#vargeuro

[princess-lvcifer]

[princess-lvcifer]

the favourite

chapter I: this mud stinks...

eurodead/eurovarg/fenrizvarg • based on the favourite (2018) dir. yorgos lanthimos • multi-chapter fanfic

summary: In the mid-19th century Norway was at war with Sweden, yet castles as gifts and duck racing flourished. King Euronymous took the throne and his close friend Lord Dead ruled the country in his stead while he nursed his ill health and passionate temper. But when Dead's cousin came to the palace it all went downhill.

A/N: English isn't my first language, sorry if something's weird expressed. 🇪🇸

Crossposted on my AO3.

Some scenes and characters have been deleted, some scenes and dialogues have been modified, some scenes and dialogues have been created entirely by me.

Pelle is not from Sweden here.

Historically incorrect because Norway and Sweden weren't at war at the time, and based on British politics.

𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐 𖤐

Servants were removing the young king's cloak, one on each side. One held the folded cloak in his arms, and the other removed the heavy crown from his head as he gazed solemnly into the nothingness in front of him, still with black and white make-up on his face. As these two withdrew closing the door behind them, the king turned to look at the one who kept him company in his great chambers, a young blond who relaxed when they were left alone.

"How was my speech?" asked the king, interested in his friend's opinion.

"I would have done worse," replied the blond, Dead, sarcastically.

"Indeed," he added with a smirk that infected him. His attention was caught by a noise coming from a large cage in the chambers where the king kept his cockatoo. "Say hello to my little one," he nodded pointing at the bird.

"No," he replied slightly uncomfortably, tensing his body again, "it's macabre."

"And?" he asked. "You love the macabre."

"I would only go near her if she were dead," the king rolled his eyes.

"Please," he said in an attempt to convince him.

"No. I love you, but I won't do that."

"If you love me-"

"Love has limits," he hastened to say.

"Yes, I know, and it shouldn't," he hastened to reply, and the mood became more serious than he intended as they both stared at each other unblinkingly. The blond was the first to avert his gaze, ducking it. Wanting to change the subject and embarrassed at having made him uncomfortable, the king asked him to blindfold himself.

"What are you trying to do?" He asked, confused. "You want to try to make me caress the bird that way?"

"No, that's not that. Trust me," Dead hesitated, but decided to give in to his majesty. He knew he would not abuse his power that way and would do absolutely nothing to make him uncomfortable.

The king wanted to surprise his dear friend, so he got him blindfolded and opened the secret door leading to a secret passage. He walked with his hands forward trying to see with his sense of touch, while to his left and a few steps behind was Euronymous, smiling and with a candelabra in his hand to light the way. When they reached their destination, another room of the king, he led him in front of a table, turned it around and removed the blindfold, revealing a model of the reconstruction of an old castle.

"You're crazy," Dead exclaimed, surprised but happy to see what was in front of him, grinning from ear to ear.

"Crazy in love," Euronymous corrected in a sweet tone, looking at him. When Dead turned to look at him, he saw him looking at him and smiling sweetly at him, and that caused a slight blush to appear on his face and his heart to race for a second, so he looked away quickly. "I've wanted to give you something for a long time."

"Something? This is a castle, not something. It's quite an extravagance, Øystein," said the only one who had the privilege of calling him that, walking around the model to get a better look at it.

"And yet it seems too little for you in my opinion."

Four black horses pulled the carriage in which rode a young man with brown hair and a scar on his chin. Inside it was full of people, to his right a mother with her two small children and to his left an older man; in front of him another man of his own age and on either side of him a woman and another older man. He was looking out of the window observing the nature of the forest they were passing through, and when he noticed that the man in front of him was staring at him he couldn't help but make eye contact — he smiled at him and the man, naively, returned the gesture but the smile left his lips when he saw how he slipped his hand inside his trousers. When after what seemed like an uncomfortable eternity the carriage stopped at his destination he approached the door to get out, but the pervert came up to him and stuck his hand up his ass, causing him to exclaim and shut up in fright over a puddle of mud on the soft floor, smearing himself all over it.

When he finally reached the part of the palace where the employees worked and resided, he knocked on the kitchen door. The door was opened for him by a boy a little taller than him, with curly hair falling around his shoulders and his fringes pulled back in a bun at the back of his head. He handed him a letter, looked at the envelope and wordlessly withdrew, so he followed, closing the wooden door behind him first. He ran back to him, and followed him through the huge, bustling kitchen. The guy, though in an unfriendly tone, invited him to take a piece of bread. He did not refuse and took a quick bite.

