Chapter Text
Maybe it was foolish of me to think the fighting would stop, but some political actions raised the spark of fire and turned the beast into a monster. It engulfed the house, leaving no one unscathed. I still spent the nights huddled in my room as I listened to Denmark and Norway squabble over the smallest things, the days spent avoiding the snarls of the growing men. The aggression bloomed from the cool fall of september, it never simmered down, only growing into a blaze that slowly started to burn the house to the ground.
I hid around corners, hiding away from the prying eyes of the two men that fought. Even though the house was as empty as it could be, it was filled with the same amount of aggression from only months before. What got me was the bruises that started to appear on Norway's arms, the purple bloomed bigger each week. Norway came to me during the silent, cold nights. He hugged me, spoke to me about how i had grown and how he loved me. He spent the nights wrapped around my smaller body, seaking out my comfort.
I avoided Denmark’s rage fueled drinking, hiding away from the smashing of glass and metal. I avoided the yells of my brothers down below, hiding away from their growing hate. Norway mistreated and Denmark stuck in a downhill fall. The world was falling apart around me, my chest felt empty. Ever since Sweden and Finland left, life got worse. I felt homesick, empty, scared. I couldn’t leave the room I was given from the first night I stayed over without tiptoeing over the wool and wood, without covering up my breathing.
Norway disappeared, for many days he’d be gone. I’d be alone with Denmark for days, hiding away from his drunken frenzy. But once in a while, he’d come into my room and hold me, sobbing. His life was falling apart, just like mine. I almost felt pity for the man, unable to stay mad at him. Denmark would hold me until Norway got home, he’d fall to his knees and cry over Norway's feet. Norway only glared down at him.
One night, I was outside, breathing in the cold air of the winter. Norway had one of his episodes, running away to never be seen for days on end. For many hours the only thing I could hear in the woods was the rustling of the dying leaves and the running of the river that flowed past the dying pine tree that I used to love dearly. I remember the days where I would climb the tree with Denmark, staring out over the trees that I wished could be my own home.
A few chirps made me flinch, the sounds of a bird came from above me. The sound familiar, like I had heard it before. I could not pinpoint the sound that blared through my ears. I squinted, staring up into the trees above my head. No birds, only the dying leaves that rotted up on their branches. The sound of the bird was familiar, but I could not place where I remembered it from. A warm feeling filled my chest, a feeling that I had not felt in years. Many years. The sense of home, the sense of something so dear to me was coming to say hello. That it was not too far away.
The egg was cold. Deathly cold. I wrapped my hands around the strange egg, small and covered in brown spots. It was high on a cliff, slightly slipping on the wet grass that covered the rocks of the side. The wind was cool, brushing against my bangs, circling around my small body as I climbed back up the hill with the egg.
I nearly slipped as I grabbed onto the roots that stuck off from the cliff, helping me struggle my way upwards. As I touched solid, flat rock, I sighed and sat down. The egg had not cracked, nor did it beat with the warmth of a young, alive baby bird. I huddled the egg towards my chest and under the furs that decorated my shoulders. I nearly wrapped my entire body around the dying egg, trying to get the poor thing to warm up and give it life.
It was probably a few hours, maybe just a few minutes till I started to hear a voice calling for me. Popping my head out of my furs, I looked around. Nothing had changed, the air still cold, clouds hung loosely in the sky.
“Ísland?” Norway, “Ísland? Where are you?”
The egg wobbled in my hands, suddenly warmed by the sound of Norway’s voice. Joy leapt through my heart at the sight of the warm, wiggling egg.
“Norge! Norge!” I laughed giddily as I waved over the older boy, whose young face flashed with surprise as he spotted me hanging by the edge of the cliff with my body wrapped around an egg.
“Ísland! There you are!” Norway, a boy barely older than me with blond hair, nearly purple, blue eyes of stone and soft hands.
“What cha got there, little one?” Norway jogged over, immediately bending over me to check on me.
“Egg!” I spoke in my tongue, ignoring the others Norwegian.
“Egg?” Norway scowled, “You found an egg?”
“It's a puffin egg! Left behind maybe, it was all alone,” I pressed my small hands to warm the egg. Norway crouched to his knees, pressing a hand on the egg.
“It will not die, it is alive,” Norway helped me up, grabbing me and cradling me in his arms. I hugged the egg close to my chest as Norway started to walk.
