Initially, Denmark's life changed in imperceptible ways- heavy cream disappeared at random from the store shelves and army issue pressed wool blankets became his prime source of warmth that winter. There was also the swastika armband Nazi Germany forced him to wear- a simple stripe of fabric that weighed on him like shackles. Occasionally, Denmark clawed at it but never dared to remove it.
His physical quality of life took a vague dip too, the dwindling beer supply turned sour and tasteless the longer the occupation droned on as his economy reoriented from luxury goods to be sold abroad to meeting Nazi Germany's demands. Comparatively, Denmark knew he had it easy. Nazi Germany turned him into a model state set up to be well-treated just to show other countries how good it could be, so he kept his complaints to himself. Nazi Germany stopped by every so often, sometimes just to update him on the tides of war (and things were always going well), sometimes just for a chat. He'd show up every day for a week then not at all for a month, always unannounced. When he wanted Denmark around though, he expected him there.
Then there were the larger things that Denmark's perpetual optimism couldn't mend. Apart from the war itself that it exhausted him to merely think about, was his obvious loneliness. The prolonged isolation from his friends sparked agitation that occasionally evolved into full-fledged panic.
Norway's fate weighed heavily on his mind.
Compared to what came next, that year was a happy one. Like in wars past, his life chugged from one mundane moment into the next interrupted by flashes of unabated terror. The sounds of battle meant he stayed inside even when leaving became an option and the moments of stillness came to frighten him just as much as the explosions.
In spite of it all, he dredged up every diplomacy lesson ever learned. The order he received most frequently also the one that filled him with self-loathing- speaking to his former friends in order to expound on the glories of the new Europe and encourage their surrender so that they may live like him. All Denmark's missteps in these communications were countered with very real threats.
Nazi Germany grew fond of reminding Denmark of his place of privilege- that war remained off his soil, he had a steady stream of food, unlike the Netherlands who starved, and most importantly that his fellow Danes- Jylland, Fyn, and Bornholm were granted the gift and privilege of life. Subjecting him to the unpredictability of his rage seemed to be the point some days.
Denmark did, however, extend some formal protest one day when Nazi Germany found him sitting in bed with a radio for noise and company.
"When I first came, my armies marched through Oslo playing musical instruments. Norway offered no trouble whatsoever and I was so hopeful." Nazi Germany explained as he took a seat on the bed next to Denmark. "Now when I go there, I find my naval ships have disappeared and I'm attacked in the woods. He's constantly damaging me-us- when I attack England."
Denmark hid his momentary joy just a second too late. Norway wasn't much of a fighter, either. He deciphered through a combination of Nazi Germany's rants and common sense that Norway took to engaging in acts of sabotage whenever and wherever he could and now it was confirmed. In that moment he betrayed his weak spot and unintentionally Norway's too. Nazi Germany noticed almost immediately.
"Is something funny boy?"
Denmark swallowed and flipped off the radio.
Nazi Germany seemed mollified enough to continue. "Hm, that's what I thought. I haven't sent food in months and it would be a shame if I had to starve a fellow Aryan to death because he can't see what's good for him."
Not that Norway could ever be starved out with three lifetimes worth of experience hunting, fishing, and cultivating wild plants. He took it as a point of pride.
"And you want me to try and talk him out of it." Denmark said knowingly.
"Well, thank God you get that much," said Nazi Germany.
True, he remained desperate to escape the pervasive feelings of loneliness that would never leave him alone. Seeing Norway under any circumstances would be a joy. Denmark didn't relent to his own selfish want at first and shook his head. There was that tiny ember of rebellion that whispered reminders of his continued service as a puppet state to the greatest horror Europe had seen.
"Forgive me, mien fuehrer, I… don't think I can." Denmark said cautiously and truthfully. Norway wasn't quite so myopic. Thus far, these diplomacy missions had been unsuccessful and won temporary enemies in France and Netherlands and he still dreaded the day he'd have to speak to Poland.
Nazi Germany considered this for a moment, then smacked his crop sharply against a desk. The crack sent Denmark jumping backwards against a wall. "You can and you will! And God help you if you don't!"
And that is how Denmark came to betray his best friend. Serendipity alone prevented him from heeding orders. Halfway to Norway's territory after a lot of exhausting back and forth, he decided he'd had enough of the soul-crushing solitude, being bullied and threatened, and that all he wanted was his friend's counsel.
He wandered through the deserted and dead streets of Oslo, not expecting to see Norway- a presence in his life normally as constant as the Northern Star. He then approached Norway's ransacked house, fighting an ever-growing suspicion he was being watched all the while making distress cries like a lost fawn, struck with the heart-wrenching familiarity of it all. And the knowledge that Norway sat somewhere so near without answering his calls troubled him deeply.
He entertained a very foreign thought- after their last encounter when Denmark condemned him to invasion through his own inaction, Norway had had enough. Denmark may not have known all there was to know, but when it came to Norway he fancied himself close and abandonment proved the most plausible scenario. With a quiet but despairing sob, he fell against the side of the house and wept.