"Bård will take you to wash up," he said approaching a table where a boy who looked about his own age sat preparing food, "and to see the Lord," he added handing back the letter.

This Bård silently led him through the palace, which he looked at with a craned neck: high walls and stained glass windows and rose windows of cold coloured glass, domes and vaults, arches and pillars, sculptures and paintings, candelabra and crystal chandeliers that looked like spider webs, carpets and tapestries... Everything had a lot of detail everywhere, everything was beautiful.

"This mud stinks..." he tried to say as they climbed stairs to break the ice.

"I can feel it," Bård replied clearly bored, standing in front of a door. "Go in there," he said pointing with his arm, "and wash up."

"Thank you very much," he said smiling kindly and subtly kneeling on his knees.

When he opened the door he found himself in a tiny, dark space with another door. When he opened it he saw that it led into a much larger, more luxurious room — it was not a bathroom, it was a sitting room where Dead and others were chatting while playing billiards.

"Lord Ohlin!" he dared to say his surname, surprised as well as embarrassed and catching the attention of the aforementioned and his companions. The blond scanned him up and down as he stabbed the stick into the ground. "It is I, Varg," he said approaching them. "Dear cousin, I have a letter from our uncle," he said raising his arm for him to see, but he was unfazed and his nerves increased. You could see for miles how nervous he was, and that he didn't quite know what to say. "And... Um, I am sorry, I didn't mean to introduce myself with..." He waved his arm, pointing with the letter he held in his hand at his hideous muddy outfit. "I- I fell out of the carriage and a man touched himself while looking at me..." he said almost in a whisper, but still audible to the others. "Well, never mind," he said a little louder, rather to himself. "Our uncle's letter," he said raising his arm and the letter again, but some flies around him caught his and everyone's attention. "Sorry," he apologised as he tried to shoo them away by waving his arm, willing the earth to swallow him whole instead of just being smeared with it. "I apologise for my appearance, the servant brought me here. A harmless prank, I imagine..."

"Your name," he said after the speech. He did not look him in the eye at any time, he was shy and did not enjoy meeting new people — it caused him problems, making the other people around him take him for a cold and even rude being. "If we are related..."

"Didn't I say it?" he asked nervously and confused — he could have sworn he did, but he repeated it again just in case. "Varg Vikernes."

"The Vikernes of Bergen?" asked Dead grinning from ear to ear and finally daring to look him in the eye, if only for a second. "The one who went mad and set fire to his house while he was inside?" he asked with curiosity and wonder referring to his cousin's father, smiling slyly as he imagined the scene; Varg and the others thought he was mocking, but he was actually impressed. "And what do you want?"

"I was hoping to work for you, in whatever capacity."

"As a monster for children's games, perhaps?" he asked in all sincerity and without any malice, although the others present did misunderstand him, as usual. Though Varg thought his cousin was making fun of him for his situation and appearance, he decided to play along.

"...If you wish. Argh!" he exclaimed throwing up his arms and making an angry face, pretending to be a monster. He felt embarrassed, but at least it amused his cousin.

Other courtiers were in another great hall of the palace watching a duck race. Lord Nocturno Culto was there, though not for his own pleasure. For better or worse, he saw that Dead entered the room, taking a drink offered by a servant at the door to make his interactions with the rest of the court more manageable.

"So... a castle!" Nocturno Culto exclaimed offended as he approached him, watching as he drank the drink in one gulp and set it back down on the silver tray.

"I see you are angry at my good fortune..." he said slightly annoyed, looking at the ducks scampering across the floor, not for the fun of it but to avoid his gaze. The only thing that united these two was their lack of interest in living animals.

"I doubt you'd make the mistake of thinking I'd be happy for you," he said pointing his staff at his neck as if it were a sword.

"Stop pointing that stick at me," Dead dodged out of the way to continue walking around the room. "I'm sure it's not the first or the last time you've heard that, am I right?" he asked as he noticed him following him.

"It won't hold," he said moving to his side, referring to his castle.

"It will stand if I commission the best builders in the kingdom."

"Given the precarious state of the coffers the king should listen to the advice of his loyal opposition," he said as they approached Lord Necrobutcher. "Prime Minister, we must discuss who will propose the peace treaty to-"

"We don't need any peace treaty, we have them in retreat," he replied.

"Then they will surrender," said Nocturno Culto.

"One battle will not win the war," replied Necrobutcher.

"I have managed to hold my party back, even though the landowners have paid for this war."

"And we are grateful," interrupted Dead to drive him further out of temper.

