Not daring to move from behind his corner, Iceland watched with fear and confusion. He had never seen his brother shake so much.
"I can't go alone. I can't. My population hasn't even bounced back from the plague!" The babbled words shook as they tumbled off Norway's lips.
Norway's teeth ground together, but the words kept spilling, and his hands kept shaking. It was Denmark who held steady.
"You'll be fine. You are strong." His voice smooth and sweet as his arms wrapped around Norway's shivering frame, rubbing his shoulders. "It won't be for long. I'll get you back. I promise."
Iceland dared to wonder; was his brother... afraid?
Iceland didn't understand until the next day when a carriage drove on to the estate. He knew that carriage. It was Swedish. Iceland scrambled.
Stumbling down the last steps, Iceland clambered to his feet and through the foyer, rushing outside.
"Stórbróðir!" he yelled, stopping the man climbing into the carriage.
Norway remained deadpan as Iceland ran up to him. "Stórbró—."
"Iceland." Denmark cut him off.
Iceland looked up at him, slight anger building behind the anxiety. Without saying anything more, Iceland continued to his brother, but Denmark placed himself between them.
"I belong with Stórbróðir!" Iceland declared, trying to force his way past him. "Let me go!"
It took one arm for Denmark to hold him in place. He sighed, watching Iceland struggle to rejoin Norway. With a grim expression, he addressed Sweden. "As Norway's territory, he's yours to take."
Stilling, Iceland's hopeful eyes flicked up to Denmark then Sweden, but they were met with an apathetic stare.
"Keep him." Iceland's heart dropped like his jaw, and Sweden turned to Norway. "'s time to go."
Norway nodded, and Sweden climbed into the vehicle. Trying to wriggle out of Denmark's hold, Iceland reached out to Norway as he knelt on one knee in front of the boy. Impassive, he cradled Iceland's face in his hands, leaning forward to place a kiss atop his head. Tears rolled down Iceland's cheeks as those hands pulled away from him.
"Stórbróðir! Stórbróðir!" Iceland called, trying to claw his way free as Denmark gathered him up.
Iceland watched the carriage roll away as he was dragged back to their mansion. The closed door taking them from his sight, Iceland's sad desperation became angry disappointment. His attempts to flee were replaced with hurtful blows to anything in reach, including Denmark.
Denmark set him on the antique sofa and Iceland immediately balled in on himself, turning away from the Dane who crouched before him.
"We didn't have a choice," Denmark began, attempting to brush the hair from Iceland's face only to have him jerk away from the touch. Denmark deflated. "Sweden had to take what was dearest to me. There was no way he would leave without Norway. But we will get him back." Iceland caught the spark in Denmark's eyes as they met his, a grave determination. "I am still the king of the North."
Iceland sunk. The panic had faded, but the sense of loss remained. Denmark promised they would all be reunited and even Sweden would return one day, but, yet again, Iceland felt like the lonesome island that he was.
"Why do you sound weird?"
Denmark raised an eyebrow at the random question. "What?"
"You, Sweden, and bróðir, you sounded kind of like me, but now you sound different," Iceland explained, focusing his attention on the tips of his fingers.
