Rated M. NON-con. I own nothing. Cross between Hetalia, Norse Mythology, and Clan of the Cave Bear (Children of Earth).

NorwayxFemAmerica

Warning. This could be a trigger for some. Please do not read if such content upsets you. This author does not condone rape, violence, or force.

Enjoy!

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The shaman had called upon the spirits, benevolent and malevolent for divination as to the warrior's path to greatness. His ancestor's had been called upon, and it was the greatest honor to the warrior that they had answered.

He was Norge, fiercest warrior on the battle ground. Unforgiving and vicious in his attacks. His clan had been well served by him, yet he had not been able to produce young. His magic was incompatible with the available women of the clan. A woman was not truly his until she bore him a son.

If the clan wished to survived the years after Norge withered with age, his ancestor's warned, then his line had to be continued. It would be his sons that saved the clan from sure destruction. The warrior was proud that his blood line would be the one to ensure the continuation of others. He was a sought after warrior, and the battle leader of the clan.

He watched over the females and children, along with the other warriors, as they gathered food and worshiped in the sacred groves. The animals, fat from summer grazing, had been hunted down and captured through the same forest he was to enter. The healthiest had been used in sacrifice to the ancestors that looked over them, and the deities that watched over the ancestors.

Norge had spilt his blood with that of the sacrifice, marking the request as from his line. His father having passed the winter before last from a sickness of the old. Norge had mourned him briefly, but such was life and all had to die in order to become an ancestor. Then rest of the winter had been very lean. The clan had lost some of the young and old to it.

It was the shaman who'd proclaimed it as an omen. The deities were displeased that his line had been dwindling. There was only Norge and his brother left. However, his brother had barely reached the age to mount a woman, let alone have the magic to help create a son.

The clan grew uneasy, matters had to be handled. The shaman was consulted, and the elder agreed.

A young male had been sacrificed that year to appease the ancestors and rid them of a their famine. The boy had been strong, and his innocent blood had been enough to satisfy the deities and the summer came with food enough to fatten those that had grown slim.

Still, no woman he mounted showed signs of bearing him a son.

Their clan met with others, hoping to find a woman who could carry his child. The shaman did not approve of any of them. Their wills were not strong enough to continue his line. Norge fought with other warrior's dominating them in displays of strength and prowess. He was sought after, for he was strong and capable. However, he took none of them, not willing to displease the ancestors.

His village elder spoke with others, consulted on the coming year and the signs the shamans spoke of. It was not his place to intrude in such matters. Norge was a warrior intent on protecting the females and children. They kept a watchful eye so that women were not taken by the other clans and kept to grow their numbers.

Norge grew impatient. He had need of a woman, and waiting angered him. It made him even more fierce in his hunts, and gave him a status none dared to challenge.

It was not until the shaman and the village elder told him he would find the reason for his line's prophesized succession in the forest of the mountain, that his ire cooled even slightly. The beginnings of winter had started. The sky was still bright, despite the tell tale signs of an approaching storm. He did not argue with the wisdom of the elder, nor the visions of the clan's shaman. It was what he had been waiting for.

The shaman held the ritual for his safe journey, asking the ancestor's for their watchful eyes and protection for the warrior. His line was the clan's prophesized safety. He gathered furs and skins, wrapped his weapons anew for his quest. The smoke from the fire, and the plants that called the ancestors mixed in a plume around him, Norge felt their guidance settle over him.

The clan gathered around him, only the men met his eyes, the females avoided his gaze, so as not to challenge him. His broad chest bore a few of the proud scars of a successful hunter. Animals were quick, and many were dangerous. However, he was a skilled male and often able to keep his presence known from an animal so it did not have time to attack him or run. He had fed the clan many times over, and for that they were grateful and also concerned to see him go.

However, the Shaman proclaimed that the blessings of the ancestors were upon him. The warrior was ready for his task. He set off alone into the forest, a dangerous feat. To go alone usually invited death, however, this day, he would be doing the will of those much higher and more powerful than he.

Norge stalked through the trees, careful not to alert the animals that lurked in the bushes. If they fled for a reason other than him, he would be warned of predators. Such things were vital to survival. His blue eyes wandered the surrounding terrain for any sign of what the ancestor's had sent him to find.

The shaman had not said, only that it would be found in this forest.

It was not long before the wind began to howl, and the white descended from the sky. His people called it snow. Other clans simply called it the cold, or the white when meetings between them occurred. Norge continued on his path, winding quietly through trees and rocks. He trudged up steep inclines and moved along paths that were filled with animal tracks.

