Disclaimer: The Hetalia characters and their personifications belong to Hidekaz Himaruya. 日丸屋 秀和
A/N - Alright, I'll admit I've got some explaining to do... sorry for the confusion lately with the weird updates everyone and thank you all for your patience!
So to answer your questions, yes I am making another story about the nordics because of popular demand. It's not technically part of the trilogy-ish thing I had going on... it's more of an unrelated story about the nordics and how they met before they all showed up in England trying to steal crowns.
Anyway, like my other stories, this one is still semi-related to 'Not Your Ordinary Fairytale' which is why it's posted here first before I make it independent. One more thing, I really like keeping my work historically accurate, but this one is going to incorporate WAY more fantasy as it goes. So be prepared for that!
Now featuring:
Mathias' Rules to Live By:
1) Survive
2) Live life to the fullest because tomorrow you could wake up dead
3) Fear no one
4) Avoid yellow snow
5) Look before you stab
One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
The small cavalcade, with all of its three members, journeyed onward up the sodded path...
It was a magnificent day; the sun was radiant and promising, the sky was dotted with only a few picturesque clouds here and there, a slight costal breeze blew in from the west and the temperature was rather mild despite it being the onset of winter.
Well, two of the three hikers enjoying this delightful scene had a lethal, viscous substance pumping through their veins but, as Mathias saw it, a person had to learn to shrug off those little inconveniences in life and focus on enjoying the simple things...
After successfully absconding through the exit hatch, the group had sprinted as fast and as far as was possible from the archaic pub on the edge of the village.
They'd careened through a small patch of woods which separated the more dense costal region from the countryside, and from there headed north.
For the past several hours the trio had been marching along this well-beaten path near the riverside.
And, although Mathias was doing everything in his power to keep his thoughts on the lighter side, it was admittedly hard to ignore the toxins slowly, painfully, turning his blood to bile.
That fact, in combination with his travel companions being less-than-adequate conversationalists, made the already tedious pilgrimage all the more unbearable.
The trip was made in near silence save for the Danish vagrant's occasional inquiries of, "Are we there yet?"
Furthermore, whenever Mathias ever-so-politely asked, "Seriously, where the hell are we even going?" the only answer he ever received was Lukas' curt, "North."
The former would then huff and mumble a few choice words about the latter under his breath, but didn't have the energy to do much else.
His muscles ached, his chest throbbed with an unfamiliar burning sensation and his head was beginning to pound. Complaining was a waste of his strength. Since he had no idea how far their destination was, who's to say they wouldn't be walking for another several hours? Or days? Perhaps they'd have to climb a mountain? He only prayed that wherever they were going, they would get there before he dropped dead.
In short, preserving his stamina became Mathias' main priority.
Therefore, for an impressively large portion of the journey, the southerner remained relatively quiet, internally cursing the wretched poison that was making him look so weak.
(He was still a fierce marauder, dammit!)
However, he felt his cheeks burn slightly at the thought of his new acquaintances thinking otherwise of him. Each time he stumbled or coughed, the indignant blush on his face darkened.
Lukas had contemplated trying to lose this irritating Danish pest, but soon figured that the task would not only prove difficult while lugging around his injured little brother, he also did not want to risk dealing with a pissed-off, unstable criminal at the moment. This Mathias character was dangerous and unpredictable. Lukas' priority was to get home, get his brother safe, and rid he and Emil of their unwanted company at a later time. For now, although this Dane was more or less a personified headache, Lukas could endure his presence for a while longer.
As frustrated as Mathias was with this lack of knowledge on where they were going, he did gain more information than his frosty companions suspected from their blunt answer.
They were going north. Norwegian territory. So Mathias quickly concluded that these two brothers were Norwegians. After all, the shoe fit: their clothes and faint accents coincided with those of that northwestern culture.
And the fact that these two were in a Swedish alehouse near the harbor told Mathias they were most likely tradesmen or fishermen. At the very least, they were people who travelled to port cities for business, which gave Mathias a narrower field of possible occupations to peg these young men with.
Finally, the way this Lukas fellow carried his kid-brother when the child began to stumble - the intensity with which he clutched the frail body - told Mathias of the strong familial bond these boys shared. Perhaps they only had each other?
