Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.
So yesterday (October 9) was Lief Erickson Day in the States. It's meant to celebrate Lief Erickson, the Icelandic explorer who is said to be the first European to land in North America. I wrote this fluffy Iceland/fem!America story because I love this pairing. Some historical liberties taken. I may expand this story but probably not. Hooray fluff.
"Sometimes it's lonely… being an island nation."
"Hm…?" America tries to keep from dozing off, and blinks up at Iceland sleepily.
"My country is in the middle of an ocean. I have no borders to worry about, but my neighbors cannot just come to see me. It is even hard to see… Norway."
"Your older brother," America says, without admonishment. Iceland nods, blinks, swallows the lump forming in his throat. "And the others," he admits. "It's nice to have lunch with all of them. Especially when everyone gets together. It's such a loud nuisance…"
America grins and pokes Iceland's cheek. "You're smiiiiiling," she teases in a singsong voice.
He laughs a little, and he raises the arm wrapped around her to run his fingers through her hair. "You've grown your hair out…"
America makes a face. "I only cut it for meetings," she pouts. Then she nuzzles Iceland's bare chest. "Then I grow it out… just for you." He feels her breasts press against him and feels warm satisfaction in his chest, knowing that he is the only nation who gets to see America like this, wearing nothing but underclothes and a contented smile she never shares at world meetings.
"You know…" she mutters wistfully, "Sometimes I daydream about if life were simpler. If I could make a secure little niche for myself in the world, throw the superpower torch away, and just… run away with you. Just find somewhere the two of us could be, and live…"
"Happily ever after? Are you the hero in this story or the princess?" Iceland caresses her cheek before capturing her lips in a passionate kiss. Moans and breathy whispers consume the next few minutes before America reigns in Iceland's inner beast.
"I'm both," she winks.
"I'd like that…" Iceland admits. "I wish I could run away with my princess.. and hero," he adds, after she nips his ear playfully. "Maybe we can make a place like that. Houses on both our coasts, with the windows looking out to each other. And when we can't be together, we can go to the windows and look out as the morning sun fills the house and as evening casts its glow, and we can pretend we can see each other across the ocean…"
America actually blushes. "You're such a romantic," she accuses. It's Iceland's turn to blush. "They call me the land of ice and fire for a reason."
The superpower runs her fingers all over Iceland's chest, taking extra care to trace the nerves she know feel good to him. "I always thought it was the volcanoes. You're lucky I can't make a huge Romance-Off between you and France, because that would be a cheese-fest to behold."
Iceland blinks. "...That's terrifying." Peals of laughter fill the bedroom, and Iceland chuckles, basking in his lover's joy. Then he slips his arm out from behind her and flips her on her back, drinking in the beauty below him. America blushes excitedly from his assertiveness and keens as he runs his hand along her cheek, down her neck, giving her breasts a firm squeeze. "I rather like knowing that I'm the only one who can see you like this. You're… radiant."
As Iceland descends to capture her lips yet again, America shifts her hips below him sensually. "I'm more than just radiant, darlin'," she drawls, and she knows she drives Iceland wild when she flaunts it.
Norway did not want him to join Erickson on his expedition to the mysterious islands to the West. Iceland conceded that, in going, he might have done so just to spite Norway, and now regretted parting with bad blood between him and his older brother. But the lands held promise. Greenland claimed that the islands compared in size to his own realm, and since they were further south, would probably serve better as a year-round colony that could help Iceland accrue power.
They landed as the weather began to turn cold, and found the land fertile enough to harvest crops and hunt game. The explorers found strange new plants and animals, and even whispers of other human settlements. They spoke excitedly of making contact, and worked feverishly to make valuable goods that any native of the land might want to trade for.
Iceland didn't quite know what to make of this. Half the time, he wondered if Norway was really his big brother and if it would be better if he had his own indigenous tribe, and the thought of this Vinland having a personification already pricked him with jealousy. But on the other hand, if this Vinland did exist and Iceland found him, maybe… just maybe… he could be a big brother, too?
He thought about the possible Vinland he could find, a little boy with light hair and eyes like Iceland's, curious about the world, but afraid of its dangers. Iceland could teach him how to hunt and cook, to build sturdy homes and fight against invaders. Maybe it would be nice to have someone calling him… "Big Brother…"
Unfortunately, when he found that little boy, the native's face had warped in fright and he dashed into the foliage so fast Iceland wondered that he wasn't an illusion. He returned to the village that night downcast, and eager to set sail to the south the next day.
If Vinland wasn't going to come to him, he wouldn't bother to stay.
