Lunch with a Wren [fanfic]
Title: Lunch with a Wren (Part Two of Two)
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: PG
Characters: Faroes, Aland, England, Canada, Poland
Genre: Romance, History, Friendship
Pairings: Faroes/Aland (awkward friendship)
Warnings: Gorey healing described.
Summary: February 1942 - It looks as though Germany is going to win the war. On the small island of Faroes an airbase and RDF is being built, but none of this might be in time as Germany concentrates German naval power in the North Sea. Aland/Faroes fluff.
Lunch with a Wren
February 13, 1942 [1]
Site of the Vágar Airbase, the Faroe Islands
Astrid gathered the land around her in her stride, and broke away from her guest. This wasn't his fight. It wasn't his war. It didn't matter to him.
She cleared the top of the graveyard, and then tackled the rising bowl of land at a run, pulling herself through her snow and mountains with as much ease as her sensible shoes allowed. Cresting the hill behind Sørvagur, Faroes stopped for a moment, buffeted by a rushing breeze.
Only a few meters away the allied aircraft crackled and burned, melting snow into rivulets. Putrid smoke billowed into her clean air. Cleanish. Nothing could be clean with the familiar smell of roasting flesh, and oddly, deep pine trees. A truck from the airbase had parked far below the crash, and men in green fatigues hauled a blackened something away from the wreckage. It was twitching. Astrid thought that it might be trying to scream without a tongue.
Arthur's familiar cursing wound through the cold air. "We have to be able to do bloody well something about Alsbury! You can't tell me that titty-witted freak of bloody minded nature buggered the gunner and left the Co-,"
"He did, though, sir," a patient voice of soothing logic interrupted England's tirade. "Now we're working to get Captain Williams out of harms' way, and you should come back, too. That engine will-,"
However, the Faroes never got to hear what the engine would do because it did. A roar and flume of foul smelling fire struck toward the sky. The blast, far enough down the slope that she did not get singed, still knocked her hat off, blowing the crisped and roasting corpse stench all over her.
That, along with more blue language involving socks, snails, and very unlikely relationships with long necked women on the Isle of Lesbos, pulled Astrid out of her daze. She ran past the wreckage, heading directly for England. "Uncle! What happened?"
He turned, immediately looking even more furious. "See?" he yelled to the world at large. "That bloody fat head can't even keep his fights to respectable limits! Nothing, my dear. There was just a tiny operation off the coast of the Netherlands today, and the Germans took a bit of an exception to our pilots-,"
"The Netherlands?" Astrid stopped to marvel at how long and hard both German and Englishman must have flown to end up in her part of the world.
Arthur coughed. "Yes, well, I ordered both the Commonwealth and Poland out there to help when the back up wasn't arriving on time. We almost had the Prinz Eugen, you know! But I suspect that potentially crippling either one of my biggest army divisions, or the Polish in exile would have been a tempting target to any one of our kind. Or the humans, seeing as they've been ordered to go after us, now," the last was muttered so low that Faroes was certain no one was supposed to have heard that.
The very thought chilled her. Humans targeting the lands? Well, obviously, they were important targets, but on the open field personifications should, by and large, fight personifications. No human should have to feel as though the very land was fighting him, nor should the land ever feel that their bright human lives were fighting them. That humans could be ordered-, "Well, if that's happening, then, well, the Germans are monsters!"
Arthur gave her an affectionate smile. "Look, I've got to get back to the airbase with the Commonwealth. Join me. Our lads in the injuries unit could always use your brand of certainty."
Thinking back almost longingly to the oranges and lunch on the other side of the ridge, Faroes realized that she couldn't exactly refuse the offer. Not with Uncle Arthur's elbow extended to her in a proper display of decorum. 'Hi, actually I want to put you off so I can continue sitting with my good friend, who is neutral and of whom you would certainly never approve, if only because Scotland seemed to be fine with him in December' did not seem to be an acceptable note to strike.
Sighing heavily, Faroes remembered her duty, and accepted Arthur's arm. He lead her along the snow dusted road with all the gallantry that she could have asked for, under other circumstances. But there was a crack cooling corpse and two thin mouthed humans mounting up in the vehicle behind the two personified lands, and England was insisting on being cheerful.
"Still got your scarf, by the way," he said, as they trudged on.
Astrid, considering warping the land a little to hurry their walk, gave England a skeptical look. "Well, you haven't exactly had oodles of time to lose it."
He nodded in acknowledgment, but tapped the side of his nose with his free hand. "Ahhh, that's what you think. But scarves are sneaky. They're not socks, of course. Those little bu-blighters will run out on you, and then tease you from behind the washing pile as you search and search. But scarves can be quite tricky in their own right."
Snorting, the young lady shook her head. "Personally my only problem with socks is that one will get lost, while the other remains."
"And it's always the left one!" England agreed fiercely.
The seriousness of this delivery, forced something to bubble through Faroes' sternum. The laughter shook her shoulders before exploding into the misty air. Nothing could stop the tumbling scream, even stumbling into England, who grabbed her, and patted her back, as she trembled. "There-um, if you're going to vomit, though, warn me first," he murmured, before soothing noises became a soft chant.
The ground rocked for a second. It bucked with her spine as laughter and something else broke in more waves over Astrid. Ripping at her like the high tide. Maybe she would feel better if she threw up. Maybe then her stomach would stop churning with lava.
Through it all, England maintained a firm meaningless chant of things he thought were comforting noises. They weren't. 'There, there' meant nothing. Storms meant something. The wash of the sea meant something. It meant that all was right with the world. That there were no nasty submarines in her waters. That machines did not drop from the sky on her bright, lovely islands. That no one blew up in fountains of water and force.
Finally, the shaking hands managed to find her coat pocket, and a handkerchief, which went to her mouth first, as something to bite. With the loud bubbles of hysteria calmed, the Faroes was able to get the white cloth from her mouth, and promptly blew her nose.
England, still hugging her, managed a stern frown. "I hope that was clean before you tried to swallow it.
Weakly, Astrid chuckled, feeling slightly waterlogged. "Yes, Uncle. I'm sorry about that. I don't know what-,"
"No need to explain," England shook his head. "I used to have fits like that every week back in the Great War."
This did not put the set of islands off. "You had people dying all around you-I'm practically at peace! I don't-I don't understand. I've seen far worse. I've fought before. I just-the socks, and then the burning body, and the planes, and why did they have to explode on my island-why here? We're-we-It's my land! Why now? Why does everything have to be so nasty? Why do we have to be losing? I don't want to become German. I want to be part of your house. I want my own house. I want to go back home. I don't know! I want my family back! Scotland said Norway hadn't checked in at the normal time, and what if something awful has happened to him? What's happening to Denmark? And why am I going to pieces, when nothing has really happened!"
Silence resounded from her slopes. Far away now, the automobile puttered toward the site of the airbase, and its infirmary. Faroes had often stood alone on her mountains, doing nothing but feeling the land all around her, feeding her exuberance into the soil. Now, with winter round about, the living magic of her raw rocks and grass seemed solemn, as if in death.
England patted her shoulder. "I'll see if I can find out about Norway. You needn't worry."
That wasn't a comfort, or of any use. They weren't the right words. Maybe there were no right words.
The two began to walk again, and at least that was right. Walking. Forward. To. There was a goal. A purpose to all of this. A reason why a personification had been shot out of the cloudy sky over her land. Because there had to be a reason. Something better than the mines that took her fishermen on accident. Something better than a casualty of war. Something like a fight to determine whether humans died or lived. Something better than a mere desire to hurt just because two pilots had caught sight of each other.
"Do you think you'll be okay?" Arthur inquired solicitously.
Faroes waited for a moment, smelling the wet cold air. Her shoes crushed the snow under them. Under the snow and ice there was her land. Everything that mattered was trapped under the blanket of winter. Trapped in a way that had been ordained by the world long ago. If Father was here he would explain how winter was just part of a natural cycle. A cycle that surrounded the world. The universe. Where everything went round and round. Even war.
Winter was to be thwarted by spring. If that was so, then what thwarted war?
"Yeah, Uncle. England, sir, how can I help?"
They walked along, careful of the increasing grade of the slope, as they headed to the warding wall of the potential airbase. The stern blond man stared at the guard post, as though trying to inspect it from long distance for such a great length of time that Astrid wondered if she should repeat the question. But a cleared throat indicated deep cogitation. "Just, you know, ministering, and that. There aren't many people staying in our infirmary, luckily. But you know humans. They always feel better when we show that we know what they do for us."
Astrid nodded, barely even cringing. Ministering, as England put it, was the worst price any land had to pay. Watching the bright lights of human existence breathe their last. Just watch, maybe comfort, but mostly, just watch. Watch as disease brought them low. Watch as famine overtook them. War. Death. The pale riders who could barely touch the land, but brought humans to a halt.
England flashed his badge at the gate, clearly stating that he was bringing the Faroes Islands as a guest. With a respectful touch of the cap, they were waved through. Within the yard of the airbase enough people had moved and cleared snow that what little was left had been trodden into gray slush. Most men were over by the airfield, working on getting the land truly flat and building the requisite hangars. Over by one wall some industrious young man jogged towards a door on a side building with all the air of a constant errand boy.
Arthur followed the man's path with his eyes, and then nodded to himself. "I have to report to the commanders. You can find your way to the hospital?"
