A/N: Let it be known…I hate this chapter. It was hard to get the inspiration to write ANYTHING for this part of history, even harder to make it work how I wanted. And it's not even like I didn't know anything of what happened or wasn't interested, most of this is very interesting to me, I just…I couldn't do it. And the next chapter will probably be the same. ¬_¬

"So you find yourself coming back to me…"

Iceland had never seen the usually bubbly and energetic young man like this, smirk firmly planted on his face, pacing in front of Norway.

"Don't act so upset about it," was the sharp reply from the smaller, cross-armed Norwegian.

"It's just amusing how you were once so powerful, and now you need our kings."

"Oh, like I actually control these things," Norway snapped back. "Drop the snarky act, Denmark, it doesn't suit you."

The wild-haired Dane cracked back into his signature grin, wrapping his arms around Norway. "I'm so glad you're in this with me, Sjur! If we could get Sweden, we'd finally be the family I always knew we should be…"

He tolerated the hug for just a short minute, then shoved the taller off of himself. "Seriously, get a grip."

This wasn't the first time Iceland had to follow Norway to someone else's rule. Decades earlier, left with no direct heir, the Norwegian crown was passed to Sweden. Now, eager to unite the North, Denmark held power. From the side, Iceland watched the ceremonies of coronation and the unification of two countries, knowing full well how this would affect him. He remembered clearly the words from hundreds of years ago, the words from the mouth of that young man who now held the boy's destiny. "I just want my family all together." A driven man he was, still on the same track of mind now as he was then.

Years later, Sweden would join them, in what was called the Union of Kalmar. A strong-willed Denmark, with an equally strong-willed ruler, gained control of all of northern Europe, from Karelia to Greenland, Finnmark to Pomerania, fulfilling his dream of a family.

During this time, Iceland had already begun a steep decline. With fortunes falling due to the increasing cold and the effects of foreign rule, famines and shortages drove the people to the sea more and more. No longer sufficient for farming, fishing became a national livelihood, and with geothermal waters, they found a plenty.

The child Iceland, however, was more and more frequently ill. A firstborn of the land with a physical connection to it, the new barrenness of that island stripped him of much of a natural immunity to disease, the famines and hunger of his people kept him physically weak, almost lethargic at times. Over decades gone by, he memorized his brother's spells, giving himself the freedom to return home as he chose, despite the overseas government, as he had to know what was happening in his own place.

Norway had needed Iceland, the trade between the two countries and the bond between two personifications made life without the other nearly impossible for either. As rule over both passed out of Norwegian hands and into ones who had sufficient, the bonds were slowly weakened, almost broken. Denmark had no such need for the Icelandic products, so trade declined and the island nation fell into a place one could almost call frozen in time. The development of society nearly stopped entirely. As a result, the child froze in his own development, and for centuries would never grow, never mature. He would be constantly nothing more than a baby brother, to Norway, to Denmark, and even to Sweden and his younger charge Finland.

Finland was someone he grew close to. They had no familial or historical ties, but this wasn't the first time they'd found themselves together. Both were younger than the other three, both felt out of place. While four could form a decent family, with close blood bonds with one another, Finland was the one who was vastly different. Timo, as he was called, was only related in that he was born and grew up near by. Iceland's land was far, his ideals and life had deviated from those of his Norse origins. He wasn't the same as his brother, Norway, nor Denmark or Sweden. Egill, nearly Timo's size despite the age gap between them, found a close friend in the Finn, a friend who could see where he was coming from sometimes, making the foreign rule a little more bearable.

For days, most didn't see the boy. He felt sick, he said, running a fever and could barely move. Sigurd grew visibly stressed, making the child's illness plainly known to all who knew them, without a word being spoken on the subject. Before news would ever arrive from the distant land, the illness became obvious. It was the Black Death that had ravaged Europe over a century before. With a large part of his people falling to the infamous plague, Iceland's physical body took on the symptoms that would kill most humans, and suffered without the usual end of death. A seemingly endless, hopeless, excruciating struggle, in other words. In under two weeks of the disease infiltrating his body, it began to shut down, masses of time spent unconscious and unresponding to avoid the pain. When he awoke, he still wasn't all there, glazed eyed and spasming, crying almost involuntarily to go home. Sigurd's life for over a year consist of trying to ease the pain of a child at death's door, yet wouldn't die.

They had all been through this before, to varying severities and for various lengths of time, some not completely recovered yet, Norway in particular. While it was permanently engraved in his memory, it was almost like he couldn't remember, blocking out the agony, the fear and emotions that ran with it. Decades later, as his dearest fell to a possibly worse case, all of the memories returned, at times it was almost as if his own body physically brought back the feelings. As he struggled to handle his brother's situation, there were times he'd work himself sick, times they'd find him passed out as well, from exhaustion.

Mathias knew Egill was horribly sick, but almost ignored it. There wasn't anything he could do, he had more important things to attend to, he had excuses why didn't have to bother. As a ruler, he let Iceland down, creating a rift between the two that would only strengthen over time, tearing apart a relationship that had already been strained. Egill had distrusted him from the start, but he didn't trust many, even his own brother at times. It only took a few years for the Icelander to develop a genuine dislike for this ruler, and the Dane's way of conveniently ignoring his young charge, even at his lowest points, would only worsen things. If they were supposed to be a family, like Mathias wanted and proclaimed, why was the little on left out? Only when he was needed did he exist, or so it seemed, and he wasn't needed.

A/N: …I don't like it. I'm so sorry.

Guys. Get used to Denmark being the bad guy. I love him, I really do. It's just…history. Almost everyone ends up being the bad guy in one way or another.

btw the Black Death in Iceland is a very interesting topic. Especially since it throws the bubonic plague theory off. /not sure what really to think personally

~Butter~