literature

Vikingar Fram Till Slutet ch 4

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At that moment they all had the same thought... This is it.

Not even the wind blew in that moment. Everything sat perfectly still: untouched and silent.

Everyone's minds began racing with different emotion. 'T-This isn't right' Denmark thought to himself, though he kept this emotion hidden and stood his ground, angry his plans were being upset.

Norway looked at Denmark with worried eyes, praying that he kept his cool. The Dane looked as if he were about to snap, and it was very likely. Norway then stole a glance at that damned Brit; he stood tall (as he could), prideful, with his entire army standing strong behind him.

"Damn it England, stand down and surrender or watch as we defeat you!" Denmark yelled, shattering the silence that surrounded the thousands of people witnessing it. All that made up Scandinavia were slightly shocked at the authority his voice held, the articulateness of his words. They believed in him.

England on the other hand, great and powerful, was not going to stand down to the likes of this scum. He laughed. That Briton fucking laughed.

"Answer me damn it! What's it going to be!?" Denmark was getting angry and Norway wished to be anywhere but there.

England looked down as if contemplating, sandy blonde hair falling into his eyes. He didn't move for a good minute and Denmark was about to snap. Finally, a wild grin spread over the Brit's face. "Then let's go." He said, not so much yelled. "Let's go!" He shouted this time to his troops, raising his sword in the Scandinavians' direction.

Denmark countered instantly, raising his ax to signal attack. For a minute, neither leader moved, watching each other intently as their men ran by; crashing into each other in a mass of weapons and agonized screams in the middle of the bridge. Dying, people were already dying and it had only begun. Norway had run on to fight, as had Finn and Sweden. Finally, England and Denmark charged though a war now raged between them, and they had to fight to reach each other for a proper meeting. They were determined, and people fell all around them. No one could tell who was winning this battle, or what the final outcome would be: they just had to keep going.

Adrenaline rushed through them, though there was a sense of relief in all of Denmark's army as the battle had already begun and now it was a mere matter of survival. It was just as mortifying as Finn imagined, watching people die all around him. He stayed close to Sweden though not close enough to get hurt and helped as best he could. He looked at his Sve for a mere moment, feeling fear as he saw his already blood stained tunic and armor. This was worse than he had imagined perhaps. Finn felt an anger in his stomach, praying to any god he knew that Sweden would stay safe at the very least. Finn decided it was time to use his sword. He looked for the nearest English soldier. Found one, right nearby, after his Sve no less! He didn't have time to be scared; he took a deep breath, gripped his sword tightly, and ran the Brit through. A pained expression covered his face and he fell to the ground. Finn pulled out his sword, now covered in blood and stared at it for a moment. That was terrifying but it wasn't that hard. Finn began killing English soldiers for the sake of his Swede.

Norway fought heavily, panting as he swung his own ax at the attacking forces. He searched desperately for Denmark but saw no sign of him. He panicked, wondering if he had already been done in. Impossible, he wouldn't go down so easily. Thousands of people surrounded them and strangled, agonized screams filled the atmosphere, there was no chance he would find him.

On the other hand, Denmark angrily mowed over any British soldier that got in his way of finding England himself. His battle ax was now covered in blood, mutilated bodies surrounded him. His hair was in a terrible mess: wilder than usual and his blue eyes were dark with hate. He panted, searching wildly, but never spotting that sandy haired bastard, or even his Norway. He hated the thought of his Norway getting killed or hurt but he had bigger things to deal with, it was a large price to pay. "Lort! England, hvor er du!" He screamed angrily, swinging another fatal blow with his weapon.

On the other side of the battle, England smirked widely, watching the Norsemen fall around him and he ordered more from his men. He barked commands at everyone near him, watching in hunger was all of his enemies fell to their painful and fruitless deaths. Slowly, his army was pushing the damned Vikings off the bridge though the Scandinavian army was holding stronger than expected.

