Hetalia does not belong to me, not do I claim otherwise.
Vømmøstevet
One late may evening in a rather average day right in the middle of Norway, something not so average and maybe quite embarrassing happened. Or rather, embarrassing to Iceland; the personification of said nation that is.
As it turned out, the personification of Norway - preferably called Sverre among his equals – had gone into one of his phases. These random periods of times were nothing dignifying; to Iceland at least. Sverre was too much of a weirdo to even notice his behaviour was being rather odd. It didn't help that the people in the village they were currently living in also seemed to adapt to this strange way of being.
To be fair, these little quirks and oddities were rather humorous at times; Iceland would never admit it though as he tried to keep up his facade if indifference much like his brother. You can only imagine the look on the silver haired boy's face when Norway came into their home one evening, fully dressed in late 1900th century farmers clothes and the usual straight face as if nothing was wrong with that picture.
"Uh, Sverre... Why are you dressed like that?" Iceland couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow as he sat back in his chair, fully facing his brother.
At first it seemed like Norway only just now realized that the younger of the two was there. His chin was raised slightly and a hind of a smile played at the corners of his lips.
"The outfit, you mean? Tell me, Eirik, have you never heard of the Vømmøl Valley?" The Norwegian walked across the room, pulled a chair with him and sat in front of the teen, a rather content expression settling across his features.
"... No?" Eirik was reluctant as to reply as he wasn't sure if he even wanted to know what this valley was. It didn't seem like his answer mattered anyway as Sverre was already quite set on telling the story.
The Norwegian leaned forward and started tapping his food lightly, almost as if he was about to sing even though Eirik strongly doubted that. "In the Vømmøl Valley there was couple of people that partied and celebrated whatever they wanted to while being awfully loud and throwing money around like there was no tomorrow."
Iceland gave his brother a look that clearly indicated that he thought his brother had gone mad. He kept his mouth shut though as his brother continued, adding a little bit of tune to his little story.
"It was the greatest melody you can imagine, the crowd was healthy and joyful when the classes were toasted; the liquor cup was soon empty as was usual by then." Norway nodded to himself, seeming quite content with that as he didn't say anymore for a while before Iceland had to inquire 'why' as the story made little to no sense to him and Norway had never explained why he was dressed the way he was.
"Ah, right. You don't know the story. I'll tell you after a while, for now, just know that I'll be gone for some time during the day; you can get the story afterwards." Sverre nodded contently and got up from the chair and walked to his room, ending the conversation with that as Eirik just sat there and was no more enlightened than before.
AN:
Sverre = Norway
Eirik = Iceland
Link to the song (remove the space): http:/ www. youtube. com /watch?v =oep7Xh_7rUg
Vømmøl is a 'festival' in the village I live in where people get dressed in old clothes, sing these silly songs and get unbelievably drunk. Vømmøl Valley is a fictional place created by a musician where the story about the place is told through the songs. I will sort of translate/explain these songs through these little ficlets here.
Please review if you want me to do this, I am not very motivated if I don't get any response of any sort. Thank you.