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Entry tags:
Beating to Windward [Iceland & Denmark]
Title: Beating to Windward
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Iceland & Denmark, references to Denmark/Norway
Rating: 0+
Length: 1k
Summary: Denmark thinks that Norway doesn't want to reply to his letters. Iceland thinks that there's something else going on.
Other: Prompt was "Denmark, Iceland, Moving on - 1800s". Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
nordipalooza fest.
Beating to Windward
The door to Denmark's study was open a crack, spilling warm light into the hallway.
Iceland stood outside of it, staring at that sliver of light, wondering if he should go in. If he should ask.
Denmark had looked on-edge all day. Not angry, no. It was as though he were upset about something. Iceland had thought to ask during the afternoon, and again he'd thought about it at supper, but it never seemed like the right time, and no matter what it was, it wasn't likely to concern him.
But Denmark had been looking like that a lot lately.
Iceland pushed open the door.
Denmark was at his writing desk, head in his hands. The candle beside him flickered as Iceland entered the room. At that, Denmark straightened immediately.
"Something wrong, Ice?"
He had that annoying tone he got sometimes. He had it more often these days. Brotherly. Concerned. Or trying to make an attempt to come off that way.
Like he was making up for something.
"No," Iceland said. "I just..."
"'S fine, you can always talk to me if you need to, y'know."
As far as Iceland saw it, he wasn't the one who needed to talk.
He held his tongue. Decided not to say it. But he stepped into the room, deciding that it would be too awkward and weird to simply leave now.
Iceland went to the desk. Took a good look at Denmark, who sat with his head resting against one hand, watching him. There were pages scattered haphazardly over his desk. Iceland didn't look at them; he just kept his eyes on Denmark.
His eyes were reddened, his hair even more mussed than usual. He looked rumpled and worn. Unlike him.
"Is there something wrong with you?" Iceland asked, leaning against the desk.
Denmark smiled. It was thin and tight. Not his usual kind. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Right, Iceland thought. As if I'm going to believe that.
Maybe....
"Have you heard from Norway?" Iceland asked, looking away as if changing the subject. He heard a soft huff from Denmark and thought – that's it.
"Sure! Got a letter from him this morning. If ya could call it a letter." Denmark picked it up off the desk, waving it to demonstrate. "Real official stuff, this. You'd think he'd never read anything I've been sending him."
His eyes looked wet in the candlelight.
Iceland gingerly took the letter from him. "Can I...?"
"Sure," Denmark muttered as he whipped out a handkerchief. "Damn dusty in here, isn't it?"
They both knew that there wasn't dust in Denmark's eyes, but Iceland left him to it.
The letter was bland, stiff, and cold. All nation business, nothing more. Iceland frowned. He'd read Norway's letters to Denmark before. The ones concerning official matters were only that. But Denmark's personal letters would be sent back, with Norway's reply written tightly between the lines.
Still. Things were different now.
"How do you know he's even getting your letters, anyway?"
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The candle burned low. It cast a strange light over Denmark's face.
"You think?"
Iceland bit his lip, creasing the letter in his hands. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. "He's living with Sweden now, right? And at Sweden's residence, as far as I know. So..."
He didn't need to say more. Denmark's expression sharpened as he thought it over, nodded, acknowledged what he should have realized before.
This would be a first for Denmark, Iceland thought. Usually he was the one reading others' mail. He probably never expected anything like this.
"You." Denmark pointed at him. "You should write him."
"Me?" Iceland's eyes widened. "No. I ain't -" He took a deep breath. "My business isn't his business any more. You know that."
Denmark's eyes narrowed for a moment. Then he smiled again, a smile with teeth in it. "Of course," he said, gently taking the letter from Iceland's hand. "That's the point. Make it personal, y'see? Norway wouldn't ignore a letter from his little brother."
Iceland felt himself flush with annoyance. No, Norway wouldn't. Iceland knew that for certain.
He also knew that he didn't want to be Denmark's go-between.
No amount of protesting could get Denmark to change his mind. He'd patted Iceland on the shoulder and thanked him for it, as if the thing were already written and sent.
Iceland knew Denmark. He knew that he wouldn't let go of the matter until it was done.
That was why, when he went back to his room, Iceland found himself sitting at his writing desk, frowning down at a piece of paper.
It had been a long time since he'd written anything to Norway. But that wasn't the point!
He sighed, took up his pen, and wrote it anyway.
Iceland decided not to tell Norway about the pathetic dampness he'd seen in Denmark's eyes. Or anything else about Denmark, for that matter.
He kept the letter personal. Wrote about his studying of late, all the material that Denmark had been making him read, out of some mistaken impression that at one point it might be useful.
Best not to tell him about the complaints. The crying. Iceland didn't want to think about it, himself. How much longer would he have to put up with that?
Then again, he thought wearily, at least sulking over the loss kept Denmark distracted.
The hour was late when Iceland finished the letter.
His candle burned low. The draft was scribbled and scratched, and he glared down at it, annoyed that he'd had to spend time on it in the first place.
He'd make a fair copy in the morning.
As he readied himself for bed, Iceland wondered if Norway would even receive it at all. If Sweden was blocking Denmark's letters from reaching Norway, would he hold this one back too?
Iceland glanced back toward his desk.
Nothing good would come from holding on to this.
Maybe it would be for the better.
