Chapter 8: Bring on the Day There Will be only Joy

Denmark tethered the fishing boat in a new harbor this time around; one in a village where it would blend in better, and crudely tied a sack of coffee to a belt loop he toted along as a thank you gift. He then slinked his way to Sweden's.

There, he saw something that stopped his world.

Norway lazed against a tree, playing with a toy he constructed from two sticks. He appeared about 1/3 smaller than what Denmark recalled, but that could have been his own faulty memory at work, and his clothing one step above rags. With every shred of his being he wanted to run up and embrace his friend, but the consistent isolation twisted something about him.

"Where's Sweden?" That spark, that flare of happiness he expected at the site of his best friend simply missing. Norway glanced briefly in his direction. In spite of the near-perfect weather, the air grew thick and heavy.

"He went… I don't know. He said to wait here." Norway said.

Denmark lay stomach down in the grass a short distance away, regarding his friend and fanning his legs in air. He arranged himself in such a manner that Norway sat in his direct line of vision and with the Gulf of Finland kilometers yonder, where the mines bobbed like metallic sea birds. Thus far, none had gone off.

More than once, Norway turned and insinuated to speak, but always retreated back to his toy. With the long stretch of silence wearing him out, Denmark untied the sack at his waist. True, he fully intended to pass it to Sweden but doubted he'd mind if Norway had it instead. Without sitting up, he lightly tossed the bag at Norway's feet. "That's for you." He belly crawled closer to Norway and when he wasn't asked to stop, he kept going.

Even without viewing its contents, the smell gave it away as coffee. Not ersatz. Not chicory. Real coffee. Norway sprang back to life; delighting in the luxury he undoubtedly missed greatly. "You are my hero!" He teased.

Denmark beamed up at him.

"Thank you. Come give me a hug." Norway said, grazing his back invitingly.

Denmark shied away with a hiss and Norway recoiled as if burned and then returned to his stick, deflated. The bad mood must have been contagious because Denmark felt instantly awful. He considered launching into a full-fledged explanation but opted instead for the quickest and easiest route to reconciliation. He sidled up to Norway and manipulated his friend's arm until it lay draped painlessly over his shoulders. Then touch did only what touch can do and they swiftly reestablished familiar ground.

"Did he hurt you?" Norway asked in nary a whisper and tensed, betraying the flicker of anger that overcame him.

Norway's ribs poked. His hands felt rougher, calloused, and dirty. Still definitely Norway, but Denmark preferred it when he had more Norway to hold. He eased the other country's agitation with a reassuring squeeze.

"Don't wanna talk about it."

Someday in the future, they'd sit in a circle and swap horror stories. That was all for later though. The waves lapping at low tide, azure sky, and sunshine was theirs to enjoy right now. After that, Norway tugged him closer and took extra care to avoid the wounds on his back.

He rubbed under the armband and then placed his other hand on Denmark's head and guided it to his chest. The calming predictability melted Denmark mind, body, and soul. He sat there elated to be in kind, trusted hands once again.

Through the years of the occupation Denmark longed for this nearness of another person, Norway most of all. The first stepping-stone along the road to normalcy. He gave his friend a soft nuzzle and shut his eyes. The stray hair was brushed away from his face and then his world reduced to Norway's metronomic heartbeat and the slow caresses up and down his arm.

"Hey Denmark?"

"Mmmm?"

"Actually, nevermind. We can talk about it later. Just rest."

No objection there. Quietly thrilled to hear something besides gunshots and his own lonely breathing, Denmark was lulled to sleep.

The next thing he felt were knuckles lightly rapping his forehead. Denmark fussed childishly and swatted at the offender. It stopped briefly and then resumed. Ironically, Norway's voice brought him back from the dreamy blackness. "Sweden, stop! I asked you to let him sleep."

"Norway, hush. Come on Denmark, wakey wakey." Sweden said, following it with a flick. Denmark moaned and reluctantly resumed a sitting position.

He paused for dramatic effect. "It is prevailing opinion that the war is about to end."

Denmark wiped a hand across one eye, then the other and stretched. "They've been saying that for years. How is it different this time?"

"There's hope." Norway said. "A continent wide, all out effort to expel Nazi Germany."

Hope… such a funny word.

"America and Canada will attack by air, England and France by land. Poland and Russia will push him from the east; Netherlands plans to literally burn his bridges. And Norway…"

"I already know what to do."

