A/N: What is this? Why are you starting a new story and not working on Where School Sucks (advertising)?
Well, I was watching Brave for the first time and thinking just how friggin amazing Scotland is and why the hell have I not gone there yet (I digress) and then I was saddened that I didn't write about Scotland much because I don't pair him with anyone and then...
I was thinking about the other country that I adore that I don't ship with anyone AKA Iceland and then...
I thought 'Hey didn't Erik the Red discover Iceland? Wasn't he Scottish?'
(I was wrong, by the way. Erik the Red was Norwegien...little bastard...messing up me remembering things from history class four years ago...)
But, as we all know, it's not called AcurateHistoryFiction it's called FanFiction and therby...
PLAUSIBLE EXCUSE FOR PAIRING!
-bowing- thank you, thank you, I'll be here all week!
And so you get...this.
It was going to be a one shot but I decided to break it up because it was getting pretty long and jazz so I'll be doing the same thing that I did with Gender Confused (advertising).
Please excuse me for any historical inaccuracies. I'm only a high school student and Google can only do so much for me -runs to hide in hermit hole-.
Oh! And I don't own Hetalia. Shame...
Warning: Genderbending Ahead
The night was dark, no moon, water black as pitch.
But there was a disruption in this perfect blackness: torches.
Dozens of them, lining the shore.
Boats slid towards the distant lights, silently cutting through the watery mass.
"Do you think they'll put up a good fight?"
One of the men on the boats grinned at his partner, crooked teeth turning the grin into a snarl, "Dunno, do I? 'S why we're here, conquering new land!"
"Then why do I got a bad feeling 'bout this?" the other asked.
"Cause you're an blithering bampot, y'are!"
"Shut it, lassies, 'fore I shut you up myself."
Both men stilled at the voice and turned to their captain.
Blazing red hair framing bright green eyes, chain mail glittering.
"We'll see how much of a fight they'll give us when we get there, aye?" the Captain asked, daring any of his crew to defy him.
None did.
It was like a silent countdown as the large wooden vessels slid up to the torch-lit shore.
Tri…
Do…
Aon…
Dozens of feet hit the rocky beach, no other sound heard.
The Scots advanced slowly, no weapons drawn (as ordered by their captain), but itching to do so. They were warriors and restraint wasn't in their nature.
More torches outlined a settlement, and a figure in front of it all.
Stark sliver hair, proud purple eyes, loose fitting clothes.
The warriors all looked to their captain. The kid couldn't have been more than seven years of age.
But the captain knew better.
"Farðu burt," the child said.
The captain stared at the child for a moment longer before motioning his men to follow.
They would stay there for the night and explore this new land, and the child, in the morning.
The captain woke before the rest of his men. Sneaking wasn't really a strong suit of his, but they all slept like the dead anyway so it wasn't that hard.
The redhead had always loved climbing cliffs in his own country so it was more for fun than anything when he scaled the one he had spotted the night before.
It was right as the redhead reached the top that the first gray of dawn peaked over the horizon, and the captain had to stop and gaze for a minute.
Green rolling hills interrupted by jutting cliffs and craggy rock, so similar to his own country that the captain had to do a double take to make sure he wasn't imagining things.
"Ég sagði þér að komast út."
The captain grinned lazily at the silver haired child that had come up behind him.
"Sorry, lass, I dun speak your language," he flicked some hair out of his eyes with a jerk of his head.
"I told you to get out," the child translated, "And how did you know I was a girl?"
The redhead kneeled to be eye-level with the silver haired girl, "Cause I'm like you. People call me Alba, but me human name is Alistair."
The girl gave him a skeptical look, but replied, "My people call me Ísland, but systir mín calls me Frøya."
Before Alistair had introduced himself Frøya had seemed guarded, drastically so, but now she stared at him with open curiosity.
"Whot'cha wondering about, Little Freya?" Alistair asked.
Frøya blushed at the attention but blurted, "You're really like me? A country, I mean."
Alistair laughed and nodded, "Yep. In all me glory."
"Where are you?" she continued, then reconsidered, "Where is Alba?"
"Off thatta way a bit," Alistair pointed south, "More towards your sister an' brother, I'd say. I don't much care for them."
Frøya shivered, "Bróðir scares me a little. He's nice and all but his ax…"
Alistair nodded in understanding.
He and that ax had history.
"You've got a beautiful country here, lass," Alistair smiled, "Reminds me of my own."
Frøya looked up at him excitedly, "I'd love to see your country some time."
Alistair smiled at the little girl, "Someday, I'll take ye, lass."
The Scotts left soon after that, the men disappointed that they didn't get to fight.