The car rolled into the driveway of a small, two story parking ramp. Geoffrey, Norway and Iceland exited the car when it had come to a complete stop and began trekking up four flights of stairs. Jeff fiddled with his keys for a while, eventually choosing one and shoving it into the keyhole. However, when the door was opened a woman stood nearby, her hand positioned in a way that suggested she had just been about to open the same door. The first thing Norway noticed about the woman was her brilliant hazel eyes.
"Oh, goodness, welcome. My name is Janice, I've heard so much about you two, it's nice to finally meet you in person." Her auburn hair was pulled back into a messy bun with strands sticking out randomly, and freckles dotted her nose and cheeks. Her hand had fluttered over her heart in surprise from earlier, but it now tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear. Norway held his hand out to her, which she took.
"Pleasure to meet you as well." Iceland, who was following suit behind Norway, also shook her hand in greeting. Behind them Jeff gave Janice a quick peck on the cheek before two little children appeared. One of them zoomed up to Norway, attempting to climb up his leg, while the other hung back and hid halfway behind the protruding wall with a shy demeanor.
"I assume this is your son?" Norway asked, pulling the boy that had run up to him onto his hip. Norway shut his eyes and pulled away slightly as the boy reached for his nose, reaching its target and grabbing it gently.
"M' name's Al-Aldrik." He said, slurring some of the letters on his inexperienced tongue. That, or perhaps the boy was just tired. Judging from his weight, Norway concluded that it was probably just the need of a good night's sleep.
"Aldrik, his name's Aldrik. His sister calls him Al though, so he's begun calling himself 'Al-Aldrik'," Jeff explained, smiling at how much Aldrik seemed to like Norway, glad that the two got along.
"That's rather cute," Norway said simply, sending a warm smile to Aldrik for a moment despite his nose being squished closed. "My name's Norway, nice to meet you. Can you say Norway?"
"Noh-way," the child responded, grinning at Norway.
"Nor-way," the adult clarified, enunciating each consonant clearly.
"Noor-way," the child attempted, and while it wasn't perfect, the Norwegian praised him for improving.
Aldrik giggled and wrapped his arms around Norway's torso. Aldrik's hair was light brown, and his eyes were a stunningly bright blue, a hue that reminded Norway of France or America's eyes. He had a thin frame that gave away his age, but judging by his size Norway guessed that he was perhaps seven or eight.
"How old is he?" Norway asked softly, to which Janice responded in an equally quiet voice that Aldrik was seven.
Iceland was slowly approaching the other child that had hung back, painstakingly gaining a bit of trust in return. "What's this one's name?" The Icelander asked, turning his head over his shoulder for a glance in the couple's direction.
"Her name's Lorelei, she's four and a half," Jeff answered.
Janice interjected an answer as well, "she's a bit shy, if you can't tell."
Iceland shrugged. "I was shy when I was her age too, nothing wrong with that." The hosts began to imagine how long ago that was, when Iceland was Lorelei's age. It admittedly gave them quite a headache. Iceland reached a hand out to Lorelei, and after staring at his hand for what seemed like forever, she put her miniscule hand onto Iceland's extended palm, and Iceland smiled at her. "Lorelei… That's the name of the ancient, beautiful mermaid that lured seafarers to their deaths. I assume that's where you got the name?"
"No, a friend of a friend of my sister's has a daughter named Lorelei, I heard the name and fell in love with it. But that is fascinating, is that the origin of the name?" Janice responded, approaching Iceland and Norway.
Norway watched Iceland's actions and smiled to himself. It made the Norwegian nearly burst with pride to know that Iceland was able to conduct himself so well with kids. Iceland began reciting one of the old poems of the siren who combed her golden hair on top of the Lorelei rock, unwittingly distracting shipmen with her beauty and song, thus leading them to their deaths.
Jeff and Janice listened with open minds, knowing now that anything was possible in this world. Janice looked to Norway, "is this story true?" Her eyes were filled with an astonishingly childish curiosity, and when the Norwegian man looked to Jeff he saw that the officer had the exact same facial expression as his wife.
"It once was," he answered, sighing. "But humankind has forgotten that it once was so. People just don't seem as interested in listening to stories as they used to be, society is too fast paced nowadays to sit down and hear something that was once so valuable. In the process of this deterioration of necessity and belief, stories that were true became what they are believed to be today, nothing short of fairytales and myths." Norway put Aldrik on the ground before sitting down himself. "But the animals and creatures that caught the imaginations of our ancestors still exist today." After receiving quizzical looks, Norway continued. "That is, they exist. But people are too busy to ever look hard enough to see them. Stop and smell the roses, but linger a little while longer to catch a glimpse of a leaf moving, chances are that a little faerie could be underneath, and if you wait long enough you might see her." With each sentence came a swooping hand gesture that accented what he said perfectly. Everyone in the room was entranced by the Norwegian's words, even Iceland, though he would never admit such a thing.
