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A Nation's Salvation	By : eternalstarhaven Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 2145 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Hetallia: Axis Powers does not belong to me, but to Hidekaz Himaruya, while the idea behind the story is my own. I do not make a profit or money by writing this. I also have this story posted on fanfiction.net under the same penname.

Chapter List
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- 6
Viking Child
Chapter Four
He cupped his hands to his mouth, answering to the eagle above, its wings spread wide, circling over something and reappearing to show him the way. Holding his bunny friend, he inched his way closer and closer to the fearful ocean, knowing it had the power to take him away like it had so many of his animal friends. Not even the other humans went near the ocean, not when the winds turned cold like this. Hiding behind a massive, old, oak tree, he glanced at the large waves, the lightning crashing against some of the boulders poking out of the water, his tiny body trembling in terror. He hated thunderstorms, and wanted to go back, but his eagle friend had come to him. Remembering where he had seen the bird hovering, his eyes fell on a large object further down the shore, half clinging to the rocks, the waves crushing and pulling him at the same time. Somehow he was holding on, his clothes in tatters, blond hair matted with blood...
Shoving his fear aside, he took a terrible risk in exposing himself to the lightning, trees falling and crashing around him as it struck without remorse or prejudice. Ducking his head low to his chest, the small boy rushed to his side, reaching and tugging with all his might to pull him away from the jagged rocks. Another wave rose and fell on top of them, and it took all his strength not to go with it as it retreated back. The half-drowned body didn't budge, but he did open his eyes, blue staring back at blue. In that one brief moment of connection, he sensed a familiarity between them that only strengthened the child's resolve to save him. Like him, this large man was different. Maybe he wouldn't hate him for the differences that had driven him out of so many tribes, their spears slashing and poking him, hoping to destroy the demon child that plagued their lands. They had the same colored hair, even the same skin tone and texture, and with a roar of defiance, he refused to let the ocean have him.
Calling upon his giant strength, he braced his tiny legs, grabbed the man with both hands and lifted him high above his head as he half-carried, and half dragged him into the forest. However, they were far from safe, the lightning still managing to make a way through and on to the ground. His screams faded with the echo of the thunder, always followed with bright flashes of light, the animals that were caught without shelter fleeing with him. They trusted their strange human friend to find a safe heaven for them, and it came when he spotted a small den, shoving the large man inside, dragging some branches over it, and curling himself as close as he could get. Birds, squirrels, rabbits, even a fox joined them... their eyes meeting his sky blue ones.
Using his strength on a human was dangerous, and he risked looking at the man's bruised and bloodied face to see his mouth hanging open, breathing painfully. Hesitantly, he touched the blood sliding down his jawline, brought it closer to inspect, and then tucked his hands between their bodies. He usually slept with only his animal friends, but he couldn't pull away from this injured human, afraid that if he did, he'd die. Blue eyes filled with tears, and he pressed all the closer, the animals joining him in his efforts to provide some kind of warmth to both.
Another bolt of lightning smashed into the ground, so close he thought it might have touched him, the animals whimpering with him. He couldn't help it, and he started to cry... Even if the man was here, he was injured and he'd only hit and throw him out if he were awake... That's what they all did, and eventually he fell asleep, his warm tears splashing against his tiny hands.
He had no idea how he had managed to find himself on the jagged rocks, each tug and push of the waves wrenching a gasp of pain from his already labored breathing. Most of his clothing was gone, floating somewhere in the vast ocean so that he could swim and battle the waves easier. He had had no idea where he was swimming, forced to go with the violent tossing of the waves, and then he had stopped, caught on a large set of jagged boulders that he seemingly latched on to, so afraid that if he let go, he'd find himself sucked back into the maelstrom. He hadn't even considered how he'd make it back home; all he cared to do was make it out of this alive, afraid that as he half-drowned, half-choked, his own people were suffering a similar fate.
At some point he must have lost consciousness, but then he felt something tugging at him. Thinking it was the waves, he tried to hold on to the rocks harder, refusing to go with what ever was pulling at him. Opening his one good eye, he stared, transfixed at the set of sky blue ones staring back at him, terrified, and yet determined to pull him away from the rocks and the water that wanted to claim them both. The boy screamed, clutching on to him as another wave curled over and around them. If he let go, both would find themselves into the ocean and he doubted the boy had the strength or ability to swim against something as violent as those fifty-foot waves. As the wave receded, he allowed the boy to finish pulling him off and towards the beach. It was the last thing he remembered before opening his eyes once more, this time in a dark, but dry hole.
