"Fuck it. Fuck it all!" Denmark let loose one sunny afternoon. "Fuck what?" asked his secretary, a quick-witted young man. "I don't care if they want to represent just their own fat arses!"

You see, Denmark had recently held a conference of every ruler in the new realm. The purpose was to discuss how to represent the different fiefdoms scattered throughout the land. Denmark proposed a European Parliament-style venture, with each fiefdom sending a proportional amount of representatives, it met with considerable applause. But when he had to explain that it would be common people in the Parliament, he nearly lost his head.

"How dare you give the peons sacred duties?" one prince screamed.

"We're the politicians here!" yelled a king.

"Are you a commoner yourself?" interrogated yet another.

"Leave my palace, and don't come back!" bellowed Denmark, red in the face. 87 rulers stormed out, just as furious.

"Matthias, take this memo to the Minister of War: Convene 2,500 troops at Imperial Square in New Copenhagen. King Denmark will take the head of the Army." Mathias duly noted and delivered. "It's time to show those bastards what rule of the people really means," said the small nation in the big throne, gritting his teeth. "Yes, sir," said Matthias, bemused. Unilateral military action would be a new one. Pretty soon, the trumpets sounded, and Denmark, donned in full regimentals, went outside to sic his own military on the renegade fiefs.

"We'll arrive at St. Olaf's City after sundown," Denmark told his troops. "When we approach the gates, I want you to fan out in a wide semicircle and hide behind the small knolls. Archers will be sufficiently back enough as to not draw attention from the gate watch. Do not fire until I tell you to, or you are fired upon."

As they approached the city, a glow started to flash into existence, and then engulfed the entire city. "Oh God, they're setting the city on fire!" Denmark screamed. "Quickly! Help!" Upon entering the city, he saw a figure with a torch. Quickly apprehending him, Denmark discovered that he was ordered to by the prince, which filled him with rage. He rode off with him to the royal manor about a half-mile from the city.

There, he found the prince and his "parliament" having a sumptuous feast. When the prince saw a fuming Denmark advancing on him with a sword, he tried to escape, but the Monarch of North Jotunheim was much too quick. "Slick," he hissed. "You set your city on fire, pinning it on a commoner. Well, you know what? He's right here with me, and he says that he's a political prisoner ordered to torch St. Olaf's City or else. Pro tip: that's not how you rule. Not. Anymore." And with that, he arrested the prince. "You can't do this! This is war!" the prince bellowed. Denmark turned around and said, "Then you shouldn't have awoken the Viking."

The city had sustained heavy damage. Hundreds were left homeless. As they filled the Great Hall, Denmark sat on his throne, head in hands. "Matthias, Matthias, Matthias. What am I going to do with all of these people?"

"Well, your Highness, you could absorb St. Olaf's City into your realm," the scribe said off-handedly. Denmark stopped and slowly looked at him. "What?" he asked, with just the slight hint of curiosity. "Dissolve the Princedom and proclaim your rule," Matthias said. "You don't have ultimate federal power over the realms, so create your own and simply absorb." Denmark, staring agape at his upstart secretary, said, "Send a letter to every ruler. Tell them to dissolve the governments and submit to me or risk invasion. Why didn't I think of this before?" Matthias shrugged and said, "Probably because it's heavily frowned upon on Manheim. I'll go send those messages, sir." With a bow, he was off.


Sweden frowned, fixated on his goal. Given the circumstances, it was extraordinary that he was able to make any progress at all. Suddenly, he let out a great cry of frustration. "NO!" he yelled. "NOT AGAIN!"

Gudrun laughed. "You shall never beat me," she cackled as she tipped over his king. "Checkmate." Sweden gave her a poisonous glare and slinked off. "Tell your daughter to cut it out," he muttered to Iceland. "She impeding on my monopoly on brains."

"That's the what, 5th straight time?" Iceland asked, beaming.

"Aw, shut up," his friend snarled. "Has your sister found anything yet?"

"I'm sure she'll tell us."

"Last time I heard that, you showed up with that-"

"-incredibly smart and beautiful young lady?" Iceland finished, raising an eyebrow. He wasn't smiling. "Lay off my kid, will you?"

"But-"

"You heard the man," Faroe Islands said.

Sweden humphed off to his room. "What has his boxers in a twist?" ?land asked. "Oh, Gudrun beat him in chess again," Faroes said. "She broke up his, how did he put it?"