"Denmark!" It was Sweden.
He snapped upright at his name and found his friend slinking around the other side of Norway's house and along the wall until they stood within whispering distance. He wiped his tears and tackled Sweden with a full frontal hug, one joyfully returned.
Sweden moved a hand to his wrist. "Shut your eyes and come with me. Above all, do not panic."
Denmark clamped a hand over his eye and listened to the sensation of feet crunching the power snow in their wake, soon to be blown into nothingness by the mountain breeze. He did however; dig his heels into the ground at the rustling of branches directly in front of him. Sweden heaved a heavy sigh and yanked him forward. As he got thrown off balance, Denmark crashed through a low lying branch and bit back an urge to scream.
He breathed only when he remembered for the rest of the walk and somehow made nary a peep as Sweden led him out of the forest and into the ostensible safety of an empty hangar.
"I missed you so much!" Denmark squeaked out.
"Same here." The sun flashed off Sweden's glasses.
"But how… how are you doing this?" Denmark gestured vaguely around.
"Doing what? Living?" said Sweden. "Let me say this much. I shouldn't even be talking with you because I'm neutral. I meant that when I said it before, though unlike anyone else I've maintained it. Finland especially, for that matter. Jeeze."
A bomb exploded somewhere within him and he felt about ready to cry all over again. Sweden ignored the general shift in mood and continued.
"I can't help non-neutral countries and you," he poked a finger in Denmark's chest, "are a Nazi collaborator."
Denmark glowered and opened his mouth to protest, but the words dissolved on his tongue. Sweden only shrugged.
"Admitting is the first step to recovery. So quit walking in place and quit letting him push you around."
"What can I do?" Denmark said.
"Can't tell you. Neutral, remember?" He and Sweden swapped a look that lasted mere seconds, but contained centuries of understanding. Though it would be imperceptible to anyone else; Denmark caught a glint in his friend's eye that told him everything he needed to hear, and he smiled as Sweden pulled out a map.
"If I wasn't neutral, I wouldn't place mines here… here… and here." He traced an outline over clusters of coordinates in the Baltic Sea and Gulf of Finland. Denmark watched with rapt attention, playing a game of memory that could cost his life should he lose. "Can you get through it?"
"Can I keep the map?" Denmark asked.
"No. But you can look at it as long as you need." Said Sweden.
So Denmark stared until he committed to memory every coordinate, every trap, every roadblock, and every safe passage. With the war raging ever harder in the west, stealing off looked increasingly likely. When Denmark mustered the confidence that he could navigate a small fishing boat through the deadly maze he passed back the map.
"Have you heard from Norway?" He asked just as much from genuine concern as to avoid the pending goodbye wedged between them.
"Sure have," the other nation chuckled, "he asks about you… a lot. Glad I'll finally have something to tell him."
A spasm of jealousy wracked his body. "Nazi Germany sent me here to find Norway." He said sadly. By saying yes, Denmark felt he'd permanently forfeited his right to refusal.
"You show up wearing a swastika armband and we all know you've been letting Nazi Germany steer you with everything except a bridle and set of reins. Of course you won't find him." Sweden said.
Denmark swallowed hard. "I can't go back. If I go back without any information he'll…" The threat, never fully manifested, left Denmark with an innate fear of the unknown, never even granted the option to weigh his choices.
Again Sweden chuckled. "Wow, even in the middle of a war, my job is still keeping both of you out of trouble. Let me see… Norway has a hydroelectric power plant that manufactures heavy water."
"Heavy water?" Denmark repeated blankly.
"Don't worry about the chemistry. Long story short, Nazi Germany needs it to make one those new nuclear bombs. Norway and England are collaborating to stop him. Norway's been living in the mountains off moss and lichen waiting for his chance to blow up that plant. You go back and tell Nazi Germany that, I promise he won't be angry with you." Sweden said.
"What about Norway?" Denmark said.
"Norway is a gang of one. It's too late to stop him. Now go home, I'll see you again soon."
Denmark gave Sweden one final hug and turned to leave only to be called back.
"And Denmark?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time you show up, take off that goddamn swastika. I hate seeing it on you."
Denmark fingered the offending article, but left it in place. Though he was loath for its symbolism, it afforded him a measure of protection he wasn't ready to shake.
Predictably, Nazi Germany had waited the entirety of the visit out and pounced Denmark the second he reappeared. The other nation ignored the barrage of questions as to why he returned alone and what had taken so long and the details therein. Instead, he launched straightaway into a curt explanation about Norway's untimely attack that would spare Nazi Germany the burden of owning the world's first nuclear weapon.
And the superpower asked no further questions and stormed off, all the while shouting indictments of Denmark's uselessness.
From then on, Denmark denied Nazi Germany the formidable and weighty title of 'fuehrer' and instead refused to address him as anything.
This story is written in its entirety and I frankly just need it out of my hands. Updates should come quickly.
More to come...