Mathias couldn't be so certain on his last observation, however. For all he knew, that level of love and devotion was normal between siblings... but then, he'd never had a family, so he didn't know.
After a few more thrilling rounds of "ARE WE THERE YET?" initiated by Mathias, Lukas eventually gave indication that they were nearing their destination.
Mathias immediately began paying more attention to his surroundings (he'd been zoning out for the last half hour or so, staring at that small blond curl bouncing on the back of the head in front of him. After a while, he'd decided the peculiarity was rather cute on such a serious young man.).
He noted that they had come to a region of low, flat lands with a few rolling hills.
Green carpeted the plains as far as the eye could see. A few patches of clover and a tree here and there festooned this dull sea of grasslands. He'd seen no barns nor other indications of human habitation other than a long, moss-laden stone wall and a few stumps of recently-felled trees.
Then, as they crested a small hill, Mathias finally saw where they were headed.
Nestled between two sloping hills was a tiny hovel which, he could only assume, was the place these odd Norwegians called home.
The structure of the tiny dwelling was circular in shape, low to the ground, with stone walls and grass growing on the roof, sides and windows.
The home was undoubtedly built lifetimes ago and by now looked to be part of the earth.
The only indication that the roof was actually a roof and not just an extension of the ground, was the small hole releasing a faint trail of smoke from the house's cooking fire.
Upon sighting the familiar dwelling, Lukas adjusted Emil on his back and began trotting down the slope to the path leading toward the house.
Although Mathias was impatient to get inside and get his damn antidote already, he found himself walking slowly down the hill, still taking in his surroundings scrutinously.
A small garden lied next to the shelter, some pieces of wood and tools were scattered across the lawn, a few sheep greeted the troop as they advanced toward the front door.
The last thing Mathias noted before following the brothers into the darkness of the old hovel, was a peculiar symbol carved into the wood of the door.
Lukas carefully let Emil down and the child sat on the floor near the center of the room. A blanket was placed over his shoulders and he was told to wait patiently.
Wait patiently? Mathias thought. We just went on a four-hour-long nature walk and now we have to wait even longer?!
Lukas quickly proceeded to the back wall and began rummaging half-frantically through a pile of clutter.
Not knowing what else to do, Mathias released a loud, exasperated breath and took a closer look around.
The interior was just as he expected of these boring Norwegians: dim and dusty.
A few narrow rays of sunlight crept through the windows and cracks in the wall, making the millions of tiny dust particles visible in the congested inside air.
Of course there were the expected furnishings: a single bed, a fireplace with a caldron suspended above the dead embers, a small table along with a few barrels and jars scattered in disarray upon the dirt floor. Some drying meats and herbs hung from the ceiling.
Mathias lazily rubbed his eyes which were still adjusting to the shadowy light of the hovel. His vision felt strained for some reason, and he blamed it on the current polluted condition of his body.
However, when his vision fully adjusted to the dark, his eyes bulged wide.
For, in this lowly one-room hut, was more than he could have ever imagined.
There, against the furthest wall of this little abode, lied a glorious sight.
The bulwark was lined with rows upon rows of shelves laden with bottles - an assortment of different shapes, sizes, colors and clarities.
A ray of sunlight fell upon the display and made the vials of reds, greens, blues and purples positively shimmer.
This wall full of what appeared to be mystical medicines, jars and books was absolutely stunning. It was breathtaking! What words could possibly describe such an enchanting array?
"Holy shit," Mathias breathed.
In his state of awe, Mathias' feet began to carry him forward weightlessly. He slowly reached out to touch one of the glass vials when a hand suddenly slapped his wrist.
"Don't touch."
Mathias turned incredulously to the blond next to him.
"What the hell is all this?" He made a wide gesture with his arms toward the spectacle before him. "What kind of operation are you witch-doctor Norwegians running up here?!"
Lukas only reiterated firmly, "Don't. Touch. ANY. Of. It." Then, without another word, returned to his task of rifling through a pile of old, dust-covered books.
Mathias' eyes shifted between the man kneeling on the ground searching and the impressive wall of potions before him.
"What... are you?"
The older Norwegian paused in his rummaging before responding flatly, "Fishmongers." He did not look up when he spoke.
Mathias blinked. "...Friend, I think you may be a bit confused on what a fishmonger does."