"I think it was 'monopoly on brains'," Iceland said. "Cute."

"He'll get over it," ?land said. "In the meantime, we have a situation developing." That sentence distracted everyone, because they knew what it meant: Sister Iceland had found Denmark.

And found him, indeed. She had a video image of him going. He seemed to be riding a horse while giving a rousing speech to a large army. Archers advanced and fired a volley at Denmark's command; it wasn't immediately clear what Denmark was attacking. "What in the world has he gotten himself into?" his sister exclaimed. "I don't know, but he must be wanting to go to war. I haven't seen that look on his face since the old days," Sweden said nervously. Than the image focused, and everyone gasped. "Why is he waging war on other humans?" Norway asked. "Only one way to find out," Sweden said. At that moment, he decided to stretch his leg out, accidentally tripping Greenland and sending him flying through the image. "Well, shit," Sister Finland said as everyone, Sweden among them, gaped in horror.


Okay, where the hell am I?

Greenland lay prostrate in the midst of a great battlefield, still fresh. He could feel the imprints of horse hooves in the mud, and fresh bodies lay all around him. None of them, regrettably, looked like his master. Suddenly, a familiar voice came from the distance: "Get that man on a horse! I want him in my tent by sundown!" Heaven knew what that meant. He was swept up and lolled about on the back of a horse.

Sundown came a lot faster than Greenland would have desired. Prodded along at sword point, he entered the king's tent. There, sharpening a sword amongst regal banners and flags that Greenland would call "party decorations", was Denmark.

"Ah, Greenland. How nice of you to visit."

"Yes… sir."

"Impeccable manners, as always," Denmark said with a sarcastic touch. He looked around and outside, and then grabbed Greenland close. "You have to get me out of here!" he pleaded. "I don't like killing!"

"Then why are you doing it?" his colony asked. "Because Sister Iceland can transport us back… I think." Denmark shook his head. "Nei, Greenland. She can't. You're stuck here with me. And while you're stuck here with me, you might as well be useful." He handed him a stack of parchment. "I want you to do a stock inventory on all equipment."

"But there's over 500 people!"

"That's 'yes, sir' to you."

Greenland shot Denmark a ferocious stare and left. "Jackass," he muttered. "Now, how the heck am I supposed to do all of this?"

"I will."

Greenland looked around for the voice. Left, right, and up didn't produce any revelations. But when he looked down, the whole scene changed in an instant. For reasons he could still not fathom, there was a 12-year old Sami girl.

"You're-," he said, shellshocked.

"We have the same skin," she said. Leave it to children to be blunt.

"Well," Greenland stumbled, "yes, we do."

She leaned in and said in a serious tone, "The others are not kind to me. They call me names."

"I bet."

"They do! And even I know that they are not nice names."

"Trust me, I know. I've felt it for years."

"Let me help you with those inventories, then we can talk some more. You can sleep in my tent."

"Sounds delightful," said Greenland. In all frankness, he had never been a fan of children. He thought he might give her a go because he had never met a child of the polar regions before. All he had experience with were Denmark, Sweden, and Norway's crappy kids.

"Here's how you do it," she said. "Call for battalions. Hand each group a sheet. Expect it back. They do the work and you don't lift a finger."

"Slick," Greenland said. "You do this often?"

"I'm King Denmark's go-for," she said. That immediately did not settle with Greenland, who gave a petrifying stare. She looked back at him awkwardly, than realized. "Ah, I see your worry. Don't worry, I'm not his slave. I get half the pay as a regular warrior, but it's a living." They walked through the mud-slathered camp. As midnight approached, the rain started up again, turning the ground into soup. The Sami girl's tent was tiny compared to the others, but it seemed to house all of her belongings-cot, leather shoulder sack, and various personal items. Greenland felt kind of bad, because he was given a cot in Denmark's tent. "What's your name?" he asked. She looked surprised. "I didn't already tell you?" He shook his head. "Máijá," she said.

"That's a beautiful name."

"Thanks," she blushed.

"Well, Denmark's expecting me back by now."

"Right."

They stood there awkwardly for a few seconds, followed by Greenland opening his mouth as if he was going to say something. Nothing came out, and he turned around to leave.

"Where were you?" Denmark scoffed.

"Out doing your inventories," Greenland muttered, laying on his cot and burying himself in a bearskin. Denmark raised an eyebrow and said, "Well? Where are they?"

