Chapter Text
1. January 18th, 1913 - Observation Hill, Antarctica.
England stands at the cross on the hill. Ten months ago, his five explorers hadn’t returned to base. Two months ago, they had found them in their icy grave.
It is a fate too terrible to imagine. To struggle on against the wind despite knowing your fate is already decided. To watch your friends fade away one by one, before succumbing to the cold yourself. Arthur stands and waits for the tears to flow.
“England,” a voice disturbs him. Arthur jumps, surprised to have the company of another country this far from any civilisation. Norway stands before him on the hill, cheeks flushed, presumably from the steep incline. He looks apologetic for startling him. “I came as soon as I heard.”
Sigurd isn’t one to rub his victory in the loser’s face, unlike maybe one of his Scandinavian brothers, and England wonders why else he would be here.
“How did you get here?”
“Walked across the ice shelf.”
Of course. It was easy for countries to travel with their inhuman strength and stamina, the catch being that they could only travel over land their people had walked before. Arthur wishes he could’ve been the one to go to the South Pole for his country instead of risking his citizens’ lives in the cold desert, but that isn’t how progress works. He regards his new companion.
“Norway. It’s funny you’re king of the south, eh?”
Sigurd doesn’t smile, but Arthur does, humourlessly. Of course, Arthur knows it doesn’t really matter who got to the pole first, it was just another place on this Earth they all shared. A place in this world where only he and Sigurd can go right now. What matters to Arthur is the slow, painful deaths his men faced and his heart bleeds for them and their families back at home.
Still, he reminds himself he has company, unsolicited as it is. Norway might not be here to brag, but both their men achieved something unprecedented, so maybe he’s here to celebrate?
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t let my pride get in the way. Congratulations, Norge.”
Norway shakes his head.
“That’s not what I came for. This isn’t about me.” He glances up at the cross, and Arthur follows his gaze, once again mesmerised by the wood against the blue sky.
So then, what does Norway want? If he’s here to offer his condolences, he could’ve done that by phone. Why is he here, a whole world away from his country? Is he trying to help, and if so, what does Norway think he can do for the United Kingdom of Great Britain?
Arthur looks into Sigurd’s violet eyes and has to remind himself that Norway isn’t young, even if his country is younger than England’s grown children, America, Canada, Australia. He remembers they used to fight when they were both children, remembers how terrified he was of the Vikings who came in longboats with their axes and flaming arrows, but he had stood his ground against them anyway. Norway then was so different to the man standing before him today.
Because England reached out and took the world for himself, so that the sun would never set on his kingdom just like it never set in Scandinavia’s summer. At the same time, Norway and his growing colonies were taken by Denmark and forced to fight by his side, caught in Denmark’s crusade for power that was painfully similar to England’s own. When the chance for freedom came, Norway had left his baby brother behind and taken it, only to be again overpowered, by Sweden this time.
No, Norway is not young, he carries all of his history and struggle for freedom, and the will to keep on trying against all odds, like fire in ice. England sees that same fire in his explorers. And when Norway speaks, his voice is warm, even though everything about him is ice and snow. Like the voice that calls to those lost in the blinding, neverending blizzards to guide them home.
Arthur breaks the silence. “Everything just lined up to make the worst thing happen, didn’t it?”
Norway acknowledges his pain. “That is what defines a tragedy. Sometimes, the stars align to crush us.”
At this point England can’t help the tears, and through blurred vision he sees Norway close the space between them to hold him tight. He feels his tears turn to ice on his cheeks as he buries his face in Norway’s shoulder, clinging to him, taking all the comfort he can in his embrace. It’s hard to tell through all the layers of clothing between them, but Sigurd is shaking, crying too for the people who weren’t his.
“What I wouldn’t give to bring your forsaken children safely back home,” Norway whispers, and Arthur doesn’t know how long they stand there by the cross, gazing out over the ice shelf.
Sigurd joins him on the ship home.