Another Hetalia one-shot for you lovely people~
Once again I… don't own Hetalia… it's hard to believe, I know
Three brothers lounged in tall, lush grass, a warm summer breeze tugging gently at their hair blond tips finding themselves entangled into thin blades of green that swayed like mini trees in the light wind. The battle scarred training field that lay hidden from view before them stirred up small dust devils of torn up grass and particles of sand. The three were shaded from the sun and her, for now, gentle hand by a large tree with smooth silver, peeling bark. Dappled sun peeking trough the covering of cool leaves offering shelter for the lazing teens. That was until a rather tall figure blocked out the sun waking the adolescents up in the process. "You can leave any time you want." Scandia looked down on his sons, an emotion akin to amusement saturating his bright eyes. This earned incoherent mumbling from Denmark as Sweden rolled over and cuffed his older brother to get him up. Sweden then staggered to his feet blinking a few times to try and shake off the warm feeling of grogginess. It had been a good day for training, but it was an even better day for being lazy.
Denmark sprinted past Sweden suddenly more awake than he'd been only a few seconds ago. "Come on Sve! You're so slow!" The Dane hollered over his shoulder as he snatched his broad sword from the ground whilst running. The blond nation stopped running when he realized that his younger brother wasn't following him, but rather walking calmly over to pick up his own sword and fasten the leather belt that threaded through the sheath around his waist. "You're such a stick in the mud." Denmark whined. It was then that both noticed that Norway wasn't with them to hit Denmark and call him an idiot. The both of them looked around and found him talking to their father. Though it looked more like a one-sided argument to Sweden more than anything. They shrugged, figuring it wasn't much, other then the fact that Norway had, somehow, managed to disappear for the past week and as a result missed a week of sparring. The two brothers ditched the youngest and made their way down the trail to their home.
_Hetalia_
"I told you, I was sick that day!" Norway snapped irately at his father, groping desperately for an excuse as to why he hadn't trained at all that week.
"Nice try, I already spoke with your mentor, she said you were fine, besides we had agreed that I would teach you this week. It's bad enough that you have to learn magic just to be able to fight, you don't need to be skipping out on this as well." Scandia retorted stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of his chest looking down at his youngest son with scrutiny lacing his blue gaze.
"You don't believe me." Norway snorted in disbelief.
"Why should I?" Scandia strode over to Norway's broadsword picking up the sheathed weapon with ease, turning back to the Norwegian he added, "After all you've tried to do similar things in the past. However if you insist that you weren't skipping then you can show me what you've learned in this past week." The older blond shoved the scabbard into his son's chest. "Without magic."
Norway stumbled backwards at the weight of his weapon came to rest in his arms. Grumbling, the young nation unsheathed the sharpened metal and slipped with ease into a fighting stance. Dark blue eyes watched his father's every movement. The taller man brought his battle-axe up in a sweeping arc his eyes lighting with an unreadable emotion as the two weapons met. The force of the blow was enough to make Norway's teeth rattle, his arms straining against the brunt impact of the axe against his broad sword. However, the young nation was unprepared for when his father shoved all of his weight against his weapon of choice. It was enough to send the younger blond into the dirt. The shorter nation landed heavily on his side skinning his arm in the process. Small bits of dirt lodged into the painful wound and tore mercilessly at Norway's tunic. Blood flooded his mouth when the Norwegian bit his tongue. Scandia sighed in disappointment and plunged his axe into the ground as Norway scrambled to prop himself up on his elbows, blood coating his inner forearm. His wrist throbbing from when he tried to catch himself when the earth decided that it wanted to give him a hug. Cursing Norway cradled his wrist close to his chest as he got up. It was his left arm that was injured too. That was a bad thing seeing as the blond was left-handed to begin with.
And the fight had only just begun.
