No Fear For The Setting Sun

Summary: Scandinavia, 10th century. Skjaldr and Asgeir, two male Norse warriors, are swept in a rag-tag team of travellers. M/M-centric.

Author's Note: I'm finally back to writing OC stories. Yes. About time! I haven't seen a lot of Nordic-related fics out there, thought I'd give it a shot. I'm quite aware that old Norse names aren't easy to pronounce, so for some character info and background, I will refer to my own thread on the AFF forums, as well as a review thread in which I'll reply to reviews. I hope you enjoy!



I make my final charge! I have no fear in heart!

I will no longer run! I do not fear the dark!

There's nowhere to run; darkness is closing in

I don't fear the setting sun, or the twilight that it brings

- Amon Amarth, "No Fear For The Setting Sun"





No Fear For The Setting Sun

Chapter 1





We were children when we met, barely toddlers. Our fathers were warriors, along with their fathers, and their fathers' fathers. This was our destiny.

And more. So much more.

To Valhalla. And beyond.

~

"They're back!"

The boy, Ilvar, son of Thorgod the fisherman, could be heard from the village outskirts. He ran through the marketplace as if carried by a winter storm, drawing the attention of merchants and patrons alike. He crashed into the warriors' hall and literally flattened on its floor.

The loud and bustling hall fell silent.

Something must have gone wrong. A bear, a wolf pack, invaders, a dragon, Odin coming...

Three or four men got up, weapon in hand, ready to defend their people from whatever invader would dare to show up on their grounds. No enemies would come out alive of this fight.

"No wait!"

Breathless, the kid roused from the floor, and leaned on the nearby empty bench in order to regain his balance.

"They're back... my father's boat..."

Victory chants and copper cups clinging quickly replaced the silence. There was no doubt that the ones who made it back from this three-year trip were fewer than the ones who had left, but a victory was a victory – people came back.

At the far right of the hall, a gruff, bearded man in chainmail looked up from his meal, his attention directed at the two youths in front of him. "Hey, weren't your fathers a part of that expedition?"

Icy blue eyes met with brown ones. "Come on Asgeir, let's get to them before they can reach us!"

The man named Asgeir swallowed his bite as quick as he could. "Hey Skjaldr, wait-...!" But it was too late. Skjaldr already scampered off, half of his breakfast left untouched. For a moment, Asgeir contemplated finishing his own plate. Instead, he rolled his eyes and sighed as he got up to follow his friend.

Catching up to Skjaldr included running through the marketplace at an alarming pace. This drew attention from the few merchants bringing their inventories outside. The guards stationed at the gate didn't even need to say anything and simply pointed in the right direction.

He miraculously caught up to Skjaldr, and ensnared the blond in a tight headlock. "So much for my breakfast."

Taken by surprise, Skjaldr yelped and tried to break free from the other man's grasp. He grunted and attempted to throw Asgeir over his shoulders, but the brunette held on tight. "Let go of me!"

"No way. I want my breakfast. And I know exactly how you'll repay me," Asgeir taunted. His lips formed a smirk, and he let a low chuckle pass his throat.

Skjaldr grunted, once again trying to push the arms away. "What if I say no?"

"Yeah right. You never have before."

Defeated, the blonde went limp. Asgeir released him from the headlock, yet kept his arm draped across Skjaldr's shoulders.

"Knew it."

"Shut up, Asgeir."

The brown-haired warrior lowered his arm slightly, only to withdraw right away. People were coming in closer. Men with weapons, caravans loaded with merchandise, horses.

Skjaldr stopped in his tracks and squinted. "That's my father over there. Hey father! Father!"

Within the small crowd, Thorvald Ragnarson recognized his son's voice. The closer he got, the more he realized the years definitely had gone by since he had left. Skjaldr was definitely a son to be proud of. At twenty-five years old and six feet two, he stood a little taller than his father. While Skjaldr had inherited from his blonde hair, he had his mother's winter blue eyes.

