Just to let you know, I do plan for Norway to go back to Scandinavia eventually. He has to, and he'll also come back. If I get that far...
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia - Axis Powers
My lessons with Canada were getting shorter and shorter. The classes that we used to spend up to five hours on were now whittling down to almost thirty minutes a day. He had more training now, after getting used to me teaching him. Magic apparently did not take as much priority as I thought.
With more time to myself than usual, as well as way more freedom than ever, I started wandering around the manor, slowly learning the layout of it, but taking care not to stray back into the dark green corridor again. It still made me feel uneasy.
My Italian was getting better, a lot better. Words seemed to jump out from the shelves, fancy phrases that were once meaningless to me were suddenly exceptionally intriguing. I kept darting around the library, picking up things that ranged from romance novels and mystery books to encyclopedias and history tomes. Although, it was particularly riveting to look at the history books. It's like reading a country's biography, or diary, which made it all the more amazing that Vena had such a wide selection of them.
I spent some time more talking to Bianca. She was much more down-to-earth than Canada, sure, but she was also more protected. She hadn't been through the hardships of war like the rest of us, and that made her very self-conscious. It was visible in her stance, the way she talked and kept checking to see if I was still listening to her all the time.
I still got to spend time with Canada, don't get me wrong, just less. He was usually disappointed at the end of each lesson when he had to go back training, but we still had plenty of fun. He could make the snow and ice go away when he was done with it now, something that satisfied him greatly (also, it saved the rest of us from having to clean up too much).
And now, every early morning, I would head down to the kitchen where Romano would give me hot chocolate and teach me to cook something. Sometimes we would talk, just small, quiet conversations that always made me feel safe.
So I wasn't lonely, not really. Far from it, actually. There was always something to do in the Vargas Manor, and always someone around to keep one company.
I certainly felt more at home there than I had ever felt back in Scandinavia.
Maybe it was because they acted more like a real family should be.
"Canada, time for training," Vene's voice came.
We both looked up as he opened the door. "Come on, wrap it up."
I nodded and took the book away from Canada, expecting our usual routine, but today seemed to be the day to break the cycle, as Canada smiled up adoringly at Vena and pleaded, "Can onii-chan come too? Pleaaaaaaase?"
Vena hesitated. Canada had tried this a few times with Romano, who was the one who usually came to collect him, but his only reward would be an amused smile and a firm shake of the head.
However, the leader of the Vargas household appeared to be easier to soften up than his brother, as he reluctantly nodded to the question.
Canada's eyes lit up, an incredibly joyful grin spread across his face. The child grabbed my hand and began leading me out excitedly.
I slowed my pace a bit when we reached the dark green corridor. It shouldn't have come as a surprise to me that this was where Canada had his training, but I still felt hesitant to enter this place again.
We didn't go into that same training room, of course. Vena brought us to one that was much bigger, large enough to accommodate and entire stadium. There were several rows of seats going around the pristine training grounds.
Vena pointed up at the stairs going up to the seats. "Sit anywhere," he told me, avoiding my gaze. That was strange, I wasn't used to such behaviour from him, but I didn't question it.
By the time I had ascended to one of the front seats, Canada was running along the racetrack with amazing speed. Within a few minutes he had gone eight, nine, ten rounds.
"You train him hard," I noted quietly.
From below, Vena turned and looked back up at me, as if he had heard me from so far away.
I couldn't quite read his expression.
After running, the grounds changed to spongy floors and hurdles. I watched as he jumped, swung, and flipped himself through them and back again. Then there was a rope, all they way to the ceiling, that Canada had to climb. And he did it, thirty metres, in less than twenty minutes without falling.
When he was done with that, Vena glanced back at me and walked into the field.
The grounds changed again. This time, it was all concrete with many systematic white circles painted on the ground. Canada was obviously much less at ease in this setting, and awkwardly avoided stepping too near the circles as he went over to his trainer. Vena handed him something. I winced as he struggled to hold it steady.
The light caught the edge, and I froze.
It was a sword. Nearly half his height, shining silver, slightly curved. There were intricate designs carved into the handle, as far as I could see, and the blade seemed to glow.
Canada was only seven…
I started going out on raids with my people when I was very young. Being a relatively new country, and a northern at that that, I was relatively good at fighting.
But I was one of the very few that used a sword. A sword had to be wielded with one hand only in order to be effective, an incredibly difficult task considering the weight of such a weapon. Even for me, it was nearly impossible to properly use in battle until I was at least nine. Go ahead and laugh, I'm a viking country, remember?
