No light to guide us [Norway]
Sep. 1st, 2018 12:54 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
roesslyngTitle: No light to guide us
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Norway (+ England)
Rating: 10+
Length: 200 words
Summary: He knows these waters, has sailed them before. Now, he makes the crossing for a different reason.
Other: 1941, Shetland bus*. Written for HWD's drabble game. Prompt was "Morning".
No light to guide us
Pitch-black. Early morning. The North Sea was black and slick as oil, the air cold as a witch's tit. It hurt to breathe it in.
Norway knew these waters. They had been his own, once. And as he looked toward Shetland, he could still remember the way the land fit into him.
The fishermen in his small crew knew their way around northern waters, and he could make up for the rest, deal with the blackness.
Silence and speed. That was what he needed. He wrapped the moonless night around him like a cloak as the small cutter sailed toward land with its precious cargo.
Five refugees. And one who played the part, but wasn't. Norway knew what information that one had, what secrets he carried. He'd delivered some of it himself.
"Why don't you stay?" England had asked him months ago, after Norway landed in Weisdale with messages. "You could be of help here. I -"
Norway hadn't let him get the rest out. "Belay that," he'd said, curbing the desire to give him an earful. "Just keep my government safe, and leave this to me."
The war was at home.
He wasn't about to go running from this.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Norway (+ England)
Rating: 10+
Length: 200 words
Summary: He knows these waters, has sailed them before. Now, he makes the crossing for a different reason.
Other: 1941, Shetland bus*. Written for HWD's drabble game. Prompt was "Morning".
No light to guide us
Pitch-black. Early morning. The North Sea was black and slick as oil, the air cold as a witch's tit. It hurt to breathe it in.
Norway knew these waters. They had been his own, once. And as he looked toward Shetland, he could still remember the way the land fit into him.
The fishermen in his small crew knew their way around northern waters, and he could make up for the rest, deal with the blackness.
Silence and speed. That was what he needed. He wrapped the moonless night around him like a cloak as the small cutter sailed toward land with its precious cargo.
Five refugees. And one who played the part, but wasn't. Norway knew what information that one had, what secrets he carried. He'd delivered some of it himself.
"Why don't you stay?" England had asked him months ago, after Norway landed in Weisdale with messages. "You could be of help here. I -"
Norway hadn't let him get the rest out. "Belay that," he'd said, curbing the desire to give him an earful. "Just keep my government safe, and leave this to me."
The war was at home.
He wasn't about to go running from this.
