Chap 3: The Nordics' Problem

The approaching ships' figures shimmered in the distance. Alistair peered anxiously at the blue horizon, his ride grew agitated next to him and nuzzled against his back as if warning him and pressing him to leave as it felt the approaching danger. The Scot turned to face the beast by his side and calmly stroke its neck. The horse shook its head, its emerald eyes scolding gently the boy and urging him to ride on and leave.

Tall, taller than any horse, with large heavy hooves covered in in thick hair, his mane of white was thick and mussed up. Entirely white, a pure clean white like the foam of the sea crashing against the many rocks of Scottish beaches. The creature's tail was similar to a lion's, swishing by in its agitation. It breathed out heavily and once more nudged its large head against the young 16 year old looking man, avoiding to hurt him with its sharp long ivory horn on its forehead.

"I know Kelpi. I know." The boy nodded and climbed up on the two meters tall horse before riding off into the mainland and away from the coast. Another invasion. Dear gods … won't it ever end?


Fire.

The forest burnt and houses fell to ashes. The sound of marching soldiers and the clashing of metal against metal. It all felt too familiar. A roaring laughter resonated across the destroyed camp.

"Is that it? The island that caused trouble to Roma?"

A heavy large boot landed close to his mud-covered face. Alistair glared at the foot, willing it to catch fire and spread up to the rest of the body. But instead, he felt the hardness of the hit against his head as the said foot buried his face further into the ground. He couldn't move his body. He felt so weak and hopeless … just like against Rome. Dammit.

The Seas roared in anger and Alistair smirked as he could hear the calls of Kelpi and other white horses, waters rising and waves crashing in a desperate attempt to damage the invading fleets.

"What now? Are you responsible for this, boy?" The man's voice growled darkly as he pressed his foot and crushed Alistair's jaw, breaking its bone in the process. The boy coughed out blood and swallowed mud. But only glee and madness shone in the ocean blue eyes of the invader, his long white hair with braided strands among the loose, blowing gently in the northern wind.

"I already stripped clean your islands … what was that one called again … too many druids on it if you ask me and not enough soldiers! Iona! That's what it was called!" The man laughed in remembrance while Alistair felt his heart sink in his chest.

Iona.

The Sacred Island of Iona.

This land of gods, monks and druids … of course there would be no soldiers! But why would anyone bother harming a land of the gods! The bastard holds no sense of care for the sacred! Alistair wanted to cry and at the same time he wished he could cut the laughing man's throat open and drink his filthy blood! Maybe even sacrifice him to the gods! That would ease his pain … a little.

"Matthias! How are our troops doing down South?"

"Father!" The clapping of hooves resonated as an approaching rider neared them.

Down South … Alistair had a bad feeling about those words …

"It's bad father! Our hold on the smaller Island Eir is going as planned but … the south of this one is a bit …" Alistair heard the boy hesitate. It had to be a boy from the sound of his voice still immature. Maybe 14? Not much younger sounding than himself. Was he a nation too? If his father is that man … it's most likely that he is.

"What? What? This place holds more druids and peasants than warriors! How can you not be done with them yet?!"

"Our troops have settled on one corner of land but can't seem to advance."

"Have you found the heart of the land like I told you?!"

"I did but he escaped … he travelled North! I was hoping I would find him while running into you …"

"Another pesky Celt …" The man hissed in anger before grabbing a handful of the crimson hair of his victim and forcing Alistair's face upward.

For the first time, Alistair could see the face of his attacker and of the young boy by his side. He engraved the cold blue eyes of the Viking in his mind, his hair white as snow and his face of a pale taint that seems to have never seen the sun. The boy next to him was indeed around 14-15 looking, armoured like his Viking father, he looked uneasy but kept a straight and brave face in front of his father. Alistair could guess that this was the boy's first experience of war. How naïve! His blond spiky hair didn't seem to flatten under his helmet and his blue eyes, identical to his father's, were kinder and more hesitant. So very naïve!

Alistair could not stop a smirk off his lips, despite his broken bleeding body. He must look like a corpse and yet he was not allowed to die. He wished he could. The pain was unbearable even for a nation. But he could not die. Not yet. Who else would protect this land if he gave up on his life?

A kick in his face drew him back to reality and he coughed out more blood.

