Hey, peeps! NordicFlags here! I know I should be working on the sequel to 'Chosen' *dodges divebombing flying mint bunnies* but this plot popped into my head and wouldn't leave me alone. So I wrote it down. Note: I wrote this at like 10 at night, so forgive me if its suckish.
Warnings: mentions of adult situations, slight lime at the end (again, no lemon), and possibly inaccurate Latin and Danish translations. (Note: I do not speak any of these languages. If it's wrong, blame Google Translate.)
Oh! And this is a historical fic, so the events mentioned here actually happened! (I did my research, peoples! Thank me for that! [If its not right, leave a review and tell me, por favor.])
Get to it!
The Kingdom of Denmark sighed, and then winced as an agonizing pain spiraled up his back at the action. Five years. It had been five years since he had fallen under Germany's rule. His people were suffering, but they could do little to fight back. The German troops had far more advanced weapons, and in an effort to prevent Danish lives from being lost, his government had surrendered, and then he was sent to a concentration camp where he was starved and sometimes brutally tortured.
With another sigh, he lay back on his bunk and thought back to before the occupation had started. He had met someone; someone extraordinary. She was similar to him in the sense that she was immortal, but she wasn't a country.
In spite of his situation, he smiled slightly at the memory of their meeting. She had been in the middle of the forest in the inky blackness of night, and he had stumbled upon her when he was taking a walk after a night of drinking, hoping that the cold would sober him up before he got home. The woman was playing a piano, which at first he thought to be a strange thing to be in the middle of a forest, but all that fled his mind when he comprehended the music. It was beautiful, and moved him so deeply, a tear escaped his eye.
When he shifted on his feet to keep his balance, her head had shot up, and her eyes widened in shock. She started to get up and leave, but he called out for her to stay. "I won't hurt you," he had promised. Who could? Her talent for the piano was enchanting, as was her beauty. Misty silver eyes studied him carefully, and it had taken all of his restraint to not reach out to stroke her raven hair.
It had taken an hour or so, but she had become comfortable with him, and had opened up. They had exchanged names, and she played for him a few more songs before admitting that she had to leave. Her tone suggested that she wished she didn't have to, and he had asked as to when they could meet again. Shyly, she told him to come back tomorrow, to that very same place.
And come back, he did; she would play the piano, and they would discuss much as she did. He learned that she was a creature of the night, an Amata, Enchantress. She could not die, but she had had no one for the entirety of her very long life. Her music enchanted people, as her name suggested, but if she lost her temper with someone, she could drive them to insanity with a few notes. To reduce that possibility, she had retreated to the forest in the 15th century and had not come out since.
She had been hesitant with parting with this information, fearful of his reaction. But he simply smiled and said that she was a caring person to be thinking of the safety of others. Her pale face had been tinged pink from the praise, and he could not help running a finger along her face, causing her to go redder.
In return, she had learned that he was a country, and had lived as long as she had, causing her to smile and ask him of his history. He had regaled her with tales of his conquests as a Viking, and how he had bested so many countries though his land was so small compared to that of other nations. She had listened, enthralled with every word he spoke, silver eyes eager for more.
They continued to meet for several weeks afterward, until Denmark had suggested that she go out and see the world for the first time in nearly 4 centuries. Her pallor went paler, and she tried to say that she was afraid of accidently hurting someone, but he would have none of it. Weakly, she also explained that she could not go out into sunlight, being a night being, but he simply took her by the hand and brought her out of the forest that had been her sanctuary for so long, promising to never leave her side.
He showed the wonders of the age, and she was especially interested in the concept of electricity and the telephone and telegram. The taller country chuckled when she ran her fingers over the contraptions, trying to figure out what kind of 'magic' powered them. He explained how they worked to the best of his ability, and she seemed to understand.
A few more weeks passed when he suggested that she go live with him, and no sooner had the words left his mouth when she leapt up and immediately wished to see where he lived. With a wave of her hand, she shrunk her piano and carried it in her hand all the way to his home.
