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Chapter Text

Iceland walked along the streets of the small, quaint town, silently humming to himself. Normally, he lived with Norway and Denmark in Copenhagen, but occasionally he returned to his land to check up on the people.

Most took no notice, though a few glanced curiously at the young, white-haired boy who navigatinged the twisting roads, seemingly not paying attention to anything.

A loud noise startled him from his thoughts. Mr. Puffin, who'd been perched on his shoulder, flew off with a squawk of surprise.

Iceland paused in his wandering, glancing over his shoulder to try and gauge the cause of the commotion.

Suddenly, a hand seized his wrist, yanking him toward the coast. Iceland stiffened as he was greeted to the sight of tanned skin and sneering face. The man said something to a similar looking character beside him in a language Iceland couldn't understand, gesturing at him.

Looking around, it appeared the majority of people had fled, nowhere to be seen, though some unlucky stragglers were also picked up. They consisted mostly of young women or children, already being bound.

A sinking feeling settled in Iceland's chest.

His captors were already starting to bind his hands as well, and Iceland snapped out of his thoughts, realizing he had to do something. Suddenly kicking out his back leg, he felt a moment of satsfaction as boot met flesh, and a howl of pain sounded.

Now unhanded, Iceland sprinted off, trying to put as much distance between him and whatever weird foreigners had come to his land.

Unfortunately, luck wasn't on his side. Heart pounding, Iceland yelped as another one of the strange men grabbed his neck and slowed him to a halt, calling to his previous captors.

They seemed to congratulate each other, and resumed tying his hands. Now fully bound, Iceland struggled helplessly as they dragged him towards to coast, where he was met with the sight of several ships.

He, along with everyone else the men had gotten, were taken aboard and Iceland watched as the coast of his land began to dissapear.

He tried not to panic, though it was hard because he was on a ship, kidnapped by foreigners, and there was no way to contact anyone back at Copenhagen about it. Iceland took a deep breath and tried to focus.

After thinking for a moment, Iceland deduced that his captors were most likely Barbary pirates. He remembered Norway and Denmark referencing them on numerous occasions, as they had become a very real menace in Europe, wiping several towns clean and forcing many to abandon costal areas.

Many, many people, possibly in the millions, have been captured by them. But he thought they only raided as far north as Netherlands. Apparently, he thought wrong.

"Who are they?" Hushed whispers went around from a few captives' mouths, though most stayed quiet out of fright. A light storm had set in, causing the ship to rock back in forth ominously, further setting the mood. Above deck, yelling continued in the strange language. Whatever it was, it wasn't anything Iceland had ever heard of. He also thought he might have heard some Dutch or Spanish, though he wasn't sure.

"What are they doing with us?" Someone-an old man who Iceland recognized as a pastor, asked. He appeared to be less terrified than most, though that didn't mean Iceland couldn't feel the fear radiating off him.

"Slaves," Iceland managed to croak. "They'll sell us as slaves."

Several heads turned. Iceland did, after all, look like a 13 year old boy. One with white hair and unnaturally purple eyes at that, which automatically made people suspicious.

"How do you know?" One of them demanded. Iceland gulped at the somewhat hostile glances, coming from his own people. Maybe speaking up wasn't such a good idea.

"I was with relatives in Denmark a while back, and they told me that there've been many raidings by pirates along coastal towns. Some are ransomed, but the money has to come from famlies, friends, and donations. They sell the rest to slavery in Arabia." Iceland shrunk a bit at the stares, and several people resumed whispering. The old minister looked intrgued.

Iceland just wanted to go home. Whether home was his land or Denmark's, he didn't care. Above, the shouting quieted, as did the storm.

They were on the ship for weeks. Several people died. The pastor's wife gave birth at the time, screaming. As various people panicked, and the pirates watched, Iceland blocked his ears and tried to think of other things. He wondered what Mr. Puffin was doing.

Suddenly, a thought struck him. Perhaps Mr. Puffin would carry a message back to Denmark. The thought calmed Iceland down a little. And Norway was bound to notice his disappearence sooner or later. There might be hope after all. He just had to hang in until then.

A few weeks later, a shout was heard.

"Land!" Iceland had come to recognize a few key words in the language, which after a while he realized was Arabic. "Yes, No, Thanks, Land, Storm, Ship, Money," among other words and phrases were used commonly and not hard to pick up, especially with his status as a nation.

They arrived at a bustling city, and as they were herded out of the ship and on to land, a large crowd gathered around. Some, especially women, looked sympathetic, and Iceland realized both white and black people were here. The woman sometimes handed bread or the occasional coin to children.

Iceland noticed, uncomfortably, that several people pointed at him and whispered, probably due to his strange appearance. One of the black women gave him a piece of bread, which he quickly scarfed down before anyone else noticed. Later, as they were being divided up into groups, a few coins were shoved into his hands as well.

The city was named Algiers, as Iceland soon realized. First, the captain picked whichever two captives he wanted, and then their local king picked every eighth man, woman, and children. One of the happened to be the pastor's 11 year old son. Iceland's chest twisted as he felt the agnuish in the pastor's heart. He looked away.

Finally, they were taken to the market. His hands and face was examined, as was his hair. Words like money, fine, and white were thrown around, and Iceland wasn't sure he wanted to know the full meaning. Many people-potential buyers, Iceland guessed, lingered on him for hours. One of them, a man wearing a white mask and who's hair was mostly covered by a white cloth, seemingly scrutinized him intently for about twenty minutes before moving on. Iceland felt something off about him.

The bidding was fierce. Many people were interested in the rare captives from the far off lands, though most grown men fetched what seemed like mediocore prices. Iceland felt sick when he realized the ones whom most of the bidding centered around were the young virgin girls.

When it was his turn, he blushed a bit as several stares lingered on his hair and eyes. Turning away, he again asked internally how a personification like him managed to get into this situation.

The bidding started. People seemed to take more interest in him than he thought, which Iceland supposed was because of his unusual appearance. Still, fear shuddered as he thought of what could happen to him. And what if humans discovered his healing abilities, or supposed immortality? Several instances might occur, and Iceland didn't like any of them.

The bidding seemed to slow to two people now, one middle-aged man who looked richer than any king in Europe, and the same masked man, who also dressed like he was rich, though his outfit seemed a bit more practical for travel.

He heard the phrase 'Turk' thrown around at the masked man, which seemed to imply he was from the Ottoman Empire. He yelled out a price again, this time, the other man didn't. Iceland felt sick yet again. Never in his long life he thought he'd ever be sold as a slave. But as he was led away, the Turk caught his eye, and that strange feeling resumed.

Iceland clutched the coins he'd been given in his hands, and tried not to panic as he was brought outside, guarded. A while later, the masked man walked up to him with some companions. After a wrapping up the conversation(Iceland noted the words 'money', 'boy', and 'market' frequently thrown around) they were dismissed with a gesture.

He was taken to a group of people at the edge of the town, with several strange looking animals Iceland recognized as camels, most loaded with bags, though a few had what looked like their equivilant of saddles. There were also a few horses. Several people talked, dressed in traveling attire. Iceland realized they were probably heading somewhere, and the masked man was with them.

The masked man pulled him away from the now prying eyes, making gestures and yelling as if to tell them to stop staring. The word "away" was used several times. The people obeyed, and judging by reactions Iceland deduced the man seemed to have a high status, though he clearly wasn't from Algiers.

The man then hunch over him, pulling back a sleeve and pulling a knife from his belt. Behind the mask, the face was unreadable. Iceland backed away, but his arm was held firm. Iceland remembered Norway telling him about Africa and how people who looked like him were sometimes cut up for magical uses, though the practices seemed to not extend to Arabia.

Iceland yelped as the knife came down on his arm, drawing a diagonal trail of blood, leaking from the long, thin wound. The wound wasn't exceptionally long, but he knew in a normal human infection could potentially kill them without treatment. He trembled. What was the man doing?

Said masked man put the knife back in his belt and wrapped a silky piece of yellow cloth round it, tying it with bandages. Iceland was then led back. When some people asked about his bloodly arm, the man waved them off.

Then he seemed to bark some orders, and the various people got on the camels and began riding. Iceland was helped up to one, and the masked man got up behind him. The camel started to move.

They stopped after a few hours, for a break. Iceland was exausted by that point. He barely had time to rest before he was examined and sold, and the caravan(he now knew what it was called) headed off.

They stopped at another coastal settlement, though this one seemed minor. A tent was set up, and Iceland yelp as he was suddenly dragged off the camel and carried inside. The masked man seemed to smile as he pulled off the cloth and revealed that the knife wound had completely healed, without even the slightest trace of a scar. Iceland wasn't so happy, wondering what he should do since he barely spoke any Arabic.

The masked man didn't seem the least bit surprised, and when he pointed at himself and said "Sadik" Iceland suddenly realized he was also a personification. Probably the Ottoman Empire, judging by the "Turk" label he'd received in Algiers. His theory was confirmed when "Ottoman Empire" Was said in multiple languages, including English, which Iceland understood. He also took note of the Arabic words for it.

Though it probably made things easier for him, Iceland just started glaring. He was tired, far from home, had only the faintest idea of understanding Arabic, and now a nation was happy because he bought him off a slave market.

"My big brother will come..." He muttered in Icelandic under his breath, partially to reassure himself. "Sadik" looked slightly amused, and pulled something out of a bag. He then handed them to Iceland and ducked outside.

Iceland glanced at the tent flap, wondering whether or not to make a run for it, but ultimely decided that was a stupid action. He was surrounded, after all.

He looked around, and realized several bags full of food, water canteens, and other various supplies were all piled against the large tent walls. Colorful blankets covered the floor.

Examining what "Sadik" gave him, Iceland realized it consisted of trousers, some robes, and a pair of boots. All made in the same strange, foreign style the Sadik wore. Colorful and long, very unlike the clothes he was familiar with back in Iceland or Denmark.

Signing, he started undress, hoping no one would peak in. His own clothes were ripped and dirty, and Iceland supposed it was high time he changed out. The robes caused some confusion, however, but he eventually figured out how they were meant to be worn.

Just as Iceland was contemplating whether or not to put on the boots and go outside, the Ottoman Empire returned. He looked pleased, and walked inside the tent, completely sealing the flap in the process.

Sadik, as Iceland decided to refer to him by, took off the white covering on his head, as well as the mask, revealing messy brown hair and green eyes who looked over him one last time before collapsing on a blanket. Iceland realized he was much younger than he looked wth the mask, in his mid twenties at the very latest, which made sense for a nation. He said something in Arabic, and then in some various other languages to Iceland, none of which he recognized.

Sadik then said something in Italian, which Iceland recognized but still didn't understand. Then something in Greek, which he could read a little of but had never really learned the spoken words to. Iceland shook his head, realizing Sadik was trying to find a language that Iceland understood.

Sadik sighed and closed his eyes. Iceland took it as a message that he'd ran out of languages. Damn it. They had no real way of communicating. He'd probably have to learn Arabic. Sure. Not a problem. It wasn't like he'd never done that. In fact, he knew several languges, courtesy of Norway.

Sadik pointed at another blanket layed out on the other side of the tent, saying something in Arabic. Iceland decided it meant sleep, and when Sadik didn't say anything after he'd lain down, Iceland added it to his growing vocabulary of Arabic words.

But actually sleeping took a while. Even after he started hearing Sadik's soft snores, Iceland was kept awake thinking of home, Norway and Denmark, as well as how his people fared.

Finally, Iceland slipped into a fitful sleep, tossing and turning occasionally, filled with dreams of ocean waves and puffins.

Mr. Puffin flew. The wind, however, was against him the whole way back, and he had to make several stops on various barren islands. He also got lost on several occasions.

Letting out the puffin equivalent of a sign, he shifted to a more comfortable position on the rock he was currently perched at. After witnessing Iceland's capture, he'd flown off with the objective to find his big brother, or snarky guy.

After several months, he finally arrived at Copenhagen, where Iceland, along with his 'family', currently resided. In Mr. Puffin's opinion, they moved around too much.

After checking the house and realizing no one was there, Mr. Puffin sat down on the roof trying to think of what he should do. Maybe wait until they came back, or...

A human rushed past him, an old man who seemed oddly familiar. He sat near the house, on a patch of grass, writing something. Flying closer, Mr. Puffin heard him muttering.

"Finally, I've arrived at Copenhagen. Now, I must tell the king of my captured countrymen, and hope he'd be willing to pay the ransom for those who haven't been sold. So many sights I've seen on my journey, perilous as it has been..."

Mr. Puffin now realized why he looked so similar. He was one of the people he'd seen being herded on to those ships as he flew away. Now, something about finding the king to pay a ransom.

Mr. Puffin followed the old man as he got up and headed for an audience with the king.

"What?" Norway narrowed his eyes. The king had left them to sort this out and report back, and Norway was somewhat glad he did.

"Well, as I said, I was captured along with around 200 others by Barbary pirates..."

"Did you see a young boy with white hair?" His voice chilled the air, cold and clipped.

"ICEY's GONE!" Mr. Puffin's voice sounded from the door, and Lukas cursed quietly. Denmark opened the door, and Lukas spotted him stuffing the bird inside his coat.

"Shh...a human's talking." Mr. Puffin stayed quiet after that.

"Yes, I did. He was on the ship with me, and had the most unusual purple eyes..." The old man, Olafur, began talking again.

"Did you get his name?" Norway asked. Denmark closed the door.

"No, but he seemed to know a lot about the captors, said he was recently with relatives in Denmark who told him about it."

"Lukas?" Denmark asked, looking over him worridly.

"Matthias, I'll be gone for a while. Take care of the bird." With that, Lukas stormed out of the room, leaving Denmark to wrap things up. He had a brother to save.

Chapter Text

Iceland peered over the edge of the ship, staring into the deep, Mediterranean waters below. A fish leaped out and smacked its head against the wood before flopping back. He stifled a chuckle.

Iceland reminded himself, yet again, he was in a serious situation. Plus, it was kind of hard to learn a new language when there was no one to help translate it, and besides communication problems he still had the trouble of getting back to his land. So annoying.

Sadik-or the Ottoman Empire, hadn't done anything bad, but he didn't show any signs of allowing him to go. In fact, Iceland suspected the only reason he bought him was to make sure their national personification secret wasn't revealed. Which made sense.