"In the ocean, a mermaid could be lurking just under the surface, but if you just glance at the waters she will remain unnoticed forever." Norway paused, smiling to himself before continuing. "Denmark had a friend many years ago who wrote fairy tales. His name was Hans Christian Andersen. In one of his stories he said that when a mermaid dies they become sea foam because they do not have immortal souls. However, as the story goes, if a mermaid wants an immortal soul after their death, the sea maiden must work as an angel for three hundred years, and when she enters a household with well behaved children, one year will be deducted from their remaining three hundred. However," Norway hushed his voice suddenly, drawing all of them towards him. "When the mermaid souls enter a home with mischievous, misbehaving children, they cannot help but shed tears, and for every tear that falls a day is added to their time." He looked woeful as he said told the abbreviated tale, successfully laying heavy amounts of guilt to Aldrik and Lorelei's minds. The children in the room felt an internal shift as they were tricked into believing that they would never misbehave again, including a certain Icelander.
"Trolls and Nixies exist as well, and so does the Kraken. As do will-of-the-wisps and werewolves and vampires. But fear cannot conquer life."
The house went quiet for some time as Norway's words sunk in. After two minutes Janice shook her head, reality slowly reaching her eyes once more. "Would anyone like something to eat? Dinner's ready in the kitchen, it just needs to be warmed up."
Almost all of the people in the room nodded, all expect Norway. "I'm sure the dinner is wonderful, but I seem to have lost my appetite for the remainder of the day," he responded courteously, speaking only half a truth. Yes, after seeing the man be killed he had felt sickened, but worry scraped away at his throat, lungs and stomach, making him feel content at a time when he otherwise would be hungry. "I could do with a nice cup of water, however." He commented, standing up to retrieve it for himself. After he drank the cup of water he went to the bathroom, freshened up, changed, and went to the room the family had designated for him and Iceland.
Iceland, the children, Jeff and Janice congregated at the dinner table. They were served a hearty meal of fish and potatoes, all prepared by Jeff with the help of a slow cooker.
"How long have you two been married?" Iceland asked, trying to bring casual conversation to the creeping silence at the dinner table. While he normally enjoyed the silence, it was starting to crawl up his back and upset him, and he had reached the point where he had to break the hanging quietness or he would be driven mad. Janice and Jeff broke away from their plates and made eye contact as they pondered the question together in a silent conversation.
"Eight... no, nine years." Jeff responded, Janice shrugging. Jeff's fork returned to his helping of potatoes, but Janice continued to pause in her meal and shifted her attention to Iceland.
"What's your relationship with Norway, Iceland?" She asked gently.
Iceland, who knew Norway wasn't around and wouldn't be listening in on the conversation, decided to answer honestly. "Genetically he's my older brother, but we only found that out recently. All of us Nordics treat each other like we're family, but Norway and I are the only two that are actually related by blood. He's the first person I can remember seeing other than myself. He came to me in…" Iceland knitted his eyebrows together as he thought as he tried to remember the date, "the late 800's and raised me for a while, up until 1523, when the Kalmar Union ended and I was put into... into..." Iceland trailed off as he felt his throat start to choke up. He blinked away tears that had not yet fallen before continuing, "into Denmark's care, up until the seventeenth of June, 1944, when I became independent."
Janice smiled and put her hand on Iceland's shoulder. "I know this is hard for you. If you ever need somewhere to stay the night, you're always welcome here. Anytime, okay?" Iceland smiled at her, something Janice had already noted as a scarce action from the personifications that shared her roof.
"Thank you, that... means a lot to me. Perhaps someday I will take you up on that offer, Janice."
She swatted at the air with a passive attitude, "please, call me Jan. You're our guests, you should feel at home."
