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"Emil is crying again."
The only indication that Lukas had heard the other man was the gentle fluttering of his eyelashes — out of irritation at being interrupted. And he had been interrupted. Pulses of green glowed from his fingertips as he impressively glowered at the smiling Matthias Kohler.
"You look far too happy about it… bro." Lukas replied monotonously. But he dutifully extinguished his magical flames and packed away his books. Matthias watched him silently, smile sharpening. "He misses you," Matthias offered casually. His tone was light and free as if he were merely discussing the weather. Lukas twitched in annoyance.
"I will never understand why the rest of Europe likes you." Lukas Bondevik, or Norway — as most of his companions knew him, was always one to speak his mind. In contrast, Matthias Kohler - also known as Denmark - preferred to smile and lie when it suited him. The truth hardly ever suited him. Surely that meant—
"Emil is not crying." Norway's eyes narrowed as he spoke again. Denmark's smile merely brightened. "He is having a moral crisis. Go help him out, buddy!" And with that, he whirled on his heels and went on his merry way, purposefully leaving behind the disgruntled Lukas.
"I would cry if I had to constantly see your face." He called after him, knowing that insults washed over Matthias like water over smooth marble. Lukas did not stick around to hear the obliging haughty laugh. Instead, he picked up his most recent travelling companion (a little fairy he had discovered in the depths of Mo i Rana) and set off to find his beloved brother.
Emil Steilsson. A strange name for an even stranger boy. Emil was the living embodiment of Iceland and had a grimmer disposition than most of his people. When they would smile, he would hum. When they would cry, he would blink. But, on the inside, his emotions always welled up like sweltering magma. His population's warmth roared internally, not externally. Lukas could not decide if Emil's artificially cold exterior, which almost always collapsed into passion and embarrassment, came from his influence. For as long as he could remember, Emil had been a quiet, precocious boy whose eyes constantly glimmered with emotion.
His eyes glittered madly in the present. Iceland had been nervously wringing his hands and worrying his lip when Norway finally arrived. Lukas stared at him, attempting to gauge his current mental state before deciding to spare himself the trouble. The man walked over to the boy—yes, the boy, for Iceland would forever be a young boy in Norway's eyes. He sat silently beside him.
Matthias had been lying. Emil was not crying.
Emil's eyes were drier than the Sahara Desert but rage danced in them. It almost made Lukas feel sick to observe up close. Nations periodically underwent bouts of madness; it was generally accepted as a consequence of being something far greater than human, yet far lesser at the same time. It was harder for nations to treasure life during times of prosperity but it was easy when hardships reigned supreme. Humans were not as fluid with their opinions—and if they were, then they truly resonated with their nation, in a manner that patriotism could never hope to replicate.
Nations lacked humanity. Nations were inhumane.
If Norway shut his eyes and clenched his palms, he could bring himself back to a time when Denmark's laughs were shrill and hysterical, when Iceland locked himself away, when Sweden pretended to be ignorant, and when Finland pretended to be benevolent. As nations, they shared bloody, ruthless histories.
Lukas supposed it could be worse. He could be Arthur Kirkland.
Nobody wanted to be England.
Feverish muttering escaped Emil. If Lukas leaned in closely, he could catch little snippets of a sermon. The best course of action would be to wait it out. Let Iceland burn himself out and explode like the volcanoes that resided on his land.
"What does it mean… to love God?" Iceland broke the silence, deceptively lucid. His eyes were glassy with turmoil. Norway regarded him carefully.
"What does it mean to love your brother?" A question for a question. Not that Emil was pleased with his response. A scowl crawled onto the younger nation's face as he answered:
"You are my brother. I could douse you in the flames of Hell, or hold you up to the gates of Heaven. And you would love me all the same."
Emil paused and shrugged minutely, with his brows furrowed, before continuing.
"Sometimes I think that makes you a madman."
For that answer, Lukas offered him a small smile. "Perhaps I would be considered a madman by some. It’s a great thing that we are not man." He replied smoothly. Emil squinted his eyes. Doubt was dancing around in his mind but the boy did not voice it. Instead, his attention shifted to the shimmering fairy on his older brother's shoulder. Lukas merely offered another small smile, this one being more mysterious than the last.