After traveling for a few months across north Africa, they had reached a harbor. They'd been on the ship for a few weeks now, bound northeast towards what Iceland could only assume was Sadik's house. From what he remembered, it was a city called Constantinople, or Byzantium, or New Rome, whatever. Norway had listed off a lot of names the city has had over the centuries, before saying a lot of locals referred to it as just "the city".

He hadn't remembered the exact location, but according to the map he currently had in his hand, the city was between southeast Greece and Asia Minor, and had been conquered by the Ottomans a century or two prior.

"Emil." Iceland looked up. Sadik hadn't had much trouble pronouncing his name, though when he tried to say Ísland Iceland nearly covered his ears at the horrible pronunciation. So they opted to just call each other by human names. Sadik pointed at the sea, and squinting, Iceland realized land was in sight.

Constantinople, or Constantinopolis, as he heard it referred as, was very different from the cities back in Europe. Iceland suspected more so after its conquest.

The architecture, clothing, language, they were all unfamiliar to Iceland. (He'd never admit it, but the city looked far greater than those back in Northern Europe. He was actually impressed.) One thing that wasn't different was the amount of activity going on, with various marketplaces and social gatherings. Finally, they reached a large house towards the center of the city. Sadik knocked on the door.

Who answered was a sleepy looking young man with brown hair, who muttered something unintelligible as Sadik ushered Iceland inside and closed the door. Sadik said something about sleeping later and gestured for both of them to follow him.

Sadik then launched into a fast paced explanation towards the young man, about languages and the slave market and help, so Iceland could only assume they were talking about him. The young man simply nodded a few times, looking like he was about to doze off. Sadik didn't seem to notice, and if he did he didn't care. Iceland wondered if this was a regular thing.

After Sadik finished talking, he walked off to another room and shut the door. Iceland realized they were in some kind of large room, lined with colorful carpets and pillows. There were also a few beautifully carved table and chairs. The young man flopped down on a pillow.

"Greece," he said. Oh. Since Constantinople and the actual area was controlled by the Ottomans, Iceland supposed it made sense.

Still didn't fix the fact that his knowledge about spoken Greek was very limited. In fact, he was probably better at Arabic now.

"No Greek," Greece seemed to muse. At some point, a cat had found its way inside and was now nestled in his arms. Iceland had no idea how that happened.

"Latin?"

"I speak some Latin," Iceland said, feeling oddly relieved. Who knew Bible texts and Norway's obsession with ancient civilizations would actually come in handy one day?

"Oh. That's good," Greece replied. He stroked the cat's head.

"What are we suppose to do?" Iceland asked, ignoring the fact that three more cats had appeared now. He knew some nations attracted animals, or certain animals, but this was next level.

"Not sure. I mostly just sleep." As if on cue, Greece yawned. "Human name is Heracles, by the way. Sadik usually referred to his territories by humans names, though not me? I'm the only one who's usually at his house though. And you, I suppose."

"I hope not for much longer. I'm a territory, but not his territory!" Iceland sighed, frustrated. Greece blinked slowly.

"Well, the only reason you're here is for the security of our secret. But apparently you're from north? Really north? How'd you end up in the Algiers slave market anyway?"

"Barbary Pirates," Iceland grumbled. "I thought they didn't go that north, but apparently I thought wrong."

"More north than Austria?"

"Far more north. I'm more north than all of Europe. Except maybe a few small islands, and Russia, but he doesn't count because he's huge."

Greece made a "hm" sound.

"Well, I'm suppose to help you learn Ottoman Turkish."

"Is that the language here? I thought it was Arabic," Iceland asked, suprised.

"Well, it's so similar to Arabic it might as well be. It's really just Arabic with some Turkish and Persian words thrown in and maybe a few grammar changes for good measure." Greece explained. "It's the language used by the higher class and the official language. Though there and a lot a languages in use around the empire. In the lower classes here you'll find most people use a more 'crude' form of Turkish, though that's not important."

"Is there any way for me to, you know, go back to my land?" Iceland asked.

"Well, there's no plans for that right now. Sadik is pretty content to keep you here. Like, he did buy you, after all. For quite a lot, apparently." Greece yawned, "I suppose a deal can be made with your ruler if you can get a messenger across."

That was the problem. What would they demand for him? Denmark's king was broke from recent wars, and the humans would probably be content to leave him here with Sadik. After all, he was an unimportant island out in the middle of the North Atlantic. His only hope was that Denmark or Norway could track him down and bring him back, however unlikely it seemed.

"You can sleep here. That's what I do," Greece yawned once again. "We can do, I don't know, lessons tomorrow? It's almost night anyway." He turned his back towards Iceland and fell asleep. Iceland watched as the now numerous cats did the same.

Sighing, he brushed a cat off a pile of pillows and slumped down. The air was warms; there was no need for blankets like back home. Iceland had never been particularly religious, especially after the Viking ages, but now he was praying to every god he's ever heard of for Norway or Denmark to find him.

Norway paced back and forth next to a confused Olafur Egilsson.

"You say they went to a city in North Africa named Algiers?" He asked. The human shifted uncomfortably.

"Yes," Norway sighed.

"The king is broke. He can't afford to pay the ransom for a few Icelanders. But I'll be going there myself. No one harms Emil and gets away with it." Norway ran a hand through his hair, plotting the best route.

Olafur had a crestfallen face, and Norway felt a small level of pity for the human. But he couldn't afford to be sidetracked.

"You really care for him, don't you?" Olafur murmured, watch Norway's agitated pace.

"Of course. He is my dearest little brother. I will get him back," Norway said, his gaze now fixed on the map, which lay sprawled on the table.

"Are you sure? Traveling alone through all that..." Olafur stopped as Norway brought his eyes to meet his. Something determined-and dangerous, glowed in the normally dead and monotone orbs.

"I will get him back." Norway repeated.

Back at the house, Denmark watched as Norway packed for the journey.

"Can't you just teleport there?" He asked.

"That only works for places I've been to. Africa isn't one of them. I can teleport to Venice, and then make the journey by ship." Norway packed dried food and a spare set of cloths in case his got damaged. Water could be obtained on the way.

"What about the human?" Denmark asked.

"He'll probably want to go back to Iceland, but if he wants to stay then so be it." Norway closed the satchel and slung the strap over his shoulder. He turned to a little figure floating next to him.

"No, you can't come with me," he told the faerie. She made a sad noise and floated off.

"Denmark. Bye." Denmark nodded, and with a flash, Norway disappeared.

He landed at Italy's house, where there wouldn't be any confused humans. The nation yelled in fright, dropping a plate of pasta and falling down, begging him not kill him and talking about how he was still a virgin. Norway ignored him and opened the door, heading outside.

Venice, The Floating City. Getting a ship to North Africa should be easy enough....

Chapter Text

Iceland blinked, staring at the human in front of him. He stared back.

"Who are you?" The human asked suspiciously. Iceland racked his brain, trying to remember if he'd seen this one before.

"Emil."

"What are you doing here?" The human demanded. He reached for the sword hanging at his side. Iceland wasn't too worried, but the sword did make him a bit nervous.

"I'm s-supposed to be here." He'd managed to grasp Arabic, or Turkish, or whatever weird mixture language they spoke, but actually talking to a human and not Greece or Ottoman Empire, who often corrected his mistakes, made him more nervous than any sword. What if I say something wrong and accidentally offend him?

"Really? I haven't seen you around before."

"He's suppose to be here." Iceland relaxed as Sadik came into view. Now the human was the one looking nervous.

"I'm sure you have better things to do than terrorize this boy, right?"

"O-Of course!" The human scampered off.

"I'm glad to see you're making so much progress," Sadik said.

"Well, yeah. There's not much else to do," Emil said. "And about..."

"Well, no," Sadik said. "Look, you can't go back to Europe on your own; the roads are too dangerous. Bandits, thieves, and slavers walk along the paths, and you'd be a prime target. I can't justify dispatching any of my men, and neither can my ruler. You'll have to stay put. Maybe we can get into contact with your king or the nation that has control of you, but that will take a while and nothing is certain."

"Alright," Emil sighed.

"I'll have to go now. Duty calls, unfortunately."

"What poor nation are you terrorizing this time?" Emil asked, almost jokingly.

"Hey! Don't look at me like that, it's my job! You're a territory. You wouldn't understand. Besides, I'm actually not going into battle this time. Expect me back tomorrow." Sadik left, leaving Emil to his thoughts.

Life here wasn't bad, but Iceland missed his home terribly. It was unbearably hot and everyone acted differently. He missed his brother, Denmark, even Mr. Puffin. They would surely wonder where he was now, and were no doubt looking for him. But they probably weren't thinking about looking here.

Sadik was surprisingly nice, and had grown fond of him. But he wasn't Norge, and Iceland suspected he secretly didn't want him to go back. Plus, he wanted to conquer all of Europe. Greece, besides helping him with his language problems, was no use. He usually slept the day away and filled the house with cats when he did.

Which left Iceland to explore. He often wandered around the large establishment, peering around for the lack of a better activity. Humans sometimes passed through, servants or generals under Sadik. The looks on their faces when they first see him are rather amusing.

But today had him thinking.

"Heracles!" Iceland hissed, darting into the room where he slept upon his mountain of pillows.

"What?" Greece yawned, stretching his arms. A ginger cat rolled off his belly and shook its head.

"Can you take me outside?" Iceland prodded his head, forcing his eyes to blink open wearily.

"I need sleep," Greece mumbled.

"You're always sleeping. A few hours outside won't hurt." Iceland was just a bit sick of staying in this house all day.

"Alright, alright." Greece sat up, and many of the numerous cats that surrounded him scampered off. He pick up one of the remaining ones; a white cat with black paws, and stood up.

"I suppose I could go outside a bit more. Sadik is always telling me too," Greece yawned. "What do you want to see?"

"Just what it's like outside," Iceland replied. He was here, so he might as well take in as much as he could. Besides, there could be an opportunity to go back home if he just explored a bit more, however slim the chances.

"I suppose I could take you to a few landmarks."

"That's the Sancta Sophia." Greece pointed at the towering building. "In Latin, that is. In Turkish it's Ayasofya. Used to be a church until Mehmed got his hands on this city. Now it's a mosque."

"Are you mad?" Iceland asked suddenly. Greece blinked.

"Mad?"

"That he just stormed in and conquered this city. Wasn't it yours?"

"Actually, it was my mother's." Greece replied. "She was the Byzantine Empire as well as Ancient Greece. The Ottoman Empire was the one who killed her."

"So..."

Greece sighed.

"I don't like Sadik, but do I hate him? That depends on whether Sadik and the Ottoman Empire are different people. If they are the same, the yes, I hate him with all my heart, but if they can be considered two different people, then I hate the Ottoman Empire, but I can't say I truly hate Sadik Adnan. Do you see what I'm saying?" Greece looked down on Iceland. There was a seriousness in his eyes that he hadn't seen before.

"We as nations are obligated to do such things. Ottoman Empire's people took over my mother's, but that doesn't mean it's his fault. It's the nature of humans. She was going to die, and Ottoman Empire simply did his duty by finishing her off. Was it Sadik or Ottoman Empire who killed her, or both? It's an endless cycle of questions that has taunted my mind ever since her death."

Her death, which was nearly two hundred years age. Greece has been thinking about this for along time.

"I suppose...it depends on who you ask," Iceland said finally. Greece nodded, and the seriousness dispersed.

"Well, let's move elsewhere. There's plenty of places I want to visit along the Mese."

They walked along the streets, past horses and people. The sun was bright, lighting up all the different colors. Now that he's seen Constantinople, his own towns seemed drab by comparison.

"The Mese is the main road in this city," Greece explained. "Goes past a lot of different places, and it's lined with shops. I brought some money for a snack. How about yogurt?"

"Yogurt?" Iceland questioned. Greece waved a hand.

"Not sure where it's from, but basically a dessert made from milk and...something."

"Something?"

"If you want, then you can ask Sadik. But it's delicious."

It was delicious. And he was very hungry, walking around all day. Iceland wondered if he really should be taking this as an opportunity to learn as much about this place as possible. It was certainly what Norge would do. Besides, there wasn't much else to do.

"Here's the harbor. Or, one of them. I don't remember this one's name." Greece sat down on the sand, staring out at the sea while he slowly ate his yogurt, which was contained in some kind of bowl made from a leaf. Iceland had long since finished his.

"Where do these ships go?" Iceland asked, watching one of them sail off.

"All over. My various islands, Africa, rest of Asia Minor and Middle East, Italy, Sadik's people are big on trade." Greece crumpled up the leaf, having finally finished, and tossed it into the ocean.

"It goes to Italy?" Iceland perked. Greece nodded.

"I know what you're thinking. Someone like you will never make the entire journey alone. Your age, looks, everything about you will scream runaway. Sadik won't be happy. He likes you in his house. Besides, even if you do get to Italy, I doubt you'll survive traveling alone through Austria, France, Prussia, and all those other very Christian places that might think you're possessed. The part where you wake up again won't be of any help."

Iceland sighed and looked back out to the sea. The colors and sounds as they lapped against the shore were different from back home. The waters looked lighter, felt warmer. They had a steadier, calmer rhythm, going back and forth, back and forth in an endless cycle.

"I know," Iceland grumbled. "It's just-I need to go back."

Greece nodded understandingly.

"A opportunity will present itself eventually."

They got back to the house just as the last traces of light faded away. Surprisingly, Sadik was there.

"Where have you two been?" He asked immediately upon seeing them. He was sitting at a table, hunched over various papers. His mask was now off.

"I thought you were going back tomorrow," Greece replied back. He collapsed on top of his pillows and closed his eyes.

"Hey! You haven't answered by question yet!"

"I wanted to see more of Constantinople, so I had Greece come with me to show me around," Iceland replied. He was feeling rather sleepy as well.

"Why wasn't I informed of this?" Sadik asked. His tone was a lot calmer now that he knew what was going on.

"You weren't there, duh," Greece muttered, rolling over.

"Don't talk to me like that! I rule over you!"

"Right. Big scary ruler. I'm so scared." Greece let out one final yawn before soft snores signaled his sleep. Sadik sighed. Iceland knew there was no waking Greece up until morning.

"You know, if you really want to see more of the city I could always take you on a tour. Don't know why it has to be him," Sadik said.

