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Sometimes, he remembers.
During the centuries he's spent in this land he calls, well, himself, he's often spent it lying on the snow. It's fine for him to spend hours or even days motionless in the freezing cold; it's one of the perks of not being a mortal—He can't die.
But sometimes, he remembers a moment in time when he did. Or at least, that's what he thinks.
It's triggered by small things, different each time- a stray scent, or sound, or sight, something which causes a flash of familiarity. It's like an electric shock, and suddenly, he's in another place entirely—another time, another body—standing slightly shorter, with dark hair and dark skin.
It's a flashback, or at least that's what America had called it, back when he lived for a short time with the young, rambunctious man.
But aren't flashbacks supposed to be vivid memories of an event you've experienced in the past? Is it even applicable when the ones you get involve you being in another person's body? He never got an answer for that, so he doesn't quite know.
But what he does know is that the people around him—the ones in the flashes—they call him by a different name. What name? He's not sure, he's never sure, because it's always just beyond his grasp, and before he could maybe catch it, hold onto it, it slips away, all of it, and it's all gone, leaving behind only confusion.
He feels like these people are supposed to be important, but each of their faces are blurred, and their voices muffled. He can't make out anything beyond silhouettes and whispers. But they're important, his heart insists. He doesn't know why they're important, but they just are.
It's as though he's at a Crossroads, standing before a Waymark whose directions are covered by the loneliness of nights deeper than the dark.
And he is Lost.
So he wanders, over the icy lakes in winter, through the rivers that melt in summer, for centuries, searching for something that could maybe trigger it again. Something that could maybe light up the nonexistent lantern.
His people, with a variety of faces and skin colors, greet him with kind smiles. He greets them back, even offering to help with their chores. His people are important, he believes this in his heart. They're the very reason he can walk and talk. They're important because they are a part of him. His heart and soul.
Days go by and eventually, he tires. He may be immortal, but that does not mean he can't run out of breath.
So he sits, leaning on a tree. There are very few trees in his land, courtesy of the freezing cold. They grow in the southern parts, but the more north you go, the less life you'd see. Coincidentally, there are few trees also in the flashes, if there even are any. Most of them, he tries to recall, have a significant lack of green. In fact, most of them involve only the color white.
White, white, and more white.
Like snow.
Like his skin and hair— Actually, his people made a song where part of the lyrics is regarding his snowy palette, just like the land he calls home. He thinks it's rather neat. Having a song about himself makes him feel welcome.
Then he wonders if the people in the flashes also have a place, like his, to call home. Or perhaps they prefer warmer areas. Someplace more green, like his name.
Ah, he must be thoroughly exhausted to let his mind wander like this. He has nothing else to do though. He remembers a meeting with some visitors today, but they wouldn't be for a while, and a nap sounds far nicer than sitting in a meeting room.
So he looks up to the sky, noting that snow will fall soon; he can see the grey clouds rolling closer.
My, he thinks, it certainly looks dreary.
His eyes close.
Darkness.
Another flash, similar to the ones before but prominent enough to be easily recognizable. Because this time...
This time the voices aren't muffled, and he can clearly see the facial features of the once-faceless persons. They're familiar, and not at the same time. He knows who they are, what their names are, and yet he also doesn't. He reaches out to them, noticing how his white skin is now dark. He speaks, but the words that come out are like gibberish to his ears.
Some of the people reach out to him as well, their mouths opening, their smiles kind.
His heart beats, perhaps this is the moment.
Perhaps they will finally call his- his name?
His…?
He stops. His mind and heart feels like they've been split, like a Crossroads. But when he looks left and right what he sees is not himself finding the way to go, rather another person, but also not at the same time.
Silence.
The people from before have gone, replaced by this other person— Other person? That sounds wrong.
No. He knows this man. And this man knows him. They know each other. He feels this. He's sure.
But the more he looks, the more they both seem… Lost.
He tries calling out, but no voice comes out. When he extends a hand, so does the man. Their movements are identical, he's noticed. And their eyes, despite his being lilac, and the man's a deep brown, reflect the same shine.