"The big sheet metal building over there?" Astrid pointed to where the red cross was painted against a white circle. "I think I'll be able to find it, sir."
"Don't be cheeky," England warned, glowering.
Astrid raised her eyebrows knowingly. "I don't know any other way, sir," she retorted.
The grunted response covered a smile, but England waved one and in dejected acceptance of the way things were. Faroes strode to her destination, trying to keep her back straight and military. This was a job. It was a duty. It certainly was the wrong way to think about the pain of humans, but what could she do when she was unable to do anything about the injuries?
Gritting her teeth, the personification of the Faroes Islands pushed open the door. A hall stretched before her, terminating in some swinging doors. Probably the surgery. A gurney could be rolled with ease down the hallway, and through those doors. The stink of burning flesh's ghostly memory suddenly filled her nostrils. No. She would not peek in to see if the nation had been dragged into the grim operating room. No.
The patient ward was hardly better. First the matron gave her strict orders not to stay too long in case she upset the men. Faroes spent the lecture looking at the woman's wing-like cap, wondering how something so ridiculous could convey such authority. Did her uniform look like that to other people? Probably not, or else Åland would have laughed at her. He wasn't that good an actor. Or maybe he was. Still, he wouldn't lie without reason, and he didn't seem to have the malicious streak in his sense of humor that Father possessed.
If Norway had not brought her up in the world with settlers, Faroes guessed that she would not have enjoyed knowing him. It seemed strange that someone as sweet as Anko had managed to live with him for centuries without wanting to spit him dead at every opportunity. Even though Norway could be kind and decent, his idea of a joke was sharp. If he thought that someone was an idiot, they were the butt of every mean thing he could think of, and that kind of attitude-Well, Faroes was glad that she was closer to Denmark now, and even gladder that her unexpected friend in Åland was not like Norway, for all they shared the same taciturnity. Sea folk did that.
Stepping past the matron, the Faroes made her way down the center aisle. Most of the men, and thankfully this was a small number, were sleeping, although one man was upright, reading a letter. Choosing him as her first person to speak to, the islands pulled up a chair, and cleared her throat.
"Hallo, I'm not interrupting, am I?"
Shocked brown eyes looked up guiltily. "Oh, no, Miss. I was just reading something my brother sent me."
The awkward question was how to begin, and that little fact seemed to be the perfect opportunity. Faroes grinned. "Stationed somewhere is he?"
The young man snorted. "Not likely. Unless you consider Highborough Day School the front lines, which it might well be I suppose."
"I wouldn't know, I'm afraid. It all seems kind of foreign to me," extending a hand, the personification smiled encouragingly. "I'm Astrid. I'm just here to visit and collect stories, I'm afraid."
The hand that met hers trembled slightly in her grip. Astrid's eyebrows attempted not to crease. He was still dealing with shock. From the looks of things his face held powder burns, but everything seemed to be all right, minus the cast on his leg. What had shocked this young man so badly? Arthur had told her about lack of moral fiber, but then he had admitted to having fits.
"Christopher, Ma'am. Christopher Derrick," his name interrupted the whirling thoughts.
Oh yes, you're supposed to be ministering. What do you say? 'We've all been at war before, don't worry.' The Faroes looked earnestly into the young man's eyes as she let his hand drop. "Your brother is probably still getting into trouble, even with you here," the words poured out, easy, and ignoring the petty things like injury.
The human couldn't help laughing. He looked away, trying to find a window, probably. Find some connection to the outside world, where little brothers were playing. Minsitering wasn't that hard, if you could stand listening. "True enough. He's probably still climbing the old tree in Mr Higgins'-but that's splinters, actually, I heard," the laugh twisted from his mouth again. "Bloody Gerry, huh? They realized what a vital institution the old apple tree was, and chose to bomb it, instead of something useless, like a school or bank."
God was that true, Astrid nodded. Just like Gerry, hitting you where it really hurt. "Well they're sneaky like that, using apple trees to cover the fact that they can't aim worth an apple."
"Never a truer word, Miss. Mmm. I haven't had a good apple in forever. Or onions. There was sausage on Tuesday, though."
"I could go for a really good thick stew," the Faroes admitted.
Food and fond memories of carrots filled their little corner, before the shaking man drooped enough to make the girl excuse herself, and move to the next bed. Here the talk went as far from food as possible, dwelling on the man's hobby of photography, and Astrid's own intimate knowledge of her islands. By the time she saw another waking convalescent, her naval man had already made plans for his next day off.
Her rounds of the ward erratically jumped from conscious man to conscious man, weaving around nurses, and the occasional doctors. It could not have been all that long to see everyone, and yet the clock ticking serenely on the wall told the young woman that she had been at work for almost two hours. She leaned against a partition, trying to rest her eyes. Or just rest. There was only one wounded man show she hadn't seen yet today, and, well, she did not ave to really see him did she?
The door creaked open again, bringing a sharp salty smell of the sea. Impressive, considering that the door did not lead to the outside. Faroes smiled to herself, before frowning, and raising her eyes. As expected, Åland was walking through beds, his weather beaten coat armoring him against the human attention of curious nurses.
Well that wouldn't do. Just because he was putting on his land-ness to make humans uncomfortable did not mean that the neutral nation could come into one of England's military installations unchallenged. Faroes let her eyebrows rise in intimidating arrogance. "How did you get in?"
That question clearly startled the young region. "I just walked-,"
"You're a security risk," Faroes tried to inform him with the cool compunction of any of the efficient women holding a position in England's army.
Shifting awkwardly, the strong feeling of, well, Åland dropped from his shoulders. It would have been comic, if the red of his face suggested that he was embarrassed rather than angry. "Well excuse me, Princess, for worrying. I felt the explosion-if I had known that you were in tip top shape I would have simply sailed without saying goodbye."
Steeling herself along her spine, Faroes stuck her nose slightly into the air. "You're not one of our soldiers. Allow me to escort you from the premises. Anyway, there was no reason for you to be worried."
A bitterness slid into the scowl, and Åland turned his head to the right, as though he couldn't stand to look at Astrid. "Yeah. I can't think why I was stupid like that."
"Eyes forward," the blond told him, not wanting to give a potential enemy time to study anything that might be of use.
Unfortunately, he seemed to see through that order, for he fixed her with a freezing stare. "I'm not your enemy."
"You're not my ally," the islands informed him coolly.
She watched his mouth work and twitch with silent refutations. There were lines not even friends could cross. Not if they were neutral. "What if I promise I'll forget everything, and just turn around and leave, then?"
The wall pressed insistently into Astrid's back. Was she trying to back up? What could he do, really? He had seen a hospital. So what? "Tell me how you got past the gate, first. We do have a guard there for a reason."
At this, Åland's unexpectedly ruddy complexion returned-probably an effect of the electric light. "I, um, pretended I was the Shetland Islands."
So he had known that he shouldn't come into this installation! But his ruse managed to draw a chuckle from Astrid, all the same. "You really aren't going to help poor Shetland's reputation, you know."
"Oh? Is he a friend of yours, and now forbidden from seeing you by England, or something?" there was something just too innocent about that reply.
Faroes wanted to scowl, but it was hard to do so in the presence of a master. "Well, for starters she really hates being mistaken for a man. For another thing, this isn't England's order. There is a bit of a war on, if you hadn't noticed, Mr. Nuetrality. You're not one of us."
Again, Åland made his twitchy mouth face, before crossing his arms in challenge. Faroes almost felt the rigidity of his spine as he drew himself up to his full height. "Show me out, then."
Reacting to the arrogance, the older islands half turned, waving her hand in dismissal. Father would have been proud. "I don't have time for this. You said you would leave all on your own."
"That was before you insulted me," his voice held the faintest cadence of a sneer.
The truth was not an insult, Faroes wanted to retort, but he was right. Sort of. If he had to be. There were ways you could take the most cutting edge of truth and use it to your personal ends. Åland might have the right to call her out on that. Maybe. But she had ministering to get to. Astrid jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Out those swinging doors, and then take a right, and exit the building through the little door at the end of the hall. Consider yourself showed out. I can get military police to do it for you."
She started walking toward the little curtained partition where a nurse hovered attentively. Last stop of the day. And Åland's boots scuffed the floor behind her. On a mission of ignoring annoying boys who did not understand how close they were to breaking their neutrality, Faroes continued, stiff backed over hard concrete. Scuff scuff.
She whirled. "What do you think you're doing?"
A tight, taunting smile graced Åland's face. "Following my guide, I guess."
"You're being childish."
"I'm proving a point," he retorted, the smile leaving. "We're the personified land. We can be trusted. I can be trusted. Haven't I made that clear? I don't care about your stupid war, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to sell the knowledge that one man has a broken arm to Germany."
Shifting on her feet, Faroes debated the merits of the argument. "If England sees you in here-,"
"I'll be under the watch of a competent young lady who would do absolutely nothing to endanger his people," he held her eyes, as though trying to bore through any defenses with his stubborn glare.
Faroes grit her teeth, feeling those defenses of the rules that governed human lives crumbling. "All right. But you're going to have to stay with me. And this is the unpleasant part of my duties."
He stepped beside her, looking visibly relieved. Had he thought that she really would order him summarily thrown from the hospital? He did not know her at all, really. "I don't see any fish to gut."