"That would be nice. Greece was pretty close to falling asleep on more than one occasion," Iceland admitted. Sadik snorted.

"Not surprised. There's some kind of condition with that kid. I think it's a thing with a few humans too."

"Oh well. You have political problems, don't you?" Iceland suddenly said. Sadik blinked.

"How'd you know?"

"I've seen it before," Iceland replied. "On Denmark and Norway."

"Huh. Yeah, lots of reforms and stuff. Giving me so many headaches." Sadik paused. "Nothing I can't handle."

Iceland knew they were more serious than Sadik let on, but he held his tongue.

For a while it was faint scratching as Sadik worked on the papers. Iceland looked out the window. The moon wasn't visible through the thick clouds, but various lights came from the other houses in the area, dimly lighting the streets. A cat was stalking something from the corner of the window.

"Sadik" Iceland broke the silence once again.

"What is it?" Sadik looked up from his work. Iceland took a deep breath.

"Do you want to keep me here?"

Sadik didn't look surprised at the question.

"I...sort of. I want to conquer Europe, and they're all terrified of me-except you, I guess. You were a good start?" He sighed. "But look, I get it. You want to go back home and you're a personification too. But I like you here, and you're great company compared to Heracles. That kid talks back to me too much and always argues. Besides, you can't just go back now. Like I said, there's no way you'll make it. And I can't accompany you, even if I wanted too. Too many responsibilities here."

"Right. It's just..." Iceland hesitated. Was telling him a good idea?

"Just what?" He peered at Iceland curiously.

"What if someone comes looking for me?"

"Like who?" Sadik asked doubtfully. "How could anyone know you're here?"

I can think of a few ways. But Iceland kept those thoughts to himself.

"Just wondering," he mumbled. Sadik sighed.

"Well, we'll deal with it when that happens."

Iceland eyed the various officials warily, but though a few gave him odd looks they didn't say anything. Sadik had decided that in order to give him something to do, Iceland could attend one of his meetings. Turns out, they were just as boring as the ones Denmark and Norway attended back home.

Sometimes he envied Greece's ability to just sleep through the day.

After the meeting, he followed Sadik as they weaved through the crowds of people along the streets.

"What do you think?" Sadik asked.

"Just as boring as the ones back home," Iceland replied. Sadik chuckled.

"I suppose you would know. I never really liked them either. Maybe you could take over for me," Sadik suggested.

"No thanks," Iceland mumbled.

They returned to the house, where Sadik sat down on a chair lined with cushions and stretched. Greece was still asleep nearby on his own sea of pillows. When Iceland also stepped into a the room, a cat jumped into his arms. Iceland yelped, but managed not to drop it.

"I think it likes you," Sadik commented. "I've see it following you around a few times."

"Don't you have anything to do?" Iceland retorted. What was he suppose to do with this cat?

"Nope! For once. Maybe I'd better take this as an opportunity to get some sleep," Sadik mused.

Iceland carefully knelt down and set the cat on the floor. It was small and white, with the exception of a black patch over it's right eye. It meowed and pawed at his knee.

"It definitely likes you." Greece rolled over, and opened his eye. "You can keep it if you wan," he mumbled. "I think that one's parents came from Europe anyway."

"What am I suppose to do with a cat?" Iceland spluttered. Said cat meowed again, as if to protest.

"Not much, though it won't make a difference," Sadik laughed. "The place is already swarming with these critters anyway, since a certain someone can't keep them in check."

"Shut up," Greece yawned.

"When you learn to behave."

And so they went. Iceland had long since learned to tune out their arguments, and he simply leaned against the wall, stroking the cat's fur. It snuggled against his chest and began snoring softly.

Iceland sighed and thought of home, where blankets of snow covered the ground each year, as white and pristine as his new cat's fur.

Chapter Text

After several weeks on a ship, as well as a horse, Norway was in Algiers. And the one thing he couldn't stand was the heat.

The looks he received from being here was second. While free European white men were very common due to so many being Barbary pirates, they were generally older than sixteen and carried far bigger weapons. Those his age were usually slaves, who did not carry daggers or walk like they were free. But the heat definitely came first.

It was unbearably hot, and Norway didn't think he'd shed so much clothing outside in his life. To tell the truth. he was a little embarrassed. But it was normal here, so he tried his best to ignore it.

What he couldn't ignore, however, were stupid humans.

His Arabic had was rusty; he'd visited some of the northern and eastern parts of Africa as well as the Middle East during the Viking Age a few times, but it had been centuries since he'd needed to use it. A few very old Arabic manuscripts and artifacts were still somewhere in his vast collection, but it had also been at least a century since he'd taken a look at them.

Thankfully, Norway had a sharp memory, and he quickly picked it back up in a few weeks with the help of a merchant on the ship, even if it had changed a lot over the 600 or so years.

Now, he was glad he prepared. After all, he couldn't risk making a fool of himself like this human was about to do.

"What are you doing here?" He asked, stepping in front of Norway. They were in an alleyway, with no one to hear to witness. A note of recognition sparked in his eyes before dying down. The human frowned.

Norway supposed there was reason to be suspicious. After all, the majority of whites here were slaves, and those that weren't were the pirates that converted to Islam and captured those slaves. Norway, who looked like he was no older than 16, was more likely to be the former. Especially now that he'd changed into clothes more suitable to the climate and culture of this place.

"None of your business." Norway replied easily. Outwardly, the only weapon he carried was a lone dagger which hung from his belt. But a small, unassuming case was also attached to it. Norway did not have the strength to wield a battle axe like Denmark, or build to handle a longsword like Sweden, but he had his own ways of winning. He had been-still was-the best fighter among them by a large margin, after all.

"What's a young boy like you doing out here, alone?" Norway looked up to meet the human's eyes. Though his skin looked tan, the Dutch accent was unmistakable. Judging by how he spoke, he was one of the Barbary pirates. Tall, but nonetheless flinched at the coldness of Norway's gaze. His upper body seemed to stiffen. A hand roamed wildly around his belt before settling on a scimitar, and a foggy look was in his eyes. Norway knew that look well.

It was the look of a person who'd go to any lengths to get what they want.

"There is no need for me to explain that to you." Norway didn't show any signs of fear. Sometimes it was a mask, but now, with this human, he was simply annoyed. But something in the human's eyes made him pause.

"I bet someone like you would fetch a good price. That is, if you aren't sold already. But no one would notice."

Norway wanted to scoff at the idea. Him, a slave? In this place?

"I suppose someone like you would know all about slavery. But I assure you, I am no runaway."

"We'll see about that." The human drew his scimitar, pointing it at him. "Come along now. Do you think you can defend yourself with that thing?" He jerked his head at that dagger, snickering. Norway knew he'd have no trouble. He'd faced down harder opponents with his bare hands and won.

He drew his dagger.

"We'll see, you money hungry Dutch." If his aim was to kill, he would have streaked forward and impaled the human right then and there, while he was still processing Norway's words. But Norway wanted him alive for a few minutes longer, and so he simply held the dagger in front of him. The human advanced forward in anger and brought his scimitar's curved end down on the dagger.

Only to find empty air.

A few moments later, the human was knocked against a corner, and he looked up to see his own scimitar now pointed at his throat.

"H-how!?" The human looked around wildly, but no one else was in sight. What he'd thought was an advantage now turned out to be his downfall.

Norway allowed himself a small, victorious smile. The entire action had been too fast for the human to process, and that's what he'd been counting on. During the second the human had charged at him, Norway had simply thrown the dagger aside and dodged to the left, grabbing the human's hand and slamming him against the wall. The force had knocked the scimitar from his hand, and Norway had plucked the sword from the air and swung it in front of the human's throat, just as he looked up. The dagger had simply been a decoy.

His quick thinking had devised the plan, but his unnatural nation strength had also played a factor. Of course, Norway didn't need to tell him that.

"I heard that a few months ago, a group of Europeans arrived from an island very far north." Norway began. The tone immediately prompted the human to give the necessary information.

"Oh, yes! Them! Right, right, r-right? I'm part of the crew that brought them here. Very far north they were." The human now had a very uncomfortable expression, which Norway took some delight in. In his panicked, terrified state, he processed the threat to his life just well enough to recall information.

"I suppose one of them looked like me?" The human was obviously surprised by the question, but Norway knew the human had seen someone like him, and that someone was most likely Iceland. Norway's eyes were indigo instead of violet, and his hair a very light blond instead of white, but the differences pretty much stopped there. Iceland was physically 2-3 years younger, and shorter, but their facial structure was near identical.

"Err-yes! Although his-his hair was the strangest shade of white. But maybe I imagined that?" He tilted his head, as if trying to recall.

"What happened to him?"

"Some guy in a white mask bought him. I think he was from the higher-ups in Constantinople. Did some political stuff before buying the kid."

Some guy in a white mask. That sounded familiar. With most of their European neighbors terrified out of their wits by the Ottoman Empire, Norway was given very detailed descriptions by Austria the last time they met. If this was him, then perhaps the situation wasn't as bad as he thought.

Stay realistic. He reminded himself. What are the chances that the Ottoman Empire was in this city at the time of the sale, saw Iceland, and either recognized him as a personification or had otherwise another reason to buy him?

Virtually zero, but he could hope. Still, a white mask and being a high-ranking official from Constantinople was promising.

"Where did they go?" The human shrugged

"I dunno. Probably back to where they came from. They left on a caravan headed east. That's all I know." The human looked up at him expectantly, probably wanting Norway to take the sword away from his chest.

Norway smiled down at him. The human looked back, confused.

"Hey! You can't keep me here!"

"Of course I can," Norway said smoothly. "You were part of the crew that took my little brother. Therefore, you must pay for wasting my time, endangering him, and risking our secret."

"Your wha-"

He never finished the word. With a clean sweeping motion, the human's head rolled down the body, and Norway kicked it aside. Discarding the scimitar, he went back to pick up his dagger.

Just another nameless human. With the blood of so many on his hands, Norway could hardly say he cared. Even most nations would say he was low, with just as much disregard on the battlefield as off. He always scoffed at that. What difference was it where or when you killed someone? Did war justify the murder of so many? Opportunities, memories, a life was still nonetheless taken away. Their family and friends equally devastate regardless, though he doubted this pirate had many. Still, his crew would probably be saddened.

He put the dagger back into the sheath. Though it didn't serve much use this time, the blade has pierced many throats and hearts.

Most kills he did had been self-defense. There were assassinations attempts aplenty for nations, and several drunk lunatics as well.

But Norway rarely got pleasure from it. He wasn't that kind of person, contrary to what some believed.

However, this time he had enjoyed the moments when that last spark burned out from the human's eyes, the human whose name he hadn't known, who Norway had labeled purely based off of how he participated in the raid that took Iceland.

He shook his head, walking away and back out onto the streets. Now was not the time to dwell on the morality of revenge kills.

Norway furrowed his eyebrows, staring at the murky brown liquid.

"What do you think?" The human next to him asked. There had been plenty of places to stay in Algiers, given the presence of the slave market, which attracted lots of travelers. Norway had found one that included a group of merchants headed for Constantinople. After finding himself a room, he had decided to kill the remaining time by trying out some of the local cuisine, however strange they seemed.

One thing he noticed was that there were many, many coffee houses. It seemed to be a popular drink in this part of the world, so he decided to try some.

"It's...nice." That was an understatement. The drink tasted better than anything he'd ever had in Europe. Though as he found out from his habit of trying the local food on his travels, that wasn't much of a compliment by itself as European food tended to be very, very bland. The drinks...well, besides beer nothing stood out to him.

"So this is...coffee?" Norway asked. She smiled, obviously pleased.

"Yes, sir. I take it there isn't any in Europe?" Norway pursed his lips.

"I've heard of coffee houses in southern parts, but they aren't a big thing, and there's none where I'm from." Hadn't England told him about this in one of their conversations? Coffee. This drink seemed better than beer, though no doubt Denmark would argue.

"Well, the coffee here are better than any in Europe, I assure you." She proudly. "And they have great properties as well!"

"Properties?" This trip was getting more interesting by the second.

"They rejuvenate the mind! If you're tired, then a cup of this will perk you right up! Of course, it's not recommended to do this too much, but it really helps if you need to stay awake." Norway blinked, momentarily lost in the potential of this drink. Maybe he should travel more. Ever since the Viking ages, he had limited his place to Europe, but this was far too interesting.

"Simple black coffee, as in, coffee with nothing added, taste pretty bitter, though some like it." The human continued, caught up in her excitement that a foreigner was taking interest. "But I think it's best with some milk, and some people add honey as well. I heard that some of the very wealthy also add sugar. Of course, few here have that luxury. But coffee with sugar! I can dream, I suppose."

"How is it made?" Norway asked.

"Oh, it's from the seeds of a plant, I think. Ours is shipped to and bought from the market. It's a very lucrative business, from what I've heard. Anyway..." she went on to explain how to make coffee, the variants, and all the other little details she knew. Norway paid close attention, and ended up staying for quite a bit longer than he anticipated.

After heading back(with a purchase of fresh coffee beans from the market), he quickly fell asleep, wondering what the next few weeks would hold.

Chapter Text

Iceland yawned, blinking as the bright sunlight filtered through the window curtains. Looking around, he realized Greece was still asleep on his carpet of pillows. Iceland himself had fallen asleep on a soft piece of furniture unlike anything in Europe. Due to the hot temperatures, no blankets were needed.

He sat up, his arm bumping into something soft. The cat shifted and sat up as well, it's own yawn showing off tiny white teeth. It began to groom itself, looking at Iceland with a curious expression.

"What am I suppose to do with you?" Iceland sighed. This wasn't suppose to happen! He wasn't prepared to take care of a cat of all things, let alone take care of one while trapped in a city an entire continent away from home.

"You could start with naming it," Greece mumbled. His own cats clambered around and over him, a sea of rippling fur.

"Name it?" Iceland looked at the cat skeptically. It tilted it's head, blinking its strange violet eyes back at him.

"It's male. Go on, your choice," Greece smiled lazily, petting a massive grey cat.

"I'll think about it," Iceland sighed. What was he suppose to name something like this? Stretching his arms, he got up and walked over to completely pull away the curtains. Greece hissed a variety of curses as the glaring sunlight fell on his eyelids and rolled over with a sigh.