“What should I name it?” I asked.
“Anything, anything you would like, little one,” Norway chuckled as he slid into the brush that covered the camp of men. They eye us as we cross the camp, many men draped in wool's and cloaks, cowering from the cold. A man approached Norway as he set me down, my hands still holding the egg, it slightly shook.
The pair talked in hushed whispers, avoiding looking at me directly. My eyes widen as the egg cracked-
“Norge! I- I think I broke it!” Slight panic set into my bones as my eyes widened at the puffin egg.
“Ísland-“ Norway turned away from the man who he was talking to, turning to look at the familiar, “It is hatching, you have not broken it,” Norway bent down to press his fingers along the eggs shaking shell, whispering a few words that went above my head. The shell fell apart, a small little beak pressed outwards and into the air. Norway laughed as he watched me stare in awe.
A few men had gathered around to look, silently chuckling at me as I watched the baby puffin stick it's head out of the egg. A man ruffled my hair as my small hands picked up the slightly feathered puffling. I smiled, my grin the largest Norway has ever seen it been.
“Take care of it,” Norway stood up, his young legs slightly aching from the rocky ground, “You will name it, and take care of it, correct?”
“Yes! Of course, big brother!” I smiled as I Stood up as well, “I will…. name him Mr. Puffin!”
Norway snorted, leaning in to speak to the small, baby bird, “Take care of him, alright?” The small bird only squeaked in response.
I watched as Norway turned to speak to the men of the camp, holding the baby bird close to my chest.
Aye, aye! Watch it tough guy!
I froze.
Yeah, I’m talking to ya! Your brother there told me to take care of ya, and that’s what I’m gonna do, punk!
I stared at the bird who stared back up at me. “NORGE! It spoke!” I held the bird away from my chest, it squawked.
Yo! Don’t fuckin’ throw me!
“Norge!!” Norway sighed as he turned to look at my panicked face.
“Ísland, you’ve had a long day, maybe it’s time for bed,” Norway put on a tired smile as he scooped me up into my arms.
Yeah, punk! Bed time!
“I’m not lying! It’s talking, can’t you hear it?” I desperately spoke to the boy, the bird seemed to laugh at me as I panicked.
“I said, you’ve had a long day, it’s time for bed,” Norway moved to put me into the furs of my bed, ruffling my hair, “In the morning, you’ll feel better.”
Sleep! That's what you need!
“I hate you.”
Love ya too, punk.
A bird, more specifically, a puffin, flew overhead. It squawked as it landed next to me. I smiled.
The sound of the front door opening woke me. My head spun, a small headache gracing me a good morning as he rolled and pulled the covers up to cover my head. The throbbing ache was preventing me from going back to bed, the pain consumed me as many footsteps filled the hallways. I groaned, unused to the knowledge of having so many people was also keeping me up. The morning sun had yet to shine through the windows and I hid beneath the covers. I spent many mornings doing the same thing I’m doing now, stuck underneath the covers of my bead, not wanting to leave the comfort of them.
I had also spent many evenings trying to make Mr. Puffin quiet. Such simple things kept me up to hours unimaginable to others, unimaginable to the ruckus that dwelled outside my door. The ache that swallowed my head and thoughts did not cease as the morning sun peeked from behind the white curtains of my room. I poked my head out of my covers, finally breathing and taking a listen to the starting voices.
My feet hit the ground with a thump as I stepped out of bed. My legs had grown, they had an unfamiliar length that made me stumble. I wobbled as my limbs stretched and creaked with tiredness, raking a cold hand into my tangled hair. I reached for my curtains, pulling them apart to let the new sun shine into the room. Keeping an ear out for footsteps or voices, I pressed my hands against the clips of the window, pushing the glass up. Sticking my face out the window felt good, the wind blew my hair behind my ears and out of my face, the wind bit at my cheeks and fingers with a cold stricken gust.
I flinched as my door was slammed open, hurried and frantic. I whipped around to see Denmark panting by the opening of my door.
“Danmark?” I gasped.
He rushed over to me, his eyes wide in shame.
“Danmark?” I grabbed his arm, squeezing it as he pressed his fingers to my cheeks.
“Come,” Denmark beckoned, pulling me out of my room and down the long and twisting hallways of the Danish home.
“Danmark!” Sweden. Sweden’s voice shouted through the house, “Do as Norge has wished!”
