Warning: this is once again a filler chapter. It really only covers the history and context behind the Icelandic lullaby 'Sofðu unga ástin mín', which I recently looked up and decided it would be interesting to include in this story, plus thouroughly disturb the Wizards, which is alway a plus. It also addresses the absence of licorice in the entire fanfic, and shows Ice getting drunk with Denmark, which I thought was amusing. I just thought I would upload a small little chapter for those celebrating the holidays this week.
Iceland was sitting calmly in the kitchen, the only sound in the cavernous room being the scratching of his pen as it danced its way across the paper in front of him. The petit boy barely even reacted when the kitchen door bursted open, an angry Denmark storming through and ripped open the pantry to grab a couple bottles of Fire Whiskey, and then continued to throw himself onto the chair next to Iceland with a loud thunk.
"Fire Whiskey. That bad, huh? What happened this time?"
"The asshole moved Harry's court meeting to start half an hour after our appointment was scheduled, and didn't even show up, so I waited through that after reminding him that I have the power to impeach him for irresponsible behavior, and then he made another meeting right after that so I just came back here after handing him the statement you drafted," the Lego enthusiast groused, reaching blindly for his bottle of whiskey and popped it open with his thumb, taking a large swig. Iceland returned to his writings as the Dane wallowed in his own misery.
"What was the conclusion to the case?"
"Cleared of all charges." A comfortable silence lasted for a few minutes between the brothers, Denmark continuing to down the magical alcohol. "What did you even say in that letter, anyways?"
"I told him that if the British Ministry continues to have this bad of judgement, then the Scandinavian Magical Government and it's subdivisions will report them to the International Wizards Confederation, where the British Ministry will be taken down and nearby countries will help run it as the IWC restructures to system. In other words, it would throw Fudge out of power," Iceland said as paused to bite one of the jelly rolls that Mrs. Weasley had given him for breakfast, as she had quickly realized neither of the Nordics were very accustomed to traditional British 'cuisine' (if you could even call it that). Denmark whistled.
"I knew I raised you right kid," Denmark said, starting to look more relaxed as he moved to the next bottle of Fire Whiskey, tossing the one he had just drained dry over his shoulder where it landed with a resounding crash, telling Iceland very clearly that the glass bottle had shattered. He made a mental note to clean that up later. The Dane gulped down more of the alcohol, slamming the bottle back down onto the table. Glancing at the wooden furnishing, Iceland was fairly sure that Denmark had cracked the table. "You know, getting your death threats in a row. You-you're my little Viking, Icey," the Dane said, ruffling the boy's hair. Iceland whacked his hand away.
"Stop it Denmark. You're drunk, and I made a political threat, not a death one." Denmark looked up at the ceiling, taking another large gulp of Fire Whiskey as he visibly became more intoxicated.
"Oh. Well, politics are overrated anyways." The Dane looked at the Icelander, blinking at the lithe boy. "Diplomacy is something the beaurocrats use to make the peasants think they actually give a fuck about what happens to other people when in actuality everybody just wants to commit fratricide or homicide or whatever the fuck people call it nowadays. We all hate each other, even though there's no purpose in anything," Denmark took one more swig at the end of this sentence, looking into the bottle to see if any of the alcohol was left, before tossing it over his shoulder to join it's predecessor before reaching for the next. "Nobody exits on purpose. Nobody belongs anywhere." Iceland raised an eyebrow at the obviously drunk Dane before sighing and standing up and heading to the kitchen to grab a glass of water. "Everybody's gonna die," Iceland could hear his half-brother's voice fading slightly as he entered the kitchen a couple of meters away. "Drink with me?" Iceland looked over to the Dane, whom he could see Denmark looking at him hopefully as he held out a bottle of the Fire Whiskey. Iceland sighed before walking back. Back in Denmark (the land, not the personification), the Dane had taken him drinking all the time, so what was the difference? Besides, Denmark was right, life was sort of pointless, might as well enjoy it while it lasts, right?