"I haven't seen any farmers killed on the battlefield," said Necrobutcher.

"We have no money, I said," said Nocturno Culto shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders, not believing he needed to clarify.

"They are worn out, but not beaten — we must destroy them, let them beg for peace with broken hearts and bowed heads."

"Let us take it up with the king," said Nocturne Culto, "if you can make an appointment with him..." he said, looking at Dead.

"Of course," he nodded wearily, "and now, if you'll excuse me..." he said, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible.

It was now nightfall and Varg found himself in a tiny room, trying to sleep as a ball on the floor as it was crowded, occupied by other servants. Coughs from one of them made him open his eyes. He barely slept a wink, but it woke him up to have a bucket of cold water thrown in his face the next morning, falling over his naked body in front of the others in the bathroom he shared with them all.

Dead was waiting for the king outside his chambers, observing the nature outside the palace through a huge window, but his majesty's voice caught his attention. When he turned around he saw that he was even wearing make-up, but not his usual make-up, which was one of the things he usually took care of.

"Who did your make-up?" asked Dead almost offended.

"I wanted to impress the Papa, don't you like it?" he asked quizzically.

"...You look like a panda," he said seriously, and the king looked at him in annoyance. "What do you think you look like?"

"...A panda," he repeated annoyed.

"Didn't you look in a mirror before you went out? Do you think you can greet Papa Emeritus II like that?"

"No..." he whispered in annoyance as he agreed with him.

"I'll take care of it," he said putting his arm around his shoulders, guiding him to the door to re-enter his quarters.

"Thank you."

Euronymous sat in a chair, and Dead prepared the make-up; luckily he wouldn't have to remove his make-up first, he could paint black on white, he just had to shape the make-up he was wearing to look the way he usually did.

"Sit on top of me," he told Dead as he saw how uncomfortable he was bending over and standing up, "you'll be more comfortable."

He looked him straight in the eye, as he was the one he trusted the most and didn't feel uncomfortable doing such a thing or being so close — he was used to it. For a second he hesitated when he saw the smirk on his friend's face, but in the end he accepted the proposal because he was right: he would be more comfortable like that.

The brunet was looking closely at every detail of the blond's already made-up face and the blond pretended not to notice, focused on finishing his majesty's make-up. But there was a moment when their gazes met and Euronymous couldn't help but smile.

"Don't smile, you'll fuck up the make-up," Dead told him as seriously as he could.

"I can't help smiling every time I look at you, especially when you're so close to me," he noticed his eyes boring into his pale lips, but he didn't think he'd dare bring them together considering the makeup they were both wearing and that the Papa himself was waiting for him. He also thought that if he saw him approaching he would be quick enough to dodge him successfully, but he was wrong about everything — Euronymous grabbed him by the shirt and pulled him towards him, fusing the black and white paints on his lips, creating grey stains on both of them. At first Dead tensed and tried to pull away from him, even though it wasn't the first time this had happened and deep down he didn't dislike it, but he eventually gave in as he let the king's tongue slip inside him and felt his left hand slide up his right thigh.

"You'll be happy, it'll take longer now," he said annoyed, getting up from his legs to go and touch up his lips in front of the mirror, pulling a handkerchief from an inside pocket of his jacket.

"More time together," Euronymous joked.

"And less time with the Papa," he added. "It's an important meeting, Øystein," he reminded him, but he couldn't care less.

"Yes, we were in the woods," he said putting his right arm over his head, sinking his face into the crook of his elbow, "at one of my father's hunting parties... I got angry with him, I don't even remember why, and ran away... I ran into you on the shore of the lake," he said smiling, "and I thought you were one of the ones who he sent searching for me, but you almost seemed annoyed by my presence..." he said with a tired chuckle, but the important thing was that he was laughing and distracting himself.

Varg, doing as he was instructed as best he could, quickly and quietly, couldn't help but glance at them both.

"I just wanted to be alone," Dead added in the same tone.

"But you let me be by your side," he said removing his arm from his face and looking up at the ceiling, smiling wistfully as if he were looking at his distant past, "and I am grateful for that."

Varg's hand was burned and still hurting, so in the morning, knowing he would not be able to go back to sleep and his shift would start soon, he decided to take a black horse from the stables and go to the forest to look for medicinal plants. When he found them he crushed them into a paste which he rubbed into his hand, and kept what was left over in a small box. He intended to use it later.

