Archive of Our Own

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The child arrived in the aftermath of a snowstorm, just outside of a small village with nothing but the clothes on his back. He was not cold. No, the child didn’t shiver one bit. The boy never fussed, instead staring quietly at the villagers with deep violet eyes that rarely blinked. Some of the villagers were concerned; who was this kid? Where did he come from? 

They had found him sitting near a lake, to which the boy had claimed to be talking to fantastic creatures. He was asked about his family, to which he had not given a clear answer. Some speculated he was an orphan from a nearby village, the more spiritual of the bunch had assumed he was a gift from the gods. Despite rumors flying about for each idea, no one was absolutely certain of where the boy came from.

Every day had confused the townsfolk more and more. His origins remained a secret, as did the boy’s name. A villager would walk by, some would ignore him, whilst others would pressure him for a response. What is your name, child? Would be met with silence and a chilling stare. A couple that had claimed him had brushed this off as shyness, as the young boy had rarely spoken outside of the questions regardless— and with his refusal to give a name, they had taken matters into their own hands. 

They called the child ‘Rúni’, for he was a secret known only to the gods. 

⋆⁺₊❅。

A scream rang out from the boy’s room, his blank face contorted into one of terror. The couple rushed to his side quickly, trying to calm the boy. 

“Child, what troubles you?” The mother had asked, smoothing his hair down with a worried look. Taking the child in was one thing, but the couple had not anticipated night terrors, constant screams about future events— A neighbor falling ill, crops failing to grow, sudden disappearances… all falling into fruition mere days, months, years afterward. 

By his sixth year in the village, Rúni had piqued the interest of the village’s Seiðr, the women who had practiced magic. His otherworldly friends, his mysterious origins… the Seiðr had presumed he was of magical origin, and watched him closely. It had been years since his arrival, and yet he looked no older than the age he had arrived. A boy of seventeen, and yet he seemed almost stuck, suspended in time. The villagers had noticed his permanent youth, and began to grow fearful. The child, born from the snow, a mystery amongst himself… If they had not thought of it by now, it was almost certain that Rúni was not human. Was he sent there by the gods? Or perhaps he was an omen of destruction… and either way, the villagers would interact with him less and less until the only ones to talk to him were his parents and the Seiðr.

⋆⁺₊❅。

He didn’t mean it. By the gods, he did not mean it. But when half of the farm freezes in the dead of summer and the source is standing in the middle of the icy mess, one surely does not react positively. 

If Rúni was being honest, he had not remembered the events leading up to the freeze. He was upset, yes. There was another child antagonizing him, yes. Was he yelling, or simply agitating Rúni by simply being in his presence? It didn’t matter, because the child, as well as the swine and the chickens and the cows stood unmoving.

Rúni, what have you done? A muffled voice— his father…? Had screamed. His mother stood beside him, desperately trying to get him to respond. He… He did this. He did this?

The boy spoke quietly, to no one in particular. It wasn’t… “It wasn’t supposed to be this strong.” 

What did you do?! The voice cried out again.

“I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why it happened like this!” His eyes darted around the scene. The ice had spread across the farm, threatening anyone that did not tread carefully. 

It was strong, it was inhuman. None of the Seiðr could perform such magic— why could he? Gods, did Rúni feel dizzy. 

When the crowd came to remove him from the village, Rúni’s parents at first defended him, trying to make the rest of the village see Rúni’s side. It was no use. He was a liability to the eyes of the others, and a danger to the humans, and despite the pleas of his parents, it had been decided by the majority that Runi would leave the village. 

⋆⁺₊❅。

The goodbye was not tearful. In fact, Rúni was almost relieved to be sent away. There was no more need to ‘belong’, to behave in some strange human way that would have the villagers accepting him as their own. He was now free to do whatever he pleased. 

His first trek was into the forested areas around the village. The land was vast, almost infinite to the boy’s mind. Sometimes, he would wander without direction— following rivers, animals, anywhere he desired. Other times he would follow Bøyg and Troll around, listening to them argue on where to go, what to do, and which creature stole what from one another. 

This continued on for years, with Rúni barely aging a day, eternally listening to his friends argue and bicker about matters in a world he can barely cross into. His time in the woods gave him time to think, and thinking led to reflection. 

What was he meant to do? He couldn’t die like a normal human. In fact, he was unsure if he was even able to do so in the first place. Was he meant to live amongst the fairies and trolls with no human interaction? Did he even desire to interact with humans once again?

During one of these times of reflection came his answer. He had felt the arrival at sunset, and he was not afraid. He turned around, facing the woman approaching. Something was… different about this woman. She had a warm smile on her face as she reached out to him. 

“Why are you out here all alone, child?” She asked, violet eyes staring at Rúni.

"Who are you?” He had asked, and the woman chuckled. 

