"You…you British bastard!" Denmark hollered clutching onto the splintered mast floating above the still water, gunpowder smoke hung in the summer air, silence rung in his ears.

"Come out wherever you are, coward, bastard, son of a bitch!" He called again in desperation, his hands losing grip on the cold, slippery wood, throat hurting from the cold air and shouting.

Smooth rhythmical swishing of water broke the silence as the blurry silhouette of a boat glided towards him, he squinted his eyes but could not make out the details. The icy ache spread up the veins in his legs, hurting him from the inside it seemed, the leather boots pulling him down into the depths. Gritting his teeth he clutched the broken mast tighter, splinters digging into his palm and between his fingers. Bitter sensation of defeat numbing in his chest.

"Good morning, Denmark, "drawled England leaning out of his small rowboat, folding his hands over the edge and laying his chin on them, his face covered with black smears of gunpowder soot but glowing with triumph.

"To hell with you and your good mornings, how dare you sink my Najaden?!" Denmark growled pulling himself up to look defiantly at the victor, seething with rage.

"You aligned yourself with the French wanker, I honestly warned you," England shrugged with a grin, "He's bloody doomed to fail just like you, I promise you that much."

"Goddamn you!" the Nordic hissed, kicking his legs underwater struggling to stay on the surface.

"I highly doubt he's going to do that," England pointed out then turned to his men," Alright lads, I'm satisfied, back to the ship." He commanded, as the boat moved slowly away he waved at Denmark, "Ta-ta, I hope this teaches you a lesson, my Nordic friend, never go against the British Empire!" he called condescendingly and dissipated into the fine mist.

When left alone Denmark almost wished England hadn't left, he tried to think what this defeat would mean for him, and for Norway too, he wanted to think about Norway even less than about England, he was afraid- he felt it in his gut that it would end in so much more than plain scolding. If only he could drown and die, but as a nation he could not. With a dull thud he pressed his forehead to the sodden wood, mind going cloudy.

"Man overboard!" Norway called to the scurrying sailors, he lowered his spyglass, muttering curses under his breath he paced the deck recognising the figure in the water all too well.

"It's Danmark, sir!" the first mate reported, as the rowboat was swiftly dropped upon the water, men rowed it forward enthusiastically, hoping for it to be a foe assuring them of the victory of a Dano-Norwegian frigate.

"Yes, I know," Norway grimaced, "bring that moron on board."

Denmark was shaken out of his stupor as strong hands hauled him into a rowboat; he blinked up at the lantern held uncomfortably close to his face.

"It's Herr Danmark!" one of the sailors exclaimed. Whispers ran through the group, 'so we lost?', 'he looks so beaten', 'do you think Herr Norge knows?', 'maybe the English are still nearby!', 'well, shit.'

"The light. Get it out of my face." Denmark said hoarsely trying to prop himself up on his elbows, "And get me to Norge, is he here?"

"J-ja," the closest sailor gasped," Unnskyld!" then he commanded the other to row.

Denmark tried hard to focus, he felt like fainting, eyes shutting on their own accord. He swayed in his seat unaware of his surroundings for what seemed like eternity to him, praying for death over and over again, a monotonous chant in his head.

"Well look at you."

His eyes shot up to meet Norway's expressionless blue orbs.

"Hej." Denmark tried to smile weakly. Norway shook his head and extended his arm, looking down at the Dane in the rowboat. Denmark felt his throat dry painfully, wet sleeves sticking unpleasantly to his arms as he took Norway's warm hand, looking down in shame.

"So they sunk Najaden, am I right to assume so?" Norway asked pulling Denmark up not too gently almost sending him stumbling down onto the deck.

"Ja." He replied softly "Undskyld, Norge."

The sails flapped in the wind that came in short, bitter gusts. July had never felt this cold, Denmark thought shivering in his sodden clothes but trying hard to stand still, to at least appear strong.

"Idiot." Norway scoffed pursing his lips, "No matter," he sighed, "I knew they would, England is much stronger than you. "

"But I- …no-no…" Denmark looked away miserably, "You're probably right."

Norway felt a light twang of pity and guilt; hesitantly he laid his hand on the Danes upper arm.

"You were outnumbered." He relented, "You're wet, there's some spare clothes in my cabin, let's go."

