"Oh, for crying out loud, Denmark! Why do you have to be such a coward?" Norway was still short for his physical age, only about thirteen, but he walked up with an air of arrogance to his taller, yet similarly aged neighbor, yanking the bow from his hands and breaking it in two. "You can't expect anything if you're too scared to step right in and fight," he scolded as he handed an axe to the Dane.

"Nor… But I…"

"But you nothing! Are you afraid of being hit? Are you afraid of death? What kind of warrior do you think you are?! Arrows shot from a distance are only good for frightening them in the beginning. Once the battle has arrived, you have to get down and fight like a man." He pulled out a knife and held it threateningly close, seething. "Don't you ever 'but' me again, don't forget who's in charge here."

"Yes, brother!"

"Good, now stop playing with the weapons. I'm going to bathe."


"Is Sweden coming?"

"No," was the young Norwegian's answer, sitting at a fire with the southernly friend, combing bits of lye soap from his hair.

"How come?"

"He's taking off on his own and going east. Good for him."

"Does he have something against us? He always seems to have his own plans when you want to go."

"More like against me. He thinks I'm too brutal. I think he's just a whining wimp." The young blond stared into the flames emotionlessly as he spoke.

The Dane mumbled under his breath, barely loud enough to be heard, "Maybe he's right…"

Norway shot a harsh glare at the other, making him cringe and look away. He then blew a few strands of bleached hair from his face, speaking again in that monotone. "Human lives are worthless. They're born with little purpose, and die long before their time. All I do is give then a chance to be a hero and maybe end their pitiful existence. I don't even kill close to a quarter of them anyway." He narrowed his deep blue eyes, picking up a twig. "Can't you imagine, Den? They're all guaranteed to die, they only last a few decades and then," he tossed the twig to the very edge of the fire to watch it smolder and disintegrate to a pile of ashes, "they're gone. If they're lucky, they'll see Valhalla, so I might as well send them off with that heroic last battle."

Without the slightest of ill meaning, only youthful curiosity, Denmark ventured a question. "Well, why do you do it? What's in it for you?"

"Me? Everything. My land is poor and my people need more to live full lives." His eyes glinted as a smirk graced his mouth. "I deserve everything I take. One day, they'll all see. Peaceful trade and such is nice for ones like Sweden, but it gives him no say. Fear is a powerful force, and I intend to make good use of it."

Denmark returned to a smile. "If I stick with you, I can be your ally, right?"

Norway gave a simple shrug. "If you're trustworthy, sure." Crawling beside his friend, he took a blanket and rolled himself up in it. "I'm going to sleep now. Watch the fire and guard me, my new ally. Do a good job and we'll set sail tomorrow."


Blood covered the immortal boy. His soulless eyes surveyed the reddened landscape, as his own surviving people had gone to collect their spoils. Everywhere he looked, bodies littered the landscape and he was the lone one standing. He couldn't help the smirk and chuckle.

"I hope you all thank me."

Running a hand through his soft hair, he pulled some of the not-yet dried blood out of it and began to examine it on his hand. The crimson substance stuck to his fingers as he rubbed it, smelled it…

He started to move among the corpses. He kicked one, a man who had struggled and gave up early. He bent down to another, sword still in hand, deceased eyes forever staring into his opponent's face.

"You did well. May your spirit continue on bravely in battle till Ragnarök."

Wandering amongst the sea of death, he looked over all. He didn't feel pain at losing his own people, nor did he feel for those who died defending their own from the raiders from the North. He felt no joy or elation in victory either. The bloodshed was worthless to him, yet he couldn't pull himself away. Taking a stand on a small rock, he crossed his arms and glazed over the green covered in red once more, and addressed the entire crowd gathered at his feet.

"You all look so pitiful. You were brave, you were strong, you were heroes, and now you sleep. I'm sure every one of you was full of life and now you lie here lifeless, your innards spilled out and strewn across the land. We'll take back our own and be sure they're treated as they should in preparation for a post-life journey, but you outsiders, you foreigners shall lie as a remembrance…of me. Never forget that I, the Norse, did this."

"You're sick."