The word "home" struck a strange chord inside Iceland. In his mind, the image of Norway's old, small house with rosemaling carved into the wood that bordered the front door was what he thought of as home, the place where all five of the Nordics had used to live together instead of separately. That was the only place he could ever truly call home. He had been looked down upon as a minor for years after they left that home, but at that home he had felt as if he were truly part of a family, not a possession to be fought over. Iceland knew that if he ever felt obligated to ask his brother about the topic, that Norway would have had similar feelings about the time period. The thought made Iceland wonder what Norway, Denmark, or the other Nordics for that matter, thought of when they heard the word. No doubt Denmark, Norway and Sweden would respond somewhat similarly as Iceland, but Finland was not as familiar with Iceland as everyone else. Iceland got along well with Sealand, but once again he wasn't close enough to the micro nation to predict his answer either. Shrugging off his own thoughts, Iceland thanked Jan once more and continued eating. When everyone had eaten, Jan pulled out a homemade pie and gave everyone a hearty slice. Iceland, who was full, declined the offer, but because Jan insisted he ended up taking one of the pieces back to his brother.
Iceland found Norway pacing in their room; his hand was positioned over his mouth, a dead giveaway that he had been thinking very hard for a very long time.
"I brought some of Jan's pie, she wouldn't let me leave the table without taking a slice for you," Iceland mentioned as he held the plate out to his brother. Norway acknowledged the plate and took it hesitantly, a wary look crossing his face.
"I'll... have it in the morning," he said, Iceland sighing from relief internally. It seemed that Norway was notorious for going on food strikes when he thought it would help other people or when he was worried, and Iceland was afraid that Norway's health would be at risk. Norway set the plate down on the small bedside table.
"What do you think will happen?" Iceland asked softly as he sat down on Norway's side of the bed, swinging his legs in and out slowly to kill some energy.
Norway sighed before answering, "I believe we can guarantee that we know at least one thing."
"One more than I know," Iceland interjected, scoffing slightly.
"That is," Norway continued, "is that whoever is doing this isn't doing it at random." Norway stared at the line where the wall met the floor on the other side of the room, a sign Iceland understood as the Norwegian's outward display that he had entered deep thought once again. "There's no way that these people were told to just pick up some random person on the street, considering what they've been doing to him. They want something. It's what they want that's puzzling me."
"What they... want?" Iceland asked, baffled by what Norway was saying.
"We haven't received any demands for ransom, but they're taking advantage of the situation and making sure that we know he's being tortured," Norway stated, his fingers returning to his chin. "They want something not from him, but from one of us. Since it's obviously not money, I'm curious as to what it is they want."
Iceland was stumped as well. His legs became still as he pondered the question over, what is it they could want from Norway or myself? They sat in silence for quite some time, thinking over the same question and getting no answers.
Eventually Iceland gave up, leaving to freshen himself before coming into the room in his pajamas, ready for bed. Norway shut the lights off, climbing under the covers on his side of the bed and settling down. "Good night, lillebror," Norway said as Iceland laid down across from him.
"Good night, storebror," Iceland responded. Norway tucked the covers around Iceland, pecked his little brother's cheek like a good older sibling does, and turned over to go to sleep.
Shadows flickered across the ceiling and turned into curves as sharp as daggers, the ends ominously curling towards the Norwegian. Vertical yellow lines ran up and down the walls as vehicles zoomed by outside, the engines clinking and clanking and whirring. Norway yearned to reach out a protective arm and wrap it around Iceland, but he resisted this urge, knowing it would just make his brother uncomfortable. As horrible as he knew it was to think this, Norway was glad that it hadn't been Iceland who had been kidnapped; the Norwegian knew that he would have lost all control of his reasoning if that had happened. He was worried about Denmark, yes, but Denmark was not of his own blood, he knew what Denmark could take, and he knew that Denmark had a good mind in his head despite all of the constant teasing Norway normally gave him. Iceland, on the other hand, wasn't nearly as strong. Norway knew Iceland certainly wasn't physically weak, but his little brother hadn't been through as much as himself, Denmark, Sweden or Finland, even. After mentally placing Iceland next to Denmark, the differences were so drastic that they made Iceland look like nothing more than a thin, pathetically weak stick in comparison.
Paranoia suddenly slipped into Norway's mind. What if these kidnappers didn't want something from Norway, and their main target was Iceland? The Norwegian looked over at the sleeping form of his brother, and suddenly Iceland was just a baby, barely a toddler. He was so small, so innocent, so precious, and as dear to Norway's heart as ever. He shut his eyes, and the red of his eyelids turned to crimson blood. Norway's eyes flew open, but the blood did not leave. The walls were dripping with it, the sharpened shadows piercing holes into the fabrics and furniture, decorating the room in a coat of the cruel substance. In the moonlight the blood was a thicker, darker red, almost completely black in color. Norway blinked several times, trying to clear his head of what he had seen, when suddenly it wasn't there anymore. Sighing with relief, Norway turned to Iceland to see if his brother was asleep yet.