Even further south, the winter proved cold. Iceland had hoped for a mild winter in the southern regions, like what Denmark boasted of as he plunged into the south of Europe, but he had no such luck. Neither did he have any luck escaping the possible rumors of missing personfications. A tribesman from a nearby native village had stood on the edge of the forest watching the explorers as they disembarked and built their own fortress along the coast, retreating when they tried to make contact.
Iceland burned with jealousy on the inside. This Vinland stretched so far, the little boy had so much land, and he wouldn't even do Iceland the courtesy of a meeting! He made quite a show of not caring about the natives, hoping that his wounded pride would heal sooner rather than later.
Whatever came of his return to his native lands in the spring, Iceland resolved that Norway couldn't know of the brat that had denied him. Iceland would not give Norway the satisfaction of being an older brother when Iceland himself felt the opportunity to be one slip through his fingers. He didn't miss his older brother at all… he didn't need his comfort or his advice…
Iceland stopped as the reality of the self-delusion hit him. The forest surrounded him on all sides. Birds chirped around him gleefully, but the animal language did not invite him into the conversation of nature. He had no one to talk to, no one to be friends with, and now he was all alone, and possibly lost.
The fact that he was almost a young man did not help him keep his composure. Iceland drifted to a rock in a daze, and sat down.
He was lost in a foreign forest on a new land, with no one to help him and his brother too far away and too angry at him to care to help. He would stay lost forever, Norway would mock his memory, he would die here… and maybe… no one would notice…
Iceland gave up trying to be strong. He curled further into his massive fur coat, buried his face in his arms, and cried.
Iceland was not immediately aware of the tiny, tiny hands poking at his fur coat, due to the garment's thickness. However, when the searching hands found an opening, and the intruder started worming his way into Iceland's coat like a needy infant, he shot up on the rock, absolutely startled.
An equally baffled child stared up at him, and Iceland realized that with tear tracks and red cheeks, he didn't look very dignified at all. The child frowned, and Iceland had a second realization; the boy up north, the possible Vinland, had definitely been taller than this one. This child needed only a fur robe, and barely stood to Iceland's knee. He was... a different nation.
"Are… you… okay?"
Though the speech was foreign, it had been inflected with the language all nations knew instinctively. Evidently, the child had rarely used the gift before, as the words came out slowly. Even more importantly, though, Iceland noticed that the voice was very high pitched. Feminine.
He sat down again. "I'm okay. Who are you?" He spoke slowly, deliberately, inflecting each word.
"... America," the child said after a moment of contemplation.
"I am Iceland. My people and I come from an island to the east." He pointed, and America's eyes followed his point. "America, do you have any land-neighbors?"
America frowned again, and looked as though she needed to think. "Um…"
Iceland stood up. "We can talk with food. Do you know where my house is?"
"Yeah," America nodded. "But I can't stay for too long. The chiefs get worried if I don't come back for a long time. Come with me!" she said, grabbing Iceland's hand. Iceland's heart thumped as the small girl wrapped new fingers around his hand, tugging him along with her short legs and unsteady gait.
She wasn't Vinland, but she was a nation, and she wanted to see him. To be with him.
Maybe… Iceland was going to get a little sister.
The chiefs were already waiting with the village leader when America arrived back at Iceland's village. They were not alone, either; several surly men stood with the chiefs, and Iceland bristled with fear. Their strength and age-given wisdom instinctively marked them as the tribes' representatives. Even America looked cowed by their presence, although Iceland was more of mind to think that she thought she was in trouble.
The chiefs and the tribes pulled America from Iceland and sat down to talk with her, but did not remove her from the camp. Iceland's relief passed as his own village leader explained that, although communication proved difficult, the chiefs wanted to arrange a meeting between the two peoples, as the arrival of the Land of Ice had been prophesied by no few number of shamans. Nervousness twisted in Iceland's stomach. If he or his people said the wrong thing or made the wrong move, the chiefs might take America away, and go to war. They had no armies and no weapons to stave off an invasion of natives, and Iceland would need to retreat in that situation. The meeting had to go flawlessly. He instructed his people to cook the best food, prepare the best entertainment, and choose the best goods to offer for trade.
The meal, thankfully, was well-received, and the chiefs showed great interest in the metal-casted works and cultural icons that Iceland had brought from his own home. But the tribes regarded Iceland with never-failing seriousness, and even tiny, impressionable America looked worried. Throughout the meal Iceland saw the chiefs and the tribes speaking to her, having her practice reciting what they said. It seemed they were going to use her as an interpreter.
America made her way down the row under the watchful eyes of her guardians and her guests, and sat in front of Iceland. She fidgeted violently for a moment before stuttering the speech that had been prepared for her.
"The elders say that Vinland and I appeared a little while ago, when your people first built settlements. But they also say that we appeared because of the Tribes using magic to create us, too."
Iceland blinked. "What?"
