As the Sun Melts Ice
Rating: T (early chapters are more K+)
Info: Fantasy AU fic. Having fun with some mythology.
Warning: Human names are used.

Norway- Mikkel
Iceland- Varick
Denmark- Mathias

Chapter One: Wake

Something was wrong. Mikkel groggily stared at the vibrant face of his alarm clock, barely registering that there were another four full hours yet to go before the alarm was set to sound. Even on his best of days, it took several solid minutes of that blasted alarm and possibly a failed smack or two at the snooze button to fully wake him. With a sigh, Mikkel gave one last glance at the glowing numbers, crossing his eyes and squinting just to make sure he had not misread, and all but dragged himself from the comfort of his bed.

'No point in trying to go back to sleep now, I suppose. I'm already wide awake… Might as well get started on breakfast or something.' Ha. Mikkel managed a sardonic grin. 'This is going to be a long morning.'

Not even two steps out of his room, Mikkel froze. Not only was a light on downstairs, but the clear scent of Norwegian coffee wafted thickly from the kitchen. 'Maybe Varick got up for a drink…' Mikkel snorted at the thought and silently crept toward the stairs. Varick, like his older brother, had no trouble settling into sleep and remaining dead to the world for eight hours at the least. Not even Varick's sugar cravings held priority over a full night's sleep. Still, why would anyone bother breaking into their house when they owned nothing of value? No one randomly broke into houses to simply brew a cup of coffee…

"Mikkel!"

The Norwegian staggered back as a platinum blond figure bolted from the kitchen. "Wha-? 'Rick, why are you awake? Here I was thinking someone was sneaking about the house." Mikkel attempted a stern expression, but gave up after a few fleeting moments as he noticed his brother's perturbed expression. "What's wrong?"

The seventeen-year-old held up a hand for a second and took a deep breath. "Um, I just woke up a little bit ago, and, uh…" Obviously catching his brother's impatient glare, Varick rolled his eyes. "Look, just don't be mad. Please. I figured you'd be up, so I made some coffee."

Whenever a teenager says "don't be mad", there is only so much an adult can do to prepare himself for the inevitable train wreck he is about to discover. Mikkel, glancing briefly over his shoulder to his room up the stairs, managed to nod and force himself to follow his little brother into the kitchen.

Oddly, nothing looked out of place. The door of the refrigerator was still firmly attached to its respective appliance, the toaster hadn't been half melted, the sink showed no signs of having sprung any more mysterious leaks that could shame a collapsing dam, and… Well, there was a cast iron skillet on the stove with what looked to be eight finger-shaped indentions bending the rim inward, but that was nothing out of the ordinary. "Before you start explaining whatever it is you did, put that away," Mikkel muttered, motioning to the mangled skillet. 'Honestly, I thought he was raised better… I never left dishes out when I was seventeen.'

At that statement, Varick fidgeted, and he merely set two mugs of coffee on the table and plopped into one of the two rickety chairs. "Um, that's kind of what we have to talk about, actually." He did not wait for Mikkel to reply or take a seat, but immediately set to dishing as much sugar into his coffee as he possibly could.

'Oh, no.' Mikkel, completely forgetting about his own beverage, stalked to the stove. About half an inch of water had been poured into the skillet, and milky white strands of cooled wax lay submerged in the liquid. Mikkel felt his chest constrict with a sudden bolt of anxiety, suddenly realizing that everything was beginning to make sense. Still, he had to deal with Varick right now.

"Varick, do you want to say it before I do?" Mikkel said softly, slipping into the chair opposite his brother's. Despite his rising frustration, the scent of the coffee was oddly soothing, as always. He watched his brother's expression shift from anxious to mildly confused and then took a sip from his mug as Varick sighed.

Nervously shifting his bangs from his violet eyes, Varick stared doggedly down at his cup of coffee. Well, at this point there was likely more sugar than actual coffee in that mug, but… "Magic is forbidden in this household. Yadda yadda, whatever. I know. Still, this was… I dunno, it felt like an emergency." At this Mikkel's glare turned icy, and Varick dumped half of the sugary drink in his mouth to avoid his brother's gaze.

The only thing more frustrating than the fact that Varick was placing much more attention on the coffee than the situation at hand was that Varick knew better. Magic was all but dead in the world now, especially here, and therefore it was now just as unnecessary as it was dangerous. Mikkel took a deep breath, concentrating on the almond and honey undertones of the coffee's strong scent just long enough to completely calm himself again. "Define emergency, please. What was it that you were trying to see?"

"I woke up. Mikkel, you know that I don't just randomly wake up in the middle of the night unless something big is happening. Something just… felt wrong. You know I can't explain it when stuff like that happens." Varick had calmed down considerably, likely due to the ungodly amount of sugar he had just consumed. He motioned with his hand vaguely as if trying to explain whatever it was he could not quite convey verbally. "It felt like it did back on the night Dad died. That kind of wrong."

