Author's Note: If anyone still reads this, I want to apologize for the long delay. Life reared its ugly head, and character development threw a bit of a wrench in the writing itself. I've actually decided to begin completely rewriting "CotN" - this chapter is a test of a newer writing style, and is a bit of a test for playing a Canon correctly. Let me know if I've made any major mistakes!

It was a cold, clear February day in Stockholm, Sweden. Not unusually cold, for that time of year; the temperature high was around -1℃, and though it had snowed a fair few millimeters the previous day, the weather broke no records. It was about 8pm, and though the workday crowd had long since returned home, the city streets were still fairly populated with shoppers and people being out and about, and enjoying what remained of the slowly fading daylight. It was still early in the month, so the daylight hours were still short, but they would steadily return as the days wore on.

Not that darkness would cause a real slow down in activity. This was the 21st century, cater all.

Sweden stood on a corner of the street, shopping bags in hand, and free hand tucked into the pocket of his coat as he waited for the crosswalk light to change. As he did about this time every year, the nation was beginning to dream of a quiet cabin up in the mountains, with thick wooden walls, a warm fireplace, and a beautiful view of the snow-dusted woods. He hadn't been able to visit up there as often as he'd have liked…it had been at least a few years since he'd last been able to get away, in fact. The rousing pace of the modern world all too often forced the forfeit of free time - especially for one of his occupation.

When the light finally changed, Sweden pulled himself from his thoughts, and joined the rest of the crowd that hurried across to the curb of the next block. He still had a few more errands to run in the city before he could head home, and still a few days left of paperwork and official duties before he planned to turn in a few of his stock-piled personal days. Even a nation needed a day off, every decade or so…

Things didn't go quite as Sweden had planned, and it wasn't until two weeks after his preferred date of vacation that the nation actually had time to put his plan into action.

Finally, though, the day came when Sweden woke up, and had no pressing nation matters to attend to; no paperwork, no meetings, nothing scheduled at all. Feeling lighter than he had in a long while, the nation had woken up at the crack of dawn, packed his car for a four day getaway, and set out for his isolated mountain cabin. The trip took a good five hours, and the sun was solidly in the sky by the time he arrived. As he shut off the car and stepped out, Sweden took a deep breath, and allowed himself a quiet smile. The familiar crunch of snow beneath his boots, out here in the woods, and far from the dull roar of the city, seemed so much more relaxing, and the Swede quietly savored each and very step as he unpacked his car, and headed inside the cabin.

It was almost exactly as he had last left it, with the only changes being the accumulation of dust and cobwebs. Chairs were still turned up on their tables, and cloth sheets were still draped over the furniture, as they had been for years. Sweden moved his bags into the single bedroom, and then paid the supply closet a visit before getting down and dirty, cleaning the cabin from top to bottom. When he was finish, his back was aching, and his eyes were watering from all the sneezes coaxed out by disturbed dust and allergens, but the cabin looked brand new. Sweden stood back as he observed his work, and let out another proud little smile. It was a smile most others never got to see, and the simple fact of it existing would have probably unnerved them enough to make the smile itself disturbing. But out here, Sweden had no-one to impress or frighten, so his smile could be just that - a smile.

By nightfall, the nation had a nice little fire roaring away in the stone fireplace, and a fair sized stockpile of freshly chopped firewood set to the side of the hearth, where it could dry out overnight, and be ready to replenish the flames when they began to die down. Sweden settled on the couch with a warm cup of hot chocolate, and took a deep, contented breath. Even if it was for a short four days, it felt good to get away from the hustle of work.

The sun was just beginning to peak above the horizon, and its gentle rays were painting the snowy woods in warming shades of oranges and yellows. Birds were calling in the distance, and the forest was alive with the soft sounds of winter life. It was a beautiful, beautiful sight, and were the circumstances any different, the boy would have stopped and stood in awe of the natural light show. However, he was in the process of running for his life, and had no time to spare to be awed by a pretty sunrise, today.

Every step of his wild run was a risk; ice could send his feet flying out from underneath him, a hidden root could snag his boots, his wounds could give out, or a hidden ditch could twist his ankle. Pure luck kept the boy on his feet and moving forward step after step, and adrenaline had long since pushed his common sense into the background, resulting in the boy having no clear idea where he was. The trees had long since begun to blur together, and tunnel vision had already begun to set in. He didn't care where he was, he just wanted to get away from where he had been. As the forest ahead of him began to thicken with foliage, the boy found the sense to raise his arms, and at least ward off the branches from his face.

Unfortunately, this prevented him from seeing the edge of the hill he was approaching, and suddenly, his foot came down on open air.

The boy pitched forward down the hill, kicking up snow in a small avalanche, and striking what felt like every rock in existence on his way down. Finally, the boy slammed into a hard, unmoving surface, and his glasses were knocked clean off his face. Rattled, and suddenly unable to find the strength to get up, the boy remained sprawled in the snow against the side of the cabin, gasping for air, and fighting just to stay conscious. Breathing hurt, but he needed the oxygen; lying down was painful, but his body just couldn't move. The boy made a weak whining sound, clenching a fist full of snow in a feeble attempt to lift his arm, and the whine turned to one of frustration when he was unsuccessful.

Snow crunched beneath heavy steps, and a pair of black boots came into the boy's limited line of sight. Frightened gray eyes turned up to look at the owner of the boots, but they were too tall, and the boy - sans his glasses - was unable to see their face. He managed a gasping whimper, trying to move again, and the figure shifted to kneel down. A large gloved hand touched his head, and brushed his damp hair back from his face. A weak smile crossed the boy's face. This couldn't possibly be the one who'd been chasing him. He was safe….

Sweden frowned as the strange boy's eyes rolled back, and he lost consciousness. He turned to look up the hill the boy had fallen down - the snow was disturbed from a full body tumble - and the jagged, broken branches still dangling from their stumps. The boy had to have been running pretty hard, to take such a tumble down the hill. Slamming into the cabin probably hadn't helped his condition, either. It had been the impact that had alerted the Swede to the disturbance, after all.

Turning back to the mystery boy, Sweden looked through the snow around him, and soon found a pair of light frame glasses. He folded these, and tucked them into his jacket before he reached out and gathered up the boy in his arms, and stood up. Though not fully conscious, the boy cried out in pain, in between his desperate gasps for oxygen. Sweden lightened his grip, slightly, shifting his hands away from wounds that he could now see had left their crimson marks in the snow. He turned and quickly carried the boy inside the cabin.

They were too far from civilization to get help immediately, and this child needed treatment now. Thankfully, centuries of life experience had provided the nation with such necessary knowledge. He'd treat the boy first, and then get him to explain the situation.

Do you like the new style? Did I play Sweden more-or-less in-character? Does Lucas' new introduction work? Or is it too angsty?