Only the least dangerous ones did he follow. He was wiser than to go inviting in trouble.

The wind whipped at his skin, causing it to redden and sting. He blinked as more and more snow fell from the sky and the world seemed nearly angry in frozen fury. The clouds above him were dark, and light at the same time. The cold had begun to sink in past the furs.

He grit his teeth and continued onward.

Darkness fell, and he could find no safe harbor between the raging winds, the snow, and encroaching night.

Then the ancestors guided him. Their promised guidance coming to fulfillment.

It was the light that caught his attention. His blue eyes narrowed in on what could only be a fire. In a cave, not overly far from where he currently trekked. He watched the flicker of the light as the wind played with it occasionally.

Perhaps it was another clan. He would have to be cautious. If it was not one he knew, it could be a disastrous occurrence. Silently he stalked toward the light, seeking the shelter as the world turned white all around him. The snow clung to the trees and the ground. Already it covered his feet, and he pressed onward, his hand tightly gripped his weapon.

As he neared the cave, he slowed, looking for signs of others, but found none in the blizzard that howled around him. He huffed a breath, watching as it was carried away on the wind. He moved toward the mouth of the cave, peering inside.

He knew the moment he saw her, the lone female huddling closer toward the fire, that she was how is line would continue.

She had been the only thing he had found this whole journey. The ancestors had even given her a fire to beckon him in, even in blinding snow.

Norge was grateful. It appeared his journey was nearly at its end. He stepped inside, and shook off the snow that had sought refuge on him.

Her blonde hair was partially hidden by furs, but he could make out the simple braiding underneath. A wisp of it stuck out proudly. Likely from the wet and being pushed out of her way so she could see. He did not recognize her, so he knew she belonged to a rival clan.

Their two clans had never met, for if they had, he would have mounted her before. Yet, he could not recall her at all.

She possessed eyes that were blue, like his own. Though her hair was a slightly darker than his, it was still that of liquid sun. She was beautiful, and that made desire flare inside of him.

When she saw him, her eyes widened and she immediately assumed a submissive posture. Her head bowed and she pressed herself closer to the ground. He stared at her, unmoving.

He felt the need to mate coil in his stomach, heavier this time, winding tightly. He watched her for a moment, she did not dare to look up. A good female. He was pleased.

Norge stalked closer, touching her head lightly, a signal for her to look at him. She did so with a fleeting glance. Rising more toward her knees. He reached a hand toward her face, and she looked at him longer, never quite meeting his eyes.

He found her hard to look away from as he pushed back at the furs that covered her. She flinched and turned her face, but made no move to stop him. It would have done nothing except provoke the hunter. They were both aware of that. Her skin was unblemished, and he could see that she looked healthy enough. Her shoulders were rounded, and not angular nor jutting as they did during the lean times. Norge allowed his eyes to wander to her neck and hair. He touched it gently, before wrapping it around his fist. She gave a noise of protest, or surprise.

It hardly mattered. She was his woman. Whom the ancestors had gifted to him. Perhaps it had been their will for this storm to trap her so she could not escape. It bore the makings of being destined. He ripped the roughly carved wooden rune from her neck and inspected it.

It marked her as being of a clan, which one he did not know. She was young, close to his age, though he was likely a few summers older. A good match.

"Have you a mate?" He asked, knowing he would fight any male that attempted to take her from him, if it meant the survival of his clan.

The female made a negative gesture with her hands, her eyes darting to watch what he would do.

Norge released her, soaking in the warmth of the fire, and his eyes drifted to the roughly carved bowl in nearby. It was laden with early winter nuts. He smiled. She had been gathering when the storm hit. Likely too far from the others, or had lost the sound of their noises. He knew she had planned to wait out the weather and return to her own clan once it was safe.

If she did not return soon enough, she would be declared dead to the clan. That was in his favor.

He gave her a gesture with his hands, to indicate his want to mate her. Her blue eyes widened and she shuffled backward, trying to placate him with respectful submission. She bowed her head and made a negative gesture.

"No," she said softly, the first word she had spoken.

He made the gesture again, waiting for her to assume the position for mounting. She did no such thing, as she crouched downward and crawled backward away from him. She was pleading with him to reconsider. To not mate her. Norge advanced on her and grabbed her roughly. She lashed out at him, striking him with all her might, however he had endured much harder blows than she could manage.

She attempted to scramble away from him, but he held her fast.

