Author's note: #1. I obviously didn't use the word "Denmark", but I figured you guys could figure out that "Danmork/Danmark = Denmark" and "Norge/Noregur = Norway".

Also, I have this originally on the art site, Deviantart. If you enjoy this enough to favorite it (which I hope you do) please go to .com/#/d2witkn and favorite/comment :D. If you don't comment away on !~ Thanks for reading, now, I'm off to write more 100 Hetalia Challenges. I only have...20 to go!

They were fighting, again. I remember it vividly.

There was screaming, yelling, and crying.

There was blood, sweat, and tears.

It was terrifying, and I don't even know what started it. It was like all the quarrels in our home during the Kalmar Union. Nobody could recall what started them, but we all knew that they never ended well.

"Danmark, settle down." brother Noregur set his arm on Danmörk's and grasped some of the fabric in his hands. He clenched it harshly and tugged it towards himself. "Set-"

The first blow. The back of the Dane's hand sent my brother flying a couple feet back. He stumbled but regained his balance. His palm covered the red mark on his cheek.

"Don't tell me what to do, Norge. Stay out of this." the Dane snarled, glaring at my brother with dense blue eyes. From within those eyes, I could sense that he was sorry for hitting Noregur; he loved him and would never want to hurt him.

At that time, I was so confused, so I hid behind the dark pillars of jasmine-green streaked marble and dark stone that kept the foyer up. The home we all shared under our combined queen was elaborate and almost foreign to our culture. Things from around the span of our reign littered the palace, though essentials like washrooms fell at the seams under our struggles and financial battles.

Tears spilled over my eye-lids and streamed down my face as I watched Noregur cower back ever so slightly towards where I was hiding. I squeaked under my breath, "N-Noregur." he lifted an eyebrow as he shook and stumbled back to the pillar where I stood. He still held his palm over his face and said nothing else.

Danmörk had been watching him cower back and was unblinking. After lowering his gnarling face to a simple frown, he turned to face Sweden, who stood at the opposite end of the entrance hall. Behind the Swede hid his blonde haired darling, who shrunk behind him and hugged him from behind with a tight embrace. Separating the two fighters was a long extensively-decorated rug that shone bright golds and crimsons with its delicate designs that read tales in Old Norse. The lighting in the room was dark, except for the highlighted parts which flickered under the flames of the candles which lined the chandelier up above us.

"We h've no r'son to be fightin', Danmark." Sweden mumbled, reaching up to tilt his glasses. At the two opponents' feet were two weapons. The Swede's, a long sword that shimmered under the light with it's weaving-steel craft on the blade. The Dane's, a trusty ax that was well longer than the Dane himself. "You'll w'ke the Queen."

I could see Tino's legs shake from afar. I moved my view from the two men in the middle to my brother. He still held his hand at his cheek and left his gaze on Danmörk, unwilling to remove him from his view. I tugged at his arm and snapped him out of his trance, and his look was unlike most that I saw from brother Noregur; this one was scared. "Noregur." I pointed to the pillars that lined the sides of the foyer. He gave me a weak nod, and we ran for it.

"Stop right there." we froze. "Norge, Ice. You aren't going anywhere."

"Danmörk." I hissed as low as a could, trying to sound intimidating. It was hard, as I was still crying lightly.

"Get back behind me."

"Nei." we both mumbled. I pulled Noregur with me to the next pillar, which was situated on the side, but rested at the halfway point of the battlefield. Noregur finally moved his eyes from Danmörk and settled them on Tino. He waved his hand in a gesture for Finland to run over. The Finn only shook his head and tightened his hug around Sweden's waist. He mouthed, "Ei [no]."

I called over weakly, "Finnland. Let's go." motioning him over as my brother had. Again, he shook his head and mouthed the same word.

Suddenly, the Swede reached his hands down and grabbed both of Tino's forearms, which were wrapped around his larger waist. He softly removed them from his abdomen and tugged on the Finn's arm carefully. Tino followed and moved in front of the taller man, still quivering slightly.

Sweden bent his waist a bit to bend down enough to look Tino in the eyes and mumbled a few words that I couldn't hear. I imagine they where something inspirational, as the Finn stopped shaking and nodded stiffly. The demeanor on his face shifted from fear to complete confidence. I found out later that he had said, "Aft'r th's, we're g'ttin' out of 'ere. We'll n'ver c'me b'ck."

