A short, blond man stood on the prow of his longboat, watching the new and unexplored shore come into his sights. He was small of stature, with distant blue eyes, and windblown hair, a small curl seeming to float off the side of his head. The warm furs on his clothes signified a man from the cold north, and the sword at his belt signified a man of dangerous actions. In truth he was. He and the men in the convoy of boats behind him were pillagers. Raiders. Vikings.

He was very unlike his men however, as the first boat touched the beach and the shouts to disembark were heard. He represented his native land, and the people who lived there. These people, the men bustling around him as they pulled supplies from the ships and scouted around the trees they'd landed near, were some of his people. Therefore, he'd gone with them to this new shore.

He turned and glanced back across the sea. He could feel the call of his people. The call of his home. And yet, there was a small shout from here. These were his people as well. He turned and started to help with the scouting.

It was a few weeks later, after they'd sailed further inland, and had settled, with small huts for houses, looking like mounds rising from the earth. The short man, his face as expressionless as always, sat eating his dinner with the leader of their expedition. Fish was plentiful here, and they'd caught many. The slightly burnt meat was good, and so it was devoured quickly, with quite a bit of alcohol.

In the midst of dinner, the man heard something strange. A bush rustling? He turned his head and watched as a small white creature slowly snuck forward, his nose twitching madly. It was… a bear? Slowly, the man tossed the remainder of his fish to the ground near the small bear. At first it shied away, but soon its nose led it back to the food. Hungrily, it gobbled it up, looking back for more. The man's expression softened and he shook his head.

Suddenly the men near him burst out in laughter at some joke, startling the little bear. It glanced up at the large, fur-covered men before turning and scampering back into the bushes. The man let a small smile cross his face in a rare glimpse of emotion.

About to turn back to his meal, he noticed the bush rustle again. Blinking, he saw a pair of violet eyes looking at him. A pair of eyes attatched to a face. A very human face. He knew there were people here; they'd seen them before and even met a couple once or twice. Yet this child, for the face was too young to be a man, seemed different than them. However, before he was able to get a closer look, the face was gone, and the bushes had stopped moving. He shrugged and returned to the food. Any child would be curious about the strange looking men.

It was another few days before the young boy showed up again. The man pretended to ignore him, though he knew he was again hiding in the bushes. The man slowly piled some food onto a plate, and slid it across the ground to the bush. He stood and walked into his hut, giving it no more notice. When he came back out later, the plate was empty, and the bushes deserted.

It took a few more meetings like this before the man saw the white bear again. It was just sitting there, outside the boy's usual bush, looking around as if lost. He saw a small hand trying to tug the bear back inside the bush, but the bear stubbornly resisted. He took a step closer and picked up the bear. It was a truly harmless creature. Along with the bear, came a small boy, rolling out of the bush. Upon closer examination, he saw dark blond hair with a misplaced curl. The boy was pale, not as pale as the man himself, but certainly not as dark-skinned as the other natives.

The boy stared at him, his violet eyes wide. He opened his mouth, but if to talk or scream, he never found out. The boy tugged his bear from the man's arms and ran, taking off through the bush and into the deeper forest.

The man shook his head. There was something about this kid. Something familiar. The only idea that he could come up with was that the boy was like him. A man of the land. Who felt what his people felt, and what his land could feel. Sending a last glance into the trees, the man turned and rejoined his men. It was time for another scouting party.

The last time they met, it was initiated by the child. Standing alone on the beach, the man cast his blue eyes back across the water. He was leaving with a small group of men back to his home. He was needed there; he could feel his people calling him back. The Vikings were a part of him, yes, but so was his land and the people back there as well.

There was the familiar rustling of a bush, and he turned. The child, his eyes wide and wondering, stood looking up at him. The bear in his arms was almost as big as he was, sniffing around cautiously. The boy set the bear down and held out his hand to the man.

Knowing what he wanted, the man pulled some food from his fur coat and handed it to him. The boy stared at the food for a second, but then took it and held out his other hand. Confused, the man rose an eyebrow. Slowly, he reached out and took the small hand in his own. A wide grin spread across the little boy's face, and he held tightly to the man's hand, pulling him towards a small hill. The usually stoic man let a smile cross his face, letting the little boy show him his home. Yes, this boy was one of the land. One like him.

The next morning, as he set off across the sea with his men, he watched his people on the shore, calling out to the men in the boat. A little farther up the beach, he saw a small flash of white, and the young boy was waving from where he stood. The man smiled, and gave a small wave back. For the longest time, he could not get the thought of the young violet-eyed boy on the new shore out of his mind.

Eventually, the boy had been forgotten, as he had to deal with his Vikings and his people at home. The few times he did return to those new shores, however, he saw the boy. The child, who seemed to grow very little, would take him into the forest and show him certain spots that he liked. He found a clearing here, a frozen lake there, the long beaches, the islands and rivers. Truly, this land was a beautiful place, especially from the eyes of the child who stood for it.

Over time, even the Vikings left that land. Further south, the Spanish and Portuguese, and soon the English and French would come to see this new place. The Viking men and their civilization soon faded into the annals of history, while the man who was their land grew into a country.

It wasn't until many, many years later that the man would remember the young boy he'd seen on the shore. A meeting with the nations, the first he'd attended, and he'd seen quite a few countries he recognized. Including the young boy from the new shores. He was quite taller now, with glasses, and lighter colored hair, but it was still him. The bear hadn't seemed to have changed at all, it was still small, white, and disinterested in everything around it.

The man's expression changed, and he sent the boy a small smile. The boy, now a young man himself, stared at him for a bit. The light of recognition hit him, and he smiled; the same wide smile as he'd given the first time.

AN: Yeah, so that was it. I just watched a history channel documentary about the people who might've been to the Americas before Columbus. It's proven that Vikings were the first ones there, reaching Newfoundland a good five hundred years (I think) before Columbus did. A little research revealed that they were Vikings from Norway, so I thought, why not write a story about that? Yeah, the man was supposed to be Norway, though you probably couldn't tell. I honestly don't know his character as well as I probably should. Sorry if anyone was OOC. Disclaimer: I don't own Norway or Canada, or the Vikings. ^^