"Well, what do you think?"
"I think it's terrifying! Are you sure we're not in Hell?"
Sister Iceland was trying to find a crack in the floor of the Muspelheim temple, while Faroe Islands clutched at the crucifix in his pocket. "C'mon, it's gotta be around here somewhere," she grumbled, occasionally stomping here and there, trying to force some liquid fire out. "Why are you doing that?" Faroes asked angrily. "You're just going to attract the attention of whatever the heck lives here!"
"First off, the beings that live here are eldjötnar, or fire giants. They are hundreds of times larger than you or I. We are perfectly safe. Second off…" She drifted off as she felt a jet of hot air being breathed on her. Turning around, she came face-to-face with an eldjötunn, who was looking around. "Okay, Faroes, we're going to stay right where we are," she whispered. "With luck, the jötunn won't notice us." Unfortunately, the jötunn did notice them, and started to advance on them. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, SHIT!" she yelled. "Run, dammit!" And run they did. Faster than they ever had in their lives. The eldjötunn roared, and suddenly a river of lava was rushing towards them at the speed of a freight train. "Oh mother of Jesus, I don't wanna die!" Faroes wailed. "Shut up and you won't!" Sister Iceland yelled. "Hang on!" She grabbed his hand. "And LEAP!" They jumped and materialized in front of an otherwise peaceful Hekla. "What- the- but it's- I don't-" Faroes blurted. Sister Iceland silenced him with a finger to his lips. "The point is, we're safe by a sheer miracle. And we also accomplished our mission!" She pulled out the metal Mason jar. It was warm to the touch, filled with magma. Faroes smiled contentedly. "Next time, though, can you try to tell me when we're going to realms inhabited by fire demons?" he asked. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind," Sister Iceland commented. "We have to go send this."
"And just how does one send packages to the Underworld?" Faroes asked skeptically. "Is there a postal service between realms?"
"Nah," she said. "Just a shrine."
Forty-five minutes later, Faroes sat outside of the temple, awkwardly twiddling his thumbs, when Sister Iceland came out. "Good news!" she said happily. "Our offering has been accepted! We're halfway done with our mission!" Faroes breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, good," he said. "We get to relax now, right?"
"We'll see," she said. "But for now, yes."
"Oh, good."
They walked in contented silence for a few meters, and then Sister Iceland couldn't hold it back anymore. She turned to Faroes, spun him around to face her, and said one word with all of the power and authority she could muster: "Spill."
That was all she needed to say. He told her everything.
After he was done, she said in a very quiet voice, "We need to get you to a counseling session. Now."
"Well? How did it go?" asked Sjöfin.
"It went surprisingly well," Iceland reported. "We brokered a new treaty."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. Since you're here and under Asgard's protection, any violence against you or I will result in an ass-whooping from a god much bigger than you or I."
"How… manly of you," she purred.
"Sjöfin, you come into my camp, you start laying yourself all over me, you're a literally playing with my demons. You're trying to seduce me, aren't you?" Iceland asked.
"Why don't you allow yourself to be seduced, so you can find out?" she said, throwing a pose.
"Haha. Nice try," he flatlined. "Why don't you help me strengthen these defenses, just in case we get a surprise?"
"I'll help you strengthen your bonds," she cajoled.
"Stop it."
"Fine," she muttered. "Killjoy."
"Yeah, yeah," he said. "Help me out here, will you?"
"You know," she said, lifting heavy wooden spikes, "I think that you're a fun-loving sort back wherever home is."
"And what makes you say that?" he grunted, digging the stakes into the ground.
"I dunno. It's just that nobody's this moody on purpose."
Iceland halted. "Am I really that bad?"
She looked at him with worry and gave a nod. "I've never seen someone so resistant to love and affection." Iceland laughed. "I'm usually that way, to be honest." She raised a furtive eyebrow. "Well, we're going to change that."
"Oh?"
"Oh, yes. Sit your butt down, mister." Iceland did as he was told. "Now, you're going to answer
these questions truthfully and straightforwardly. Have you ever gone on a date?" He shook his head. "Have you ever been romantically involved with anyone? Hugging, kissing, etc.?" Another shake. "Held hands?" Nope. "Anything?" The socially isolated Iceland proved to frustrate Sjöfin at every turn. "Wow, you're frozen," she remarked. "I'll have to be your teacher. Teach you how to love somebody." Iceland gave her a worried expression, which she dismissed. "It's not that hard, don't worry about it," she said reassuringly. "Just relax in the comfort of that knowledge. And if you can't relax, I could always knock you out. Then you would," she joked. Iceland just backed away slowly.
Later that day, Iceland was sitting atop the island's highest point, which had commanding views of the oil-like sea surrounding the place for eternity. He was trying to get away and collect his thoughts, which were plentiful and unorganized.
