Chapter Three: Three's a Crowd
Both Sweden and Denmark could recall the time when Faðir brought Norway home. The boy himself could remember quite well, too, even though he was younger than them, and even physically appeared so at the time (while Denmark and Sweden both looked around the same age).
Faðir had been away on a trip, to go on Viking raids with some of his men; and he had come back with a little boy who looked no older than six. Denmark and Sweden both appeared to be about eight at the time, even though more than three years had passed since their father had found Sweden. Sweden and Denmark tried to be more sophisticated than the younger boy, although the boy was very mature for his age, and sometimes seemed even more solemn than Sweden was. And to Denmark, he sure was quieter, especially in those early months, even though Sweden was normally the quiet one.
It happened to be yet another day when Faðir went hunting with some of the men from the village (they had moved since Faðir found Sweden) that Denmark decided to try and find out more about their new bróðir. He was staring out the window as Faðir walked down the path from their house, soon disappearing into the thick foliage of the woods. Denmark immediately turned from his spot by the window and raced up the stairs to his new brother's bedroom. The young Dane didn't even think twice before opening the door.
He found Norway sitting on the floor, reading from some runic scripts that Faðir had given him. Runes were fun to read . . . sometimes. But Denmark didn't feel like reading them now, and so he figured that he would try to convince Norge out of reading them, too. Maybe they could actually do something that was even more fun.
"Hej, Norge!" Denmark exclaimed happily, bouncing over to Norway and kneeling down in front of him. The other boy blinked and looked up, his navy blue eyes as dull as the depths of a motionless sea. Denmark still wasn't used to them. Even Sverige's eyes were more lively than Norway's, and according to Denmark, Sverige was sometimes the most boring person in all of Scandinavia. Maybe even Europe!
"Hallo, Denmark," Norway said slowly, almost as if trying to be careful.
"We should do something fun!" Denmark announced, grinning at Norway.
Norway continued to stare at him, emotionless. "But I am having fun."
Denmark frowned slightly and scanned the other boy's face, his emotionless expression. "You don't look like you're having fun . . ."
"Well I am, so leave me alone," Norway deadpanned, glancing back down at the runic scripts in his hands.
"But there are so many other things we could do!" Denmark protested with a slight frown. He glanced up and outside of the window on the far side of Norway's room. It was summertime, and so even though the hours were nearing the evening and supper would be on the stove soon, the sun was still at a moderate place in the sky. There was still time to play outside. Sure, it was occasionally fun to read runes, but that was only on rainy and snowy days. Who would want to stay inside and read when it was so nice outside?
Denmark frowned even further and reached out, snatching the runic papers out of the younger boy's hands before he could react.
"Come on, Norrrrge!" Denmark whined, but his sentence was cut a few beats short when the little boy jumped at him, successfully tackling him to the ground. Denmark shrieked and kicked at the other boy, and when one of his kicks finally hit Norway in the stomach, he staggered up and stumbled over to Norway's bed, which he proceeded to climb up on. From his perch on Norway's bed, the young Dane held the ratty papers above his head.
"Come and get them, Norway!" Denmark sang out happily. His grin was large, one of those grins that Faðir would say was practically stretching from one of his ears to the other. His eyes danced with playfulness, and though the Dane thought this was all fun and games, his Norwegian "playmate" didn't seem to think the same thing.
"Give me back my papers, Danmark!" Norway shouted. "I want to read them!"
"Noooo, Norge, not until you agree to play outside with me!"
The Norwegian boy's frown deepened, and after a few seconds of contemplating, he darted for the bed and reached out to grab Denmark's feet. Denmark squealed and leaped back, that seemingly ever-present smile still on his face. When Norway started to climb up onto the bed after him, Denmark shrieked in giddy laughter and jumped over the end of the bed, onto the floor. He laughed as he ran to the bedroom door and out it, where he continued on down the hallway.
This was fun. Not reading a bunch of runes, but running and chasing. Why were Sweden and evidently Norway both so boring?
Denmark's laughter died down somewhere near the stairs, but he didn't stop running there. He paused just at the top of them and glanced back down the hallway, then raced down the stairs to the first floor of the house as soon as he saw that Norway was running after him. Denmark giggled loudly as he neared the bottom of the stairs and jumped off the second step to the bottom.
However, his fun ended when he turned the corner and bumped straight into his other brother, Sweden. The impact knocked both of them to the ground, and Denmark blinked once, then twice as he tried to figure out what had happened. He glanced up and noticed Sweden, then scowled as he jumped up, head slightly fuzzy.
"Sweden, don't run into me!"
The Swedish boy stood up, and, not at all trying to hide it, rolled his eyes. "I didn't run into you, Denmark. I am confident that you ran into me. Watch where you are going next time."
Denmark frowned and heaved a heavy, impatient sigh, before he finally remembered who he had been running from - but it was too late. Norway had already caught up to him, and, before Denmark could start running again, had tackled him to the ground in a fierce attempt to get his papers - for which he succeeded. The Norwegian punched Denmark in the stomach (for they were the ever relentless and strong Viking that their father was) before he stood up, glaring down at the other Scandinavian boy.
"You didn't have to punch me!" Denmark groaned, slowly sitting up on the floor.
The small Norwegian boy rolled his eyes. "Serves you right for taking my runes."
"They're not even yours, they're Father's!" Denmark protested with a deep frown.
"He gave them to me to read," Norway replied curtly. "So as of right now, they are mine."
"No they're not!"