"The Tribes are numerous, and stretch from the ice in the north to a land in the south that's always hot. We have the sea here, and far away there is another one, at the other end of the world. And all the shamans who see the future see that the land will belong to… to people like you and me. That the Tribes will die away and you will inherit the land."
Iceland barely dared to breathe. He was going to conquer a land as vast as this…?
"When the settlements were built, the Tribes poured their magic into our creation. That way, when the Tribes die, they will live on in the two of us. I have only met Vinland once, but they say our destiny is to "bridge the two worlds…" She fidgeted some more, and for a moment an extreme upset crossed her face. Iceland felt a throb of empathy. As a new nation, she could barely understand the concept of death, and how it did not apply to her, or how it would apply to almost everyone she grew to know and love. The whisper of the concept made her cower in fear.
"The Tribes think that I should learn from you. So that I can live, and carry on the legacy of the land. The chiefs said Vinland was scared, and he went to hide."
Iceland nodded. So, her… older brother… did not want to parlay.. But America seemed willing to try. He crouched lower in his seat, and looked her right in the eye.
"I am an island," he said, "and I am the only… tribe… on my island. But, even further away, there is a land, large like this one, and that land is Europe. There are many tribes in Europe who fight each other. They can be cruel. I have brothers who are older than me, who stand for different nations in Europe. They fight each other as well. I love them, but it is a hard love."
"America," he said gently, as the girl looked horrified. "You have the good luck to live across a large sea. No one from Europe will find you or your brother for many, many years. In that time, I can help you learn about Europe. I can teach you many things. I will train you to fight, so that no one from Europe can harm you… not even me."
The girl took heart at his words, and relayed them to the Tribes. Iceland watched as they reflected upon his pronouncement, and breathed a sigh of deep relief as they nodded in approval.
"I will teach you to be strong… younger sister."
"Why must you go?"
Iceland turned and saw America looking up at him with tears running freely down her cheeks. He taught her decades ago to not show emotion, and by this betrayal of his teaching he knew she suffered greatly. He stopped loading things on to his ship and sat cross-legged on the sands. "Sit with me, little sister," he said, and America, greedy for any moment she can spend with her older-older brother, readily agreed.
For a while they sat and watch the crashing waves, listening to the melancholy of the tides, and Iceland pet her hair.
"You are still so small, America," he said. "I have come back and forth between my land and yours for almost two hundred years, but you have barely grown a bit."
"But I know how to hunt now! I can make fires, and hunt animals, and make a tent, and build a house, and treat my injuries, and I can even fight you-!"
"All of that is true," Iceland cut her off before she could protest more. Indeed, the first time America's strength had become apparent, even Iceland had quavered. She would indeed be safe from Europeans who would come to her land. Whether she became the property of another kingdom or ruled her own land, no one could trample over her. And, despite her short stature, she had taken to swinging around a battle-axe with all of Denmark's enthusiasm. Iceland could not be more proud of her if he tried. She had Finland's kindness, Sweden's brute strength, Denmark's enthusiasm, Norway's wit, and his love. He wanted to hug her and never let her go. And it made leaving that much harder.
"You are very strong now, America. But Denmark and Norway are starting to notice how much time I am not on my own land. Why is this a problem?"
A dash of Norway himself crossed her expression. "Well, your people are more vulnerable," she said, and a bit of guilt crossed her face. "And if they followed you, they might come here…"
"Yes," Iceland agreed. "And though you are strong, they have armies and weapons that will outmatch you. Your Tribes might disappear, but they do not need to be killed. If my people leave, and take everything with us, then you can grow stronger for many more years before someone else from Europe meets you."
"America, look at me. What I am going to tell you now is very important."
America still looked sullen, but did as she was asked.
"I am going to take everything from the villages here. I want your Tribes to destroy anything we leave behind. If other nations from Europe do not know I was here, then they will not guess how strong you are, or how much you know. You can use that to stay strong. And, although your Tribes treat males and females mostly the same, the people of Europe give men more power. So, for your own safety, I would suggest pretending to be a man when the other nations of Europe come. Pretend you are a little baby boy who knows nothing. If they think you are weak, they will not guess that you are strong."
Her blue eyes were wide with surprise at his requests, but she nodded seriously. Then, she fidgeted again, and broke his gaze. "... Big brother Iceland?"
Iceland blushed. "Yes, little sister?"
"I will… I will see you again, right?" She looked ready to cry. Iceland glanced away. He knew that the separation would be a long one by necessity. He wanted her by his side, playing and learning and teaching. He hated Norway's intrusiveness, Denmark's aggressiveness, and the camaraderie between the two of them that made them such a mighty force. He despised that they forced him to leave the new continent for years… and maybe even centuries. He pulled America close to him in a tight hug, which she desperately returned.