"Your battalion commanders will get them back to me in the morning," he said. "Now, leave me alone! I want sleep!"

With an early start in the morning a possibility and a bitchy Greenland, Denmark blew out the torch.


"It was an accident," said a terrified Sweden.

"Suuuuure," Faroe Islands said. "It's just coincidental you've never liked him."

"Not true!"

"Are you two going at each other's' throats again?" Sister Sweden sighed.

"No," they both said with shame.

"Better not be," she warned, "or I'll break out Mr. Tickles." Just then, a loud whump resounded from the doorstep. Opening said door allowed the limp bodies of Estonia and Finland to flop over the threshold. "Um, Iceland?" said Norway, who had opened the door. Finland was pallid and holding onto consciousness; Estonia was panting heavily, as if she had just had a heart attack. Her dress was splattered with mud, and her hair was caked with blood. She struggled to stand, and tottered dangerously. Iceland caught her, and she made eye contact with Sister Finland. "He's alive," she gasped, and then crumpled in Iceland's hold.

A couple of hours later, Iceland reemerged and delivered his verdict.

"They're both on IV and sedatives. It'll be a couple of days before I allow visitors. I'm checking their heart rates to make sure they don't show any abnormalities. They've been under stress levels so high I'm amazed they aren't dead."


Sister Denmark and Norway found themselves alone on his favorite bench again. "Doesn't it feel like we're spending too much time at Sweden's house?" she said, resting her head on his shoulder. "Yeah, but I don't think he minds." She rolled her eyes up to meet his. "He doesn't mind his private life being hijacked? He doesn't mind his garage being used as a hospital, his bathroom by half of Northern Europe, or his living room as Central Command for communications between planets?" (It's worth noting that as she said this, Sister Iceland was conducting a burnt offering in the driveway on the other side of the house.) "Okay, maybe he does a little," he said. She chuckled and started attaching herself to him. "Why don't we get back together anymore? It's almost like a phobia. Or does my brother still have that kind of influence on you?" He looked away, towards the water.

"If you don't answer, I'll assume the answer is yes."

He looked back on her with some anger. "Hey, that's not fair! You know we're friends!"

She muttered "With benefits."

"Denmark!"

"Yeah, yeah. Sorry." She rubbed his tummy. "You know, back in the day it didn't take long to have the Viking swing his battle axe."

"Stop trying to seduce me."

"I can't. I've just gotten started."

"Yeah?"

"Let's go somewhere flat and find out some more."

"Uh…"

"What do you have to lose? How do you know Ragnarok isn't starting?"

"What?! What would make you say something like that?"

She started kissing his neck. "I know things," she said slyly.

"Like what?"

"That you love it when I do this," and Norway moaned a little.

"Could we not do this here?"

"Don't you want to know my secrets?"

"Uh, not really."

"Too bad. I'm flirting with you, anyway."

"And there's nothing I can do to stop you?"

"Now that I'm this far? Nope."

Norway let loose a bellowing laugh, one that he had not felt in an age. And now that the dam was broken, they went to the ground.


"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty! The birds are chirping in the neighborhood and it's fine to glitter and be gay!"

If Denmark, for instance, wasn't the ruler of a vast swath of land, Greenland would've impaled him with his harpoon upon being awoken in that manner. Instead, he let out a groan of annoyance and buried himself deeper into his bearskin. He opened a cautious eye, and was greeted with a face two centimeters from his own.

"Good morning," said Máijá cheerfully.

Greenland screamed.

"Well, now that you're up, time to collect those inventories!" Denmark said.

Greenland glared at Denmark and left. The day was pretty much the same as before-hopelessly grey, pouring down rain, soupy marshland for soil. "Hasn't His Highness considered moving us up to higher ground?" he rhetorically asked a commander as he collected inventory sheets. "If you ask me," the warrior murmured, "he needs a stern talking to about military strategy. If I were him, I'd be worrying a lot more about the giant problem."

"Which is?"

"Oh, sorry. We have a slight issue with giants here."

"On a planet called Giant-Home? I hadn't noticed," Greenland sneered. "What are we talking about?"

"Our records show an Apocalypse every several centuries."

"A what?"

"An Apocalypse. The Giants come and do everything but salt the earth."

"Let me guess. That means that-"

"The whole Northern Realm is annihilated. Inevitably, people and records survive—every fief's archives are buried in underground libraries for this very reason—but it takes generations to revive the population."