Berwald planted a soft kiss on Tino's cheek and pushed his forehead against the Finn's intimately. From my point of view, it appeared as if Sweden didn't know whether or not he'd make it out of this battle alive. Finland pecked him back quickly on the lips with no time to spare and rushed over to our pillar at full speed. He put his hands on the cold marble and stared with complete concentration toward the two competitors, ready to root on his husband.

"Finnland, what was that?" I asked him, wanting to know what that whole love-show was about. I shook his shoulder a bit. "What'd he say?" I was ignored at first, but after a couple minutes passed, Tino turned and flashed me a weak smile.

"I-It's nothing. J-Just stay behind me." I didn't know what he meant by that, it wasn't like he could protect us from anything that the other two could lash out. I think those words were just ones of encouragement; of hope. Those minutes of silence were interrupted by the sounds of the air being swiped by both sword and ax. Sweden and Danmörk had begun to warm up, swinging their weapons about in front of themselves to get their arms moving.

After they were done loosening their joints, Danmörk grinned. "Let's get this over with, bastard." his words were harsh, but his face was strangely joyful.

"L't's go." Berwald maundered back, his eye twitching a bit at the Dane's enthusiasm.

I felt no fear then.

"On three."

The Swede nodded.

"One, two!" Mathias charged at two, his ax held out to the side just above his hip level as he took long strides towards the Swede; obviously too early for what they agreed. These two never fought fair anyway, why start then?

I still felt no fear.

Sweden stood nonchalantly with no expression on his face. His sword hung limply at his side. The closer Danmörk got to him, the more I saw Tino fidget.

The Dane approached and was only a couple yards away now. A couple seconds from contact. His grin widened as he closed the distance. Tino jumbled his face up in confusion as he saw Berwald stand with no intention of moving.

"Move. Please move, Berwald." he whispered, his face still tense with courage given to him earlier. "Move."

Only a couple more steps.

I still wasn't afraid. Even though I saw Noregur tense at my side.

Berwald still stood still, his feet cemented to the floor. He only stared onwards.

Tino caved in then and pounded his fist against the stone pillar as he yelled, "Berwald, move! Pick up your sword, please!" his words echoed about the foyer with another sound.

The reverberation of metal hitting metal.

I was definitely afraid now.

Danmörk had come and swung his ax upwards from the right side, aiming to slice from Sweden's left hip up through his abdomen and out his right shoulder. That was stopped by a languid block by the longsword, which shivered under the pressure. Danmörk's full frontal attack was nothing under Sweden's block.

The Dane growled and slid his ax up in a circular motion to knock the block off. He spun his body around, slingshotting the ax down with a backhand swing that headed toward Sweden's left knee. The blow was avoided by a quick step backwards by the Swede, who showed no spirit nor interest in the fight.

The sounds of the clanking metals sent multiple shivers down my spine that burned my soul down to its very core. Noregur kept his eyes on Danmörk and stood his distance from Finland and I. Tino clenched his fists and bit his tongue so that he would not lash out words of rage at the Dane.

I, on the other hand, felt tears returning to my eyes as I saw each swing that Danmörk made and each emotionless block that Sweden used. The fight was only a prerequisite to carnage; a massacre that I'd really rather not be a part of.

Not a drop of blood had yet been shed, yet already the two out on the red rug were wearing down fast. The Dane's furiously inconsistent swings matched perfectly with his timed steps forward. He was obviously aiming to drive the Swede into the wall, where he'd have the advantage. Berwald seemed to be falling into his trap as he took step after step backwards.

My tears were falling rapidly now and my throat was choked up with nerves. I could only let out small cries of fear and disapproval. My brother loved the monster out on the battlefield, so I had to stick him and by that. That doesn't mean that I loved him too; it only meant that I had to stay on that side, or be killed.

I felt my body break down under the pressure that I was feeling, even though I wasn't the one in the midst of the battle that went down before us. The swinging of the ax continued and the lifting of the sword frequented. It wasn't long before the atmosphere had me on my knees.

"S-Stop..." I mumbled, no louder than a mouse. "Stop..."

"Island, stand up." I heard brother's cold voice call me. "Stand up, now." it was not at all encouraging. It was more temperamental than that; irritated.

"N-Nei, I can't." I cried, the lights of the chandelier blurring with magnified brightness due to my tears.

"Stand up now." he thickened his voice so that it sounded angry.

"N-Nei." I sobbed, heaving my chest. "I-I can't!" I felt so weak, seeing the two stronger nations in front of me battle.

Sweden's back hit the wall now.

