Vikings

— “What ? Tristan Kristiansen ? THE Tristan Kristiansen ?”

From the moment of my admission, my friend and colleague had nagged me all day long about the script I had just received. It was confidential, so I wasn’t about to tell him the details. But it created quite a commotion and all the Scandinavian natives just pushed me in the only direction I thought I could go.

To accept.

There was no other way. I was too curious, too eager to try my hand at acting. It was a golden occasion, and if I said no now, Tristan would never call back. I was sure of it. Getting the vacation cleared – three weeks in February – was another issue. I would have to cancel the easter trip to Italy though. Stéphane didn’t even seem to be pissed, pushing me to embrace a golden opportunity. I was the only one who seemed sad to not be able to enjoy the quiet beaches of South Sardinia.

My boss eventually agreed to clear my schedule; he was quite a fan. I had not realized how reknown Tristan was in Scandinavia, they didn’t get that many actors in Hollywood coming from Sweden, Sweden and Norway. A promise to return with an autograph did the trick, and I felt bad for taking advantage of Tristan’s notoriety to obtain things. But to be honest, it was to accommodate him in the first place just as well so my conscience didn’t scream that much.

I just couldn’t wait for Sunday, and worked my ass off all week long to compensate for my planned absence two months from there, and distract my mind. Work, Norwegian class, ice skating on Wednesday, then work, gym room on Thursday. It should have kept me busy… but even as I went crazy on the elliptic stepper, my mind couldn’t quit Tristan and his experimental movie. What kind of crew would I meet ? Where would I sleep ? How often would I see Tristan ? Would I meet his family ? Would Stéphane be amenable to join me in weekends ? What would my parents say ? Would I disappoint him ?

All sorts of fears settled deep in my stomach. Tristan was a renowned actor; I would need to be skilled enough to give the line. Now wasn’t the time to tarnish his reputation, or seem meek. No doubt he would give me a few tips; the man was generous enough for it. I hope he wouldn’t be disappointed. Damn, I was so afraid to be failure, I needed to man up ! So I started watching videos and tips from actors and other professionals in the movie world to understand what to expect. By Sunday, I was a frightful bundle of nerves.

9.50 am. Super light make up, hair brushed and proper clothes on, I wondered if there would be a day when Tristan and I could ‘meet’ without me being ready to kick the bucket out of nervousness. The sun was shining outside; it was one of the few dry days in Bergen. Perhaps I could go hiking this afternoon to clear my mind. I loved it when the temperature dropped and the sky cleared, there was nothing like winter lights upon still fjords. This morning, the surface of the sea was smoking from the freezing air. It was… surreal, and incredibly energizing. Who knew such places existed ?

Taking a deep breath, I settled in front of the computer and opened Skype. The camera was all right, so was the light. I could see myself properly and it bothered me. I never really liked my image on a screen… but anyway. This conversation would be held at another level, so I picked up the script by my side and started roaming the annotations I had written on the printed pages. There were quite many comments, questions and suggestions that I wanted to address, but I knew we couldn’t cover all of them.

I didn’t want to seem picky; what if Tristan changed his mind ?

While my mind was freaking out again, a little message appeared on screen. ‘My lady Frances, will you take this call ?’

Self-doubt and stress fled out the window at the very formal address, a huge smile splitting my face as I typed in ‘Of course, sir Tristan’. Given that a ‘call’, in ancient times, corresponded to a visit and was announced by a card, I wondered if the pun was intended. The screen blinked at once, and the speakers blared the annoying Skype signal I’d come to know well – this was our main way of communication with Stéphane since he insisted on staying in Lyon to build ‘his’ company. I drew the mouse over ‘accept’ with a trembling hand, my heart playing a staccato as the image cleared.

The image that appeared wasn’t what I was expecting.

Well, Tristan was there, for sure. The lines of his face had become familiar to me after seeing his movies, but even then I found him … fatigued ? The setting, though, was what threw me off guard. He was sitting in a café of sorts, shirt discarded in favour of a turtleneck, his mid-long hair falling over his high cheekbones. Stubble marred his chin, not long enough to cover it entirely, giving him a laidback look.

I wasn’t expecting a public place and was taken aback, but then Tristan gave me a genuine smile. The surroundings disappeared in that dazzling expression.

— “Good morning my lady. How fare you on this lovely day ?”

— “Very well, sir Tristan. How fares my knight ?”

The lines around his eyes creased in a merry expression, and I could feel excitement oozing out of him.

— “Good. Great, even. I just had a warm cup of tea, and the view is incredibly splendid. Let me share it with you”

Smiling at his antics, I played the game and watched the video as he turned his phone around to show me a port that felt familiar. Then a market that sat a few meters away from the docks… Was he in Malmö ? I’d never been there, but the city looked incredibly similar to Bergen’s port. Tristan’s voice guided me through the view as he slowly trailed the camera, and I wondered what the hell he was trying to convey. There was a catch, I was sure of it.

— “See ? The port on a Sunday morning, sun is shining, and I even get a whiff of seasalt. But that’s not the best”

The movement continued, and I recognized, at last, a set of very familiar wooden buildings. My breath caught, and Tristan turned the camera back to him, his expression unreadable.

— “Am I dreaming ?”, I asked.

— “No. This is Bryggen”

Stunned, I addressed him an incredulous look that might have looked a little intimidating for he slightly reclined in his seat. Yet, he kept silent, waiting for me to connect the dots.

— “Let me get this straight. You are in Bergen”

— “I am”

His face was serious, but his eyes couldn’t help but twinkle. I didn’t know what to say. Invite him in ? I dwelt too far away from the city for it to be convenient. My only other option was…

— “So… want me to join you ?” I asked.

— “If you are amenable, I’d like that very much”

There was such sincerity in his voice that my breath caught. Giddiness washed away incredulity, and my muscles coiled in anticipation.

— “You are… you are…”

Damn, I couldn’t find the words. Especially when his intense gaze was pinning me in place. This man, this acquaintance I had not seen for two years and a half, had flown from Malmö to Bergen to meet me. And even if he had mentioned wanting to visit the place again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was important in this equation. It didn’t help my stuttering, though and eventually, Tristan put me out of my misery.

— “I am ?”

I shook my head.

— “Your are quite a unpredictable man, you know ?

— “Is that a bad thing ?”, he answered genuinely.

My smile widened.

— “Only to people that don’t like surprises. Can you give me half an hour ? I’m quite far away from the city centre”

— “Of course. Take your time, I’ll be at the Hanseatic Museum”

For sure, he would chose to visit the monument that symbolized the Swedish domination over Norway ! Cheeky man.