He diverted his attention to his son's companion. Asgeir was a mirror copy of his father, Harald. A strong jaw, dark brown hair and green eyes – without the thick beard. He wasn't surprised to see both side by side. With only a few months separating their births, they had been friends since early childhood. Thorvald had grown to consider Asgeir as his son as well.

Thorvald stepped in front of Skjaldr and put his hand on the younger man's shoulder, in a fatherly gesture. "Looks like you're doing well for yourself. I'm glad to see you in good health. And you as well, Asgeir," he stated as he summoned the brunette by his side.

"I can say the same for you, father. Welcome back home," Skjaldr greeted with a toothy grin.

The older warrior laughed out loud. "I'm glad to be back on land. We lost a few good men in the first storm, and it didn't get any better from there," he added with a sad smile. Only then did he catch Asgeir's worried frown, green eyes wandering left and right as people passed them. "Don't worry. Your father made it through. Half of us stopped at the town over and sell off some goods. He'll be back tomorrow or the day after."

Asgeir and his father might not have been on the best terms ever, but both of them knew when to discard some differences to worry about each other. "Glad to hear it. Thanks for watching over him."

Once again, Thorval erupted in a boisterous laugh. He reached over to give Asgeir a manly pat on the back. "Watch over your father? Now that's a good one! We owe your father our hides, if anything. He got us out of one sticky situation and-... You know what?" he paused, his grin partially hidden by his beard. "That's a story best told with a good homemade mead. Why don't you join Skjaldr and I at our house? I'm sure your father would enjoy me bragging about him, but that'll happen soon enough anyways."

Asgeir nodded, smiling. "I can't refuse you that, Thorvald."

~

"Hey mother, guess what I fished out of the outskirts!"

Ingelill, Thorvald's wife, barely lifted her head from her embroidery canvas. Fished out from the outskirts? Sure, Skjaldr had an active imagination but-...

"Thorvald!"

The man extended his arms and she ran to him. He lifted her off her feet and for several seconds, kept her body close to his in a bone-crashing bear hug. "I've missed you, my dear Ingelill." She buried her head in his shoulder.

"Father!"

Brynhild, Thorvald and Ingelill's youngest child, a maiden of 15, ran from her room to her father's arms. Just has he had done with his wife, he lifted her daughter from her feet and hugged her tight, smiling. He put het back down, and held her at arm's reach. "You were still a child when I left. Look at you now, all grown up."

"Boys won't leave her alone," Skjaldr informed, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips. "I've had to knock two or three down in the last 6 months. They were going way too far..."

Brynhild giggled and blushed. "Skjaldr's been taking good care of us. And Asgeir's been helping around too."

In response, the brown-haired youth waved and shook his head in dismissal. "It's nothing really..."

"I didn't expect anything less of the both of you," Thorvald added with another chuckle. "So why don't we sit down and I call tell you about our trip? Because this whole thing started early on, let me tell you..."

Asgeir elbowed his friend. Brows quirked, eyes shining with curiousity, he leaned his head towards Skjaldr's. "How long, you think?"

A coy smile tugged at the blond's lips. "Hope you didn't have plans for today."

~

On his seat, Skjaldr stretched his neck and upper body. As much as he enjoyed his father's travelling stories, he could barely stay awake anymore. He had to stop himself from leaning on Asgeir's shoulder and passing out. Truth be told, he couldn't wait to be in his own room, but damn it all, he hadn't seen his father in three years.

Asgeir wasn't faring any better. The brown-haired youth sat right beside Thorvald, who didn't hesitate to elbow and pat him on the back every chance he got; the only things keeping him on his toes.

"Thorvald, let the boys go to bed. They were up before the sun rose this morning," Ingelill reprimanded, hands on her hips. She frowned. "And I wouldn't mind having you to myself."

Skjaldr's head snapped upright, his eyes widened and a shiver ran down his spine. "Did not need to know that..." He tapped on Asgeir's shoulder and motioned towards the stairs. "Heh, let's go."

Thorvald grinned. "'Didn't need to know that,' says who now?"

Skjaldr stopped dead in his tracks. Asgeir had seen it coming – he froze a foot away from the other man to avoid bumping into him. The blond turned his head in his father's direction."Oh shut up!" he snarled, mildly annoyed.