Iceland had been extremely surprised when a strange woman with eyes like the moon appeared with Denmark that one night, but when he learned that she was to stay with them, he accepted her. With a wide smile, Denmark had taken her hand and led her to her room that was close to where he slept, just in case she wished to speak with him at any time.
Then one morning a month later, when Denmark was eating breakfast, he was greeted by the pleasant surprise of the Amata walking through the sun-lit kitchen, smiling at him broadly. After he got over his initial shock, she explained that she learned that she could, in fact, go out in sunlight. The only drawback was that she lost her enchanting powers during the day, but would regain them when night fell.
With a loud whoop, the Dane had taken her hand and proudly showed her his capital in broad sunlight for the first time. Every day since then, she would go out for a walk with him. Soon her pale skin showed signs of tanning slightly, and he had to admit her beauty was all the more enticing, but he restrained himself. The two had grown to love each other, but he would never overstep his boundaries without her explicit permission.
It was to his great shock when one night, she had shown up at his bedroom door and begged him to take her. He heeded her wishes without hesitation. That night, their love was shown in the most intimate way possible, and afterward, among the tangled spread of bed-sheets, he admitted that he loved her, and that he would for the rest of his life. Teary-eyed, the Amata pulled him into a passionate kiss and told him that she loved him as well, and had ever since they had met. Both fell asleep in each other's arms, happy and loved.
Then it happened. The morning after their union, Denmark's home was invaded, and a few of his people were taken to concentration camps. But before the troops could capture him, he fled back to his house as quickly as possible. She was waiting at the front door, wide-eyed and afraid. She had no experience with this sort of warfare, and the booming of the bombs and the roar of the machine guns terrified her. Running to him, she buried herself in his arms, crying hysterically, asking what was happening. Slowly and calmly, as to not scare her, he explained that he been overrun, and that he was about to be sent to one of Germany's concentration camps.
It was of no use. She cried even harder, and clutched him tightly, pleading for him not to go. He ran his hand through her hair and whispered in soothing tones of their life after the war, giving her a silent promise to return.
An armored vehicle showed up, and Nazi storm troopers ran up, and separated the two. She fought back violently, but her Amata strength was gone until nightfall. Tears rolled down her eyes as she watched Denmark drive away. He could see her run after the vehicle as fast as she could, but she could not catch up. Exhausted and sobbing, she collapsed in the street and stayed there, blotchy red spots on her face from her crying. She lifted her fist to the heavens, and yelled something in Latin, her natural tongue, that sent shivers down the spines of the German soldiers next to him.
As soon as he entered the concentration camp in Germany, Denmark knew that he would be coming home with new scars; that is, if he did come home. Angrily, he had pushed that thought aside and resolved to stay alive, for her sake.
Five years, he mused. That had to be some sort of record for a concentration camp prisoner. Then again, not many prisoners were countries. He shuddered. He went through several cellmates in a week, and whenever a new one showed up, he knew that he would never see the last one again. And sometimes it was a damn shame. There was that one German preacher, what was his name? Oh, yes, Dietrich Bonhoeffer. He had been a wonderful cellmate, and when he received another barely a week after Bonhoeffer's arrival, he hoped to whoever was out there that he had found peace somewhere.
Night had fallen outside his window, and just like he had for the past five years, he wished that he could hear his lover's music just once more. Oh, what do you know? He was imagining her singing now…
'Wait a minute.' He sat bolt upright in his cot, ignoring the throbbing of the cuts and bruises. Peering through the darkness, he tried to catch sight of what was going on.
His blue eyes widened. Nazi storm troopers were being brutally put down by an almost invisible form, and over the sound of men being torn apart, he could still hear the voice singing beautifully in Latin. As a former Viking, he couldn't help but grin as he saw the form take down more and more soldiers.
The form disappeared for a minute, and then the door to his cell was kicked open with a booted BANG. Whirling around, he locked eyes with the person he had been longing to see for the last five years.
"Regina," he wheezed.
