The next few days seemed to be like that eye of a storm -still, quiet, as if something was waiting to happen.
The silence could not last.
In the meantime, Norway made preparations for war. They were tedious, but they gave him something to take his mind away from worrying.
On the evening of the second day, Norway was finally finished. So. Much. Paperwork.
He stretched and finished the last of the coffee in his cup. He was itching to do something physical, something active.
He wondered if…
Curious, he dug through his closet until he found what he was looking for.
Grinning (well…), he ran downstairs. "Danmark!"
"Norge?"
"Do you remember when we were younger? How we used to spar before dinner?"
"Of course. Why-?"
Norway held out a wooden sword and axe.
"You kept these?"
"Figured they might come in handy. So? D'ya want to spar with me?"
"It's been a long time, Norge. Sure you're still in shape?" Denmark teased, poking Norway in the stomach.
"I'm not the housewife."
"Oh, it's on now, Norge."
Norway ran out the door, to the nearby clearing, which was perfect for sparring: no rocks, fairly flat, grass-covered. He tossed the axe to Denmark, who barely caught it.
And then they began:
It was a dance. A beautiful, deadly dance. They were evenly matched: Norway was just a bit faster, but Denmark was stronger. Both were equally skilled and they knew how the other fought. Every blow was blocked with perfectly timed parries. They were truly masters of their craft.
Something had to give eventually. They could not go on forever, both had too much pride pride to call a stalemate.
And something did give.
Norway had been advancing on Denmark, but the Dane tripped. Instinctively, Norway caught Denmark's wrist, then slammed him backwards into a tree. It happened so fast that the next thing either of them knew, Norway's sword rested across Denmark's collarbones. His other hand still had a firm grip on Denmark's wrist, fingers pressing into the tendons and casing the axe to fall to the ground.
Both were breathing heavily (it had been a long time since they had done this, after all). Still, with their noses mere inches apart, Norway managed to get out two words: "I…win…"
Denmark nodded, so Norway let go of his wrist and stepped back.
"That was fun," Denmark said when he finally got his breath back.
"Ja…we should go back to the house…it's getting dark."
That night, Norway could not sleep. So, he got his map of Europe out and tried to figure out England's plan.
If that ambitious bastard wanted Germany's land, he would begin the invasion through the Benelux countries.
If Norway began counteroffensives from the north, he could push England's army to the south -where the Brit would be well-supplied, but Norway would be cut off.
On the other hand, if his invasion started in the east, he could push England back to his own territories.
Of course, either way, Norway would have to worry about being trapped between two armies: England's and Russia's.
Even so, this was not his war. He should not worry about Germany; he could take care of himself.
Still, Russia had not made any threatening action to the North. His army was already mobilizing in the south.
Though, if Russia and England split Europe between them, they would have so much power…Their empires would be enormous. It would, at that point, not be difficult for either of them to conquer his lands.
The best defense was a good offense.
He decided to make some calls in the morning.
A/N: My good friend Scotty has offered to write some supplemental chapters for this story. Would anyone be interested in them? (So far, these chapters fill in stuff we don't really get to see/ stuff I have left ambiguous.) The Italy chapter is really funny, even though it's not done yet. What do you, my fabulous readers, think? (They would also answer the "Does Coffee-is-Life ship things?" question. The answer is yes, I use the postal service. Interesting fact: You can send coconuts through the US postal service as long as you put enough stamps on them.) Let me know what you think!