Asgeir shot an amused look towards the older man, before he pushed Skjaldr forward and urged him to the stairway.

Once alone with his wife, Thorvald leaned in his chair. It was definitely good to be back home. "So... how have they really been doing?"

Ingelill walked up to him and leaned on his shoulders, a peaceful smile on her face. "Oh, you know Skjaldr. He keeps busy when he's not on guard duty, and he's been fending off the guys who get too close to Brynhild. I think Asgeir spends more time here than at his own house, but with his brother around, he can afford it." She paused and sat by her husband's side. "What worries me is that at this rate, they won't have any children to take care of them when they get too old... That worries me much more than the men teasing him."

"If anything, I'm worried about the ones who push him too far," Thorvald chuckled. "So if I go upstairs right now..."

She slapped him on the upper arm. "Thorvald..." she warned, her voice hushed. "They came of age years ago. They're men, not little boys anymore. Leave them be."

"I'm just curious is all..." he justified with an apologetic shrug. "He's my son no matter what, we've had this discussion back when they were children..."

He turned his head towards hers. Ingelill still bore an unamused frown.

"I won't even say anything," he insisted. "And I'll be as quiet as a mouse."

"Thorvald..."

"Just taking a tiny quick peek..."

She sighed and shook her head. "Don't. Say. Anything," she warned again. "He's already having enough issues with the other warriors, he doesn't need to think his father's-"

"Oh he knows," the blond cut. With this, he got up from his seat and quietly made his way to the stairs. He followed the narrow corridor, past Brynhild's bedroom, and gently cracked open the door to Skjaldr's room.

He grinned. 'Nothing I wasn't expecting.'

From his point of view, he couldn't see much. Asgeir laid on his right side, away from him. The cover barely hid his lower body. The only sign of Skjaldr's presence was a single arm draped across Asgeir's waist, and two pairs of interlocked legs protruding from the cover.

His curiousity satisfied, Thorvald was about to leave the youths to their own devices when he heard muffled whisper.

"C'mooon..."

"No way. Not tonight. My father just got back and I think he'll appreciate a quiet night. Tomorrow we can sneak out somewhere-"

Asgeir's head jerked up and down. "Nuh-huh. You said you would, Skjaldr. C'mon."

Skjaldr sighed. "You've never said anything about tonight."

"Just keep quiet and you'll be just fine."

He let out another sighed, exasperated. "Okay, okay, fine... But if my father wakes up, I will rip you apart."

The sheets rustled. Asgeir shifted to allow Skjaldr to slide under him, and settled between the younger man's toned legs. He leaned forward to steal a kiss. Several long seconds passed until they broke away from each other, short of breath. Asgeir, still on top and now facing a very impatient Skjaldr, shuffled to search for... something. He came back up with a small vial, contents unknown, and slid his hands between Skjaldr's legs.

Thorvald quirked a brow. There were limits to how far he was willing to invade his son's privacy, and that was it. Better leave them alone for now. Fearing he might disturb the youths, he didn't close the door and tip-toed back.

For a moment, he stood in the corridor and pondered on his next destination. He could always do a quick check-up on his daughter. Were she awake, however, the entire household would hear about it for days – closing on sixteen years old, she wasn't a little girl anymore. The second option was going to bed right away; he was on the second floor already. He opted for a third option, and slowly headed back downstairs. Ingelill was right. They indeed could use some time together, alone.

He had set a single foot on the first step of the staircase when he heard it.

A scream, coming right outside from their house.

"Help! He's getting away!"

Thorvald's first move was to run the few steps which separated him from Skjaldr's room, and only then did he realize his mistake. He held the door open, exposing his son and his lover in a promiscuous position. Both men stared right back at him, mouths agape, eyes wide open. Embarrassment was the understatement of the century.

"Father...!"

The older man scoffed. "Oh come on. I was expecting worse. Just get your asses out of bed and come outside. I'm sure you've heard that."