The idea of gutting anything right now made Faroes' stomach heave. "That was in bad taste," she informed him tartly. "I find trying to comfort people difficult."
Surprise genuinely crystallized on his words. "I don't believe it. You're," Åland actually took his hands out of his pockets to gesture futilely, "you're-quite capable."
"That doesn't make it any easier to sit and encompass what a world with permanent injury looks like," Faroes replied quietly. "I know I've been quite lucky. Anko has always been a quick healer, and none of us in the sea have been in bad conflicts for I can't think how many years-but that still doesn't make me want a huge catch of herring to gut and clean rather than this. Herring are relaxing."
He snorted, following her reluctant footsteps. "It's the wrong end of the trade for me. I always find myself wondering whether the fish I'm holding had any idea what was going to happen to it that morning. We, humans, land, we know that we're taking our lives into our hands at any moment, but what's it like for a fish? Can they think ahead?"
"You think strange things, you know that?" Astrid asked, before addressing the nurse: "Excuse me, ma'am. Visitors for, um-,"
The helpful woman in her winged cap smiled. "Captain Williams, Wren. I'll see if he's fit for seeing people yet, sir. He sad he didn't want to have to report to anyone until the skin on his face fully regrew."
With a swish and twitch of curtain, the human was gone. Astrid caught the curious tilt of Åland's head just over her shoulder. "Wren? I would have thought that you rated better than a regular seaman. You have the experience for a petty officer at least."
Faroes found her mouth quirking in what must have been a direct imitation of her friend's 'trying to find the right answer' face. "Well, you know how it is with an army," a wince stole over Åland's features, and the Faroes hastily corrected her assumption. "Er, sorry, I forgot the demilitarized thing. But, well, with an army, it's always good to have us stationed at as many different ranks as possible. Uncle Arthur is using me to bolster his female fighters."
"Hmph," the Fenno-Swede looked rather as though he was sucking on a lemon, Faroes decided. "I suppose that was what gave you the rather foolish notion that you could cross the North Sea on your own in the first place?"
The ceiling, Faroes discovered, rather to her amazement, was solid plaster without any exposed duct work. She examined the flat white surface while counting to ten, and then looked back at Åland. "Will you let that go?"
Surprisingly, the young man stuck his chin forward in childish belligerence. "Nuh-uh. I-,"
Luckily, Faroes could tear her attention away from what would surely be another dissection of everything that she had done wrong, as the nurse arrived at that moment. "Is Captain Williams capable of seeing visitors, ma'am?"
Trailing behind the woman's answer of "Yes, miss," Åland's rolling voice finished with "first saw you." Faroes pretended not to have heard. No use in getting into argument, and she had probably missed some words. Best just drop it.
She nipped around the curtain, wondering if for the sake of security she should hope that Åland followed, or if for the sake of peace she hoped that he would keep himself and his opinions on the other side of the cloth barrier.
Lying on a quick cot, swathed in yellow stained sheets, a broken man shifted pain tight eyes their way. Under rippling pink skin a slash that must have been a mouth cracked and gaped in greeting. "Sorry," he croaked, "I'd sit to attention, but I'm still a little too bubbly to move yet. Who are you? One of Scotland's islands?"
Swallowing against the image of thick red gold hair growing in curled clumps against the bright pink scalp, Faroes stepped forward. "I'm the Faroe Islands, sir. England sent me to check on you. Is it too much to talk?"
"Oh no!" the whisper floated among swimmy pieces of rebuilding lung, Faroes was certain. "I love to talk with people. You're one of Denmark's, aren't you? I'm very familiar with Greenland."
Really? Faroes had never heard of this Captain Williams. Not that Greenland was chatty about his neighbors, but surely something would have dropped about a nation who flew into danger so recklessly.
But even so, just by sharing a room with the man, she should have been able to get a sense of his land. If he was a nation, he was remarkably quiet. The true nations always exuded a push against the land around them. It might not be anything more than the faint hint of pine forests that Father always carried with him, or it could be as forceful as the rolling water in the Netherlands' words, but this land did not make any impression. Of course, Faroes knew that she barely made an impression until she spoke, but she was just a set of islands. This was supposedly a whole nation! "He hasn't mentioned you. But he doesn't talk much, you know."
The eyes, still cloudy and filmed as the muscle of the iris regrew, shifted to look at the ceiling. "No, he doesn't. And your parents have forgotten, anyway. So, you're the Faroes. I'm supposed to send some of my men to you soon. It's good to see that they'll be well taken care of."
Astrid wondered how he could be so certain of her good will. It was probably just something to say. A full nation talking to a measly county. Adult to child, even though she would bet that she was older than he was. Still, she should try to be civil. "I'll do my best, sir."
The other nation must have heard something in her tone, for he began to chuckle. The motion of his throat set something off, and suddenly, he was hacking, spitting, and making the bubbly noises of pus in the wrong place. Astrid crossed the remaining distance in a swift bound, propping the healing body up, and rolling it to the side.
Raw flesh cracked under her hands, and the lightness of human bones was so clear as the clammy puss-covered body rattled and heaved. She nearly swallowed her own tongue, however, as her sense of sheer space increased a thousand fold. The world expanded. Forests vaster than Father's loomed on every horizon. In a hospital room across the Atlantic and North Sea a small girl spun in a snow covered plain that reached to a horizon defined by mountains that had never known fjords. Cities whirred and hummed with more human life than had ever lived on her land at one time. Electricity and railroads formed fragile connections to humanity that had to share the hugeness with quick dancing deer, clumsy bears, beautiful eagles, strong salmon. Trees sheltered huge for footed beasts peaceful and majestic. Angry and charging. Gold sang melodious under soil and was answered by thousands of minerals ready to be ripped from the embrace of the ground, and changed by human industry. It enfolded the Faroes in the chaos of a rich largeness that could only be explored finger length by finger length, and never understood.
The land shuddered, and she was back in her hospital, supporting something so massive that she could barely understand how he fit inside his own skin in the same way that she did. How did the delicate traceries of blood vessels and poor covering of skin even begin to explain glaciers and school houses all over? With a final spattering hack Astrid felt the shudder of something leaving the nation's body only to splat lumpily on the floor.
With a shaky breath the man relaxed against her hand, pushing boney vertebrae into her gloves. His eyes slid towards her, suddenly clear and surprisingly purple. "Sorry. I chose a bad place to get shot down, eh? I need to remember that losing is a bad strategy."
The Faroes laughed as she carefully lowered his bare frame to the bed once more. "Well, lucky for you, you've got me as your new landlady. I'm made of winning. I say, you're remarkably fast at healing."
"Mmm? Really?" tiredly the nation gazed at the ceiling. "It's practice, I suppose. Airplane burns are pretty easy to get over."
"That's ridiculous," Åland snorted at Astrid's elbow, surprising the girl.
A full golden eyebrow on a patch of skin that had probably escaped burning rose. "I'm sorry? Do I know you? You're not the personification of Vágar, are you? Wren Faroes, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your island?"
Both smaller lands spluttered slightly. Well, Astrid tried to hide her giggles, and her companion shook from some repressed offense. Maybe, the Faroes realized, studying her friend covertly, the ruddy weather beaten cast of his skin was only a deep blush. Lucky Åland, that his body disguised discomfort so well. Astrid did not flush often, but as Father and Anko had both commented, she looked soooo amusing when the awkward crab apples appeared on her cheeks.
Still there would be time to admire Åland's natural defenses later. "Oh, he's not mine, sir. This is the autonomous region of the Aland Islands."
"I go by Landskapet Åland," the young man agreed, correcting the English flattening of his name.
The bed-ridden nation frowned slightly. "I remember when your case came before the League of Nations. You were supposed to be Finland's land. Japan insisted upon it quite firmly."
Putting on that secret arrogance that family always seemed to bring up, Åland stood a little straighter. "I am a neutral party. As I have explained multiple times. I am demilitarized. Is there a law against a neutral land from conducting his business with his neighbors when he breaks nothing but a German blockade to do so?"
Astrid saw the stumbling block in that sentence almost as soon as Captain Williams. She only groaned internally, while the healing nation gently responded with his own reasonable stubbornness. "Well, there is, actually, if you are in a British military installation. It's called the Official State Secrets Act. Surely you got the paperwork when you were admitted."
The young man stuck his hands deep into his pockets, wearing the 'I'm not going to agree with anything you say' scowl. "We're the personification of land whether there is a war on or not. Trust shouldn't be an issue between us."
"Have you told any of the Soviet Republics of your fascinating theories?" the pilot replied pleasantly. His voice was so soft and diffident that Astrid barely heard the knife contained behind the words. "I have reason to believe that they would agree with you."
In contemptuous return, Åland snorted. "Something that you know from being such good allies with the Bolshies, I assume. Sir."
Astrid glared in loyal defense of her superior. "Really? Well, Mr.-,"
Raising a blistered hand, the captain put an end to her disagreement. "No, it's fine. Mr. Åland, I think you'd get along fairly well with my brother. But what are you doing here? Surely there isn't that much trade."
The seafarer shifted awkwardly, his scowl heading towards the inscrutable. For a second, Astrid caught the glance of his startling eyes under the shadow of his hat, as though he was trying to get her to provide the answer for what he was doing in a British airbase. However, Åland turned his attention back to the nation quickly enough. "I was bored, and I came to visit a friend. Your whole crash landing managed to neatly ruin my day."