"Where's Sadik?" Iceland asked, looking around the now brightly lit room. Cushions, pillows, ornately carved chairs, other foreign pieces of furniture, but the Ottoman Empire was nowhere to be seen.

"Probably left for another meeting," Greece said, peeking his eyes out above a pillow. "He used to have more time, but ever since the reforms he's been busy with paperwork and meetings as well as battles."

Iceland sighed, sitting down on a pillow and softly petting his new cat, who batted his paw gently against Iceland's chest.

"I'm bored," Iceland grumbled. Greece made an "uh-huh" sound, but otherwise stayed silent.

"Well, not for much longer!" A shout came from the doorway. The wooden door was promptly kicked open, rattling the frame. Iceland could see the carved roses tremble on the dark wood as if being blown around in a storm.

"Can you learn to be quiet?" Greece asked, clutching another cat. "I'm trying to sleep."

"You've slept enough." The Ottoman Empire, or Sadik, walked over and pushed a cat off Greece. "Come on. Go do something else."

"Go away," Greece mumbled. Sadik sighed, and turned to Iceland. "Well, are you coming?"

"Where?" Iceland asked.

"Places. I've been assigned to evaluate some district of Constantinople. Seeing as you have nothing better to do, you might as well come along."

Iceland considered his options for a moment, and then shrugged, getting up. "Why not?"

Outside, it was considerably less dull. All the colors and sounds seemed to pop out at him. Iceland's eyes darted back and forth at various people, all going about their various daily chores. Even after a few months, Constantinople still seemed new to him.

"Quite a lot to look at here, I know." Sadik said, slowing down his horse. Iceland, doing the same, nodded. He glanced warily at the few people who where pointing to and whispering about his white hair, though that wasn't exactly new.

One thing that did surprise him though, now that he payed closer attention the the actual people, was the religious background.

"There's a lot more Christians than I expected." Iceland said. Sadik suppressed a snicker.

"Of course there are. The Ottoman Empire, me, is multi-ethnic and multi-religious. Although most of the minorities have their own representatives. And anyway, it's actually better to have more Christians and people of other religions." He said that last sentence in a hushed manner, as if he didn't want anyone to overhear.

"What? Why?" Iceland remembered Norway telling him that according to Islamic tradition, governments were suppose to welcome anyone who wanted to convert to Islam.

Sadik chuckled nervously, as if reading his mind.

"Well, it's quite a situation, kid. You see, Non-Muslims pay higher taxes, so...economically, it's in our best interests to have as few Muslims in the general populace as possible. A mass conversion would actually be very bad."

Iceland took a moment to process the situation.

"So...do you welcome converts?"

"...not really? But-ah..." Sadik grappled with his words for a moment before letting out a sigh. "Well, no. It's not really beneficial. The higher-ups all tell me that."

So money prevails. Iceland mentally slapped himself for thinking of that only now. As a nation, he really should have saw that coming. Money and power were the two things all rulers vye for, after all.

"Anyway, everyone's playing their taxes, Christians and otherwise. No uprising to be seen. No idiots to challenge me to battle. What did they send me here for?" Sadik muttered after a while.

"They probably just wanted to get rid of you." Iceland commented. Sadik paused, turning his head to meet Iceland's eyes.

"What!?" His shout attracted a few worried looks, though his resulting glare quickly turned them away. Both their horses shook their heads, as if trying to shrug off the surprise. Sadik lowered his voice. "What do you mean?"

"That's what they did with Denmark back home." Iceland mumbled. "Whenever he was being too annoying, they would give him some pointless task and just send him away for a few days or weeks. Does your government have something important to do today?"

"Now that I think about it, there is an important meet today with the higher-ups...the kind that I would usually attend. But then they insisted I go here..." Sadik's eye widened. "So they were trying to get rid of me!" He sighed, hanging his head. "Well, that's just another day wasted."

Sadik had an uncharacteristically moody attitude as they rode back.

"Am I really that annoying...?" He muttered to himself several times, leaving Iceland to look around. A flash of white crossed his sight before disappearing.

After a while, he couldn't stand it any more.

"No!" Iceland blurted out. Sadik turned his head again.

"What?"

"I don't think you're annoying." Iceland sighed. Maybe he should have kept his mouth shut, but he really couldn't stand Sadik's attitude any longer. And maybe a small part of him felt sorry for the empire, despite their complicated relationship.

"Really? Then why..."

"Probably because you're not very...adept in a place like a meeting. You seem much more suited to battle." Iceland replied.  

"Well, battles are what we're for! Of course I'm good at it!" Sadik increased his horse's speed until Iceland had to make his own trot to catch up, weaving between groups of colorfully dressed people who gave him various looks of interest or annoyance.

"What we're for...?" Iceland's voice trailed off at the last remark. He'd never really thought about their existence that way. But was that really what they were meant for, chopping bodies on the battlefield? He'd seen Denmark and Norway in action, and it did not look like something he would want to do for his entire existence.

"You haven't had war at your doorstep yet, despite being 700 years old. Quite remarkable to me. But when it comes, the first thought of your ruler will be to throw you at the enemy's feet." Sadik said with a darker tone, one that held the slightest trace of anger and contempt. On his horse, Iceland stilled as he thought of Denmark, Norway, and all the other nations in battle.

"I hope that never happens."

"For your sake, I hope so too, kid."

Iceland stopped his horse and looked up at the spirals and huge dome.

"Do you want to go inside?" Sadik asked.

"Is that allowed? This is a mosque, after all." But Iceland couldn't quell a sense of excitement at being so close to the famous Hagia Sophia.

"It'll be fine. There's not really a certain set of rules for this in Islam, so as long as you're with me everything should be good. And there aren't many people around this time of day anyway."

Iceland nodded, and they tethered their horses outside.

"By the way, you should remove your shoes," Sadik stopped Iceland before they got any further than the doors.

"Is that an Islam thing as well?" Iceland asked. "I've heard it applies to Jews."

"Yes. The mosque is holy ground and we don't want dirt in a place where people pray," Sadik explained. They set their shoes in a rack at the entrance and headed in.

The Hagia Sophia was a magnificent structure, unlike anything Iceland had every seen. They were greeted by carpets covering the floor, and calligraphy along the walls. Circular candle holders hung from the ceiling, lighting up tall pillars and arched walls. Giant disc like structures were on the wall, with symbols Iceland didn't recognize. Above, a giant dome with intricately detailed glass, ringed by windows, allowed light to filter through.

"Amazing, isn't it? That look is really common with newcomers." Iceland started, realizing he'd been staring for a good few minutes. Sadik chuckled.

"When I first set foot here, I could barely believe a place like this existed. Of course, it looked quite different before it was turned into a mosque."

He started strolling forwards, and Iceland hurried to catch up.

"How was it different?"

"Well, before that it was a church, so quite different. In fact, there's a lot of Christian art behind the calligraphy and plaster." Sadik said. "And below us."

"Below us?" Iceland echoed. He looked down, but all he could see was red carpet.

"Well, that carpet's there for a reason, kid. We can't have Christian art in a mosque, is all I'm saying."

They were quiet after that, Iceland taking the time to look around and marvel at the architecture and beauty, as well as listen to Sadik tell what he knew of the building's history.

And surprisingly, they weren't bothered. There were few people at this time, and most of them didn't say anything once they realized Sadik was with him.

They walked around for a long time, before they came up to one of the parapets and Iceland spotted something carved into the stone.

"Is that...?" He came closer for a better look. A series a scratches and lines, which would be unintelligible to any normal Turk. But Iceland could make out at least one word. Or rather, name.

"That? Some people though they were writings, though I always thought they were just some natural thing. Odd, but nothing significant." Sadik said, leaning against the parapet.

"They're writings alright." Iceland said, confused. "The question is how they got here."

"Wait." Sadik blinked in surprise. "You can read them?"

"Sort of." Iceland admitted. He could still read runes just fine, even after the Viking Ages, with Norway's collection and just the abundance of them in his land. But weathering and age had worn this particular inscription down to being near unintelligible.

"It say Halfdan...something. I can't make out the rest."

"Wait, so they're carvings in your language? That's got to be the weirdest written language I've every seen." Sadik peered closer.

"They're Norse runes. Those were used a long ago; no one uses them now." Iceland replied. "This must be hundreds of years old. No wonder it's so faded."

"What I'm wondering is how they got here." Sadik said, tracing the lines.

"Who knows." Iceland replied, though he was immensely curious as well.

There wasn't much else to see or discuss, so they moved on.

 They left the Hagia Sophia hours later, having spent most of the day touring it. Iceland hadn't found any more runes, but there was no lack of new things to see. As they walk out and away from the mosque, Iceland silently promised himself he would return...at some point.

Sadik paused as they left the district behind, crossing over into the outer parts of Constantinople. Iceland tried to ignore the ever more frequent stares. Thankfully, with the presence of Sadik in his high class clothing, ominous mask and long saber, they were mostly left alone.

Mostly.

"Hey Sadik, who's this?" 

Iceland abruptly stopped his horse, nearly falling off in surprise. Sadik's eyes hardened.

A man was riding towards them, along one of the less used roads. Dust flew behind him as his horse galloped forwards, and then skidded to a halt. His fancy clothing and the casual way he addressed Sadik marked him as a person of high power.

"Ahmed. What brings you here? If I remember correctly, you're assigned to the northern districts." Sadik's voice was much more formal and level than usual, with a trace of annoyance Ahmed obviously didn't pick up.

"Oh, they sent me down here for some reason to check on something. An unrest of sorts, but I can't seem to find anything. Fancy seeing you here though." Ahmed replied.

Sadik's right eyebrow twitched.

"Well, I was sent on an...errand."

"You too, hm? Where'd you get him?"

Iceland, after realizing Ahmed was referring to him, tensed. The entire fiasco of the slave market and the technicality of his place here was almost never brought up. Being a nation, Sadik never treated him like he did with the various servants and slaves around the house, all of which were dismissed and replaced after an year or two.

"Algiers." Sadik's eyes slid to meet Iceland's. They showed just as much embarrassment and exasperation. Ahmed continued, oblivious.

"I'd like to get a slave like him. I wonder if there's any more."

"Probably not." Sadik said. "The pirates were making a pretty big deal."

"So he's provided by the Barbary Pirates? What an unusual look. The skin's a lot whiter than usual. And that hair. Are those eyes purple? You know, some people say that's bad luck. I wonder-"

"REOW!" Ahmed flinched as a white figure streaked up his horse and swiped at his face with long, sharp claws.

The swipe grazed the skin, leaving a few red lines along Ahmed's cheek.

"Go away, you stupid cat." He hissed. The white cat jumped off the spooked horse's neck and into Iceland's arms.

Iceland looked down, into the eyes of the same cat he had fallen asleep with last night. It-he blinked his strange violet eyes, oddly similar to Iceland's own.

Ahmed was still cursing, pressing a handkerchief to his face.

"Ahmed!" Sadik said, surprised. Iceland gripped the reins a bit tighter with one hand, cradling the cat with the other.

"I'm alright," The man smiled reassuringly, those his eyes were still on the cat. It meowed back at him.

"If you say so. I was just heading back to my house, actually," Sadik responded.

"I'm going that way myself. Care to ride with me?" Ahmed said.

"If you insist," Sadik muttered.

After a while, it was obvious Ahmed had taken this as an opportunity to find out more about Iceland.

"Do you know where he came from?" Ahmed asked.

"Not entirely sure."

"What about him, can he speak our language?"

"Yes, I can talk," Iceland sighed. Ahmed's eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Well then, where do you come from?"

"North," Iceland said vaguely, in a sardonic tone.

Ahmed's face showed clear surprise. He turned to Sadik, as if expecting him to reprimand Iceland for daring to talk like that. Sadik pretended not to notice, and Iceland couldn't help but enjoy Ahmed confusion.

"Well, all the white slaves are from the north. Where, exactly?" Ahmed tried again.

"Ísland."

"I-what?"

"Ísland.

"Where is that?"

"North."

"Sadik, I think he's mocking me," Ahmed said. "You should do something about that."

"What do you mean?" Sadik asked, feigning ignorance. "He's answering all you're questions, isn't he?"

Ahmed gaped at him, at a loss, while both Iceland and Sadik tried desperately not to laugh.

"Oh, I see how it is." Ahmed muttered. "You've bought him to be you're own personal comedian, huh?"

"Better than the job you have," Iceland quipped. "Seeing how desperate they were to get rid of you."

"What?" He spun around, and lean in until he and Iceland were face to face. But Iceland was unperturbed.

"You might want to look into why they sent here to check up on some non-existent unrest."

The corner of Sadik's mouth twitched upwards. Ahmed narrowing his eyes, promptly turned his horse around and galloped off. Several people gave out shouts of alarm as they brushed past its lumbering body. Sadik chuckled.

"Oh, that was great. Ahmed has been an nuisance for me ever since he move to Constantinople with his equally pretentious father."

Iceland shrugged. "It was fun."

Sadik paused, and added.

"Still, I do want to apologize. I know-" He broke off.

"It's fine," Iceland replied, though he himself wasn't sure if it was. "Besides, my head is still trying to wrap itself around the Hagia Sofia."

"It's a lot more interesting than your homeland, isn't it?" Sadik smiled.

"Maybe." Was it just him, or did Iceland catch the faintest glint of annoyance in Sadik's eye?

Nevertheless, they rode on.

Sadik went to his study as soon as they arrived at the house, so Iceland decided to go find Greece again.

Greece was in the same room, still curled up on the pillows, surrounded by his following of cats.

Iceland joined him, lying down on the pillows and feeling strangely worn out. The cat bounded up to him and curled up, licking his face. Iceland froze for a moment, feeling the rough, sandy surface lap against his cheek.

"He really likes you." Greek noted. He didn't seem to have moved from his spot, but Iceland refused to believe he had lain there the entire day.

The cat meowed, as if in agreement.

"He keeps following me around," Iceland complained, though secretly he had obtained a bit of fondness for the creature. Greece shrugged.

"Such is the way of cats. They do what they want."

Heavy hooves plodded into the sand, kicking up tiny storms as horse trotted along. Its rider narrowed his eyes against the windy, dusty air, scanning the landscape below until they settled on a spot of green just before the horizon.

"Finally." Another horse and rider came up next to him. "I was thinking we'd never make it."

"We'd best get going." Norway responded, urging his horse into a faster gait. "A storm is coming."