"What's gotten you all happy, little Celt?" The hissing anger of the man muttered darkly. He didn't like seeing his victim smirk or smile. Especially in the condition he had put the boy through. He should be yelling and pleading in agony and yet he had not managed to squeeze one beg out of this annoying brat. And now, he dared to smirk at him! That insolent …!

"Your land will be mine. Now that Rome is history, there is nothing to stop me from taking over Britannia and expanding my empire!"

"Father!" The boy's cry was just in time to avoid the man an in-coming arrow.

Snapping his head around, Scandinavia's eyes widened in shock as he was faced by an entire army of angry Britons with in their lead a young blond child mounting a … golden beast. Alistair's eyes widened as he recognised his younger brother.

"Al-bion …" He whispered in a breath before blinking himself into unconscious.

Fire.


Arthur Kirkland looked down on the destroyed body of his brother. He watched in a respectful and worried silence as the druids used of their medical skills and magic to heal him. He had known of troubles with Vikings but his brother had not once requested for his help. The idiot! He should have! Arthur knows that he holds more resources and men than his Scottish sibling. He himself was struggling to keep the Vikings at bay so he could only imagine what the main forces of the Vikings had done to his brother that he would end up in such a state.

"Iona was pillaged and destroyed." The news came to him but Arthur nodded absently to one of his men, dismissing him.

They even went as far as damaging this sacred island. If this keeps up, Isle of Man and others would all die, just like Iona had. Arthur felt his stomach turn. Maybe it was due to the fact that another member of his family was dead. Or maybe it was the fear of those ruthless invaders. Or maybe he couldn't bear the sight of his brother's body getting butchered, and the blood pouring out from both the wounds and the operation to save him. Forcing himself up on shaky legs, the young blonde Briton walked out of the tent and towards the coast. He shot one last hesitant glance at his brother's body and that was all he needed to harden his resolve.


Scandinavia, the warrior of the sea and ruthless Viking was now staring wide eyes at the young boy approaching him. Somehow, the boy had managed to infiltrate his camp, defeat his men and was now walking into his hut like it was a walk in the park. But the blood and wounds covering his hands and body did tell of what he had done to get through, yet so young and his face showed no fear or regret. His emerald eyes were as cold … no, colder than ice and the man was sure that this wasn't the first time the Briton child had killed. Something about the child's demeanour reminded him of Rome the Conqueror. Maybe it was just his imagination … they look nothing alike after all …

By his side, he felt Denmark shiver uncomfortably. Of course, his son was used to fighting and killing but he still needed to mature as a warrior. Sweden was quietly watching with a serious face that didn't fit his childish 12 year old features. But if anything, Norway, only seemingly 10, was the same age (well, same age-looking, since they are nations) as that Celtic boy and yet, he was still unused to blood and violence. He'd rather play around with faeries and trolls.

But not his boy.

"Is that all?" the man asked with a sharp cornered smirk.

The boy nodded. He looked determined and decided, despite the absurdity of his request. For a nation, such a request is … ridiculous!

"Do you realise the foolishness of your request?"

The boy didn't reply. The determination in his emeralds glowed dangerously of a mystical energy and Scandinavia now could see the deceased spirit of Britannia in those eyes … so very green eyes.

"For such a reason … I don't understand." The older man sighed.


Alistair glared in irritation at the group of people on his doorstep.

"Arthur! The Vikings are here!" He barked before walking back into the house and no more caring for their guests.

"Yes, yes, I'm coming!" Arthur's face suddenly took Alistair's place in the doorway and he smiled politely at the group. In seconds, the excited boy in a sailor suit had jumped and latched himself around the Englishman's neck, surprising everyone.

"Hey, Peter, how have you been?"

"Great! What's with Uncle Al?"

"Don't mind him! He's just being a sour puss. I'm sorry for making you all wait, come in." Arthur moved aside, Peter in his arms, to allow entrance to Sweden, Finland and Denmark. He eyed Denmark quizzically but said nothing. Usually it was only Sweden and/or Finland who dropped off Peter to his house but why would Denmark show up too?

"Can I offer you anything? Tea? Coffee?"

"You have beer?" The Dane grinned brightly as the Nordics each took a seat in the living room, eyeing the foreign house with deep interest. Until now, Peter had always been dropped off in Arthur's flat in London so nobody had been given a chance to see Arthur's Union House that he shared with his siblings.

"Yeah we do. Tino? Berwald?"

"Tea is fine." The Finlander answered quietly and a bit coldly which was unusual for him. Berwald only gruffed in agreement.

