their families, the Bishops and the Lothbroks held a long-standing feud for multiple generations by that point. It went so far back that no one knew the reason for it anymore, and it didn't matter as every new generation seemed perfectly capable of finding a new reason for themselves to hate the other family.
Now the fight was fought between his father Ecbert and Ragnar, who, by all accounts, was just as shrewd and cold-blooded as his own father, with an army of sons, all influential and fearsome in their own right. His father had always been careful to keep Heahmund away from the more shady side of their family business and history, but Heahmund certainly knew that it was there and he held no illusions about the fact that his father would have, one day, properly introduced him to his machinations had Heahmund not so vehemently insisted on joining the armed forces and risk his life overseas instead of joining the family business like his brother was so eager to do - to please their father, no doubt.
He wondered how Ivar thought about all of this, and he wondered if Ivar had known who he was right from the start.
“Anyway, you should stay away from him, or Father’s head is going to explode.”
“Is that a promise?”
His brother would have probably smacked him were it not for all the people around them. Heahmund took his chance to escape his clutches and dive back into the crowd. He saw his friends mingling and laughing, but he tried to find Ivar instead. At the same time, he was deeply confused by his own desires. He didn't even know the guy and yet it felt like something was drawing him to Ivar, searching for him, like magnets. An hour ago, he hadn't even known that Ivar existed and now, after only a couple of exchanged words, he was all Heahmund could think about - so much so that he didn't even care as he saw Judith and Aethelwulf kiss a little while later as he was passing them by on his quest.
The next time he caught a glimpse of Ivar, the other man was standing near the dancefloor with a beautiful young woman. Blonde hair was cascading down her shoulders in perfect waves. She was dressed, quite fittingly, as an angel, a smart compliment to Ivar's devil costume with his horns and sharp teeth. He felt a stab of jealousy pierce through him so much stronger than he had ever felt before. It was like a thousand knives to his heart as he watched Ivar smile at the girl. He couldn't explain it, couldn't rationally make sense of it, couldn't understand it. But it was there. The green-eyed monster. There was little he could do, though. He couldn't sweep in and whisk Ivar away.
He was startled by his own thoughts. Whisk Ivar away? Like in some weird sappy fairy tale? What was wrong with him? Yet, as their eyes met again across the room, he felt like the whole world just ceased to exist, and all that remained was Ivar.
As midnight approached, the guests started gathering on the balcony outside to watch the fireworks. His friends were already on their way outside, but Heahmund managed to escape Athelstan’s clutches and dodged a waiter who wanted to hand him a glass of champagne. He wanted to leave before midnight, before people would start kissing and cheering and welcoming the new year. He felt heartbroken yet again and couldn't begin to describe why.
He moved against the current of the firework enthusiasts and towards the double doors that led into the street outside. His mind was so occupied with Ivar and the confusing feelings battling in his chest, that he didn't watch where he was going and promptly bumped into someone. The next thing he knew was that he was staring into Ivar's electric blue eyes. The young man seemed just as surprised as he was, but he recovered quicker as a smile spread across his face.
“Are you trying to escape again?” He asked with a mischievous smile that Heahmund couldn't help but mirror.
“And you as well, it would seem.”
“We should escape together then.”
“What about your girlfriend?” He asked, even though he didn't know why he wanted to torture himself like this. Ivar, however, blinked at him in confusion. “The Angel? An angel and a devil, some might say that's a little less than creative for a couple.”
For a moment, Ivar looked even more confused, then flustered. He could see his ears turning red, his gaze darted to the side before returning to look at him. “Katja?” He asked with one eyebrow raised. “She’s not my girlfriend, just … a friend. Or rather my chaperon tonight. Also, I have you know, I'm a Faun. Not a devil.”
Heahmund could tell that there was something more going on but for whatever reason, Ivar didn't want to tell him. Then again, they were complete and utter strangers, and still, when he looked at Ivar, he knew that there was something between them. Maybe it was only him. Maybe he was completely wrong. Maybe it was his broken heart, the night's events, the stress of the past years, getting the better of him. Yet, he was drawn towards this stranger like a moth to a flame.
With a small smirk, he gestured towards the exit. To his surprise, Ivar didn't hesitate for a second as he turned to walk towards the exit. Only then did Heahmund notice not only Ivar's limp but the crutch he was leaning his weight on. He had been so distracted by Ivar's face and eyes, that he had barely paid attention to anything else.
Within a moment, they were outside in the cold night air. Just then, the fireworks exploded above their heads, and they stopped dead in their tracks, both momentarily startled by the sound.
“Happy New Year, I guess,” Heahmund chuckled.
“Isn't that the moment where one is supposed to kiss someone?” Ivar asked with a cheshire grin.
“Too bad neither of us has someone it seems,” Heahmund said.
“Well, we could always make do, I suppose.”
He was completely taken aback by how forward Ivar was. Yet, Heahmund had never been shy or one to back down from a challenge. So, before he could think too much about it, he reached for Ivar and pulled him in by the neck. He had never even dreamed of kissing another man, but when their lips touched it felt familiar - like coming home. The kiss was brief, barely even a kiss, little more than a peck, and still it was the cause for his heart pounding against his ribcage. For a moment, he just stared at Ivar, drowning in the blue lakes of his eyes, wondering if Ivar felt the same as he did as colors exploded in the sky above them.
“I’m Ivar,” He introduced himself with a sly grin.
“Heahmund,” he said. “Bishop.”
Something in Ivar’s expression changed ever so slightly. It wasn't much, but enough for Heahmund to notice.
“Heahmund,” Ivar repeated, as if testing his name out, tasting it. He felt a shiver run down his spine in response. Right then and there, right at that moment, as the city erupted into cheers and the sky above them burst into colors, Heahmund Bishop knew that he was doomed.
-End of Chapter 1-