Denmark had Apparated to the grimy old house ahead of Mr. Weasley and Harry, so it was about an hour later when people came bustling into the kitchen for lunch, the first being Sirius who just laughed at the obviously drunk brothers, who were holding a slurred conversation in somewhat broken English, with random words in Icelandic, Danish, and Polish from the small albino boy, and Danish, German and Swedish from the Viking thrown in at random points, making the whole conversation sound rather... interesting, if you will. Mrs. Weasley took away the Dane's alcohol, and smacked Denmark over the head, causing the drunk nation's head to slam into the table in front of him, his failing motor skills allowing the assault to impact the Dane more than it should. Iceland giggled hysterically, before Mrs. Weasley snatched the bottle of Fire Whiskey away from the boy, causing a long 'Noooooooo,' to come from the despairing Icelander. The two passed out shortly after, the occupants of the room deciding it was in their best interests to leave the intoxicated foreigners alone, having seen what the Dane could do with an axe.
The next day, Denmark and Iceland were very tempted to bail on the whole 'get Iceland a magical education' operation, Mrs. Weasley deciding to lecture Denmark about being a responsible brother, and Iceland on having better judgement. Both heads were whacked when they brought up the point that drinking at age fifteen was completely legal in Denmark, as long as the Icelandic boy had a guardian (generally the Danish personification, as Norway, Sweden, and Finland believed that Iceland should wait until he was physically eighteen before taking the boy to a bar, despite the fact that they had all allowed him to have mead with them back in the Viking and Middle Ages) with him.
Denmark went home later that same day, hugging goodbye to Iceland before disappearing with a loud crack.
Over the next few days, Iceland mostly kept to himself, continuing to study the books he had abandoned a week prior, having been distracted by Denmark's visit. He was also going into severe licorice withdrawal, and he was pretty sure the others had started to notice, especially Mrs. Weasley, whom had been finding excuses to be in same general vicinity as Iceland since the drinking incident with Denmark. The woman had fussed over him once he woke up with a hangover, leaving Denmark to fend for himself, making sure the others left him alone until he was better. It made Iceland slightly uncomfortable, not used to someone taking care of him whenever he had a hangover, since the other Nordics firmly believed in dealing with the consequences of drinking on your own. Plus, neither Iceland nor Denmark wanted Norway to find out that the Dane took the small boy drinking. Iceland had almost laughed when Mrs. Weasels was ranting at the brothers about how it was such a bad decision to drink as much alcohol as the two had. The woman had obviously never visited Iceland on New Years Eve.
Anyways, back to the licorice withdrawal. Iceland had no idea it was possible to go into withdrawal for a candy, but considering how much the Icelander ate it, it should have been no surprise, especially if you also consider how the boy had eaten so much of it quite regularly for so long. The words on the book in front of him ('A History of Magic' he thought, when it should really be called 'Magical History of Great Britain' considering it didn't really ever cover anywhere else) danced across the page, jumbling together and Iceland could tell he was no longer very coherent. Quietly closing the book, the albino picked it up with two hands and suddenly slammed himself in the head with it, the surprising jolt disturbing Mr. Puffin, who had been resting on the boy's shoulder, a startled squeak coming from his bright orange beak. Everything cleared for a few seconds before it continued to blur. Giving up on reading, Iceland just put the book down and laid down on the coach, deciding some rest would him some good; Mr. Puffin resettled on his stomach. This lasted a few seconds before he felt a familiar pull in conscious.
"Fly over to Iceland and get some licorice from the house, will you? I'll let you have some," the boy said tiredly, almost smiling when he felt the the weight of the small bird disappear from his abdomen. Key word there was almost.
"Thought ya'd never ask!" The puffin screeched before fly out the window. Iceland just sighed at his bird. He didn't even know how the creature talked in the first place, much less how he did so like a mafioso. Iceland started to drift away as the fluttering of Mr. Puffin's wings faded away, his comprehension of the world around him disappearing with it.
Iceland awoke to someone shaking him and calling his name.
"Farðu í burtu Finnland," Iceland said sleepily, whacking the hand away and turning over, his other arm reaching for a duvet that wasn't there.
"Come on, Emil! Wake up!" Iceland opened an eye to look at the blurred figure, whom he couldn't place straight away. Then, he suddenly realized something, shooting up from the couch.
"Bíddu, hvað í fjandanum ertu að gera í húsinu mínu?!" the boy blurted before he took in his surroundings. He turned as red one of Spain's tomatoes, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head as his posture relaxed, looking up at Hermione. "Sorry, that doesn't usually happen."
