A garnet rolled between thin fingers, it was held up to the sun at different angles, all in all, the young man was impressed with his winnings. After having cut away and pried the gem from the gold that framed it, he had his last idea of raw beauty, from a land much farther than he had ever gone before. Funny how that worked, through the hard work of people maybe hundreds of years before, this jewel had made many travels through the hands of generations of traders and now resided in the young grasp of the one that was feared. By the sheer power he had accumulated over centuries, formed from the spilled blood of countless lives, he could have anything he wanted.

"What you got, Nor?" Denmark plopped down beside him, leaning close to the garnet to get a better look.

Just that quickly, Norway's fingers tightened over the gem, as he pulled it close to his person and growled animalistically at the other.

"Chill, I was just looking…" the Dane tensed.

Just that quickly, Norway pounced on Denmark. The jewel was his latest treasure of domination, in getting close to it, the Dane threatened to usurp his power unwittingly. Norway took him by his hair and started beating his head into the ground in time with his shrieking, "Mine! Mine! Mine!"

"Ow! I– Ow! Nor– Sorry! Ow!" Norway's weight, sitting full-forcedly on his chest, quickly began to suffocate him, in addition to having his head smashed into the floor.

Norway had lost all control. Just one small thing could set him off and he no longer differentiated between friend and foe, and had almost no control over himself. Denmark's cries never reached his ears.

Sweden came running when he heard the combined screams of his friends. Quickly observing the situation, he took a hold of the Norwegian from the back, who immediately turned his attack on him. "Run," was the sole advice he spoke to the Dane, right before the smaller toppled him as well.

Sweden knew from experience that he couldn't overpower Norway by sheer strength. He knew he couldn't talk him out of it, because he wasn't really there anymore, he had gone berserk. He could, though, hold him at bay for a little while and hope he tired out. Norway had him on the ground, but he held his flailing arms by the wrists, averting every blow that would have otherwise struck him.

"Stop! Make it stop!" Denmark cried from the short distance he had scrambled to.

Denmark was fully aware that the attack wasn't personal, that his dear friend had only lost his senses. 'It' wasn't really Norway, 'it' was a full blown fury that came over him and took control of his body, and 'it' was terrifying, but he had come to accept that 'it' wasn't his friend. Sure, his friend was also power-hungry and cruel in his means of getting what he wanted, but he wasn't a senseless thing that was entirely out of control. The line was thin, but definitely existed between a violent boy and the bloodthirsty monster.

Norway would soon tire out once his attack was diverted. His strength didn't lie in superior physical power but in crazed adrenaline. In holding his own against a stronger force, he wore himself to complete exhaustion.

Recent events had been strengthening him however, and yet also weakening him. The nation had become unified — not without huge conflict — which had granted him strength, yet the constant tearing apart of the barely held together kingdom wasn't without effect. Internally, he was nearly at war with himself at times. His craze for power only intensified. He grew suspicious of everyone around him.

Despite the chaos of his home in the cycle of unification and division, Norway was still a feared force. He had made nearly everyone he came in contact with an enemy, and the very few who still saw him as a friend held the same hope as his enemies: the fall he would have to eventually have. After all, once one had reached a pinnacle, there is nowhere but down to go. His power would one day fade, his inexplicable wrath would one day be extinguished, and the jarring of a sudden decline would have to wake him to his senses. However, no one could topple him. He was too fearsome, too fearless. Despite every disadvantage he had, he was yet untouchable.

There was something spreading in Scandinavia: Christianity. Denmark had recently accepted this Rome-controlled religion that they had time and time again encountered in foreign lands, and it had long been creeping slowly into Sweden's culture. Even Norway's current king had proclaimed himself as Christian, though he wouldn't force it upon the nation and it was even debatable how strictly he followed it himself. Nevertheless, change was sweeping the Scandian trio.

Norway had grown tired of this ruler. The man didn't have the country's interests at heart and only considered his own selfish wants. Perhaps it was hypocritical for Norway himself to despise the man, but also, the people had grown sick of him. Rumors were spreading of a more suitable Norse king, and they wanted the change. Yet another loop of the cycle of revolt and at the assassination of the present ruler, the nation crowned a new king: Olav Tryggvason.

Upon coronation, the young nation took it upon himself to familiarize himself with the man, test the waters so to speak, and escort him throughout a land he now ruler but was yet unfamiliar with. Indeed, Olav had grown up away from the country and hadn't returned until called to be their king.

"You may address me as Norway, my lord. I am at your command." There was a certain soullessness to the customary introduction. How many kings had he seen, and how many so far had failed him? Every one of them.

Olav eyed the young man with curiosity and yet coldness. Still young himself, he was accustomed over a harsh life to distrust and having to fight for everything himself. In a way, looking at the nation was like looking at his younger self in a mirror. The same harsh gaze passed from both and rested upon the other. "I am honored, Norway, that you called me." The words were every bit as cutting as the smaller's usually were, a hint of bitterness behind them.

