For the music...

Use Kabalevsky's Colas Breugnon Overture at the beginning.

During the retelling of Peer Gynt, use a recording of the full ballet, preferably the one by the Malmo Orchestra. Use the tracks from the Dairymaids to the Bøyg.


"Is everybody ready to hit the slopes?" Norway asked enthusiastically.

"Not as ready as you are," Sweden muttered. "You've been pushing this trip for months."

Norway nodded and replied, "Well, now's the peak time to go. And to have a good ski trip, you have to plan ahead."

"Yes, we understand the principle," Sweden said, attempting to put on the heavy boots Norway had provided. "But, it seems, that six months in advance is a bit overboard."

Iceland chirped in, "Yeah, and some of us don't have excessive amounts of kroner to spend on skiing gear." He gave a slightly cursory glance at his brother.

"That's why I'm letting you borrow some of my gear," Norway said gently. "If you're tame with it, I might even let you keep it."

Iceland shrugged. "That's okay. I mainly lava-board instead." He pulled out his snowboard. "I might need my snowboard repaired, though. I don't think it was meant for magma."

Norway laughed and said, "Sure. Just set it over there." He looked at his phone. "Hmm. Finland was supposed to be here by now. Where could he be?"

"Knowing him, probably with my sister," Sweden grumbling. "Also, did Denmark say whether or not he was coming?" Norway nodded. "He told me yesterday that he intended to."

Just then, Finland stumbled in, clutching an ancient pair of skis and wearing a heavy white parka. A hunting rifle was strapped to his back, hidden underneath the parka. Åland was following. "Sorry, we lost track of time in the sauna," he sheepishly told the group. Sweden looked at his boyfriend disapprovingly. "Why is your cousin fumbling around?"

"The moron ate salmiakki that wasn't ready yet," Åland replied, giving Finland a reproachful glance. The offending nation just stared off into space, then snapped out of it. He shook his head violently, then focused his drunken gaze on Sweden. He lunged at him with his knife; Åland restrained him. Finland grabbed his cousin and whispered something in his ear. With an embarrassed expression, Åland asked Norway, "Finland wants to know if he can camp out in a tree and peg rabbits with his hunting rifle." Finland nodded vigorously. Norway said, "Absolutely not! Frisk him before we leave, Åland, lest he have already packed supplies to do so." Finland looked at Norway with a murderous glare.

The door opened. Denmark had arrived, wearing too many layers and holding a sled. Norway laughed, and removed about three of them from his friend's body, leaving him with long underwear, his Dannebrog, and a parka. Norway gave him a bigger hat and some heavier boots. "Norway, you know how I am with snow," Denmark whined. "I don't know if it's going to kill me or not!"

Sweden rolled his eyes. "It won't kill you, Denmark, unless you do something remarkably stupid like- you know, I'm just going to stop talking. Lord knows that you'll take me seriously." Åland padded down Finland, and forced him to fork over his hunting rifle. "It'll be safe here, I promise," Norway said in a quasi-comforting manner. With a glare that would kill if it wasn't hampered by a bad case of ammonium poisoning, he very reluctantly handed Åland his gun.

"So, where are we going, Norway?" Iceland asked as they piled into Norway's beat-up truck. "Really? Environmental nut Norway, using a truck?" Sweden remarked.

"First off, Sweden, I'm not taking my Leaf on a skiing trip. Second off, Iceland, we're going to the Jotunheimen Mountains. Those big ones," Norway said, pointing to a picture-perfect range of pointy, snow-laden peaks due northwest of Oslo. Denmark whimpered.

After piling all of the skiing and lodging supplies in the covered bed, the six nations crammed themselves into Norway's truck. Norway was driving, with the next biggest person (Sweden) riding shotgun. Which left Finland smashed between his cousin and Denmark (Iceland elected to ride on the floor). The last thing that Finland wanted to experience during the worst headache of recent memory was a long car ride with Åland next to him, and the feeling was mutual. Denmark alleviated this pain by offering Finland a beer, which the latter nation happily accepted.

