Chapter Text
There’s so much salt in the air.
It shouldn’t be a surprise, he’s still on the sea, but he hates the way it gets into his eyes and hair, makes his skin itch. He used to love the ocean, used to spent long days on the beach, chasing the waves and building castles in the sand.
Now it just reminds him of how much has changed. How much he’s changed.
But standing here on the deck, posture rigid, eyes forward, waiting to meet his future husband, makes him long for those days. Before duty and war.
As the walkway is lowered and the men are running around the ship getting it ready for him to depart, he fights the urge to pull at the high collar of his jacket. He’s not used to formal wear anymore, hasn’t had reason to wear it in a good while. Leathers this fitted aren’t really the best clothes for fighting and that’s all he’s been doing these last years.
A loud shout from one of the men makes the hair at his nape stand up and he fights the way his body flinches. He hates how affected he is now from these sudden loud noises, longs for the days when it wasn’t like that. Most of this journey by boat has been too quiet, though. He’s not used to that either. No cries, no crying, no having to be alert at all times. Isak is feeling jittery, can’t shake the panic constantly simmering under his skin.
It’s getting harder and harder to stand still, his posture growing more and more rigid by the second to keep him from pacing. And then he finally gets the cue that the walkway is ready for them.
And he’s off.
He walks down the walkway assuredly, closely followed by his entourage. He keeps walking, even when he knows that protocol says that he should wait until he’s the last in line, but he doesn’t care. He just wants this over with.
The crowd of people who have come to meet him is big but oddly quiet. It’s not hard to see that his reputation has beaten him here. They all look at him with fear in their eyes. It annoys him to no end but makes him want to play the part.
He knows that after the Battle of the Borders he became something of a legend, having allegedly killed 200 men all by himself. That’s not quite what happened, but he’s heard some of the stories people tell each other. They’re ridiculous, very far from the truth, but Isak understands the power they hold for the people back home. That they have someone like him fighting at the front, fighting for them. He knows because he grew up hearing the same kind of stories of other great warriors.
He knows that they call him the Warlord, that more people know him as that than as Lord Isak Valtersen. Although he would prefer it to be the other way around.
And it seems that name has followed him here as he hears a small child whisper it in awe as he passes. He pretends he doesn’t notice, keeps his eyes on the small group of people straight ahead of him, where one of them is so tall, that he’s sure he must be the man who is his future husband. He doesn’t know much of him, but he knows that he’s tall. Jonas had told him that much. So Isak keeps his eyes on him as he walks towards him.
He’s beautiful.
Those are the first words that come to mind and once they’re there, they just don’t leave again. The hair, the way it’s styled in a manner that’s so different than what he’s used to in Greenmark, how his clothes fit his body, tight and bright in color, his big, blue eyes. His lips. Isak has never seen anything like him in his entire life.
They’re introduced by their councilors as they’re supposed to be, their names listed off along with their titles to show off their importance, and Isak endures it because he must. What he really wants to do is shake the hand of the man in front of him. Wants to touch him and feel his skin against his.
He stands impassive, doesn’t let it seem like the man’s beauty is affecting him, when in fact he’s all chaos inside. He’s used to not letting his body react to whatever’s going on inside him.
He’s sure that he must be a boring sight in comparison. His hair is too long, and his lips are small and the brown leather he’s wearing, as the custom is in Greenmark, is dull next to the prince and his delegation. He’s suddenly very self-aware, hopes that the knife scar he has on his neck is covered by his jacket, and he hates that he didn’t take the time to braid his hair more elaborately to look more presentable. He knows it’s curling, impossible to do anything with at this length, hair sticking out of the simple braid he wears now, and he’s never given his hair this much thought before.
Finally, the introductions are done and they bow to each other. Isak waits for the prince to speak, almost forgets himself and smiles at the deep timbre of his voice, when he does.
“Welcome to Bergway, Lord Valtersen. I am Even and I have been looking forward to your arrival.”
His eyes are bright and he looks at Isak as if he really wants to be there and it makes Isak feel a bit warm under his leathers. It doesn’t go unnoticed by him how the prince called himself by his first name, which is surely a breach of protocol, even in Bergway.
“Thank you, Your Highness. Thank you for having me.”
From the corner of his eye, he notices his councilor exhale in relief like he had expected Isak to say something wrong. But Isak has spent years at court before he went to war, he knows how to handle himself.
Prince Even smiles and then asks, “I hope your journey went well, Lord Valtersen?”
Isak nods, allows himself to smile a small smile back as he answers. “Yes, thank you, Your Highness. It was quite alright.”
Prince Even is looking at his lips, at the smile curling there, and Isak wants so desperately to look at Prince Even’s too, just to see how they look stretched into that kind of smile he’s wearing right now, but he holds himself back. There’s still too much at stake for him to let his guard down.