Mikkel stared at him in alarm. Varick had always been much more attuned to mystical beings within the real world than he, able to instantly recognize the presence of otherworldly beings in the vicinity and the havoc they wrecked on the human world. Still, even that was no excuse to go meddling with magic, especially since neither one of them was quite proficient in the mythic arts.

"Not again… Our father's death was totally natural, an accident. I remember that night clearly, 'Rick, and Mother said that she had not felt a speck of dark magic hanging around that night. Even if you felt the same thing as you did then, why would that be an emergency? Just go back to sleep next time." 'As if that would ever happen, though.' Just like himself, Varick would probably never be able to go back to sleep once awakened. Oh, well.

Having finished off his whole mug, Varick stared at it solemnly for a moment. "I wanted to see what it was. Something is here now, and I had to see it. What if suddenly there was another 'accident' and something happened to me? Or you? So, I used the whole wax reading thing to at least find out what it was. Didn't really work, though, as you could probably tell… Either I'm getting rusty or that thing out there is one hell of a monster to be able to hide from me."

"Language, please." And he was certainly not about to admit that he had no idea how to interpret a wax reading. If Varick had done the ritual correctly, that wax, coupled with that special skillet, should have been easy to read, like tea leaves to a gypsy. However, when Mikkel had looked in the skillet earlier, he had seen nothing but swirls and globs of candle wax. Like always.

"So, why are you awake, huh?" Varick slammed his mug onto the table, his usual vigor returning full force. "I bet you felt it, too. Maybe just for a moment, but long enough to knock you out of your nightly coma. Come on, if you knew how powerful this thing felt, you would have done something, too. I just wanted to know what it was, just in case!"

Mikkel opened his mouth to say that his brother was probably just very tired and misinterpreting everything, but suddenly stopped. In an instant he knew something was very wrong. "Oh, grea-"

It felt as if someone had attempted to bash his skull in with a tire iron, shoving away the calming coffee scent and dim lights of his kitchen in one swift motion. Despite the sudden darkness, however, Mikkel knew it was not unconsciousness or death. In fact, he knew that he was perfectly all right, still sitting at the table if he had not fallen out of his chair. But, this… As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Mikkel was able to determine that this was a back alley and that he was sprawled out in a puddle of water. Great.

Sound was returning, but when a rusted car rampaged past the alley, the sound was distant, muted. Mikkel doggedly scrambled to his feet with every intent of just standing in place until the whole ordeal was over before realizing how cold it suddenly felt. Either this dream world's current time was set in a colder month than the real world's new month of June, or he really should have thought about grabbing a shirt before leaving his bedroom. He was uncertain whether this would affect his real self back in the kitchen, but this was not a time to start taking chances. He hated being ill.

As Mikkel darted out of the alley, he could not help but wonder why he was having such a vivid vision now of all times. Usually they were brief flashes of images, like watching a movie in his head. But, every once and a while, these monster visions did occur, which was more like shoving his subconscious self straight into the future (or whatever it was) to witness everything for himself.

'At least no one can see me here. Someone running around half naked in a city at night would definitely draw unwanted attention.' Mikkel made sure to check every alley he passed, searching for any more signs of life. The only problem with these more extreme visions was that they never seemed to get him straight to where the event of interest was taking place. As the sound of echoing voices suddenly caught his attention, Mikkel stopped and glanced down the nearest side street to see a pair of figures standing close to the side of a brick building. 'That must be who this vision is about… I hope.' He frowned and changed course, watching the two speakers intently as he drew closer.

Both were blond men, and both were speaking practically under their breath to keep from being overheard. Though, really, there was no one around to hear them. Except for Mikkel, of course, but it was not as if they could see him. Still, the smoke from the taller man's pipe smelled real enough, and Mikkel wrinkled his nose in disgust. It was always so strange that they were so very solid before his eyes and yet he completely invisible to all of them.

The shorter man, after deftly pushing his glasses further up the bridge of his nose, shoved what looked to be a tightly sealed parcel into the other man's arms, his voice rising slightly in what sounded like frustration. Mikkel drew right up beside the taller man, trying to see if there were any markings on the parcel that would reveal what was inside. They were babbling about someone named Feliks now, and none of it sounded particularly interesting. So, this vision had to be focused on this package. It was a plain box, sealed excessively with duct tape. Nothing out of the ordinary there, either.

Before Mikkel could assess the situation further, however, the two men abruptly nodded and turned away from each before trotting off down opposite ends of the street. Rubbing his hands frantically over his cold upper arms, Mikkel hopped from one foot to the other uncertainly. 'I wonder if I should follow one of them… But which? Does it matter? I don't really care that much about some Feliks fellow, and there was no way to tell what was in that parcel.'

