Author's note: Well howdy! Sorry that this took so long to get up, I've had some seeeeeerious writer's block...well Merry Christmas and enjoy!

"Really Artie, you should just come over sometime. It'll be a blast! Who knows, maybe you'll like Disney World!"

"First of all, stop calling me Artie. I despise that nickname. Second of all, it's not that I don't like Disney World, I'm just busy. Maybe some other time Alfred."

"Awwwwww…fine unfunner, but you owe me Disney World time the next time you visit!"

"Alright you insufferable git, I'll go next time. And stop butchering my language like that! 'Unfunner' is not a word!"

There was a chuckle on the other end of the line that brought a smile to the small British man's face as he held the receiver a reasonable distance from his ear. He hadn't heard the American on the other end laugh like that out of contentment in years. Amazing how those kinds of things never change, even after years of disuse.

"Well, I better go Artie. America needs its hero to get the job done!"

"Good bye Alfred," The British man responded, blatantly ignoring the American's pet name for him as he hung up the phone.

Sighing, Arthur sat back in his chair and looked around his house. He had spent the better part of the week cleaning his house over and over again, all the while avoiding the daunting task of cleaning out the attic. If there was one part of spring cleaning that Arthur Kirkland hated, it was cleaning out the attic. Being in the dusty room always brought back the worst memories and he always got sidetracked by them.

Glancing up at his ceiling, Arthur struggled to his feet and cracked his back. Either he was going to do it now or never. He grabbed a bucket of cleaning supplies, a broom and a handful of garbage bags before trudging up to the attic. He pulled down on the attic ladder's string, which slowly descended down to the Brit's feet. He ascended the ladder and pushed on the trapdoor before continuing into darkness.

Engulfed in pitch black, Arthur groped blindly for the lights, mumbling under his breath. He lurched forward, tripping over a small, dense object and collapsed to the floor in a heap. Arthur swore aloud for a few minutes before staggering to his feet and finally succeeding in finding the lights. Flipping the switch, Arthur was temporarily blinded as the small room filled with luminescence. Rubbing his eyes, Arthur turned to the cause of his fall, discovering a small trunk in the middle of the floor.

"Why the ruddy hell," Arthur mused to himself as he knelt in front of the trunk.

He grabbed the lid and pushed it up, releasing a cloud of dust into the air. Coughing, the Brit waved his hand around in the air trying to clear some of the dust. After the dust had settled Arthur peered inside the box, examining its contents. Inside was a small green cloak, a pouch of fairy dust, a pack of faded letters, a small dagger and oddly enough, a Viking helmet. Reaching inside, Arthur extracted the helmet and the letters. Setting the helmet aside, Arthur opened one of the letters. The scrawl was childish and in what Arthur assumed to be olden French. Arthur sighed to himself, remembering the letters that Francis would write to him when he couldn't be bothered to take the trip to Arthur's house to annoy him.

Arthur tossed the letter aside, finding several other letters similar to the first one. As to why he didn't burn those when he first received them was beyond Arthur. Eventually he picked up a letter with different handwriting. The language was unlike anything Arthur had seen in years and it took him a minute to realize the characters were runes. Arthur read the letter several times over, trying to decipher it and after several minutes he worked out a rough translation:

Greetings Faerie boy!

Once again, my father and I have conquered your vital regions! You're so easy to pillage, it is quite enjoyable. Surely your meek faerie friends could have saved you by now. Maybe they'll finally appear the next time we invade your lush green lands.

Your conqueror

Danelaw

Arthur huffed slightly as he tossed the letter into the pile with the others. How could he forget that he had been Denny's plaything for the better part of a few hundred years? Shortly after Denny started invading with his father, Denny began inviting other Nordics to invade Arthur's home as well. Arthur shuddered as the memories rolled in, like many waves crashing onto a beach.

850 AD

Northern Britannia

Crouching under a bush, Britannia attempted to catch his breath. He had been running for an hour, trying to throw of his pursuers without much luck or success.

"I know Faerie boy ran off in this direction!" the nasally voice of his main pursuer Danelaw shouted, causing Britannia to jump.

"M'be y'er jus' 'maginin' it," the slow drawl of one of Danelaw's companions sounded back, closer to Britannia than he would have preferred.

"No I'm not Sve, I KNOW I saw him run off in this direction! You saw him right Norge?"

"I might have…I don't know it's hard to see anything in this blasted forest you Twit…." A third voice muttered, clearly annoyed with their leader.

"Well I know he's here somewhere now spread out and find him!"

Britannia froze, unsure if he should stay still where he was or if he should run. As he began to bolt forward, a firm hand clamped down on the back of his cloak, pulling him out of the bush. Britannia stared up into the harsh face of the one called Sve, who stared back down at him with an intense look.

Turning around, Sve held Britannia up and mumbled, "Foun' 'im."

Danelaw cackled menacingly and strode forward, a triumphant grin on his face.

"When will you learn that hiding in bushes won't save you from us?"

Britannia held his tongue, refusing to look at Danelaw. Danelaw frowned and smacked Britannia upside the head.

"You will answer to your master and conqueror knave!"

"Go get shot with an arrow you halfwit!" Britannia shouted at Danelaw, swinging his legs and arms in an attempt to hit his agitator.

Danelaw took a hasty step back and laughed at Britannia's feeble attempts to hit him. Britannia huffed and crossed his arms, glaring at Danelaw as the other blond haired boy laughed at his pout.

"Still just as foulmouthed as before I see. Maybe we should cut his tongue out to teach him a lesson…"

"Danelaw, your father forbade you from doing any actual harm to him and you know it," the one called Norge hissed.

Danelaw and Britannia stared at Norge impressed and shocked that he had come to the defense of the victim. Danelaw nodded at Sve, who promptly dropped Britannia onto his butt. Walking away, Danelaw shrugged.

"Alright, if Norge doesn't want us picking on the faerie boy we won't. Come on, let's go find my dad."

Sve nodded silently and followed Danelaw without giving Britannia a second backwards glance. Norge glared after his two friends before turning to Britannia. The Viking child walked up to Britannia, pulled off his helmet and dropped it onto Britannia's head.

"Next time, don't hide in a stupid bush. You won't get caught as easily," he muttered before turning and running to catch up with his friends.

Britannia stared after the receding trio with disbelief, one hand touching the helmet, unsure of what to do with it.

Arthur looked at the small helmet on the floor and smiled softly. Norge had been the only one that had showed him any mercy in those days and for that Arthur was grateful. Berwald had never really been much of a problem, but he was still intimidating and he always had a knack for finding Arthur. Sighing, Arthur leaned back against the trunk and closed his eyes.

"OH , COME OUT AND PLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!" A familiar voice ripped through Arthur's mind and ear drums.

"It can't be," Arthur muttered as he ran out of the attic to the nearest window.

Looking out, Arthur groaned to himself and slumped against the window. Standing in his garden was Denny and Norge, each with wild grins on their faces and helmets on their heads.

"Come on Faerie boy, come on out and play!" Denny shouted up to him.

There was no way Arthur was getting the attic down today.