"I will see you again. It may be years, it may be longer, and we may feel the distance of time the next time we meet… but I promise, America, that I will come as soon as I can. And I will always wait for you."
Their embrace lasted far too short, and before he knew it, Iceland was standing at the stern of a ship quickly departing, his tears lost amid the spray as America's figure, waving frantically on shore, faded to a spot and then nothing.
He bitterly returned to his island, and waited eight hundred years.
The UN gathered in the 1970s and decided that all nations should attend World Meetings themselves. A hopeless herd of humans in the UN might have limited international communication potential, but a private meeting between the nations themselves might have better luck. This very first one, at the height of the Cold War, would take place in the United States.
Iceland practically shook with nervousness as he checked into his hotel room, which baffled his fellow Nordics to no end. He had opted not to share a room with any of them, and even went so far as to reserve a room at the opposite end of the hotel.
Despite the many years since America gained her independence, Iceland had not met with her in private. She still wore men's clothing whenever another nation was present, but on too many occasions to name, she and Iceland met each other's' gaze, and a knowing look passed between them. The rest of the world thought America was a stubborn idiot, but Iceland wondered what his…. little sister… had been like under her facade. He saw ferocity, beauty, and grace… and Iceland secretly wished that she would consider him something other than a brother, something closer, and far more intimate.
He dreaded this meeting, this first one where only nations and no moderating humans would attend. He went to the meeting the next day, he sat with the Nordics, and he nodded politely as America passed out folders to all the nations in attendance.
A slip of paper fell out of his.
Iceland crouched to pick it up, and froze. Still under the desk, he picked up the paper from the floor and read it, hoping his eyes weren't deceiving him but dreading they were.
Iceland,
Room 308, 10:00pm
- America
Before his name, crossed out and superimposed with a gigantic question mark, were the words "big brother".
Knock knock
Iceland's hand had barely pulled back from the wooden door before it opened, revealing America in a heavy coat, hiding her figure. She looked left and right down the hall before half-inviting, half-pulling Iceland into her room. The door swung shut, and she locked it three times for extra measure. She pulled the blinds down and scanned one more time for KGB surveillance devices. Iceland sat in the room's armchair, distanced from the superpower and her worldly concerns.
She rounded on him. "Does anyone else know you're here?"
"No."
"Iceland."
"America."
The two words carried the weight of two centuries of bonding and eight centuries of loss. America stepped forward uncertainly. "Are we…?"
Iceland stood. "Do we consider ourselves…. …. siblings?"
America faltered. "... Probably not. There's still… something."
"I know."
"But it's not… it's... different."
"I know."
"I've watched you…" The admission, coming from the world's more boisterous superpower, was oddly subdued.
"And I've watched you," Iceland said, pain and passion bubbling under his own calm surface.
They looked up, and, like so many times before, met each other's gaze. Something between them snapped, and they flung themselves at each other, wrapping into a tight embrace.
Oh, I missed you so much. You won't believe how much I did and saw. I want to tell you everything. You know a lot but I want to tell you how I feel. I want my former sibling, my new-old friend, my new something-new, I just want you here, haven't we waited long enough?
"Iceland."
"America?" He had never heard her use anything close to that tone. Not so far into the past, not in wars, not in meetings.
The coat fell away, revealing nothing underneath.
"You have one more thing to teach me."
Iceland pulled her back into his arms, enjoying her enthusiastic but unpracticed attempts to disrobe him. Something within him imploded with vindication, completeness, and satisfaction as he claimed what both of them had waited so long for.
He enjoyed teaching her. And she enjoyed learning.
Iceland thrusts with everything he has, eager to press himself further into America's welcoming body. She moans and calls out his name, her arms wrap around him and cling to him desperately. Their breaths come out in short, pleasured gasps, and their eyes glaze over with lust as the examine each others' faces, shiny with sweat, burning with stimulation, consumed with love.
They orgasm together, mirrored screams of pleasure filling their bedroom. As the ecstasy wears off and Iceland pulls her into a post-coital embrace, he leans in and whispers one of his darkest secrets.
"Being with you like this… seeing you, being here, holding you… just… all of this," he says, unable to find the words for his love and his desire, "I don't think I've ever quite forgiven them for keeping me away from you all those years."
America rolls until she is facing Iceland, and she kisses away the beginnings of the self-angry tears at the corners of his eyes.
"Elskan mín," she says, and Iceland grips her tighter as the flawless Icelandic flows from her tongue, "I never have, too."
The End
I'm glad people enjoyed this oneshot. If you like it and are interested in more Ice/Ame, I have begun writing a multichapter story somewhat based on this oneshot called One Thousand Years More. Thanks for reading!