"No, no, it's quite alright," Hermione said, helping Iceland off of the couch. "I just came up to tell you that dinner was ready." Iceland hummed in affirmation.
"Has Mr. Puffin gotten back yet?"
"Is that what your bird's name is?" Iceland's cheeks flared up once more, looking away as he rushed out of the room, Hermione following close behind.
"I got him when I was three," decades. "It's a better name than Tino would have given him, anyways."
"What do you mean by that, Emil?"
"He and Berwald got a puppy a few years back. Tino named him Hantamago." Hermione giggled behind her hand. "I don't know where that Finn gets his names from, because at least for mine I have an excuse." Hermione smiled as they reached the bottom of the last flight of stairs.
"Well, to answer your earlier question, no, he's not back yet, as far as I know."
"Oh, alright. Takk." The bushy haired girl looked thoughtful as Iceland said this.
"I've been wondering this for a while, but what exactly does takk mean?"
"Hm? Oh, it's Icelandic and Norwegian for thanks. Danish, if you remove one of the k's. In Swedish it's tack, and for Finnish it's kiitos." Iceland answered as they turned into the kitchen, grabbing a bowl of the delicious stew Mrs. Weasley made every night. The duo took the last two chairs at the table as they continued their conversation, across from Harry and Ron.
"Those are the Nordic states, right?"
"Mm-hm," Iceland responded through a mouthful of stew.
"Why does Finnish sound so different from the other two, though?"
"All the Nordic states speak Northern-Germanic languages except for the Finnish, who speak a Finno-Ugric language instead. They don't sound nearly as aggressive."
"How so?"
"Take saying 'good day', for example. In Icelandic, it's 'góðan dag,' in Danish, Norwegian and Swedish it's 'god dag'."
"I see what you mean by aggressive."
"Yup. But in Finnish you say 'hyvää päivää,'" Iceland said, imitating Finland's endless cheer. Hermione burst out laughing, drawing the attention of both Harry and Ron. Iceland repeated the statement with the same cheer to the two, who found it just as amusing even if they didn't understand what Iceland and Hermione had just been talking about. Soon every body had caught on, and then all of the teens around the table were asking Iceland to say things in different Nordic tongues, mainly Icelandic after he explained how close it was to being the tongue of the Vikings. They found the way Iceland rolled his r's and pronounced many vowels and consonants hilarious, and his Icelandic accent in his English was suddenly a laughing stock too, as they had finally noticed the weird way he would pronounce many of the words, sometimes not pronouncing the vowels anywhere near correct at all. This was what kept them not-bored the whole evening since Tonks was out on Ministry business and couldn't entertain them endlessly with her nose. The adults just chuckled and returned to their conversations. Eventually they ran out of phrases and just asked him to sing a random lullaby, and Iceland obliged, praying to the lord that this was the last one.
"Sofðu unga ástin mín
Úti regnið grætur
Mamma geymir gullin þín
Gamla leggi og völuskrín
Við skulum ekki vaka um dimmar nætur
það er margt sem myrkrið veit
minn er hugur þungur.
Oft ég svarta sandinn leit
svíða grænan engireit.
Í jöklinum hljóða dauðadjúpar sprungur.
Sofðu lengi, sofðu rótt,
seint mun best að vakna.
Mæðan kenna mun þér fljótt,
meðan hallar degi skjótt,
að mennirnir elska, missa,
gráta og sakna." Everybody, including the adults who had stopped to listen to the tiring yet smooth and quiet voice of the Icelander, clapped politely when he finished.
"What is that one about, Emil?" To the albino's surprise, it was not Hermione who had asked a question this time, but Harry, the black-haired boy he had yelled at when the boy had arrived and hadn't really talked to since. Iceland looked up at the ceiling in thought, resting his head on his hand.
"Hmm... It was written by an Icelandic poet, Jóhann Sigurjónsson for his play about the most famous Icelandic outlaws, Fjalla-Eyvindur and his wife Halla., who lived in Iceland's highlands in the eighteenth century."
"Who?"
"Forget it. Moving on, Halla sang this song to her baby before she threw it into a waterfall so she could follow her husband on his run from the authorities."
