Björn sat in a comfortable chair that was woven with decorative red fabric, reclining against the cushioned material by the blazing fire. The embers rising high into the chimney, covering the stone in thick soot. A fresh pile of cut lumber was stacked neatly beside the hearth.
He had just finished cleaning up the room that Berodach had destroyed in a matter of minutes. The blood soaked wrappings and the filthy water they resided in were spilled across the floor. Finally he had soaked up the putrid water, and disposed of the last bandage.
The splinters of the bucket that had been crushed into pieces became kindling in the fire. Droplets of fresh blood that had left a trail from the bed to the wall across the room, had finally been scrubbed away.
Two fist sized holes in the floor boards were repaired with far-from skillful craftsmanship. A single board was nailed down over the holes, and his mother's least favorite rug covered the damage.
Turning pages of the thick, leather bound book slowly; Björn read the interesting tale of a fictional elven warrior. Laughing to himself as the comical character continuously found himself in quite the predicaments. Whether it was facing his beautiful, yet ill-tempered mistress, to facing a horde of ogre's. The continuous antics of the main character would continue until the epilogue where he'd find his true love, and settle down with himself trapped around her little finger.
A stack of books resided on the table beside him. A range of titles from fictional novels, to historical documents. Buried beneath the books were documents from the jarls of the large cities of his land. Each one demanding an annoying task he lacked the desire to complete.
For now, they would stay hidden. Out of sight, out of mind.
A bright flash of lightning distracted him from the pages, his gaze traveling up to the glass paned windows. The storm outside still raged on. Heavy droplets of rain that sounded like hail pounded against the windows and roof. Wind howled like an angry pack of wolves, threatening to blow down the entire manor. Thor sounded his hammer in the skies, he was either joyous or very upset: which was unknown to Björn.
"Ugghhh."
Björn looked over his shoulder at the large bed in the corner of the room. The delicate candelabra on the nightstand illuminated the slumbering man beneath the pile of blankets. Berodach stirred in his sleep, his head tossing from side to side. He groaned again, before his eyes parted.
Björn stood up, crossing the room and standing beside the bed. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared down at Berodach whose gaze darted about the room. When his vision focused, it landed on Björn who looked far from pleased.
"You're an asshole."
Berodach's eyes squinted in confusion, then he smiled. "I've been called worse."
"You are a complete, and utter jackass." Björn grumbled, glaring icy daggers. "Good-for-nothing imbecile."
Berodach rolled his eyes, and Björn continued. "The shit that you pulled," he growled. "-if you could have even attempted to appear more intelligent than you did this morning, you would still be stupid."
Berodach tried to sit up, resulting in Björn slamming his open palm against his breast bone. Sucking in air at the pain, he howled and collapsed against the pillows beneath him. Bjorn did not hold back at all this time, not concerning himself if the wound opened further.
"No, uh-uh. No way in all of Helheim are you getting out of bed again."
Berodach looked around the room, recalling the faintest of memory where he attacked Björn. "I over reacted-"
"You think?" Björn asked raising his eyebrows. "You re-opened all, and I mean all of your wounds."
"I also attacked you, I apologize."
Björn waved his hand, "Block headed buffoon. You were in shock from the transformation, if you're going to be apologizing: do so for all the hard work you ruined."
"I apologize prince, truly."
Björn rubbed his brows and sighed, "Enough."
Berodach groaned, clutching his stomach and restlessly moving his legs. "Everything hurts. Do all mortals feel pain like this?"
"If mortals suffered wounds like yours, they'd be dead." Bjorn snorted sarcastically.
He blinked, oh. "I suppose your right."
"I had to re-bandage all of your wounds, again."
"I'm sor-"
Björn held up his finger to silence him. "You will stay in this bed for no less than two weeks."
Berodach's eyes widened, appalled by the notice. Seeing Berodach's expression change to one of annoyance, Björn saw the ancient ready himself to argue.
"No arguing with me, that's a command."
"I am not one of your mortal slaves Björn." Berodach hissed, the deep rumble of his voice once again chilling the air in the room.
Björn felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on edge, his eyes squeezing shut as he exhaled slowly. Snarling back, he stood over Berodach like he would an insubordinate juvenile.
"I am your prince however, and as such… I order you to remain in this bed until your wounds heal."
Berodach shook his head and sighed, "Yes." Arguing would surely get him nowhere.
Björn smiled, relieved the Berodach would not lash out at him once again. "I did not expect you to handle the transformation like that."
Berodach's emerald green eyes were swirling, the radiant mixture of forest green and gold flecks in his iris's reflecting the light of the candelabra. Clenching his jaw, his expression seemed to be growing more malevolent with each passing second.
"I did not want to have a mortal form."
"It was the only way I could possibly treat your wounds."
"I know. It still does not change the fact that I would rather die than be trapped in this form."
"You would have died." Björn ran his hand through his own hair, staring into the burning embers of the fire.
"You could have let me."
Shaking his head, Björn stared down at the intricate marbling of the wood grains in the floor boards. "You know I couldn't live with myself if I had just stood idly by and watched you bleed out."
"You could have. You could have moved on." Berodach snapped. "You were just being selfish."
Björn snapped back, "You're right! I was being selfish! I haven't seen you in years Bear, but you are still my close friend!"
Berodach's eyes widened, his head jerked back as if he had just been struck across his cheek. Staring at Björn with a bewildered, and far from amused expression, he parted his lips but no words came from him.
"If you think I could leave my friend to die in front of me, you're wrong! If that makes me selfish, so be it!" Björn rambled. "Gods, I can't believe I thought you might show just an ounce of appreciation for saving your life! You- you- you cock sucking bastard!"
He waved his hands in the air, shouting obscenities as he exited the room and slammed the door shut behind him. His enraged voice could be heard echoing down the hallways as he stomped down a flight of stairs.
Berodach stared up at the ceiling, his eyes still wide. Still… considers me a friend? Why? He groaned, pressing his palm against sore chest. His head ached worse than any fatigued body. His mind was far from settled, it was in a twister of mixed up thoughts and a whirlwind of emotions.
"You saved my life dear prince. Yet you've trapped me for all eternity… in more despair than I've ever thought possible."
It felt as if his already tattered soul had been completely torn to shreds, once and for all. There was nothing that could ever possibly patch him back up together. He had now lost everything.
He had been abandoned by his creators. Forced to leave all of his kin behind, as well as the only place he knew as home. Left to wander time and space until he felt nothing but despair. His soul had betrayed him to darkness.
The only thing he had were his wings. Wings that granted him the ability to fly into the night sky. To visit the stars and to gaze at their beauty. That was the only thing he had left, and now it was gone.
His heart pounded within his chest cavity, thundering away as if it wanted to erupt from behind his ribs. It hurt. He really was cursed.
"May the Aesir damn you Berodach!" Björn shouted from the hallway, his voice coming closer to the room. "You are an imbecile and a bastard! Don't even think of arguing with me further!"
Björn pushed the wood door open with his back, stepping backwards into the room while carrying a large platter. Thick steam rising from a bowl centered on the silver tray.
"Do you understand me? No arguing." Björn started to turn into the room, approaching the bedside with fresh, steaming hot broth soup.
"I made soup. Eat it. It tastes good, and it will help you recover your-"
"HOOOOOOOOOOT!"