Chapter Text
Since the earliest days of Romania's existence, nightmares have plagued his sleep. From skeletal creatures that snarl and snap at his heels when he takes flight, to charming young women who pull back their hoods to reveal a toothless smile and leathery skin, the hideous images linger even when he wakes. Painful memories turn these monsters into allegories, representations of the history he loathes to remember. How long since his last pleasant dream? It can't have been almost a century ago, can it?
So, when his subconscious sends him to a garden of snowdrops, dread coils in the pit of his stomach. What grotesque scenario does it plan to set in motion this time? He's long since learnt resistance is futile. Reluctantly, he settles himself down on a half-wall that separates the garden from a sea of nothingness.
It's a beautiful garden. No thought has been put into giving it any semblance of structure. Snowdrops mingle freely with violets, daisies, and dandelions, while roses race grapevines up intricate structures made of wood. In the centre of his Romania's field of vision, a massive oak casts a shadow over most of the visible lawn, yet plants he would have expected to wilt under such conditions flourish under its silent watch.
There's no logic to it. Cherry trees are in flower, yet apple trees bear fruit. Despite the full moon that shines down on him, bees and butterflies flutter from flower to flower, while ants scuttle back and forth on the floor under his feet. A ladybird lands on Romania's finger for a few fleeting seconds, before abruptly vanishing, as though whatever processes are creating this world have had a sudden change of heart.
The performed fragrances that hangs in the damp air is intoxicating. The sheer sweetness of roses and lilac would overwhelm him if not for the fresh herbs that grow by imposing silver gates. Mint, sage, lemon balm... A faint breeze caresses his skin, a welcome addition to the otherwise still night.
In the distance, an owl hoots, startling him out of his skin. Head whipping back to peer at the sky, he catches short glimpses of bats, their silhouettes masking the stars. Said stars are unlike those he memorized centuries ago. Constellations that have no business together gather to form pretty shapes. Dawn and sunset battle each other at opposite ends of the horizon, though the moon outshines them both.
Romania is in awe of this place. Such peace of mind seems almost foreign now, after so many nightmares. Surely his mind hasn't created this place? A garden this beautiful can't have been designed by the same subconscious that haunts his sleep with terrifying horrors.
Without warning, the silver gate creaks.
Fear freezing him to the wall he sits on, Romania watches it slowly swing open. So, this is how the nightmare begins, then? He should have known this place was too peaceful to remain a dream. Well, alright then. Better to get it over and done with.
To his astonishment, it is not a monster that passes through the gates, but a nation. A nation he has spoken to one more than one occasion, one he wishes he could speak with more often. The Kingdom of Norway.
Unease dampens the surge of joy that elevates his spirits upon recognising the tall blond. Is he intruding on one of Norway's dreams, or is Norway walking in one of his nightmares? Is the Nordic country just a fragment of Romania's imagination, another piece of the puzzle his twisted mind is setting up?
"Romania. I didn't expect to see you here."
Norway notices him straight away, hesitantly approaches him. His tone is flat, but raised eyebrows betray his surprise.
"Where is here, exactly?"
He's curious. Could this perhaps not be a nightmare after all, but one of those bizarre situations the old forces of the world drag him into sometimes?
Norway settles himself down on the grass, cross-legged, paying no attention to the blades that weave themselves into a blanket underneath him. He doesn't look at Romania as he speaks, instead focusing his gaze on a patch of daisies he weaves into a braid.
"I'm not sure. At first I thought it was simply a dream like any other. Except I don't think my mind could have created something this detailed without it reflecting my lands and people. The best theory I've found is that it's a shared dream, one each and every nation moulds to fit their desires. It could even be the Earth's dream, if the Earth truly dreams."
Romania listens to his speech in mild wonder. A man of few words, content to let others fill the silence with conversation, Norway usually keeps his briefings short and concise. This is the first time Romania's heard him say so much. He has a nice voice, he thinks, now he's heard more of it. Surprisingly deep coming from a body that lithe, ever so soft, a spoken whisper, almost.
With a start, Romania realises he can't tell what language the other is speaking. He understands every word, yet they're indistinct. They sound English and Romanian and Norwegian all at once, the language of dreams that comes from a lifetime of mastering tongues other than your own.
"Have you seen anybody else here?" he asks.
Norway shakes his head.
"Never face to face. I've thought I heard a voice once or twice, but whenever I go towards it, the garden twists and turns until I hear nothing but silence. I don't think it likes us interacting with each other."
A shiver runs down Romania's spine. The thought that the garden might be living somehow, be it from an enchantment or a higher being's lucid dreaming, causes his fists to clench. There's still time for the nightmare to manifest itself. What if the garden refuses to let him leave? What if it traps him here for all eternity?
Norway watches his internal struggle with a look he cannot decipher. Is there anyone who can read him like a book? Denmark or Sweden, maybe? He's isn't emotionless - far from it - rather his expressions are subtle. It would require a lifetime knowing him for capture the meaning behind each one.
"You haven't explored yet, have you?" he finally asks.
When his suspicions are confirmed, a flicker of anticipation crosses his eyes. He crowns an orange and red tulip with the braid of daisies before pulling himself to his feet and gesturing towards a patch concealed by the massive oak.
"There's a spot over there you might like."
Romania nods for him to lead the way. Past the oak, through a series of hedges and cobbled paths he hadn't seen from the half-wall, until they reach a secluded corner that has him staring in wonder. Every plant is native to the land he represents. They intertwine to create creatures that have long since faded to myth, creatures he once considered friends. Dog rose, crocus, lilac, fern... A hodgepodge of elements to remind him of home. He wonders whether there's a spot where Norway, too, sits and admires the fauna and flora of his home.
What more does this garden have to offer? Will he ever get the chance to visit again? He opens his mouth to ask Norway whether he knows of any other places like this one, but his companion is already gesturing for him to follow him.
They wander side by side under the moonlit sky. More hidden wonders await discovery. Though Norway knows the garden well, even he is surprised when an unexpected turn takes them to a lake surrounded by pine trees. Shells litter the muddy edges, a web of colour one would expect to see on a sandy beach. Can they even call this place a garden, with how vast and diverse it's proving itself to be?
They talk as they walk. Or, rather, Romania talks as they walk. Norway appears to have exhausted his conversations skills, preferring to listen with his head tilted ever so slightly, uttering soft sounds of agreement every now and again.
They talk and talk and talk, until sleep begins to lose its hold on him. The colourful flowers grow less vivid. Norway's face becomes an indistinct blur. Muffled sounds barely reach his ears. The gentle breeze no longer brushes against his skin. Romania's waking up.
He doesn't want to. Not when this has been the most peaceful dream he's had in decades. His companion glances at him, understanding causing disappointment to pool in his eyes as he sighs.
"I suppose I'll see you at the next meeting, then?"
Is Romania imagining things, or can he hear hope in that voice? He has no time to dwell on the matter, isn't even sure Norway catches his distorted farewell, before reality snatches him back, and the dream becomes nothing more than a distant memory.
Never has he longed to go back to sleep so badly.