Union
Summary: The Nordics fear that another war might come soon and decide to hold a Nordic meeting to decide if they will once again form a Nordic Union.
"United we stand, Divided we fall"
Tino smiled brightly and dumped the chopped carrots into a large iron pot on the stove. Iceland began searching for the right herbs on the herb shelf. The herb shelf was handmade and delicately carved and so much fancier than the one Iceland himself owned. Berwald had made it for Tino. Said nation busied himself with cutting the cabbage head into small sections as Iceland threw the herbs into the water.
They could hear Sealand's and Sweden´s footsteps in the foyer. The unmistakable sound of Sealand kicking off his shoes and Hanatamo´s whimper as Sweden dried his damp fur.
When Sealand saw Iceland he grinned broadly and pushed the silver haired boy towards his room so that they could play together. Iceland protested a little and explained that he had to watch the soup, but the frown did not reach his eyes and soon enough Iceland was explaining to Sealand how to make a perfect snow fort.
The Swedish man took off his hat and placed it carefully on a shelf before straightening his shirt as he walked into the kitchen. The medium sized kitchen was neat and decorated with pictures of fruit and a large blue clock. The tablecloth had a cheerful pattern and the pans and pots gleamed in the sunlight. The closets and drawers were made of light wood.
Berwald raised his hand in greeting as he saw Iceland, who responded with a simple "Good afternoon, how are you fairing?" To which Berwald said something that Iceland could not understand, but seemed to come to the conclusion that Berwald was healthy as he could not see any sign of wounds or illness. Iceland then returned to chopping up parsnip and pieces of meat which he threw unceremoniously into the now boiling pot of soup. Little did he know that Norway had already arrived and had sat himself at the dining room table, reading a book on mythology. The blue clad nation was always very quiet, and it was easy to forget that he was there at all.
"Sweden´s and Finland´s house has been re-painted blue" thought Denmark grumpily as he stomped towards the gate. It was a color that was common to all the Nordic flags, except his.
The house had a large garden, in which were many flowers and trees that were very well kept. In one corner of the house was a chest that contained firewood. He could hear Sweden say something evidently nice to Finland, who apparently actually understood the Swede because he responded cheerfully with something in a caring tone. The delicious smell of traditional Icelandic meat soup surrounded the house, making Denmark reminisce of the times long past as his scowl set in.
Denmark arrived at Iceland´s small house to declare that he was now Iceland´s ruler. Iceland had lifted a spoon, which was filled with a strange white substance that Iceland called skyr.
"You're not Norway" Iceland stated, furrowing his brow, "are you visiting?" He was still a small child with a mop of silver hair, clad in a white cotton shirt and brown trousers. After Denmark explained grandly that Norway was no longer the ruler of Iceland, that it was in fact Denmark himself that was now The King, Iceland had looked innocently at him and said; "But I don´t want you to take care of me, I want Norway".
The taller nation had just grinned and ignored him. Iceland looked at him from every angle. "I made a wool scarf today, do you like it? I also caught some cod if you want some fresh fish?" the small boy said proudly. The Icelandic child attempted to flatten his hair and looked straight into the eyes of the Dane. Perhaps this man was friendly, despite the fact that he made strange remarks of being king.
Denmark drew himself up to his full height and looked at the child and then said, as if it were no big deal: "I have no need for your wool products or your fish, Iceland". The small boy looked lost for words as he watched the Danish man leave.
Another meeting sprung up in the Dane's mind at the thought of cod.
"It´s really good for you," Iceland said, head held high as he handed a bottle of the oil over to the Dane, "if you drink it regularly, you won´t get sick as much". Denmark used it to light up his capital, by pouring it in his oil lampposts. Iceland had never gotten quite past that.
Denmark stepped into the foyer, shrugging of his long coat and not bothering to ring the doorbell. He placed his axe beside the door out of old habit and kicked his boots off. When he entered the living room he noticed that Iceland and Sealand were missing and was happy about not being the last one to arrive as usual. He was then informed by Finland that Iceland was in the kitchen adjusting the heats on the stove so that the soup would be on slow boil and that Sealand was in the garden playing with their dog. Denmark sat down beside Norway, who placed his book on the small table beside the sofa.
"As you all know," said Finland seriously, "there have been rumors about the world being on the brink of a Third World War. If this is true, I believe that it would be sensible to decide if we are going to help each other out during the war, by making an official contract."
. Norway also nodded a morose expression upon his face as he pulled on his curl. "So this is the end," he said slowly, "we are no longer Vikings. Axes, spears and broadswords are not precisely the most efficient weapons anymore."
Iceland stood in the doorway, his violet eyes ablaze. "We are not just going to give up, Norway." Iceland said angrily, "I know that I´m not of very much use to you, having no army, and I know that Russia is watching my every move, waiting for the right moment to kidnap me and make me 'become one with Russia'!".
"Why don't you just marry me then Iceland?" Denmark said quite gleefully and pointed at himself. For a brief moment, Iceland looked shell shocked, and then white hot fury could be seen in his eyes threatening to turn their flaming wrath onto Denmark.
"No." Iceland said darkly, his face scarlet. His hands grasped his shaking knees so hard that he could feel his nails digging into his skin.
Images floated though his mind, every single memory of the harshness of the Danish rule screamed at him. Yes, there had been good times but Iceland had never, even for a second, forgotten the bad times. The short passage of time since then had simply not been enough to heal the scars.
