So here is the official first chapter on my take of the Kalmar Union.

Obviously there is going to be DenNor in here somewhere, so it's kinda at the end of the chapter if you really squint.

TRIGGER WARNING

THIS CHAPTER CONTINUES VIOLENCE

I don't really think it's graphic, but violence and abuse doesn't trigger me all that bad. If you cannot handle mentions of blood, abuse, or bruising, do not read this. I do not want any of you being affected.

Thanks and enjoy

WARNING: continues little Iceland. idk why that's a warning but cuteness overload maybe? idek

"Fire, fem, seks, syv, otte, ni, ti! Alright, Island, i'm coming for you!" There was loud giggling coming from the food closet, but Mikkel knew better than to just outright find him. He looked aimlessly beneath tables and opened cabinets.

"I guess Dagfinnur's lost forever. I cannot seem to find him anywhere!" He made a show of looking exasperated at the kitchen counter, watching as the lips on Håkon's face curled upwards in the slightest hint of a smile. A shriek was heard from the pantry, and out stormed a giggling Iceland. He grabbed on to Mikkel's hand and bounced up and down excitedly on his toes.

"Danmark, Danmark, I was in the food closet!" Mikkel began to chuckled, patting his head affectionately.

"I see that, Dagfinn. You are much better at hide and seek than I." The smile on the Icelandic's lips broadened, and the pride he felt was more than obvious. Håkon rolled his eyes, pushing them both out of the kitchen. He was cooking, and he didn't need the two of them in there running amuck.

"Mikkel, you should have seen bror! He shot down a reindeer this big." The Icelander threw his arms out for emphasis, knocking over a glass of milk that had unfortunately been in his path. He put his arms down immediately, saying a quiet 'oops'. Håkon got up quickly, picking up the glass and pressing a cloth to the mess. Mikkel slammed his hand down on the table, startling the brothers with the harsh sound.

"Dammit, Dagfinnur!" Iceland's bottom lip trembled, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. Håkon frowned and finished cleaning up the mess. He patted Dagfinnur's back reassuringly.

"Mikkel, he did not mean to. He was being animated. I do not understand the problem. It's just some milk." He stood Iceland up and patted his soaked shirt, squatting down to the younger's height to give him a light squeeze. The Icelander sniffled in his ear, rubbing his eyes frantically to rid them of tears. Mikkel had always told him boys didn't cry. Boys weren't afraid of anything.

Mikkel bit the inside of his cheek, face recalculating. The intensity in his eyes nearly vanished, and the harshness in his brow lessened. He pulled Dagfinnur away from his brother, squatting down and holding the boy's hands in his. Dagfinnur visibly stiffened.

"Listen to me," he started, waiting for the child's nod to continue, "you are a good boy, Dagfinnur. Promise me you will not ever do something like that again." Dagfinnur nodded his head in complete understanding, only pulling away from Denmark once Håkon told him to run upstairs and get clean and dry. Norway crossed his arms, standing erect and opening his mouth to say something. He was stopped by a loud slapping noise followed by a stinging pain in his cheek. His mouth clamped shut.

"Who in the hell do you think you are, Håkon?" Mikkel asked, snarling at the Norwegian. Håkon tried to form some sort of a sentence, but no words would come to mind, and he simply stood, gaping at the Dane. Mikkel rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"You might be his older brother, but you will not undermine my parenting. Dagfinnur needs to be punished when he's done something wrong-"

"He did nothing wrong! He spilt milk, Mikkel! It was not on purpose. He was excited to tell you a story, and you scared him! What is wrong with you?" There was another smack, this one much harder, and Håkon had to brace himself against the wall to keep from dropping. He tasted copper, and he wondered if it was his lip or his cheek that was bleeding.

"Shut it, you worthless slut. If you are so worried he will be terribly scarred by a little rightful parenting, I suppose you'll have to take all his punishments, won't you?" Norway swallowed hard, licking the blood from his lip and nodding his head. If that's what it took, then so be it.

"I will," he began. "Whatever punishment you see fit, i'll gladly take. Just please, Danmark, please do it in privacy. He does not need to see. You are so grand in his eyes, Mikkel, i'd hate to see you falter."

"Håkon, I'm so incredibly disappointed in you, can you not tell?" The venom in his voice stung, and the Norwegian bit his swollen lip, trying to focus on Mikkel's harsh tone rather than the pain he felt from getting his head slammed against the wall. He shouldn't have said anything at dinner. He shouldn't have told Mikkel he was destined to fall. He should have kept his mouth shut. Alas, he did not, and this was his punishment. I had to deal with it, he supposed, and he'd do it with little complaint. Denmark was sad since Berwald left; he'd snap out of it, right?

Wrong.

He was thrown on to the floor, cast aside while Denmark paced, stewing over the words that had been spoken earlier. So grand in his eyes. Iceland's eyes. No one else's? Bull. Complete bull. He was Denmark, the King of the North. He was a feared conqueror, and people bowed at the sight of him. He was strong, invincible, unbeatable.

Sweden had bested him. He seethed, turning around and smacking Håkon once he was again in an upright position. He fell to the ground again, gingerly touching his stinging cheek, eyes wide as he stared at Mikkel. The Dane merely sneered, plopping down on the bed, hands held together tightly, elbows on knees. Norway swallowed hard.

"You think he's better than me, do you not? You think Berwald has won. You think he is some sort of hero worth believing in!" Håkon shook his head frantically, trying to think of any way to soothe Denmark's savaged mind.

"Nei, Danmark, nei. I-I do not. He is not some hero. He left the union on his own accord, and I am sorry. Perhaps he's selfish!" He didn't mean that. Berwald wasn't a hero, that was for sure, but he definitely wasn't selfish. He left with Tino, knowing that it was the best thing for the two of them. He offered to take Iceland and him along, but Håkon was happy with Denmark, and Dagfinnur didn't seem to keen on the idea of being away from the Dane. How was he to predict this to happen?

Mikkel's jaw tensed for a long moment and slowly relaxed. His eyes softened, and he moved over to the Norwegian, cradling his face in his hands, careful of the injury he had caused. Håkon had to keep his lips pressed in a tight line to keep himself from sighing in relief. He didn't want that other Denmark coming back anytime soon. No, he just wanted this Denmark. This Mikkel. This Mikkel was caring, loving, helpful, and as much as he hated to admit it, he was the MIkkel Håkon had fallen for.

"I'm so sorry, Håkon. I- I didn't mean it today. I was not mad at Iceland. Hell, I wasn't even mad at you. Sve and Fin leaving really took a toll on me, ya know? I just miss them a lot. I didn't mean to take it out on you." To emphasize his apology, the Dane pressed a kiss to his cheeks, forehead, and lips. Håkon took in a few slow breaths, bringing his hands up to Mikkel's and holding them in his own.

"Okay. I forgive you, Mikkel."