The fairy preened under the scrutiny of Iceland, her green wings buzzing with excitement. She left a sparkling substance in her wake; something childish in Emil wanted to label it "fairy dust" but he knew, all too well, that it was far more dangerous than it appeared.
Iceland detested acknowledging the presence of magical creatures. It made him feel freakish, unstable, and so utterly pagan—but he was pagan now. Or was he Christian still? Good lord, is this how England felt?
"Suppose I just do not partake in any religion." His voice came out shriller than intended. Emil's palms were unbelievably sweaty as he voiced what he considered to be blasphemy. Lukas hummed noncommittally.
"If it makes you happy, then be atheist. It’s not that complicated."
Large azure eyes blinked owlishly at him, almost disbelieving. White brows furrowed deeper as Emil spoke:
"Is that allowed?"
His brother laughed and Emil's skin crawled.
Norway's face gave the impression that his laugh would be soft and tinkling, befitting the gentle aesthetics of his eyes and the aristocratic slope of his nose. But his laugh was sharp and unnerving, bordering on cackling. Every inch of Iceland always tensed up when greeted with the misfortune of his brother's monstrous laugh.
Lukas had never struggled with detaching himself from humans. He almost relished it. Not to say that he did not feel tense when Norwegians were in trouble or proud when they won an international award. However, unlike his brother, Lukas had no issues in distancing himself from the rest of the general populace—nations included. If he had his way, half of Europe would not even glance in his direction.
Emil was different.
Sometimes Lukas felt that Emil was the most humane of them all. His fits of anger were always the worst and his rare exclamations of joy were always the most heartfelt.
From the beginning of his creation, Iceland had been alone. Viewed as cold and unfriendly and oh-so-very-far by most, he had been unwittingly isolated for a good portion of his childhood. He always felt this faint connection - to a brother he did not know yet - but it meant nothing when his people were focused on survival and celebration. Even when Matthias turned up on his doorstep, gleaming teeth tucked behind a dark smile, the otherworldly connection served little to no purpose.
(Emil had once entertained the idea that Matthias could have been on the receiving end. He discarded this notion as quickly as it came.)
"Do you still have that box I gave you?" His brother's gentle voice brought Emil back to reality. Lukas was staring at him, a smile decorating his lips.
"The heart box…? Um, yeah," he answered unsurely. Lukas merely found his confusion amusing, letting out another brief cackle which reinforced the prominent goosebumps decorating Emil's arms. It was patronising.
He hated it more than anything.
The box in question was beautiful. Heart-shaped, small yet intricate, and doused in a deep periwinkle—though it somehow glimmered violet in the sunlight. A heart-shaped keyhole stood out but Emil had never owned the key. White dryads had been carefully painted onto the box. There were no gemstones for decoration because Lukas knew his younger brother viewed most gemstones as gaudy. Delicate to the touch and pleasant to the eye; it seemed unreal to Emil that such a beautiful item could even exist, let alone remain in his possession. He suspected that protective magic had been infused into the box. It seemed exactly like something his overbearing older brother would do.
On his worst days, he attempted to smash the box into pieces. On his best days, he proudly displayed it on the living room mantle for every visitor to see.
"But why did I give you that box?" Norway asked. His expression was now blank, carefully betraying none of his true thoughts. Iceland shrugged, mildly annoyed by the constant questioning. "To keep my emotions in?" he guessed, furiously rubbing his left eye as he did so. Lukas clicked his tongue in disapproval. "You are wrong," he admonished. "Now guess again."
A fully-fledged scowl seemed to take permanent residence on Emil's face as he squinted out of annoyance. "To lock me in it?" he asked sarcastically.
A bright smile lit up Norway's face. It was unsettling.
His older brother hummed as he handed Iceland a key. Coincidentally, the key was heart-shaped. Emil's jaw unhinged as he examined the lavender-coated object. Somehow, it sparkled periwinkle in the sunlight.
"You should open it. The box." Lukas commanded.
And so he did.