It was all Norway could do to contain his scream. A figure of shadows stood over Iceland, its head appearing to sprout branches that tangled together and spread outward randomly. The figure looked at Norway, then at Iceland. It reached out and placed its' willowy arm over Iceland, having the hand directly over Iceland's heart. Norway reached out and put his arm around his little brother, not wanting the monster to disturb Iceland.
The monster was not happy, not happy at all. It grew outward, becoming bigger than before, and its hand reached out and put it over Norway's eyes. The last thing he saw before he was consumed by the darkness of sleep was the monster kiss Iceland's head and vanish into a cloud of smoke.
Iceland, in his dream, was walking along a familiar Viking trail from his childhood. There was a chill in the air that seemed to increase by the second, and soon Iceland wished he had remembered to bring a coat, though he couldn't fathom from where he had come. The world around him turned blue and his legs began to stop working. His legs eventually gave way and he toppled forward onto all fours. The snow piled up around him, and despite his efforts he could barely move forward. After only a few seconds he couldn't move at all. Weighed down by the snow on his back, he fought to keep himself above the mass of snowflakes, gasping for air as everything just choked him and swallowed him whole...
Except...
When Iceland's body had been completely buried he began to sink downward, floating through what felt like a thicker form of water that pushed him away from the surface. As he sunk downward the water got warmer instead of colder, like normal. Gentle, warm arms reached out and pulled him deeper, wrapping him in a heated embrace. He let go of his consciousness and shut his eyes, leaning into the warmth, not even realizing that he could still breathe. When he opened his eyes he saw that he was in a shadowy forest that was so dark it appeared to be completely black. Trees were poorly illuminated by a full moon hanging in the sky, casting an eerie effect on the branches, making it look as though they possessed curling, twiggy fingers that leaned towards him, and trunks appearing bent as if to get a better look at the strange human that was among them.
Iceland dismissed these visual illusions as he walked among the creaking trees; he convinced himself that they were merely tricks of the eye and was successful. That is until one of them moved.
The scream that should have escaped his mouth was stolen by some invisible spirit and his mouth simply hung open in silence. A rooted tree turned towards him, a face carved into the side of its trunk. It wore a foul grin that made Iceland's stomach feel like it was doing back flips and summersaults, a butterfly storm that rampaged cities and tore down walls. His skin quickly became no more than gooseflesh, causing the hair on his arms and the back of his neck to prick.
"My, my, my, what have we got here?" Said the tree as it bent over Iceland. Its voice was willowy and raspy, as if the wind blowing through its branches gave it the air in its wooden lungs. The Icelander tried to run, but the tree's roots had spread out and wrapped around his ankles, conveniently, and ironically, rooting him in place. "A runner. You're the person your family wants to keep alive, no matter the cost. You're the little child they expect will shoulder their legacy if there comes a point when they cannot do so any longer," the Tree spoke with a bland tone, its branches cracking and sending bark down in chunks as the twigs bent with the Tree's movements. "Knowing that, you must never stop fighting for your life."
"Wh-where am I?" Iceland finally choked out, the words shoving themselves out of his mouth in stutters.
"Why, you're Here," the Tree answered, a breeze coming from its mouth as it spoke. "Why should it matter where you are? I expect you do not wish to remain here forever, so what would that information do for you?"
The world turned darker, which Iceland hadn't thought possible, the sky blackening as scattered clouds clumped around the moon. Soon it was pitch black, so dark, in fact, that Iceland couldn't see his hand, even when it was touching his nose.
The eyes of the Tree glowed red in the growing darkness, like a fresh fire with wood and tinder being thrown in. The trunks of other trees split open into long, grinning faces. There was a riiip, cha-chunk, riiip as all the trees tore their roots from the ground and grew seven meters. By the light that was given off, Iceland could see that the newly exposed roots were slithering out toward him, dangerously thick and slashing out like whips to hit his ankles, leaving huge red marks on the points of contact. Iceland attempted running, expecting his legs to be trapped yet again, only to fall over and scramble away from the trees. He pulled himself onto his feet as began to run, his legs pumping and gathering speed as he launched himself forward. Iceland's feet barely hit the ground and he flew through the forest. Somewhere in his mind he tricked himself into believing that he wasn't running. Not running, flying. Flying.