His human companion caught up, glancing briefly backward to the relatively small caravan behind them. His name was Yazid, son of the caravan leader Musa.

"I can't believe it," he commented. "The entire sky is covered in clouds." Indeed, the sky was covered in clouds; thick, dense, low-hanging clouds. 

"In any case, we best get going." Another human rode up, urging them onward. The caravan followed closely.

A settlement had sprung up around the life-giving water the oasis provided, as expected. Birds and insects alike dipped into the lake, eager for a drink. Though this wasn't as big as some, enough caravans passed through that it had a fairy sizable community, though never bigger than what the oasis could sustain. No more than a thousand at most, though Norway pegged the number as closer to eight hundred. 

Norway looked around, taking in everything he could. Watching the comings and goings of various people, he realized it wasn't all two different from the small, somewhat isolated towns in his land. Places like these tended to foster a sense of community and trust unseen in large cities, broken only by the arrival of newcomers like the caravan.

"A caravan! It's been a while since we've seen one-would you like to trade?" A middle-aged man, obviously one of high importance judging by how quickly others cleared out of his way, and the looks of respect he received.

The question was addressed to Musa the caravan master, who shook his head wearily.

"We're only here for rest and food. Which we'll pay for, of course. But I aim to be at Constantinople as soon as possible."

A brief look of disappointment flashed over the town leader's face, so quick Norway was sure he was the only one who saw it. Just a moment later, the two leaders were shaking hands and making arrangements. 

"So, why are you here?" Yazid leaned towards Norway, still on his horse. He'd been questioning things ever since Norway had joined the caravan group, bribing Musa with money, a few unsavory threats, and a clear demonstration of his (possibly magical)skills. Of course, this was unknown to the rest of the caravan, who were all confused when Musa announced that this European teenage boy armed with a dagger who was clearly not a slave was joining them on the trip to Anatolia.

Of course, Musa was an intimidating force on the outside, so no one questioned him. Though there were odd looks from the merchants and even odder ones from the various slaves that were also part of this journey, most of which were from Europe.

"Lukas-are you there?" Norway snapped out of his thoughts with a jolt. Lukas-he'd almost forgotten that was the name he'd choose for this...mission. He'd cycled through quite a few names throughout the centuries, but "Lukas" had been one he'd repeatedly come back to after the Viking ages. 

"Yes?"

"Why are you here? I mean, I'm not trying to be offensive, but someone like you..." Yazid trailed off. Norway briefly glanced back at the group of European slaves with the main caravan before answering.

"That is none of your business."

Yazid's disappointment was obvious, but really, what did he expect? Norway glared and a few others who were trying to listen in and rode up to Musa, was unpacking canteens from his horse's saddlebags.

"How did it go?" Norway asked quietly. 

"The leader agreed to let us set up tents in a flat spot nearby, and we are welcome to barter or buy from the people here. The oasis is also available to us, our animals, and our...cargo." A brief look of unease passed over his face, but passed quickly when he realized Norway took little interest in the slaves.

"Then I'll go down the the water. Expect me back by noon," Norway said. Musa nodded and hastily lead his horse away.

Norway got off his own horse and lead the mare down a stone path and to the water. It was a lake of sorts, and he could see several members of the caravan had also arrived. His horse drank from the water immediately from arrival, and Norway took the opportunity to relieve his own parched lips as well. Just as he was refilling his canteens, someone tapped his shoulder.

"Do you speak Dutch?" They asked tentatively in the language. A young woman, who looked only a few years older than his own physical appearance. And she was Dutch alright.

Norway's eyes darted to the wealthy Turk who he remembered had bought the slaves, having a conversation of his own with someone else.

"French?" she pressed.  Norway didn't respond, but put his refilled canteens in his horse's saddlebag.

"German?" she pressed again. Her Dutch accent was very faint. Norway reached out for his horse's reins.

"Please!" she said in French again. Norway sighed and turned to her, responding in Dutch.

"I speak all three. Would you mind telling me what you think you're doing?"

"Why are you here?" she asked. "Every other European is a slave. Yet you converse with the caravan leader like you're equals. How? You look barely fifteen."

Norway frowned.

"Why are people always asking? It is none of your business, especially since you should be worrying about other things."

"Normally, so should you! How does someone your age get here?" 

"If you're asking about escape opportunities, you've come to the wrong place!" Norway snapped, irritated. He started back up the path, leading his horse back with him. The woman stared at him for a few more moments before hurrying back the the group of slaves, barely escaping the attention of a few guards.

"You know, she does raise some good points." Yazid quickly jumped down from a palm tree, running over to join him. Norway sighed.

"It's none of your business. Go bother your father."

After a few more harsh words Yazid left, and Norway secured his tent in the sheltered clearing they were shown. He was one of the first to set up his tent, with only Musa and on other having done so. Norway tied his horse to a palm tree nearby and crawled inside, spreading out a thin blanket and laying down.

For the first time in days, Norway evaluated his progress and what he knew. Iceland might have been bought by the Ottoman Empire, or he might not have been. But after asking around some more in Algiers, he had definitely been bought by someone from Constantinople, so his main priority was to get there. Finding someone who looked like Iceland couldn't be too hard.

Now, he had to make a decision. They were almost at Egypt. Musa planned to go by land, since they couldn't fit all the camels and goods onto one or a few ships, and he hated splitting up. But a ship to Constantinople would be potentially faster, though if he died at sea there was no telling where his body would come up.

By land was safer. He decided. The cost to speed was worth it. And it gave him more time to prepare, to think over what he'd do when he finally got there.

It was noon, but Norway had nothing else to do and would rather sleep through the heat.

So that's what he did.

 Denmark bit his lip as the sword sliced his arm, leaving a trail of red blood pouring out. He swung his axe in counterattack, blocking another slash. Sweden struck again, and Denmark quickly dodged, the sword narrowly missing his arm.

"You know, I haven't seen Norway around lately." Sweden said, parrying a strike. Denmark winced and swung again.

"Nor has been busy." He mumbled. Sweden narrowed his eyes and suddenly struck out, knocking Denmark off his feet with his sword and pointed it at his throat.

"I win." He said. Denmark nodded awkwardly and gestured for Sweden to let him up. Normally, the two fought on the battlefield and the fight would usually end in one killing the other. This was one of the few times they did so in a competition...though Denmark suspected the peace between them wouldn't last for long.

"Right. I guess I'd better be going now." Denmark turned around and started to limp away from the empty forest clearing where they'd been sparring.

Sweden moved in front of him, blocking the way. Denmark frowned.

"Sve, what's this?"

"Something's wrong." He said.

"Well of course something's wrong." Denmark snapped. "A little something called a war is going on, in case you haven't noticed."

"There's always a war." Sweden said. "This is something different. Normally, you'd never just walk away after I beat you."

"Well, I'm busy." Denmark snapped. Of all the times Sweden decided to show concern...

"This is about Norway, isn't it?" Sweden pressed. "Where is he?"

"None of your business. Get out of my way, Sweden."

"Where is he, Denmark?"

"Sweden, I'm serious. Get out of my way."

"Where is he?"

"I DON'T KNOW, ALRIGHT?" Denmark snapped.

"What do you mean, you don't know?" 

"It means I don't know." Denmark shouldered past Sweden, but stopped when Sweden spoke again.

"Norway is my brother too." Sweden said quietly. His voice quivered faintly. Denmark sighed.

"He left for North Africa, and that's all I know."

"North Africa? Why's he there?" Sweden, asked, alarmed.

"He's looking for Iceland." Denmark said. "Who got captured by Barbary Pirates."

"Barbary Pirates? Captured Iceland?"

Denmark nodded unhappily.

"I'll be going now." He plodded along the snowy ground, refusing to look back. This time, Sweden didn't call out.

Chapter Text

Iceland fidgeted nervously as Sadik's conversation carried out.

"I hear you've been looking for a new roster of slaves again," said Mohammed. "A pity, since all of them seem to be of high quality. But I've got some good ones here too, so what do you say about a trade?"

"I was gifted some woman you might be interested in," Sadik suggested, sounding intrigued.

"No, no, I have enough of those already. What I mean is, I'm looking for something rare. Exotic. Eye-catching."

Sadik drew in a breath. Iceland froze.

"I'm afraid the answer is no," he replied coldly. Iceland shuffled nervously, but didn't flinch away from Mohammed's predatory gaze. He'd seen far too much to be frightened by something as comparatively little as this. Mohammed's smile wavered just a tiny bit before becoming even brighter.

Both Sadik and Iceland noticed.

"Don't be like that, Sadik. I have many goods, from distant lands all over. Surely one would peak your interest?"

"The answer is still no." Iceland didn't have any doubt Sadik wouldn't hand him over, no matter what trade the human offered. However, he was less sure whether Sadik was doing it simply to protect the secret of the nations, or out of genuine concern.

Mohammed frowned, but the tenacious look in his eyes didn't waver. His eyes briefly swept over Iceland before meeting Sadik's.

"Really? I didn't think you'd be so adament on keeping that curiosity. You don't seem like the type, whereas my collection clearly speaks to my-"

"We're leaving!" Sadik grabbed Iceland's hand and tugged them out of the unfamiliar house, away from the unfamiliar practices, away from a topic which Iceland wished would never be brought up in front of a human again.

"What a waste of time," Sadik huffed, sitting down on his chair. Iceland busied himself with petting his cat, whom he still hadn't named. 

"What happened?" Greece sat up, brushing a cat off his head.

"Some idiot tried to buy Iceland from me," Sadik replied.

"They tried to buy a personification?"

"Well, they didn't know what I was. Pretty sure to him I was just some rare thing to be collected," Iceland interjected. He still wasn't sure what to feel about that. Being looked at like he was just some commodity to be bought or traded. It was an experience completely foreign to him.

"You should stay away from Mohammed," Sadik said, writing something on his paper. 

"You do realize there are like 5,000 Mohammeds in Constantinople alone, right?"

"You know what I mean! The stuff he does to certain slaves-it's...strange. Even by our standards, which are rather broad." Sadik waved his quill around.

"That Mohammed. Doesn't he have some stuffed animal collection or something?" Greece asked. "And I mean stuffed as in real, actual animals that were once alive but now dead and stuffed stuffed."

"Isn't that not allowed?" Iceland asked.

"Ehh yes." Greece yawned. "But he doesn't make a big show of it, and he's really high ranking and wealthy, and he claims it's allowed since he eats a bit of the animal's flesh afterwards. Descretness, power, and technicallity basically lets you get away with anything." As he said that, he gave the Ottoman Empire a sour look.

"It's not just his animal collection. He has a..." Sadik coughed. "A human collection too." 

Both Iceland's and Greece's eyes widened. 

"What? He stuffs humans?" Iceland choked out. He felt a bit sick, imaging himself stuffed and on a pedastal, though a morbid facination lingered in the depths of his mind.

"Well, yes. As far as I know, none are killed intentionally. But he buys slaves with...abnormalities, and keeps them in his household. If they die, he stuffs them." Sadik sighed. "I'm sorry to say Iceland would fit right in."

Iceland grabbed a pillow and wondered what else constitutes as an "abnormality".

"Not that I'd ever let that happen to you, of course!" Sadik hastily added. "If that's even possible."

"Has anyone ever tried that?" Greece wondered. "I mean, exactly how far can the limits of our body and regeneration abilities go?"

"I don't want to think about that," Sadik muttered. "The imagry is too disturbing."

"Of course you're disturbed, oh fearsome warrior," Greece drawled. He leaned back on his pillow and closed his eyes once more. An annoyed expression crossed Sadik's face, but after a few uncertain moments he turned back to his documents.

The conversation ended, Iceland watched as Sadik scribbled some more. The entire incident with Mohammed had left an unsettling feeling in his chest that this talk did nothing to dissipate.

Iceland realized it had been a while since he's thought about the circumstances that lead to him being here...and what it might take get back home. He'd been here for months, and just now Iceland realized how much he'd gotten used to things. The routine, culture, language, as well as Sadik and Greece themselves. But the topic of slavery had jarred him back into his old mindset, reminding him that this was a foreign, faraway place where he didn't belong.

And now that he's thought about it more, even more unsettling was how by keeping him here, trapped and unable to go home, he might as well be Sadik's slave. No matter how nice he may be, Sadik was still the Ottoman Empire, and the Ottoman Empire was a monarchy, power-hungry and eager for more land. Especially in Europe.

Suddenly feeling more agitated, Iceland stood up and opened the door, peering out into the hallways. His chest felt like it was constricting itself.

"Where are you going?" Sadik asked, looking up.

"I just need to stretch my legs for a bit," Iceland replied. "And get some fresh air."

"Well, be sure to stay close to the house," Sadik said. "And be back before noon." That would give him about an hour.

"Of course." Iceland nodded. "Its just that...this whole business with Mohammed has me unsettled."

Sadik nodded.

"I understand. It must be a rather rattling experience for you. I won't bring you to any more dealings, alright, kid?"

Iceland nodded. He stepped out into the hallways, hiding the way his own hand gripped the frame, and the increasingly turbulent feelings in his heart.

Norway gripped the handle on his dagger warily. They were almost at Constantinople. Just two or three more weeks. The road usually used was blocked, so they were forced to take a less traveled road. The entire caravan had looked nervous, however, and an aura of fear had surrounded the area.

Because bandits were becoming rampant due to the new influx of caravans. And to the surprise of nobody, they had been attacked.

Norway, of course, was only mildly annoyed. Going into Constantinople with a caravan carrying slaves would have been less suspicious, but what's done is done and it wasn't like he couldn't sneak in.

Fighting them would be too tiresome and cause suspicion, so the best he could do was run. So that's what he did. Norway bolted when he saw an opening, aided by his inhuman speed.

Having long since left the Sahara, what he made for was a forest, cut in half by the road they had been traveling on. Though Norway was running he was doing so almost silently, remembering the lessons taught to himself during his harsh childhood.

Then he mumbled a curse as he nearly tripped on a root. While basic principles still apply, he wasn't familiar with the native flora.

When the sounds of fighting died away, Norway slowed down and took out a map of the area. it was getting dark, and he would have to find a safe place to sleep. Or continue going throughout the night and find someplace in the morning, which could be safer.

Norway's head jerked up as he suddenly threw his dagger.

"Whoa, whoa, please calm down. It's me, Yazid."