She kept her hand outstretched, beckoning for Rúni to hold it. He looked towards his friends. Bøyg nodded, and Troll stayed silent, looking at the woman. “You’re lost, my child, aren’t you?” She hummed. Rúni nodded.

A soft laugh. She motioned to her hand once again. “You’re just like me, I can feel it.”

“I doubt you are,” Rúni frowned, looking at the hand. “They didn’t want me. I’m not allowed to go back.”

Bøyg motioned for Rúni to take her hand, even lifting it towards the woman when he refused. The woman simply laughed at the sight. So she can see Bøyg…

”You were not meant to be amongst the humans, dear. Not quite yet.”

He tilted his head. “What do you mean by that?”

The woman avoided the question. ”Why don’t you come with me? I will explain more when we get to the cabin.”

Another settlement. Was this a setup to outcast him again…? But, the woman had not shown ill intentions. In fact, she had proven to know more than others. Amongst the humans… if he were not human, what would he be? 

Take the hand, Norðvegr. 

She waited patiently for him to accept her offer. Logically, Rúni did not want to be amongst humans again, but his gut seemed to want to trust her. She was someone he could rely on. He took another glance towards his friends, who motioned for him to accept. Are you certain?

Take her hand, Norðvegr.

With a deep breath, he took her hand, following the woman.

⋆⁺₊❅。

The woman had not said a singular word to Rúni on the walk there, no mention of what to expect or what to do when they arrived. All he knew was that Bøyg and Troll trusted her, and that was already a good sign. As they approached, two boys, slightly older than Rúni, ran up to the woman. The two looked almost similar, which Rúni had decided to differentiate with different names. They chatted about their day, arguing about who won their current fight. The one with the ridiculous hair claimed he was the winner, and the quieter one said the opposite. The woman chuckled, ruffling the boys’ hair before pushing Rúni in front of her.

”Who’s that?” Ridiculous-Hair said. His voice made Rúni wince, and his sudden moves to get closer to him had made him flinch. “I’m Steinn!” Ridiculous-Hair-who’s-actually-named-Steinn grabbed Rúni’s hand and shook it. Rúni frowned. 

“And that guy over there—“ Steinn pointed to the other boy, “Is Bjǫrn. He doesn’t talk much.” Bjǫrn waved. 

The woman, who had introduced herself to Rúni as Skaði, simply smiled, leading the boys into the cabin. 

⋆⁺₊❅。

One winter evening, Skaði had called the boys into the cabin, seating them around the table. Steinn sat closest to her, and Bjǫrn took his place across from him. Rúni elected to sit across from Skaði, curious as to why she asked for their presence. 

“What’s going on?” Steinn tilted his head, leaning over the table. 

“Quiet, Steinn,” She hummed, unfurling a map on the table. She had previously circled different places— three spots in particular. “This right here, is a map. The map of Skáney.” A pause. “I wanted to show you three something.”

Skaði pointed to the circles, first starting with the southernmost point. “This, is the land of the Danes—“

“Where I’m from!” Interrupted Steinn, to which Skaði nodded. 

“Where you represent.”

”Yeah! Huh?” 

Skaði smiled, looking around at the boys, “Do you three remember what I told you, when we first crossed paths?” Steinn fell silent, thinking hard. Rúni did similarly. 

It was not until Bjǫrn had spoken that they understood, You are just like me. Words she had said to Rúni, and to everyone else like them.

”Precisely.” She started. “And what I am, is a protector of these lands, a representation of sorts.” She dragged her finger back to Steinn’s circle, “This is Danmǫrk. Land of the Danes, and your true name.” 

Before Steinn could ask more questions, Skaði turned her attention to Bjǫrn, pointing at the circle furthest right. “And this,” She continued, “is Svea, where I found you.” Bjǫrn nodded. 

“I like my true name more!” Steinn commented, to which Rúni elbowed him. He was too loud sometimes. 

“Now, now. Let me get to our northern circle.” Skaði pointed at the last marked area, one with an X just outside of it. “The north. Our dearest Rúni,” She paused. 

“Norðvegr,” He added calmly. Norðvegr. The Northern Way. What Bøyg had called him since the start of his existence. 

Skaði smiled. “Precisely.”

“Bøyg had told me.” 

“Of course he did,” She rolled up her map, nodding to the elf next to him, “Bøyg is quite wise.” As Steinn— Danmǫrk— began to ask about who they were talking about, Rúni sat quietly. A representation, his purpose, a reason for his existence. 

Skaði had then revealed who she was— A god, perhaps? No, she was the mother of Skáney, her representation. A person who wandered through the lands looking for nations like her. You three now know who you truly are, and what you must do.

