Hey there! This story will be focused on the DenNor pairing, exploring old Scandinavian folklore. Thanks a ton to scarlet-flames-of-wrath for giving me the inspiration for the story, and to Vermillion Jay for being my wonderful beta. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own hetalia.

"O ships of mine, whose swift keels cleft

The enchanted sea on which they sailed,

Are these poor fragments only left

Of vain desires and hopes that failed?"

- John Greenleaf Whittier

"You idiot. You - you imbecile, what have you done?" Berwald's hands curled into fists as he stared at his older brother, incredulous.

"Don't you get it, Ber? This is what we've been dreaming of! We've finally got everything we need to get out of this god-forsaken village!"

"Everything? Everything? Mathias, we have nothing, because of you! You've just sold all've our grain for a fucking horse!"

Mathias stepped back, faltering under his brother's ire. The kid was only 17, but he towered over Mathias by several inches. "I thought you'd be happy! Remember what we used to talk about when we were kids? That one day we'd ride away and explore new worlds, make something of ourselves?"

"Mathias we were children." Berwald paused and closed his eyes, willing himself to calm down. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, but still quivered with barely contained anger. "Things are different now. We can't keep living in a fairytale. You're 19 years old - it's time to be realistic. All that matters now is paying our debts and making sure we have enough grain to survive the winter - grain which you've just sold!"

"For god's sake, Berwald, when did you get so cynical?" Mathias waved his arms in exasperation. "What happened to the cute kid who loved to carve wooden toys and wanted to be a unicorn?"

"That kid grew up," bit Berwald, "And it's time you did too, before you ruin my life just like you ruin everything else."

Mathias paused, taken aback, but quickly recomposed himself. "Hell, Berwald, if I'm that terrible, then maybe I should go by myself!"

"Maybe you should."

Mathias froze. His words had just been for emphasis, he'd hardly expected his brother to agree.

"…Fine." Mathias rocked back on his heels, face closing off. "If that's what you really want, then I guess I will."

As he turned to gather his cloak and satchel, Mathias waited for his brother to stop him, to tell him to come back, that they could work it out.

The call never came.

Forests are filled with life, and are yet one of the loneliest places on earth. It's easy to lose yourself among the thistles. The vigilant trees blur into the reminders of your own imagination, taking the forms of personal ghosts and coveted demons. They loom over you, silent, a whisper of a breath down the back of your neck. There's no-one there to reassure you, and you've no choice but to retreat into your own mind.

There's no privacy in your head. If you try to hide things from yourself, the pit of your stomach will itch, because you'll never properly believe it. When you're alone in a forest, you gotta listen to your thoughts, or let the itching eat you.

Mathias felt the uneasiness settle in his bones as he regarded the woods around him. Perhaps this wasn't the best idea, running away. In his haste, he'd forgotten the damn horse that had caused this mess in the first place, forcing him to travel on foot. But, if Mathias Køhler were any two things, he was an idiot, and he was prideful. It was a combination of the two that prevented him from biting his lip and accepting the hopelessness of his situation. He knew he'd return home later, but not for a few hours yet. He wanted Berwald to feel guilty, to swallow his words and apologize for being so cruel.

After all, they only had each-other. He and Berwald were something of outcasts in their small community - Mathias was viewed as the village idiot, a drunk. But, he supposed, it wasn't quite as unfortunate a situation as Berwald's. Standing at an impressive six feet, five inches, Berwald was a man of few words and myriad glares. Suitably, about half the village was terrified of him. He was the kind of man that kids would approach on a dare, poking him and running away squealing.

Few had ever taken the time to see the real Berwald. The man was, in reality, quite tame in temper - the only person able to light his anger quite so much being his older brother. He loved nothing more than the smile that split a child's face when he offered them one of his little wooden figures. He carved them himself, hundreds of them. When they were children, Berwald dreamed of moving to the city and opening a little toyshop.

Mathias had always wanted to be a knight. In all honesty, the occupation would have suited him poorly. Mathias was never one for rules, nor was he any good at following authority. He was loud, almost obnoxiously cheerful, and was seldom seen without a beer and a grin. Real knights were about as stiff as Berwald's wooden figures, their swords guided by the king and their eyes covered by their helmets. Mathias just wanted riches, a shiny weapon, and admiration. Of course, there was scarcely a boy in the world that didn't yearn for the same things, but Mathias was poor, and Mathias was naive, and Mathias preferred a life of dreams to the challenges of reality.

Unfortunately, where there were dreams, disappointment and desperation always followed. Mathias didn't want to destroy the stable life he'd built with his brother, but the desperation nipping at his skin was growing unbearable. It tickled and stung until his body, against his better judgment, screamed for him to get up and run. Even as a child, Mathias could never sit still.