Obviously, the biggest and most prominent concern in his mind was Sjöfin. She was clearly smitten with him. Either that, or she was playing with his mind something awful. Either way, he definitely did not return the feeling. She was too aggressive and straightforward in her manner, and didn't make him feel comfortable. Now, the obvious problem here was telling her that, which Iceland felt that he couldn't do; she was too young and fragile. Doing so would probably destroy her. Then again, he thought, she's a goddess. Although she looks young, she's probably older than anyone I know. He resolved to be frank about his feelings; he had never been terribly good at hiding them, and he wasn't a really emotional person.
And speak of the devil…
With an impressive grunt, Sjöfin's blonde head appeared over the edge. "What, you thought I was incapable of hiking several kilometers through the wilderness, and climbing a mountain?" she chastised. "Wow, you really do think little of me." He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Taking that as a sign of him not caring, she plopped right next to him.
"Well, what's on your mind?" she asked.
You know how he had promised himself not to explode, that he was going to conduct a calm and orderly discussion?
Yeah, no. That all went out the window.
"You know what? A lot is. For one thing: you keep telling me that I don't know how to love. Well, you don't, either! You are all about physical love, not true love!" he said furiously. She didn't respond, instead raising an eyebrow. He went on. "And that's why I have such a resistance to dating and the like. It's not because I'm not a touchy-feely kind of guy. It's because I'm disgusted by people who treat love like a physical item that can be discarded with once it grows old. What a self-centered and materialistic ideal! I prefer to enjoy the natural bonding, rather than the pomp in weddings and 'oh-em-gee, we're in, like, a relationship' crap. I prefer authenticity, love as pure and authentic as my hákarl. In other words, you're not my type. You don't attract me with all of this lavish adoration." He finished, and buried his face in his hands. "I just miss my friends. Every day here is another 4 days on Midgard. I've been gone now over 6 months. I'm beginning to lose hope, Sjöfin."
She sat there, thoughtful, and said, "Iceland, I'm a love goddess. I can adapt my approach if need be. All you needed to do was ask. I love you because of that tenacity and passion you just displayed to me not more than five minutes ago. I love you because you're Iceland, and you will always be Iceland to me. Don't ever change that." She smiled wickedly. "And I don't love you because you're a gorgeous man, although it certainly is a side benefit." And with that, she grabbed him by his neck and squeezed him so hard he thought that he was going to burst.
"Okay, Sjöfin, I get the message," he groaned. She released him, and he gasped for air.
"You wanna know a secret?" she asked. He shrugged.
"Okay, here's the thing: the time constraint only applies to the captive of the island, in this case, Fenrir. It does not, however, apply to you. So you know how long you've been here compared to the time you've been gone on Midgard? The exact same amount of time."
Iceland's eyes went wide, locking onto hers. Than, he went giddy with joy. "That's exactly what I needed to hear!" he exclaimed, jumping up so suddenly that Sjöfin nearly got knocked off of the mountain. "Now I don't have to worry!"
Sjöfin smiled. "And we can take all the time we want, right?"
Iceland smiled back. "Yep. We have a bit to wait."
And they went down the mountain, but this time, it was hand-in-hand.
Sweden was awakened brutally from his nap by a loud pounding at the door. It opened to reveal Newfoundland; he was soaked. "Brought ye some food," he said, producing a cooler. Sweden opened it to reveal white bread, fresh salmon, and several snack items. "I know is' naw'much, but there just innit that much 'round these harbors to begin wit'." Despite the obvious lack of nutrition, Sweden was famished and tucked in greedily. Newfoundland left, promising better care in St. John's, which he pronounced as "Sin Jinn's". His visitor thanked him.
Sweden perused over a map of the area. Despite the map being from when the area was not yet part of Canada (a belief that was carried on with an almost disturbing amount of enthusiasm in the region to the present day), it wasn't very different to the maps of the area now. He saw St. John's (which, for some reason, was not St. John), a modest town that served as the province's capital. On the other side of the island, there was Corner Brook, which appeared to be the second-largest town on the island despite it looking depressingly small. And there, on the northernmost reach of the island, was a settlement marked by a pinpoint dot and a name calligraphed in at the last second: L'Anse aux Meadows. Sweden checked the map's publication year, and knew that the Norse site would not have been discovered; that would have to wait until the 1960s. But he found it, located in a desolate reach that would prove to probably be one of the more arduous journeys he had undertaken thus far. L'Anse aux Meadows, if he remembered Norway's story right, was (and is) a tiny fishing hamlet, much like the fishing village he was in now. Only difference was instead of a cliff, it was sandwiched between the Atlantic Ocean a mysterious series of mounds.
He decided to call Sister Denmark again.
"Well, here's the deal," she said. He knew that tone. It was the "something's happened and I want you to calm down" tone.
"What happened, Denmark?" he asked wearily.
"Why do you always accuse me of doing something?" she questioned, sounding hurt. "I was calling to tell you that Faroes and Sister Iceland have returned with flame from Muspelheim."
"That's fantastic!" Sweden exclaimed. "So, how you guys handling the next step?"