The conversations during the 5 hour ride to Jotunheimen National Park twisted and turned almost as much as the Norwegian coastline. Finally, it settled on a peculiar topic that some had forgotten. "Say, Norway, where did you say we were going?" Iceland asked as the mountains started to make a larger appearance. "Jotunheimen National Park," Norway answered. "We're going to cross-country ski the lodge system they have set up there."

Iceland tilted his head. "Jotunheimen? As in Jötunheimr?"

Norway went quiet for a moment, then said, "Yeah. They were named that because the people who lived here thought that if Jotunheim existed anywhere, it would be there. Hence, they feared that area." Denmark piped up, "What's Jotunheim?"

"The ancient realm of the race of Giants," Norway said. "In the old ways, there was a race of Giants that lived on the Midgard plane- or Earth- in Jotunheim, which existed alongside humans. They were a violent people, often destroying human villages. So a massive mountain range was erected to separate the two worlds. There are many stories from this time, and they are very scary, much scarier than most of the other tales of the time. Not as scary as some Finnish stories, but still quite so," he added, pacifying Finland, who nodded in agreement.

"So the Giants don't live on Earth anymore?" Denmark asked, quiet. Norway laughed, "They never lived on Earth. Those were old tales told when people not only believed in multiple gods, but multiple worlds." Denmark leaned forward. "That sounds cool, though. Can you tell me more?" Norway sighed. "I'll try, it's been forever since I read the old tales." He paused to remember.

"The belief was that the Universe was comprised of nine worlds, connected by the World Tree. The ones of main importance were Asgard on high, the world of gods; Manheim and Jotunheim on Midgard, or Earth; and Helheim, the underworld. The other worlds were inhospitable places that few ever went to, if at all. They were home to ferocious monsters and evils that would destroy the universe in Ragnarok, the end days." He looked back at his friend. "Does that satisfy you?"

Denmark said, "Can I ask a few questions?"

Iceland said, "You can ask me too, I might know more than Norway."

"Okay, first question," Denmark said. "If the whole universe was built upon this tree thing, then what was everything else?"

"That's Ginnungagap," Iceland said. "The Void."

"What sort of beings lived on these other worlds?"

"Elves, dwarves. None of them terribly pleasant."

"I see. Thanks, you two."

"Anytime," Norway said. "Ah, we're almost here!" They started to climb up a winding road through the dense Norwegian wood, stopping in front of a small cabin. "Alright, disembark!" Norway ordered. Five nations in varying states of sleepiness and Norway got out of the truck and started unloading the equipment.

The cabin was quite nice, much nicer than the cabins that Norway had had to put up with when he visited Switzerland. It came with a decent kitchen, lots of windows, and plenty of mattresses. "Hey, instead of bickering about room assignments, why don't we just pile the mattresses into the living room and sleep in the one room?" Norway suggested. "How… Norwegian of you," Sweden said.

"Thank you," Norway replied.

"Actually, I like that idea," Åland said. "Let's do it!"

"Hold up, are you saying we each sleep on our own mattress in the same room?" Denmark said. "Yes," Norway, Sweden, and Åland said at the same time. "Hm. Why not?" Denmark shrugged. "Finland, you in?" The other nation, working through the cloudy haze that was left, nodded, resigning himself to whatever fate that included. "Great," Norway said. "Let's unpack, then draw up a plan for our trip. We should allocate our hiking times wisely, since these cabins are reserved."

They loaded their food rations for the next two days into the fridge, then took a nap until suppertime. They had decided on the smorgasbord, since it encompassed all of their favorites, save for Finland, but he brought his own food supply to add to the table. And Iceland, but he had told himself that it was only going to be a short time before he could eat goat balls again.

When the sun started going down, Norway and Sweden slid two tables together. Denmark sorted the courses- breads, cheeses and butter, meat, seafood, then the hot dishes- to an order that the others never saw Denmark use anywhere else. Finland contributed bread and fish, and Iceland pulled out a ice chest. "See, brother, I even made something!" When he opened it, everyone instantly became nauseous. "Oh God, what is that? Did you bring hákarl?" Norway said, retching. "No," Iceland said, offended. "It's lutefisk!" Norway wheeled around to face him. "What?! My lutefisk never smells that bad! What fish did you use?"

"Cod."

"Oh God."

"Will it still be consumable?"

