DISCLAIMER: Hetalia: Axis Powers – Hidekaz Himaruya

TITLE BORROWED FROM: Once Upon a Time in the North – Philip Pullman

ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE NORTH

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Please excuse my taking liberties with some character names & relationships. This one-shot is a Prologue to Part Three of The Call of the Wild, but it can be read as a completely separate story, as well.

CAST OF CHARACTERS (in order of appearance):

DENMARK — Mikkel Densen

NORWAY — Bjørn Thomassen

THE NORTHERN CLANS

Mikkel leapt a fallen tree, landed hard, and kept running at a breakneck speed. His long legs were powerful for an eight-year-old Alpha-pup. He had always had inexhaustible energy reserves and was a good sprinter—less good at long-distance, but impressive nonetheless. His heart beat like a war drum, keeping his fervent pace. He broke through a screen of healthy green foliage and spotted Bjørn waiting at the base of an ancient ash tree—their tree—carved with runes of the gods. The instant the Omega-pup's sensitive ears heard the commotion, his pale-blonde head snapped up in defense, a fish-knife in one hand, a basket of cut yarrow roots in the other. He barely had time to address the Alpha-pup: "Mick—" before Mikkel grabbed his forearm and pulled him into a dead-run. A moment later, an enraged boar crashed through the underbrush in pursuit.

"Run, Norge!" Mikkel hollered.

Bjørn didn't need telling twice. His legs—nearly as long as the Alpha-pup's—found Mikkel's rhythm and he ran, leaving the basket, but keeping the knife.

"What did you do?" he yelled as they fled impalement.

"It was an accident!" said Mikkel, laughing.

Mikkel led Bjørn on a tour through the dense forest, which both of them knew as well as they knew their own names, before he circled back to the ash tree—their tree. Without warning, he stopped. The abrupt deceleration and momentum of their linked hands threw Bjørn forward into Mikkel's arms, which had been the Alpha-pup's intent. He grabbed his friend's hips and lifted him effortlessly onto the lowest branch, ordering: "Climb!" Bjørn did as ordered, casting worried glances down at Mikkel, who was trying to use his amateur hunting skills to outwit the tusked beast.

"Mick!" Bjørn shouted. They made eye-contact for only a second before Bjørn dropped his knife and Mikkel caught it, as if they had choreographed the stunt a hundred times.

Instead of using the knife to butcher the beast—he was only eight, after all—Mikkel used its reflective edge as a distraction. Instinctively, the Alpha-pup spread his arms and bared his teeth, trying to make himself look as large and intimidating as possible. He let out a chorus of growls and high-pitched howls, which sounded rather fierce to Bjørn's ears—he was also only eight—but did little to cow the confused beast. Finally, Mikkel had circled the perimeter of the ash's massive trunk to once again reach the branch he had thrust Bjørn up onto. Perhaps the beast sensed his motive, for at that moment it produced an angry squeal and charged, it's tusks raised and saliva coating it's snout and mouth. Mikkel's howl turned into a frightened outcry: "Ahroo—AH!" He dropped the knife, took a running start, and leapt for the ash's thick branch with both hands. Bjørn grabbed his forearms and began tugging his dangling friend clumsily up by the back of his woolen shirt. Bjørn was not strong, like Mikkel; he nearly tumbled backwards trying to yank the heavier pup to safety, but it was enough assistance for Mikkel to regain his balance and haul himself up.

"Thanks," he panted, collapsing against the rough trunk.

The branch was wide enough for them to sit side-by-side, so Bjørn crawled over. Shoulder-to-shoulder they sat for a few minutes, trying to catch their breath. They could hear the boar grunting and shuffling heedlessly through the grass below, but they didn't care. It couldn't climb, and soon it lost interest and left. But even before it did, Mikkel looked at Bjørn and Bjørn looked at Mikkel and simultaneously they burst out laughing.

"Oh, gods!" Mikkel cried, tears of laughter in his cerulean eyes. "That was great!" His thick blonde hair was a mess of tangled locks; his fair cheeks were flushed; and he smelled like sweat and adrenalin. His smile, like his voice, was big and loud and shameless.

"Great?" Bjørn's smile was sly. "You shrieked like a newborn," he teased.

"I shrieked like a warrior," Mikkel corrected, flush turning into an embarrassed blush. Gently, he tapped the Omega-pup's chest. "I saved you."

"From a danger you caused," Bjørn countered.

"But I saved you, that's what counts. That's what Alphas are supposed to do."

"You lost my knife," said Bjørn, scanning the grass for it.

Mikkel sighed in mock-frustration. "You want the knife? I'll get you the knife."

He started to move, but Bjørn grabbed a fistful of his shirt. "Sit down," he said flatly, dismissing the offer. "It might still come back."

"The knife—?"