_Hetalia_
Minutes dragged by like hours, and hours dragged on like days as Norway sparred with his father. He had managed to land a few good blows to his father's arms and torso, but it was nothing compared to what he had sustained. Blood. His blood ran in sticky streams in the intricate carvings of his father's battle-axe. Norway's tunic was shredded and stained a dark black with his blood from lacerations to his chest, deep gouges that made the tired nation light-headed and woozy. In a sloppy, desperate, move Norway raised his sword as high as his injuries would allow him to stab Scandia in the leg in a hope to hinder him. This move made the young nation's torso vulnerable. A fact that was as obvious as the difference of day and night to his father, then, with the pummel of his battle-axe Scandia struck his son and splintered the smaller blond's collarbone in two.
Norway's eyes widened a fraction as the blond reflexively dropped his sword a strangled cry of shock and pain dying in his throat and becoming a cough instead. Liquid streams of pain seeped through his shoulder and neck. It almost hurt him to pick up his sword again. It was already hard enough to use it with one hand, even if it was a single-handed broadsword to begin with. But his father wasn't done there.
The man grabbed the younger blond's sprained wrist- having thrown his battle-axe into the air- and pulled the Norwegian close to him, his fist connecting with Norway's ribs, sending a satisfying crackling sound rippling throughout the stagnant air. Scandia caught his axe and brought it down quickly, harshly, on Norway's back, the metal glancing off the protective bone of the adolescent male's shoulder blade. The ancient pulled away from the other blond who sunk to his knees a hand over his ribs. The Nordic tried to stand gingerly picking up his sword in the process, noting that the sun no longer shone on him with vibrancy as had been the case only a few hours ago, but had since gone into her faux set as accustomed to the summer months. Norway had made it to where he was kneeling on one knee, most of his weight supported on his sword, until his body betrayed his exhaustion and the nation collapsed, panting, to the ground. The adolescent's father watched him a slightly shocked look on his countenance as his icy gaze observed his son's persistence. The ancient quickly closed his eyes so the younger of the two wouldn't see his expression of concern as he exhaled through his nose in an attempt to control his emotions. "I take it you've had enough?" He asked. No response.
Scandia stepped forward hiding curiosity that shadowed his stance to find that Norway had passed out. Whether it was from blood loss, exhaustion, or both, the larger blond didn't care. He limped to the edge of the meadow and stooped down to pick up the scabbard for the Norwegian teen's sword. The older male then stood to his full height, wincing slightly at the torn and pulled muscles in his back, as he turned walking back to the collapsed teen. The ancient kneeled and picked up his son's sword, sheathing it and slinging it over his shoulder and slipping his axe into his belt the ancient turned towards the smaller blond.
Furrowing his brow the thought crossed his mind of how to get the Norwegian home. It wasn't like he'd be walking any time soon, and Scandia was not going to carry him. Maybe he could drag the small nation? No… that would probably invoke the wrath of his mentor, even if all Scandia did was tune her out after a while, it was annoying when she refused to treat him when she found out that he didn't listen to her… Then there was the option of leaving him there… no, that wouldn't work either, because then Sweden and Denmark would look for him. That left him with no choice.
Huffing, Scandia sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck. It seemed that he would be stuck carrying the runt. So, with much hesitation, the ancient knelt next to his son to pick him up, bridal style, (after making sure that Norway was out cold, of course) as to not agitate any of his wounds. Scandia crossed Norway's arms and supported the young nation's back with one arm while he supported the back of teen's legs with the other. He stood at his full height, stiffening when the Norwegian stirred opening glazed eyes at the feeling of being further away from the earth. That tense moment didn't last long and Scandia let out a sigh of relief when the adolescent fell limp against his father's chest. It was only when the ancient was reassured that the younger blond wouldn't wake up that Scandia began making his way through the field leaving the battle-scarred earth behind.
Not long after springy grass changed to the hard packed earth of a well-worn path had an epiphany struck the blond man metaphorically upside the head. When he returned his son's mentor would have his hide when she saw the young Norwegian. After all, it was a well-known fact that mending bones was her pet peeve.
So what do you guys think? Like it? Hate it? Want more? Please leave a comment to tell me what you like, I'd love to hear from you~ ^^