"Yes, put it over there. I'll demonstrate how to eat lutefisk while we're at it, I made some of my own." Norway unveiled a small pot with almost translucent fish in it. It let off no odor, but Sweden knew from instinct that this was not something that was to be eaten lightly. Next to it, Norway placed a bowl full of hot butter, with small plastic cups.

Finland produced several takeout containers, from which an almost heavenly smell emanated. "As much as he hates him, Finland has a weak spot for Russia's pelmeni," Åland said. "He thought to share with the rest of you."

"Mmm, thanks, Finland," Sweden said, eying the source of the smell with greedy eyes.

The table was soon replete with all manners of Nordic dishes. It was time to eat. Each person piled their plates with their favorite treats- Norway had lefse, boiled potatoes, and smoked herring. Sweden and Åland had meatballs, fish, and raw onions on crispbread. Denmark, of course, had smørrebrød. Finland piled his plate high with bread, butter, and meats. Which left Iceland. He poked around the various dishes, trying a little herring and meatballs, a little lefse. Then he got to the lutefisk.

There were two options available, his and Norway's. He decided to see why Norway had flipped out. He opened the ice chest, and was immediately overcome by a violently offensive smell. Even he wasn't used to food smelling this awful; when stuff got to this stage, he usually threw it out. He put a small amount on his plate, and sat off to the side as to not offend the noses of his friends and family.

He gingerly placed a bit on his tongue, and started to choke. He had lost all feeling in his mouth, and he swore that it was burning a hole in his tongue. Suddenly, he felt someone lean him back and pour a hot liquid down his throat. Although it was less than comfortable, he regained some sense of feeling in his tongue, and he immediately grabbed his tongue to feel for holes.

"Silly Viking," Norway said, "lutefisk isn't for kids!" Finland sat Iceland back up. Norway took his own fork and tried a little of Iceland's lutefisk. His eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, but he managed to swallow it. "Diagnosis: too much fermentation and the wrong fish," he told his little brother.

"But I followed the Wikipedia article!" Iceland said, frustrated.

"Hey, next time you try making another country's dish, ask them for help. You used the wrong fish, you soaked it for too long, and you didn't change out the water like you were supposed to," Norway explained. "Here, try mine." He put some of his lutefisk on Iceland's plate. It had no odor, and looked quite different. To help, he put butter on it. Iceland looked at Norway with a suspicious expression, and he swallowed the fish. He raised his eyebrows and said, "Not bad. Now, if we could compromise somewhere between yours and mine, then it would be perfect."

"Now, I like talking about culturally penitential foods just as much as the next guy, but is anyone else of the opinion that we should allot our trail time, like Norway suggested earlier?" Sweden asked. "We do have to get going tomorrow if we want to arrive at the next cabin at a reasonable hour."

Denmark groaned. "Ugh, do we always have to be planning and stuff? Why can't we just drink and forget our troubles for the next day or so, then repeat?" Finland nodded vigorously in agreement.

Norway took Denmark by the hand and showed him outside. "Do you see the next cabin, over there?" he said, pointing to a low building that was barely visible, even in the perfectly clear sky. Denmark nodded. "Now, imagine being drunk off your røv, stumbling about like Finland was earlier, and falling to your death." The two nations locked eyes, and Denmark got the message; that didn't stop him from complaining. "But I don't wanna plan," he whined. "We're always doing boring stuff."

Norway looked at him and said gently, "Hey, I promise to keep Sweden from ruining this vacation. We won't let this become last year." Denmark looked up at Norway. "Oh, okay," he said. He latched himself to Norway in as big a hug he could give.

They re-entered the cabin, and were greeted by their fellow Scandinavian. "Are you two done yet? We really need to construct an itinerary."

"Okay. 2 hours," Norway stated.

"WHAT? That's not enough time!" Sweden said, face turning red.

Norway gave him a glare that said If you don't accept my terms, I will go full berserker on you.

Sweden capitulated.

"Good, good," Norway said, the friendly look and jolly spirit back in its place.

They packed up the leftovers, save the takeout containers, putting everything back in the fridge or in storage for the trip over the ridge. "Åland, Finland, if you two could arrange the table, that would be great."

