Well...I usually don't write in second person, so experiment time. Here goes nothing~

You decided to go to Iceland's house today. You were bored, there was nothing to do, and he wouldn't mind. You were friends, after all. A lot of your meetings were spontaneous rather than planned, and you enjoyed each other's company. And you definitely had a certain fascination for the Icelandic man, although you would never admit it to anyone. You hadn't seen him in around a week, which was longer than usual.

"Iceland?" you called as you opened the door. It wasn't locked, so he was home. No answer. "Iceland?" you called out again. You walked through the first floor of the house, frowning when you didn't get an answer. He should have heard you…maybe he was in the garage?

You put your shoes back on and walked out the door, making your way up the driveway to the garage. It didn't connect to the house for whatever reason, and you had never been in there. As far as you could tell, it was used as a storage shed…but you couldn't help but be curious when you heard the sound of scraping metal coming from inside. The side door was ajar, and you quietly sneaked over and poked your head around the corner.

This place definitely wasn't just for storage. Round shields adorned one wall, each looking as if it was about a thousand years old. The paint was faded, but you could make out the ancient Viking images and inscriptions on them. An open leather-bound book with yellow pages sat on a desk below them, perhaps just as old as the shields, pages filled with Old Icelandic text. Spears and Axes adorned the wall closest to you, hanging on either side of a tapestry depicting a nighttime landscape scene with the aurora borealis shining in all its glory. The man himself stood facing the wall beside you, sharpening a rather impressive axe, like the one Denmark always carried around. This one was bigger, though; neater, and far more impressive. You looked on as the Icelander finished his work, lifting up the axe with one hand as if it was nothing. You didn't realize he was so strong; you never thought someone as scrawny as him could lift up something so heavy. He put his tool down on the table as he twirled the axe between his hands, soft smile present on his face. He turned away and walked towards the middle of the room, where a large open area had been cleared of boxes and scrap metal. He shifted the weapon to his right hand again as he gave it an experimental swipe upwards, his smile growing slightly. He closed his eyes as he began sparring with the air, executing the maneuvers perfectly, as if he had done them thousands of times before. It was certainly better than Denmark's wild axe-swinging, maybe even better than Norway's swordsmanship (you watched him spar one time). You jumped slightly as the axe made contact with a wooden pole, creating a deep gash in the wood. He drew it out with a quick jerk, finally turning to face you.

"Oh, uh….hi (y/n). " he said, walking over to you, slinging the axe over his shoulder as he did so. "How are you?"

"Fine. But uh…since when can you do that?" you said, gesturing to the axe. "And what is this place? It's definitely not just a storage shed."

"Well…technically, it is a storage shed," he said. "This is where I keep all the stuff I have left over from the Old Days…the Viking Age in particular. This, for example," he said, walking over to the far wall and taking down a red and white shield, "was the first shield I ever used. Here, try it," he said, holding it out to you.

"Uh…ok," you said, almost dropping the shield on the ground as soon as it left his hand. Why was it so heavy? You could barely lift it.

Scratch that, he was still holding onto it.

"Put your arm through the loops, like this," he said, guiding your arm through the metal. "It's a bit uncomfortable at first, but it's better after you get used to it."

He let go for real this time, and you could feel your arm instinctively buckle under the shield's weight. By some miracle, you actually managed to keep it from falling to the ground, and you were quite proud of yourself for that.

He let out a short laugh. "As I said, it takes some time to get used to. You will eventually though, don't worry," he said, gently sliding the shield off your arm and effortlessly lifting it back up onto its original position on the wall.

"You'll probably like this better. This," he said, fingering the page of the yellowed book carefully, "Is Gaukur á Stöng, otherwise known as The Lost Saga. Wonder why they never found it," he said, smirking as he turned the page gently. You never noticed how rough the tips of his fingers were until now.

"Are you serious?!" you exclaimed, looking over at the ancient Viking text with awe. You had heard many a story about the famous Lost Saga, heard countless conversations involving Denmark swearing he read it once and Norway blatantly denying its existence. "If Norway knew-"

"He won't. It's our secret. I have to keep something for myself, don't I?" he said, looking over at you with a slight smirk on his face. "It's one of my favorites. I'd hate to give it up to historians; God knows I'd never get it back. Promise you won't tell?"

"I swear," you said, eyes never leaving the paper.

"Then I can show you the other one of my favorites," he said, reaching over to the end of the table and grabbing another large book. "This is Eiríks saga rauða, or-"

"The Saga of Erik the Red, original Hauksbók version," you breathed. "That's amazing. How did you get your hands on it?"

"I helped write it. The author gave it to me when he died," he said, smiling softly as he fingered the spine gently. "Erik was my first mentor, after all." His smile dropped a bit as he lifted the corner of the page gently. It was obvious he still missed Erik, even now.

"You miss him, don't you," you said sadly, staring down at the table. You watched out of the corner of your eye as he glanced at you, surprised at your comment, before letting out a soft sigh.

