A/N: I really, really didn't want to write this chapter (mostly because 1. I haven't read much about the Sturlung Era (I'm too lazy to look up the Sturlunga saga) and 2. it's quite boring to me), but I…kinda have to since it's an important part of history and I really want to write about later stuff… So this is all pretty much stream of consciousness that I wrote very broken apart and it probably doesn't flow well and isn't long or very good. I apologize. If I ever get a better idea on this part of history, I'll probably rewrite this.
Over two centuries had passed since the decision of 1000 to Christianize Iceland. As the child nation had predicted, the influence of the Norwegian crown grew, but the isolated country remained stable.
Over the years, Egill had picked up the hobby of writing, recording tales, poetry and history as he remembered it. Writing was his comfort. Denmark had taught him a new alphabet, to write on paper, and gave him books to occupy himself with. He wrote everything, from laws to translations, genealogies to myths.
Among his people, he fit in easily among skalds, quickly learning to compose his own poetry, though he guarded it with his if, never letting others see or read it. He was still the highly regarded child of the nation he had always been, his wishes were always fulfilled and he lived in peace, though tides would soon turn on the island.
It was a time of prosperity, a time he would remember forever as his goal to re-attain. The people were wealthy and respected, the nation's friends reaching across the seas. Those of the British Isles, long admires, were frequent allies and trading partners, and Egill felt as family with those nations to the southeast. Though his brother, he had come to be known as Sigurd as languages evolved, would always disagree, the Icelandic nations held firm to his heart the belief that he belonged to Celtic blood every bit as much as Norse blood. His people's belief of him as a spirit or a sort of elf had begun to influence him, and as time wore on, he became less and less human in his mind, therefore his blood didn't matter. It was a childish mentality, not needing reason of explanation to back it up, only the feelings of his heart.
The ever-increasing pressure from Norway to come home was beginning to push his heart away. The Norwegian kings had their sights adamantly set on returning their former people to their control, and Sigurd's wish to bring his brother home with him did nothing to make the child feel any closer. The viking age was over, the Norwegian teen nation had no longer the distractions that kept him away for long, all he wanted was for his most beloved, his 'baby' brother to come home. Egill was happy alone and suspicious of authority and kingdoms, wanted no part of his brother's land. His intention wasn't to reject Sigurd, he just wanted his hard-earned freedom.
Snorri Sturluson was one such man Egill was well acquainted with. He knew him as a baby, born to a prominent family, watched his childhood unfold, until the day he witnessed his death. He watched as Snorri was educated, worked with him in writing, stood behind his decisions and words as the lawspeaker for the Alþing, and personally bid him farewell on his journey to Norway. And he worried. With Snorri's near-lifelong connection to the Norwegian monarchy and friendship with the king and regents, he couldn't help but ponder what influences he would return with. The people loved him, he had the influence to do whatever he wanted, or what Egill worried over, whatever Håkon of Norway wanted.
When Snorri returned, he did come back as a sort of knight of Norway. Håkon had expected him to fulfill his wishes for Iceland, but as time went on, nothing happened. Life continued as normal for years after, but Egill's anxiety never slept. Soon, a nephew to Snorri would accept vassalage to Håkon, but unlike his uncle, he would enforce the king's will and rule on the island, in the tradition of Norway's kings, spilling blood if need be. The largest war in Iceland's history to date would end the lives of over fifty people in one day.
From then on, war continued, dividing the country over and again. Norway exerted power more and more over the islanders as they turned to foreign help to settle their battles. Forty-four years after the most influential chief of Iceland became a vassal of Norway, Iceland accepted the rule of Norway. Egill, tired of the blood of his people, gave up fighting his brother. In 1264, the commonwealth of Iceland ended, closing the chapter on both the nation's golden age, as well as its bloodiest era.
Egill took Sigurd's hand, his face stone-hard, as they walked to the castle. No words passed between them, and their emotions ran widely different. Sigurd was elated at finally having his brother for his own, no longer having to worry over his well-being with only his word that he was fine to go by, now having his dearest close to him. Egill now was subjected to the things he distrusted and hated, with the feeling that things wouldn't get better for a long time. He could only imagine what would happen to him.
Large doors opened as the two approached them. At the end of the room sat the king they would now be united under, still a young man himself. Standing a few feet in front of him with a small smile, Sigurd was proud to introduce to him: "My king, Magnus, I bring to you Iceland."
The child, now about twelve physically, stared at the king before him with a glare that he didn't even bother to hide.
A/N: Random thought: ffn should make a "history" genre just for Hetalia, because sometimes (all the time) I just wanna read a good history fic and I go searching and searching…and yeah. I usually give up. This seconds as a "IF YOU KNOW ANY GOOD HISTORY FICS, PM ME THEM PLEASE". I…just…love them. Okey.
~Butter~
P.S. I felt awkward writing directly about Snorri Sturluson for some reason… I mean, I don't have problems writing about kings and presidents and other miscellaneous political figures… but for whatever reason I felt awkward, even though he was a political figure. Yay for awkwardness~