As he rounded a corner the ground sloped downward and led to a dead end. The most wicked creature Iceland had ever seen stood before him at the base of the hill, a human-like figure of entirely bark, twigs, and leaves, and it was very similar to the Trees from before. However this one was different from the Trees, very, very different. Its arms and legs ended in hands and feet made of branch clusters with a sharp, bushy countenance of twigs that stuck out and had no exact place. Its arms were so long that its hands scraped the ground. The creature towered over Iceland, making him feel like a mere ant in its presence. The ground under its feet and arms was completely frosted over; the grass that once stood there wilted and tinted with white. Flowers were drooping as their petals became heavy with frost, the crystal patterns of a snowflake appearing on any exposed and watery surface. It had eerily blue eyes that flickered from a light, sky blue to sapphire by the second, rippling like water over a rock in a stream in a forest. As soon as these eyes rested on Iceland the branches on its head grew outward and the monster hissed, its huge mouth stretching wider by the second as it howled and screeched. Iceland's vision was shaken, but he saw the creature freeze over, becoming a solid ice sculpture. Except this seemingly intricate decoration moved by itself. He turned and began to sprint away from the monster, only to be confronted with the Trees from before.
The hairs on the back of Iceland's neck pricked again as coldness crept up his spine. It wasn't necessary for Iceland to turn around to know that the monster was directly behind him. Long, sturdy and terribly cold, wooden fingers curled around Iceland's arms, making him feel like he had just been plunged into a tub of ice water. In front of him images of Denmark flew by, memories of the Dane being brought out from the Icelander's mind and into the view of the world. He remembered the first time he had met Denmark. He had hated him because he didn't feel that Norway was safe pillaging with Denmark in the Viking era. Then when the Kalmar Union fell apart and Norway was ruled by Sweden, Denmark took Iceland "under his wing" and tried to raise him the best he could, but Iceland knew he needed Norway. He resented Denmark less than before, but there was still distrust between them. Iceland couldn't get over the fact that if it hadn't been for Denmark, Norway would still be with Iceland. Over time Iceland grew to tolerate Denmark, and when he finally gained independence he was tired of all the unions and confusion and care and being social activity and simply wanted to be alone, but such a concept was nearly impossible with the Nordics. Denmark had always made sure that Iceland was included in all of their activities and stupid games. While he had been annoyed beyond belief at the time, sadness overwhelmed him as he realized that Denmark might never be there to organize another yard picnic, meeting, pumpkin carving contest, pumpkin launching contest, race, hike, board game night or trip to the movie theatre. It was a painful reality, and he suddenly found himself wishing he could have enjoyed himself for at least one of the events.
The cold reached Iceland's bones, spreading through his veins until it reached his heart. The agony and grief that he experienced only increased by every second as his body became more and more frigid. The monster grabbed Iceland's other arm and picked him up, holding him out towards the sleeping form of Denmark. Iceland reached his hand out to the Danish nation, but the monster held him in a position far enough from Denmark that he couldn't reach him. The Dane opened his eyes and looked directly at Iceland's face before smiling and deteriorating. It started at the legs; the Dane began to dissolve into nothing, breaking and fading away slowly. He waved his hand at Iceland in a silent farewell as his fading became more rapid, grinning until his face was completely gone. The last to leave of Denmark was the tips of the fingers of his waving hand, flaking apart and drifting into oblivion in what seemed like a second.
The monster then opened its cavern of a mouth, held Iceland above its head and dropped Iceland inside of the gaping mouth. Iceland's eyes flew open as he snapped awake, and he immediately began crying. He felt that Norway's arms had wrapped around his torso, thus Iceland curled up against his brother's figure, returning the embrace desperately. He sobbed into Norway, and when the arms tightened around him and pulled him closer did Iceland know he had woken up the Norwegian. Norway's hand ran up and down Iceland's arm as he listened to Iceland's crying.
"Denmark?" Norway asked, his voice a mere whisper. Despite the quietness of the question, the sudden break of the night's silence made it seem as though the Norwegian had shouted the question. When Iceland nodded, Norway sighed. "Me too. We just have to be patient."
Iceland's body shook as his tears soaked Norway's sleeves and chest. Norway leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to Iceland's forehead. Iceland noticed that Norway smelled like purple heather, and knowing that it was Norway's national flower it didn't surprise Iceland at all. What did surprise him, however, was that he had never noticed this characteristic of Norway's before. The scent was comforting, and soon Iceland felt like the little toddler he had once been, the toddler that had curled up alongside Norway, wrapped in his arms and dreaming sweet dreams. He hadn't been in this position for a very long time, and therefore had forgotten how soothing the Norwegian's presence was. Neither of them went to sleep again that night. They huddled together and hummed old Viking tunes to one another, but both were terrified of what might happen if they fell asleep.