"Yeah. He was the bravest man I've ever met, save for maybe his son," he said, twirling the axe in his hands again. "This was his," he said, flipping it so you could read the inscription. Sure enough, Erik the Red had been inscribed on the bottom of the staff in old runes, and another inscription could be seen on the other side. This one was much cleaner, though, as if it had been done by a slightly more practiced hand, and it wasn't written in runes. Just in old Icelandic.

"What does the other side say?" You asked, causing the Icelander to flip over the axe.

"May Thor grant you strength and ensure you safety in years to come," Iceland said sadly. "The first inscription was done by one of Erik's closest friends back home, or so he said, but this was done by Lief shortly before he died. He told me that Erik asked him to inscribe it, so that I would have his message with me always." He said, running his thumb over the inscriptions. "They raised me to be a ruthless warrior, but they were always so concerned about my safety," he said, smiling a bit. "Let's just say I didn't disappoint them when I took command after they died."

"Wait, wait, wait- hold up," you said. "Norway and Denmark and Sweden always said you weren't a Viking. Did you tell them to lie to me or something?" you said, more than a bit pissed at him for keeping this from you.

"No, nothing like that," he said. "They simply don't know that I was a Viking. I continued Erik and Lief's work in the Americas, in Newfoundland, while the others restricted themselves to the East. They never even really went to Greenland, at least, not for a long time," he mused. "I met them one time, when we raided the Norwegian coastline, long after my mentors had passed. Norway didn't even recognize me," he chuckled. "Funny how I was the only one who could beat him senseless and walk away without much of a scratch. The other two did a sorry job, if I do say so myself."

"Wha…I don't get it," you say, struggling to cope with this new information. "I know you hate it when the others tease you about not being a Viking. About being the little one. Why do you let them do it? Ice, they're your FAMILY! How can you keep this a secret from them?" you practically shouted.

"Because all hell would brake lose if they knew," he said. "You've heard them talk about Eríkur the Terrible, right?" He said, looking over at her with a rather serious expression.

"Yeah, but…" you trailed off. The only time you've ever heard the other Nordics mention that name was with contempt, swearing that if they ever got the chance to see that man again they'd kill him. He was a brutal man, torturing others unnecessarily and taking things he didn't need. He was cruel, and dealt with anyone he saw without honor or mercy. Everyone said he was the most despicable human being they'd ever met. He destroyed their countries. Ransacked their villages. But most importantly, he was the only one who could beat them. Not just one, but all three of them, one after the other, were beaten senseless, to the point of near death. It was the most humiliating and painful thing the three men had ever experienced. The one detail they never failed to mention about their attacker was his strikingly white hair…and every time the subject came up, Iceland stood in the corner, silent, arms crossed, visible pain and regret in his eyes.

"Oh my God," you said. "You were-"

"Yeah," he said, cutting you off. "Yeah, I was."

"But why?" you choked, tears brimming up in your eyes. "How could you do something so terrible to them? Be so cruel? I thought…" you said, taking a step back. You froze as his hands curled into fists on the table, a sudden fear coursing through your body. You never noticed how strong he really was, how his muscles rippled underneath his shirt as he walked, how dangerous he could be when he wanted to be. In front of you stood a merciless killer who had slaughtered thousands with the very axe resting beside him on the table, recently cleaned and sharpened, posing as an innocent teenager who had never even seen the tides of battle.

"Because I was young, stupid, and sick and tired of their shit," he said, turning his head slightly to face you, obvious anger in his eyes...along with sadness and regret. "I was done getting ignored, pushed around, stomped on, looked down upon. I refused to be their property anymore. That's why I ran away from Norway in the first place. They didn't care, they never did, probably only pretend to now. I instantly regretted hurting them afterwards…" he said, voice trailing off a bit. "I looked around me and saw the only family I had torn to shreds by my very hands. Like it or not, they were all I have. All I could have. Erik was gone. Lief was gone. And nothing I could do would ever bring them back." He croaked. "I fled the land. Went back home, became an unassuming country boy once again. This time, when Norway came looking for me, demanded my land, I came out willingly. I agreed to whatever terms he wanted. I would have let him roll over me, do whatever he wanted, kill me if he wished…I couldn't do that to someone again. That's why I don't have an army, even now. I became determined to never harm anyone again. Keep the peace. It broke me…I'm still broken," he finished, staring at the wall.

You stood there frozen for a minute, staring at the man you thought you knew, who just told you his darkest secret…something that could absolutely ruin him forever. "Iceland…" you said softly, reaching out to touch his arm, resting your fingers on his bicep. It was firm, yet soft…and warm. What they said was true; he may be the land of Ice, but his heart was consumed in fire.

"Do me a favor…whatever you do…don't tell anyone, ok?" he said, looking over at you with tears visible in his eyes. Your heart skipped a beat. Never could you have imagined him to be tis utterly broken, especially someone like him…

"I promise," you choked out, wrapping your coat around you as you slowly backed away. You could tell he wanted to be alone. He always did.

He didn't want to hurt anyone again.

Iceland ran a finger of the inscription for the last time, pausing on the last part. He had chosen not to tell her about that bit.

I promise you, my boy, that love will find you someday.