Sov Gott

New Bridges

Iceland was not happy about this situation. The boy's brows were drawn, and a frown was set in his very eyes. There were no possible words to describe the amount of discomfort that he felt, but he could endure it. Or at least he had to endure it. Thankfully it wouldn't last very long.

He stood like a man about to be married. Knowing that the soul that he was about to add to his shoulders was someone he'd always seen as a father figure made the setting extremely awkward. Was this how every one of those allegiances had occurred? If so, then he immediately understood why Norway hated this feeling. Oh, had Norway complained about the alliances. Iceland had never understood why Norway hated these meetings, but now that he was in his brother's shoes he could wrap his head around Norway's perspective perfectly. Knowing that given circumstances, Denmark was a lesser force than Iceland at this point did not help. Part of Iceland's mind couldn't help but wonder how Denmark would have reacted. Would he have groveled on the ground, begging for help? Would he be ashamed?

Would he be proud?

Above all there hung that marital theme in the air that deterred Iceland from everything entirely. Everyone in their formal wear, the people addressing and congratulating him, the way the tie around his neck felt far too tight... all of it made him uncomfortable, yet Iceland tried to see the receival of the soul as more of a commencement of duty than a marriage. It made the thought far easier to bear than his earlier imagery.

The room was beautifully simple. It was lighted by candles found in scattered locations and all burning with an intense passion that seemed to mock the otherwise gloomy space. Their warm yellow glow illuminated the room almost entirely, yet was not enough to wean away the chill of the stones surrounding them. They were in the basement of an old building, a place that had not seen people like himself in a long time. Yet the stone of the walls and floor was eerily comforting to Iceland. It gave the situation an ancient aura, one that was reminiscent of Iceland's childhood. The stone was hard and gentle, and the flickering light cast over its nooks and crannies sending waves of light and shadow over the walls like ripples in a stream.

Sweden came forth, accompanied by the Prime Minister of Denmark as well as the Danish Royal Family, carrying a simple wooden box. These Danish officials had established a certain distance between themselves and Sweden that was only so close as to be considered polite. Iceland's own officials were not able to be in attendance given the short notice, but were expected to meet with the Danish officials within the next few days. The whole occasion was stiffly formal, the hint of freshly ironed suits lingering over the slight scent of burning wax. Iceland found the people facing him were as stiffly formal as their outfits, and possibly their egos as well. Yet over them hung an aura of melancholic weight. The Royal Family regarded Iceland with a haughtiness that was to be expected from proud people not willing to admit defeat. Dare he say it, the Prime Minister regarded Iceland with a high level of contempt. The group knew what had to be done, yet no one seemed ready to face their fate. Denmark's legacy was going to end with them and be revived by Iceland.

If only they knew how much Iceland didn't want this either. Still, this is what had to happen.

"This is only temporary," said the Prime Minister once the leaders reached Iceland. Vile dislike laced every syllable that crossed the Prime Minister's tongue, but Iceland was not intimidated. He merely nodded his head, already knowing this and fought the urge to roll his eyes instead.

Apparently it wasn't just the other Personifications that insisted on treating him like a child. He was intelligent and capable, just as much as any other young adult and he hated being treated like a child almost finishing kindergarten.

"Once you accept the role of carrying not only the weight of your people but the people of Denmark as well, you must make sure that you will not fail them," the Prime Minister continued, taking the box from Sweden and opening it. Inside was a golden ring, glowing in anticipation. There were runes etched into the metal, reminding Iceland of how to spell "Denmark." See? I can already read. Just in case you were tempted to teach me that too, Iceland thought, haughtiness slipping into comments he didn't dare utter aloud.