"Matthias," she whispered, rushing forward to him. She sheathed her swords and embraced him tightly. She pecked him once on the lips and said, "We are getting out of here. I will not allow you to suffer any longer."
Turning around in his arms, she lifted him from the cot and supported him to the door and outside. Denmark looked around him in amazement. "You took out all those soldiers?"
She winced. "I had to do it. They were in my way."
He chuckled. "Of course they were." He sobered. "What's today?"
"The 3rd of May," she answered. Regina paused to put her sword at a Nazi soldier's throat. He backed off immediately, and they continued on. "I have heard that the war will be over soon. Much has happened while you were gone."
"Clearly," he joked. "When did you become such a master at wielding swords?"
She blushed. "I've always been good at it. I just don't like to use those skills."
Smiling like crazy, he leaned over and nibbled slightly on her ear. "Your warrior mode suits you," he whispered huskily. "It reminds me of the night we-"
He continued on in detail of that particular night, with Regina going redder and redder until she was practically glowing. "Please, not here," she told him in a small voice.
Sensing he was making her uncomfortable, he shut up and allowed her to carry him to an armored vehicle. On the way, however, a dying soldier fired one last shot from his rifle, and caught her right in the chest.
Her eyes widened, and she nearly buckled from the pain, but continued to lug Denmark's dead weight to the car, and slid him into the passenger seat. She hurried to the driver's side, and in a matter of minutes, they were heading away from the concentration camp to the airport.
Once there, Regina pulled to an abrupt halt on the tarmac and tried to hurry to get the Danish nation, but nearly collapsed on the way. Sweden and Finland, who had come along with the rescue mission, saw her predicament and hurried over from their plane. Finland supported Regina, who was just barely taller than him, while Sweden grudgingly took Denmark.
The slightly-smaller nation smirked. "Aw, love ya too, Sve," he joked. He soon shut up after he saw the glare that Sweden gave him.
Finland propped her up against the wall of the airplane and barked an order in Finnish to the pilot, who began preparations to take off. Turning his violet gaze back to her, he scanned the wound in her chest. "What happened, Regina?"
With a slight grunt, she reached inside the wound and pulled out the bullet. Luckily, it had stayed intact when it had entered her body, so she would heal without accidently having the shards of the bullet mend into her body. "It is fortunate that I do not require medical assistance at the moment," she murmured. "I am fine, Tino. It happened when I was transporting Matthias to the moving cart."
"Car," they all corrected automatically. Even after five years of being in the 20th century, Regina had yet to stop calling an automobile a 'moving cart'.
"You know what I mean," she huffed, waving a dismissive hand. "All that matters is that Matthias is back with us."
The aforementioned man chuckled, but then looked around, seemingly searching for someone. "Where's Norge?" he asked quizzically.
Regina stiffened. "Lukas…is still in a concentration camp. I was planning on rescuing him as soon as we get you back to Copenhagen."
"If you're going to rescue him, then I'm coming, too!" Denmark exclaimed, but when he did, he jostled one of his fractured ribs and let out a hiss of pain. "GAH!"
"You are in no condition to do so," she snapped at him. "I will be rescuing Lukas while you heal."
"Actually, Regina," Finland said hesitantly. "You're not."
"We 're," Sweden said, looking stern.
"Denmark needs you to heal him," Finland explained at Regina's harsh look. "I'm afraid that if anyone else tried to help him, he would ignore them and injure himself further."
She saw the truth in his words and reluctantly agreed. Getting up, she walked over to the Dane and gave him a firm look. "You will stay in bed, and you will do as I say."
Mustering up the strength, he gave her a mock salute. "Yes, ma'am!"
Regina just barely hid her smile and buried her head in his chest. Her beloved was finally back with her.