Who are you, he wants to ask.
Where are we, he wants to scream out.
But there's nothing.
Please, say something. Say something, because I can't. Tell me what's going on.
He is no fan of uncertainty. Being uncertain, especially about his surroundings, spells death considering where he lives.
He hates it; it leaves him anxious; it leaves him wary; it leaves him feeling vulnerable.
It leaves him feeling like he's lost himself.
His legs were about to chase after the entity when he bears witness to an unexpected thing:
The man smiles.
He stops in his tracks.
He stares, and stares, and stares. He stares until his heart sinks and his hands tremble.
He's seen that smile before, he truly has, but not like this. Never like this.
Not on another person's face.
He doesn't understand this. He doesn't even know if he wants to at this point. These visions that he's been seeing since he was a child plague him, confuses him, perhaps even mock him.
But no, that's not right either. For as he gazes deep into the man, he recognizes the smile he wears on his face.
It's his.
More importantly, it's Theirs.
"Greenland!"
His eyes open abruptly, startled, heart pounding in his chest and head whipping around in search of the voice that woke him. A man with silver hair comes running towards him, followed by a woman with red hair and several other men all with blond hair.
"Hey, we've been looking all over for you," the silver-haired man—Iceland, pouts slightly once he's within arms reach.
"We've been looking for hours!" The red-haired woman—Faroe, gasps for breath.
"Well," a blond man—Norway, follows soon after, "Not hours. But you get the idea."
"Yo, we came to hang out!" Another blond man but sporting a spikier hairstyle—Denmark, grins so wide it creeps him out just a small bit.
The other three blond men—Sweden, Finland, and Åland, are walking in a much slower, leisurely pace towards him.
"We hope we aren't intruding," Sweden says once he joins the group.
"We thought you were busy when we didn't find you at your house and didn't show up for a while," Åland follows up.
"We even thought to go back home a few times! Good thing we found you before it got dark!" Finland smiles.
They all take turns retelling where they looked and who they asked, even the detours when Denmark saw a neat item at one of the stores and just had to buy it. He proudly shows off one of the items, too: a walrus tusk with hand carvings.
"Isn't it cool!?" Denmark boasts, giving everyone a chance to crane their necks to inspect it.
But then a laugh comes, and they all go silent except for the white-haired man who was just woken up.
"What? What's so funny?"
"Nothing! It's just…" The white-haired man points to the carved tusk. "I made that."
"You?" Denmark now eyes the tusk with even more wonder. "Whoa! I actually bought something that you made yourself! This is really awesome, Greenland!"
Greenland- yes, that's his name, he assures himself- smiles. "Thank you for buying it. I appreciate it, really."
"See! I told you this baby would be priceless! I just hit the jackpot!" Somehow, Denmark's grin becomes even wider than before. Greenland doesn't know how this man's face can achieve such a feat, but he will admit that it's endearing. Well, sometimes. Other times it's just creepy.
Norway mutters under his breath, something that Greenland doesn't quite catch but thinks is along the lines of 'I should have bought one, too'. In any case, he doesn't look too pleased.
Iceland gives out an exasperated sigh. "Let's just get back to your place. I'm freezing enough already…"
He extends a hand towards Greenland, much like the man in the vision did. Greenland stares silently at it, a bit too long apparently because Iceland quickly grabs hold of his hand and pulls.
Iceland huffs out a hot breath and starts walking hand in hand with Greenland. "Come on, I don't want to stay out here anymore!" The others follow, eager to get out of the cold. Their animated chatter fills in the quietness of the land, a very welcome thing.
Greenland looks down to where he and his twin brother's hands are joined. He gives a gentle squeeze, causing Iceland to look up, the size difference between them apparent.
Greenland says nothing, but Iceland seems to catch the words that his brother's eyes are speaking. He smiles. "Sorry we took so long to find you."
Greenland leans down to nuzzle his brother's head.
Perhaps his memories will stay lost and buried in the forever falling snow. Perhaps he'll never ever decide which way the Waymark tells him to go. But honestly?
He's fine with that.
"No… thank you for finding me."