This story has five followers. It hasn't been updated since I was in middle school. I graduated, class of 2020. To you- I see you. This is for you.

I drew up plans for every character in an old, school-managed document. As I've graduated, my school managed account has been deleted, and with it, every single document I ever wrote. I am laying this story to rest on my old favorite characters, the only two I remember the pasts for, and the only two characters I still hold a fondness for, even after all these years.

Emaya never wanted anything to do with this. She'd moved to the peaceful little fishing village for exactly what they had offered- peace. A bastion of hope for her, her small, toddling son, and the newborn clutched desperately to her chest. She'd moved away from all of this Viking nonsense, the pillaging and looting, the way of life that had simply proved to be too rugged for her. Emaya had finally gotten out, and away from the tribe she was connected to- and in her rush to leave, she had failed to realize leaving the tribe cost her one, precious thing.

She shivered as she drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders, holding little Emil ever closer to her body and she pulled her Lukas along through the blistering snowstorm. A mother's duty is to her children, the little voice in her head screamed, making sure Lukas couldn't see the burning village behind her, and praying he couldn't hear the shrieks of the women and children they had known for months. The screams of men not prepared for this type of battle, trying to avenge and save. With luck, he wouldn't hear. Without, he wouldn't remember as he grew older. She shuffled them through the snow faster, deeper into the wooded depths of the nearby forest, praying to Thor, Odin, Frigg, whoever would listen to grant them safe passage, safety, anywhere away from this carnage.

Her Lukas seemed increasingly on edge, and she could see him gripping the tiny rune on his necklace for all he was worth. Algiz, etched into the charred, blackened wood, a prayer in a necklace for protection. His small hand held tight to her skirts, heavy laden with snow, and she in turn kept a guiding hand on his shoulder, pushing his small body ever farther from the death and destruction that had befallen their home. A branch broke, some far distance behind them, and fear gripped her heart. Lukas had his protective charm, but Emaya had forgotten to grab hers, so absorbed in the desperate haste to grab Emil, grab Lukas, and run. A gleeful shout, and there were several snapping branches echoing in the shadowed woods, as more cheering whoops rallied around the first invader's shout, and oh Gods how was she supposed to-

She pushed Emil into his brother's arms, wrapping her shawl around them both and pushing them into the cradle of a particularly big spruce's roots. "Stay here," Emaya whispered. "Stay here, stay warm, stay safe, watch out for your brother. I'll come back for you, okay? It'll all be okay, darling." Lukas blinked at her, confused and scared, and still ever quiet. Emil slept blissfully on as the crashing footfalls of foreign invaders drew closer, and Emaya pressed a trembling kiss to her eldest son's head. "I love you, Lukas, my little snowdrop, I love you." She took one last final moment to push him down, down into the shelter of the tree, before turning, and running.

Lukas watched with big purple eyes as his mother disappeared into the white-grey blowing mess, quickly followed by- the only thing he could supply was big. Big people, chasing, searching, hunting, the same way a wolf would chase a deer. He tugged her shawl tighter around himself, turning his back to the wind and cradling Emil as much as he could. His little brother wrapped a tiny fist around Lukas's finger, and he stayed. That's what Mother told him to do. He stayed awake, he stayed with Emil, he kept himself safe, and he stayed. He stayed until the whirling snows stopped, until the flurries fluttered gently to rest, until the snow gleamed ever so bright in the sun's frigid rays. Until his stomach growled painfully hungry and Emil had started to whimper pitifully. He stayed until he couldn't any longer, when the need for food won out over his mother's decree, the need to protect his baby brother rattled in his bones in the same way the wind would shake their windows at night.

And then he walked. He walked even as the brightness of the snow turned from hurt to burn, as black spots began to dance in his vision, as Emil began to cry. Walking through drifts of snow to his waist, as his eyes burned and itched terribly. He walked, he bumped into the harsh bark of the mighty spruce trees, he cried out with his brother, desperate calls for his mother, for his neighbors, for anyone. His nose caught acrid smoke, and he tried to turn, but couldn't find anything. He couldn't see anything. His eyes burned. They hurt so much, and he squeezed Emil in a hug to stop himself from crying. It hurt so much, he wanted his mom.

