Denmark could no longer read.
The words were too blurry, too distorted, for him to make out.
He closed the folder. It wouldn't do to get those documents wet; they were too important.
He wiped his eyes again; that did not stop the deluge.
He was glad (at least, the rational part of his mind was glad) that Norway had taken time to fill out these documents. That he'd set everything down, just in case.
Denmark knew how to carry on now.
It had been difficult, so difficult, going through the contents of Norway's desk, looking for that folder. The one that Norway had prepared, just in case.
Denmark hadn't expected to ever need it.
Those papers did several things Denmark hadn't expected from Norway: they made him the leader of Norway's army, they made him Normandy's legal guardian, and they charged him with looking after everyone else. Denmark didn't think that Norway had trusted him that much.
He didn't want those responsibilities.
Oh, he would take them upon himself, for Norway's sake. He would do everything to the best of his abilities, if not better.
But he would have preferred to watch Norway taking the helm, as he always had during the storms…
Someone knocked on the tent post.
Denmark wiped his eyes gain. "Come in."
A forlorn-looking Iceland entered the tent, leading an adorable three-year old with him.
"I heard about my brother."
"Who told you?"
"The Irelands. Do you think he's okay?"
Denmark sighed. "I don't know. We can hope, but…" Norway would not have parted with his hairpin if he was okay; Denmark did not want to voice this thought aloud.
"I'm sure he'll be fine. He's my brother, after all."
"Yeah. I'm sure he's okay." The lie slipped out easily. A fresh wave of guilt washed over Denmark. If it hadn't been for him…
The little girl let go of Iceland's hand and tottered over to Denmark. She lifted her arms up to him, silently demanding to be picked up.
He scooped her up, sighing. It was almost painful to look at her, she looked so much like her father…
Fresh tears stung his eyes.
"Why are you crying?" Her voice was beautiful, what Denmark imagined Norway's would have been, if he had been female.
"Because I'm sad, Sweetheart."
"But why? The fairies say that you should be happy."
Denmark sobbed, clutching the little girl to him. She hugged him back while he cried.
Finally, the tears let up.
"I'm sorry, Normandy," he said, giving her a fatherly kiss to the top of her head.
She looked confused. "It's okay, Uncle Denmark."
"No! No, call me…Dan, please."
"Okay, Dan-Dan. May I go out and play?"
"Of course, Sweetheart."
She slid off his lap and ran outside.
Denmark sighed as Normandy skipped away. She was both a reminder of Norway and a reminder that Norway would never be his again.
He stood up, took the folder, and left Norway's tent.