Denmark pulled my arm, his fingers thick and tight as he took a shameful glance back towards me. My heart raced, face flushed. I wondered, wondered why Sweden had entered the large home again. I gritted my teeth in pain as Denmark tugged at my skin.
“Danmark!” This time, it was Norway who called out. His voice was desperate as we twisted and turned in the hallways, “Please! Leave Ísland in bed!”
Denmark finally stopped and I rammed into his back, “He deserves to see you. He deserves to see you run.”
Norway had entered the hallway we stood in, “Ísland.”
I pried Denmark off of my arm and jumped forwards to Norway, “What’s going on?”
“I-”
“He’s leaving,” Sweden had appeared and had pressed a large hand against Norway’s shoulder.
My eyes widened, shocked by the sudden information. “What?” I asked, heart never stopping to calm down.
“The treaty is already signed,” Sweden stared down at me, his blue eyes stricken with worry and sorrow.
“As long as you don’t leave,” I quoted, pressing my face into Norway’s chest. My hands tightened into the elders cloak, my fingers tangling in the furr. I could feel Norway stiffening as he remembered the promise, the night in which Denmark had come smiling to them as they sat on the couch with the fire burning.
“Of course, little one,” Norway pressed his nose into my messy hair.
“Now, you are leaving,” My eyes stinged, never have I thought I would be left alone. After all these years, after all those nights spent along with just a bird and the snow was something I never thought I’d have again.
“This,” Norway whispered into my hair, his voice gruff, “This wasn’t my choice.”
“You have no say in this. We never do,” I whispered. I pressed my hands to his face, tears threatening my eyes to spill over. I did not think everything would fall apart like this, fall apart in a way family was torn away from me. I did not want to live in this house alone, Denmark was never around, I did not want to be alone.
“May my words stay with you forever, may they lead you to great places,” Norway had to pry himself off of me with the help of Sweden. I could not process the parting of the touch, I desperately reached forwards to the leaving force, like I was a child reaching for his mother. I was just a child. I child that knew nothing of war, that knew nothing of separation. Life as a nation is a learning process, and now I am learning. Learning faster than I can take.
I leaned into the cold but familiar hands of the man who treated me as a brother, who said he'd be at my side for as long as I stayed at this damn house. He had spat lies through his teeth, he knew I'd have to stay with Denmark but could not admit it to me. I am and will always be a child to them.
“Take care, Eiríkur,” He said. I watched as Norway opened the door and leave. I choked out a sob as Denmark pressed a warm hand to my head, kissing my hair and whispering;
“It’ll be okay.”
I watched Denmark from the door of the kitchen, watching him chop up the deer that he was preparing for dinner that night. I held Mr. Puffin close to my chest as I walked in, Denmark's humming was low and soft. My feet felt light, unable to think about anything other than the last words that Norway had spoken to me before he left. It was for the better, I knew that Norway would be treated better with Sweden, in a better place and considered as a neighboring subordinate.
Mr. Puffin squawked as he noticed that I would not speak, and let Denmark know that I had entered for dinner. Denmark jumped as he whirled around to spot me and my puffin.
“Where- where did you get that thing?” Denmark asked.
“Home,” I spoke quietly, walking across the kitchen to sit down in one of the lonely two chairs that were placed for the occupants of the large house.
“Ísland? How did he get here?” Denmark moved with the meat in his hands, setting it down on the long table to sit across from me and Mr. Puffin.
“I do not know,” I placed the wiggling bird onto the table, letting him strut around, “He follows me everywhere. He’s been with me for forever”
Denmark nodded as he watched the dirty bird walk across his table. I smiled at how confidently Mr. Puffin strutted up to Denmark to peck at his nose.
“Ice- god watch your bird!”
The house may not be full of people like it had been many years ago, but I sure was happy with the warm atmosphere. No hate or worry drenched and clogged the air of the halls. The worst seemed to be over.
“Eiríkur, huh?” Denmark turned to watch my eyes snap over to me, “Heard Norge say that to ya. I’m glad you thought of something before it was all over.”
“It isn’t over, Danmark,” I huffed, using a hand to grab Mr. Puffin and pull him close to me, “We have many years to ourselves, many years left to spend.”
Denmark smiled, “How did you grow up so fast?”