"Yes, they are."
"No, they're -"
"That is quite enough, boys." All three boys, even Sweden, who had no part in the conversation thus far, turned with a slight look of horror on their faces. Denmark's was the most theatrical, of course, but there was only one person that could get even a slight look of terror out of the other two boys - their father, Scandinavia.
"Why are you arguing?" Scandinavia quirked an eyebrow at them.
"Because Denmark stole my papers and ran away with them!" Norway replied, frowning deeply at the other boy as he crossed his arms over his chest. "He wouldn't give them back."
Scandinavia sighed and glanced at his eldest son. "Denmark, is that true?"
Denmark pouted and crossed his arms over his own chest, knowing full well that he wouldn't be able to get away with lying. "Yes, but - "
"No buts." Scandinavia shook his head.
"But Faðir - !" Denmark tried to protest, but his father cut him off by injecting a stiff hand into the air.
"No, Denmark. I said no buts. Go to your room. You will eat supper there tonight."
Denmark's eyes widened as he mused over this horror. Having to eat supper in his room was extremely bad. Not just because it meant that Faðir was mad at him, but also because eating supper in your room was a type of humiliation in their household. Denmark had sent to his room without supper quite a few times, and even Sweden had been sent there to eat alone once or twice. Denmark's face flushed in crimson red in light of his embarrassment.
"Then I just won't eat, then!"
After he said what he felt needed to be said, Denmark turned swiftly on his heels and raced for the stairs. He darted up them, almost tripping at the top, then ran into his room and slammed the door loudly. Once he was safely inside the confines of his room, a few stubborn tears leaked from his eyes and he wiped them away furiously, then flopped on his bed, fixating his eyes on a spot on the wall that he continued to glare at for a few minutes.
The young Dane flipped over after a while and looked up at the ceiling. The sounds of silverware clicking against plates and light chatter fluttered up the stairs not too long afterwards, and Denmark began to feel a little guilty and sorry for what he had done - and what he was being forced to do now. It just wasn't fair.
A long time passed before Faðir finally entered Denmark's room, a bowl of warm stew in one of his hands, and a piece of bread with butter on it in the other. Denmark glanced up at him but looked away feverishly, instead deciding to glare at a certain spot on the wall. Scandinavia sighed and crossed the room to Denmark's bed. He sat down on the edge of it, and set the food down on the bedside table.
"Hej, son," Scandinavia said quietly, and Denmark finally turned to look at him with confused and hurt eyes.
"Faðir, I -"
Scandinavia sighed and shook his head. "You are going to apologize to Lukas." Lukas, of course, being Norway's human name.
"But, Faðir -" Denmark tried to protest again. However, he was cut off by a terse inquiry.
"What?"
Denmark winced slightly at how biting his father's voice sounded, but he forged on, determined to tell Scandinavia his side of the story.
"Neither of them will play with me, Father," Denmark mumbled. He sat up and crossed his arms over his chest. "It's not fair. I just want to play, or go outside and explore, or something, but both of them are just so boring . . ."
A small frown was beginning to form on Scandinavia's lips. "Who? Berwald and Lukas?"
"Yes, them!" Denmark said indignantly. "They won't play with me! They just want to stay inside all day and do boring stuff . . ."
"Well have you ever tried to do anything that they like?"
Denmark was silent for a few moments before he spoke. "Well . . . yes. I've tried, Faðir, really, I have. But it's like they don't want me to be around them." He frowned and looked down at his hands. "I just want somebody to play with."
Scandinavia blinked at his son, and then sighed. He could see where the young boy was coming from. Sweden and Norway were both more reserved than Denmark was, and they enjoyed doing more laid-back things, such as reading the scriptures that he brought back to them.. Denmark liked to do more lively things, and though he wasn't the biggest fan of nature, he did fancy being outdoors when it was nice outside.
"They are just different than you, Denmark," Scandinavia told his son, putting a hand on the boy's head. "I'm sorry that they don't want to play with you, but you should respect what they do want to do." He paused when he saw a pout on Denmark's face. "Maybe if you respect them, then they'll play with you?"
Denmark shook his head stubbornly. "No! That doesn't work, Father. I always 'respect' them. I let them do boring stuff if they want to. But they never play with me." His frown became increasingly deeper with his words.
Scandinavia pursed his lips. "You didn't have to do what you did today, though. You know that wasn't nice."
Denmark scoffed lightly, but then shook his head in consent. "I know. But I just wanted Norge to play with me . . ."
"I know." Scandinavia sighed once more. "Why can't you play by yourself?"
"Because it isn't as fun!" Denmark said, as if this was blatantly obvious. And to him, it was. "There's never been anyone fun around to play with."
There was silence between the pair for a few minutes. Denmark glanced up at his father and frowned slightly, waiting expectantly for him to say something. Anything, really. Silence made him uncomfortable.
"If you promise not to do that again, I'll try to get them to play with you," Scandinavia finally told his son, looking down at the boy with brilliant blue eyes - eyes that were somewhat like Denmark''s, only a much lighter shade.
"Promise?"
Scandinavia bit his lip. Promises were always hard to keep.
"Yes. I promise."
Of course, it would not be as easy as he thought it would be. The three children in his care were all stubborn, in their own ways. If Sweden and Norway did not want to play with Denmark all of the time, they wouldn't, and if they continued to not want to play with him, he would continue to pester them. And thus began a cycle that would last throughout the ages, going past playing outdoors versus staying inside. Their altercations would later become much more serious.