Greenland stared into the ground, as if expecting ancient ruins to surface out of the muck. "Is that so?"

"Yeah." The commander handed Greenland the inventory sheet. He said thank you and took the sheets to Denmark.

"You know, I think you have your priorities in the wrong order," Greenland told him. Denmark looked up from the inventories. "Oh?"

"You should focus on the Giants," he blurted. Denmark raised his eyebrows curiously. "What do you mean?"

"Well," he said after finding his voice, "reportedly we're due for an Apocalypse-that means that the Giants come and ravage the entire North." Denmark's eyes flared. "She set me up," he murmured murderously. "Who?" asked Greenland, thoroughly confused. "There was a woman-ginger, hotter than, well-who persuaded me to take this job. She convinced me that the fiefs needed to unite against the giants."

"Whenever that happens, the giants kill everyone."

"So it's a setup."

"Yeah."

"We need Sister Iceland."

"No."

Denmark looked at his most recent colony with shock. "No?! Do you want to die here?"

"No, that's why we're going to take them on and win."

"Against the Giants."

"Yes."

"You're fucking insane."

"And?"

Denmark sighed. "Alright, let's do it. Go to the top of that hill and blow the horn." Greenland solemnly nodded, and ran up the hill. He lifted the large brass horn to his lips and blew. A clear, piercing, resonant tone sounded across the plains of North Jotunheim. He blew again, and a series of pitches, high and low, echoed out in the cold air. Like a magnet, large groups of warriors poured out of the scattered towns and cities.

By midday, every fief's commanding warrior had reported to Denmark; by nightfall, the camp had swollen to include every available warrior in North Jotunheim, about 500,000 men. The night was another severely rainy one, leaving at least an inch of muddy water in tents.

"Eurgh!" Greenland exclaimed the next morning, struggling to remove the extremely waterlogged bearskin blanket off of him. He was assisted by Máijá, whose tent had been flooded; aside from her few possessions that she had been able to save, it was unlivable. She told him this quietly, and he duly reported it to Denmark; as her employer, he felt that he was responsible for her welfare. Denmark showed remarkable concern and asked to see her alone.

"Greenland tells me that you've been swamped out," he said, pouring her hot tea. "Yes, Your Majesty," she said. "It's awful."

"I know it is," he said. "We'll be moving camp within the next day or so. Finding you a new place to sleep should be no issue." She bowed reverently. "Thank you, King Denmark." He waved his hand dismissively. "No need. But I will assign you to Greenland's detail. You report to him from now on." She nodded and waded out into the swamp. Greenland looked as she sloshed towards her ruined tent. Reentering the royal tent, he looked at Denmark with a threatening glare. "You better have given her something," he said. Denmark turned to him. "Of course I did," he said. "We're packing up camp and moving within 48 hours. I've attached her to your detail." Greenland smiled for the first time in a long, long time. "Thank you, sir." Denmark nodded curtly.

They decided to move into the nearby fief's capital, based on two factors (well, three): location, space, and food. Specifically, beer. However, the common folk made it explicitly clear that they were hungry. Very, very hungry.

"You were feasting on fineries whilst we starved!" yelled one woman.

"Where's the food we bake and grow? You stole it!"

"They're demons, sent by Hel herself to torment us!"

At that, Denmark halted the convoy and addressed the mob. "I have been to Helheim and back, kept by the Death Goddess for four months. I have seen things that mortals such as myself can only posture in myths. I am trapped on this realm against my will, as I am truly from Manheim. I am legendary on my world for generosity. Now, instead of antagonizing me and labeling me as a demon, why don't you tell me what in the name of Odin you're talking about?"

Cooler heads did indeed prevail that day, and a farmer came up to Denmark. He said, "We've had our crops taxed at over 2 times what the wealthiest non-noble can afford. If we can't pay the tax, they seize the crops." Denmark's blood boiled. "Does anyone know what happened? Where do, or did, the crops go after confiscation?" He was lead to a large building on the palatial grounds. Opening it, he and the locals gasped. There was not only fresh bread but barrels upon barrels of beer, and various root vegetables. "Greenland, oversee the redistribution," said Denmark. "I have a battle to prepare for."

The military camp was infinitely better than the swampy squalor of St. Olaf's City. It was on high ground, overlooking a vast plain that stretched out into infinity. Here, the battlefield was set. Here, the fate of humanity in other realms would be decided.