Skáney appointed the child a true name- and he was called The Northern Way

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Despite being referred to as Norðvegr by his fellow representations, Rúni still felt connected to his first name, the one the humans had called him for years. It was odd, adjusting to everyone calling him Norðvegr— he was never fond of changes, after all. It was his name from Bøyg, one that connected him to his otherworldly friends… and now Danmǫrk, Svea, those close to him had begun to use the name.  

Soon, the name Rúni died out. Unused, a former part of his life. He wasn’t a secret anymore, he knew who he was— and it wasn’t the human that lived in the village. And Steinn wasn’t Steinn anymore, and Bjǫrn wasn’t Bjǫrn. They weren’t human, all four representatives knew that, but Norðvegr— Rúni, couldn’t help but feel selfish. He wanted to hold on to the past, hold on to the name he was given by the people who had taken him in.

He resolved that one day, when he comes across the humans once more, he will take on the name they had graced him a century ago. He will learn their customs, what makes a human human, and he will be a representation that will make them proud to be Norsemen.

⋆⁺₊❅。

It was what his people referred to as the 7th century when Norðvegr interacted with humans again. They had found him just as the Skáney did, just as the humans from the village did. Alone, talking to the other world.

He had first introduced himself as Norðvegr, to which they had laughed at. Why would they laugh at his name? How rude. He backtracked, reintroducing himself as Rúni, and the men had given their own names. They were seafarers, Vikings as they called themselves, and they were to take a journey outside of Norðvegr. Rúni’s interest piqued— he had never been outside of his nation, and according to these men he was of perfect age to travel along.

Despite growing up, maybe just a couple years older, Rúni was still younger than Bjǫrn and Steinn. It wasn’t fair to him— those two were practically adults! The two stood at 15, leaving Rúni behind yet again. 

“Might I join you?”

The men roared in laughter. Despite being of age, he was far too weak, unprepared for harsh sea life conditions. Rúni huffed when hearing their rejection, complaining to Bøyg and Troll about the event.

"And they said I was weak,” He threw a stone across the lake, frowning. “I’m not weak. I won in a fight against Steinn more than he can count!” 

Troll roared in amusement, “That Dane never takes the loss well.” 

“No, he does not.” He concluded. Rúni smiled faintly thinking about how pouty Steinn would be when declared the loser. “Using magic isn’t cheating if it’s a part of me.” 

Bøyg and Troll continued their laughter, and then it became silent. Bøyg pranced over to Rúni, sitting at the edge of the lake next to him. “Why do you want to leave?”

“Why don’t you want to see other lands?”

"You’re a curious child, Norðvegr.” 

Rúni frowned, “Not a child.” 

Bøyg looked to Troll, both nodding in understanding. Rúni could not make out what they were discussing… “…What? What are you two doing?”

The two continued their murmuring before Bøyg faced the boy once again. “The trip, Norðvegr. Do you wish to go?” 

“Of course.” He glanced out to the water. Rúni imagined the open sea, with the wind breezing around him. Wild, free, and feeling as though he were on a quest. Searching brand new lands, navigating for his people… a true ‘Northern Way’. How could it not be appealing?

"Then you should go.” 

“They will not let me on the ship.”

Troll spoke up, “You are a clever boy. You will find a way on.”

⋆⁺₊❅。

When his people arrived on land, there was not a soul in sight. For what stretched beyond the horizon, not a single soul was in sight. The land was windy, far more than Norðvegr. It had a bite that sunk into your skin and yet, Rúni felt called to this place. Something, somewhere in this land, wanted him to find what he was sent here to do.

His men ventured onwards and without hesitation Rúni had followed them. They chattered and talked about useless topics— what resources to claim, what to bring home, where to call home. Rúni tuned them out, looking about the scenery. Eventually, the men decided on where to settle, and Rúni had left to explore.

Within months, Rúni had explored the entire island. It was a small place, not as expansive as home, yet he felt at peace here. Rúni made friends with the hidden folk around the island, and even started to gain their trust. They would pull him along, showing him beautiful sights that the Norsemen had not seen yet. Every time they would show him, Rúni would smile, and thank them. 

One day, his new friends had dragged him along the grass, taking him to a nearby cave. We want to show you someone! At first, Rúni scoffed. The only people on the island were ones that he had met on the mainland. Who could possibly be in this cave?

The hidden folk shushed him, claiming that ‘he’ would be overwhelmed. Rúni bit his tongue back to ask who he was. The one closest to him pushed him into the cave, Norðvegr, go and meet him. 

Rúni turned around to respond, “I never told you that—“ 

“—Name…” The hidden folk vanished, leaving the boy in the dark. He sighed, turning to the darkness. 

Whatever was in this cave was not human. Yet, Rúni was not scared. Sure, his heart was racing, but not due to such terror. In fact, he was excited. Wherever he was, he was meant to be there. 