"That's the problem," Sister Denmark said testily. "We don't know what the next step is. Hel never gave us a definite step-by-step guide."
"Did you think of, oh, I don't know, asking her?!" Sweden discharged. "You have in your presence a comm link with the goddess herself! Why don't you get Sister Iceland to do it?"
Sister Denmark said, "Because she and your sister are in a therapy session with Faroe Islands."
Sweden was very confused. "Wait, what happened with Faroes?"
"I don't know what, but Iceland sounded very distressed."
He sighed. "Faroes is always in a knot about something. Are you sure that it can't wait?"
"Your sister said that she would whip me, and not in the fun way, if I overheard a single word."
Sweden knew better than to question his sister's judgement. She was very intelligent and knew what she was doing.
When he got off the phone, he sat on his bed and wondered what was going to happen, and what was happening at home.
About two hours earlier…
"Can you tell us what you told Iceland?" Sister Sweden asked Faroe Islands. He looked at her with an expression combining fear and deep-seated loathing.
"It's okay," she said. "We're friends. We aren't going to do anything you're uncomfortable with. If I ever do or say something you're uncomfortable with, feel free to say so. Nothing said in this room leaves without your permission. Iceland, can you seal the doors and windows?" She nodded and used demons to do the task.
"Have we properly threatened Denmark if she overhears?" Sister Sweden asked. Sister Iceland replied in the affirmative.
"In that case, let's begin," Sister Sweden said. "Faroes, tell me everything."
He started off cautiously. "Well, it all began about three years ago. Denmark got drunk."
"Not to be tactless, Faroes, but that's not exactly news," Sister Sweden said.
"It gets to be soon," Sister Iceland replied. "Go on, Faroes."
"So, as I was saying, one night, he got drunk. Not exactly new, as you said. But this time he was very different. See, this was the first time I had been around Denmark when he was intoxicated."
"And what was that like?" Sister Sweden asked, semi-seriously.
Faroes went very quiet and said, without looking at her, "Have you heard of the Milgram Experiment?"
"Why, yes, I have. What does that have to do with-" Sister Sweden stopped halfway, then stooped her voice to the same volume. "What did he do to you?"
"Before I begin, it was not uncommon for him to use this experiment's main ideas against me," Faroes disclaimed.
"What happened?"
"He… he… he used me. To, to do… things."
Sister Sweden felt very cold all of a sudden. "What things, Faroes?" He was silent.
"Faroes, you have to tell me."
"Fine!" he yelled. "He threatened me. He said that if I didn't follow his orders, he would take over the Islands militarily. And I know you're going to ask what orders he gave me." He took a deep breath.
"He was drunk and ordered me to the living room. He went outside and brought in a person of Middle Eastern descent he had taken off the street. I don't know why or who, but it was very distressing. Denmark said that this man was a criminal responsible for the deaths of several civilians, but didn't give me any more details. He shoved a whip- a legit, leather whip- into my hands and told me to give this man 15 lashes, bareback. I couldn't do it. I can't harm a civilian, much less one that I don't know anything about. Sweden, his eyes. They were full of fear. He pleaded with me, and said things in broken Danish. Things like, 'I have a family', 'why was I brought here', 'Please, don't do this, I'm innocent'. I turned to give the whip back to Denmark, but he threatened my home and sister if I didn't cooperate. So I had to. I whipped the man. He screamed, calling upon God. I was torturing a man of faith, which went against all of my basic principles." He paused.
"Denmark would screamed obscenities at the man. Awful things. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. It hurt me on so many levels." Sister Sweden couldn't believe what she was hearing. But there was more.
"Sweden, he was screaming… in German."
She looked at him dead-on and asked, "Do you think it might have been a relapse?"
"I don't know, but if it was, it was one heck of a relapse." He began taking off his shirt. Sister Sweden raised an eyebrow, but quickly dropped it and gasped. His back was marked with scattered scarring. Some were small, and some were large.
"This is my proof of 'ownership'. Denmark inflicted abuse on me once a week for an entire year after that, to prove that he was boss. It varied. On the one hand, it could be just a slap or scratch, which is what most of them are. But he sometimes would use a crop, and the large scarring is from that heavy leather whip he had me use in the first place."
"Whatever happened to the man Denmark abducted in the first place?"
"Let's just say that there's a reason the grass grows greener is several parts of his backyard." Sister Sweden was aghast. "He killed him?" Faroes nodded. "Single gunshot to the back of the head, SS-style."
Sister Sweden, deeply disturbed, asked, "So, what made him stop after a year?"
Faroes grew very jittery. "He found a new way to keep me in toe. He's been blackmailing me."
"With what, Faroes?" He got very apprehensive. "Faroes?" He looked at her. "I need you to tell me. It's absolutely critical."
"He knew about my secret."
"Can I be at liberty to ask what your secret?"
Faroes looked around cautiously. "Can I trust you? Both of you?"
"Absolutely," they replied.
He took a very deep breath, fidgeted, then said quietly, "I'm gay."