Walking was all he could keep doing. Hunger had begun to claw like little knives of ice inside of his stomach, and Emil was hiccupping sad little cries, and he couldn't see, and he just wanted his mom. His feet were cold and his legs were sore and he was tired and his arms were shaking with how heavy Emil was beginning to feel and why couldn't he see anything? The world stretched before him as an endless patch of white and white alone, no matter which way he looked. A branch caught him in the face, its evergreen leaves oh so sharp, and he felt it scratch, heart Emil let out a few weak cries as the branch stung his reaching little fist, and why couldn't Lukas see? His eyes burned, hot and itchy and painful, and he couldn't see and Emil wouldn't stop fussing and he wanted mom and he wanted to go home and he wanted all of this to be over already!

Stumbling onwards, in circles for all he knew, Lukas went face first into another low hanging branch. Emil had finally quieted down, but something told him it wasn't the good quiet, when his baby brother was happy and warm and content, but that this was a Bad quiet, where something was wrong, but he just didn't know what. He crouched below the limb, feeling its sharp pines stab into his forehead and poke at his scalp through his hat, and continued until he bumped- gently- into the sturdy trunk of the tree. Gingerly feeling around with his foot for any stray roots, Lukas crouched down, clutching Emil close and rocking him gently. The shawl was near frozen solid with the snow caking its entirety, snow melted from body heat and refrozen to ice. He didn't think he needed it, really, he felt... He felt so warm.

Pleasantly so, like warm baked bread after playing in the snow with the other kids. Like a hug from his mother when he'd had a bad dream, like the fuzziness of pride flaring in his chest when he showed their elderly neighbor how high he could count and she clapped for him, all wizened bones and wheezing laughter. His heart and stomach panged, he wondered where Miss Kay was. He wondered where his mom was- surely she would've gone back to the first tree (how far away had he gone-) and if she hadn't found them surely she would've started shouting for them (he never heard anything-) and if she hadn't found them she certainly would've called the rest of the village to get out and help (was that the smoke he had smelled? Was everyone okay?)

Emil made a quiet, plaintive noise from where he was wrapped in the shawl, and Lukas shushed him gently. Mother had said to be quiet. Surely he could keep doing that, at least.

Like the catch of flame to the festival bonfires, though, his mind produced an idea- if he was starting to feel warm, Emil must surely be sweltering inside the shawl and his thick baby clothes. Lukas was a good big brother, everyone always told him so- maybe Emil would be happier if he wasn't so hot?

With shaking, fumbling hands (numb, he'd forgotten his mittens, Auntie would laugh at him) he felt around for the buttons on Emil's wooly overcoat, stubbornly keeping his eyes closed hard against the blinding white and the terrible itch to them. Emil's little fist gripped around one of his fingers, weakly, and Lukas felt shame in his heart. How could he be a good big brother, letting his little baby brother boil in such hot clothing? In such hot weather? He felt toasty already, maybe spring was finally coming back. (That's not how seasons work, a tiny voice chimed, it's february, it's still cold)

Lukas laid the shawl on the ground, gently setting Emil down on it before taking off his own coat and thick pants. It was so hot. Uncomfortably so. Emil was still so quiet, well behaved as always. He fumbled around again, feeling for the arm or leg or anything of his baby brother, bare hand brushing up against something soft, and startlingly frigid against his burning, burning hands. He felt around more, feeling fabric, and bundled Emil into his arms again. Carefully, carefully, cradling Emil's head gently the way his mom always told him to, he held Emil to his chest. He was so hot. He felt like he was sweating, he just wanted to take a nap. Emil had certainly fallen asleep- his hair, soft and baby thin, had tickled his chin as he shifted in Emil's grip. (A nagging voice in his head said Emil as cold, far too cold, and still, and quiet, and- he stomped the thoughts without hesitation.)

His eyes, despite being closed, felt so tired. So heavy. The weight of Emil in his arms was nearly too much, too heavy, but he refused to let his brother fall to the ground. Leaning against the rough wood of the tree's bark, Lukas let his body relax. Curled around the precious, precious bundle of baby brother in his arms. His mom would find them. There's no way she wouldn't. He could take a nap. A short one, the way he used to have fits about after lunch, but he was just so very tired. Just a short nap. Just for a little-

Norway/Lukas, Iceland/Emil: Prolonged exposure to the elements, left by their mother after a Viking raid on their village.

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[A/N] and there you go. Laying to rest three years of my life, seven years of "haven't uploaded" regret, and this story as a whole. This chapter makes up just shy of 55% of the entire goddamn fic, at 1.6k words. Enough for my currently-preferred oneshot standards. Also I'm rereading all three chapters and apparently even after all this time I think it's easier to end death with a nap over anything else lmaoo

I would like to state for the record that i was 13 the year that i started. Guys i'm fucking 20 now i can drink alcohol legally next year. What the fuck.