Fandom: Hetalia
Characters/Pairing: Iceland & Denmark, references to Denmark/Norway
Rating: 0+
Length: 1k
Summary: Denmark thinks that Norway doesn't want to reply to his letters. Iceland thinks that there's something else going on.
Other: Prompt was "Denmark, Iceland, Moving on - 1800s". Written for
nordipalooza fest.Beating to Windward
The door to Denmark's study was open a crack, spilling warm light into the hallway.
Iceland stood outside of it, staring at that sliver of light, wondering if he should go in. If he should ask.
Denmark had looked on-edge all day. Not angry, no. It was as though he were upset about something. Iceland had thought to ask during the afternoon, and again he'd thought about it at supper, but it never seemed like the right time, and no matter what it was, it wasn't likely to concern him.
But Denmark had been looking like that a lot lately.
Iceland pushed open the door.
Denmark was at his writing desk, head in his hands. The candle beside him flickered as Iceland entered the room. At that, Denmark straightened immediately.
"Something wrong, Ice?"
He had that annoying tone he got sometimes. He had it more often these days. Brotherly. Concerned. Or trying to make an attempt to come off that way.
Like he was making up for something.
"No," Iceland said. "I just..."
"'S fine, you can always talk to me if you need to, y'know."
As far as Iceland saw it, he wasn't the one who needed to talk.
He held his tongue. Decided not to say it. But he stepped into the room, deciding that it would be too awkward and weird to simply leave now.
Iceland went to the desk. Took a good look at Denmark, who sat with his head resting against one hand, watching him. There were pages scattered haphazardly over his desk. Iceland didn't look at them; he just kept his eyes on Denmark.
His eyes were reddened, his hair even more mussed than usual. He looked rumpled and worn. Unlike him.
"Is there something wrong with you?" Iceland asked, leaning against the desk.
Denmark smiled. It was thin and tight. Not his usual kind. "Nothing you need to worry about."
Right, Iceland thought. As if I'm going to believe that.
Maybe....
"Have you heard from Norway?" Iceland asked, looking away as if changing the subject. He heard a soft huff from Denmark and thought – that's it.
"Sure! Got a letter from him this morning. If ya could call it a letter." Denmark picked it up off the desk, waving it to demonstrate. "Real official stuff, this. You'd think he'd never read anything I've been sending him."
His eyes looked wet in the candlelight.
Iceland gingerly took the letter from him. "Can I...?"
"Sure," Denmark muttered as he whipped out a handkerchief. "Damn dusty in here, isn't it?"
They both knew that there wasn't dust in Denmark's eyes, but Iceland left him to it.
The letter was bland, stiff, and cold. All nation business, nothing more. Iceland frowned. He'd read Norway's letters to Denmark before. The ones concerning official matters were only that. But Denmark's personal letters would be sent back, with Norway's reply written tightly between the lines.
Still. Things were different now.
"How do you know he's even getting your letters, anyway?"
For a moment, neither of them said anything. The candle burned low. It cast a strange light over Denmark's face.
"You think?"
Iceland bit his lip, creasing the letter in his hands. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything. "He's living with Sweden now, right? And at Sweden's residence, as far as I know. So..."
He didn't need to say more. Denmark's expression sharpened as he thought it over, nodded, acknowledged what he should have realized before.
This would be a first for Denmark, Iceland thought. Usually he was the one reading others' mail. He probably never expected anything like this.
"You." Denmark pointed at him. "You should write him."
"Me?" Iceland's eyes widened. "No. I ain't -" He took a deep breath. "My business isn't his business any more. You know that."
Denmark's eyes narrowed for a moment. Then he smiled again, a smile with teeth in it. "Of course," he said, gently taking the letter from Iceland's hand. "That's the point. Make it personal, y'see? Norway wouldn't ignore a letter from his little brother."
Iceland felt himself flush with annoyance. No, Norway wouldn't. Iceland knew that for certain.
He also knew that he didn't want to be Denmark's go-between.
No amount of protesting could get Denmark to change his mind. He'd patted Iceland on the shoulder and thanked him for it, as if the thing were already written and sent.
Iceland knew Denmark. He knew that he wouldn't let go of the matter until it was done.
That was why, when he went back to his room, Iceland found himself sitting at his writing desk, frowning down at a piece of paper.
It had been a long time since he'd written anything to Norway. But that wasn't the point!
He sighed, took up his pen, and wrote it anyway.
Iceland decided not to tell Norway about the pathetic dampness he'd seen in Denmark's eyes. Or anything else about Denmark, for that matter.
He kept the letter personal. Wrote about his studying of late, all the material that Denmark had been making him read, out of some mistaken impression that at one point it might be useful.
Best not to tell him about the complaints. The crying. Iceland didn't want to think about it, himself. How much longer would he have to put up with that?
Then again, he thought wearily, at least sulking over the loss kept Denmark distracted.
The hour was late when Iceland finished the letter.
His candle burned low. The draft was scribbled and scratched, and he glared down at it, annoyed that he'd had to spend time on it in the first place.
He'd make a fair copy in the morning.
As he readied himself for bed, Iceland wondered if Norway would even receive it at all. If Sweden was blocking Denmark's letters from reaching Norway, would he hold this one back too?
Iceland glanced back toward his desk.
Nothing good would come from holding on to this.
Maybe it would be for the better.