He was jolted from his musings as his sleeve caught on a stray branch, tearing a hole in the thin fabric. His day was getting progressively worse, and, even through the thick cover of trees, he could tell that night was fast approaching. As the sun grew heavy and sunk below the horizon, the air took on a sharp chill that turned his hands numb and his cheeks rosy. It was beginning to look like going home was the best course of action, lest he find himself completely lost.

Mathias shifted his satchel and began to turn back, but was stopped in his tracks by a soft noise. It was quiet, almost imperceptible, but the thin notes threaded into his skin, making him tingle to the marrow of his bones. Like a puppet on a string, Mathias followed, the noise leading him deeper into the dark of the forest. Though the sound grew clearer, his head grew blurred, thoughts muffled and body swaying with vertigo. As dizzy as he was, his steps were steady. As Mathias ventured closer to the source of the noise, he was able to identify it as a song. The tune was familiar somehow, yet the progression of the notes took him by surprise and sent shocks down his spine.

Clinging to the melody, Mathias traipsed through shrubbery, over logs and between trees, until the forest opened up into some kind of clearing. There, nestled in the heart of the woods was a small lake, glimmering faintly in the moonlight. It was surrounded on all sides by pine trees, and a thin mist clung to the water's surface. Even through the darkness, the air was lit with a sense of nervous excitement, and small fireflies flitted about with animation.

Mathias, however, was oblivious to the stunning scenery, his gaze trained on the source of the music. In the centre of the lake stood the most beautiful creature he had ever dreamed.

A man, boy perhaps, was standing waist-deep in the water, playing some kind of violin. He wore no shirt, and his pale torso shone in the moonlight. His skin was shockingly white, almost milky, like the petal of a lily. He was slender, and looked as if any more than the gentlest of brushes would blow him away with the wind, silver stardust.

His head was tilted back and his eyes were closed, soft lashes fanning his cheeks and dark lips parted delicately. His hair was so blond it was almost white, soft as the first snow of winter. It fell deftly over his forehead and brows, curling lightly at the nape of his neck.

The whole picture was… ethereal. His slim fingers danced over the neck of his lyre, playing a tune so beautifully nostalgic that Mathias could not bear peel his eyes away. Unaware of his own movements, Mathias waded into the lake, still fully clothed and oblivious to the water's sharp chill. His steps were numb, the music trickling through his veins like wine. With each stride, the inky water crawled higher, and before long it licked at his chin and his legs kicked for support.

Fortunately, his feet located some sort of rock, allowing him to stand and continue to labour towards the beautiful boy. As Mathias drew closer, the boy made no outward acknowledgment of his presence, but the song began to slow, notes winding down with sweet lethargy. Entranced, Mathias lifted his arm, reaching towards the boy. His own hands looked so big, so blotchy and calloused in comparison to the other's silky white.

With a final, haunting thread, the song drew to an end, leaving wistful silence in its wake. The boy was frozen, lyre still tucked to his shoulder. With shaking hands, Mathias closed the final few inches between them, brushing his fingers against the other's cheek.

It was ice cold.

And just like that, the spell was broken. The boy whipped his head around, revealing eyes so cold it felt as if his spine was pierced by needles of ice. They were hollow, the colour of water that had coughed and sputtered to death in the loneliest part of the ocean.

His hands shot out, dropping the lyre, and wrapped themselves around Mathias's neck. Terrified, Mathias floundered, feet lifting off the rock and fingers clawing at his throat. The boy, the creature was inhumanly strong, his grip steely despite his delicate appearance.

His expression remained blank as he opened his mouth to speak. "Where is my brother?"

If Mathias's airways weren't being constricted, he would have inhaled, sharply. The boy's voice reminded him of the mist that whispered at the moon, thin and soft, but still carrying an undertone of danger. His words were hissed without inflection, but were somehow melodic, making his hairs stand on end.

"Brother?" Mathias rasped, "I don't – what are you talking about?"

"Your people. Humans. You took him."

Mathias squirmed in an effort to relieve the pressure on his neck, but the grip only tightened. "It wasn't me! I had nothing to do with it, I swear!"

"Lies!" the boy growled, fingers squeezing Mathias's throat with renewed vigour. "You're all the same, greedy, mindless fools. You took my brother and if you don't return him, I will make you pay."

"Please! Please, don't kill me! I have no idea who took your brother, I promise!" Mathias's eyes filled with tears from fear and lack of oxygen, threatening to spill over his cheeks. He didn't want to die, not like this. He hadn't even said goodbye to his brother. The whole dispute seemed so trivial now, and he longed for nothing more than to run home and hug Berwald like there was no tomorrow. Well, the way things were looking, there may not have been another tomorrow for Mathias. "Who were they, the people who took your brother? If you can describe them, I'll tell you if I've seen them before!"