I used to think that Canada wouldn't ever be able to fight offensively, that he'll be in super big trouble if he ever had to go into battle again. I suppose that was mean of me, but Canada's just the kind of kid that couldn't hurt a fly.
Now, watching him swing the sword around and stab viscously (if not a little clumsily) at the practice bags, I wondered whether he may be less innocent than he seemed. Far less innocent than he seemed.
Anyone who saw Iceland as a child would know that appearances can be deceiving.
"What do you think?" Canada asked later.
I looked down at him. "Of what?"
"My training," he answered. "Does it look like I'll survive if anyone ever attacks me again?"
Three strikes and you're out, as the Americans say.
The third time I used magic, it was to stop myself from falling down the stairs. And I must've been a lot weaker than I thought, it did nothing. Okay, it did make me practically break from the inside and quite possibly tear my magical core open, but the point is that it didn't stop me from tumbling down the steps and landing on my arm so badly— I began to cry.
Vena was there in a flash, as he always did. He hugged me to his chest and gently stroked my hair. I cradled my broken arm against him as he whispered comfortingly, "It's alright… it's alright…" over and over again.
I trembled, blinking back tears that refused to stop flowing. When did I get so weak? Surely… surely this couldn't have been the first time I had broken something?
"Be strong, Norway," he soothed me. "Don't cry."
It was only ever at time like this that Vena spoke softly. There was no obvious sympathy in his voice, but I still like to think he cared.
When I began to relax, my sobs subsiding, Vena then moved one hand under me to pick me up. I winced as my arm twisted a bit and stung uncomfortably.
He held me bridal style and strolled down the corridor as if I weigh nothing. My sight was still blurry from tears, but I couldn't unpin either of my arms to wipe my vision clear. We passed Romano, who stopped and narrowed his eyes, though I'm not entirely sure why.
I probably would've recognized my room, even in my disorientated state, only Vena was less careful going through the doorway and the frame wacked my injured arm.
I cried out again. Vena cursed and the next thing I knew, he had very nearly tossed me back on my bed and I was blacking out.
"No lessons today, Norge, just rest," he whispered, pulling the blanket up and over me before walking away.
I let my eyes close and lost consciousness as he left the room, locking the door behind him with a click.
So yeah, that's the background of what happened. Now, the end result was that I was, in a word, grounded. Not allowed to leave my room, or talk to anyone else for a week straight.
When I first woke, it was a similar feeling to that first night here at Vargas Manor so many days ago. I felt lost, alone, and everything was eerily quiet.
I tried to move, but immediately a searing pain shot up my arm and past events came crashing back onto me. If Vena hadn't walked in at that exact moment, I definitely would've freaked out more.
"Vene," I mumbled through tears. I hated how weak and helpless I felt, the pain wasn't even that bad and I couldn't even keep from crying.
"Shh," he whispered, coming over to me. "Don't move, you'll only make it worse."
It was hard to stay still, but the pain hurt like hell so I somehow managed. Vena sat down next to me and gripped my wrist. I nearly screamed, my body felt like it was being torn apart all over again.
Vena leaned over and stroked my hair. I gasped, practically drowning in agony.
"That's right, Norway, keep it in," he whispered, leaning down next to my ear. I let out a kiss at the torture my broken arm was being put through, it was nearly impossible to stay quiet.
I bit my lip so hard I was afraid it might bleed. My arm felt like it was on fire – my whole body felt like it was on fire.
Vena kept stroking me. His hand slipped down to my cheeks and gently eased my eyes open.
His warm golden eyes bore into mine. I felt, I could see that there was genuine concern in his eyes. I forced my hiccup breathing to subside as he brushed away my tears.
He slowly calmed me, holding a finger to his mouth to tell me to be silent. I took a shaky breath, my other hand gripping the sheets tightly. Vena held up two fingers, igniting a red spark between them. "This is going to hurt, Norway."
I closed my eyes, so I didn't see what he did. But my arm went cold, really cold, so that it almost hurt more than before. Burning cold, if that makes sense.
Before I knew it, it was everywhere. My form was shaking with the strain. I grit my teeth to keep from crying out. My fists clenched the sheets so hard it tore.
After what seemed like forever, the pain flowed away. It took me a while to realize I could move my arm away at last.
"Is it better now?" he asked. I nodded hastily.
He smiled concernedly, and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead.
"Breakfast," he nodded towards my desk, where a tray with a stack of pancakes and a glass of orange juice lay.
I slowly propped myself up, wondering how long I had been unconscious again. Now that he mentioned it, I was really hungry.
Vena stood, walking briskly toward the door. "By the way," he called over his shoulder. "You're grounded."
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