"You know, if you aren't grateful for this power, I can have it taken right back. Don't take my subservience for granted."

A smirk curled on Olav's lips. "Oh, dear Norway… You really are what they say, aren't you? You're cruel, you're willing to fight for anything, a survivor through and through… As long as our interests align, we're perfectly suited for one another."

"Though I am no monster. I deserve everything I've taken. As a Norseman, that should have been born into you and you should understand…unless your allegiances lie elsewhere." The bitter words were returned justly. The two were trying each other, seeing where they stood, finding out just how far they would have to bend. "I know that you never returned to me, even after you came of age. You've spent almost your entire life away from your fatherland, and yet…you are still so very Norwegian. You have my spirit."

"I may have a Norseman's spirit, but am I just the same? No, and you will bow to me. I am rightful ruler here and you are but my humble servant."

"We'll see," Norway scoffed. "May you be in the gods' favor."

As the nation turned away, Olav narrowed his eyes in spite. The gods? He knew he was in God's favor, after all.

"You will be a renowned king, and do celebrated deeds. Many men will you bring to faith and baptism, and both to your own and others' good."

One day, dear Norway, one day…

"Convert, filthy pagan!"

"I will never!"

Several of Olav's strongest men were attempting to hold Norway in place, but given the rage he had thrown himself into, it was proving to be a nearly impossible task. Pulling a dagger, he began to carve into a pillar, with three men much bigger than the physically young teen struggling to hold him back.

"Stop that! Make him stop!"

Upon the king's orders, they pried the knife from Norway, party through a runic curse, but not before he dug the blade into his own skin. Dipping a finger in the blood that quickly spilled from the wound in his ivory skin, he restarted the same inscription with the makeshift ink.

"No, stop it! Cover the wound!"

The men sprung into action to fulfill Olav's command. Another plan failed, Norway reverted to kicking and screaming curses, flailing violently to knock off all but one of the men holding him captive, hurling angry words across the sky.

Olav approached the nation, taking his head between his hands, despite the attempts to bite at and knock him away. Maliciously, he grinned at the boy. "What did I say? You bow to me, Norway. I am rightful king!"

"Never!" he shrieked back, hissing the words into the man's face. "You will ruin everything! My existence! I hold more power than you will ever!"

The powerful glare he sent was cutting into Olav, as if it held that cursed, pagan magic within it. "Blindfold him!" he ordered, to cut off any form of attack he could use.

A large scuffle was needed to restrain Norway even for a few seconds, costing the lives of two men as others stepped in to fill their places. He managed to break free and ran blindly, hysterically, clawing at the wrap over his eyes that had been tied tight enough to begin to cut into his cheeks. Incoherent screeches were all that came from his mouth.

Eventually, the crazed state wore off as the boy collapsed from sheer exhaustion. He wasn't able to fight it anymore.

"Ha, you really are a berserk."

He could hear the disdain in that last word. True, they had grown to despise those called Odin's warriors, because they were simply a danger to all. Norway had avoided the stigma as their nation only. That tone of voice cut into him. The words were the last he heard before he fainted.

When he next awoke, he couldn't tell how much time had passed. The cloth was still tightly tied over his eyes, so couldn't see where he was either. The blindfold was cutting into his skin, it must have already created wounds.

Unknowing where he was or what was happening, and unable to do anything at all or change the situation, he felt his heart begin to race in panic. For the first time in his life, he felt cold fear, terror. Droplets of sweat were running his skin already, his body slightly quivering. And then he realized… He had to have looked entirely like every victim he had sneered at before.

"Is anyone there?"

His voice came out a little more shrill and desperate than he intended. Mentally, he scolded himself. He was a most powerful nation, why was he reacting like this? But maybe the situation called for it. After all, he was in the dark, figuratively and literally. No! Why was he beginning to fear a human, a mortal?

"So you've awoken…Norway."

That voice! It angered him. He could clearly imagine the man hovering over him with a sneering chuckle. How dare he!

"I hope you now recognize the order of authority. Bring him here."

Norway felt his body being lifted to his feet, although gently. The two pairs of hands nudged him forward. They came to a stop, but kept their hands close in case the boy decided to bolt.

"Would you take a look at that face?" A chuckle. "No really, we mustn't cause unnecessary damage. He is important after all. Remove the blindfold."

His eyes slammed shut as light suddenly hit them, wincing as the cloth brushed over one of the wounds. He resolved to keep a steely expression.

"You will accept Jesus Christ–"

"No," Norway was quick to cut off.

"'No'? If you refuse, I will have to force you."

"You cannot make me. I am not a coward who will leave my gods simply because I am threatened."