“Shall we?” Prince Even asks and gestures to the carriages. “There’s a feast waiting for us.”
Isak gives a brisk nod and follows the prince and his entourage to the carriages standing to the side, and they’re soon spread out in them.
Driving through the city, Isak tries to pretend that he isn’t extremely curious to see what everything looks like. He’s been told tales all his life about this country, so wealthy that the people living here have never had a need they couldn’t meet. Isak can’t imagine what that must be like.
Being a lord at Dragonholm Castle, it’s not like he’s had to go to bed hungry but their lands are not amongst the wealthiest, even though his title is among the most prestigious. Although his parents and he have always tried to be fair to the people living on their lands, there certainly have been periods where his people have starved.
What he notices most are all the colors. The houses are painted in bright colors, as are the clothes the people are wearing, just like the prince’s. Banners are hanging outside each house, one more colorful than the next. Isak suspects this must be in his honor or in honor of the marriage. It’s a lovely day, the sun is shining, and it just seems to make all the colors so much brighter.
It’s almost grating on Isak’s eyes, he’s just not used to it. In Greenmark almost everybody wears earth colors. And at the front, there are certainly no bright colors either. It makes him feel out of place, makes him realize how alone he’s going to be in a week’s time when the wedding will be over.
Prince Even points out some buildings and landmarks to him as they pass, tells him a few stories about some squares and art they pass and Isak listens intensely. He likes how the prince talks to him, but everything is so overwhelming. He can’t believe that this will be his home, that this will be his husband.
“I hope you enjoy our food, Lord Valtersen. The chefs have been busy all day preparing a feast in your honor,” Prince Even says, still with that smile playing on his lips.
Isak smiles back, a small hesitant smile, can’t allow himself anything more yet, and replies. “I’m sure I will, Your Highness. I’m definitely hungry and very happy to be on dry land again.”
Prince Even smiles even wider at this, his eyes shining bright like the sun and Isak finds himself transfixed by it.
When they arrive, the queen and her husband are waiting at the top of a long set of stairs for them and Isak walks one step behind Prince Even as is proper as they start the ascend to her. He keeps his eyes on the queen, bows to her as he’s introduced, and she welcomes him with just the right amount of warmth and regality as is becoming of her. It makes him at ease, that some things are as he expects them to be.
She’s beautiful as well, but, Isak quickly decides, not quite as beautiful as the prince. She’s dressed in various shades of blue, hair styled in another elaborate hairdo, lips red and eyes blue.
He quickly lowers his eyes and hopes nobody else can tell how out of place he feels here.
Once inside the castle, he’s shown to his room and when the doors close behind him, giving him some semblance of privacy before the servants come to help him clean up, he relaxes against the door and exhales roughly. He hates being so stiff and formal but recognizes the need for it. He slumps as he walks around the room, taking in the big bed covered in a massive red blanket, how it seems that his room generally follows the style of the rest of the city. Everything is just so bright.
He’s fiddling with a blue, round object he doesn’t quite understand when there’s a knock on the door. As he calls out a blond man enters.
“My Lord, if you please. I am Eskild, your valet, as we understand you did not bring your own. I am here to help you get ready for the feast.”
Isak stands up straight again, full rigid posture as he looks at the man. Puts on the façade that’s expected of him, knows the kind of effect he normally has on people when he does this.
“Yes, thank you,” he says, but Eskild comes towards him, looks him over and doesn’t seem to be affected by his posturing at all.
“What are you wearing?” Eskild mutters under his breath, but then his eyes fly up to Isak, mouth wide in what Isak is sure will be an apology, and for the first time Isak lets out a real smile.
“I know I look very different from the rest of the people here,” he says, trying to put Eskild at ease.
It does the trick because not just Eskild’s face lights up at the words, his entire body does, and he smiles back.
“I hope you have something more suitable in that trunk,” Eskild says, and it’s so unexpected for a stranger to talk like that to Isak it makes him feel like he’s known Eskild for a long time already and it makes him worry a little bit less.
Eskild gives him another glance over, touches Isak’s hair briefly with a sigh, and says, “Probably not.”
It startles a laugh out of Isak, surprising himself just as much as he seems to be surprising Eskild, but this feels like a good start.
--||--
Isak is seated next to Prince Even at the feast, but it’s almost impossible to talk to him. They’re constantly interrupted by the entertainment or by other guests and people wanting to cheer them. He finds the food agreeable, but he doesn’t really enjoy the sweet red wine they seem to drink here, so he only sips it when he must.
He can’t help glancing at Prince Even. Somehow, it seems like his hair is even higher now than it was earlier, and he’s changed into green robes, more muted than those of the rest of the people at the party. Isak can’t help but wonder if it’s because of him.