"You know, it's not polite to listen in on other people's conversations."

Mikkel froze, staring at the brick wall to confirm that he was still in the dream world of his vision. There was no one else here, so that voice had to be directed at him… "I could say the same for you, stalking about where no one can see you." A hand grabbed his shoulder then, and Mikkel wheeled on one foot, ready to clock the intruder if the need arose.

"Whoa, hey, what's with that face?" It was another blond man, though he lacked the severe expression of the other two. Instead, this man was actually smirking and he had the gall to give a confident wink at Mikkel's bewildered expression. "You know, I was wondering when you would show up, Norge. I was over in Norway just a few seconds ago, wondering where the hell you and little 'Rick were at." For a second the man grew pensive as Mikkel attempted to piece together what was happening, but then a broad grin overtook the previous smirk. "Did you know there is a field of sheep where your house used to be? Pretty weird!"

No one knew where his previous home was, and not even Varick could remember properly. But here this man was suddenly spouting nonsense about their previous house in Norway and sheep of all things. And "'Rick"? These days, no one but him called Varick "Rick"… Mikkel realized he was probably staring, but could not seem to muster the energy to look away or even blink. This man was so horribly familiar, though not so much in mannerism or appearance as he was in presence. Obviously he could not be wholly human to be prancing about someone else's visions, but Mikkel did not made a habit of making acquaintances with mythic beings.

'No, wait. What did he call me? I swear he said Norge!' Now that was a nickname that no one knew, no one except…

"Mathias."

The man's ramblings immediately ceased, and he tilted his head to the side warily. "What? Norge, you look God awful. You okay?"

It was, it had to be. Mikkel took a step backward, holding up a hand to keep the blond man away. "It's been twelve years, Mathias. You're a complete idiot if you think you can just waltz back and expect everything to be dandy around here."

Though with a goofy grin that was much too familiar for Mikkel's liking, Mathias merely shrugged. "When your old momma is a Valkyrie, you start to realize that nothing around here is completely dandy, Norge. That's what beer is for! Now, come on, it's time for you to wake up so you can get some more clothes on and we can talk all proper like. I know where you are now, so I'll meet you back in the real world, okay?"

Mikkel was about to protest, but Mathias immediately pressed a palm to his forehead. That familiar feeling of tire iron to the head returned, and everything went dark.

Mikkel woke with a start, finding that he was still sitting at the table and Varick was up and fiddling with the coffee pot. Even though the kitchen light emitted only a soft, dim glow, the room felt abnormally bright and super saturated. 'Or, rather, the visions are just really dull in comparison to the real world,' he thought, grimacing. Mikkel closed his eyes with a sigh, knowing that he would adjust quickly. Now, for that coffee…

"This is a nice house. I like it."

Varick threw something across the room before Mikkel could even open his eyes, but the older brother quickly stood to block a certain grinning Danish man from Varick's line of fire. "Hold on, 'Rick. He's harmless." At that the teenager frowned, unconvinced. "Um, I see you're brewing another round of coffee?" Mikkel shook his head when Varick attempted to comment, effectively silencing his little brother. "You aren't going to drink the whole pot, so grab a mug for our guest, all right? I'm going to get changed."

Varick snorted and glared at Mathias as if the Dane were nothing more than a toad that had hopped in through the open window. "This stupid coffee pot only makes two cups at a time… I was planning on drinking the whole thing. What is he doing here, anyway?"

"Be polite to our guest, Varick," Mikkel warned as he headed for the stairs. After getting properly dressed, he would need to search about for some pain killers. He could already tell that a massive headache was inevitable at this point.

::...::

"I don't like you."

"Norge, what happened to the adorable little kid that was your brother?"

"Don't talk about me as if I am not here."

Before this day was over, Mikkel was likely to go absolutely insane. He was only just finishing breakfast, and already he wanted to turn around and toss both his brother and the overbearing halfblood out the door. Not that this was unexpected considering Mathias had not changed a single bit in the past twelve years, but really? Why was Varick acting like this? Those two had gotten along quite well before, though, honestly, Varick had only been five years old back then. 'Which is only making this worse. We cut off all ties with our life from back then, so why did he decide to randomly show up?'

"-say that again, I'll throw something else at you. This time it will be a knife."

"'Really, 'Rick? Your aim when you threw the toaster was pretty rotten!"

"And you're still in trouble for that, Varick, so I would advise you not to throw anything else in this kitchen," Mikkel said, finally turning away from the stove. They were sitting across from each other at the kitchen's small dinner table, Varick hunched over with his usual unreadable frown and Mathias, as always, grinning like an idiot. "And you stop antagonizing him, Matthias. Varick doesn't remember you and he isn't a little kid any more. You're just some ruffian that broke into our house at o dark thirty."