"A friend," the healing nation repeated, sitting up against his pillow. His mouth, still horrifyingly orangey pink, carved a smile through the rippling skin of his face. "Of course. Terribly inconsiderate of me. Next time I'll ask that Prussia check with everyone's day plans before we try to shoot each other out of the sky. But even though I ruined your day, can I at lest know if the anti-aircraft guns managed to pick him off?"
Åland frowned. "That was Prussia? I thought he was in Norway. He's not exactly strong enough to manifest himself in multiple areas, anymore."
What? Astrid was astounded. How did a neutral nation know that?
"Oh?" purple eyes glittered. "I had no idea he was based in Norway."
Not realizing, perhaps, what he was saying, Åland shrugged. "Spain wanted me to give him some package or other. Said he was in Norway. I couldn't take it, of course. Not with the blockade."
Vigo, the Faroes remembered darkly. She could feel the lie in his words. Åland hadn't wanted to see her. Well, not really. The Faroes was a convenient stop. That was all. A convenient stop between Vigo and one of Father's northern ports.
With a one sided quirk of the lips, Åland gazed at Captain Williams shrewdly. "I think it was a book-that's what you're fishing for, isn't it? Spain had it wrapped up, but it felt like a book. Old. Valuable, maybe? For all I know, Spain's current boss may have taken a liking to book burning. Spain's an old country. There might be something that he wants to save. If the Reich wins this war, sending your precious books to Prussia might not be the worst strategy."
"They burn books in Germany, too," the pilot replied flatly, the brightness of his eyes dulling. "Thanks, I suppose. One more little mystery to puzzle out. Speaking of mysteries, has anyone seen my bear? He's small and white, and answers to, uh, er, Kumahiro? Jiroukuma? Something like that anyway."
He had a bear? Astrid felt an absurd surge of pet envy. "I've got a sheep you could take," the islands suggested helpfully. "He's a lazybones and is terrified of water, but otherwise you can have him."
The man in bed chuckled. "No tha-,"
Something slammed whang bong! Whirling, both island regions stared past the stripey curtain. Another man, still wrapped warmly in flying leathers, strode down the aisle of beds. Just looking at him gave Faroes an intense soaring feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could feel boundless energy radiating from every blond hair, trying to reach out and tickle her.
The effect of the matron walking up to the man was startling. One minute, he crowed at the top of his lungs: "Like, Australia-," and then the next he seemed to withdraw, the pink excitement in his cheeks flooding his face with embarrassment. "Oh, 'scuse me, miss. Have you seen a young man around here? Tallish, blonde, strange eyes? Like waaaaay too cute and shy?"
From the bed echoed a strangled noise of protest. Astrid turned to grin at the hapless nation who had come in contact with the awkward pilot. "Don't worry, I'm sure he's talking about Åland, here."
The young man swung from the curtain as though on a swivel joint. The wonderful 'I am not an object of mockery' frown stamped itself all over his face. "I am not-,"
"Blonde? You're almost as tall as I am, certainly," Captain Williams suggested, timing his ribbing perfectly.
The Faroes favored the injured man with a knowing grin. "You have to admit, your eyes are highly unusual."
As Åland turned back to glare threateningly at the Wren, the pilot added another barb. "Well, I suppose he isn't completely shy. Although the way his shoulders hunch around his body is-,"
"Entirely cute," the Faroes decided.
The male island's eyebrows twitched as his bright eyes narrowed. "I am not cute."
"You are," Astrid refused the statement with a flip of her hand, before drawing back the curtain. "Sir, I believe the person who you are looking for is right here."
The neat blond head shifted to the side, looking beyond a now very flustered matron's shoulder. "Um, like, well, thank you, ma'am. Excuse me?" he looked imploringly at the nurse, and then easily ducked around her.
Åland nodded at the personification as the pilot ducked around the curtain. "Poland."
Bright green eyes blinked, and the animation returned to the closed face in an instant. "Oh! You're Fin's kid! No, like, wait. I'm sure my totes fantastic memory will get this. O-Oland? Åland. Like, aren't you impressed? What are you doing here? I thought that your family was all busy-,"
"I'm demilitarized, sir. Mostly I trade now," as usual, Astrid noticed the slight inge of shame creeping under his skin at the mention of his status.
Poland bit his lip, glancing shrewdly at the boy. "Well, that's probably for the best. Finland's been making stupid enough decisions without getting you dragged into them."
The words caused Åland to turn into a rigid pole in indignation. "We work with what we have. Sir. As you would know."
Poland shrugged diffidently. "Like, just because Russia is completely whako doesn't mean that all of his ideas are terrible. Just, like the vaaaaaast majority. Still an improvement over our resident red-eyed looney. Like, America, we totes need to talk about you taking on suicide missions without warning the rest of the squadron like that. I've already briefed Arthur. Took the bastard down over the sea. He'll have a very long walk home, and like, if there's any justice, he might just expire, ya know?"
"-nada," Captain Williams breathed out a sigh. "I thought that I could take him, all right, Poland? He was just having one of his ace days. Glad to hear you got him. How's the battle going? No one will tell me if we managed to get the Scharnhorst or not [5]."
Poland snorted, and looked firmly at the two younger lands. "Sorry, but like, it's time for nations to confer, right? You go off and be totes sweet somewhere else."
Faroes smiled, hearing a mumbled "-not sweet," from the direction of Åland's rain slicker. "Yes, sir. Should I take this as a dismissal?"
"As much as I'm enabled to give you leave, I do," Poland offered magnanimously. "But, like seriously, nothing against either of you, but this is pilot only info, 'kaysies."
"Thank you sir," Faroes nodded, stepping around the curtain.
She hesitated for a moment, uncertain if she should pull it across the space once more, but Åland popped around the cloth, and she felt justified shutting the other two in, and then strolling out of the ward. Shutting her eyes as she navigated, Faroes listened to the pull and crash of the sea. "If you don't leave soon, you'll miss the tide," she observed to Åland.
His trudging step beside her became the only reply for a while. Faroes wondered, as they crossed from concrete to iced over pavement, if he was ignoring her, or just trying to find the right answer. He would ignore a silly off hand comment, so that was probably-
"That's what the boiler is for," the islands replied.
They walked on in silence, Faroes glancing up at the already darkened sky. Soon the lights of the airbase would leave them entirely. "I never ate the orange," she reflected sadly.
"I'll leave yours for you."
Smile. How do you thank someone for small kindesses? Or big ones. Would a bigger smile work? "Hey," his bright eyes shifted towards her face, "thanks for that."
A beat. Smirk. "Yeah, well," he replied, "I left it in that creepy graveyard anyway."
The smile fell from Faroes' face. "You're terrible."
"I wasn't the one who ran off to be a good nurse or whatever and left my guest stranded among the dead of my people."
She shoved him, half hoping that Åland would lose his footing and come down hard in the snow. She would pick him up afterward, of course, and help get him dry and warm again, but the silly idiot would deserve a little tumble. "They were a nice bunch. Quiet. I would have thought you would have appreciated the chance to glower in peace."
It was hard to make out, but as they crossed through the gate out of the airbase, Faroes thought that Åland was looking thoughtful. How strange. She had expected a scowl of denial. Or perhaps a glower of justification. Instead, all she got was: "It's hard to glower without an object to glower at. Why not make a deal? You just stand right there, and stay quiet, and I'll stare at you with supreme irritation. How about that?"
"Hah ha," Faroes rolled her eyes. The hill began to climb, and she had to save her breath, but she promised herself not to have the last word. "I want to get home tonight, and you'd never be able to manage supreme irritation with me."
The silence that accompanied that remark seemed to be trying to pointedly call attention to their first official meeting. "Oh," the young man began in a low whisper. "I can certainly try."
Astrid tried to sniff like a lady, but it sounded to her ears as though she merely had a cold. "You'll never win."
"And I suppose you will," Åland shot back, tilting his head once again to look at the purpling sky.
Maybe not. Maybe no one would win. Maybe they would all grind each other down until there was nothing left. Maybe for every plane down in flames one would drown. Maybe-maybe there were too many maybes.
"Yes, I will," Faroes replied, leaning into Åland's shoulder, as they trudged over the land together. "I always win."
Footnotes
[5] - By late 1941 the Third Reich felt that with the Americans in the war it would be strategic to move the primary base of German naval power to the Norwegian 'front' as it were. If Germany could cripple the British on the smaller waters of the North Sea, then they could return to the Atlantic, and leisurely pick off the Americans. However, when this decision was made, many German ships were on the wrong side of England, and had no access to the North Sea. To the north of Scotland the water was filled with mines. The only way through south of England was through the English Channel, which was narrow enough for the British to control with anti-aircraft guns and long range artillery. On February 13th 1942 three heavy cruisers, the Scharnhorst, Gneisenau, and the Prinz Eugen, the bane of the British fleets, made a daylight run through the channel. The RAF patrolling the waters were unable to radio back to the South coast, thanks to a general radio silence in effect. The response of the airforce was lamentably late as a result. However, late in the day Canadian squadrons flew out, and began to back up the flights already fighting the ships. The distraction of the fighters meant that both the the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were hit by sea mines, which took them out of action until March 1943.