Denmark became silent, and smiled at the seething silver haired boy, indicating with a shrug of his shoulders that the offer had not been a sincere one. He knew that neither he nor Iceland wished to open old, crudely stitched wounds.
Sweden observed the other nations around him with great concentration. He noted that his wife had stiffened in anger when Iceland had told them about Russia's threats against himself.
"We shall unite once again!" Sweden loudly stated, as if to stop the imminent fight between Norway and Denmark. The other Nordics became silent, and turned their heads towards the tall man. It had, after all been Berwald who had left the Kalmar Union, and Finland had followed him.
"We are stronger together than separated." Finland supportively said, looking intimately at his husband as Sweden leaned a bit closer to him. Strangely enough, there were no arguments about this agreement.
The Nordics all looked at each other, a slight smile on their faces. Norway pulled a large pile of paper out of his bag, with a shrug and an "I´ve been carrying it around for some time?" and placed it on the dining room table for everyone to sign.
They did, and then the Nordics ate some soup. After the meal was finished Denmark pulled Iceland aside and apologized for upsetting him, that he was well aware that the smaller boy would not join him in holy matrimony.
Later that evening Sweden took Finland´s hand in his and lead him outside to watch the sun vanish behind the still snow covered mountains and listen to the wind blow and rustle the leaves in the trees. Soon the others joined them in their star gazing.
xxxx
Iceland kneeled down; his silver white hair fell over his eyes as he took the handle of the bloodstained battleaxe. The mud gave when he stepped down. He pushed himself up, off the ground, looking ferocious. His blue ribbon flew in the breeze, showing his loyalty to the other Nordic nations.
Iceland´s shirt and jacket were soaked through, as the rain fell mercilessly on the blood-soaked battlefield. The silver haired boy looked at his big brother, Norway, who was wearing his finest battle outfit. He tightened his grip on Denmark´s axe and began walking towards Sweden and Finland who were both fighting fiercely. They had never forgotten that they had once been Vikings, after all.
Iceland coughed up blood as he walked, the drops glittered on his ash and dirt covered hand. The axe was much too heavy for him and he staggered slightly. The mud had long ago soaked trough his boots, but his feet were too numb to notice the freezing cold.
He knew he was dying, his economy was still in shambles, the government was still in disarray and he could still feel the burn marks from the volcanic eruptions. He had seen Denmark lying in a pool of blood, his face ashen and his limbs oddly twisted, and so he had taken his former charge´s axe and vowed to slay the one who harmed him. Because despite all the pain, hunger, poverty, and anger that time had not yet properly healed, Denmark had once been his ruler.
But now Denmark was lying on the ground behind Iceland, watching as the smaller nation looked around for the other Nordics, allies or the one who harmed Denmark. He observed as Iceland doubled over, coughing up blood, at his bloody brown jacket when he noticed something. All around Iceland there were fights, swords and guns, grenades and flamers and the occasional spell. Even though Iceland was terrifying and ferocious when it was required of him, even though he knew perfectly how to wield a weapon, he did not know how to be cruel. He had been the victim of the cruelty of life, of other nations and of nature.
Denmark was snapped out of his thoughts as Iceland made a sudden movement, and stepped directly in front of Canada (thinking that he was America) and Sealand, arms outstretched. The bullets hit Iceland squarely in the chest, and he fell backwards, his knees giving in. Norway, calm, distant Norway, gave an almost unearthly howl of rage, and plunged his jewel encrusted sword into the stomach of the next enemy soldier and ran towards his little brother.
The Icelandic boy screamed; his voice higher than of the battle that surrounded the group. His tongue was ancient and harsh, the R´s and the L´s cut through the air. Canada grabbed the fabric of America´s and England´s uniforms and tugged. A faint, almost lost memory flickered in the back of America´s mind. He recognized this language; he had heard it before he had seen Finland and Sweden, before he had met England. America stepped closer to England with a tearful look, suddenly embracing him. England felt this was no place to hug, but returned it none the less.
Iceland´s vision was starting to get blurry. Denmark and Norway hovered over him as Sweden and Canada carried him to the medical tent. Norway made room, pushing people ruthlessly, and it hit Iceland that Norway had not acted like this in centuries.
Their eyes met, and for a brief second, they were back on the field they had played on all those years ago. Iceland could feel, despite the strange numbness that surrounded him, the gentle breeze and the tickle of grass under his bare feet. He could see Norway´s kind smile as the older nation told him stories of trolls and elves and taught him about longboats.
Iceland mumbled something as the doctor pulled his jacket off. The violet eyed boy rarely spoke Icelandic publicly, even on Nordic meetings. Instead he opted for English or his slightly childish Danish. Norway sometimes thought him stubborn to cling to a language that all the other Nordics had cast aside.
Denmark regarded him with a careful eye, took hold of his axe once again and wiped the blood off it with his sleeve. He had seen Iceland on the verge of Death so many times, but he had always stopped himself before he had actually fatally harmed him. Always, just in the nick of time.
Iceland coughed, groggily blinked and sat up straighter. Denmark had promised Norway once to take care of Iceland, and he fully intended to do so. He wrapped some more bandages over the areas worst afflicted and proceeded to help the younger nation back on his feet. Together they walked outside the tent.
It was time to get back to the battle.
The end
Author´s notes: I want to thank my beta, Insulin-chan for editing this and helping me out. This story was inspired by a surge of national pride over my native language and the idea of an another Nordic Union. If you have already read this far, why not comment on this story?