"Not some ruffian, some monster," Varick said. His violet eyes narrowed in suspicion. "I can tell you aren't human. You look like us, but you're not."

Mathias did not look at all offended, but he did roll his eyes. "Of course I'm not like you. How boring would that be?" The Dane leaned forward and reached for the sugar container, much to Varick's displeasure, and made a show grabbing it. Except, instead of his hand folding around the canister, it went through it. "See? People like you can't do stuff like-"

Mikkel slammed a plate in front of both Varick and Mathias; he did not care that their omelets flopped half onto the table. Still, to anyone save his brother, and possibly Mathias, even now he would seem to appear calm and detached from the situation. "We do not allow magic in this house, is that clear? Mathias, if you are here for any reason other than to be an unwanted nuisance, do tell. If not, you are leaving after breakfast. Varick… Just, please try to ignore him."

As Mikkel turned to retrieve a stool from the corner, he heard a murmured "Have fun trying to do that, 'Rick!" from the table.

::...::

"I could have helped clean up, Norge," Mathias said drowsily from his spot on the living room couch. "'Rick went up stairs ages ago, can you believe it? I guess you're right that he doesn't remember me."

'Enough of this. I have to know why he is here and find a way to make him leave.' There was only so much hospitality he could show to one of them, anyhow. Mikkel doggedly shuffled to the tattered armchair, though he made sure to poke Mathias on the way to keep him from falling asleep. "All right, Mathias. Why are you here?"

Mathias took an abnormal interest in the opposite wall for a moment, as though the maroon wallpaper were talking to him rather than Mikkel. "Hmm, no reason. I just happened to be in Norway this morning and decided to swing by your house." At this he shrugged and leaned over to grab his mug from the coffee table, flashing a wide grin at which Mikkel glared in return. "Obviously the house wasn't there. I was kind of worried, you know? Last time I saw you, your mother wasn't doing all that well, and you two kids were kind of… Well, I guess it's good you have those freaky visions, eh? I probably never would have found you otherwise!"

He was willing to accept that for now, but Mikkel was going to get the real answer out of the Dane eventually. They had been friends once, back when his family had no qualms with magic and mythical beings. Still, something was a bit off. "Where did you go? Mother was practically in hysterics, thinking you had been killed or something. I mean, you were, what, twelve? Just fell off the planet, it seemed."

"Hey, there's something you need to know about us non humans, and that's that we can take care of ourselves. And I was thirteen then."

Mikkel wasn't sure if Mathias was evading the question or if he had just honestly only heard the bit about his guesstimated age. It never had been easy to tell with that guy. "Where were you?" he repeated, more firmly this time.

There was no getting around it this time without betraying the fact that he obviously didn't want to answer that question. "Pfft, man, you are so uptight, Mikkel. I've been in the ethereal world this whole time, and it was really lame. I couldn't get out, you see."

Mikkel had never really bothered to learn much about the ethereal world, the counterpart to their own corporeal world. All he knew was that his visions brought his mind to that place, a place that looked like the corporeal world, their "real" world, but wasn't. Not entirely. "I don't like it there." Obviously Mathias didn't either, so Mikkel bowed his head. "I'm sorry, but you have not exactly been in the family's good graces for a while. Our father was always telling us that you were doing this or that. I never listened to him about that, though. Still, you left right after he died, and it sort of made people suspicious. It's been difficult trying to convince even 'Rick that it was all an accident."

Mathias frowned with mock hurt and set his now empty mug on the coffee table. "Well, maybe I can make it up to you guys! If I can just crash here for-"

"I don't think so. And don't give me that look, it's childish." Honestly, it was like talking to a four-year-old half the time. Still, Mathias had stayed with them for several years back in their previous house, and it had not been much of a problem. 'No, things are different now. It's hard enough trying to keep Varick out of the old rune books, and now suddenly a half Valkyrie wants to stay here? It's almost as if heaven is purposefully trying to ruin everything I've worked for!' And yet, it would not be right to throw an old friend out on the street, either. "We don't have a spare room, and I would really rather that you did not set up residency in our living room." That would only scare off their normal, human friends and possibly drive Varick to homicide. "I could talk to the neighbors… I know Berwald was thinking of renting his basement rooms out."

"Berwald?" Mathias echoed, bewildered. "Huh. We'll have to look into that later. Anyway, whatever. Uh, what's been going on in the world in the past twelve years? I mean, I haven't exactly been around."

Mikkel stared in surprise, wondering how he could have possibly persuaded the Dane from wanting to stay at their house so easily. Well, maybe Mathias had changed a bit. Hopefully. "Well, I suppose you've missed a lot…"

AN:
Hot-blooded Iceland. Won't be seeing that for much longer now that Denmark is around, so don't worry.