"Be back in a minute." Arthur nodded and dropped Peter to the ground as he headed for the kitchen.

The boy playfully went around the room like he knew the place. And he did. He always used to come here whenever he stayed with Arthur. Except that recently he had discovered the hidden dimension to this house. A secret. Never to be told.

His Nordic family watched him with wonder and concern. Not only was Peter acting strange with them since a little over a year ago, but now he was actually being nice to England and had not once called him Jerk. And why did he now refer to Scotland as Uncle Al? Tino shot a warning glare to Berwald and the Swede could only look away with shifting uncomfortable eyes. Denmark didn't pay attention to the couple or their issues. He had a problem of his own and hoped England could sort it out some way or another.

A man walked in the room, shuffling his slipper-covered feet and wearing a large wolly jumper harbouring a blazing red dragon on a black font. His brown hair was shaggier than Arthur's and even fell over his face (probably needed to get it cut soon) curling around and fluffed up like a sheep's wool or as if he had just dragged himself out of bed. But through the mass of hair you could clearly recognised the familiar emeralds of the Celts and the thick pair of eyebrows. The man looked over the guests with a loud yawn and his gaze settled on the smiling young boy.

"Hey. You're back?" His voice was rich and deep with a melodious tone. And he wasn't singing yet!

"Hi Uncle Will! How's Cobalt now?" The young boy grinned excitedly back and went over to receive a large bear-hug from the Welsh.

"Fine. He's getting used to being blind. Tinker misses you though."

"Oh yeah! She around?"

"Outside I think." No sooner had he spoken his answer than Peter left the Welsh nation and rushed out to the window.

Peering out, his grin widened as he spotted the group of faeries not far. A green squeaking faery spotted him and Tinker Bell waved at the young boy. Eagerly Peter turned to his Nordic parents.

"Can I go now?"

Tino nodded, unable to understand a word of his son's conversation with Wales. Neither did he comprehend the odd behaviour Peter had towards the British Isles. Until a year ago, Peter had always been reluctant to come over to stay at Arthur's house. But now, it's almost the other way around and Peter becomes overly-eager whenever he is suggested to go back to Britain. Why? What had happened?

"Peter! Don't go out without your coat, love, it's cold outside!" Arthur warned the boy as he passed him in the hall. After a dismissive "Yeah! Yeah!", Peter was out and chatting outside to what looked like thin air to the Nordics but to the Britons were faeries.

"Will, where's Princess?" Arthur asked his brother seated in a corner of the sofa and playing on his Ipad. The Welsh shrugged.

"Out, she said." He answered in a dismissive mumble, his half-lidded eyes never leaving the screen.

"Thank you, Captain Obvious!" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"Pleasure." William smirked and reached out to borrow Arthur's reading glasses from the nearby coffee table.

Arthur shook his head in derision and turned his attention to his guests. He was noticing the cold attitude of Finland and was surprised about it. Tino has always been the warmest and most emotional one of the Nordics and it was unusual to see him act … well, almost like Norway, to be fair. And Sweden was being all fidgety and nervous, instead of his usual serious self. He was cute when he got uncomfortable like that! Arthur's eyes softened fondly on the Swede but he quickly realised his mistake and shifted his eyes away towards Denmark. Of all the weird behaviours, his presence is the weirdest thing. First off, why is he here? Second, why has he not yet spoken one of his loud and obnoxious tirades? Thirdly … what the fuck is Alistair doing with that axe?!

Arthur growled and rushed to the open window and yell outside as he saw his older brother and Peter head out further … with a freaking axe!

"Oi! What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Thistle Head?!"

Scotland looked back with a mischievous grin at his blonde brother.

"Just teaching the lad how to cut wood! He wants to know how to build a wand!"

"The hell you're getting him a wand!"

"Relax, blondie! We're just going to cut wood! No wands … yet!"

Before Arthur could stop them, the two sprinted towards the nearby woods and were soon out of sight. England pondered on whether to send someone after them, then he decided he wouldn't waste his energy and time in that. Peter'll be safe with Al. Nothing to be concerned about. The only concern is what will Alistair drag the boy into!

"Bloody wanker … Sorry about that. So Denmark … what brings you here too?"

The Dane looked up with an uneasy smile and the other two Nordics' expression turned grim and worried. This would not be good news. But hey, he already had the bad enough news of a Roman Empire coming back to life. What could be worse?

