Thank you for your reviews, favs and follows, everyone! Here's the second chapter, hope you like it!

"Goodbye, skatten min." A kiss was pressed to his forehead. "We love you, never forget that."

Vinland awoke with unshed tears still clinging to his eyelashes, a name on his lips. Sighing, he pushed himself off his pallet, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he plodded towards the river to wash up. He spent a longer time than necessary there, staring at his blurry reflection in the water. At the violet eyes that were the same as Iceland's, at the mix of blond and black that adorned his head.

But when tears threatened again, he tore his gaze away and left the riverbank. He would not cry, not in the daylight. Not with the sun as witness, the sun that Norvegr had told him shone upon him and them alike.

As he returned from the river he could tell that the village was on edge. As he wandered further inwards, he caught more than one throw him an uneasy stare. He knew he looked strange to them, with this coloring that was a mixture of their and the Viking settlers who had once been here. But he was their nation, and they accepted him as they wouldn't anyone else in his position. Still he knew that his appearance made some of the older ones uncomfortable and the young ones curious.

As he neared the hut where the village chief lived, he realized what had set their guard up.

His people were whispering, of outsiders reaching the shores. It was those fair-haired ghosts again, they said, casting furtive glances around as if those newcomers could appear suddenly like the pale specters they resembled.

Vinland's heart leapt in his chest, not in fear or anger like some of his people, but in excitement. Had Norvegr and Ísland come back?

Wide eyes swiveled towards him as they registered his presence, as if knowing his thoughts, but his mind was already elsewhere. Unheeding the startled warnings of his people, he dashed towards the beach where he could feel those foreign presences.

He burst out from the forest into the sun, eyes darting around for ships and his brothers. It was such that he didn't realize that the travelers had already come further inland until he rammed into a pair of slim legs. Falling backwards onto the sun-warmed sand, he stared up at the tall figure that stood there silhouetted against the midday sun. The figure shifted closer, lessening the glare with his shadow, allowing Vinland to see his features clearly for the first time.

It was a stranger, who looked at him in surprise and no recognition. But this man had golden hair and blue eyes just like Norvegr, maybe he would know where Norvegr and Ísland were? Vinland asked, hopefully, using the tongue Norvegr had taught him.

But his face fell when the man's brows furrowed in confusion and responded in a strange tongue. The boy felt his bubble of hope slowly dwindle away and resisted the urge to cry. No, he was a strong boy now! Still, his lower lip wobbled just a bit.

Tilting his head in concern, the stranger bent down, bringing with him the smell of sweet musk and exotic flowers.

Vinland shrank away. Norvegr and Ísland had always smelled like fir trees, firewood and snow. They were from The Other Land, but their scents had been familiar. Not like this man with his strange foreign smells that tickled his nose. He had odd clothes too, Vinland thought. It looked soft and very light, clinging to the other's lanky form. So different from the rough wool he was used to.

Vinland gasped in surprise as the other easily picked him up. He said something again, in his strange lilting tongue, smiling all the time. Vinland decided that he liked that smile. It was different from Norvegr's, sharper and more open, but it was kind nevertheless.

So when the stranger didn't seem to want to let him down anytime soon, he allowed the swaying motion of his steps lull him to sleep, and as his eyes fluttered close he almost imagined that the hand smoothing down his hair was Norvegr's.

The man – he had, at the other nation's insistence, started to call him Papa – had given him a new name, Canada. He tried it on his tongue every now and then as he went about his chores, along with the musical language – Français, Papa had called it – that he was slowly becoming accustomed to. Canada still went to the shore to stare out at the horizon on icy days, but now he turned when France called him back.

His hair had finally turned completely blond, with a soft wave like France's but never lying quite as smooth. His eyes had turned bluer than before, but resolutely retained some of its violet hue, which he was thankful for. He wasn't sure how he would feel if he lost those reminders of his brothers as well. Day by day, he felt like he was starting to forget what they had looked and sounded like, and that scared him. So he clung on to the memory of bright violet eyes and fluffy blond hair that was reflected on his person.

Until the day he would find them once again, just like the cold day he had watched the ships come to his shores.