Lukas, who appeared to be losing patience in his thus-far fruitless search, rolled his eyes. He stood up, exasperated, and took the Dane forcefully by the arm and dragged him roughly to the window.
Outside, midway between the house and the riverbank, was a rack full of drying fish and a barrel of what appeared to be salt.
"Fishmongers. Nothing more," Lukas repeated. "We brought them to market in Gothenburg. The owner of that alehouse was one of our buyers; said the fish up here were better quality. Does that answer your damn questions now?"
"No!" Mathias persisted, "What is all that- that-" Again, he pointed to the back wall but could not find the words.
"It was grandfather's," replied a frail voice from across the room. Both men turned at the sound of Emil's voice. "He was a medicine man."
That's when Mathias began to understand. Instantly he knew how he recognized the symbol on the door.
It was an old runic sigil. Mathias had seen many of those symbols before, such as the one carved on his grandfather's shield which was supposedly from the days of vikings. The rune on his shield meant "Protection".
He also knew the one above this house's door: "Health".
"But our parents were fishmongers," Lukas corrected gently, bringing Mathias out of his musings, "and now, so are we. Nothing more."
His glare was so intimidating, any further questions died in Mathias' throat. He decided to go sit next to Emil on the floor while Lukas continued his search.
"Grandfather taught Big Brother how to read and make medicines," the child whispered to Mathias. "But Lukas says to stay away from the books and bottles. He says they're dangerous. He doesn't like messing with that stuff."
Mathias looked at the quiver of poison-tipped arrows still slung on Lukas' back.
Then he looked back at the child.
"Emil, do you know what the word 'hypocrite' means?"
"Found it." Their conversation was suddenly interrupted at the sound of the other man's voice from across the room.
Both Mathias and Emil felt a wave of hope wash over them at the words.
"You found the book?" Mathias stood and once again joined Lukas near the back wall.
There in the older brother's arms was THE largest book Mathias had ever laid eyes on.
It looked positively ancient, bound by a ripped and aged leather material.
He didn't know what the pages were made of, but they were an antediluvian yellowish-tan and were wrinkled by time and water damage.
Several scraps and bookmarks stuck out at odd ends.
On the cover were more symbols, but Mathias could not decipher their meaning.
Lukas stared at the book for a long while, seemingly hesitant to look inside.
"Well?" Mathias prompted impatiently. "Is that the book with the poison recipe? Open it!"
Lukas shot him a glare but then proceeded to slowly pry open the cover. A distinct crinkling sound filled the air as the stiff pages began to bend.
He paged through the old tome carefully, but it was obvious he didn't have a very good idea of where to start looking.
Apparently, this was going to take a while too.
The sun was beginning to hang lower in the afternoon sky. It had been a solid hour that the young man with the curl had begun to scour the book.
Mathias was bored out of his mind, passing the time by using a stone to sharpen the blade of his ax as he sat against the wall.
Earlier he had initiated a light conversation with the younger boy, who had been having difficulty bandaging his leg.
Mathias offered to help the youngster with his wraps and, aside from a warning glance from Lukas, was permitted to do so.
"Sorry I... you know, stabbed you in the leg," Mathias began awkwardly as he covered the wound. "I honestly thought you were a psychotic Swedish guy..."
"It's okay," Emil had shrugged. A sad expression came across his face then. "Brother told me to stay under the table, but when I saw him run in the back room I got worried. It's my fault for not listening."
Mathias was stunned at the child's quick forgiveness. Didn't he understand he should be angry at Mathias? Or scared of him?
The Dane chalked it up to simple callowness on the child's part.
But for some reason, Mathias felt angry that the boy blamed himself for this misfortune.
"Hey, you were only lookin' out for your brother... . That's a pretty brave thing you did if you ask me. I'd say he's lucky to have you. No doubt when you're older, you'll be saving Lukas' ass more times than you can count."
This provoked a small smile from the pale-haired boy, and that in turn prompted a smile from Mathias.
That conversation had ended well nye half an hour ago, however, and Emil had since fallen asleep.
Mathias tried not to let his temper get the best of him as he waited, but he was losing patience. The dull pain persisted internally.
How much longer did he have until this poison killed him? A day? An hour? Less than that?! He could feel the venomous substance eating away at his vital tissues, destroying parts of himself he needed to live.