So I tried to lighten up on the footnotes. Anyone feel that they need more historical context? ~ MF
Read Part One
Author: MorriganFearn
Rating: PG
Characters: Faroes, Aland, England, Canada, Poland
Genre: Romance, History, Friendship
Pairings: Faroes/Aland (awkward friendship)
Warnings: Gorey healing described.
Summary: February 1942 - It looks as though Germany is going to win the war. On the small island of Faroes an airbase and RDF is being built, but none of this might be in time as Germany concentrates German naval power in the North Sea. Aland/Faroes fluff.
Lunch with a Wren
February 13, 1942 [1]
Site of the Vágar Airbase, the Faroe Islands
Astrid gathered the land around her in her stride, and broke away from her guest. This wasn't his fight. It wasn't his war. It didn't matter to him.
She cleared the top of the graveyard, and then tackled the rising bowl of land at a run, pulling herself through her snow and mountains with as much ease as her sensible shoes allowed. Cresting the hill behind Sørvagur, Faroes stopped for a moment, buffeted by a rushing breeze.
Only a few meters away the allied aircraft crackled and burned, melting snow into rivulets. Putrid smoke billowed into her clean air. Cleanish. Nothing could be clean with the familiar smell of roasting flesh, and oddly, deep pine trees. A truck from the airbase had parked far below the crash, and men in green fatigues hauled a blackened something away from the wreckage. It was twitching. Astrid thought that it might be trying to scream without a tongue.
Arthur's familiar cursing wound through the cold air. "We have to be able to do bloody well something about Alsbury! You can't tell me that titty-witted freak of bloody minded nature buggered the gunner and left the Co-,"
"He did, though, sir," a patient voice of soothing logic interrupted England's tirade. "Now we're working to get Captain Williams out of harms' way, and you should come back, too. That engine will-,"
However, the Faroes never got to hear what the engine would do because it did. A roar and flume of foul smelling fire struck toward the sky. The blast, far enough down the slope that she did not get singed, still knocked her hat off, blowing the crisped and roasting corpse stench all over her.
That, along with more blue language involving socks, snails, and very unlikely relationships with long necked women on the Isle of Lesbos, pulled Astrid out of her daze. She ran past the wreckage, heading directly for England. "Uncle! What happened?"
He turned, immediately looking even more furious. "See?" he yelled to the world at large. "That bloody fat head can't even keep his fights to respectable limits! Nothing, my dear. There was just a tiny operation off the coast of the Netherlands today, and the Germans took a bit of an exception to our pilots-,"
"The Netherlands?" Astrid stopped to marvel at how long and hard both German and Englishman must have flown to end up in her part of the world.
Arthur coughed. "Yes, well, I ordered both the Commonwealth and Poland out there to help when the back up wasn't arriving on time. We almost had the Prinz Eugen, you know! But I suspect that potentially crippling either one of my biggest army divisions, or the Polish in exile would have been a tempting target to any one of our kind. Or the humans, seeing as they've been ordered to go after us, now," the last was muttered so low that Faroes was certain no one was supposed to have heard that.
The very thought chilled her. Humans targeting the lands? Well, obviously, they were important targets, but on the open field personifications should, by and large, fight personifications. No human should have to feel as though the very land was fighting him, nor should the land ever feel that their bright human lives were fighting them. That humans could be ordered-, "Well, if that's happening, then, well, the Germans are monsters!"
Arthur gave her an affectionate smile. "Look, I've got to get back to the airbase with the Commonwealth. Join me. Our lads in the injuries unit could always use your brand of certainty."
Thinking back almost longingly to the oranges and lunch on the other side of the ridge, Faroes realized that she couldn't exactly refuse the offer. Not with Uncle Arthur's elbow extended to her in a proper display of decorum. 'Hi, actually I want to put you off so I can continue sitting with my good friend, who is neutral and of whom you would certainly never approve, if only because Scotland seemed to be fine with him in December' did not seem to be an acceptable note to strike.
Sighing heavily, Faroes remembered her duty, and accepted Arthur's arm. He lead her along the snow dusted road with all the gallantry that she could have asked for, under other circumstances. But there was a crack cooling corpse and two thin mouthed humans mounting up in the vehicle behind the two personified lands, and England was insisting on being cheerful.
"Still got your scarf, by the way," he said, as they trudged on.
Astrid, considering warping the land a little to hurry their walk, gave England a skeptical look. "Well, you haven't exactly had oodles of time to lose it."
He nodded in acknowledgment, but tapped the side of his nose with his free hand. "Ahhh, that's what you think. But scarves are sneaky. They're not socks, of course. Those little bu-blighters will run out on you, and then tease you from behind the washing pile as you search and search. But scarves can be quite tricky in their own right."
Snorting, the young lady shook her head. "Personally my only problem with socks is that one will get lost, while the other remains."
"And it's always the left one!" England agreed fiercely.
The seriousness of this delivery, forced something to bubble through Faroes' sternum. The laughter shook her shoulders before exploding into the misty air. Nothing could stop the tumbling scream, even stumbling into England, who grabbed her, and patted her back, as she trembled. "There-um, if you're going to vomit, though, warn me first," he murmured, before soothing noises became a soft chant.
The ground rocked for a second. It bucked with her spine as laughter and something else broke in more waves over Astrid. Ripping at her like the high tide. Maybe she would feel better if she threw up. Maybe then her stomach would stop churning with lava.
Through it all, England maintained a firm meaningless chant of things he thought were comforting noises. They weren't. 'There, there' meant nothing. Storms meant something. The wash of the sea meant something. It meant that all was right with the world. That there were no nasty submarines in her waters. That machines did not drop from the sky on her bright, lovely islands. That no one blew up in fountains of water and force.
Finally, the shaking hands managed to find her coat pocket, and a handkerchief, which went to her mouth first, as something to bite. With the loud bubbles of hysteria calmed, the Faroes was able to get the white cloth from her mouth, and promptly blew her nose.
England, still hugging her, managed a stern frown. "I hope that was clean before you tried to swallow it.
Weakly, Astrid chuckled, feeling slightly waterlogged. "Yes, Uncle. I'm sorry about that. I don't know what-,"
"No need to explain," England shook his head. "I used to have fits like that every week back in the Great War."
This did not put the set of islands off. "You had people dying all around you-I'm practically at peace! I don't-I don't understand. I've seen far worse. I've fought before. I just-the socks, and then the burning body, and the planes, and why did they have to explode on my island-why here? We're-we-It's my land! Why now? Why does everything have to be so nasty? Why do we have to be losing? I don't want to become German. I want to be part of your house. I want my own house. I want to go back home. I don't know! I want my family back! Scotland said Norway hadn't checked in at the normal time, and what if something awful has happened to him? What's happening to Denmark? And why am I going to pieces, when nothing has really happened!"
Silence resounded from her slopes. Far away now, the automobile puttered toward the site of the airbase, and its infirmary. Faroes had often stood alone on her mountains, doing nothing but feeling the land all around her, feeding her exuberance into the soil. Now, with winter round about, the living magic of her raw rocks and grass seemed solemn, as if in death.
England patted her shoulder. "I'll see if I can find out about Norway. You needn't worry."
That wasn't a comfort, or of any use. They weren't the right words. Maybe there were no right words.
The two began to walk again, and at least that was right. Walking. Forward. To. There was a goal. A purpose to all of this. A reason why a personification had been shot out of the cloudy sky over her land. Because there had to be a reason. Something better than the mines that took her fishermen on accident. Something better than a casualty of war. Something like a fight to determine whether humans died or lived. Something better than a mere desire to hurt just because two pilots had caught sight of each other.
"Do you think you'll be okay?" Arthur inquired solicitously.
Faroes waited for a moment, smelling the wet cold air. Her shoes crushed the snow under them. Under the snow and ice there was her land. Everything that mattered was trapped under the blanket of winter. Trapped in a way that had been ordained by the world long ago. If Father was here he would explain how winter was just part of a natural cycle. A cycle that surrounded the world. The universe. Where everything went round and round. Even war.
Winter was to be thwarted by spring. If that was so, then what thwarted war?
"Yeah, Uncle. England, sir, how can I help?"
They walked along, careful of the increasing grade of the slope, as they headed to the warding wall of the potential airbase. The stern blond man stared at the guard post, as though trying to inspect it from long distance for such a great length of time that Astrid wondered if she should repeat the question. But a cleared throat indicated deep cogitation. "Just, you know, ministering, and that. There aren't many people staying in our infirmary, luckily. But you know humans. They always feel better when we show that we know what they do for us."
Astrid nodded, barely even cringing. Ministering, as England put it, was the worst price any land had to pay. Watching the bright lights of human existence breathe their last. Just watch, maybe comfort, but mostly, just watch. Watch as disease brought them low. Watch as famine overtook them. War. Death. The pale riders who could barely touch the land, but brought humans to a halt.
England flashed his badge at the gate, clearly stating that he was bringing the Faroes Islands as a guest. With a respectful touch of the cap, they were waved through. Within the yard of the airbase enough people had moved and cleared snow that what little was left had been trodden into gray slush. Most men were over by the airfield, working on getting the land truly flat and building the requisite hangars. Over by one wall some industrious young man jogged towards a door on a side building with all the air of a constant errand boy.
Arthur followed the man's path with his eyes, and then nodded to himself. "I have to report to the commanders. You can find your way to the hospital?"
"The big sheet metal building over there?" Astrid pointed to where the red cross was painted against a white circle. "I think I'll be able to find it, sir."
