Vikings be Trollin'

Ever wondered how England met Denmark and Norway? Well. It's a short tale of fail, trolling, and witchcraft.

- Just a side note. It's basically crack. And it's not…DenEng? What is that pairing?

Trollin' Trollin' –

England sighed, flicking through his cookbook absent-mindedly. The recipes seemed fine and logical; they were almost like the ones the frog used! But somehow, every time he set his eyes on a single ingredient, it just…didn't go very well, according to the villagers.

There was a knock at his door. He glared at it, before standing up and going to answer it.

"What is it?" he asked stiffly.

A man with a beard was outside, "Pardon me for intrudin' sir, but we have a bit of strange news. There are some weird boats approachin', and we don't know what it's about up in Norfolk. They're not like any others we've seen before. Just wonderin' if you made any arrangements to meet new people, or..." he trailed off, scratching his nose sheepishly.

England grimaced, "I haven't made any arrangements. Are you sure it's not the damned frog again?"

"Frog, sir?"

"I mean France." England explained bitterly, hating to linger on the subject of France for any longer than necessary.

"I see. And no, it's definitely not France. We looked from the towers and all, and…they look different. S'alright, though, if you haven't made arrangements. Us lot in Norfolk can take care of it pretty well!" the man stated proudly, thumping his chest with a large, calloused hand.

"Yes, but I would prefer it if I could see what these people are doing here," England told him, "I certainly hope that it isn't a bloody ship of thieves."

- Norfolk -

Eventually, he arrived at Norfolk, by the sea. He looked out, and saw a few very big, peculiar looking boats docking at the beach.

"See, sir? It's a bit odd, isn't it?" the farmer man said, and England didn't even listen.

"Belt up." He muttered, and strode up to the boats, spell book in hand. He swept his coat dramatically, as he stood outside the boats.

"Excuse me! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing here? This is my home!" he roared, standing his ground.

The boat remained silent.

"Can you hear me?" he yelled.

All of a sudden, a rather tall man jumped off the boat, landing on the sand with perfect balance. A reckless grin was plastered on his face, and he looked pretty proud of himself.

"What the-" England hissed, but stopped when he saw that this man had a large axe in hand. And he was wearing really thick clothes. A sort of fur lined cloak…a red one.

Another man appeared, shorter and more feminine than the other, and was extremely elegant in jumping down from the boat.

England sniffed, "what on Earth are you two wearing? You like right wallies."

The people exchanged a glance, muttering in some strange language. The taller said something, winking, and the more stoic looking guy whacked him around the face. England smirked. Idiots.

"You're England, right?" the taller said, in heavily accented English, "well. My name's Denmark, and this is Norway. Danmark and Norge, if you want to speak the language of the awesome."

England raised his thick eyebrows, "no, I'm not England, I'm France," he replied sarcastically, glaring at the two. He knew now that they were nations, and he also knew that that meant trouble. If he had never met them before, that meant they had never thought to show themselves. The only reason they would do that…huh.

"Really? I heard that France was hot." Denmark said, looking confused. That earned him a slap from Norway.

"Listen, you wankers. I recommend you get the hell out of here…or explain why you are here. Why are you here? What do I have that you want?" England frowned, "it's not as if I have anything nice in terms of food…well. I think so, but others don't."

Norway looked like he really couldn't give a fuck.

Denmark decided to explain instead, "Well, we kinda want your stuff. So we're gonna take it."

England dropped the book of magic he was holding, "What? We only just met! How could you possibly-why would you want something that you don't—I don't even know!"

"No questions. We've kinda got a crew and everything." Denmark shrugged, and Norway lifted a hand in a rather bored manner.

As if out of nowhere, about 20 men appeared, all wielding rather dangerous looking weapons.

England gulped, before regaining confidence.

"This is a load of bollocks! Get the hell out, otherwise…" he stated, a creepy grin spreading across his face, "I will get this book, and I will curse you."

Norway smirked slightly, and held out a rather small, worn out book, "two can play at that game," he remarked, "idiot."

And that's when they all decided to invade.

Several attacks later –

England groaned when he saw the Viking boats approach yet again. Didn't they take everything he had? Didn't they? He scrunched up a mocking letter from his sister, Ireland, and awaited the attack.

He needed a brainwave, and fast.

Denmark and Norway got off their boat, looking more and more superior every time. England stared at them. There was something different about the way they acted…no, not just Norway's creepy-as-fuck eyes. Not just Denmark's retarded hair.

Something between them.

Although Denmark stood there, careless, tall, arrogant, and proud, he showed a slight caring for Norway. Despite Norway's cold and somewhat dangerous attitude, it was obvious he also cared for the Dane.

"Oh, come on…" England groaned, when there was a whole crew of Vikings approaching.

"Yo England. Got any stuff we want? Trust me, that gold we took was awesome." Denmark laughed, almost as if they were friends. Because friends totally burn down tonnes of houses and kill everyone.

"How am I supposed to know if you want something?" England stated, "other than each other, of course." Oh, he certainly was a sneaky bastard.

"W-what?" Denmark gasped, caught out by this moment. Norway's poker face faltered, before returning again in a flash. Denmark looked at Norway, who was still staring at England.

"Oh, it's obvious that you guys, well. It's quite obvious that you love each other, isn't it? I think it's more brutal than that. You want each other, don't you?" inside, this was making England cringe, but it was most definitely worth it. If this saved his country from shit loads of Vikings trollin' them, then whatever.

England stood there, momentarily triumphant.

That's before Norway came right up to him, Denmark's axe in hand, and pressed the blade to England's throat.

"Wanker-!" England choked, feeling a few drops of blood roll down his neck.

"Give me one reason I shouldn't end you right now." Norway commanded powerfully, such hatred in his eyes. It was strong, it was burning.

"Because…you want my stuff?" England tried. There was no way he was going to die at the hands of a freak with a pointy thing.

Norway shook his head, ignoring Denmark's obnoxious laughter, "No. You have no more things left to steal…stop laughing, idiot!"

Denmark fell to his knees, causing his crew of Vikings to look at him weirdly. He could not stop laughing.

Suddenly, England remembered Ireland's letter to him. It hit him like a tonne of bricks.

Dear England,

Haha! Shame! You're being attacked! It's fate! For you being such an idiot and all that stuff! Hahahaha! Good luck dying, idiot!

Lot's of laughter,

Ireland.

He shook the letter's details away, before saying, "Norway, Denmark. I have a proposal for you."

Norway released his hold on England, "oh?"

England nodded, "if you leave me alone, I'll tell you about a place that's known as the Emerald Isle…"

Note -

Of course, Denmark and Norway returned multiple times after this.

Norfolk was probably not Norfolk at that point.

Owl post? Errrrr…

Historical Inaccuracies!

:L