Norway and Iceland.

Sindre=Norway

Eírikur=Iceland

Magnus, Dan=Denmark

Prompt: Drive

The quiet, wonderful vastness of the ocean had a way of soothing Eírikur. It never changed, and it never left. It had always surrounded his own country in its protective embrace, and it surrounded the wake of his vision now, peacefully.

Being this high up, this close to the edge of the cliff, always made him feel wonderfully small, against the dull blue of the ocean, always churning, and blending into the grey of the overcast sky. Eírikur breathes in the sharp scent of the ocean, somehow cleansing to him.

The drive up had been mostly pleasant; they both liked having the windows rolled down, the cold sting of the wind numbing his skin, and the ruffle of the wind through his hair awakening a dull wonder that nature, however mundane, seemed to bring out in him.

Although Sindre drove the sharp turns with abandon, Eírikur's eyes closing as they approached each turn, his stomach churning; that wasn't pleasant. But Sindre always managed to get them there safely.

They never planned these little excursions. It just happened, when they both needed a few hours to escape; this time, it was from a stifling meeting, one they decided was worth skipping. It had been easy enough for Sindre to bribe Magnus into providing a distraction, letting them slip out, unnoticed.

It was, if anything, a shared ritual. They didn't always talk, allowing a silence that they didn't feel the need to change take over. Or they would talk about things that didn't quite matter; books, music, any little thought. Sindre's dry remarks about the other nations never failed to bring a laugh.

Yet it always made Eírikur melancholic, for a past that he knew, yet wasn't discussed, for reasons that were kept from him and the light of day. Something that he felt should change.

"Sindre?"

"Hmm?"

"Tell me a story."

"You haven't asked for one of those in a few centuries." Sindre wants to ask what changed, now, but he didn't dare risk it. Yet when he meets Eírikur's steady gaze, its apparent that he wouldn't be able to put him off, even if he wanted to. "What do you want to know?"

"Why did you leave?"

Sindre remains silent, for a moment; letting out a sigh that betrayed all his years finally letting Eírikur know that he had heard him, and it brought a tightness to his chest.

"If you're anything like me, I assume that you've read all about our history, as wrong as the accounts are."

Eírikur looks away, guilty. "I have. It didn't make sense. I mean, I want to know why you left the way you did."

"I guess that you do deserve an explanation."

"I'd rather hear the truth, than an explanation. Magnus already told me his side of it, so don't lie."

"He told you?" A hint of exasperation crept into Sindre's normally smooth voice. "When?"

"Duh," Eírikur says with a sarcastic roll of his eyes, a habit of his own that Sindre wished he had never let him pick up. "He told me, when you… Left. I wouldn't know a thing, otherwise. You seem to forget that I was older than a child, in those days, despite my appearance. I remember."

Sindre frowns, but he lets it go. It was not worth arguing about; he supposes that he should have told him some things, sooner. Although his own recollection of when he made him promise, right before he left, was still easy to recall, it could have slipped the Dane's memory; his mind hadn't been in a good state, at the time.

Then again, Magnus did have a way of going behind his back, though, when he thought he was doing the right thing. And he can accept that he could have handled it better, himself.

"I wasn't planning on lying, by the way." Sindre reminds Eírikur, finding it important to watch his expression.

"I know." Eírikur simply nods, his face simply passive.

Sindre's gaze turns back to rest on the ocean, and Eírikur takes it as a sign that he should do the same.

It was how Sindre preferred to tell a story; no distractions, no eye contact. Sindre had a way of captivating a listener without it.

A vase crashed against the wall in a shatter. Followed by a bottle, then a painting; anything that would loudly break, anything in an attempt to appease the roaring anger that drove Magnus into a drunken rage. It had been this way since the Treaty had been signed; they had been given a two day grace period. It was a short enough time to say goodbye, and Sindre had already said it to both of them, although Eírikur couldn't, or simply wouldn't, understand.

At first, Magnus had acted like he could withstand it. But now that the time was over, and it was finally happening... Magnus didn't know how to handle it.

Sindre doesn't stop him, simply watching, and letting him get it all out. Let him regret it in the morning. In his distraction, he missed the pair of violet eyes peeping from behind a door, witnessing everything.

Magnus finally stops, when there is almost nothing left to break, and he just seems tired. Of everything. He collapses into a chair that had managed to escape the path of his destruction, wracked with sobs that Sindre ignores, knowing he is causing them just as easily as he could take them away. It hadn't been Sindre's choice, not at all. But it wee easier to pretend that it wee. It hurt too much to think about how it really was.