"Don't be cheeky," England warned, glowering.
Astrid raised her eyebrows knowingly. "I don't know any other way, sir," she retorted.
The grunted response covered a smile, but England waved one and in dejected acceptance of the way things were. Faroes strode to her destination, trying to keep her back straight and military. This was a job. It was a duty. It certainly was the wrong way to think about the pain of humans, but what could she do when she was unable to do anything about the injuries?
Gritting her teeth, the personification of the Faroes Islands pushed open the door. A hall stretched before her, terminating in some swinging doors. Probably the surgery. A gurney could be rolled with ease down the hallway, and through those doors. The stink of burning flesh's ghostly memory suddenly filled her nostrils. No. She would not peek in to see if the nation had been dragged into the grim operating room. No.
The patient ward was hardly better. First the matron gave her strict orders not to stay too long in case she upset the men. Faroes spent the lecture looking at the woman's wing-like cap, wondering how something so ridiculous could convey such authority. Did her uniform look like that to other people? Probably not, or else Åland would have laughed at her. He wasn't that good an actor. Or maybe he was. Still, he wouldn't lie without reason, and he didn't seem to have the malicious streak in his sense of humor that Father possessed.
If Norway had not brought her up in the world with settlers, Faroes guessed that she would not have enjoyed knowing him. It seemed strange that someone as sweet as Anko had managed to live with him for centuries without wanting to spit him dead at every opportunity. Even though Norway could be kind and decent, his idea of a joke was sharp. If he thought that someone was an idiot, they were the butt of every mean thing he could think of, and that kind of attitude-Well, Faroes was glad that she was closer to Denmark now, and even gladder that her unexpected friend in Åland was not like Norway, for all they shared the same taciturnity. Sea folk did that.
Stepping past the matron, the Faroes made her way down the center aisle. Most of the men, and thankfully this was a small number, were sleeping, although one man was upright, reading a letter. Choosing him as her first person to speak to, the islands pulled up a chair, and cleared her throat.
"Hallo, I'm not interrupting, am I?"
Shocked brown eyes looked up guiltily. "Oh, no, Miss. I was just reading something my brother sent me."
The awkward question was how to begin, and that little fact seemed to be the perfect opportunity. Faroes grinned. "Stationed somewhere is he?"
The young man snorted. "Not likely. Unless you consider Highborough Day School the front lines, which it might well be I suppose."
"I wouldn't know, I'm afraid. It all seems kind of foreign to me," extending a hand, the personification smiled encouragingly. "I'm Astrid. I'm just here to visit and collect stories, I'm afraid."
The hand that met hers trembled slightly in her grip. Astrid's eyebrows attempted not to crease. He was still dealing with shock. From the looks of things his face held powder burns, but everything seemed to be all right, minus the cast on his leg. What had shocked this young man so badly? Arthur had told her about lack of moral fiber, but then he had admitted to having fits.
"Christopher, Ma'am. Christopher Derrick," his name interrupted the whirling thoughts.
Oh yes, you're supposed to be ministering. What do you say? 'We've all been at war before, don't worry.' The Faroes looked earnestly into the young man's eyes as she let his hand drop. "Your brother is probably still getting into trouble, even with you here," the words poured out, easy, and ignoring the petty things like injury.
The human couldn't help laughing. He looked away, trying to find a window, probably. Find some connection to the outside world, where little brothers were playing. Minsitering wasn't that hard, if you could stand listening. "True enough. He's probably still climbing the old tree in Mr Higgins'-but that's splinters, actually, I heard," the laugh twisted from his mouth again. "Bloody Gerry, huh? They realized what a vital institution the old apple tree was, and chose to bomb it, instead of something useless, like a school or bank."
God was that true, Astrid nodded. Just like Gerry, hitting you where it really hurt. "Well they're sneaky like that, using apple trees to cover the fact that they can't aim worth an apple."
"Never a truer word, Miss. Mmm. I haven't had a good apple in forever. Or onions. There was sausage on Tuesday, though."
"I could go for a really good thick stew," the Faroes admitted.
Food and fond memories of carrots filled their little corner, before the shaking man drooped enough to make the girl excuse herself, and move to the next bed. Here the talk went as far from food as possible, dwelling on the man's hobby of photography, and Astrid's own intimate knowledge of her islands. By the time she saw another waking convalescent, her naval man had already made plans for his next day off.
Her rounds of the ward erratically jumped from conscious man to conscious man, weaving around nurses, and the occasional doctors. It could not have been all that long to see everyone, and yet the clock ticking serenely on the wall told the young woman that she had been at work for almost two hours. She leaned against a partition, trying to rest her eyes. Or just rest. There was only one wounded man show she hadn't seen yet today, and, well, she did not ave to really see him did she?
The door creaked open again, bringing a sharp salty smell of the sea. Impressive, considering that the door did not lead to the outside. Faroes smiled to herself, before frowning, and raising her eyes. As expected, Åland was walking through beds, his weather beaten coat armoring him against the human attention of curious nurses.
Well that wouldn't do. Just because he was putting on his land-ness to make humans uncomfortable did not mean that the neutral nation could come into one of England's military installations unchallenged. Faroes let her eyebrows rise in intimidating arrogance. "How did you get in?"
That question clearly startled the young region. "I just walked-,"
"You're a security risk," Faroes tried to inform him with the cool compunction of any of the efficient women holding a position in England's army.
Shifting awkwardly, the strong feeling of, well, Åland dropped from his shoulders. It would have been comic, if the red of his face suggested that he was embarrassed rather than angry. "Well excuse me, Princess, for worrying. I felt the explosion-if I had known that you were in tip top shape I would have simply sailed without saying goodbye."
Steeling herself along her spine, Faroes stuck her nose slightly into the air. "You're not one of our soldiers. Allow me to escort you from the premises. Anyway, there was no reason for you to be worried."
A bitterness slid into the scowl, and Åland turned his head to the right, as though he couldn't stand to look at Astrid. "Yeah. I can't think why I was stupid like that."
"Eyes forward," the blond told him, not wanting to give a potential enemy time to study anything that might be of use.
Unfortunately, he seemed to see through that order, for he fixed her with a freezing stare. "I'm not your enemy."
"You're not my ally," the islands informed him coolly.
She watched his mouth work and twitch with silent refutations. There were lines not even friends could cross. Not if they were neutral. "What if I promise I'll forget everything, and just turn around and leave, then?"
The wall pressed insistently into Astrid's back. Was she trying to back up? What could he do, really? He had seen a hospital. So what? "Tell me how you got past the gate, first. We do have a guard there for a reason."
At this, Åland's unexpectedly ruddy complexion returned-probably an effect of the electric light. "I, um, pretended I was the Shetland Islands."
So he had known that he shouldn't come into this installation! But his ruse managed to draw a chuckle from Astrid, all the same. "You really aren't going to help poor Shetland's reputation, you know."
"Oh? Is he a friend of yours, and now forbidden from seeing you by England, or something?" there was something just too innocent about that reply.
Faroes wanted to scowl, but it was hard to do so in the presence of a master. "Well, for starters she really hates being mistaken for a man. For another thing, this isn't England's order. There is a bit of a war on, if you hadn't noticed, Mr. Nuetrality. You're not one of us."
Again, Åland made his twitchy mouth face, before crossing his arms in challenge. Faroes almost felt the rigidity of his spine as he drew himself up to his full height. "Show me out, then."
Reacting to the arrogance, the older islands half turned, waving her hand in dismissal. Father would have been proud. "I don't have time for this. You said you would leave all on your own."
"That was before you insulted me," his voice held the faintest cadence of a sneer.
The truth was not an insult, Faroes wanted to retort, but he was right. Sort of. If he had to be. There were ways you could take the most cutting edge of truth and use it to your personal ends. Åland might have the right to call her out on that. Maybe. But she had ministering to get to. Astrid jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Out those swinging doors, and then take a right, and exit the building through the little door at the end of the hall. Consider yourself showed out. I can get military police to do it for you."
She started walking toward the little curtained partition where a nurse hovered attentively. Last stop of the day. And Åland's boots scuffed the floor behind her. On a mission of ignoring annoying boys who did not understand how close they were to breaking their neutrality, Faroes continued, stiff backed over hard concrete. Scuff scuff.
She whirled. "What do you think you're doing?"
A tight, taunting smile graced Åland's face. "Following my guide, I guess."
"You're being childish."
"I'm proving a point," he retorted, the smile leaving. "We're the personified land. We can be trusted. I can be trusted. Haven't I made that clear? I don't care about your stupid war, but that doesn't mean that I'm going to sell the knowledge that one man has a broken arm to Germany."
Shifting on her feet, Faroes debated the merits of the argument. "If England sees you in here-,"
"I'll be under the watch of a competent young lady who would do absolutely nothing to endanger his people," he held her eyes, as though trying to bore through any defenses with his stubborn glare.
Faroes grit her teeth, feeling those defenses of the rules that governed human lives crumbling. "All right. But you're going to have to stay with me. And this is the unpleasant part of my duties."
He stepped beside her, looking visibly relieved. Had he thought that she really would order him summarily thrown from the hospital? He did not know her at all, really. "I don't see any fish to gut."
The idea of gutting anything right now made Faroes' stomach heave. "That was in bad taste," she informed him tartly. "I find trying to comfort people difficult."