2 hours later, six nations tiredly set up the mattresses. "Urgh, at least we don't have to do that ever again," Denmark said. "I've been to UN meetings more enthralling than that."

"Alright, alright, you made your point!" Sweden said, frustrated. "At least we have a plan now, don't we?"

"You know the thing about plans, Sweden," Denmark said, lowering his gaze at the other nation. "There's always a way they can go wrong."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Sweden asked, narrowing his eyes.

"I dunno," Denmark said, flopping on his bed.

"Hey, why don't we tell stories, like we did that one time when the power went out?" Iceland suggested.

"Oh yes, because I'm totally in the mood to bawl my eyes out to one of Finland's sob stories," Sweden deadpanned. A fierce grunt indicated that Finland was not pleased with that comment.

"Here, how about we each tell one a different night? It could be one that we already know, or one that we make up on the spot. I'll tell tonight's," Norway said.

"I call tomorrow!" Denmark yelled into Sweden's ear.

"I got it after that," Sweden added, scowling at Denmark.

"Next," Iceland said.

"Aw, I wanted to!" Åland said. "Oh, well, I'll settle for after that. That means you're last, Finland."

Finland looked plenty happy with that.

"All right, here goes something," Norway said, turning off the lights and turning on a flashlight. "In a bygone age, there was a teenager named Peer…"


In the 1850's…

Peer woke up, the sun shining through his window in Troldhaugen, illuminating an already bustling port scene in the nearby city of Bergen. Ships were coming to and from the harbor, laden with goods from the Continent. He could hear the sailors' orders and laughter, and smell the freshly caught herring. In other words, just like a normal day. The Unionsmerket flew high on the sails. He turned, and gazed out at the magical Jotunheimen Mountains in the east. Someday, he thought, I'll be wandering those mountains, exploring and discovering newfound treasures. He left home and went into the town square, where the farmers were preparing the carts for the Bergen markets, laden with potatoes and fish.

"Hallo, Peer!" Lars the miller called out. "Can you help me with some lifting? I need to get these bags of wheat onto the ox-cart."

Peer shook his head. "I'm going out for the day!" he called back. "Maybe later?"

Lars smiled. "You know, Solveig might be around later."

You've never seen someone change gears as rapidly as Peer did. "Well, in that case… how many of these bags do you need moved?"

As he finished off the last of the bags, he said, "Hey, Lars, want to hear what I did yesterday?"

Lars turned around and said kindly, "Not right now, Peer, I have to take this to Bergen. But I think Solveig might; she always likes hearing your stories."

Peer knew that Solveig did not enjoy his stories at all. Regardless, Peer leaned against the mill, and waited.

Soon enough, she arrived. She was easily the prettiest girl Peer had ever met, the personification of Norwegian beauty with fairer skin than one should have in the cloudy North and long blond hair. It was his wish to marry her, and they had actually agreed to do so once they were both of age… upon one condition: he stop telling tall tales.

"Hey, Solveig!" Peer called. She turned to see who it was, and she ran over to him. "Peer!" she exclaimed. "How have you been?"

"Great! Want to hear what I did the other day?"

The smile melted from Solveig's face. "Remember what we said? Those tales of yours are going to get you in very big trouble if you don't cut it out! You must be careful; Åse herself said so! When your own mother doesn't know fact from your fiction, you know you have to change!"

He just smiled back at her. "Aw, Solveig, I know what I'm doing! And I wasn't going to tell you a story anyway! I was going to say that I went into Bergen the other day."

That brought Solveig back to normal. "Oh? And what did you do?"

"Nothing major. Just hauled some herring back to the village. I heard that there was a Danish ship in Christiania, and Martinsen's convinced that Denmark's trying to take us back." Solveig rolled her eyes. "That man has it out for the Danes, Peer. Best not believe everything he says. What are you up to today, anyway?"

"Nothing much. I'm probably going to go on an adventure."

She raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Where to?"

"Off into the mountains!" Peer said excitedly, pointing towards the Jotunheimen.

"Well, I won't be keeping you. Do be careful, Peer," she said, kissing him on the cheek before running off.

"Aw, golly," he chuckled, smiling stupidly. He shook himself out of the stupor and went to Bergen for a bedroll.