"What do you say now, Sverige?" Danmörk growled, flipping the handle of the ax so that its dull end faced the Swede. He used an old cheap shot, slamming the dull point into the Swede's crotch, making him groan in pain. The Dane turned the ax's bar to a horizontal level and used one hand to push it against Sweden's neck, pinning him to the wall. With his other hand he took hold of Berwald's wrist and clamped, causing him to drop the sword. Tino's eyes widened to their largest point.

"Berwald!" he screamed at the top of his voice as he lunged forward, ready to break into a sprint. I grabbed his ankle as hard as I could and held him back.

"Stop, Tino!" my muffled cries had stopped now and my demand had become a pleading roar. I dragged him back by his ankle while Noregur pulled his arm. "Don't go over the-"

I felt a tingling burn across my cheek that stung like a hornet's drill. His arm had ripped out of my brother's grasp and had smacked me harder than I could have imagined. It was so unlike Tino, yet I wasn't exactly surprised.

"Let me go, Iceland!" he yelped, pulling his leg away. That wouldn't do much for him, as Noregur grabbed him by the front of the shirt and slammed him up against the nearest pillar, lifting him up so that his feet didn't touch the ground.

"Don't touch Island!" brother barked, pushing the Finn's back into the cold marble that was cradled by unforgiving stone. "Don't you ever touch him!" his voice raised into a barrage of pitch that scared me, even as the one being protected. Tears sprouted from Tino's eyes slowly as he glared at brother.

This would be the mark where the battle would switch sides.

As Danmörk was taking his own sweet time in trash talking his captive, Berwald hollered in a crashing voice. "L've Tino be!" he struggled, catching Danmörk while his moral was down.

A quick elbow flew up through the strength of the ax-haft, hitting the Dane in the face and sending him backwards with the ax in hand. Berwald regained his composure.

Pressing the hilt of the sword with quick force (using the toe of his boot) sent the blade's tip up, where the Swede grabbed it and flipped it, letting it spin in the air two full rotations before catching its hilt in his other hand. He did so in one fluent motion and came at Danmörk with a flicker of ardor in his eyes.

Danmörk stumbled back without any balance and attempted not to trip over the heel of his boots as they mixed with the coarse fabric of the crimson rug beneath them and the slippery stone beneath that.

Out of shock, brother dropped Tino, who was breathing heavily and was trapped in a less-than-graceful trance within his mind. I cried horrid pleas that nobody seemed to hear.

"Stop fighting! Stop it, all of you!" the Swede and Dane pursued their hatred and their ironically kindred spirits clashed.

I tried to ignore the flashing of light on stone and the thundering screech of sword on ax. By then, I had focused my hearing to catch on to a couple sounds; Tino's crying and Noregur's rambling.

"Good thing Faroe and Greenland are asleep." brother mumbled as he adjusted his clothing. He appeared to have finally recovered from being hit earlier, as his sarcastic attitude had returned.

I was still sobbing under my constricted breath; it felt as though I was breathing in water, my chest being stood on by an inexplicable force. My vision blurred even further and black spots danced in my eyes. My heart pounded irregularly and skipped beats each time metal kissed metal.

"N-Noregur...Eldri bróðir [Older brother]." I whimpered, wanting comfort of any kind. Someone to hold; I wanted my brother so badly. After seconds of pleading, I knew he wasn't going to come to me. He wasn't going to help, being he was so absorbed in looking over the battle.

Then, I felt warm arms around me. As I sat on my knees with my arms out, something embraced my midsection and wiped my tears away with a sleeve pulled over a thumb.

"Shhh." Finnland shushed, running a hand through my hair softly. "Deep breaths." his voice was matronly, maternal in a way. I followed what he said and started to regain my ability to breath. My anxiety slowly began to decrease, and by the looks of it, Tino had stopped crying. The courage that had previously been drained by Noregur had resurfaced. Realizing that, my crying soon ceased.

The battle, on the other hand, did not.

Berwald still held the advantage over the startled Dane. He brought the sword up, down, to the side, catching Danmörk in the face and abdomen, leaving shallow wounds.

They had crossed at least seventy-five feet of freezing stone and marble-encrusted vestibule before Mathias' back slammed harshly against the large wooden double doors that lead into our home. He groaned as if only annoyed, not fatally pinned. "Come on, Berwald." his voice trailed off with displeasure.

The Swede held his sword across the Dane's neck just as he had done to him with his ax-haft. He pressed it gingerly so it only protruded the skin of the neck by a bit, allowing blood to slip down in tiny droplets. Sweden's face was also cut up in various ways and various thicknesses that weren't fatal nor extensive. Both skilled men hadn't received any major wounds other than a couple gashes along their sides and arms that also varied from a couple centimeters deep to an inch or two.