Once in a while Prince Even glances back at him and his eyes light up every time he notices Isak looking and Isak can’t help but get affected by it. The prince certainly is agreeable to look at. Isak didn’t know he had a type before, but he seems to be exactly what Isak likes in a man, with the way his body is reacting to him.
If he turns out to be less agreeable in person than in looks, at least there’s that.
Isak’s stomach flutters with nerves at the prospect of being tied to this person, no matter how well they match. There’s nothing for it now, he has to bear whatever the future holds for him. So he tries to fold his face into a polite smile, tries to appear somewhat approachable, tries to put forward his best manners. He isn’t the child of a lord for nothing.
Later, Isak finds himself caught up in a conversation with a former general, eager to discuss the current state of the armies in Bergway. Isak listens politely, but he can’t help how the room is starting to feel overwhelming. All these people and all these noises. He’s not used to life at court anymore, after years at the front. He knows he can’t leave, that there’s no escaping this. But he longs for fresh air and some quiet. Just for a moment.
It’s not until a new group of entertainers enters, using instruments that Isak’s never seen before that are so loud that Isak feels the room shrinking in on him, making it hard to breathe, that he finally makes his escape from the general.
He’s not sure how pleasantly he does it, but the general looks at him with understanding eyes that only serve to make Isak flush even more. He hates when people pity him. He politely pretends not to have noticed, bows and almost runs out onto the terrace through the open doors. He continues into the gardens, trying to find somewhere secluded where he can breathe through his discomfort.
After a short while where it’s getting harder and harder to breathe, he finds himself by a bench shrouded in darkness, almost closed in completely between some bushes. He falls down onto it, leans over his shaking legs and loosens the collar around his throat trying to make it easier for himself to breathe.
He sits there for a while, forces his heart to slow down and the heat of his body to recede. And when it’s slowly getting easier for him to breathe, he just stays. He knows he should go back, knows he has obligations, but he just can’t get himself to leave the calmness of the bench.
Until suddenly he hears voices close by.
At first he’s scrambling to get up, to straighten his clothes and his back, but then he recognizes one of the voices. It’s Prince Even. And he’s talking to what seems to be a woman, in hushed voices. Isak doesn’t have a good feeling about this, sneaks closer as silently as he can in order to be able to hear what they’re talking about. He’s still covered by the bush, and as he gets closer he starts hearing their voices more clearly.
“So am I just going to have to accept that you’re getting married to someone else?”
It’s the woman speaking and she sounds angry. There’s a small pause that ends when Prince Even sighs.
“I’m sorry, Sonja. I always thought it was going to be you I was to marry. This is out of my hands, though.”
Isak hears the rustling of clothes and then she starts crying. Isak desperately wants to step closer, wants to see her, but he fights the desire. He’s safer where he is.
“We’ve been together for years, Even.”
“I know,” he hears Prince Even say. “I’m so sorry. I love you. I’ll never love him as I love you. You’re still my one true love, my beautiful girl.”
Isak freezes. He wasn’t really expecting a marriage of love, but it’s not until now he realizes just how much he had hoped for one. Hearing those words, that hope shatters inside him.
“He’s pretty, though,” she sniffles and Isak closes his eyes. Doesn’t want to hear the rest of this conversation, but Prince Even replies before he can leave.
“Not as pretty as you. Have you seen the clothes he wears? And his hair? He’ll never mean to me what you do.”
And once again Isak’s chest feels too tight, once again his newly settled collar feels too small around his neck. Like the small reprieve never happened. He quietly pulls back from the bush, sneaks away without them knowing that he overheard them. He walks briskly back to the castle, slips in through the open doors to the party and picks up one of the flutes of sweet wine to make it look like he’s been here all along.
A few moments after Prince Even comes back to the party, hair a little bit messier than it was before, lips a little bit redder and he searches the crowd and lights up when his eyes land on Isak. But this time it doesn’t make Isak happy to see him like that, doesn’t make his heart flutter. This time he fights the scowl threatening to break out and forces himself to give Prince Even a small, polite smile instead.
As Prince Even walks towards him, Isak notices a pretty blond girl slipping in through the doors unnoticed, hair braided and complex, clothes as bright as the rest of them. She must be the woman Prince Even was with and he can’t possibly see how he could ever compete with her. She’s stunning, looks regal and composed. The very picture of a royal companion.
Isak knows how to play the game, though. Goes through the motions for the rest of the night, performs his duty as a future husband to the prince and stands next to him as protocol calls for as the guests bid them farewell.
If the prince notices his declined interest, he doesn’t mention it or seem affected by it.
As Isak finally lies in bed later, he can already see his life stretching out in front of him, loveless and alone, stuck in a strange, foreign country, surrounded by duty. If this is his life, he’ll have to learn to settle for it. That is what he’s done so far and he’s sure that he’ll be able to do it once more.
He doesn’t really have any other choice.