After meandering through alleyways and drying racks, he managed to find someone selling them, as well as haversacks.

"And how much would these be?" Peer asked, pointing to a modest rucksack.

"50 kroner," the merchant said gruffly.

Peer went pale. "50 KRONER?!" he exclaimed. "That's my whole savings!"

"Take or leave it," the merchant replied, returning to another customer.

Grumbling, Peer bought a 15-krone bedroll, and returned home. As he entered, Åse, his mother, called, "Peer, you're needed!" Peer blew her off. "Sorry, Mum, I'm off on an adventure! Catch you later!" Åse stormed in. "Listen here, young man! You're father left on an 'adventure' 17 years ago and has yet to return! I will not have you do the same thing!" She saw Peer's alarmed expression, then shrunk. "I'm sorry Peer," she said solemnly. "I'll let you do your thing now." She left, shaking her head.

He trundled off into the east, heading towards the mountains.

He rounded a corner and came upon a green valley in between the forest and a wall of mountains. Dancing in the middle of the valley were three buxom dairymaids. Raising an eyebrow, he forged ahead on the path.

"Hello," he called. "I couldn't help but notice that you seem to missing your cattle," he continued, gesturing to the empty fields. They turned.

"Oh, we're not watching after cattle," one dairymaid said.

"We're waiting," said the second.

"For hunks," completed the third, giving a nod.

"Really, now?" Peer said, his curiosity piquing.

"Yes, we're waiting for hunks. Preferably trolls," the first repeated, also nodding.

"Trolls?" Peer cried. "Why in the name of all that's good would you want trolls?"

"Because they're hot," the second told him. "And they'll bed down with anyone. Which gives us good chances."

"Also, if they're not good to us, they'll be taken care of," the third said, pointing to three stakes with heads on them. "They did not fulfill our desire, so we took care of them."

Peer gulped. He did not want to be around much longer to see their troll fetish fulfilled, nor to become their newest display. "It's really been a pleasure, ladies, but I really must be going now," he said nervously, chuckling a little. He picked up his pack and moved forward, but was blocked.

"And where do you think you're going?" said a dairymaid.

"Uh, forward," Peer replied.

"What, and leave us here?" the third one said.

"Why, yes," said Peer matter-of-factly.

"Oh, I don't think so," the second sang. "Either you pay up, or you join them," she said, pointing to the heads. Peer's eyes flitted to the sides, looking for an escape route. He knew exactly what 'payment' meant. But he asked anyway, to keep them talking.

"So, uh, what kind of payment do you want?" he said, inching closer to the unblocked side route.

"Funny you should ask," said the first dairymaid. They started taking their clothes off, and right than Peer saw his chance. He bolted for the side and quickly escaped the sisters, who were entangled in their clothes. Soon, he was far away, but they were catching up. It would've been the sight to see, three naked dairymaids bounded after the terrified Peer.

He ran, and could hear their shouts coming closer, and closer, and closer… and then the day got really weird.

He heard a voice shout, "CLEAR HIM, OLAV! CLEAR HIM!" He tripped, and suddenly it felt like he had been hit over the head with a hammer, out cold.

When he came to, he was not on a stake as a warning to others who resisted the dairymaids' advances. He was in front of a fire, where a gorgeous woman in a green dress was cooking what appeared to be goose.

"Huh? What?" he said suddenly, and he was hushed by his new captor. "You've been out for a while. Sorry about that, that was my fault. Olav ran you over," she said, glaring at… Peer couldn't tell, but he knew that it couldn't be. He swore it was a giant pig, the size of a small cow.

"Anyway, I'll take you back to the main path; you're heading into the mountains, correct?" Peer nodded. "I'm heading that direction as well," she said. "In the meantime, get some sleep."

In the morning, she mounted him onto Olav the giant pig and they took off for the mountains. She dropped him off back at the path; she bade him farewell. "Goodbye, Peer Gynt. Maybe we see each other in the future. I do not know." And she bounded off on her pig through the valley.

He meandered through the valley, occasionally crossing over to the forest to sleep and hunt. Thankfully, he was a resourceful boy and knew how to do basic traps, snares, and other means of catching food. And then he came across the cave.