*Savior*
Over the next two days, Regina tended to him, nursing his injuries as much as possible while his body did the rest and filled him in on what had happened while he had been gone. America had entered the war, and when he had, the battles began tipping in the Allies' favor. Arrogant as he was, America was a powerful nation, and whatever side he was on had a distinct advantage. Italy had transferred over to the Allied side as he had in the first World War, though he had done so rather reluctantly. Douglas MacArthur, one of America's top generals, was still trying to bring down Japan, who was fighting back with everything he had, but the Asian island nation was slowly losing strength.
Gently, she touched his arm. "Iceland dissolved his union with you nearly a year ago," she said softly. "He's a republic now."
Ah. So that explained why the white-haired nation wasn't here. He grinned slightly. "Good for him," he said weakly. "Knew the kid had it in him."
A serious silver gaze caught his. "Matthias," she said quietly. "I…have something to ask of you. It…is something that I have wished for since we met."
"Name it! I'll give it to you!" he promised immediately.
She hesitated slightly, then spoke her request in Latin. "Matthias, vos nubere me?"
His understanding of her native tongue was limited, but even he knew what she was asking for. "You…want me to marry you?" he asked, hardly believing what he was hearing.
Regina gave a small nod, blushing bright red. "I am well aware of the fact that it normally the man that asks the woman, but I thought perhaps I should…how do you say? Do things a little differently."
He comprehended her wish over in his mind, and she watched him anxiously. Then, to her great surprise…he started laughing.
"And to think, you beat me to it," he said in between bouts. "I was planning on asking you as soon as I was released from the concentration camp."
With a yell of happiness, Regina threw herself onto him, straddling him and holding him tightly against her petite frame. "Bene facis, bene facis!" she told him repeatedly, giggling excitedly, a trait out of character for her.
He was finally able to release himself slightly, and put a hand on her cheek. "Du er velkommen," he told her lowly. Bringing her down, he brought their lips together, and she happily yielded to him. Just as things were about to get serious, there was a sound outside the window that made them both look up. Regina immediately tensed, but as they listened, they soon realized that it was the lyrics to the Danish national anthem.
Der er et yndigt land, det står med brede bøge, nær salten østerstrand.
It suddenly clicked. "Matthias, how do you feel?" she asked.
If the elated look he gave her was anything to go by, he felt amazing. "The Nazis are gone!" he cried happily, hugging her to his chest.
Det bugter sig i bakke, dal, det hedder gamle Danmark, og det er Frejas sal.
Slowly, he brought his mouth to hers again, and this time, delved his tongue into her mouth, demanding entrance, which she readily gave. He brought his hand up her back and rubbed slow circles on her back, making her arch into his touch and eliciting a slight groan of pleasure. He smirked into the kiss. She was putty in his hands.
Vort gamle Danmark skal besta, så længe bøgen spejler, sin top i bølgen blå.
Regina was trying to keep him under her, but his strength far outmatched her in the daylight and soon she was looking up at him, black hair a stark contrast against the white sheets. He ran a finger down her cheek, tsking slightly. "Sorry, Regina, but I'm afraid that that won't do," he said huskily. Before she could protest, he silenced her with another kiss. "You're all mine."
"And you are mine," she said softly.
His lust-filled gaze softened. "Most definitely." His hand slid under her shirt and she gasped as his hand started to play with one of her breasts. "But for now, you belong to me and only me."
"Yes, master," she whispered, and he smirked in victory, ready to claim what was his.
No, no lemon for you! Go find your lemon elsewhere! Shoo, you dirty-minded peoples! *waves hands in a shooing manner*
Here are the English lyrics to the national anthem mentioned here:
There is a Lovely Country
There is a lovely country, it stands with broad beeches near the salty eastern beach. It winds itself in hill, valley, it is called old Denmark, and it is Freya's hall.
Our old Denmark shall endure, as long as the beech reflects its top in the blue wave.
There is a much longer version available, but I was too lazy to type it all out, and may I just say its rather frustrating to try to type out Danish without a special keyboard for it. (Remind me to ask Finland for that type of keyboard for Christmas...along with a Danish flag. I'm not going to ask for Denmark because seriously, I bet he's a busy guy. [Yes, I am a considerate fangirl. 3])
Review please!