He subdued her quickly, pushing her head down and turning her backside toward him, even though she shouted beneath him as he pulled the furs from her body. He moved only those that barred his entrance into her. He pulled her up to her knees, making it easier for him to mount her

"No," she denied again.

"It will happen," he replied, as he pressed forward, slowly so as not to harm her over much. He would still need her to be able to travel with him back to his clan. He pushed her head downward again.

She pressed her head against her forearm and closed her eyes tightly as he invaded her flesh. Her body gave way and allowed him in. The female moaned beneath him as he thrust into her. She trembled in pain and fear as he took he continued their mating.

Norge thrust into her until he could feel his body tighten to the point that the pleasure would wash over him and his essence would flood into her body. His magic would work with hers. The ancestors had foretold it.

He rested his forehead on her back as she trembled, and groaned his enjoyment at their mating. He had been gentle with her and withdrew slowly. It would not do to have a mate that was angered with him so soon into their time together.

He covered himself at the unpleasant feel of the cool air upon his exposed skin. He rubbed a hand over her back gently, signaling her that it was finished and she could move again. The female curled in on herself, and sat back on her haunches.

He stood, towering over her. He was exceedingly content with his new mate.

"Norge," he said gruffly, slamming his fist to his chest in a display of dominance.

The woman nodded, and pulled her furs back about her. Her eyes glanced toward him and quickly away in submission. Not wanting to challenge the male.

A fine female indeed.

"By what name are you called?" He demanded when she did not provide her name.

"Amer," She said softly, nearly unheard over the howling winds outside the cave. "I am called Amer."

He grunted his acknowledgement of her words, his blue eyes narrowed on her and he felt the flames of passion to take her again rise.

"You are my mate now." He told her, with a forceful gesture between them. Universal, between clans. She watched it silently.

She did not argue. They were both aware that her clan would not accept her back now. Their magic might combine and produce a child. In fact, Norge knew that a child would result. He could feel it, like an instinct, when he mounted her. His journey had been fruitful. The shaman's command and the will of his ancestors was a force to be reckoned with.

"Come," he commanded gruffly, gesturing toward her.

Amer shuffled toward him, grabbing and offering the bowl with an outstretched hand and bowed head. Norge took it, pleased at her serving him, and set it down. He sat heavily, and pulled her toward him. She moaned, obviously sore, and he planted his chin on top of her head. He wrapped his arms around her, keeping her warm against the chill of the air that blew. Even with the fire, they shivered.

His blue eyes watched the storm, with disinterest. It would end soon enough, then he could take his female back to the clan, and she would be accepted in by the other women. There was safety in clan, and she would not be accepted back into her own. If his woman worried, he had no concern of it. He would hunt for her, and protect the sons she bore him.

It was not long before sleep claimed her, and he continued to watch the world outside as the storm ragged on.

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The clan celebrated his return with Amer, and she was welcomed into the folds. The shaman gave her a new spiritual protector, and Amer accepted the decisions of the ancestors. She was Norge's mate now. The females helped her adjust to life in his clan, and when a few moons had passed, it was shown that his magic had finally found a female that could hold his son. The ancestors were highly pleased by his obedience. Norge eventually became leader of the clan.

Amer bore him several sons and a single daughter. His sons became great warriors in their own right, called evil spirits on the battle field. Their daughter became the clan medicine woman, a high honor, and mate to the new Shaman.

Their clan thrived and prospered. Generations passed. The clans moved and became less nomadic. The people turned to farming, instead of gathering and hunting. They learned and adapted long after Norge and Amer had passed at the ripe old age of 35.

One of their descendants was born and named Leif Erickson.

Also called Leif the Lucky, who would be credited as the first European to discover Northern America. Some 500 years before Christopher Columbus.

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To explain...

This is a cross between Clan of the Cave Bear and Pre-Viking era Scandinavia (4,000-2,000 BCE). During this time, Archeologists, have declared that (due to artifacts/indications of worship) that people once believed that women conceived through 'magic' or spirits. A man laid with a woman, and if the 'magic' was strong enough a child was produced.

Hence the reference to Norway's magic being off. Or America's magic being right for him.

They did not realize the man actually inseminated the female exactly, just that women could 'spontaneously' create life, and that someone this didn't happen every time.

This is technically non-con, however, in situations like this so very long ago where it was all about survival, it wasn't actually viewed as 'rape'(according to archeologists) more as a staking of a claim or a reason to take a female into another clan. This is also a reason some psychologists believe that women are more likely to form a bond with male captors.

I'm not picking on Norway or America. Nor making light of rape.

Thanks for reading!