Norway put away the map looked straight at the tree which Yazid was next to. The human slowly pulled out the dagger and held it out.

"Here. Your knife. Don't do anything funny, okay?" Then he laughed nervously, as though he was making a bad joke which he was hoping people would laugh with him at.

Norway took the dagger and put it back in its sheath.

"So you survived," he said, looking the human over. Yazid seemed completely fine. He was still carrying his bag, and had a smile which seemed to wobble the more Norway looked at it.

"Ah...yeah?" Yazid took a step back. "Look, I-I..."

Norway turned around and started walking away. He had no time to deal with lost humans. If Iceland really was at Constantinople, and he arrived too late...

"W-wait!" Plants rustled. Norway heard Yazid panting behind him.

"C-can I go with you? To wherever you're going?"

"Why?" Norway immediatly asked.

"I-I thought, you know, we we're friends and all, and-"

"That kind of thinking will get you kill very quickly," Norway replied dryly. "I was never under the impression that we were friends. But do go on."

"...and because-because father's..he's..."

Norway knew what was coming before Yazid said it. He'd seen this far too many times already.

"He's dead," Yazid gasped. Tears were streaming down his cheeks now, changing from his pained smile before.

"And who else?" Norway asked sharply.

"And-and all the free men, I think. And the slaves they were rounding up..."

So the bandits had taken over them. Norway loosened his dagger more. Right now, the best course of action would be to get to Constantinople immediately and leave this forsaken area.

"C-can I go with you?" Yazid asked again. There was a note of desperation in his voice. Norway mulled it over for a few seconds.

"Why?" That was the ulimate question.

"I-I think it would be better if we travel together," he mumbled. Norway held back a derisive snicker. Safer, with an European teenager?  Yazid proabably heard something from Musa about him being a powerful magical being, though Norway couldn't fathom why he would want to take the chance. Was he willing to bet his life that Norway would be willing to protect him?

Then Norway considered how Yazid might be useful when they came to Constantinople. Besides, it wasn't like Norway need his food, and having him around would reduce suspicion in general.

"Fine. Don't do anything stupid," Norway replied.

Yazid wiped away his tears and inclined his still trembling head.

Iceland was not quite sure what he wanted to do once he got outside. Just as he took the first few steps out the door, his cat raced over and jumped onto his head. After an unsuccesful attempt to get him off, Iceland decided to just give up. That cat seemed to be able to do whatever it wanted.

Outside in the courtyard surrounded by the pale stone walls, Iceland sat down on the grass. His cat raced off his head, presumably to catch himself lunch. For a while he sat there, contemplating his situation, turning and flipping a golden coin, observing the tall, unfamiliar tree planted in the middle of the square and the slanted roofs of the building.

Iceland suddenly froze as quick, panicked footsteps sounded. A young woman burst out one of the doors with a bucket swinging from her hands, looking frazzled and out of breath as she suddenly stopped by a patch of flowers. She spotted Iceland and froze.

"Y-You're..." her voice was accented. It was an accent Iceland was sure he had heard before, but he couldn't remember where he had heard it.

"What is it?" Iceland asked instead. There was a look of uncertainty and fear in her eyes, but Iceland was sure he had only ever passed her a few times while in the house. She was one of the numerous slaves that ran the household.

She bit her lip and started watering the flowers.

"You're that one who's with the master a lot," she said. She was speaking an odd mixture of Arabic and Turkish, but Iceland could understand well enough. Then she jumped, hand over her mouth in shock as though she couldn't believe what she had just said.

"Er-so?"

The woman took a deep breath and looked into his eyes.

"We're all wondering how long you'll last," she said finally. "Everyone's heard what'll happen soon-he dismisses his entire staff of slaves every year..." She clutched the handle of the bucket.

Iceland knew why, of course. If the slaves stayed too long, they might catch whispers, observe things they shouldn't. Things like how Sadik didn't seem to age.

"Yes, I suppose. So?" Still, he was quite unsure of what to do in this situation. The woman looked as though she deeply regretted starting the conversation, and fell silent.

After a few minutes, something suddenly clicked in Iceland's head.

"You're Spanish," he realized. The accent he had heard when he attended a meeting with Spain and his king, tagging along with Norway and Denmark. Norway had also imitated the accent a few times when teaching him Spanish.

The woman, surprised, dropped her bucket. It landed on its bottom and a few droplets flew out.

"How-how did you know?"

"You're accent," he replied in Spanish. The woman blinked.

"W-were are you from then?"

"Iceland," he replied.

"Where is that?"

Iceland sighed.

"Scandinavia."

"Oh."

The woman picked the bucket back up and moved to another patch of flowers. Iceland had originally thought they grew naturally, but after a while found out the seeds were taken and planted here on purpose among the grass. They waved at the slightest breeze, patches of blue, yellow, red, and white.

"How come you speak Spanish?" the woman asked after a few more minutes. Iceland ran over the possible answers his head.

"My brother taught me," he said finally. That was true.

"Your brother?"

"Yes. He's part of the government of the Kingdom of Denmark-Norway." Also true. Though of course, Norway had very little control over most matters. The woman's eyes widened.

"Is he a noble?"

Norway did have a title, meaningless as it was.

"Er-yes?"

"Then how are you here for so long? Won't he pay for your ransom?"

Iceland winced. No doubt the king would be unwilling to pay for the ransom of a few hundred Icelanders, and probably didn't consider Iceland himself important enough either. But as for what Norway and Denmark was doing to get him back...he had no idea. Do they even know? Any number of things could have happened to Mr. Puffin or that priest.

"I don't know," he said finally. "He might not even know where I am, to be honest."

The woman frowned.

"My brother wanted so badly to buy me back, but we come from a poor family and he couldn't get enough money. He promised he would find a way to free me!" she clutched the handle of the bucket, which was now empty.

"How long ago was that?" Iceland asked. 

"Five years ago," the woman replied. "But that is nothing! He promised, and my brother is such a honorable man. He will not go back on his word!"

Iceland wanted to point out any number of things could have happened to him in five years, but held his tongue. She did not need more disappointments.

"I should get back inside," he said finally. Noon was almost here. Iceland got up, dusted himself, and headed for Sadik's study.

"Well?"

"Well what?" Norway asked irritably. He brushed some gravel off his sleeve and adjusted his sack.

"Which direction are we going?" Yazid mumbled. The two had found a place to stay at a nearby village, though they'd all been wary of Norway's light blond hair, blank indigo eyes, and pale complexity. Thankfully, a few glares had driven away the stares. 

"The direction which gets us horses," Norway said, "unless you wish to walk to Constantinople? I expect that would take at least a month."

Yazid's face reddened slightly, and he nodded his agreement before hastily packing up.

Since both had a significant amount of money, horses and food were not a problem.

"This way," Norway said once they left the village and were riding along a dusty path, pointing northwest. As they rode in silence, Norway spent a few minutes lamanting silently that he hadn't taken a ship from Venice. Sighing, he reajusted his dagger. Riding next to him, Yazid chewed on a piece of bread with one hand, clutching reins in another.

Of course, Norway had his suspicions on why the human followed his orders so unquestioningly. And most of them lead back to Musa, who probably told his son something of Norway's magical nature. Though it was a mild point of interest, Norway wasn't alarmed. 

"When do you think we'll get there at this rate?" Yazid asked a few minutes later before shoving the last bit in his mouth.

"Soon, I expect," Norway replied, flicking out his dagger in one quick motion, "if we're not constantly hampered by distractions like these." He nodded at the gang of humans that had appeared behind them, turning around his horse. They carried a mismatch of blades and firearms, all pointing at him and Yazid.

One of them yelled something which Norway didn't understand-a regional dialect or language perhaps, and raised his gun threateningly. He, however, didn't seem to be the leader.

"What a nuisance," Norway muttered. "Yazid, do-" he broke off when he saw the young man. He was frozen, looking at the bandits with abject terror on his face and gripping the reins tightly, hands trembling faster than a hummingbird from the New World.

Norway looked around. There were more on either side of them, closing in to take whatever they had by force. 

The bandit yelled more loudly. Three of them slowly began to walk forward, brandishing their weapons.

"I'm going to die," Yazid whimpered next to Norway. "I'm going to join you, father, I'm so sorry I'm such a coward..."

Norway sighed and slapped his cheek.

"You'll definitely die if you keep this up, because I'll kill you if the bandits don't!" he snapped. This was no way to act in such a situation. Yazid turned his head and met Norway's yaze with wide, watery eyes.

"Just be quiet and try not to faint," Norway said. He tested the dagger in his hand. Then, he flipped it up and grabbed it by the blade.

The dagger flew to the nearest bandit's eyesocket. He collapsed, a pool of red trailing out from his face, and the other two jumped. Then, seeing Norway without a weapon, they charged forward. Norway waved his hand lazily and the dagger flew into through another bandit's heart from the back and then spun around, and pierced the last one's stomach. They both fell to the ground.

The other members of their gang watch with a second of horrified silence before running away madly, scrambling over each other in a panic. The dagger twirled itself and killed a few more before flying back to Norway's hand. 

A few moments later, everyone was gone, a strewn mess of bodies left in the wake.

"Y-you-" Yazid trailed off, fear in his eyes. Norway was surprised he hadn't spurred his horse into a gallop already-then again, maybe he'd finally learned some common sense.

"I what? Are you really that surprised?" Norway asked coolly. "You're definitely accompanying me to Constantinople now. Try not to be annoying and both of us might make it there." Norway let the threat stew in the air.

After what he'd seen, he couldn't let Yazid just walk away; the human knew too much. Norway kicked his horse into a trot-it had not been spooked at all during the encounter-and continued down the designated path.

Yazid followed wordlessly behind him.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, the Kingdom of Norway would dream of frosty mountains which spewed forth steam and smoke and ash and fire without warning while the ocean rose higher and higher to swallow the coastal towns and nests of puffins and herds of horses. And after a period of panic their vision would clear and they would see a barren landscape devoid of plants and animals and humans. The humans would be gone with only charred bones and ashy dust in their wake, and no matter where they went in that island no sign of of life could be seen.

And no sign of Iceland could be seen either.

Tonight, that dream didn't come. Instead came a rocking ships and swirling sand, followed by vibrant colors and unfamiliar sounds and the smell of dates, camels, olives, all foreign yet attracting. And the deeper they went into this blurry landscape the more confused they became, the colder and whiter everything got, until finally something red and blue covered their eyes and Norway woke up, staring at a cloudy sky that was rumbling with an all to familiar sound.

"Wake up," Norway gave Yazid a small kick and quickly saddled his horse.

"W-what!? What's happened?" Ever since that encounter with the bandits Yazid had been nervous and jittery, looking at Norway with a mixture of awe and fear that Norway did nothing to correct. Once he found Iceland or his next lead, it would either be a promise of silence or a memory spell.

"Thunderstorm coming. Constantinople isn't far away, so we might as well ride fast now and seek shelter there."

"Can we make it in time?" Yazid asked.

"If we hurry-I intended to get there early next morning, but I don't fancy showing up soaked."

As rode Norway went over some procedures with Yazid-namely, how he should behave and what he could do. He didn't like working with humans, but in this case having one around was an advantage, especially since Yazid lived in the city his entire childhood. The last time Norway had been there was a brief trip in the 13th century, when he stayed at the outskirts for a few days, and before that a few years during the Viking ages. 

"Stay next to me. I need a guide in that city."

"A-are-" Yazid cut his question off. Norway understood his difficult position-what was he supposed to say to this being who was clearly not human that had powers he knew nothing about? Norway supposed he was lucky Yazid had more sense than to try and murder him in his sleep, and was more open-minded than most humans.

"If I find what I'm looking for, then you can leave and go on with what little life you have left, as long as you don't tell anyone. If you do, you will definitely get killed. If not by me then by another of my kind." Norway paused. "If I don't...I'll consider the circumstances." It was a strange irony that a son of a trader who bought, owned, and sold so many slaves might as well have been Norway's. It made an interesting train of thought which Norway ultimately shut down once the outskirts of Constantinople was in sight.

Norway headed straight for the center of the city, however, and what quickly caught his eye was the legendary Hagia Sophia, looming and regal, with the addition of minarets since he'd last seen it. A paved road flanked by green fields was laid out in front of it, tall green trees growing around the building.

"It's amazing," Yazid murmured. "Breathtaking. A wonder of architecture. I-"

"I've seen it," Norway said. "Not for a while, but I understand your awe well enough."

Yazid fell silent. Gesturing, they made their way deeper into Constantinople. Norway didn't have any other leads to Iceland's whereabouts other than "Turkish person from Constantinople bought him", but he knew who might.

The Ottoman Empire. Norway had seen him only once, briefly, but he remembered well enough. And he could make do with Romania and Austria's descriptions. Tall, somewhat dark skinned, wears a mask all the time. Brash and rude. Government buildings were a good place to start, as well as any place associated with the name "Sadik Adnan".

Suddenly, a thought occurred to him.

"Yazid," Norway said, causing the man to almost fall off his horse in surprise. 

"Yeah?"

"Have you ever heard of someone called Sadik Adnan?"

Yazid frown, rubbing his chin.

"I think he's on a list of my father's regular customers? If I remember correctly he usually buys a lot of slaves once every year or two."

"And do you have any clue as to his whereabouts?"

"Well, he lives in Constantinople, around the rich districts. And he's a very high ranking official. But I don't know anything more than that. Never met him."

Norway nodded.

"Let's find shelter."

Shelter was found in the form of an inn for travelers. Norway hid his face with a cloak and followed Yazid as he bought them rooms, their horses tethered outside in a stable.

"You should sleep. I'm heading out in the morning," Norway informed the tired human.

"What are you going to do?" Yazid yawned. Norway took a drink from his cup of coffee, hunched over notes and maps and lists on a table.

"Thinking," Norway replied. Yazid didn't press further but instead fell atop on of the beds and began to snore.

Norway pored over the maps of Constantinople, narrowing down the places he thought the Ottoman Empire would most likely be. Important government buildings. Rich districts. The markets which sold the most expensive and fine goods. Norway also checked lists of people who held governmental positions for anyone with the name Sadik Adnan. There were several-Sadiks, Adnans, Adnan Sadiks, Sadik Adnans. Norway couldn't find any further information associated with the names.

He wondered if he should ask around about a boy with Iceland's description. Or, have Yazid ask for him to attract less attention.