"The boar," Bjørn clarified, trying not to smile at Mikkel's joke. It failed. In surrender, the Omega-pup rolled his eyes and leant against his friend's shoulder.

Mikkel Densen and Bjørn Thomassen had been friends for as long as they could remember. They had been born in the same year, only months apart, and had been inseparable since birth. Bjørn had been the first outlander to be born in the lowlands; his Omega-father had been pregnant with him when the highland Thomassen clan had been adopted (conquered) into the powerful Densen clan. It had been a relatively peaceful conquest, all things considered. The highlanders—outlanders, they were still sometimes called—were welcomed into the Densen families, and Bjørn's Alpha-father had immediately become the right-hand of Mikkel's Alpha-father, the Densen Clan Leader; thus, Bjørn's pregnant Omega-father had become the companion of Mikkel's Omega-mother and her newborn Alpha-pup.

Since childhood, Mikkel and Bjørn had been told—teased—that they were fated to be together. "It's the will of the gods," the old priestess liked to tease them. "It's fate that the Clan Leader's Alpha-pup and the first-born outlander Omega-pup will bring our clans together."

Neither Mikkel nor Bjørn really understood what that meant—or why it was important—but nor did they care. They liked being together. For them, being together felt natural. It had been so very long already—eight whole harvests! Mikkel liked how Bjørn always seemed to instinctively know what to do in any situation; he always knew what Mikkel needed. There was no one in the clan whom the Alpha-pup trusted more, and no one whom he felt more comfortable with. He relied on the pretty Omega-pup for more than he would ever admit. And Bjørn liked Mikkel's enthusiasm, his fearlessness and self-confidence and strength. He was the Clan Leader's Alpha-pup and he acted like it. He could be exhausting and annoying and arrogant, but he was also the sweetest Alpha Bjørn knew. Mikkel made him feel safe and wanted, and he was the only clan-member in either family who could make the reticent Omega-pup laugh. Bjørn loved Mikkel. He didn't know what he would have done without him, and Mikkel felt the same. They knew it. And both of their clans knew it—which is why they teased the pups so mercilessly. Everyone assumed that the pups would someday end up together, and neither pup had ever tried to fight it. Why bother? There were much worse things than spending the rest of your life with your best-friend.

It was then that Bjørn looked up at the blue-eyed Alpha-pup and, without pretense, kissed him. It was a soft, feather-light touch of his lips to Mikkel's. Then he pulled back.

Mikkel blinked. "What was that?" he asked curiously.

"An experiment," Bjørn replied, matter-of-fact.

Wordlessly, Mikkel leant forward to kiss Bjørn, but the Omega-pup dodged it. Mikkel frowned. "It's my turn, it's only fair," he argued diplomatically.

Bjørn conceded, supposing that, yes, it was only fair.

Mikkel grabbed Bjørn's slight shoulders and pulled him in closer for a better angle, before clumsily smashing their lips together. Bjørn squirmed as Mikkel's unmoving lips pressed forcefully to his.

"That was dreadful," he said, pulling away. Mikkel looked confused and a little hurt, so Bjørn made amends. "You're too strong, Mick," he explained, twisting the insult into a compliment. The arrogant Alpha-pup ate the fib and relaxed, secretly pleased. "I think it needs to be gentler," Bjørn suggested.

Mikkel nodded. "Okay, let me try again."

This time, he shimmied awkwardly closer and wrapped his arms around Bjørn's torso, his hands resting on the Omega-pup's back, trying to imitate the adults. He cocked his head, messy blonde locks falling into his eyes. Bjørn reached up and helpfully pushed them back, then rested his delicate hands on Mikkel's shoulders. A silent message passed from Alpha-pup to Omega-pup when they met each other's curious (nervous) gazes, asking: Ready? Then the Alpha-pup took charge. He leant down and puckered his lips and tentatively pressed them to Bjørn's in a gentle kiss. In his head, he counted. He didn't know how long a kiss was supposed to last, and neither did Bjørn, so they stayed connected for, perhaps, a moment too long. At the ten-second point, Mikkel cracked open one of his closed eyes to check the duration, and saw Bjørn doing the same. That's when they decided to end it. Mikkel sat back on his heels and asked:

"Better?"

"Better," Bjørn confirmed.

Mikkel grinned, pleased with his skill and the pride of maturity that comes with the taste of one's first kiss. He looked into Bjørn's sparkling violet eyes for a minute and felt closer to his friend than he ever had before. It was a good feeling. Impulsively, he wrapped his arms around the Omega-pup's waist and pulled him into a hug, half-sitting, half-braced against Bjørn. He rested his head on Bjørn's shoulder and pressed his sensitive nose to the Omega-pup's neck, breathing in his sweet, mild scent.

Bjørn didn't flinch, too used to Mikkel's impulses. He wasn't physically-affectionate with anyone else, which pleased the secretly possessive Omega-pup. He merely asked: "Mick, what are you doing?"

