"What do you mean by this?!"

The worst insult, the greatest grievance. Iceland's biggest pride was gone, and he didn't have any say in it.

He had run to Denmark as fast as his sickly, weak body could take him, hurt, angered and confused all at the same time. Just when he had thought that the Danish nation had cared just a little. No.

"What's up, Isbjerg?" The Dane turned around with his usually little smirk. Reaching to pat the child's head, his hand was swiftly slapped away.

"Why did you abolish the Alþingi?" Egill's emotions were clearly voiced.

"Hey, what are you talking about all of a sudden?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Denmark! Why did you do this?"

"That parliament didn't have any power anyway. It's useless, wasn't it?"

"It's mine!" He was seething, almost spitting through his teeth. "The one thing I had that made me me from the beginning, and you've taken it away! You've taken everything away!"

"Sorry, kid, but I'm the one ruling here, and some things have got to go." Egill continued to glare, steaming. Mathias smiled, shrugged and turned away again.

"You know," Egill added, in spiteful calmness, "my Alþingi made me successful without having to take anything from anyone or destroy anyone else's lives. You could have taken my example, but no, I'm just a little kid. Good luck having the entire world that you've wronged for your own gain hate you."

Slowly diminished over the centuries by successful rulers, the Alþingi ceased to exist by order of the Danish crown. Iceland now had absolutely no self-governship, completely at the hands of a ruler that had proved time and time again that the distant island nation wasn't a concern. Revolution and nationalism had been birthed in Europe, and as most of its wealth and power lay in its dominions, Denmark was desperate to stop any uprising before it could start. Denmark had begun somewhat of a decline of his own through lost wars and diminishing control. Really, Denmark's power had always been rooted in an empire that constricted those under it, tearing down dominions to prop itself up on them. And as anything with a deteriorating foundation, it would fall.

Egill had recovered mostly from the Lakagígar disaster, externally at least. But he couldn't let go of it, bearing the scars of trauma on his body and in his mind. Metaphorically, you could say he was dead and his soul had been reborn as a fatalist, a pessimist, and a boy who was simply afraid. Aside from the scarring of his skin and the changes in his physical appearance from living through what no one should be able to survive, he just was not the same. Anger and spite were his expressions. Quick to blame others, he portrayed himself as an innocent victim. Like a cornered, injured animal, he was overly defensive, trying to protect himself at all costs. He had been building up to this through the centuries, but the disaster solidified it.

If the dissolution of one of Iceland's national treasure, the Alþingi, did one thing, it was drive the nation to rebel. If this was how Denmark would treat them, then they didn't want Denmark to rule anymore. They would resist above and beyond any other resistance the people had ever put up. And they weren't just content to disobey, to simply thumb their noses in petty rebellion, they would begin to push and shove for their own benefit instead of the benefit of another. They would fight to recover the Iceland they had heard about in stories of old, to reinstate their former glory.

And oh how the awakening of the people fed the fire within the child nation. He decided that he was sick and tired, literally and figuratively, of these circumstances. Done with sitting by and letting himself slowly die. No, he would rise again to his former status. Nothing would stand between him and his own freedom, the independence to live for himself. The nation stood up to declare itself independent, only to be shot down and rejected. But that didn't quell their passion. Time and time again, they deliberately refused to take orders, in stubborn desperation. Even as they fell into another period of severe lack, they refused to give up this time. They passed on their will to the next generations, believing that their efforts would eventually come to fruit.

At this time, war was the main event of the time in Europe. Though Iceland wasn't quite involved, besides the tie to Denmark, who had been involved in the war, the aftermath would affect him not through his own national affairs, but through family. Norway was held as a prize for the side that won. As rivals through and through, Denmark and Sweden ended up allied with opposing sides. For as long as the Kalmar Union had been broken, the westernmost nation of Scandinavia had been in this position, simply a something to defend or win. Sigurd himself was passive, hardly ever complaining even as he suffered through the dissolution of his country, the decline of his identity and the on-going wars over his land. It had been a point of contention between the brothers, on one side, Egill's insistence that no such mistreatment should be forgiven or let slide, and Sigurd's quiet acceptance of fate and loyalty to Denmark. Nonetheless, their similar sufferings had made the two closer than ever before. To lose his brother, who had been there was long as his memory, was heartbreaking, no matter how much he criticized the elder's choices. Even though witnessing that his brother hadn't wanted to leave them, Egill felt abandoned, left behind with someone he couldn't trust. He had tried to argue that he had come to Denmark as Norwegian territory and so should have been included in Norway's forced union with Sweden, but it wasn't any use. Through Denmark's dissolution of Norway centuries before, he was stuck under Danish rule.