Yes, that would be a good idea.

Norway took another sip of coffee and waited till morning came.

They passed another familiar structure. 

Column of Constantine, Norway reminds himself, slowing his horse down. The tall cylindrical shape atop a large rock stood high, but missing one statue of Apollo since Norway last observed it. He wrenched his eyes away and caught up to Yazid.

"So we're looking for this...Sadik person?" Yazid checked. We're. Norway wondered which factor made Yazid say that; fear, or a desire to leave him quicker. 

"Yes. But do keep an eye out for a boy with white hair and violet eyes as well," Norway replied tersely, looking around. Yazid bit his lip and didn't comment.

Constantinople had changed much under Ottoman rule. Conversations, once primarily in Greek, now consisted also of Arabic and Ottoman Turkish. Buildings were different, people were different-Norway reached into his memories of the city nearly 700 years ago and sighed.

"L-Lukas?" Norway blink. Right. That human name.

"Yes?"

"I heard someone called 'Sadik' got this slave called 'Emil' a while back," Yazid said, a hopeful expression on his face. Norway's heart clenched, but he nodded, somewhat surprised Yazid had asked without being told. Then again, this human was rather...sociable.

But this was good news. The Ottoman Empire would know what Iceland was. Their secret was not in jeopardy. And Iceland was still here, in Constantinople-Norway didn't have much further to go.

Suddenly, he felt like he would collapse any second.

"Any place where we can find either of them?" Norway asked. If he just came across Iceland alone...well they could just get out right then and there. A sense of disappointment swelled up in him, but he quickly quashed it. His little brother first, sightseeing second.

Anyway, something told him it couldn't be that easy.

"Well, this 'Emil' character is also seen with another person who lives in Sadik's household, but I'm pretty sure he's not a slave. People see them often enough in the city markets, but no one seems to know what his name is."

Two guesses. It was either a human to keep an eye on him, or...

The less likely possibility was that it was another nation. Who? Norway's mind jumped to all the territories.

Descendants of Persia, Egypt, perhaps, or Greece, Macedonia...

He was getting ahead of himself.

"Anything else?" Norway asked.

"No-no," Yazid mumbled. "No other leads."

"The markets, then." Norway sighed. Because "markets" could refer to any gathering of shops or people who wanted to sell stuff. It was a very vague term and there were probably areas like that all over Constantinople.

They headed for the areas which sold the best quality goods, in the richer districts.

Once they got in sight, Norway wanted to fall off his horse. But instead he looked. Yazid searched with him once Norway gave him a description, but they didn't find anything for the rest of the day.

Or the day after that.

Or the day after that.

He was so close. Iceland was at the tip of his fingers, waiting to be brought home, and no matter how hard he reached it was never enough.

Norway wanted to cry.

It was on the fourth day he finally found something, though not in the way he expected.

It was a face that looked familiar, and with a jolt Norway remembered dark brown hair and green eyes. 

He slid off his horse quietly, ignoring Yazid's inquiring gaze and moving with one fluid motion to block the path of what appeared to be a teenager.

Norway knew better.

"Greece. I would have thought you'd be holed up in Athens instead of tangled here in the Ottoman Empire's puppet strings," Norway said in Greek, partly because he felt like it and partly to keep his attention.

Greece immediately perked up from his sleepy walk and narrow his eyes.

"And who might you be?" he asked, also in Greek.

"Take a guess," Norway replied, watching Greece carefully. Greece took a deep breath, observing him.

"This has something to do with Iceland, doesn't it?"

"Congratulations," Norway said mildly. "Now, I'd appreciate a meeting with the Ottoman Empire. Or even better, Iceland."

"Who's talking?" Greece asked, suspicion and surprise in his voice.

"Kongeriket Danmark–Norge," Norway replied. "Or Kingdom of Denmark-Norway, if you will."

"And you are here for...?"

"Iceland," Norway replied. Greece's eyes widened slightly.

"You're Iceland's ruler," he mumbled. "I suppose you're here for him?"

Norway inclined his head.

"I'll you to the Ottoman Empire." Greece paused, and then smiled himself. "I'd love to see his reaction to Iceland finally going back."

"Then it's a deal." 

"Erm-" Yazid started to speak up, but then stopped once both nations turned to him.

"W-what's going on?"

"Who's this," Greece asked, switching to Ottoman Turkish.

"Yazid. You know Musa?" Norway said.

"He provides slaves for Sadik. Didn't see him much though." 

"That's his son."

"Oh." Greece said. "Where's Musa?"

"Dead," Norway replied casually. "Bandits. And most of the caravan's dead to. Yazid requested he travel with me to Constantinople, though he probably wished he'd said otherwise."

"Um..." Yazid looked extremely uncomfortable now.

"You can come with us," Greece said. "Maybe Sadik will help you as a favor to your father."

"Maybe," Norway snickered. "But I doubt it." 

Greece shrugged and gestured for them to follow. Norway got back onto his horse.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence.

 To say the Ottoman Empire was surprised was an understatement.

"W-who are you?" he almost hissed, eyes narrowing in an unpleasant way that also suggested he knew exactly what Norway was intending to do. 

"I represent the Kingdom of Denmark-Norway," Norway replied. Technically true in this situation-Denmark wanted Iceland back as much as Norway did, after all. It wouldn't make much difference if he told him that he was Norway or Denmark-Norway or Denmark, but Norway liked to play around with vagueness and misinterpretations, especially if the person on the receiving end was someone Norway had less than stellar opinions of.

Besides, Denmark wasn't here to interrupt him.

Greece sat in a chair nearby, watching the spectacle with half-lidded eyes.

"And what might your business here be?" Ottoman Empire said carefully.

"You know why I'm here," Norway replied. "I will take Iceland and I will go, unless you wish to make this difficult."

The Ottoman Empire's hand grew white as it started crushing a quill.

"I don't think you have the authority or power to take Iceland away," he breathed.

"We'll see about that," Norway hissed. "Iceland does not belong here, in your power-hungry clutches, several months' journey away from home. He belongs with me."

"He will belong to me soon, along with you and all other European nations!" The Ottoman Empire snarled. "Once all of you are under my control-"

"And you think that will still happen!?" Norway laughed, because he had studied reports and history and observed the Empire with his own eyes, and this was simply delusional. "Maybe a hundred, two hundred years age you could have entertained this foolish dream, hoping-perhaps even realistically-that it would happen."

Norway too a step closer and smiled, wide and large, and he felt amazing, crushing that dream, because how  dare he  t a k e   I c e l a n d   a w a y.

"But now? But now, you are falling apart, each rebellion, each ruler, each war, tearing into your foundations and leaving you an empire with fragile beams at the mercy of the wind. You are surrounded by enemies. The Persians want you dead. All the Europe wants you dead. All your territories want independence. All your minorities want greater representation. Your janissaries are plotting assassinations and your people are restless and angry."

" You are declining." 

And the Ottoman Empire was watching him with eyes, full of anger and denial and fear, and Norway wanted to crow his victory to the seas and sky because he hadn't defeated an enemy like this in so long and it felt so much better than what he remembered.

"Y-you can not know that for sure," The Ottoman Empire said, hands trembling, and behind the white mask Norway saw narrowed brown eyes darting from him to the door.

The door promptly flew open with a bang and Norway knew without even looking around it was Iceland.

"If my brother says you are, then you are," Iceland said dispassionately. "Sadik, do come out and join me in the living room. We have some things to discuss."

As he watched the Ottoman Empire gape, Norway felt pride blossoming his chest, which only increased as the Ottoman Empire stumbled out of his chair and slowly walked out the door, which shut behind him.

Norway knew Iceland wanted privacy, so he turned his attention to Greece.

"What do you think of that?" he prompted, because Greece had looked like he wanted to say something for a while.

"I think," Greece smirked, "that Ottoman Empire and Sadik Adnan just got utterly destroyed by your speech. I haven't seen him so dejected in a long time. Quite frankly, I'm in awe."

"He deserves it," Norway agreed, eyes trailing to the papers that laid strewn on Ottoman Empire's desk. As he waited, Norway wondered just how much effort he would have to exert to take Iceland back.

"Look, Denmark-Norway can't-"

"You do realize," Iceland cut off, "that there is nothing you can do, right? Denmark-Norway presides over all my affairs and therefore I am suppose to be under their roof. Besides, Norway will have little trouble taking me away by force."

"Norway?" Sadik-no, the Ottoman Empire asked. "Wasn't Denmark-Norway just one entity, or does Norway have enough of a culture to have its own personification?" 

Iceland narrowed his eyes.

"I didn't see who was in there with you. What did he introduce himself as?"

"The Kingdom of Denmark-Norway," Ottoman Empire replied. "Around the same age as Greece, really light hair, with indigo eyes even weirder and creepier than yours. I wasn't expecting him to look like that at all."

It was Norway. Who had essentially introduced himself as Denmark. Iceland internally snickered and and stared back at Ottoman Empire. 

"Right," he said. "So, forget that, it was just a memory. Denmark-Norway, I assure you, will have no trouble killing you and taking me back."

"He's a puny little thing," Ottoman Empire argued. "I can take him on."

"Trust me, you'd be dead in seconds if he wished," Iceland replied. Not only could Norway kill with a flick of his wrist, even without magic he was still the most powerful and formidable being Iceland had ever seen. 

"I doubt that. I'm an empire."

Iceland sighed and finally said what he dragged them here to say.

"But you forget, Ottoman Empire, that he's coming here not only to take me back to his house, but to my own land as well."

Ottoman Empire froze. Sadik panicked.

"I want to go home, and so even if Denmark-Norway wasn't here, I'd go eventually." Iceland leaned forward and met Ottoman Empire's eyes, trying to put as much conviction into his voice as possible.

"You need to let go of your dreams of conquest in Europe, Ottoman Empire. It is not happening. Focus on settling your domestic affairs instead, and let me go."

Sadik swallowed and nodded. Ottoman Empire shook his head. The room was cold. Very, very cold.

"I-I..."

He suddenly flinched back and Iceland realized that Sadik had tried to touch his hand.

"You're burning," Sadik whispered. "Hotter than the fiercest fire. But this room-it is freezing."

Iceland blinked, and suddenly, Norway was next to him.

"An impressive bit of accidental magic," his brother smiled. "You'd be about the same temperature as the insides of your volcanoes while everything around you cools down."

Sadik coughed.

"I think you two should g-go," Ottoman Empire said quietly, with a pained expression on his face. The room began to heat back up.

"T-thank you," Iceland murmured. "I'll visit sometime."

"Indeed," Norway agreed. "Constantinople is a fascinating city that has changed much since I last saw it. We have to get back to alert others the success of my mission, but I wish to be back within a decade to observe the place more."

"I'll always up to giving Iceland a tour," Sadik sighed. "I suppose you could tag along."

Iceland's face heated up a bit at the thought of Norway hanging around asking questions non-stop about everything's history.

"We'll see what the future brings," Norway replied. "And before I forget, Musa's son is waiting outside your house. He knows I'm not human but can only make speculations farther. Maybe you can do something about him, because Musa's dead."

"Maybe," Sadik murmured. Then his eyes cleared and he stood up. "I'll go see him."

With that, he walked out and left them alone.

"Y-you heard all that, didn't you?" Iceland mumbled.

"Actually, I only came when I sensed the magic. But I have no doubt what you said was amazing."

Iceland felt a bit of pride inside him.

"And we should go as well," Norway paused and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Before Denmark freaks out more and does something stupid. We've both been gone for a while-you almost an year."

Iceland nodded-it had felt longer than an year.

"It felt longer than a few months to me too," Norway said. Iceland rolled his eyes. He could only guess at how Norway managed to read others' minds like that, and was only about 75% sure Norway wasn't a telepath.

The two brothers walked through the large, lavished mansion that was Ottoman Empire's home and out onto the streets of Constantinople. Iceland waved goodbye to Greece out the door. 

"The funny thing is," Norway said as they reached the harbor. "I could have taken a ship from Venice and saved myself a lot of time. But instead I headed to Algiers and tracked you down to Constantinople from there."

"Well then, we can just take a ship to Venice from here."

"Right," Norway smiled. "And then we can go back to annoying Denmark."

"Still can't believe you introduced yourself as the Kingdom of Denmark-Norway," Iceland laughed, and continued.

"But it would be great if we just went back to annoying Denmark. He's probably gotten multiple heart-attacks from worry by now."

"Indeed."

Chapter Text

They made good time.

After the ship docked at Florence late at night, Norway took them to a dark alley and teleported then back to Copenhagen, right to the middle of Denmark's living room.

Said nation choked on the mouthful of beer he had been about to swallow and blinked in shock as Norway set his travel bag aside and started shepherding Iceland to his room.

"N-Nor! You're back!" Denmark exclaimed, letting his mug fall back onto the table.

"Of course I am," Norway replied.

"And Icy!"

"Duh," Iceland muttered, finally speaking up.

"What's with the weird clothes?" Denmark eyed him with confusion, looking at the high-class silk robes and other articles of clothing the Ottoman nobility often wore. Norway had wanted to go back as soon as possible and decided since they wouldn't be traveling through Europe on foot, they would do for the duration of the trip.

"Souvenirs." Iceland slipped inside his room and locked the door.

Denmark turned to Norway.

"So mind telling me exactly what happened? I've been worrying so much these past few months. Even that annoying idiot Sweden got concerned." 

Norway took the mug of beer from him and downed it in a few gulps. Nothing would be the same after coffee, but after his journey it was reassuring to taste Scandinavian beer again. Of course, it wasn't Norwegian beer, but it would do.

"A story best told in the morning, when I'm not sleep deprived," Norway responded. He would admit he did enjoy being away from Denmark's overbearing, somewhat controlling presence, and didn't relish the fact that he would be back under his roof again with no freedom in sight.

Denmark sighed and nodded, resting his hand on his head, closing his eyes tiredly.

"Well, I'd better look over those war plans."

"Another year, another war," Norway shrugged. "What's made you so worn out all of the sudden?"

Denmark blinked and stared into Norway's eyes. Norway frowned, annoyed at finding himself unable to gauge the meaning of Denmark's reaction.

"I-It's...I was worried about you two, that's all."

His voice was oddly shaky, but Norway decided to pay it no mind.