“Hello?” He had called out, his voice echoing back at him. Rúni winced, he had not expected to be so loud. “Show yourself.” Echoes of footsteps rang about. Rúni did not stir, he waited for the steps to stop. He listened closely, the steps stopping just in front of him. 

‘His’ eyes reflected off the sunlight from the mouth of the cave. Deep, purple eyes. A sad sort of longing on his face. He was younger than when Rúni was found, yet there was a similarity to him that Rúni couldn’t pinpoint. He was dressed plain, a white tunic that engulfed his body. He would have looked like a ghost if it weren’t for the large bird on his head.

The boy reached out, tilting his head in curiosity over Rúni’s appearance. The bird did not make a peep, yet it flew off to his side in deep annoyance. Rúni didn’t like the bird already.

“You’re the one they wanted me to meet.” Rúni whispered. The child nodded. He stepped closer. The child pointed to him, as to say likewise. How strange that Rúni could understand someone he met so quickly.

”You were born on this island?” Another nod. The kid was quiet, as was Rúni. 

“…You’re not human, are you?” Rúni concluded. Another nod. 

The child, he concluded, was like him. Found alone, with friends from another world. And to add more similarities, the child looked exactly like Rúni. And because he looked exactly like Rúni, he couldn’t help but feel the need to take him in.

The child pointed once again, first to Rúni, and then to himself. He said one word, “Bróðir…” Small, whispered, and yet Rúni understood. 

This was different from his sworn family. This was blood, a little brother, and there was no denying it. The child, whose dull eyes shone whenever Rúni was around, was named Sindri. And for the century that Rúni had stayed on the Island— one his men called Ísland, he would never leave his side.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

As tearful as his goodbye was, Rúni had to part with Sindri and return home. Sindri cried and cried, begging for Rúni to continue his stay, to live with him and his friends, and be happy and merry. If it were up to him, Rúni would have let that happen in a heartbeat. To stay by his side. 

Yet, he had been gone for far too long and Rúni needed to go home. He had hoped with time Sindri would understand. It broke his heart to leave, as it did Sindri. All he could do was promise him he would return one day. 

“Soon?” Sindri would always ask, trailing behind Rúni as they wandered the island. It would hurt Sindri if he were to give the true answer— I don’t know… Months, years, centuries…

So Rúni, with a thin smile and a quiet murmur, agreed. “Soon, Sindri. We will see each other again.”

⋆⁺₊❅。

It was not until the fifteenth century when Rúni had seen his family properly once again. With the power of the previous centuries, he had caught up to the age he had last seen Dan and Svea— a grown 16. Yet, when meeting with them once again it was clear how much he had missed on the island. They had grown older, once again surpassing Rúni. The three’s chats were awkward, with only Steinn— or, Kristiarn, as he had changed his name to, talking about nonsense and whatever the Kingdom of Denmark was doing. Conquests here, innovation there… his marvelous Queen, anything he would do to fill up the quiet. 

Despite his fears, Rúni couldn’t bear to leave the last remaining part of his old self. The name he held was one he was given immediately, one that Sindri recognized, the name that Skáney— Scandinavia had first heard from him… it was something he couldn’t let go. Not just yet. 

“Come on, Norge,” Denmark would nudge him, much to Rúni’s annoyance, “You don’t want to get stuck with that old silly name.”

"What’s wrong with my name?” He frowned. “It’s a perfectly fine one.”

Sweden chimed in, “It’s fine, but it’s just…” 

Rúni narrowed his eyes, “Just…?”

”It’s old!” Denmark whined, “Outdated! When have you heard of someone being named ‘Rúni’ in centuries?”

”I’ve heard it.” Rúni responded. 

“Hearing your own name doesn’t count. It’s like… old! Choose a new name!”

“I’ll decide when I join you two with these… new names when I decide to.” He brushed off his dress, turning to walk away from the two. 

Denmark scoffed, “Don’t be like this Norge.”

Rúni didn’t look back. He had decided that he will not speak to them until he had calmed down. 

⋆⁺₊❅。

He stayed angry at the two for months, and despite not calming down, he had been forced into their vicinity once again. According to his boss, their three kingdoms were to join in a union, one that Denmark’s Queen had called the Kalmar Union. 

He was less than enthused about having to stay in another place for some time, especially one outside of his land. He hadn’t done so since Sindri was discovered, after all… centuries before this union was even a thought. 

Speaking of Sindri, the boy sat quietly next to Rúni on the trip to Copenhagen— of course if they were to be in a union, it had to be under Denmark’s territory. 

“Will it be fun?” Sindri asked, dressed in the finest attire that he had from his settlements. The bird, dubbed professionally as ‘Mister Puffin’, sat next to him, cawing and screeching at the thought of being away from home. 

Rúni looked at the boy, giving a small nod. “It will be like when we stayed in the cave, remember? Except with more people.” He refused to let Sindri worry. 