"So … you know how Rome came back, yeah? Have you … figured out a way to send him home?"

Arthur frowned while William looked up with a passive expression. The very fact that he deigned look away and pay attention proved that he was just as curious and confused as Arthur about what the Dane wanted.

"We're working on it. We figured out how he got here so now, sending him back should be easier. We're looking into the various process and possibilities." Arthur answered vaguely, not wanting to reveal that so far they had only gotten failures.

"… What if you asked Norway to help out …" Matthias suggested and was immediately cut off by the Welsh.

"No thanks. We don't need help." The brown haired grumbled, glaring at the Dane. He did not like the implication of him needing an outsider's help, especially concerning magic!

"Like Wales said, we're fine. It just might take a bit longer than expected is all." Arthur sighed, though he was starting to think they might need to call on other magical nations to help them.

"How long?" Sweden mumbled suddenly.

"I can't tell yet … but why are you all suddenly interested in that?" Arthur's eyebrows knotted themselves deeper in questioning and confusion. Denmark looked away and avoided the questioning glare of Arthur's emeralds as he mumbled quietly.

"After you deal with Rome … is it possible to send someone else back to the past too?"

"Someone else? Who exactly?"

"…"

"Matthias, we are not playing a guessing game. Tell me now or I'm not helping."

"… Just don't get mad …" Sweden mumbled and Arthur was surprised by how the two were acting so anxious. Eventually, Finland was the one to answer.

"Scandinavia has showed up three months ago on our doorstep." He stated with an oddly cold gaze settled on Arthur.

Wales' reaction was instantly one of irritation as he silenced a growl. Arthur face-palmed in frustration. Great! One more! Guess the Roman Bastard was not the only one! Looks like he'll have to hurry up in sealing the door again or who knows how many more will turn up!

"Scotty's going to be delighted." William groaned, already imagining his brother's murderous expression once they tell him the news.

"You're telling me." Arthur sighed in agreement.


"Uncle Al … why do you hate me?" Peter asked as he tried to follow the fast walking Scotland through the thick woods without losing sight of the older nation.

Scotland paused in his track and shot a surprised look at the young blond. Although he could see the strong physical resemblance … Alistair saw nothing of Arthur in the young boy. Many nations, including his siblings, liked to think of Peter as a mini-Arthur or as a replica of Arthur when he was young. Alistair didn't. Peter and Arthur were nothing alike.

One – Arthur is actually Alys (well, now you'd write it Alice)

Two – Their personality are completely different

Three - … Well, he just isn't his wee brother!

But Peter is his brother/sister's son. Scotland never understood how England could have had feelings for one of those Norse to even fall pregnant! Maybe Arthur was right in saying that he was too resentful of the past … but Alistair just could not forget the ravages that bastard had caused upon his soil. He was even worse than Rome … or maybe on equal foot which is bad enough! Alistair knew he had no right to feel so angry and vengeful since he wasn't a model of peace and love himself. Hell, nations invade each other. The usual. But what he didn't forgive was himself. Because of his weakness, the same mistake with Rome was repeated and his precious sister had been taken ... even worse, this time she went willingly. Making a deal to save his life.

"I don't hate you, lad."

"Really? Because you always look angry around me and you call me a … Viking child." Peter sheepishly looked away. He didn't know what kind of feud had occurred between the Britons and the Norses but he could imagine Scotland had suffered the most from it.

"It has nothing to do with you. I'm just a sad old fool."

"Like England?" Peter allowed a small smile on his lips and was glad to see the red hair reciprocate.

"Aye, guess we all regret and bury ourselves in the past! Even England … … I don't hate you though. I'm angry because of what Scandinavia did but you didn't even exist at the time. I have no right to blame you for anything."

Peter nodded, avoiding the dark look of Scotland's emeralds. Somehow … he really wished he had inherited those same greens as all the British Isles. It made him feel like an outsider … like he was indeed a Viking Child roaming an Island of Celts.

"But you're my brother's son. Your blood is the same as ours. You are one of us Peter, and I know you probably feel you're not yet but don't worry … you'll realise your closer to us than you think." Alistair kneeled down and ruffled the boy's hair.

Golden blond … it'd be trouble if the boy got kidnapped now. Arthur would definitely kill him.

Tinker Bell flew in warning circles all of a sudden, squeaking in panic. Alistair nodded and gently took the boy's hand, leading him away from the forest and its many wonders and threats.