Without waiting for an answer the Norwegian turned on his heel and made his way towards the cabins, Denmark followed him sulkily, blond hair falling in his eyes and sticking to his wet forehead, tousled by the wind.

Norway stood in the middle of the small cabin a clean shirt and a pair of pants in his arms; he looked blankly at the Dane standing awkwardly by the door, "Come here, idiot." Norway snapped, clicking his tongue in annoyance.

Denmark approached him obediently still looking down, swaying as the ship rocked.

"Oh fucking hell, Danmark, get yourself together." Norway chided, nimbly undoing the string on Denmark's linen shirt.

Denmark nodded crouching down to let the shorter Norwegian pull his shirt off, the drenched fabric was thrown on the floor carelessly and Norway moved onto the red sash on the Danes hips, his fingers struggled with the tight knot scowling in frustration, finally it came undone dropping heavily on the floor followed by the sheathed sword that landed on the wooden tiles with a loud thud. Denmark wrapped his arms around himself, trying to rub out the goose bumps. Norway undid the buttons on the Danes breeches and dragged them down his legs before they got caught by the thick leather boots.

"Sit down." He commanded.

"Norge, I can do it myse-" Denmark muttered wearily.

"Sit down." Norway repeated pushing against the Danes bare chest, losing his balance Denmark floundered on the berth hitting his head against the back wall. Silently Norway kneeled before him pulling off the boots and pouring the water out of them right on the floor.

"How long have you been there in the water, Danmark?" Norway asked slipping the breeches off the Dane's legs.

"I don't know, the British engaged us in combat early this morning." Denmark shrugged pushing his hands though the sleeves of the new shirt that the Norwegian pulled over his head.

"I see. So you were unprepared and outnumbered." Norway mused guiding Denmark's feet into the trouser-legs one at a time.

"Ja." The Dane mumbled and stood up letting Norway's hands on either side of his waist pull up the dry breeches.

"Well, that's just great." Norway took a step back, "You ought to sleep, you probably got hypothermia, there, in the water." he waved his hand vaguely.

"Maybe." Denmark muttered indefinitely, crawling under the covers of Norway's berth, breathing shakily.

"I'm going up to the deck, I need to speak to the captain."

"Norge…"

"Ja?"

"Kys mig, vil du ikke nok? …"

Norway turned around, cocking his eyebrow. He crossed the room and stood over the Dane's figure, curled up under the blankets. He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to Denmark's cold cheek.

"Tak." The Dane smiled and turned to the other side.

"Idiot." Norway mumbled and walked out, shutting the door tightly behind himself.

To be continued…

AN: I suppose an introduction is in order, well, this is set during the Gunboat War of 1807-1814, and DenNor was historically canon as the Dano-Norwegian union. As the smart people here probably know that was the time of the Napoleonic wars and long story short Denmark-Norway aligned themselves with Napoleon and England went Navy rage on them. The boat that keeps being referred to here is the Danish frigate Najaden that was sunk by the British on July 6th 1812 at the battle of Lyngor. It was the last big fight between the two Navies. Tell me what you think! History is not particularly meant to be the strong point of the story so I'm making most of the details up but I have researched it, honest! This isn't planned to be too extensive but for all I know it could become a multi-character Napoleonic fic? We shall see, constructive criticism and/or any praise is obviously welcomed and desperately desired.

Enjoy,

Acid

Translations (I speak neither Danish or Norwegian so any mistakes is the internet's fault *sweatdrop*) :

Ja – Yes (both Danish and Norwegian.)

Herr - Mr (both Danish and Norwegian)

Unnskyld- Sorry (Norwegian).

Undskyld- Sorry (Danish).

Hej- Hey (Danish).

Kys mig, vil du ikke nok? - Kiss me, won't you? (Danish)

Tak- Thank you (Danish)

PS: Oh and also I feel like I have to mention: the whole undressing Denmark deal was meant to be more compassionate rather than erotic, sorry if that dissappointed anyone! Norge isn't too lovey-dovey I'm afraid.

PPS: I edited the last little bit with perfected Danish- Thank you soo much dear guest reviewer! I really appreciate it- it sounds much,much better now! Really- thank you very much! 3