Sindri curled in on himself, squeezing the poor puffin. “I don’t like the feeling of going there.” 

“Hm?”

"Bad.” He stated, and Rúni nodded. 

“We won’t make it bad. This is going to help the kingdom, I promise.”

”Double promise.” Sindri frowned.

Rúni nodded once again, “I double promise.”

⋆⁺₊❅。

Copenhagen was a bustling town, much to the brothers’ awe. Overhead towered the beautiful castle, which Sindri excitedly pointed out. They talked on and on about what they would do once they headed to their living quarters. Sindri suggested a pillow fort, and Rúni suggested messing with Sweden. Both options were great and must be done, the two had decided, and thus the excitement for staying with the family grew.

The brothers were greeted by the Queen herself right next to Denmark. The latter was suspiciously calm, a goofy smile still spread on his face. 

“Welcome to Copenhagen, Norway and Iceland.”

Denmark had continued on with a speech about being a union, and introducing the rest of the members to them. Rúni recognized everyone already, except for a peculiar kid around Rúni’s age who went by the name of Onni— or Finland as Denmark called him. The kid was reserved, almost shut off from the rest of the boys, not wanting to be there. Rúni understood how he felt, and giving a polite nod he returned to tuning out Denmark’s long speech. 

Something Rúni had noticed often was that the Union began to benefit his nation less and less and grow to orient around Denmark and Sweden’s more and more. Everything had to revolve around Denmark, and if not him, Sweden. It seemed to him that he, along with Sindri and Onni, were just afterthoughts of two powers.

The power struggle became more evident when meetings came around. At the beginning, Rúni would be invited to listen in on the status of all of the nations involved, taking notes and providing insights into what needed help around his nation. However, as time went on, he was invited to fewer meetings (“I was so busy I forgot to invite you!”) until it was a given that he would sit out and stay with Onni and Sindri (“This meeting is between me and Sweden, alright? Go play with the territories.”) 

Rúni would sit outside of those meetings, listening to the two argue to great volumes. Never had he seen the two so against each other in anything. It was about power, of course it was. This was Denmark’s way of proving superiority over Sweden, and vice versa, and they’ve dragged along the rest of the nations with them. He was sick of it. Mind games, a way to feel superior to one another. 

Rúni had made a comment one time, much to the frustration of the two powers, “If you don’t want to see each other that much, why are we even a union anymore?” To which Onni agreed.

Denmark stormed out of the room hearing that. Sweden followed in suit.

Then Sweden came back with his bags, dragging Onni along with him. 

Denmark watched them leave in the snowy night, and then turned to the brothers. 

“You’re going to leave too?”

Rúni narrowed his eyes, “Will you give me a reason to?”

He did not respond. Instead, he turned to leave through the hallway, slamming the door to his quarters as loud as possible. 

⋆⁺₊❅。

Denmark was a suffocating force, and Rúni could barely keep up with him. Despite that, he stayed. Maybe it was because of a sense of loyalty for his friend, or maybe because Sindri- who Denmark had pressured to change his name to Emil, was still there. 

After his name change, Denmark would turn his attention to Rúni, asking him— no, demanding him to change his name. A proper Scandinavian name like his. Rúni continued to refuse. He will not change his name, not while being forced under Denmark’s thumb. 

It was not just Rúni feeling the effects. With the status of territory tacked onto him, Iceland’s ownership fell under Danish rule. Emil was not happy about that. The house grew more and more quiet during the union.

 It was clear just how much influence the two had in the union, and it was almost nothing. Not a single part of the union felt distinctly Norwegian. The capital had to be Copenhagen, Christiania was not even considered as an option, the official language was Danish— enforced even in Rúni’s nation, much to his dismay. Hell, even in their own home did the two speak Danish. Rúni could barely even recognize his beloved Norse! It was sickening, and Rúni despised it. 

His culture, his beloved Norway was slowly morphing into that of the Danes, and frankly- it made Rúni despise Kristiarn more and more each day.

⋆⁺₊❅。

Rúni’s friends never failed to give their opinions on the situation, even when it was not directly asked for. They would tell Rúni and Emil their thoughts on Denmark- something never appropriate for the ten-year-old Iceland, what the other nations would say about the union, and what they would call Rúni and Emil. 

Territory. Half-Danish.

The last part angered Rúni. How dare Denmark be so suffocating, how dare he take any semblance of him! How dare he! 

What terrified Rúni more was how influential Denmark had been on Emil. Before the Kalmar Union, Rúni barely had any time to properly bond with his brother. In the Kalmar Union, Emil would follow him around, wary of the other nations that roamed the hall and preferring to focus on the one he knew well. And now, Emil would talk to Rúni in Danish, as Rúni did to him. …What was going on? How had he gone from such a powerful kingdom, to barely surviving as anything but a Danish territory? 