Something soft and warm pressed against him from all sides, and as painful as it was, he forced himself to turn his head and gaped. He thought at first everything had been a dream, that a small child couldn't have possibly come out of the storm to save him... and yet he felt the boy pressed up against him, trembling and crying with each sound of thunder that echoed outside of their little hole. Animals were pressed all around them, some of them trying to comfort the terrified child. He looked nothing like the inhabitants that had been attacking and driving their vessels away, but a smaller version of Sweden and himself.
His breathing was still painful, and he wondered if he had a cracked rib or two, first from the mast breaking and the rope hitting him against the side, and a second time when he smashed up against the rocks. It wasn't easy, but with great effort and a lot of pain, he wrapped his good arm around the boy, feeling him tense, and then settle as he fell into a more relaxed sleep. Other than some kind of fur leggings, the boy had no other forms of clothing, and there were old and new scars covering him from head to foot. He'd worry about who or what the kid was later... he was simply grateful that he had somehow survived, and for the first time since falling into the ocean, he allowed himself to fall asleep.
The following morning, the pain had only gradually gone away, his body already healing. He only hoped his people were so fortunate; would his enemies take advantage; Sweden was so going to kill him if an invasion did not. Still exhausted, he risked a glance at the bundle of animals and child formed around him... if he didn't know better he'd say that they were pressed closer to the child than himself, all sets of eyes watching the way he handled the boy.
His fingers moved easier, reaching for and touching the blond hair that was so much like his own that he couldn't help but wonder if the boy wasn't of Scandinavian descent. Suddenly he froze... the boy had blue eyes... just like his own... not only had he lifted him out of the water, it was obvious that he had dragged him into some kind of shelter, and the animals seemed to welcome him as if he were their own. This boy wasn't a simple 'human', but a nation personification like himself. Was this the one his father had told them of... He was still so small! His father had mentioned that he might have been, and he'd have to worry over that later, once again wrapping a protective arm around the boy and hugging him closer, feeling the child shiver as another blast of cold air entered the den.
Judging from the tears on the boy's face, he knew he had cried at some point throughout the long night, terrified of the storm. Despite that, he had still risked saving him, and that alone convinced Denmark that the boy was of their blood. No Viking, regardless of how scared they were, would ever tuck tail and run if they had the ability to fight and save one of their own.
The boy woke with the sound of his stomach echoing in the tiny shelter. He didn't remember the man waking or trying to comfort him, only that he liked how warm he felt. At first when he tried to pull away, the grip around him tightened, but released when he made a second attempt. First, he needed food, and then he'd try to find some way of treating his injuries. His adoptive mother had taught him a little, before she had grown old and died. The memory made him sad, more tears form, but he shook his head. He didn't know why he was different, or why he remained small, while others grew old and died.
Wiping some of the mud from his face, he stood and left the den, ensuring to cover it back up before he took off. Glancing at a fox, he petted it's head and smiled. "Stay with him," he growled. If any had heard him, they would mistake his conversation as nothing more than growls and barks... but he knew all the languages of his animal friends, and as he watched the fox turn around and go back inside the den, he took stock of the damage all around them. He already sensed another storm approaching, and they had to leave this place if they were going to avoid further drops in temperature. Most of the birds flying overhead were moving towards warmer territory, and he needed to go with them if he didn't want to freeze.
A brushing sound in the leaves immediately alerted him to the danger, and shifting on the balls of his feet, he barely dodged the sharp claws grazing his shoulder before landing on all fours with an angry hiss. The boy screamed in pain, staring at the gaping flesh, blood pouring like a river down his arm and onto the still dampened ground.
The cat turned, crouching low as if to make another go. His prey was small, easily obtainable for a quick meal, trembling as if in fright and unable to move. The boy wasn't afraid... he was angry, and his arm wouldn't move. As the cat lifted its head, sniffing the air, the boy screamed a furious challenge, lifting up a giant branch and began to swing it.
Normally the cat would have taken off, but it was hungry, driven out of its den from the storm. Where the boy had strength, the cat made up for it with agility and speed, easily shifting its weight and jumping onto the weapon and made another deadly swipe, this time ripping into his chest. Tears in his eyes, staggering from the loss of blood, he glared at the predator.