“Times change, people change,” I spoke, hands stroking the bird feathers and the bird huffed.
Denmark eyed me as I pushed my chair forwards so I was properly sitting at the table. I picked up my fork and picked at the meat that sat on the plate in front of me. The days had been long, just me and Denmark and a bird. Nights were cold, my bed sheets ice cold from the open windows and open doors. Denmark spent his days out and doing work, I stayed in the house or outside in the garden I started. I wished to see the sheep of my home, the bold fences and houses that littered the mountains and valleys. I wished for the woman who held me as a child and kept me close to her chest as she smiled and laughed warmly with the men with beards and mead.
At times it would be lonely, unable to see anyone in the house other than the bird who squawked and bickered with me. I could not blame anyone anymore, it was no one's fault but the decisions of our rulers and people. Hate had blossomed and pushed us away from each other, that was something that is expected from people who have lived hundreds of years. People learn to hate and people learn to love, many of the things Norway had said me will stick to me for the rest of my life, including those words. We are ourselves but we are also no one at all. I am myself, but I am also no one to the grand world that was outside of my grasp. People know who Denmark is, they know who Sweden is, they know who Norway is, and they know who Finland is. Someday, I will become someone who they will know, the world will know who I am. I won't be lonely, I will have the the people around me. I will finally have people around me.
I pressed the fork into the meat, prying the flesh apart to stuff the dry meat into his mouth. Denmark smiled as he pushed out of his chair, pressing his hands against the table. He leaned around the table and pressed his hands to my face, a sad frown carved into his red cheeks. He pressed his head to my own forehead, letting out a sound sob.
“We had everything,” I stared into his blue eyes, “A family, Friends. And look, we lost them.”
“We haven’t lost anything,” I reply.
“What?”
“You have me,” I laughed halfheartedly, watching as he scoffed and smiled at the words, “You’ll have me.”
“Why are you the one comforting me?” Denmark asked, arms tight around me.
“Because you’re the one who needs comforting,” I said, voice shaky.
“I should be comforting you,” Denmark whispered.
“I don’t need comforting, Danmark,” I reasoned.
“You lost your brother, Ísland,” Denmark pressed his thumbs into my sides, holding me close.
“You’re my brother, Dan,” I said, without thinking. The phrase surprised me, I had not expected to say that. I did not understand why I even said such a thing. But, I did realize I had referred to every man who lived in this house as such. They are family, so is Denmark.
“Yes,” Denmark laughed, “I’m your Brother…”
I watched as Denmark stared down at me, trailing off from his sentence to press his hands to the side of my head.
“Thank you, Ísland,” He smiled.
I nodded as he pitifully laughed. Brothers.
“Goodnight, Eiríkur,” Denmark ruffled my hair, smiling. And I bid him a goodnight.
I wiped the dirt from my hands onto my thin fabric pants, smearing the wet mud and dust onto the tan pants. My sleeves rolled up to cool down from the blearing heat that rose over the horizon. It was all quite familiar, standing out under the sun with dirt, mud, and grass stains covering most of my skin and clothes. Familiar with the bird that sat on my shoulder -though not as heavy as when I was a child- and the way Mr. Puffin pecked at his reddening ears.
It was 1918. The years had passed in a flash and had left me falling behind, stumbling to grasp onto the changing world. Compared to Denmark, he did not share the same struggles I did. He did not struggle with the overwhelming feeling of homesickness. I had hoped that I could finally go home, go back to Iceland and once again stand on the plains and hills like I did as a child. But, sadly, I was not granted that by Denmark. He kept me close to his side for many years, unable to let me go like he did with Norway, Sweden, and Finland.
I had watched Finland and Norway gain their independence and become countries once again, separating from Sweden with heads held high. The newspapers in Denmark kept me up to date with Finland and Denmark came smiling to me nearly a hundred years ago waving his arms around about how Norway is no longer in a union with Sweden and whooped as he picked me up. He had acted the same but replacing Norway with Finland and Sweden with Russia. But I wished for the same feeling of Nationality and freedom. Mr. puffin called it jealousy.
1908, I remember the year well. The year I thought Denmark would finally let go of me like the others had. But, I was sadly mistaken and what I wished for took longer than I ever hoped for. I remember sitting with Denmark i n the hallways of his court rooms, his and my politicians roaming and speaking. Denmark did not speak to me that year, unable to look at me knowing that I wanted to leave and leave his side. He considered me family, my people as his own, but I lost that feeling years ago.