Minutes passed quickly like seconds, and by every minute England and Denmark neared each other through the thousands of men. Neither of them knew it, but that was the intended goal wasn't it? Hell was nearing and death was standing by the nations, watching to see who would fall: The entire empire of Scandinavian Vikings or England? Slowly, England's army was pushing them even further off the bridge. Fate was painfully hinting at the winner of this battle and finally it was time to end the fight. Bursting into a small opening, both England and Denmark faced each other, somewhat surprised to have finally met face to face.

Not a single word needed to be said between them. England's maniacal smile returned to his face, and Denmark's grin returned with an evil hint of its own. The Dane's ax glinted red with blood in the afternoon's sun as it towered over his head, ready to swing. England held a sword firmly in his hand, it also was printed with death.

Blue eyes began to shine with anger, and he made the first move. He swung his ax hard but somehow it was blocked by the sword in the Brit's hand. Before the Dane could even pull his ax back the sword was swung at him, scratching his arm and tearing his sleeve. He glared angrily, and yelled as he attacked again, and missing again. Their battle raged on, ignoring every being around them as they dodged to keep out of their way.

Sweden and Finn were doing fine on their own, though they were still being backed off of the bridge and were both slightly injured and still neither of them could get a glimpse of their leaders. Not even Norway was around. Said blonde was frantically searching the hordes of men to find the Dane or the Briton. A huge commotion fired up close to the middle of the bridge and so he pressed on through the thousands of people, walking carefully over the dead. It wasn't easy and in the end took Norway almost an hour to get anywhere near where he suspected them to be.

People around were focused less on killing each other and seemed more interested in whatever duel was going on. Norway finally broke through the crowd, panting heavily. His eyes widened in fearful realization. Denmark looked like hell, obviously having taken more hits than England who was still fighting with a smile on his damned face. "No!" Norway yelled as the sword of England, bloodied and worn, ran into the Dane's gut.

A pained scream pierced into everyone's ears. It was over. They couldn't go on without Denmark; he was the only one who truly believed in them. A tear ran down Norway's face as he watched in horror. England pulled his sword out. His smile grew and he laughed, emerald eyes darkening as he saw the now bloodier sword, proving that he had in fact stabbed the man.

"Den!" Norway ran to his side, helping him to his feet. "We have to go!" He begged.

"Retreat…!" Denmark managed, blood seeping from his wound. Sweden helped carry the Dane away. The entire Scandinavian army gave up under the order of Denmark, too many casualties to count.

When they were far from England's army, Norway hurriedly tore the clothes from Denmark as soon as Sweden set him down, seeing to the stab wound in his stomach. Normally dull blue eyes glittered with tears. He couldn't die. He was a nation, England couldn't wipe out all of Denmark but the Norwegian had never seen his friend so weak. He was broken, hurt, defeated. "I told you we couldn't do it, you idiot!" Norway whispered angrily to the unconscious man and a wicked wind blew over the remaining men.

Norway felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up to see Finn's kind eyes staring at him, though his face was solemn. "I'd like to believe he could have Norge. It just wasn't his day."

Finally, they returned to the troops they had originally left behind, along with the longships. It was a silent journey back, as only about 30 of their boats were used to return home out of the 300 they began with. "Den, you idiot. Why did you underestimate him?"

Over the long recovery of Denmark, Viking raids became as few and far between as Norway kept a watchful eye on his friend and their armies. In the end, this, the Invasion of England, would be known as the final major Viking raid. They died down and the Viking era disappeared as did the injury on Denmark, though as any does, a scar remained on the nation and his history.
Sorry it's not the happiest ending but that's not my fault! This story was about the Invasion of England as it says, which is marked in history as the last Viking raid. Yes small raids happened after but none were significant. Hope you liked it, this is the end! =D
© 2011 - 2024 Screammealullaby
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notshortEdwardElric's avatar
Aw wow! Poor Denmark!
I gotta say, I reaaaaaally loved this story. Epic history lesson! Very good work! :la: