Whoa! Okay, okay, I know what you're thinking. Yes, I really shouldn't be starting a new fanfiction but... I can guarantee that this one will be going on for awhile. I hope. Maybe. I probably shouldn't go about making promises like that...

I seem to always get more inspired around my exams. I am a horrible student. Well, I guess this can count as studying for my English exams...

So, about this story. It doesn't make any sense at all, historically. Like, AT ALL. For example, Japan is going to be discovered after Canada and America have a war against each other. Yes, I messed up the timelines, big time. If you want to, you could just imagine them more as some random immortal beings... but that probably won't work.

It is also incredibly OOC. Very incredibly OOC. Keep in mind that, this is supposed to be a story of how their attitudes came to be.

I vaguely know what happens in this story, and how it ends, and so on. If only I can find the patience and time to actually write it, finger crossed! If everything goes on like I imagine it to, Japan will show up later. As well as Hong Kong, Liechtenstein, Switzerland, and Lithuania. This is going with the assumption that the majority of the nations are teenagers or younger.

And... that's all. I'm prompted by reviewers. There's no specific amount of reviews needed, but they do boost my morale and encourage me to update faster.

My last warning is... please, keep in mind that I am known to disappear off the face of the earth with no forewarning.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia - Axis Powers.

Norway's Story

It was dark.

It was cold.

I had lost.

When the cell doors opened, I was scared.

Why wouldn't I be? I had lost. I was a prisoner here. I had no idea what would happen to me.

The entire cell was dark, I could barely see the slight shine of silver on the blades as they swiped down on me.

I winced, bracing myself for the pain, but it never came.

I stared in shock at the figure before me as the chains on my wrists clattered to the floor.

I flinched as silver came down on me once more, then the chains on my ankles were gone too.

Whoever it was made it silently to the door. A sliver of light from outside caught his face as he turned back to look at me, golden irises flashing. "Well? Come on."

Light-headed and star-struck, I managed to get up and follow him. Yes, he was a complete stranger, but I didn't really have much of a choice considering my condition.

It was probably midday out there, as the sun was unbearably bright. Prone to winter as I was, plus being locked up in pitch darkness for who-knows-how-long, it felt like the light itself was searing into my skin.

I probably should've called out, maybe asked that mysterious person to wait for me, that would've been the most logical thing to do, right? But logic was not a common characteristic of mine, unfortunately.

The world began spinning. It was blurry to begin with.

I usually write about the world turning black in my folk tales, but on this occasion the world seemed to turn white.

Leaning myself against the wall, I tried my best to stay conscious.

I couldn't see much of anything, my eyes couldn't focus. My mind was going blank.

There was pain. I still hadn't healed from the war. It hurt, it hurt a lot, and I couldn't even tell where it was coming from.

I tried to say something, but my voice didn't work.

My legs gave out. My hand slipped from the wall and my vision quavered. Further away, the blurry figure turned back to look at me, but he didn't do anything.

My world turned white.

My name is Norway. It's short for Norway. I am the anthropomorphic personification of that particular Nordic peninsula country beside the North Sea.

I am the mature one among the Nordics. The leader. The sober. The responsible one.

I wasn't always like this. Emotionless, I mean. Unreadable, responsible, reliable, unwavering, indifferent, infinitely patient.

I was once naïve.

I was once easily read.

That is how I was back then.

Even after the war, when I was hurt. When I had lost. When I was locked up, defeated, alone.

I was still naïve. Still easily read.

I'm not anymore.

When I opened my eyes, I thought I might've been dreaming. This was because the entire room was white. I must've laid there staring at the ceiling for ages before coming to this conclusion.

I didn't know where I was, but there was a small window on the wall a little away to the right of my white single bed.

Propping myself up, trying to see the rest of the room, I caught sight of something very strange on the wall opposite my bed.

It was an all-too-familiar flag — red with a white-accented deep blue cross spread offside over it.

My flag.

Then, I noticed another one. It was on the wall behind my bed, slightly to the left. I didn't notice it until I turned to stop gaping at my own flag on the wall and saw it.

Three colours; green, white, red. Somehow, I felt that there was a particular significance about that flag that I really ought to remember.

I gasped and scrambled away when the realization hit me, and literally fell off the other side of the bed.

My finger scrabbled at the windowsill. It took far too much energy than normal to pull myself up.

Staring out at the large flag high above the city, my suspicions were confirmed.

The words on the flag kept waving, taunting me.

Impero Italia.

I'm no Italian linguist, but even a fool of a country understands that Impero means Empire.

Every country and colony in this age had heard about Italy. He was the grandson of the famed Roman Empire, the strongest yet conqueror ever to be known (even if he never discovered any lands of his own).

I've been a colony before, Sweden and Denmark repeatedly fought over me, and none too gently. I didn't like it. I didn't want to become like that again. My viking colony days were awful and harsh, I was neglected and modern-deprived, mostly isolated aside from war affairs for years.

Honestly, I pretty much freaked out when I found out I was on Italian land.

I turned and tried to run, but a sudden pain shot through my heart and I fell to the ground. Panic raised above the pain slightly. I began to worry about what might be happening to my land to make me feel like that. Of course, I didn't have a capital yet, so the damage had to be pretty bad to affect me there…

The door at the other end of the room was opening, but I could barely even breathe.

There was a gasp, and the door seemed to close. I'm pretty sure I was screaming. Back then, I wasn't used to pain at all. Tears were streaming down my cheeks.

Somehow, I ended up back on the bed again, while someone slowly fed me what I thought was water. "Okay, it's okay. Breathe. Stop crying, it's not that bad. It's okay."

I tried to do as I was told, while he gently prised my fingers away from where they were tightly clutching the fabric over my heart. My vision began to swim into focus, and I began to see who was leaning over me.

He looked about my age, physically, and if the prominent curl on the right side of his head was anything to go by, he was probably a country.

But aside from his chocolate-brown hair, were the familiar pair of bright golden eyes. It finally dawned on me that this was the one who took me from my dark cell.

"You're Italy." I realized, almost bolting right then and there until another pain jolted through me and I cried out.

"Shh," he told me soothingly, pushing me back down again and bringing the cup to my lips once more. "Calm down. Drink."

I obliged, although I still felt worried about being here on Italian land.

Eventually he lowered the cup away from me, and I could see the smirk on his face as he moved off to put the cup away on the table. "You're too trusting," he said with a light shake of his head.

I blushed red. Fear crept over me as I realized it hadn't tasted like water — not one bit.

He walked back over to me, and I couldn't think of any other response. "Y-you're Italy." I repeated. Well, stammered, more like.

He smiled softly, thought his eyes closed a little more so that I couldn't quite understand his expression.

I flinched a bit as he sat down on the bed next to me (None of us Nordics are particularly fond of foreign close contact). "Everyone always assumes I'm trying to invade them once I say yes to that," he said with a small chuckle.

I froze as his hand tangled into my hair, playing with it.

Maybe it was a mistake, I probably should have kept quiet, but I immediately blurted out, "What do you want?"

Italy laughed softly again. "Straight to the point, aren't you?"

"I'm a viking," I stated, even though this wasn't exactly true anymore, "I've never yet met anyone who was nice without wanting anything in return, so what is it?"

I was relieved to feel his hand leave my hair and managed to turn a little so I could actually see him. He had a warm smile on his face, as if he was my long-lost brother or something.

Before I could think any further though, Italy answered me, and I didn't particularly like his answer.

"Quite frankly, your magic," he told me.

My heart dropped to my stomach. "Not happening, now let me go."

He laughed softly, that kind of laugh that would be comforting in some situations but in this case was just terrifying.

Many people had tried to force my magic out of me before. I didn't like to think about that. Cruel and painful ways had been used on me too often.

I was also beginning to suspect that Italy was more powerful than he looked, he might do much worse and, if possible, actually succeed.

He came and sat back down next to me on the bed. "Besides the fact that I am quite sure you misunderstand me, you're in no position to go about leaving this place anytime soon."

I didn't dare to move. His hand was in my hair again, and going dangerously close to my curl, which was never a good thing.

"The war hurt you more than you think, you know," he told me matter-of-factly, "If I 'let you go', you wouldn't be able to get three blocks before having another spasm like the one you just experienced."

I closed my eyes as he continued to tease my hair around. "B-but I don't want to stay here." I whimpered. I didn't mean to, but I hadn't really been thinking straight for the past few days (or more, I'm honestly still not sure how long I had been in that cell or passed out here).

His tone changed, perhaps becoming a bit sympathetic. "Of course you would fear dominance, being hurt so badly under Denmark and Sweden's rule," he mused, "But then, unless you're going to trust one of them to take care of you properly until you're better…" he trailed off expectantly.

I couldn't bring myself to answer, but the look on my face must've given it away.

"I thought not," he said, sounding amused, "You're quite lousy at hiding your emotions, you know, I can read you like an open book." He trailed one finger down my cheek. "That's your weakness."

Denmark and Sweden were my brothers, but I wouldn't go as far act actually trusting them. They had always been rough with us.

Italy stopped tormenting my hair and pulled me upright. I stared into his suddenly serious golden eyes.

"You've heard about the Seven Years War, I assume?" he asked. My confusion must've shown because he then went on to explain, "France and England got Canada and America to fight against each other for complete control, and Canada lost."

I nodded slowly, still rather confused, wondering why he was telling me this. I'd heard rumours about a war between Canada and America sometime when I was a colony, but not much else.

"Well, you see, Canada and America…" he hesitated but went on, "Well, they were only children when that happened, they still are. And when America showed up at his doorstep with this little gun pointed at him, Canada refused to fight. To be honest, I don't think either of them really understood what was going on."

He paused to look at me, as if checking that I was actually listening, which of course I was. "England was egging him on from the sidelines, and France just kept yelling for Canada to fight back, but he didn't. And when he lost, he ran away from them."

I guess he could read what I was thinking again because he allowed himself a faint smile at me. "He was scared, like you. He realized he couldn't trust his blood family… so I took him in."

My find was spinning. I wasn't exactly sure what he was trying to imply. So Canada was his colony now? Was he trying to say that I was too? Or maybe that he wouldn't really hurt me? That I couldn't trust my blood family after all? I barely did anymore.

He snapped his finger, and I was quickly jerked back into reality, hoping meekly that I hadn't been asked a question while I was daydreaming.

Golden eyes bore into mine. "Here's where you come in," he paused for a second. I nodded to show I was still listening. "Canada has powers, just like England and the rest of the United Kingdoms. He needs someone to teach him, but obviously I can't risk the other countries finding out, especially those directly involved with England. Now, I'm an elementalist at best. You, on the other hand," he cupped my face in his hands, "You're quite the little expert, aren't you?"

Despite the action, I couldn't meet his eyes. "I-I don't know how good I'll be at teaching and I h-haven't really—"

I gasped. Somehow, he had managed to touch my curl. Lightly, but still enough for me to go red and instantly shut up.

"I think you'll do well," he whispered. His tone calmed me somehow. "I'm not going to force you or anything, if you don't want to then you could just wait until you heal then leave."

He brushed my fringe aside from my face, but of course it just fell back again, it was really getting too long.

"But maybe as a favour to me, anko?" he asked hopefully.

That caught me off-guard, him calling me anko. Even then, I was still being forced to call Denmark anko.

"Okay," I said quietly, "Just… don't call me anko."

He smiled that kind smile. "If that's what you wish."

He stood up and picked up the cup from the table. "Don't call me Italy, there are three of us after all. Call me Vena, it's short for Veneziano."

I just stared at him for a while, not really processing that. "I'm Norway, it's short for Norway."

He leaned over and pulled my hair back. This time, it stayed. "I know."