"What about you, Sweden?" Denmark asked.

"My iron ore supply will conveniently dry up and his communication wires are about to go down, but he doesn't know that."

With a light sigh, Denmark rolled onto his side and plopped his head in Norway's lap. He'd sit up straight when Sweden gave him a real reason to. "He'll make me fight. He will find all this out and make me fight. This will never end." He stared onwards without actually seeing, among his friends without being with them.

A few gentle strokes from Norway brought him back. "He only can if you let him."

Right. The other Danes were safe and Norway and Sweden could take care of themselves. No excuse not to nurture those fledgling attempts at rebellion.

The trio sat silently for a few minutes, then Sweden carried on as if never interrupted. Seeing this boney version of Norway steadied and calmed him and reminded him he'd do anything… anything for a return to the old ways. He mulled over Sweden's words and the increasingly complicated plan codenamed Operation: Neptune. Norway hung on every word as though their lives depended on his understanding. Maybe they did.

In the midst of detailing supply shipments, Denmark surprised even himself when he mentioned the major transportation vein Nazi Germany used to transfer artillery from east to west. "I can cut that off." He interrupted.

And Sweden stopped dead. "Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean… Nazi Germany's really angry at you."

Denmark shuddered. "…You don't say. Are you sure Operation: Neptune will work?"

"It's the best we have so far." Norway said. "I'm willing to try. Lichen tastes awful… I want real food again. I'm sick of living in the mountains and shivering my way through winter. I want my bed back."

"Being on my guard every second of every day and sleeping with one eye open." Sweden added.

"And I get so lonely and… I just want to feel like myself again." Denmark said. The other nations nodded in concurrence.

That was it. That was the motivation he needed to go back and fight and do it without touching a weapon. Sweden had faith in the new plan, and Denmark had absolute confidence in his judgment. No more could they continue to exist in a world where some lived only to kill and others lived only to die.

Denmark shook off all his trepidation and past sins. Sometimes, it's not about how you start, but how you finish. He pushed upright. "Alright then, that's that. Thanks for the update. I'm going to get back and throw something together." He turned to Sweden and gave the stunned country a strong and stately handshake and offered the same to Norway who halted him at arm's length.

"Let me walk you back to your boat." Said Norway. Denmark tilted his head, confused, but didn't object.

As they strolled along the road, Norway made a few more false starts so Denmark kept him in sharp focus until he finally outed with whatever bothered him. Unlike before, he made no effort to rescue Norway from the burden of sharing.

"I've been so worried since the last time I saw you. I didn't mean to abandon you, not for a second. Fear got the better of me. I'm so sorry." He moved to wrap Denmark in a hug, but stopped himself short.

"Do you think I'm mad?" Denmark asked incredulously. Norway apparently suffered his own emotional jostles and Denmark wondered if all that time in the woods didn't go to his head. The solitude, the trees, butterflies, lack of alcohol… maybe his best friend turned more bear than human. His hands looked a little brown. Just one more reason to keep out of the forest. Then it's only one short step to getting into the river and catching salmon with your teeth. "Why would I be mad?"

"Because I abandoned you when you needed me the most." At that vivid moment of the invasion, Denmark thought exactly that. But what good would a grudge accomplish? Any residual anger he felt washed away in a barrage of worry days after the fact.

"I'm not mad, Norway. You've saved me from enough crawling things and shared your beer so many times… how the hell could I possibly stay mad?" When he bothered to consider it, especially in these years when every instance of kindness constituted an act of rebellion, their friendship itself seemed nothing short of miraculous.

"So you forgive me then?"

Given the circumstance, there was nothing to forgive. Denmark snuck behind him and stood on his toes to hug Norway from behind. In return, Norway messed his hair affectionately.

"See?" Norway said. "This is why you're my best friend."

They did, however grow solemn again in the spirit of a pending goodbye. Very possibly their last. At least this time, they parted on a good note.

"Stay safe." Norway said as he helped Denmark into the boat.

"You too. And Norway?"

"Hm?"

"For the love of god, gain some weight please."

Norway admired his gaunt hands and loose clothing for a minute and chuckled. "The coffee should help, once I get some cream and sugar to go with it, that is. Was that… actually for me? Or was it for Sweden?"

Denmark unknotted the hefty rope and tossed it to the boat deck. "Don't tell him."