It was about a week into his journey when he saw it. It had a modest opening, but he could've sworn that he heard chanting and singing coming from it. Putting his ear to the entrance, the noise stopped. He decided to enter.

It suddenly opened up considerably into a passageway. He tried to muffle his footsteps, but they resonated loudly even when tiptoeing.

The pathway wound this way and that, and it was probably the creepiest cave Peer had discovered thus far. He always felt that he was being watched. No light entered the cave, except for the faint beam that illuminated where the walls were.

Aftew a ways, he heard the shriek. "It's him! "It's him!" a screeching female voice blurted out. "Kill him! Kill him!" Suddenly Peer was running for his life, dozens of angry trolls pushing him deeper and deeper into the cave. Eventually, they herded him into another army of trolls, and they sang out, "Kill the Christian's son! He has seduced the daughter of our king!" They sang this chorus over and over. They pushed him into a vast gathering chamber, where hags cried out for his fingers, hair, and other unpleasantries to cook. Then, he heard his saving grace.

"Stop!" a loud, booming voice resounded. Peer turned. A great bear of a troll sat on a large throne. He did not look rotten or even ugly like his brethren, but more like a fairy-tale villain. "I am the king of the trolls, and I will be the one who decides death." He looked down at a trembling Peer. "What be your name, lad?" he asked.

"P- P- Peer," Peer stammered.

"Ah," the king said, nodding as if he recognized the name. That unsettled the boy a lot; where could he have known him from? "You know my daughter, of course?" Peer scowled. "No, I don't." Then he stopped.

It was the woman in the green dress.

"I'm sorry, Peer," she said, tearful. "I saw you sleeping and… well, I couldn't help myself…"

Peer became very frightened. "Oh my God!" he yelled. "I have a girl back home, I can't be a, a father!"

"Can't be a father, eh?" the king said with deadly calm. "Well than, I guess there's only one course left for you." He turned to his masses. "Take the Norwegian! Bash him on the rocks!"

"Run, Peer, run!" the princess yelled, and Peer did. He ran, ran, and ran. They chased him down into the bowels of the mountain, to a place where the trolls themselves did not dare go. He found himself in a large cavernous room. All light was absent; he couldn't even make out his hand.

Why, hello, said a ghostly voice.

"Who's there?" Peer said, rounding, trying to find the source.

Myself.

"Who's myself?"

Myself.

"That stupid reply you may spare; it doesn't clear up the matter. What are you?"

Myself.

Peer kicked the floor with anger. "Who are you, and what do you want?"

The Bøyg will not let you pass.

The association of a name gave Peer a glimmer of hope. "Go on, Bøyg."

The Bøyg, Peer Gynt! The one only one. It's the Bøyg that's unwounded, and the Bøyg that was hurt, it's the Bøyg that is dead, and the Bøyg that's alive.

"Now what the heck does that mean?" Peer said, getting angry.

Go roundabout, Peer!

"What? The hell does that mean?"

Peer began running around the cave; go around, the so-called Bøyg had said. Suddenly, he fell through the floor screaming, and he landed brutally into a hay bale. He looked around.

He was home.

"Peer? Is that you?"

Solveig.

SOLVEIG!

Peer quickly found himself in the arms of his girlfriend.

"You won't believe the adventure I've had," he said, out of breath.

She smiled, laughed him off, and embraced him in a kiss.


"Not a bad tale, if I say so myself," Sweden said. "It'll be hard to follow up, Denmark," he said. Denmark shrugged. "Meh. I can do it. Just you watch." And they went to sleep.


A few notes.

One: I know the beginning's kinda boring, but I really wanted to see how the Nordics would bounce off each other in a mild domestic setting. The Nissan Leaf is apparently the best-selling car in Norway. Who knew?

Two: My crash course in Norse mythology is kinda rushed, I know, but it'll suffice.

Three: Lutefisk is gross. I don't care about my heritage. It's nasty and the way Norway demonstrates here is how you avoid having to chew.

Four: The rehashing of Peer Gynt is understandably kinda campy. The parts of it I use is my favorite part, from the dairymaids to the Bøyg. It's not great and leaves a lot of loose ends, but I feel it serves its purpose well.

All that being said, try to enjoy this story.