He couldn't take the suspense much longer!
But then, Mathias noticed something. He hadn't heard the sound of a page turn for a full two minutes now.
He looked up at Lukas who, by the light of the sun spilling in from a gap in the roof, appeared to be fully concentrated on something in his book.
Mathias carefully observed the northerner.
At first his expression was serious and concentrated. Then it morphed into confusion, frustration and (to Mathias' dismay) despair.
Slowly, the book was shut. Indigo eyes flickered to the little boy slumbering on the bed.
"Well?" Mathias grunted, still seated against the wall.
"There is an antidote," Lukas began slowly. He paused and Mathias waited for him to go on. "But... I can't make it."
"What?! Why not? You-"
"I don't have the main ingredient," Lukas interrupted. "I can't make a cure without it," he ground out hopelessly. He seemed furious with himself. Slowly, his eyes glossed over and drifted down toward the floor.
All the air was taken from Mathias' lungs.
So that was it then? The cure was written right in front of them, taunting them, yet they couldn't produce it for lack of one ingredient?
Mathias' breath became rapid. Frustrated, angry, confused, pained, he stormed to the other side of the room as the rage began to cloud the edges of his vision.
He wanted to scream, to curse this unfairness. To curse himself.
He'd gotten himself into this mess and now... and now...
Mathias paused. He'd come to a halt near the bed. In it lie that blasted child, sleeping soundly and peacefully atop the blanket.
Mathias had dragged him into this.
It was because of his own recklessness and rash stupidity that this boy's life was going to be cut short.
He'd never even make it out of childhood. He'd gotten a mere ten years on this earth and it had been robbed of him because... why exactly? Oh yes, because Emil had gone looking for his Big Brother.
For the first time, Mathias felt a genuine stab of unbearable pain in his heart, and he knew it wasn't from the poison.
Some kids were born into a life of trouble; kids like Mathias became thieves and crooks to survive. But Emil... here he was, peacefully asleep in his cozy home in the north. A warm bed, a caldron of broth over a stone fireplace, a brother who loved him... Emil had a chance to live a wonderful life. He didn't engage in the sort of "game" Mathias played.
He felt waves of guilt, regret and sadness wash over him upon seeing the child's innocent face.
Emil has a chance to live a wonderful life, Mathias told himself.
"No," he suddenly voiced aloud. He turned and closed the distance once more between he and the older brother who was still clutching the book. "No, no, no, no, no!" His voice rose as he spoke. "Listen," he bit, shoving is face centimeters in front of the Norwegian, "I have done a shit-load of unforgivable things in life, okay? Believe it or not, I'm not exactly a saint. But I am NOT a cold-blooded murderer!" His blue eyes became frighteningly intense. "I've started fights, I've stole food and money, I've been to the whore house my share of times, hell, I've even hijacked a ship once! But I can justify every life I've taken. ...Emil wasn't part of that. He didn't ask for this." Mathias' hand shook as he pointed across the room. "He wasn't supposed to- ...he was INNOCENT! AND I AM NOT GONNA LET HIM DIE! There has to be something else!"
Lukas glared up at him threateningly. "I told you, I don't have the ingredient," he persisted. Then he stood up. "And don't you dare pretend you give a damn about my brother! I know you want the antidote, but don't go on with all this 'moral' bullshit. You caused this, Dane! You stabbed him to save yourself, and you'd do it again."
"It. Was. An. Accident!" Mathias argued. There was a long pause between the men. The next time Mathias spoke, it was in the form of a whisper. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry for this, but what's done is done, and I'm going to make it right. You said there's a cure! Tell me what you need. I'll find it. Or we'll find a substitute for it. Just tell me!"
Lukas glowered at him, and Mathias noticed the serious man's eyes were still red and glossy. He angrily reopened the book to the page he'd last marked.
"These," he spat bitterly.
The Danish rogue looked at the page.
"...Berries?" Mathias looked at the illustration before him. Small, red berries that looked similar to lingonberries were drawn on the page's surface.
"They're rare. They don't grow here. It says they only grow in one part of the world: atop a mountain in a land far to the north. There's even an old map in here. At best it would be a three day journey."
Mathias studied it for a moment before asking the question which had been burning inside him all day.
"Three days? ...How long until the poison kills us?"
Another pause.
"Three days."