The boy paused, considering. "They came with the night, in robes of black and gold. They detained me and seized my brother, placing him in some kind of wheeled contraption. Their cheeks held markings in the shape of broadswords – but, they weren't just markings. They were scars, carved in their own flesh."

Mathias's eyes flashed with recognition. "Kingsmen! They were kingsmen!"

The boy narrowed his eyes. "Do not speak to me in riddles, human. What are these 'kingsmen' you reference?"

"They're knights, servants of the crown. They usually stay pretty close to the city, though, so it's weird you met them out here."

The boy, relieved that he was making some kind of leeway, relaxed his grip on the other's neck slightly. Mathias drew in a shaky breath, restoring some of the oxygen to his lungs.

Despite calming marginally, the boy's expression remained severe. "And where can I find these… kingsmen?"

"They're stationed at the palace, that's where they came from. But, I mean, that's like a bajillion miles away, there's no way you'll make it if you don't know where you're going-"

Mathias was cut off as the boy's grip tightened again, the acrimony returned to his eyes. "Are you telling me I can't find them?"

"N-no!" Mathias wheezed. "It's just - it's just far away, is all." His eyes lit with realization. "I can take you there! If you let me go, I'll take you there!"

The boy froze, suspicious. "How do I know your words are truth?" He locked eyes with Mathias, who suppressed a shiver. "In the immediate face of death, any fool would pledge his soul to hell for five more minutes on earth. How do I know that you won't just discard me the second I take my hands off you?"

"I… We can do a blood oath. That way it's impossible for me to lie."

The boy drew back, surprised. He knew as well as Mathias that blood oaths were more than just words - they were promises tied in magic. One who made a blood oath was spiritually bound to the other, obligated to pursue the contract until completion or death. Most were hesitant to make such pledges, even when they spoke the truth.

"Then it is agreed." Recomposing himself, the lake creature removed his hands from Mathias's neck, and lifted a pale arm to the moonlight. With a swipe of an unnaturally sharp fingernail, he cut a thin line across the palm of his hand. Mathias looked on in silence, mildly taken aback. With his inhuman features and ethereal presence, Mathias was almost expecting his blood to be blue, or silver, or something else transcendental. Instead, it was scarlet, appearing almost black in the darkness. The colour was so very human.

"Well?" The creature spat, inpatient.

Mathias snapped back to reality, noticing belatedly that he'd lapsed into silence. He looked warily at the creature's bleeding appendage before glancing down at his own. "Do I have to do it on my hand? You know, there's a myriad of nerve endings there, it would be far less painful if I cut somewhere else. Like my buttox!" Mathias chuckled, nervously, "That's just floppy fat, I doubt it would hurt much - actually, now that I think about, It's gotta make sitting down pretty unpleasant. Maybe I could get Berwald to carry me - "

Mathias cut off with a yelp as the boy snatched his wrist, lifting it up and slicing across his palm. Mathias could have sworn the creature muttered something like: "what kind of idiot…", but attributed it to his imagination.

"Hey!" he cried, startled by the unexpected assault. "That wasn't very nice."

"Either you commence the blood oath this moment, or I shall drown you where you stand."

Mathias gulped, cowed. "Okay, okay, yeah, I'll do it." He paused. "But, um, I'm going to need your name for the ritual. Assuming you have one, that is. Do pretty lake faeries usually have names?"

The other's expression turned dangerous, and he narrowed his eyes to slits. "You are not getting my real name, mortal. Do you take me for a fool?"

"Woah, hey, calm down, it's not a big deal!" Mathias lifted his arms, defensively. "I just need something to identify you with or the oath won't bind."

The creature deflated slightly, but his gaze remained skeptical. "Then you may refer to me as… Lukas." A beat later, he added, offended, "And I am not a lake faerie. I am Nøkken."

"I have no idea what that means, but okay. Lukas the Nøkken it is."

Mathias paused for a moment before holding out his palm. Lukas met him halfway, entwining their fingers and pressing their wounds together. His hand felt soft and cold inside Mathias's own.

Mathias inhaled deeply. "Under the shadow of this good moon, I, Mathias Køhler, solemnly pledge to aid Lukas in the search for his brother, denying rest until he is found. Lukas, do you recognize this oath?"

Lukas nodded, formally. "Aye."

"Then, by the skin of angels and the blood of the damned, I declare us bound!"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Mathias was doubled over by a hot flash of pain, lancing up from the wound on his hand. Even the typically expressionless Lukas winced, slightly.

It was only now, in the wake of the oath, that Mathias felt the regret begin to nag at the back of his mind. He had just pledged himself to a long and dangerous journey with a creature that had tried to kill him. Of all the reckless decisions he'd made in his 19 years of life, this, by far, took the cake.

Ah well.

At least that horse'd come in handy for something.

Comments/reviews are appreciated!