In the past few years, war had swooped the world into devastation. I pressed my hands into the moist and youthful soil that I treasured, that I started at Denmark's home. My hand shook as I reflected, it might’ve been for the best to stray away from the claws of the men who reached for power, to be neutral as the world clawed at each other like cats and dogs.
One night, I remember, I woke up to voices in the big house that had been empty for anything but me and Denmark. I shuffled out of my covers and pulled on a cardigan and opened the old wooden door of my room that I've pushed over thousands of times. My socks rubbed against the wool rugs that had been replaced over the years and over the new wood that had been recently installed. In these moments I felt like a child again, like a little version of myself looking around corners to see Denmark and Sweden or Norway screaming and yelling. But this time, it was neither of the men. He had resembled them slightly, with blue eyes and blonde hair. But, his shoulders were strong and his hair slicked back as he stood up straight and just a bit over Denmark.
“I don’t understand,” Denmark pressed his pinched fingers to the bridge of his nose, “They are my people, that is my land, you cannot send them to war.”
“Southern Jutland was my land, it is filled with my people, they will fight for me,” The man spoke sloppily, as if Danish had not been his first or second language, “I have no control over your neutral lands. The people will do as they like, Danemark.”
Denmark let out a long frustrated sigh, and opened his eyes to see my stand at the edge of the hallway, peeking out of the corner. His blue eyes went wide as his mouth fell agape, he sighed again;
“Ísland, go to bed,” Denmark nodded politely as he pushed past the man to stand and come towards me.
“I am not a child,” I retaliate, scowling, “I have the right to know who you speak to.”
“Ísland-”
“Who is this?” The man asks. Had approached the two of us, his gaze was a piercing blue, cold and stony as he gazed at me. Suddenly, heart started to race and suddenly I realized that I should've listened to Denmark and just go to bed.
“One of my territories, Ísland,” Denmark swallowed thickly as he pushed me towards the man for a hand shake.
“Ísland,” I introduce myself.
“Deutschland,” Germany. A name that had been spoken over the war, a name that I should’ve known by the things they were speaking of. He takes my hand into a strong handshake, holding my hand longer than what felt natural.
In that moment, I felt like he had dug into my very soul. He eyed me up with a gaze that I nearly flinched away from. His blue eyes were nothing compared to the warm eyes of Denmark. I hated the way he scanned me like I was some form of battle plan, as if I was a chess piece that was to be played like a pawn. He knew who I was, and that was clear.
Now I knew who the world was truly fighting against, a man who stood tall with Nationality and power. And that was something to be scared of.
I sighed as the thoughts faded away as the Danish sun turned blistering. Over the years spent in the sunny, flat region, I learned was less likely to be swamped by snow like my home had usually been. I shoved the shovel into the ground for it to stay still. I scanned the growing garden, my project that I had worked on to just spend my time on something useful. I had nothing to do as the war had raged on and ended. A mere month ago and the world has finally stopped falling apart. The world celebrated and jumped for joy and reached for their hats and scarves to throw and cheer because the war finally ended.
I turned to look at the front door that was opened, the old door squeaked as it opened. I nodded a hello at Denmark as he made his way slowly towards me. I looked to his hands, which were tense and clutching something towards his chest. I frowned.
“Danmark?” I asked.
“Ísland,” Denmark took a breath, “I cannot say that I am happy or sad about this.”
As if the world had been waiting for this moment, the wind picked up to clash against the December sun. I said nothing and let Denmark continue.
“I know you have waited for this, watched people gain it,” Denmark pressed the crinkled paper to my chest, “May we stay united and happy.”
Suddenly, I realized what was going on. I rushed to open the paper and as i scanned over it, a smile erupted from my mouth and I reached out to pull Denmark into a hug. The air was swept of out my body in the rush, I did not think this would ever happen. It might not be what i was thinking of, but it was enough. Just enough to go home out of the reach of Denmark and his loneliness. I laughed happily and clutched the back of Denmark's blazer, putting my nails deep into the fabric to keep myself up and straight from falling.
“It may not be what I wanted, But it is enough.”
Independence but a formed Union with Denmark. A sharing of rulers and support.
“Thank you, Magnus.”
And He sobbed into my shoulder. But, It was not a goodbye.