The voice caught Norway off-guard, spinning around to look down at a redhead much his age and size, glaring at him from the foot of the rock.

"Do you find joy in meaningless slaughter, barbarian?"

Norway's hand moved to the hilt of a sword hanging at his side. "I'd suggest you remember who you're talking to…Scotch."

Scotland only narrowed his eyes even further in ire. "Those were my people! Gone! Why?! What do you want from us?! All you want is to leave a trail of spilled blood wherever you go!"

The metal rung out as the sword was rapidly drawn and pointed in the Celt's face. "If that were true, I wouldn't have addressed you before I scattered your pieces across the sky. I wasn't going to touch you personally, but now you have challenged me."

He jumped down from the rock, taking a quick aim and sing at his opponent's collar, a move blocked by a bare hand. Scotland involuntarily cried out as the blade dug into his palm. Cold, ruthless eyes watched him as he tried to stem the bleeding, sword dangling at the attacker's side unthreateningly, yet ready to spring another assault.

"You have no humanity…nothing but a bloodthirsty rogue…" Scotland cringed, speaking through clenched teeth as the blood began to drip into his clothes and onto the ground. "To think you attack a defenseless and unarmored man."

"Let's not forget who confronted me. You asked for it." Norway picked up the wounded hand, wiping away some of the blood and drawing more whimpers and seething from the redhead as he touched the deep cut, holding tightly onto the hand even as he pulled away in pain. When he let it go again, he examined the blood of his fingertips for a moment, then wiped it off on the Scot's face. "Keep your own blood, coward."

Angered again by this invader's calm insults, he drew out a dagger with his left hand and shakily pointed it at his rival. "Leave me alone! I've never done anything to you, so go home and leave me alone!"

Norway only snickered. "You seem to be ignorant on how the world works." He swung his sword again, leaving a clean gash in the other's shoulder, rendering both arms useless.

The blow sent the young Scotsman stumbling backward. Once he caught his balance, he didn't dare to step closer again, instead shouting from the distance. "You've won this time, Norseman! But you can't kill me, you can't destroy me! I don't know why you must do this, so I beg you to stop! We never asked for trouble!"

With that, Scotland took off in a run. Good for him, Norway thought, at least he knows who really has the power, who really is in control. He looked back around at the slain at his feet, the people already returning to take them back for burial rites. With a simple nod of acknowledgment to his countrymen, he began to walk off on his own, down to a creek. Removing the stained bearskin from his body and setting it aside, he knelt down at the water's edge, splashing it up into his face, wiping away the traces of the battle from his fair skin. Then taking off the boots, belts and cloak, he sat in a simple tunic and rolled-up trousers, dipping his feet in the crystal water. Using the reflection of the water, he took out a comb and started brushing through his hair for a short moment before slumping over in the grass, becoming the still, peaceful image of a child.


A/N: Honoring my promise to work on any of my plot bunnies that someone likes (and because the requester is a very awesome person uwu), I have started this story too! orz I now have so many on-going stories to work on…

Notes (because ~the more you know~):

It is generally an accepted fact that bows weren't used extensively by the vikings. Because of beliefs and cultural norms, it was much more honorable to fight hand to hand. You gotta remember that they weren't afraid to risk their lives, as Valhalla was for warriors who died in battle and they would feast with Odin till the end of the world (Ragnarök). People who were dying of old age or illness sometimes would kill themselves in hopes of tricking the goddess Hel into thinking they died in battle. It was…kinda a big deal.

Blond hair was very coveted in their culture, and lye was used to bleach their hair, though, depending on one's natural hair color, lye-bleached hair usually took on a red or strawberry tone, rather than the platinum color we think of when we think of bleached hair in modern times. The old Scandinavians were very clean and groomed compared to the majority of Europe at the time.

This story isn't meant to be entirely accurate historically, but the plot does follow events of history.

Norway is and will be portrayed as a border-line berserk, which will be expanded upon later. Berserks were warriors who were noted for a trance-like fury in battle, noted for fighting without armor and seemed to be invincible. The common image of a viking as insane barbarians comes from descriptions of the berserks. They were also called "Odin's warriors" because of the similarities and were said to shapeshift.

~Butter~