"C'me 'n, Mathias." Sweden pushed his face close to his prisoner and sneered.

I was sure that time had paused and that the candles that we lit to measure time in the corner had stopped melting. Those candles had never been lit in the first place, thus, does that mean that time had never been running during this battle? Of course not; I only wished it would be that way.

Tino's welcoming hands continued running through my hair and his voice was warm as he tried to make things sound ok; even if he knew deep down that they most certainly weren't.

"It'll be over soon." he still had me in a weirdly angled embrace, and Noregur was leaning up against the pillar with his arms crossed and a leg bent.

"We don't know that, Tino."

"Try to be optimistic, will you? Some people here aren't as thick as you are, Norway."

"Psh." a strange sound of sarcasm left Noregur's mouth before he returned to being silent. His previous fear had dissolved, or at least hidden itself pretty damn well.

"M'ke a deal w'th me 'nd m'ybe I'll l't you l've." Berwald hissed, pushing the sword blade deeper into Danmörk's throat.

"Depends on what it is, Sverige." the Dane spat back, shifting his weight so that the sword wasn't striking his Adam's apple as sharply.

"L't Tino 'nd I leave. We 'nly f'ght st'p'd batles th't waste b'th our t'mes."

The Dane's answer was immediate. "Nej."

The Swede said nothing to that and tilted the sword at an angle; that way, the Dane could see his bloodied reflection. "Ya s're?"

"Positive." Danmörk growled. His opponent tilted the sword blade up and ran it just under Mathias' jaw bone, just to show him how he wanted to slit his Jugular.

The other three of us observed. Noregur didn't show any kind of emotion; I clung to Tino tightly and he continued to offer small coos of comfort and tiny touches of his fingers through my hair and on my back.

"You'll h've to die th'n, Danmark."

"We'll have to see about th-" just as the Dane began to run his fingers up and down the ax-haft as to find a good hold, a slithering tone wafted into our ears and sent both gleeful and fearful shivers down to our tailbones.

"Stop." that, we did. The voice was unmistakable and strict, yet was the voice of a woman of the highest authority; our Queen, Margaret.

The reaction was shocking to say the least, for Sweden lowered his sword and took a step away from the Dane. Danmörk straightened his back and separated his back from the wall.

While Berwald got down on a knee, the Dane crossed a leg over and put one hand on his hip; the other hand was on the dull point of the ax's end. The sharp curves faced outwards as the weapon's head touched the ground and it's haft was tilted at an angle. The difference in attitude was obvious, as Margaret was of Danish blood.

"Min dronning [My Queen]" the Dane mumbled, sending a nod her way and a crooked grin. She ignored him and didn't even recognize he was there. She knew not to give him that satisfaction.

She looked tired, exhausted, disturbed from her night's sleep. Even then, she was dressed in her crown of gold and ruby as well as a blue gown lined with white fur.

"Hvad er betydningen af dette, mine børn? [What's the meaning of this, my children?]" it was clear that she already knew, but that doesn't mean she didn't want to ask.

"We d-don't know, min dronning." I said it in Danish out of pure respect, but said it with a heavy Icelandic accent purposely; I was already on the ground, so there wasn't much I could do to bow. Noregur nodded as an affiliate before he removed his back from the pillar; he didn't bow, but did keep his head down. His combination with Danmörk was obvious.

Tino let go of me finally and pecked the top of my head as a last comforting gesture before scattering over to Sweden (stopping half way to kneel to the queen), who he hugged tightly.

The Swede hugged back as he remained kneeling and winced as his scratches were pressed up against. "Thank God you're ok." Tino whispered into Berwald's ear before burying his head in the taller blonde's large chest.

Our superior couldn't help but smile at the cute little show, but frowned once more after sending her first glance to Danmörk, who avoided eye contact. "Hvem startede det denne gang [Who started it this time]?"

"Danmark." Noregur said, striding over to Danmörk's side and crossing his arms. "It's always Danmark."

"Shaddap, Norge."

"You first, idiot."

"No, you." lovers' quarrels, not fighting words.

"Begge to, vær stille [Both of you be quiet]."

"Yes, min dronning." they both said simultaneously. With that, they were silent.

Tino and Berwald were silent.

I was silent.

That next day, Sweden and Finland left. They never did come back, at least not willingly.

I, on the other hand, along with Noregur, Greenland, the Faroe Islands, and a couple others, were stuck with each one another (and Danmörk).

Our union under one home was abolished, finished, dead.