Denmark wanted nothing more than to let himself sleep, to allow more time for his body to recover, but a terrible cry of pain and an angry snarl had him jerking wide awake. His first reaction was to glance down at the empty space beside him, several of the animals pulled as tight as they could make themselves on the other side of him. Grunting in pain, he rolled over to his stomach and peeked through the thick branchs hiding his location, and saw a horrifying scene before him. This was something he might have heard stories about around a camp fire, but that's usually all they were. Viking males always protected their women and children, keeping them as far from the hunts and skirmishes as they could. The rite of passage for a male did not happen until they were at minimum, fifteen years of age, and that was only after they had gone through years and years of conditioning and training from the elder warriors.
This small child was no more than the physical age of four or five, facing off against a feline predator that had left several gashes on his already scarred skin. How many times had the child endured such a thing, courting death? He had done it the night before, risking a violent storm to a pull a man from the ocean. To Denmark, this young child was more of a hero than most of Sweden's warriors, and he couldn't remain lying in a cave while a child tried to fight a man's battle.
Denmark wouldn't have found fault if the boy had tried to run at this point; instead he waited until the feline made another pass, rolled beneath its belly and snatched at the tail. Caught off guard, the cat screamed, but he was already being lifted off the ground, spinning and spinning until small hands released and watched it fly. Denmark thought it was over at that point, but the feline had somehow latched onto a tree, claws digging into the bark, and came lunging back. Taking a step back, the boy slipped, and with a scream of terror and hate, he covered his face, waiting for the final blow... Flesh slammed into flesh, and when he didn't feel teeth ripping into him, he risked opening his eyes and blinked. Standing between the feline predator and himself was the injured human, his arms spread only slightly as the two circled one another.
The feline, furious that something else was blocking its meal, hissed and swiped, always missing the faster humanoid. It didn't have any pointy sticks or arrows, not like the other humans it had seen. Thinking this one an easy kill like the little one, the feline lunged.
Denmark knew this was a deadly game, and tucking his stomach in, he turned sideways, and just as the cat started to rush by, he threw himself on top of the 150 plus pound animal, wrapped his legs around its middle and held on for dear life. Screaming, the cat rolled, kicking its back feet up and clawing at the arms slowly crushing him. A broken branch pierced his shoulder, but he didn't let go, knowing that if he did, the cat might get away.
The boy knew the fight was hurting the man, but he wouldn't stop... just as determined to save the boy, as the boy was to save him. Staggering back to his feet, everything spinning out of control, he made his way slowly forward. He didn't want the man to die, and with a pain filled cry, he lunged forward and latched onto the cat's belly, ignoring the teeth and claws tearing into him.
It hurt... whimpering, he made one last effort to kill the thing, reaching for the animal's throat, and sank his teeth in. He had seen a wolf do this to a deer, never letting go until the prey it had caught stopped moving.
Denmark wanted to scream for the boy to stop, but that was impossible as the cat tossed and turned, desparate to escape their grip. Finally, it went still, taking a final breath and died. Quickly pushing the carcass off of him, he went to the boy and paled... There was so much blood... Unable to pry himself away, the boy looked at him with tear, filled eyes... trying so hard to not cry.
"You foolish, foolish boy," Denmark choked, amazed and humbled at this boy's courage. He'd go the rest of his life and never forget this moment, and with great care, he lifted and carried him back to the den. Denmark didn't know a damn thing about medicine, but he did remember all the times they had sewn him back together again. Sometimes Sweden would pack dirt into his own wounds until he made it back to a shaman; for a human, that was only a quick fix, but for a nation, it was entirely possible to use the method to stop the loss of blood until the magic that flowed in their veins allowed them to heal.
Having no needle or thread, he took off what remained of his upper clothing and covered the boy, his eyes already closed, and skin glistening with sweat. Denmark wasn't going to let this kid die... not after such a vailiant and heroic fight? Still injured himself, as he stepped outside, he braced himself on a tree, letting the wave of dizziness pass as he looked around.
He had to think... what would Sweden do? On the battlefield, they didn't often have healers available. Plants... plants... some of them had soothing ointments that could numb pain and also served to prevent infections. And yet... if he was wrong, the boy's fever would worsen.
Denmark slammed a fist into the tree, watching it crack and fall. He was just as injured, and he had no damn idea what he was doing, and he really didn't want 'that' boy to die.
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A Nation's Salvation