"Smelling you."

"Why?"

"Because you smell good." Mikkel sighed deeply in contentment, his eyes closed.

Bjørn didn't argue or complain. He shifted beneath Mikkel's weight and settled comfortably against the tree trunk, and he gazed up through the leafy canopy at the crisp blue sky. The clouds were big and fluffy and shapeless, but the imaginative (superstitious) Omega-pup sought pictures and figures in the wisps. He thought of a dozen stories he would regale Mikkel with when they returned to the longhouse that night. Mikkel loved Bjørn's stories. He was the only one Bjørn shared them with. He let himself smile now as he wove a tale of elves and dwarves and ice-giants, one hand absently combing-out the tangles in Mikkel's unruly blonde hair.

"Norge?" said Mikkel after a while, using Bjørn's birthplace as an affectionate nickname. He sounded sleepy.

"Hmm?"

"When we're older, will you be my Omega-mate?" he asked.

"Yes," Bjørn replied.

Mikkel smiled and sighed in relief. "Okay, good."

"Good," Bjørn repeated softly.

Then Mikkel fell asleep, as effortlessly as a newborn. Bjørn hugged him close and continued to watch the sky.

SEVEN YEARS LATER

So," said fifteen-year-old Mikkel, leaning down deviously, "do you still want to be my Omega-mate, Norge?"

Bjørn looked up at the handsome Alpha, his pale cheeks flushed with oncoming Heat. "I didn't wait this long for nothing," he said.

"And it's not like I have any other suitors," he added in mock-annoyance. Mikkel had seen to that since they were pups, swiftly crushing any other Alpha's interest in the beautiful Omega-pup.

"No, you don't," Mikkel agreed, grinning slyly. "I guess you're stuck with me then."

Bjørn cupped Mikkel's clean-shaven cheek, rubbing it gently. Mikkel habitually leant into his soft touch. "I've been stuck with you since birth, Mick. There's no point denying it now."

Mikkel approved of his answer and replied by sweeping Bjørn into the cradle of his strong, muscular arms. Bjørn loved Mikkel's arms. He smiled and wrapped his own loosely around the Alpha's neck. Mikkel was still wearing the dyed wool tunic, silver wristbands, and dark cosmetics associated with the coming-of-age ceremony, at which the Clan Leader had boastfully declared Mikkel as his rightful heir. Everyone had cheered in support, but no one had been as proud as Bjørn. Bjørn, who had stood just aside the low dais in the longhouse, modestly robed with no adornment except for a broach fastened at his clavicle, and a delicate gold hairpin that had been a gift from Mikkel; the first spoil the Alpha-pup had ever won abroad. The clan had seen it as a claiming-gift, but that hadn't been Mikkel's intent. He hadn't ever felt the need to claim Bjørn with a physical mark. The whole clan knew he belonged to Mikkel, and any interest from visitors was quickly—often forcefully—corrected by the protective Alpha-pup. Mikkel had given Bjørn the hairpin for two reasons: firstly, because he had been rather proud of himself and had wanted to share his success with his best-friend; and secondly, because the hairpin was lovely and Bjørn was lovely and as soon as he had seen it Mikkel had wanted to give it to Bjørn, who had worn it every day for the past two years. Bjørn had been waiting for a long time to see Mikkel finally take his place beside the huge Clan Leader. Not because it signified Mikkel's accent into leadership, but because it proved that he was now an adult—an adult legally obliged to take a mate.

"Are you scared?" Mikkel asked now, grinning down at his beautiful intended.

Bjørn flicked his forehead. "Don't be stupid," he said. "Of course I'm not." Pause. "It's you, Mick."

Mikkel's laughing eyes softened. "I'm glad you're with me," he said, bowing his head so that their foreheads gently touched. "I couldn't do this without you, Norge. I need you by my side. I want you by my side."

"I know."

"I'm glad it's you, Norge. It's always been you."

"I know."

Mikkel's cerulean eyes gazed lovingly into Bjørn's adoring violet, and it was perfect. Despite all of the teasing they had endured since birth; despite everyone's plans and expectations; despite always knowing, each of them having imagined this moment a hundred times in his dreams, neither of them had expected it to feel quite like this. It didn't feel like they were fulfilling their preordained destines, unifying their clans. It didn't feel like anything more than two best-friends choosing to continue their life journeys together, which was so mundane it was perfect. It felt natural, like everything else about their relationship. Nothing else mattered to them, because they had each other, and that's all either of them needed for the world to feel right. They were both excited for the next step—so close now they could feel it—and both a little nervous, but both so ready to finally be together for real.

"Bjørn," Mikkel whispered in a tender voice, "I love you."

Bjørn smiled. "I love you, too, Mikkel."

Then, for the second time in their lives, they kissed.

THE END

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