Surprise genuinely crystallized on his words. "I don't believe it. You're," Åland actually took his hands out of his pockets to gesture futilely, "you're-quite capable."
"That doesn't make it any easier to sit and encompass what a world with permanent injury looks like," Faroes replied quietly. "I know I've been quite lucky. Anko has always been a quick healer, and none of us in the sea have been in bad conflicts for I can't think how many years-but that still doesn't make me want a huge catch of herring to gut and clean rather than this. Herring are relaxing."
He snorted, following her reluctant footsteps. "It's the wrong end of the trade for me. I always find myself wondering whether the fish I'm holding had any idea what was going to happen to it that morning. We, humans, land, we know that we're taking our lives into our hands at any moment, but what's it like for a fish? Can they think ahead?"
"You think strange things, you know that?" Astrid asked, before addressing the nurse: "Excuse me, ma'am. Visitors for, um-,"
The helpful woman in her winged cap smiled. "Captain Williams, Wren. I'll see if he's fit for seeing people yet, sir. He sad he didn't want to have to report to anyone until the skin on his face fully regrew."
With a swish and twitch of curtain, the human was gone. Astrid caught the curious tilt of Åland's head just over her shoulder. "Wren? I would have thought that you rated better than a regular seaman. You have the experience for a petty officer at least."
Faroes found her mouth quirking in what must have been a direct imitation of her friend's 'trying to find the right answer' face. "Well, you know how it is with an army," a wince stole over Åland's features, and the Faroes hastily corrected her assumption. "Er, sorry, I forgot the demilitarized thing. But, well, with an army, it's always good to have us stationed at as many different ranks as possible. Uncle Arthur is using me to bolster his female fighters."
"Hmph," the Fenno-Swede looked rather as though he was sucking on a lemon, Faroes decided. "I suppose that was what gave you the rather foolish notion that you could cross the North Sea on your own in the first place?"
The ceiling, Faroes discovered, rather to her amazement, was solid plaster without any exposed duct work. She examined the flat white surface while counting to ten, and then looked back at Åland. "Will you let that go?"
Surprisingly, the young man stuck his chin forward in childish belligerence. "Nuh-uh. I-,"
Luckily, Faroes could tear her attention away from what would surely be another dissection of everything that she had done wrong, as the nurse arrived at that moment. "Is Captain Williams capable of seeing visitors, ma'am?"
Trailing behind the woman's answer of "Yes, miss," Åland's rolling voice finished with "first saw you." Faroes pretended not to have heard. No use in getting into argument, and she had probably missed some words. Best just drop it.
She nipped around the curtain, wondering if for the sake of security she should hope that Åland followed, or if for the sake of peace she hoped that he would keep himself and his opinions on the other side of the cloth barrier.
Lying on a quick cot, swathed in yellow stained sheets, a broken man shifted pain tight eyes their way. Under rippling pink skin a slash that must have been a mouth cracked and gaped in greeting. "Sorry," he croaked, "I'd sit to attention, but I'm still a little too bubbly to move yet. Who are you? One of Scotland's islands?"
Swallowing against the image of thick red gold hair growing in curled clumps against the bright pink scalp, Faroes stepped forward. "I'm the Faroe Islands, sir. England sent me to check on you. Is it too much to talk?"
"Oh no!" the whisper floated among swimmy pieces of rebuilding lung, Faroes was certain. "I love to talk with people. You're one of Denmark's, aren't you? I'm very familiar with Greenland."
Really? Faroes had never heard of this Captain Williams. Not that Greenland was chatty about his neighbors, but surely something would have dropped about a nation who flew into danger so recklessly.
But even so, just by sharing a room with the man, she should have been able to get a sense of his land. If he was a nation, he was remarkably quiet. The true nations always exuded a push against the land around them. It might not be anything more than the faint hint of pine forests that Father always carried with him, or it could be as forceful as the rolling water in the Netherlands' words, but this land did not make any impression. Of course, Faroes knew that she barely made an impression until she spoke, but she was just a set of islands. This was supposedly a whole nation! "He hasn't mentioned you. But he doesn't talk much, you know."
The eyes, still cloudy and filmed as the muscle of the iris regrew, shifted to look at the ceiling. "No, he doesn't. And your parents have forgotten, anyway. So, you're the Faroes. I'm supposed to send some of my men to you soon. It's good to see that they'll be well taken care of."
Astrid wondered how he could be so certain of her good will. It was probably just something to say. A full nation talking to a measly county. Adult to child, even though she would bet that she was older than he was. Still, she should try to be civil. "I'll do my best, sir."
The other nation must have heard something in her tone, for he began to chuckle. The motion of his throat set something off, and suddenly, he was hacking, spitting, and making the bubbly noises of pus in the wrong place. Astrid crossed the remaining distance in a swift bound, propping the healing body up, and rolling it to the side.
Raw flesh cracked under her hands, and the lightness of human bones was so clear as the clammy puss-covered body rattled and heaved. She nearly swallowed her own tongue, however, as her sense of sheer space increased a thousand fold. The world expanded. Forests vaster than Father's loomed on every horizon. In a hospital room across the Atlantic and North Sea a small girl spun in a snow covered plain that reached to a horizon defined by mountains that had never known fjords. Cities whirred and hummed with more human life than had ever lived on her land at one time. Electricity and railroads formed fragile connections to humanity that had to share the hugeness with quick dancing deer, clumsy bears, beautiful eagles, strong salmon. Trees sheltered huge for footed beasts peaceful and majestic. Angry and charging. Gold sang melodious under soil and was answered by thousands of minerals ready to be ripped from the embrace of the ground, and changed by human industry. It enfolded the Faroes in the chaos of a rich largeness that could only be explored finger length by finger length, and never understood.
The land shuddered, and she was back in her hospital, supporting something so massive that she could barely understand how he fit inside his own skin in the same way that she did. How did the delicate traceries of blood vessels and poor covering of skin even begin to explain glaciers and school houses all over? With a final spattering hack Astrid felt the shudder of something leaving the nation's body only to splat lumpily on the floor.
With a shaky breath the man relaxed against her hand, pushing boney vertebrae into her gloves. His eyes slid towards her, suddenly clear and surprisingly purple. "Sorry. I chose a bad place to get shot down, eh? I need to remember that losing is a bad strategy."
The Faroes laughed as she carefully lowered his bare frame to the bed once more. "Well, lucky for you, you've got me as your new landlady. I'm made of winning. I say, you're remarkably fast at healing."
"Mmm? Really?" tiredly the nation gazed at the ceiling. "It's practice, I suppose. Airplane burns are pretty easy to get over."
"That's ridiculous," Åland snorted at Astrid's elbow, surprising the girl.
A full golden eyebrow on a patch of skin that had probably escaped burning rose. "I'm sorry? Do I know you? You're not the personification of Vágar, are you? Wren Faroes, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your island?"
Both smaller lands spluttered slightly. Well, Astrid tried to hide her giggles, and her companion shook from some repressed offense. Maybe, the Faroes realized, studying her friend covertly, the ruddy weather beaten cast of his skin was only a deep blush. Lucky Åland, that his body disguised discomfort so well. Astrid did not flush often, but as Father and Anko had both commented, she looked soooo amusing when the awkward crab apples appeared on her cheeks.
Still there would be time to admire Åland's natural defenses later. "Oh, he's not mine, sir. This is the autonomous region of the Aland Islands."
"I go by Landskapet Åland," the young man agreed, correcting the English flattening of his name.
The bed-ridden nation frowned slightly. "I remember when your case came before the League of Nations. You were supposed to be Finland's land. Japan insisted upon it quite firmly."
Putting on that secret arrogance that family always seemed to bring up, Åland stood a little straighter. "I am a neutral party. As I have explained multiple times. I am demilitarized. Is there a law against a neutral land from conducting his business with his neighbors when he breaks nothing but a German blockade to do so?"
Astrid saw the stumbling block in that sentence almost as soon as Captain Williams. She only groaned internally, while the healing nation gently responded with his own reasonable stubbornness. "Well, there is, actually, if you are in a British military installation. It's called the Official State Secrets Act. Surely you got the paperwork when you were admitted."
The young man stuck his hands deep into his pockets, wearing the 'I'm not going to agree with anything you say' scowl. "We're the personification of land whether there is a war on or not. Trust shouldn't be an issue between us."
"Have you told any of the Soviet Republics of your fascinating theories?" the pilot replied pleasantly. His voice was so soft and diffident that Astrid barely heard the knife contained behind the words. "I have reason to believe that they would agree with you."
In contemptuous return, Åland snorted. "Something that you know from being such good allies with the Bolshies, I assume. Sir."
Astrid glared in loyal defense of her superior. "Really? Well, Mr.-,"
Raising a blistered hand, the captain put an end to her disagreement. "No, it's fine. Mr. Åland, I think you'd get along fairly well with my brother. But what are you doing here? Surely there isn't that much trade."
The seafarer shifted awkwardly, his scowl heading towards the inscrutable. For a second, Astrid caught the glance of his startling eyes under the shadow of his hat, as though he was trying to get her to provide the answer for what he was doing in a British airbase. However, Åland turned his attention back to the nation quickly enough. "I was bored, and I came to visit a friend. Your whole crash landing managed to neatly ruin my day."
