Look o't: dr'nk'nness and c'ffee ov'rd'se. Y' b' w'rned.

Norge sits on a low tree stump, in the edge of the clearing, catching the last of the warmth that radiates from the bonfires before it becomes forest air. The night is pitch dark, black like the mane of the mythical wolf Fenrir, and it lurks behind the first orange-tinted row of trees. The forest is truly ominous, it has a life and a presence of its own, and somehow, Norge is at unease in giving his back to the silent woods.

But his attention is, much to his utter chagrin, caught by a certain someone that is probably just as magic as the creatures that live in the forests.

That damnable woman…

Yet, yet he can't seem to stop looking at her… then again, it could be because she is drunk beyond human capacity (and that's probably how she keeps standing, yes, she's not human), dancing and coming and going even when all there is left of the large equinoxial bonfires are brattling embers. Only the sturdiest townfolk are still on foot, and the rest lie on the sweet soft grass, those who their wives or friends or brothers did not carry away to a warm bed after a healthy string of curses.

But Norge, Norge is still sober and glum, and, darkened in the first hours of pre-dawn, he looks at her and sighs. He still has his hands around the empty cup of mead someone offered him (what feels like) centuries ago, and he never went for a refill, although he did think of it at times. Now it is just too late to think of that because there is no more mead and no one refilling cups, and the aftermath of the festival is as desolate as he remembers. From back then, in those times he actually came waiting for some seasonal magic to happen. It never happened. Is it somehow happening now? If it is, he is not entirely sure he is contented.

The sun will not rise for another hour or more, even if it would have in other latitudes. The days are becoming longer.

Norge has stayed the night awake. It is his consolation that it was a beautiful, beautiful night.

He questions his sanity.

He also (severely) questions his sanity later when he stands up and approaches the woman, who, tall as she is, has at one point or another collapsed onto a pile of empty bottles.

Pityful.

He wonders how it is that his chivalry is getting the best of him when he knows for a fact the woman is as much of a helpless thing as he is (not); and, mortified with his role of Prince accursed Charming, he lifts her up from the ground best he can (even if he is tall and broad, that mermaid is sure a terrible fit in his arms), and begins going down to slope, down towards the village.

x X x

"Aeh?"

It is a very, very undignified noise. Norge massages the bridge of his nose, thinking, gods, give me patience. Mathias walks into the living room looking rather less-worse-off than any mortal woman would, after such a night but her hair is still disheveled and her (his!) shirt makes a rather painful sight.

"You were drunk, okay? Dead drunk. Passed out on a pile of-"

"Oh, Lukas!" she exclaims, coming up to him rather fast. Shouldn't she be the one with the headache? Norge wonders silently.

"I'm not Lukas…" he mumbles.

"…. right, anyway, what am I doing here? Geez, last night's a blur," she complains, falling onto the sofa next to a very (already) pissed young man who only meant to drink his coffee in peace. He calmly sets the smoking mug on the low wooden table in front of the sofa.

"Didn't I just tell you," he says under his breath, "You were dead drunk and passed out on a pile of bottles."

"Oh, that sucks, man," she says, spectacularly (and, for Norge, thankfully) omitting the part in which she woke up in Norge's house. Well, actually, Norge's uncle's house. But he's away fishing so… Well, anyway.

"Yeah, I imagine. Now get going."

Stoic as ever, the young man doesn't honestly see how kicking her out as soon as she wakes up can be any affront to his very honored chivalry. He was nice, but it's not that late in the morning, he has not slept at all, and his head wants to kill him. Again, why isn't she the one with the headache?

"Ya ain't kicking me out just like that, eh, Lukas?"

Boy was he *again* annoyed. "Yes, I am," he replies smoothly, "And my name's Norge."

"Hadn't we been over that before, anyway? It's kinda blurred," she begins, trying to recall her fuzzy previous night, and Norge really wishes she doesn't. "I liked 'Lukas' a lot…" she deadpans.

Norge sighs. Right. He's lost the battle. Uansett.

"You're not gonna let me go without sharing some of your awesome-smelling human stuff over there, right?" she asks, hopefully pointing towards Norge's cup of coffee.

"Follow me," he says, almost gritting his teeth, and walks into the kitchen.

x X x

It's Norge's fourth cup of coffee this morning.

And that's saying something.

It's Mathias' sixth cup of coffee this morning.

And that's saying something else.

"Man this stuff is delicious!" she declares, beaming at Norge, who is somehow unexplainably disarmed in seeing her so excited over something as trivial as coffee.

"It's gonna hack off all your braincells, if you ever had any," the young man comments, leaning coolly against the counter, thankful that the coffee pot has finally become empty.

The Dane snickers, evidently not paying him attention, and she busies herself running around the kitchen, inspecting the human lifestyle. Although, seeing her put on some pajama pants he lent her earlier, Norge could easily tell it was not the first time she'd been among humans. Whatever, right?

The young Norwegian sighs. "I think it's time you left, already."

She stops doing… whatever it was she was doing with half her body in the cupboard, and, looking over her shoulder, she announces, "I can't! Geez man…"

Norge is stunned. Honestly. It was just the way she said it and how she said it and what did she mean…?

"What?" He lets out in disbelief, his mind rushing. She's not actually implying she'll want to stay around me, right?

"That," she says simply, shrugging.

His reply is steady, solemn, monotone. "You're not staying here, so you better figure out how to."

She comes up to him, looking very strange wearing his clothes. "It's funny you'd say that, Norge dearest. Y'see, I lost my hat in the clearing. Damn, I was so drunk I never realized till this morning," she laughs under her breath, but Norge, for all that he is expressionless, can easily read a shrill note of uneasiness in her laughter.

"So?"… that doesn't make him any less crude, anyway.

"I can't go back without it," she says, scratching the back of her head, "Guess I'll have to go… look for it. Or something."

Norge falls silent. He understood her halfway, though, but when he looks at her with an evidently puzzled face, what he sees is her blonde hair aiming for the door already, as she waves over her shoulder and calls,

"See ya around, Norge!"

x X x

A/N: (thanks for the lovely comments guys! I love you ;) )

You know, spinoff of the tale that says that mermaids wore a magical cap/hat that enabled them to go underwater. If they lost it, they couldn't return. Some online version of the Encyclopaedia Britannica says:

Many folktales record marriages between mermaids (who might assume human form) and men. In most, the man steals the mermaid's cap or belt, her comb or mirror. While the objects are hidden she lives with him; if she finds them she returns at once to the sea […]

Agree with me on something, guys. If Denmark's hat ain't magical, how the heck does it stay up there on that wild hair of his?

...

Ideas, please? Or just review. Your reviews really make me think, I swear! Actually this chapter wouldn't be if you guys hadn't reviewed :)

EDIT: I changed the title, now that it became a multi-chapter story it didn't fit. What do you think? It's still subject to change. But please do communicate your opinion to me :)