Olav stood, staring down at the teen with a vicious smile. "You cannot just say 'no' to your king. I am fully ready and able to force you…"

"Nothing will change my mind!" he shouted.

"We'll see."

The next day came and the next day and the next, on and on, without antagonism from the king. Norway began to believe that he had out-willed the man without much of a fight. Of course, one man cannot simply change a nation so easily. The two had even developed a friendship and enjoyed each other's company when the subject of religion was left alone. They were remarkable similar in personality and held common goals.

"I don't wish to be at odds with you forever, Norway. I have wishes for you, dreams that will make both of us even greater than we are today. However, we simply cannot continue to disagree."

Norway humphed.

"Aren't you tired of this? The country is constantly in turmoil, you've had to submit to Sweden and Denmark… Isn't it humiliating? Simply being feared and powerful is not enough."

"What can be done? Us Norsemen are born with the will to fight, and we turn on ourselves. It is a born nature to the nation. I should know."

"One day, I, no, we…we will rule over therm, we will rule Sweden and Denmark… But we must be united, we must see the same vision…" He abruptly turned a sharp gaze to the boy, his voice lowering threateningly. "That is why you must be Christian as me. It was already decided–"

"Stop." Norway rose to his feet. "No. That is where you are mistaken."

Olav stood as well. "I guess you've said 'no' one too many times now…dear." His face twisted into an entirely familiar smirk. "No matter how many centuries old you really are, you're still so naive. The consequences of living in a child's body, perhaps?"

He wanted to be angry, but the terror struck in the bottom of his stomach again. Olav had pulled a knife and begun to run it slowly up his sternum to his collar, stopping just short of his neck, easily cutting through the thin shirt and digging into his skin.

"What should I so with you to break you, hm?" The sneer in his words was apparent. "Just how fragile are you?"

In defiance, Norway endured the incision with very few flinches. But as he looked up into that man's mocking face, he could only see a mirror image of himself. And it was terrifying.

Unsatisfied with the lack of reaction, Olav resorted to more harrowing means. He ordered coals straight from the fire to be brought immediately, taunting the nation as they waited, holding the knife steadfastly to his throat.

"What would you like? Dear Norway?"

He was too shaken to respond, trying with everything within him to keep from trembling. It was all hitting him at once. The dread he had stricken so many with, the horrors that had taken place at his hands, the sheer helplessness of being paralyzed in fear.

At first it was once burning rock forced into his mouth. He screeched as the sensitive skin was seared, tears tumbling from his eyes uncontrollably. And the pain…so much pain…that he was responsible for. Then another coal was pushed into his agape, wailing mouth, resetting the cycle of agony. Blood was now running over his lips, spilling onto the ground and the already stained clothing. At this point, he wouldn't have been surprised if his tears turned to blood.

A third coal was lifted and held menacingly in front of him. In sudden panic, he jerked himself free, spitting the rocks from his mouth and slurred a few words through his damaged mouth.

"I… You win. I give up."

Olav dropped the tongs holding the coal, his face suddenly brightened. "You will?"

Norway only nodded, hunched over in writhing misery. He could have swore he stared into the face of his own death and it was not what he wanted to see.

"You'll convert?!" the young king repeated again.

"Help…" was the single word that came from the nation's mouth, as he began to cough violently, blood sputtering across the vicinity. His pride had died, and he called out for the one thing he had wanted and needed for all of these years without realizing it.

Though Olav's rule was very short, he left a large imprint on the nation. Just a mere few years after being heinously tortured by him, Norway openly mourned him when he was lost. Olav Tryggvason had been more than a king, he had been a mentor, a friend. From that day forward, he would never lay a finger on anyone again and strove to control his violent temper to prevent himself from reverting to his roots. "I've changed my ways," he would tell anyone and everyone. He grew afraid that he would be eternally hated. He clearly saw the mark he had left on all of those around him and vowed to somehow to make it right, standing by their side even as it hurt and destroyed himself.

The viking age didn't die when Norway accepted Christianity, but it severely shrank. The new generations weren't raised to kill or be killed, weren't taught that they had to sacrifice their own lives in war or be sent to Hel. Even for a short while, the country had united, though it fell to ruins again soon. In five short years, one man had forced a turning point onto a nation that was on a path of self-destruction, and Norway would be eternally thankful, forever missing his hero.

A/N: No really, in my opinion, Olav Tryggvason (Olav I of Norway) is the most interesting person in viking era history. eue Even more interesting than Egill Skallagrímsson (saying something coming from a hardcore Icelandophile? Maybe.)

"You will be a renowned king, and do celebrated deeds. Many men will you bring to faith and baptism, and both to your own and others' good." is part of the legendary prophecy that made Olav convert to Christianity.

Er…I think that's all the notes I have for this chapter.

It was sad to write it, I always hate writing the final chapter of something because I know I will miss it. unu

~Butter~