"A friend," the healing nation repeated, sitting up against his pillow. His mouth, still horrifyingly orangey pink, carved a smile through the rippling skin of his face. "Of course. Terribly inconsiderate of me. Next time I'll ask that Prussia check with everyone's day plans before we try to shoot each other out of the sky. But even though I ruined your day, can I at lest know if the anti-aircraft guns managed to pick him off?"
Åland frowned. "That was Prussia? I thought he was in Norway. He's not exactly strong enough to manifest himself in multiple areas, anymore."
What? Astrid was astounded. How did a neutral nation know that?
"Oh?" purple eyes glittered. "I had no idea he was based in Norway."
Not realizing, perhaps, what he was saying, Åland shrugged. "Spain wanted me to give him some package or other. Said he was in Norway. I couldn't take it, of course. Not with the blockade."
Vigo, the Faroes remembered darkly. She could feel the lie in his words. Åland hadn't wanted to see her. Well, not really. The Faroes was a convenient stop. That was all. A convenient stop between Vigo and one of Father's northern ports.
With a one sided quirk of the lips, Åland gazed at Captain Williams shrewdly. "I think it was a book-that's what you're fishing for, isn't it? Spain had it wrapped up, but it felt like a book. Old. Valuable, maybe? For all I know, Spain's current boss may have taken a liking to book burning. Spain's an old country. There might be something that he wants to save. If the Reich wins this war, sending your precious books to Prussia might not be the worst strategy."
"They burn books in Germany, too," the pilot replied flatly, the brightness of his eyes dulling. "Thanks, I suppose. One more little mystery to puzzle out. Speaking of mysteries, has anyone seen my bear? He's small and white, and answers to, uh, er, Kumahiro? Jiroukuma? Something like that anyway."
He had a bear? Astrid felt an absurd surge of pet envy. "I've got a sheep you could take," the islands suggested helpfully. "He's a lazybones and is terrified of water, but otherwise you can have him."
The man in bed chuckled. "No tha-,"
Something slammed whang bong! Whirling, both island regions stared past the stripey curtain. Another man, still wrapped warmly in flying leathers, strode down the aisle of beds. Just looking at him gave Faroes an intense soaring feeling in the pit of her stomach. She could feel boundless energy radiating from every blond hair, trying to reach out and tickle her.
The effect of the matron walking up to the man was startling. One minute, he crowed at the top of his lungs: "Like, Australia-," and then the next he seemed to withdraw, the pink excitement in his cheeks flooding his face with embarrassment. "Oh, 'scuse me, miss. Have you seen a young man around here? Tallish, blonde, strange eyes? Like waaaaay too cute and shy?"
From the bed echoed a strangled noise of protest. Astrid turned to grin at the hapless nation who had come in contact with the awkward pilot. "Don't worry, I'm sure he's talking about Åland, here."
The young man swung from the curtain as though on a swivel joint. The wonderful 'I am not an object of mockery' frown stamped itself all over his face. "I am not-,"
"Blonde? You're almost as tall as I am, certainly," Captain Williams suggested, timing his ribbing perfectly.
The Faroes favored the injured man with a knowing grin. "You have to admit, your eyes are highly unusual."
As Åland turned back to glare threateningly at the Wren, the pilot added another barb. "Well, I suppose he isn't completely shy. Although the way his shoulders hunch around his body is-,"
"Entirely cute," the Faroes decided.
The male island's eyebrows twitched as his bright eyes narrowed. "I am not cute."
"You are," Astrid refused the statement with a flip of her hand, before drawing back the curtain. "Sir, I believe the person who you are looking for is right here."
The neat blond head shifted to the side, looking beyond a now very flustered matron's shoulder. "Um, like, well, thank you, ma'am. Excuse me?" he looked imploringly at the nurse, and then easily ducked around her.
Åland nodded at the personification as the pilot ducked around the curtain. "Poland."
Bright green eyes blinked, and the animation returned to the closed face in an instant. "Oh! You're Fin's kid! No, like, wait. I'm sure my totes fantastic memory will get this. O-Oland? Åland. Like, aren't you impressed? What are you doing here? I thought that your family was all busy-,"
"I'm demilitarized, sir. Mostly I trade now," as usual, Astrid noticed the slight inge of shame creeping under his skin at the mention of his status.
Poland bit his lip, glancing shrewdly at the boy. "Well, that's probably for the best. Finland's been making stupid enough decisions without getting you dragged into them."
The words caused Åland to turn into a rigid pole in indignation. "We work with what we have. Sir. As you would know."
Poland shrugged diffidently. "Like, just because Russia is completely whako doesn't mean that all of his ideas are terrible. Just, like the vaaaaaast majority. Still an improvement over our resident red-eyed looney. Like, America, we totes need to talk about you taking on suicide missions without warning the rest of the squadron like that. I've already briefed Arthur. Took the bastard down over the sea. He'll have a very long walk home, and like, if there's any justice, he might just expire, ya know?"
"-nada," Captain Williams breathed out a sigh. "I thought that I could take him, all right, Poland? He was just having one of his ace days. Glad to hear you got him. How's the battle going? No one will tell me if we managed to get the Scharnhorst or not [5]."
Poland snorted, and looked firmly at the two younger lands. "Sorry, but like, it's time for nations to confer, right? You go off and be totes sweet somewhere else."
Faroes smiled, hearing a mumbled "-not sweet," from the direction of Åland's rain slicker. "Yes, sir. Should I take this as a dismissal?"
"As much as I'm enabled to give you leave, I do," Poland offered magnanimously. "But, like seriously, nothing against either of you, but this is pilot only info, 'kaysies."
"Thank you sir," Faroes nodded, stepping around the curtain.
She hesitated for a moment, uncertain if she should pull it across the space once more, but Åland popped around the cloth, and she felt justified shutting the other two in, and then strolling out of the ward. Shutting her eyes as she navigated, Faroes listened to the pull and crash of the sea. "If you don't leave soon, you'll miss the tide," she observed to Åland.
His trudging step beside her became the only reply for a while. Faroes wondered, as they crossed from concrete to iced over pavement, if he was ignoring her, or just trying to find the right answer. He would ignore a silly off hand comment, so that was probably-
"That's what the boiler is for," the islands replied.
They walked on in silence, Faroes glancing up at the already darkened sky. Soon the lights of the airbase would leave them entirely. "I never ate the orange," she reflected sadly.
"I'll leave yours for you."
Smile. How do you thank someone for small kindesses? Or big ones. Would a bigger smile work? "Hey," his bright eyes shifted towards her face, "thanks for that."
A beat. Smirk. "Yeah, well," he replied, "I left it in that creepy graveyard anyway."
The smile fell from Faroes' face. "You're terrible."
"I wasn't the one who ran off to be a good nurse or whatever and left my guest stranded among the dead of my people."
She shoved him, half hoping that Åland would lose his footing and come down hard in the snow. She would pick him up afterward, of course, and help get him dry and warm again, but the silly idiot would deserve a little tumble. "They were a nice bunch. Quiet. I would have thought you would have appreciated the chance to glower in peace."
It was hard to make out, but as they crossed through the gate out of the airbase, Faroes thought that Åland was looking thoughtful. How strange. She had expected a scowl of denial. Or perhaps a glower of justification. Instead, all she got was: "It's hard to glower without an object to glower at. Why not make a deal? You just stand right there, and stay quiet, and I'll stare at you with supreme irritation. How about that?"
"Hah ha," Faroes rolled her eyes. The hill began to climb, and she had to save her breath, but she promised herself not to have the last word. "I want to get home tonight, and you'd never be able to manage supreme irritation with me."
The silence that accompanied that remark seemed to be trying to pointedly call attention to their first official meeting. "Oh," the young man began in a low whisper. "I can certainly try."
Astrid tried to sniff like a lady, but it sounded to her ears as though she merely had a cold. "You'll never win."
"And I suppose you will," Åland shot back, tilting his head once again to look at the purpling sky.
Maybe not. Maybe no one would win. Maybe they would all grind each other down until there was nothing left. Maybe for every plane down in flames one would drown. Maybe-maybe there were too many maybes.
"Yes, I will," Faroes replied, leaning into Åland's shoulder, as they trudged over the land together. "I always win."
Footnotes
[5] - By late 1941 the Third Reich felt that with the Americans in the war it would be strategic to move the primary base of German naval power to the Norwegian 'front' as it were. If Germany could cripple the British on the smaller waters of the North Sea, then they could return to the Atlantic, and leisurely pick off the Americans. However, when this decision was made, many German ships were on the wrong side of England, and had no access to the North Sea. To the north of Scotland the water was filled with mines. The only way through south of England was through the English Channel, which was narrow enough for the British to control with anti-aircraft guns and long range artillery. On February 13th 1942 three heavy cruisers, the Scharnhorst, Gneisenau, and the Prinz Eugen, the bane of the British fleets, made a daylight run through the channel. The RAF patrolling the waters were unable to radio back to the South coast, thanks to a general radio silence in effect. The response of the airforce was lamentably late as a result. However, late in the day Canadian squadrons flew out, and began to back up the flights already fighting the ships. The distraction of the fighters meant that both the the Scharnhorst and Gneisenau were hit by sea mines, which took them out of action until March 1943.
So I tried to lighten up on the footnotes. Anyone feel that they need more historical context? ~ MF
Read Part One