Hell, Rúni had even succumbed to changing his name, one fit for the eighteenth century. After pressure from Denmark (“Your name is just far too old, the citizens can’t even pronounce it the way it used to be!”), after millennia of pressure, the Dane finally won. If the world was changing, if his kingdom was changing, Rúni supposed he would have to adapt, or fade into obsoletion.

The name he chose was simple. A Nordic name, one popular in his country. Sigurd. He had told Emil first and foremost, which his reaction was one to expect from his brother who hated change as much as he did.

"What was wrong with Rúni?” Emil frowned.

"Nothing.” Sigurd stated.

It wasn’t a satisfying answer to Emil. The kid stomped his foot, “Then why change?”

Denmark had come in afterward, praising Sigurd for coming to his senses and choosing a new name. Emil stormed out in a huff, stating he will refuse to call Sigurd by any new name. Denmark laughed, patting Sigurd on the shoulder. 

“He’ll come to his senses sooner or later.”

⋆⁺₊❅。

Unfortunately for Sigurd, Denmark’s words turned out to be true. Rúni turned to Rú, to Rúni-Sigurd, Sigurd, and then Siggy. He didn’t know how to feel about the change, with even his most stubborn advocate just barely letting this change happen. 

But the name change was the least of his worries now, as he and Denmark had found themselves in the middle of a war. Whenever the two would go out, there was always a nation nearby to pick a fight. The most common foe would be Sweden, who always took the change to prove his strength. The reason behind the fights spanned between religion, the war, and oftentimes Sigurd. 

This greatly distressed Emil, who would constantly tug on Sigurd’s dress. “You’re going to leave?”

"Who says I am leaving?”

"He says Sweden is trying to get you.” 

Sigurd kneeled to the boy’s level. “I won’t leave you here, Emil. Not by my own will.” 

And by god, he would fight to stay with Emil, if nothing else. 

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Emil called him a liar.

A big, disgusting liar.

He said he wouldn’t leave him alone. And yet, the end of the war came and the prize for Sweden winning as a good chunk of Denmark-Norway’s land. Namely, the Norway part. Gone was his union with Denmark, and the end of his time with his little brother.

Sigurd had been whisked away from Copenhagen, and by god he was not happy. 

For one, he was still a territory, and this time, a replacement for Finland. 

Sweden did not talk in the first few days of acquiring Sigurd, and Sigurd did not feel inclined to start that conversation. It was humiliating, being passed down like some prize to be won. And for what, just because Sweden lost his territory? Ugh. 

Sigurd had longed for independence since the Kalmar Union. He did not want to continue this cycle, his kingdom being passed around to his friends. His people also longed for independence, to which Sigurd had continuously pestered him about.

“Can’t you grant me this one thing, Sweden?” Sigurd frowned, following the taller nation angrily. “You had your revenge on Denmark, and my people want independence.”

"Come on, Hartvig. I’m not territory to be won.”

Sweden did not look back, he continued his walk without so much as a glance over to Sigurd. “It’s Berwald.”

"I will refuse to say any name for you unless you let me go.”

Sweden paused, sighing deeply. “So be it.”

"I’m not going to be a replacement for Finland!” Sigurd spat out.

"…I never thought you were.”

⋆⁺₊❅。

Sigurd quickly found out that whilst Denmark only tried assimilating Danish culture into Norway, the Swedes had wanted to completely ban any celebrations of Norwegian culture. Barely a decade into their union, Sigurd’s constitution day had been banned from being celebrated, and Berwald had done nothing to stop his kings from doing so.

He had lost all trust in Sweden. Damn this union, damn being a prize, and hell- damn Denmark! At this point Sigurd wanted nothing, and he meant nothing over independence. If we were nothing but a prized territory, not even a formidable ally— not even a friend, then Sigurd would fight tooth and nail to get away from both Sweden and Denmark. 

Sigurd refused to speak, refused to even acknowledge Sweden’s presence. Not when wishing him a good day, nor when inviting him to dinner. Sigurd would rather starve than play the perfect territory for two bickering nations. 

Shortly afterwards, Sweden’s kings had lifted the ban shortly afterwards, and Sweden took this time to try to repair his bond with Sigurd. The latter believed this was a way to make up for Finland, and despite getting his celebrations back, he had zero interest in being the replacement.

Year after year, Sigurd would stand in Sweden’s office, standing with a bid.

"Grant me independence.” His asks had turned into demands. 

Sweden wouldn’t reply, he wouldn’t even look up from his desk. 

This continued on until the turn of the 20th century, with Sigurd storming into the office with greater demands, and Sweden barely acknowledging it.

This time, however, he had a plan. 