Sindre had already let him known how he felt, and that was all he could have done, in his mind.

"Take care of him."

And those had been his final words to Magnus, for quite some time. He had left then, refusing to look back. He hadn't cried; he had always been the strong one. He wasn't going to let him see any weakness.

But that was the issue; Eírikur had never seen the weakness, either.

To him, it had just been cold.

"Does that help you understand?"

Eírikur nods, and Sindre places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Don't blame him. It hurt him more than anyone should have to endure, and not all of it was his fault."

"I know, I know… Will you tell me something else?"

Sindre shakes his head. "It's cold out."

"It's never bothered you before. Please, just answer one more question and we'll leave."

"Fine. What is it?"

"Well… I've never known how you found me. I remember some of it, but it doesn't always make sense. I guess it's bothered me. Not really knowing."

Sindre's shoulders relax. This was a memory that was easy to recall. Relive.

Sindre felt like he could finally breathe, when he was alone. Away from Denmark, Sweden, and Finland. As much as they meant to him, it felt like he had been stitched up tight around them. Yet when he was free from their influence, the way it was before they found him, it gave him back something he had lost along the way, something that made him feel whole again; independence. Solitude.

The sea, in all its glory, had always belonged to both him and Denmark, something that he knew Sweden would never truly understand. When that had been their preferred method of exploration, he had caught him getting sick in the night too many times to remember them all.

Despite his and Denmark's shared love of the sea, it was his own desire for the escape of the sea that led him to new land, and to a child, one who had been raised by the land, with wild hair and eyes that gleamed with fear.

Lost in thought, Sindre had nearly missed him, hidden amongst the bushes, were it not for the starkness of his hair against his pale skin, and the warning growl he gave when he tried to approach him.

But he knew not to force it, and make the same mistake Denmark had, when he and Sweden had found him. Denmark's careless attempt to capture him had earned him a broken wrist and a tiring chase thug lasted for a few days, finally ending when Sindre had finally grown hungry-and bored-enough to give in.

Sindre backed away, out if sight, then quickly scurrying up a nearby tree; if he walked past him, he could be down in seconds to grab him.

It was clear that the child didn't quite know what to do; he took a tentative step out, followed by another, until he was creeping along at a steady pace, completely unaware that he was about to walk right past him and into his capture.

"You were clever, and quick; but as soon as I had you, you weren't quite strong enough to break free, as much as you tried."

"I'm not weak-"

"I'm not insulting you. You were a child, then. A petulant one, at that."

"Well, what happened next?"

Sindre scoffs. "As if I could ever forget what happened next. I managed to bring you to what was our home, in those days. Dan had the misfortune of trying to hug you. You almost bit his finger off; he still has a scar from it, you know."

"You refused to eat for a week. I don't know if you remember, but Berwald is the one who finally managed to coax you out, although I believe it was Tino's idea. I seem to remember a trail of crumbs." Sindre finally breaks his gaze, dropping his chin down to look at his hands, tightly folded on his lap, as a small smile breaks out at the memory.

As soon as Eírikur had trusted them, he had allowed himself to be shy, instead of fierce. A shyness that had finally faded, the Dane's antics, his own methods more subdued, drawing him out.

"I hope you remember the rest." Although Sindre wouldn't say it, those were the years that always came to mind when he thought of happiness, and all it meant. He had been, in those years. Before it was lost, for reasons that he would never understand. Yet the memories always brought a certain bitter sweetness to his heart. "You had a certain fondness for Dan's stories, in those days. And his blatant exaggeration."

"Like yours were that much better."

"True. They were mostly lore. But mine were a part of my country, and my people. His stories were about his own brave exploits. False ones, at that."

"Well, I don't blame him. Stories are an escape from reality. He still told me them. Even after everyone left."

"I don't blame him, either."

"None of us should."

He rarely hugged him, but right now, it felt right to lean against his shoulder.

Eírikur had always desired independence. Something to call his own. But they had each left their marks, in their own ways. Every country that had come into contact with his, had tried to change him. Shape him into something new. Something that wasn't quite him. And now, he didn't always know what to do with it. What he should be. What he even meant.

But right now, there was one mark that didn't quite bother him.

Not anymore.

Eírikur reached out to grab Sindre's hand. He doesn't say it, knowing he'll understand the words he doesn't know how to say.

Thank you.