"WHAT?!" was the resounding yell from around the table. Everybody looked horrified. "People in you country actually sing that to their children?" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, looking rather distressed.
"Yup. It's the most beautiful, but probably the most terrifying. In this song, sleeping refers to dying." Most everybody looked green, disgusted with themselves that they had been so entranced and comforted by such a dark song. "As for Halla and Fjalla-Eyvindur... killing own newborn is horrifying, or course. But sometimes, in the harsh reality of Iceland's past, parents had no other choice. There were already too many mouths to feed and every other child was dying of hunger or disease anyway. Or it could be that the mother was not married and would have to face horrible punishment if her guilt of pre-martial sex were brought to light - although the child's father would be let off the hook, naturally - and a fate worse than death could be awaiting the child. It would often be taken away from the mother and become a pauper, and be sent to a farm, often as some kind of slave. It would have to work harder than anybody else, surviving off of scraps from the table an be subjected to bullying and beatings."
"The practice of bera út, abandoning a child in nature to die of exposure, was so important to Icelanders that it was one of the three exceptions they were granted when the nation converted to Christianity in one thousand AD. The other two exceptions were eating horse meat - which you'll still find in the grocer's meat case - and ritual scarification carried out in secret."
"Scarification?" Ron asked, looking ready to puke.
"Scratching, etching, burning or branding designs, words, or pictures into the skin as a permanent body modification," Hermione answered, looking rather sick herself. "It's supposed to cause excruciating pain, it's barbaric." Iceland continued as if he hadn't heard them.
So, even though Icelandic lullabies are creepy, they are also an important testimony to the past. As long as today's children won't be too scared to fall asleep, the rhymes should lull them into slumber." Iceland finished, closing his eyes to avoid the horrified looks for around the table.
"Hold on, you said lullabies, that's plural!" Hermione pointed out, causing Iceland to sigh.
"All of our lullabies are creepy, we live with only fours hours of sunlight for a solid two months of the year and for two on the other side we have to work with twenty, making it rather hard to sleep. Do you think we have the inspiration for happy lullabies?" Iceland deadpanned. The boy was about to get up when there was a sudden squeaking and Mr. Puffin flew in, probably having come back into the house through the still open window in the Black family library. The bird dropped three bags of black licorice wheels into Iceland's lap, who brightened up immediately and ripped open one of the bags, taking a bite out of the wheel instead of unrolling it like boring normal people do. The albino then proceeded to hold one above his head for Mr. Puffin to grab. As Iceland finished the wheel, he pushed his chair back and stood up, exiting the room to go upstairs. His voice could be heard by the still shocked residents of the house a few seconds later, floating into the dining room from the stairs.
"Sweet dreams."
Farðu í burtu Finnland - Go away Finland
Bíddu, hvað í fjandanum ertu að gera í húsinu mínu?! - Wait, what the hell are you doing inside of my house?!
For the lullaby, you can find the lyrics very easily online.
And there is chapter six, another filler and I am so sorry about another having another filler up already. Next chapter I plan to have the trio question Iceland about Denmark and why the hell someone so young holds so much power over the British minister of magic and things like that. Anywho, happy holidays, and merry Christmas to the people who are celebrating this when I upload it to the world (Sorry Australia and New Zealand, didn't mean to forget :(), considering it is one hour into December twenty fith at my Grandmothers house in California. I stayed up to get this out so the it would be in time for Holidays taking place around this time of year, specifically Hanukah and Christmas, which I know (in America at least) are currently taking place.
Anyways, the reason this chapter is so short is because: a. I didn't really know what to write, plus I left Hary Potter and the Order of the Phoenix at home, so I don't have anything in there to go off of and b. I spent much more time than I should have playing trivia crack. I was sitting in the same position for house on my grandmothers couch going 'u little shit how dare u be smarter than me how dare you. *chokes back tears* wanna fight'... So maybe I got a little too into it. Anyways, I have planned several events to occur across the course of this fanfiction, including what I am going to do for Iceland's Christmas break and the majority of October though it may work better to change stuff to make things happen in November and before you ask yes I am being vague on purpose. If there are any errors, please let me know since I typed almost this whole chapter on a mobile device.
Happy Holidays and until next time!