He ran to the nations’ desk, slamming the bid on the surface below him. He would keep his hand there until Sweden looked up. The man was tired, dark circles formed under his eyes from lack of sleep, his eyes squinted from his eyesight— typically when Sigurd would storm in so late at night Sweden would have his glasses off, as if to fight a headache. Regardless, his appearance grew more ragged each time Sigurd would bid for independence.

“Sweden.”

"Sigurd.”

Sigurd narrowed his eyes, “If we are equals, you will refer to me as Norway. I am not just a human under your control.” He pushed the paper to Sweden. “And more so, if we are equals, you will grant me my independence.”

Sweden let out a deep, deep sigh, staring at the paper. He rubbed his eyes, squinting at the lettering on the page.

“You’ve fought hard, Norway, but I am not the one in charge of your independence.” He handed the signed paper to Sigurd. “Take this to the king, and pray he will be merciful.”

Sigurd nodded, holding the paper tightly. It was his only chance of being his own once again. 

“And Norge,” Sweden said, causing the man to turn around. “I hope we truly can meet again one day, as equals.”

Clutching the paper, wrinkling it slightly, Sigurd nodded in agreement. “I’ve prayed for that since the start of our union.”

At the turn of the century, the King had given support for Norwegian independence, and in 1905, the vote had passed. For the first time in centuries, Sigurd was the sole Kingdom of Norway once again. He was independent, and free.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Centuries of fighting, of diplomacy, of trade and negotiation— all of that had been given up for a simpler life. 

Norway imagined himself living alone, for once. In the woods in a small cabin away from civilization. Of course, being a representative of a country has forced him into staying in Oslo far more often than he would have enjoyed. 

Whilst not a life off-the grid, it was still simpler than fighting for survival. All Norway had to do now was fight with his bosses, deal with coworkers and meetings, and fix that damned printer that refused to acknowledge his requests. Damn printer. He’ll have to talk to his boss later. 

It wasn’t just Norway who had settled down at this point. All of his fellow nations have. The most shocking to him was Denmark, who had brushed aside his anger and became a well-known country for businesses and the like. Following him was Sweden and his carpentry, widely known around the world. Norway didn’t mind this direction. In fact, he supported their endeavors. Power to Scandinavia, he has concluded. Their countries were leaving a positive mark on the world. 

Near the end of the 20th century had brought upon a new age. Letter-writing was growing obsolete and the new ‘hip’ technology was introduced to the public: The computer. By no means was this new machinery— but to Norway, he had conveniently avoided using it until now. His coworkers and boss finally got sick of his analog lifestyle, and gave him an office computer much to his disdain.

“This has to be evil.” Norway muttered. “How can this be the replacement?” He had pressed the button on the box, the screen glowing bright. 

His fairy friends shrieked as it started up. “Norge, it’s too bright!” One wailed, another had shielded their eyes and turned to face Bøyg. 

“I know.” He grimaced, fiddling with the buttons until the screen popped up his email. He never made it himself, but his boss insisted that he make one for him— 

A sound chimed from the computer, and his friends who weren’t startled crowded around the screen. 

“Norge, it made a sound!” 

"The chime! What does it mean?” 

“How cute!” 

Norway moved the mouse, an email had popped up from an unknown sender. It wasn’t truly an unknown sender, the human name on the email had indicated it came from Denmark. It wasn’t surprising it came from him— Dane’s most recent mission was to get all of the Nordics together, after all. It had been decades since all five of them had been in one place alone, only ever seeing each other through world meetings and the likes. 

He would be sent letters from Denmark occasionally, giving updates about his life, his country, anything that the Dane would like to talk about. Norway rarely ever sent a letter back, though he kept each letter given to him. Not just from Denmark, either, even though his messages were the most prominent by far. Iceland would ask about his day, as would Finland and occasionally Sweden. 

The idea of instant messages, however, did not appeal to Norway. Electronic mail. A way for people hundreds of miles away to connect almost instantly. 

My fellow Nordics, 

I, the Kingdom of Denmark, cordially invite you to a get-together this upcoming week. 

This get-together would be just the five of us Nordics- a way to catch up in this brand new century. This is an era of peace, of stability for our region, and I would like to extend an offer to create a strong bond, one stronger than the past.

Sincerely,

Kongeriget Danmark

Almost instantly did replies flood in. An instant RSVP confirmation from Finland, a response from Sweden shortly afterwards, and a few minutes later came an ‘I’ll be there’ from Iceland. 

It was now up to Norway to respond, to which Finland had quickly dropped formalities, begging him to join in. 

Come on, Norja! Finland had sent after minutes of no reply. 

Give it a rest, Fin. He doesn’t use email. Iceland had responded.

No, no, I made sure he got this message. Norge, join in! Denmark added. 

“Norge, you’re thinking about going?” Bøyg asked. 