Skjaldr had to literally push Asgeir off his frame to get up. "I'm not deaf," he muttered as he reached for his slacks. He was quick to put them on, and finally grabbed his weapons – a sword and a shield. "Let's get outta here."

Asgeir was the last one out. The three of them didn't have to search long to find out exactly what happened. In the darkness, a horse sped by them. Seconds later, a skinny man emerged out of the shadows, armed with nothing but a shovel. "He stole my horse! Stop him!"

Sword in hand, Skjaldr stepped forward. "Who was that guy?"

The man with the shovel shrugged in irritation. "I don't know. He definitely wasn't from around here. Not with that kinda clothing. What I know, is that if I find the son of a bitch, I'm going to send him to Hel..."

Meanwhile, a significant crowd had gathered around the men. Most of them were wearing light clothing, yet wielded their weapons and bore angry faces. Only a handful were fully dressed, and even less wore full armor.

One of the guards spoke up, his eyes wandering off the direction which the thief had taken. "A foreigner eh? Not a whole lot of them around. Maybe we should check if other people had issues with him or seen someone similar... If he ran off with a horse, he might be facing troubles already."

Skjaldr gave the crowd a toothy grin. "I'll find that thief and bring back the horse. Watch me."

Asgeir brought a palm to his forehead and sighed. Why did Skjaldr always have to-

"Let's go, Asgeir. All we need is two horses, a hound, and we're set." The blond paused. Without thinking, he grabbed Asgeir's hand and tugged, forcing the other warrior to follow him on a short distance. "Gonna need more clothes first."

Asgeir shot a tired and defeated look at Thorvald. He expected the patriarch to put an end to this silly situation. In reality...

"That's my son! Go get that son of a bitch!"

Amongst the men present, one warrior stood out. Decked in plated armor, Snorri Haraldson – Asgeir's elder brother – was one of the few guards who had been assigned a patrol shift that night. Alerted by the scream, he rushed to the scene. Since someone else would take care of the issue, he figured he could go back to his patrol route.

But when he spotted Skjaldr, he couldn't help it. He walked to the front of the crowd, beside Thorvald, and crossed his arms over his chest. "Like the kitten could catch something."

Skjaldr did a one-eighty. He let go of Asgeir's hand and rushed to Snorri, knuckles white from grasping the hilt of his sword so tight. He'd decapitate the man once and for all. "You know what? I'll fucking find him just to prove you wrong."

Asgeir frowned, tired. He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. There was no stopping Skjaldr, and he simply knew he'd be dragged along. That, he didn't mind. What annoyed him was Skjaldr's recklessness when it came to challenges.

He had learned long ago to never challenge Skjaldr. Now if everyone else could learn, he'd be set for a while.

The blond youth snarled. His eyes shot daggers at the walking mass of muscle who stood an inch away from him. For a few seconds, he felt like throwing his weapons away and choke the living shit out of him. Asgeir was quicker. He caught a hold of Skjaldr's arm and dragged him along.

"Don't let him get to you. I've told you that a thousand times already," he scolded between clenched teeth. He pulled Skjaldr back inside the house, and up the stairs. "He's teasing."

"Yeah well I'm sick of it." Skjaldr reached for a shirt and his shoes. "I'll get the horses. You get a hound. Meet me at the stables." This being said, the blond darted down the stairs without even giving Asgeir a chance to protest.

Asgeir sighed and hurried to get clothed, then left in a hurry as well. Skjaldr had lost it – again. He wished he didn't have to say "again", but what could he do? Resigned, he headed towards his house. If he had to pick a hound, it was going to be his elkhound, Hati. The salt-and-pepper dog was a loyal companion from his late teenage years. Skjaldr and him had trained it to help hunting, and was able to keep up easily, leash or no leash.

He barely had untied the dog when Skjaldr showed up, with two horses in tow. One was his father's, a brown and white mare that was most likely older than the both of them. The second was the stallion Asgeir was the most comfortable with.

"No time to lose," the blond announced as he mounted the mare. "Let's exit through the north gate."

Asgeir looked at the hound and shook his head. "Let's go, buddy. Skjaldr's not exactly gonna wait for us."