They sat close together, Iceland with his cloak wrapped around him like a cocoon and Norway with his arms around his brother and his own cloak over both their shoulders. It was early autumn in the mountains and a cold breeze whispered through the stiff grass.
The two didn't notice the chill, Norway had found a snug little shelter on the mountainside. Three large stones on their north and west side took off for the wind, on the south they were shielded from prying eyes by a dwarf birch. To the east was only a steep slope overgrown with heather and strewn with stones of varying sizes. If he strained his eyes, he could make out the dark fjord glinting in the sparse moonlight, more than four long days march down the valley.
Norway shifted slightly and turned his attention to the stars. The stone dug into his back, but he ignored it in favour of the myriad of tiny silver pinpricks of light. The skies behind them were pale purple and dark blue, the moon hung like gigantic moorlight.
Maybe there is a fairy holding up the moon, hoping to lure unsuspecting souls up there, never to be seen again. He almost laughed at the ridiculous thought. As if anyone would ever visit the moon.
They must look a bit strange, he decided. Two children alone in the mountains. He, much to his annoyance, didn't look like he had lived more than thirteen winters. Old enough to work, but not old enough to be alone. Little Iceland could maybe pass for a three-year old. Maybe. But he did not need to worry about such trivial matters, because no one would see them any time soon. He did not want to be found, therefore no one would find him.
Iceland yawned.
"Time for sleep little one," Norway hummed. Iceland shook his head.
"Don't want to," he grumbled. A hand went up to rub his eye.
"Go to sleep."
"No."
"Go to sleep."
"Nu-uh," the younger insisted.
"Uh yes," was the immediate response. "Go to sleep, go to sleep, go to sleep…" Norway chanted quietly, his voice rising and falling soothingly.
"Fine," Iceland groaned. "Sing for me," he commanded, Norway laughed silently.
"Of course little brother, but only if you sleep." Iceland huffed but let Norway take his coat and place it on the ground. Iceland's outer coat was bundled together and would serve as a pillow. When Iceland curled up on the cloak Norway put his own over him.
"Comfortable?" he asked. The younger nodded.
"Sing," he requested softly, or, he started to, but was interrupted by a yawn. Norway smiled broadly.
"Bium, bium, bambalo,
bambalo and dillidillido.
I rock my little friend to sleep
But outside there is a face in the window."
"Noregur?" a thin voice whispered.
"Hm?"
"What if it's dangerous?"
"It's outside little one." There was a little pause before the reply came.
"But we're also outside." Norway sighed and loosened his knife from his belt.
"Here you go, this is a knife, now you are safe."
"But…"
"If something bad happens, you stab it."
"Okay." Silence wrapped itself around them and Norway thought Iceland asleep, when a whisper dispelled the illusion.
"Are you sure?" the child asked.
"Iceland, humans are hunters, we are just like humans only stronger, nothing is going to attack us. Besides, your big brother is here, you'll never find a safer place than at my side."
"Why is that?" the younger asked tiredly.
"Because big brothers are stronger than both Tor and Magni together."
"Oh." They stayed in silence for some time. "Noregur?"
"Hm?"
"Sing for me?"
"Of course, another one this time?"
"Ja." And Norway sang and the melody rose and fell. Iceland tried to stay awake and listen, but he kept nodding off and could only make out a few strofes here and there.
"... and the man he strung the bow across his knee, hei fara, across his knee
And then he shot the crow so she fell down
Hei fara, faltu riltu raltu ra…
… skinned to crow and cut her to pieces...
... preserved the tongue for the Yule meal,
Hei fara, faltu riltu raltu ra
From the entrails he made twelve pairs of rope, hei fara, twelve pairs of rope…
… and the beak he used for a church-boat…"
Norway looked down at his little brother and stopped singing. The younger had curled up in his sleep, one hand tight around the knife (still sheathed, he wasn't stupid), and the other clutching the hem of Norway's tunic.
The Scandinavian sighed wearily, but it morphed into a yawn, and with a final wary glance around him, he fell into a vigilant state of half-sleep.
-:- -:- -:- -:- -:-
Tranlations:
Noregur (icelandic) - Norway
Ja (norse, icelandic, norwegian) - Yes
Those words in the songs that you do not understand are just those nonsensical sounds that people feel are necessary in children's songs.
Cultural notes:
The songs I used are Icelandic and Norwegian lullabies, I'd only heard the Norwegian one (about the man killing a crow) but I kind of like them, although the lyrics could be a bit strange to people who did not grow up with them.
Also, Norwegian parents do not give their children knives to ward off nightmares (and neither does Icelandic parents, I think).
Author's note:
This was in part based on the tradition of giving boys knives when they're named, and my father giving me a knife for my first birthday. It was a nice knife too, a kukri designed for killing sheep, I'm sure I still have it somewhere…
I am pretty sure this chapter is late, one would think time is easier to keep track of now that school has started, but apparently not.
Anyhow, please read (I sort of assumed you already did that, but whatever) and review,
På gjensyn,
Shrizyne