“I haven’t talked to them in decades.”

”You talked to Ísland last week.” He pointed out.

”Briefly.” He paused. “At a world meeting.” The email sound chimed excessively, much to his friends’ complaints. Checking the email, Finland and Denmark had switched from asking Norway to join in to making plans- balloons, beer, what types of food to bring, anything that had popped into the Dane’s mind. 

Then, the emails died down, and Norway could breathe. Denmark unfortunately was right. It was a new century, and there hadn’t been conflicts between the five of them for a while. It wouldn’t hurt for him to meet up once again, to be with his family once again. 

Hesitantly, Norway typed his confirmation message and promptly shut off the blasted machine. 

⋆⁺₊❅。

Norway was met with quiet chatter as he entered the room. Denmark had set up the get-together like those reunions shown in American shows. A name tag on the lapel, tch, like we can’t recognize one another… 

In addition to the name tags, each seat had a small placard for each of the members attending- country name and human name. He took note of each change. Iceland kept the name he had when the two last properly talked to one another, Emil, as did Sweden with Berwald.  Denmark and Finland had decided on a change, however, and Norway took note. 

Despite centuries of minimal contact, of only using country names with one another, Norway had looked at his own placard— the name on top showing his True Name whilst the bottom holding a name that his family had not used on him in a long, long time. 

It had been centuries since he had referred to his family through human names more often than country names, he supposed this was the chance to get to know them once again… to know his family on a human level once more. 

“No more Kristiarn!” Denmark had stated when he saw Norway staring at his name tag. “New century, new me, you know!” 

Norway rolled his eyes, “That’s corny.”

Denmark— Mathias laughed, “A part of the new me!”

The Dane’s laugh echoed as Norway examined Finland’s new name. “Timo, hm?” He raised an eyebrow at Finland’s new name. “Why the change?”

“Ah, well, you have to accept a change in pace every once in a while,” He smiled. “Just because we’re immortal doesn’t mean we have to stay static in what we were originally, right? …Besides, having a new name is sort of like a fresh start for me.”

Norway took his seat. “How so?”

"Well, it’s not connected to how I was in my past, and I get to build my future through a new identity.” 

“That’s…” Norway paused, thinking. “That’s very profound.”

"Of course! Why don’t you change your name more often, Sigurd?” Finland— Timo referred to his human name. It had been a long, long time since any nation called him by a human name. Hell, even the humans had taken to calling him Norway nowadays. 

There wasn’t one specific reason why he kept his names for such long periods of time. It was his history, the name he bestowed upon himself, or others have given him. It told him who he was throughout the time he had existed. A secret, a victor… yet Timo’s words stuck with him. 

…Should he change his name?

He had cycled through names he had heard on the streets, names he’s seen in books, ones with specific meanings. If he were to change his name right then and there, he will be deliberate about it. In some ways, he was almost content with keeping Sigurd. It was a solid name, a name still used in his country… yet, if even Timo, a nation who had not once changed his name throughout the time Norway had known him, it wouldn’t hurt to change.

If only his friends were here… they would suggest a name for him. His mind cycled through names: Leif, Nils… none felt like it fit. Yet, there was one. ‘Bringer of Light’. It wasn’t a name originated in his humble little region, yet Norway felt strangely warm towards it. Lukas, Germanic in nature, and a name rising in popularity amongst his people. 

Oh… why not. With a deep breath, Lukas took a pen from his pocket, placing a sticky note over Sigurd. And with neat handwriting, he sealed in his decision for a new name. 

“What’s wrong with Sigurd?!” Emil had frowned. He was less keen on change than Lukas was. 

“Nothing.”

"Then why change it?” 

A smirk formed on Lukas’ face, “Why not?”

Mathias looked at the sticky note, tapping his fingers on his glass, “Lukas, Lukas, Lukas…”

He raised an eyebrow, uncertain of how he felt about the change, ”Mathias.”

A smile formed on his face, “It fits you. Congrats on joining us in the 21st century.” 

Timo clapped, “It’s so hip!”

Emil grumbled, “He’s not hip, he’s just…” 

Berwald hummed, “I think it’s nice.” 

Norway— Sigurd— no, Lukas’s face flushed. He hadn’t expected so much support, especially such genuine care. It felt right. He was calm, knowing his family supported the change— or will support the change once they are used to it.

“Thanks.”

”No problem, Lu—“ Mathias gasped, his attention changing to a completely new topic. The rest of the meeting went by similarly, with different topics being brought up— Lukas’s favorite being the one where Emil admitted he was his brother. 

And for once in centuries, the family was together. And the family was getting along. There were no wars, no unions, no animosity towards any particular nation… right now they were five nations, five men who wanted their family. Their region. 

The Nordics all wanted the best for each other now, and Lukas was content with keeping it that way.