"I tried, Egill…"

The boy had confined himself to his brother's old bed, refusing to speak to anyone. Mathias had come to attempt to make up to the child for everything that he was angry about. He didn't understand him, but had begun to admire the child's tenacity, will and steadfast loyalty to his roots. More and more he saw the old Norse qualities that had slid from most of their modern culture were still alive and afire in Iceland. Through the loss of his closest friend in Sigurd, he had begun to wake up to the damages he had done to all he cared about. He wanted to make things right with this smallest one before it was too late and he was left alone, abandoned by those he loved. However, he couldn't find a common ground on which to communicate with the boy, they simply were at oppositions.

"I'm sorry, Egill, I really am."

"Liar," the child finally responded, refusing to turn and face him.

"Please believe me. I never wanted to hurt you."

"Go away, jerk."

Though he couldn't see it, he could easily imagine the disdain and ire on Egill's face. "I'm an idiot, okay? I admit, I've not done things right. I want to try. I don't want you guys to all hate me."

"Lies."

"Give me a chance. Let me do something right by you for once."

Egill turned around, glowering strongly. "You're right, you're an idiot. Go on and try, but you'll never make it right."

Things were changing rapidly. Denmark was trying to making things right. The Alþingi was reestablished, a first visible sign to Iceland that the clamor for national right was worth it. The century had begun in a way that seemed like another dead end, but now it was looking up. Knocked down, Iceland had two choices: accept it and fade away all together, or stand back up and swear to make it back to the top. The thing about committing is that once you commit, you can't back down. Once you make an oath, you either follow through with it, or die. Maybe not die physically, but you'd never be able to face yourself or anyone else who knew of the oath. To give up was to forever be a quitter. Now he knew that he could make a difference, and would not stop until he saw what he wanted: a return to his former life.

In the coming years, combined with the changes in Denmark, the rise of a hero for Iceland began to make quick turns toward the better for the nation. A man dedicated to bringing his nation back to prosperity, Jón Sigurðsson became a face and leader for the new-found national resurgence. The man was charismatic and well-liked by all, including the Danish rulers he worked with to achieve his visions, making easy strides for a nation so impoverished and subjected.

The man, just by his example, encouraged the people even more to make a stand for themselves. Iceland loved him. Egill's conflicts with Mathias almost stopped, not because he accepted the man as his ruler, but because of Jón's example. In a time when violence and bloodshed were the hallmarks of national resurgence, as well as colonist suppression, Iceland negotiated to his advantage peacefully, undoing the damage of hundreds of years. His dream of returning to his early days started to look slightly possible.

An ill child for nearly five hundred years, Egill began to grow. The hardships, the pains and struggles, the reality of his society left behind and neglected as the rest of the world advanced had frozen his maturing all this time. They were still poor, they still struggled, but the resurrection of his identity spurred on his physical growth. He was still chronically sick as the natural hardships and famines still reigned, but nonetheless he was growing, maturing into a state of his own, something else from the little boy he had always been.

From refusing to blindly comply with Denmark's new laws to the end of the trade restrictions that had been over them, the advances made were substantial. Iceland was returning to life other than being the property of kings, whom the nation had been opposed to since birth. In 1874, as the nation commemorated one thousand years, Denmark granted partial autonomy, the nation could rule for itself again. It had only been half a century that Iceland had gone from having Alþingi, the one institution that set the nation apart from those around it, completely wiped from existence, to their millennial, where they had seen the rapid improvements and finally, a light at the end of the tunnel. They had survived and were committed, they wouldn't turn back until the return of the free Icelandic state.

A/N: I…kinda took a break from writing and enjoyed it ahaha… (No really, I usually can't stand not to write)

Anyway, maybe people are interested to know that there's only three (or two, if I decide I don't like the last chapter) chapters left? If not, then maybe you guys will be interested to know that I plan on writing a pile of oneshots on more specific parts of Icelandic history, from little factlets to actual events, all stuff that doesn't fit the theme for this story (much like how I wrote Welcome Back to the World, Iceland). The plot bunnies (which are mutants and somewhat scary) keep attacking me, I haven't even got them all written down coherently enough to post on my profile '.'

The next chapter will be quite different from everything before it, so I hope you all like it. I'm not really sure when I'll get around to writing it, I have a request that I need to get nailed out and some other stuff with a deadline, as well as huge planning for another story and then of course, my baby story which I very apparently love more than all the others (All Madmen are Not the Same, if you're wondering). Just thought I'd pique everyone's interests a little. One thousand years seemed like a good place to stop the story for a bit to hammer down some things XD /shot

Isbjerg - Iceberg (Danish) (there's a reason for this nickname aahaha, but I don't think anyone actually cares about small facts like that, other than me)

~Butter~