"Let's go. You shouldn't venture here alone."

"Eh? Why?"

"Because you're like Arthur."

"…?"

"Blonde." Alistair smirked as he remembered the time when Arthur got kidnapped by faeries and he had charged through their territory to save his wee brother. Small blonde boy … what a troublesome brother he had … He better not lose sight of the kid or Arthur would definitely kill him.


AN: You might not need any clarification here but I'll give one anyway!

Iona is/was a sacred island in Scotland (mostly for monks and before that druids). It was during the early middle ages that Norses (or Vikings if you prefer) attacked Britain on frequent raids. They also went for trade and settlement so they did have a positive influence as well. But let's get back to the raids: in 793, Eastern England was attacked and I think that's as far as they got through England (but I'm not sure) while in 795 there was a raid on Iona. At that time, the raids seemed to have been aimed at religious places and monasteries Iona had druids but with Christianity it became a sanctuary for monks. From then on, frequent raids on Scotland and Britain and Ireland in general occurred. Scotland suffered more Viking raids and influence than England did. More settlers would land in Scotland or Ireland. So I'm just twisting History to make it look more dramatic. To be honest, you had a lot of peaceful settlements too but raids are more fun to talk about in stories, isn't it?

As for the faery thing in the last part. You should all know that Faeries/Fairies in old folks' tales and old myths were known to kidnap young children. Some of these stories claim that faeries had a preference for young blonde children and would take them to their realms, exchanging them with Faery children. Little weird but I thought 'how would England survive in the wild on his own with eager faeries around him?' Answer: He had his siblings to protect him! In truth, Scotland and England weren't at each other's throat much prior to the Wars of Scottish Independence Before that, I couldn't find much animosity between them.

History lesson:

Before you ask: No, Scotland was not under English ruling - it's complicated but due to the King of Scotland dying old and with no male heir and only a 3 year old granddaughter to inherit the thrown, this granddaughter Margaret was married to Edward I of England WITH THE GUARANTY THAT SCOTLAND WOULD REMAIN FULLY INDEPENDENT FROM ENGLAND AND NOT LOSE ITS SOVEREIGNTY AS A NATION. Bla-bla-bla ... tensions ect ... Margaret died young and that left Scotland in chaos since she died before giving an heir. So now, I let you imagine all the Scottish lords at each others' throat to claim the thrown (and you can also add English royals thinking they had a right in the mix too). Eventually, Edward I became Lord Paramount of Scotland as an arbitrary power to avoid bloodshed between Scottish Lords.

With no king/leader and a disorganised military and people, Scotland had no choice but to accept (Edward's troops on the Anglo-Scottish border did help in making a choice). So, officially, Scotland is still a sovereign nation separate from England and mainly ruled by Lords who pledged allegiance to Edward ... like I said: Complicated.

Then comes the First Scottish war of Independence followed by the second. Really, it's just like a civil war with England's involvement in it. Some Scottish Lords had holds and lands in England, so you can see why they didn't want to be in conflict with England. While at the same time, they all wished to take the Scottish thrown. And England just wants to take over Scotland (Never happened - proof is even when Edward was supposedly imposing his law on Scotland, he needed the support of Scottish Lords and he would constantly be facing rebels from the Highlands and complotes of the lords aiming to get rid of him).

Soooo ... It was only starting the 13th century that England and Scotland went at each other. England tried to invade Scotland, Scotland tries to invade England ... and it goes on and on, back and forth during the 14th, 15th, 16th century. Only with the crowning of King James VI (of Scotland - but the I of England - well, Britain) did things settle down a little. But you really need to wait for the Act of Union in 1707 for Scotland and England to official be at (relative) peace and forge the United Kingdom (because it was a union of two kingdoms with each standing on equal rights to the other). Ireland joined in later and clearly didn't like it much since it left afterwards now, there's only the North. Wales was annexed by England at the time so it didn't have a choice in joining.

... Why did I go on a historical rant again? Oh yeah ... just to say that until the 13th century, Scotland and England were on pretty good terms. No wars and often traded. Plus they have a similar history and culture so, yeah. I think Scotland took good care of his wee brother (considering Ireland is a complete different Island from Britain, and Wales was already at war with England prior to Scotland - I like to think that they used to all be on good terms before that). Anyway ... Scotty made sure faeries didn't kidnap Artie! ... Or Alys if you prefer! (Alys is how you use to write Alice in old English).