"Iceland is perfectly fine," he responded. "There's no need to worry about your perfect little island. I'm going to sleep now." With that, Norway walked away from the living room and down the hall to his own, not looking back at Denmark's expression.

His room was below Iceland's and the opposite end of the hall from Denmark's. When they first moved in Denmark had tried to get they to share the largest room, but Norway had vehemently refused, not trusting him.

He still didn't trust Denmark.

The next morning Iceland recounted his trip and Norway supplemented with his own journey. Denmark nodded while sipping beer, while Norway and Iceland had cups of the coffee Iceland was told Norway had gotten from his trip.

"So this Ottoman Empire..." Denmark started.

"No need to worry about him," Iceland replied. "He is not conquering Europe any time soon. And I promised I'll be more careful next time I go back to my land."

"I doubt the barbary pirates would try something like that again," Norway said. "That and two others were the only attack on your people by the pirates I could find, all within a few mothes, and it's so far away they probably wouldn't bother again."

"But try to stay inland, 'k?" Denmark finished his beer and stood up, suddenly looking a lot less cheerful. "I have to go report to my government now."

"I hope you have a lot of fun," Norway smiled deceivingly. "Well? Get going."

Iceland furrowed his eyebrows at Denmark's slight wince as he turned to the door.

"That was a bit mean, big brother," Iceland commented. "I know you're not happy with the situation, but-"

"But Denmark is also a pain. I don't want to talk about this, little brother." Norway said. Iceland bit his lip. During the viking ages, from what he could remember, Norway had been a lot less cold around Denmark and everyone else in general.

Since he rarely saw him interact regularly with anyone else, Iceland wasn't sure whether his changing attitude was just to Denmark or if he had frozen his eyes, tinted his voice with ice, and painted an indifferent and apathetic look over his face as a mask to fool everyone.

Maybe one day, this could change. But for now Iceland nodded for now and went back into his room where he found a ruffled Mr. Puffin sitting on his bed, and temporarily let himself forget the situation.

Ottoman Empire returned from another day at his sultan's side, not bothering to answer Greece's snarky remarks once he stepped inside the house.

"Have all of them been sold?" he asked Yazid, who nodded and handed him a list with the information. The new staff which had been purchase only a week ago. He would have to go through them all and make sure none were deemed suspicious or a potential security threat.

"You can go then," Ottoman Empire replied. Yazid headed out, leaving him and Greece the only members inside the house.

"You miss him, don't you?" Greece suddenly asked. Ottoman Empire puased only briefly before setting down the stack of papers on his desk and getting out a quill.

"Yes, I do. But I also know I can't dwell on the past. We are here for our people and do not have the liberties of humans."

"Wise words from a fool. Where'd you hear that?"

Ottoman Empire ignored him and starting marking off names. One thing at a time. There were more important matters to think about.

He couldn't waste time. He just couldn't. He never had enough. He had so much work when not fighting, the paperwork which just came pouring out of nowhere.

For the first time in centuries, a voice inside him whispered liar.

October, 1914.

"This can't possibly end well."

OTTOMAN EMPIRE JOINS CENTRAL POWERS the title of the newspaper reads. 

It had been a long time since Iceland had truly thought hard about him. Sure, thoughts flitted through his mind, but after the first few decades Iceland had stopped thinking too hard about the, now that he considered it again, rather bizarre incident.

Iceland opened his desk drawer and rummaged through various artifacts before finding a dull silver coin. It been several decades since it had seen light and dust cluttered around its edges. Iceland gently blew some of the coating away and stared at the unusual carvings on it.

Well, what did you expect from 300 year old African currency, his mind chided him. Sighing, Iceland put the coin back into his drawer, making a mental note to clean and sort out its contents soon.

"Well, good thing we're not in it," Iceland murmured as he placed the newspaper on his desk and stood up. "Don't worry about it too much, Iceland."

Yet that was exactly what he did. The worry lingered at the back of his mind for the remainder of the war and only increased once the war ended.

Iceland leaned back in his chair, trying not to fall asleep from boredom. Only the second World Meeting he had attended, and already he was considering skipping out on the next one. 

Around him, battle raged. Russia was the main target, fending off various nations with a delighted gleam in his eyes, while more mini-battles were happening throughout the meeting room. The official policy prevented them from taking firearms, but Iceland supposed swords worked just as well in a closed room. Of course, he couldn't complain, with the various knives he had strapped to his belt and sleeves.

From his corner of the room he watch with half-lidded to see if anyone fighting was coming his way. Norway and Denmark were around somewhere, but in the confusion Iceland had lost them.

"And who might you be?" Iceland tensed as someone unfamiliar emerged from the fighting nations and stalked forward. "I don't think I've ever seen you before." Their voice was cheerful, but Iceland knew better than to let down his guard. 

"I've never seen you either," Iceland replied evenly.  

"Really? Well then, let me introduce myself as the awesome Prussia." His red eyes flashed. "Now, aren't you gonna tell me about yourself?"

"There's no reason to," Iceland replied. He loosened the blades tucked beneath the folds his sleeves while eyeing the longsword in Prussia's hand. That name did in fact ring a bell-Denmark had described him as arrogant, brash, and full of himself, while Norway said he used to be the Teutonic Knights and Iceland should be careful if he ever happened to meet him.

But wasn't he dead?

"Really. Well, let me tell you something. I am the Kingdom of Prussia and I don't take no for an answer!" Prussia lunged forward and attempted to wrap his hand around Iceland's throat. Iceland, however, had no intention of letting that happen and twisted away while flicking two knives into his hands and adopting a position optimal for both defence and escape.

"Don't make me laugh. You can't hope to escape me." Prussia now had an oddly flat tone, one that was eerily similar to the one Norway always talked with. Iceland's eyes darted around the room for some sign of his brother.

Prussia ran forward and began a slash, which left Iceland somewhat confused. Maybe he had hoped to catch Iceland off-guard, but the execution was jerky and the space between them was more than enough to buy Iceland time to dodge.

"Just give up and come quietly," Prussia muttered. Iceland wasn't sure what he meant. He couldn't keep dodging Prussia; his stamina was not up to it. And he wasn't sure he was willing to risk attacking a nation whom he knew practically nothing about.

Thankfully, he was spared to dilemma of what to do when a curved scimitar flashed and left a long red trail across Prussia's chest. Prussia collapsed, unmoving, another thing which surprised Iceland. Even a normal human would show some signs of movement afterwards and would definitely still be alive.

"That one's gone crazy," Ottoman Empire-Sadik-no, Turkey muttered. "Can't blame him, imagine having to live with Russia after all this-" he cut off his speech once he saw Iceland.

"S-Turkey?" Iceland managed to say.

"Er-Iceland. Nice to see you," Turkey muttered, shuffling his feet. "It's been...a while."

"More than 300 years," Iceland pointed out, shock wearing off. Of course, this would have happened eventually. "I hope your crises have been...bearable."

"I've managed," Turkey grimaced. "How about you?"

"Nothing anywhere was interesting as what the rest of you have gone through," Iceland replied. "But I suppose that's a good thing. My sheltered, comfortable life is something many nations have ever been lucky enough to have."

"Hm. Yet you seem so very... different, now." Turkey lowered his sword but made no attempt to get closer.

"Perhaps I am. A lot changes in 300 years," Iceland replied. He kept a loose grip on his knives while sweeping his eyes across the room, hoping to spot Norway or Denmark. No such luck.

"Yes... I-" Turkey was cut off by another nation Iceland didn't recognize, strangling Turkey with a furious look on his face. Iceland threw his knife in one smooth, practiced motion and watched as it sank into the attacker's chest. The nation staggered back with a shock expression and collapsed next to Prussia.

"T-thanks," Turkey wheezed.

"Who was that?" Iceland asked.

"Someone who happens to be very angry me."

Iceland sense the reluctance to talk about the issue and strode forward to pluck out his knife instead, flicking off the droplets of blood.

Turkey watched him with a curious, almost melancholy expression. At that moment, Iceland spotted Denmark deflect an ax stroke from Spain and rush over to him.

"Icy," he called out in Danish, making Iceland realize just then they had been speaking 17th century Ottoman Turkish the entire time. "The meeting's almost done. If we time it right we can be the first ones out the door!"

Iceland nodded and sped over to Denmark, pushing the encounter to the back of his mind as they periodically dodged and deflected attacks, slamming open the door and rushing out when the hour was finally up.

Turkey was one of the last ones to leave the meeting room, instead catching his breath and stilling his beating heart while leaning against the wall.

"Damn. Damn. What should I say," he whispered over and over. Though it had been a long time ago, Iceland had been one of the few nations he'd had under his care, however briefly, who didn't hate him; and that left an impression.

Besides, the time had only made things more difficult now. Iceland was a full nation and would be attending the World Meetings. Every one of them. Turkey couldn't hide from that fact forever.

He shook his head. Better worry about it at the hotel than here. Giving a cursory glance at the dead bodies around him, Turkey gingerly made his way over to the door.

Iceland took a deep breath, standing at the head of the table. Various nations were already filing in.

Once everyone was here, Iceland readied himself.

Stay calm, he told himself. Say it like you mean it. Be assertive. Reinforce.

"Right. First of all, I'd like to welcome all of you to Reykjavik," Iceland began. All eyes turned towards him. Iceland silently took another deep breath. Everyone will be judging. Make a strong impression!

This was, after all, the first time most nations here would be listening to him speak. 

"Second of all," Iceland, speaking in English, made his voice as loud and clear as possible, going through all the tips Norway had taught him to hide his accent. 

"Second of all," he repeated, "I will not tolerate any damage to this building or any other part of my land. If any of you dare do that, I will find you. And I will make you pay." He put on a thin smile and flicked out his blade, from seemingly nowhere. A wave of surprise rippled through the nations.

And wariness, Iceland hoped.

"Now that that's settled, the meeting may start," Iceland concluded.

Norway then stood up and replaced Iceland's place at the table, with the same thin smile and frosty glint in his eyes.

Again, Iceland hoped that was the case.

Norway's presentation then began.

Turkey shivered a bit in his chair. Iceland had definitely grown up. The menacing, unforgiving tone and cold eyes were a far cry from the Iceland he knew all those centuries ago. Turkey was almost frightened by how much Iceland had changed.

Has his feelings about me changed as well? 

During the lunch break, Turkey sat alone at a table. Miraculously, no major fights had broken out; just a few scuffles and loud arguments. 

Perhaps not so miraculous, he amended his thoughts, spotting the Nordics sitting around their own table. Nothing ever seemed to get out of hand when meetings took place at their capitals.

"Well?"

Turkey jumped as a voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"I-Iceland!?" Turkey gaped.

"Why do you look so surprised? You are in my city, after all," Iceland said. 

"I-suppose I just.." Turkey murmured.

"So. You have been avoiding me. Did you think you could keep it up?" Iceland asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down. Turkey fidgeted nervously.

Ha! How the mighty empire has fallen! His mind mocked.

"No," Turkey replied. But I tried anyway.

"But you tried anyway," Iceland's eyes seemed to bore into his. 

"Sorry," he muttered back, unsure what to say.

Iceland nodded.

"It's not going to be as bad as you think, Turkey. I just want some clarification on the Barbary incident and if you wish, we won't talk any more than necessary after this."

Turkey took a deep breath.

"I-it happened. And things have changed now. You've changed now. There's...really nothing more to say about it."

Iceland nodded.

"That's what I thought, but I wasn't sure you felt the same way." He smiled. "So I decided I had to make sure."

"Well, thanks," Turkey replied. 

Iceland straightened.

"Well then, I suppose I'll be going now."

"You're scared of me, aren't you," Iceland stated. 

Turkey hesitated.

"Look, you're...very different now. And I don't know anything of what's happened between those years." The way Iceland had overpowered England, both physically and verbally, had left many nations impressed and scared. Iceland was becoming more and more like the rest of Northern Europe-cold, cunning, and implacable.

Not to mention extremely wealthy.

Iceland sighed.

"How much do I act like Norway?"

"Very much," Turkey replied. Norway was very, very scary even on a normal day, though few nations ever saw the most terrifying side of him. "Your demeanors, looks-" Turkey cut himself off as Iceland gave a bright smile.

"That's-that's really good. I was worried I didn't play my part well enough..."

"Wait-that was an act?" Turkey gasped.

"Not really. Eventually, it will come naturally to me. And it is part of who I am. It's just I have to make it seem like the only part of who I am to other nations." Iceland smiled. "It's a Nordic specialty. Don't tell, or else you'll find out just how scary we can really be."

"I won't," Turkey replied, a little shaken. The Nordic 5 themselves were always such a powerful, mysterious group among the personifications.

"Anyway, I just wanted to make sure I had the scary, mysterious Nordic part down, and it's helpful sometimes to talk to an outsider about this." Iceland fiddled with his scarf.

"Believe me, it's there," Turkey told him.

"That's good...but also..." Iceland look around. They were at Istanbul for this world meeting, and Turkey guessed Iceland was mentally comparing it to the Constantinople he knew.

"Could you give me another tour? I did say I would come here again, and it looks like I'll get lost if I don't have a guide."

Turkey nodded, glad to have something less awkward to talk about. The two stood up from the bench they had been occupying, placed outside the building where the meeting had just taken place.

"Hagia Sophia is a museum now. I suppose you'd like to see it again?"

Iceland gestured for Turkey to lead to way.

"Well, what your plans for this Christmas?" Iceland asked as he watched ships come in and out of port.

Turkey's voice rang from the phone. The two had grown closer after the Istanbul tour, and maintained regular contact.

"Nothing, really. These holidays get pretty repetitive after a while."

"Really?" Iceland asked. He had never felt that way about his holidays.

"Yeah. Another day of watching TV for me."

"Don't you have anyone to spend it with?" Iceland asked, thinking back to the massive celebrations the Nordics always held. The five tried to make each Christmas different and weirder than the last with some rather interesting and hilarious results.

"Not really."

"Well then... you could come to my house," Iceland suggested. "You've shown me around your capital twice, so it's only fair I show you mine. And the Nordics are holding our celebrations later than usual, so there'll be plenty of time."

"That sounds good," Turkey replied. "I'll catch a flight to Reykjavik and be there by Christmas Eve."

"Sounds good," Iceland said. For some reason, he had a feeling the Christmas of 2010 would be far stranger than the ones before.

Eh. I'm just imagining things.