As he bandaged his hand he heard the rustling of leaves and twigs, and looked up quickly. In front of him, a few yards away, stood another young man on another black horse, watching him curiously and attentively in silence. He looked short, slender and brown-haired — he looked somewhat like the king, but it was clearly not him. Though he said nothing and stood still Varg quickly rose, untied the horse from the tree to which he had tied it and mounted it to flee the scene, leaving it behind.

"For the king," Varg said to the footman guarding the king's chambers, "the physician has instructed that he be taken away at once. It is most urgent."

"He is sleeping," he said.

"Do you want to endanger the king's health and face the consequences?" he asked seriously.

"...What- What does "the consequences" mean?" he asked frightened.

"It means that he will have you flogged."

The servant stepped aside, letting him pass. He closed the door behind him, and as he approached his bed he surveyed the room conscientiously, for the night before, because of haste and darkness, he had not been able to see much. Obviously, as expected, it was luxurious to a fault.

He also watched the king sleep for a second, scanning his face longer and more closely in better light than the night before. Then he bent over his bed carefully and reached for his white linen nightgown to lift it up and uncover his legs. He couldn't help but look down at them and peek a little inside as she turned his neck to check that he was still asleep. Then he rubbed the paste he made on his left leg, careful not to hurt him or wake him up.

"What are you doing!?" He heard his cousin's indignant voice behind him at the bedroom door.

"It's peleatis, a weed," he replied nervously as he watched the blond approach him at a brisk pace. "I cut it this morning, it reduces inflammation. It will calm the king."

"You can't come in here," he said annoyed, standing in front of him. "Didn't the footman stop you?"

"It's not his fault, I lied to him."

"The Prime Minister," he announced.

"I only wanted to help him," he said in his defence, "he seemed to be in so much pain..."

"Lackey, take him downstairs," ordered Dead. "Tell Vegard to give him six with a birch rod."

"I was only trying to help!" he said desperately to his cousin as the footman took him by his slender arm and led him back to the kitchen.

Varg's good intentions did not move Dead, nor the fear in his eyes, for he did not look at them as usual. He simply leaned over the bed, sitting down beside the king to whisper in his ear:

"Øystein, pay attention."

A large paper map was placed on top of the aforementioned, newly awakened without much success, and Necrobutcher began to speak as he pointed to different locations with his staff.

"Our army concentrates here, the Swedes here..."

"What- What country was that?" asked the semi-conscious king. "Switzerland?"

"Almost. Sweden," Dead replied.

"We will attract them by sending a small detachment to draw their attention. They will pursue us and we will descend in large numbers from there," he said pointing at the map. "King Euronymous, do you agree?"

"The people were waiting for the war to finish..."

"Well, we all want it to end, but just wishing for it isn't enough," said Necrobutcher, shrugging his shoulders and trying to hide a smile. "We can wish for peace, but that's not how we'll get it."

"...It does help..." Euronymous whispered.

"...What?" Dead asked turning his neck to look at him.

"Something is soothing the burning in my legs, what is it?" he asked doing the same.

"Oh, some kind of herb," he replied.

"Please, please!" Varg begged as the footman forced him to bend over the kitchen table. "No!" he pleaded as he tore at his shirt.

"What are you doing!?" Vegard asked indignantly, "Fuck him in the barn, not in the kitchen!"

"The Lord has said that six birch trees for this one," Vegard neither flinched nor asked what he had done to deserve such a thing, for it mattered little to him. He only went for the aforementioned rod while Bård watched the scene all too happily from his seat, listening to three blows on his back and his cries of pain as he dug his nails into the table.

"Stop!" Dead shouted and when he got there he stopped, digging his hands into his knees, his breath hitching from the run he'd made on his own. "Stop it!" he said gesturing sharply as he rose to his feet. "Come with me," he said to his cousin, looking earnestly at him. He took him into another room to talk alone. "Your excessive kindness does you no good," he said, his breath catching.

"I've been told that," he said still shaking from the pain of the three blows he had received, tears in his eyes and snot running from his nose, which he tried to hold back by sucking it in.

"The king is relieved, and I thank you for it. Bring more of those herbs, and don't meddle any more," he said looking him in the eye for a second, but quickly averted her gaze. "...What happened to your hand?" he asked after lowering his eyes and noticing the bandage on his right hand.

"Some of my... colleges are immune to my charms. They didn't warn me that a bucket had bleach in it, and they didn't give me gloves."

Dead took pity on his cousin, and decided to make him his servant. Wherever he went Varg was a few steps behind, keeping him company as his shadow. He gave him a humble room of his own, gave him better clothes, and last but not least gave him a court name: Greifi.