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"With Your Majesty's permission, I request the Lady of the Kingdom of Denmark's hand in marriage."
Norway's voice didn't waver, nor did his gaze, even as his King's eyebrows slowly climbed upwards. There was a long moment of silence before a question came in response. "Are you not already joined in union?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Norway returned, carefully maintaining the neutrality of his expression. "But it is currently merely political. I wish to make a personal commitment to her as well."
The King's eyes narrowed, as though searching for the catch. Sweden's departure had made them all more suspicious, it seemed. "And what has motivated this decision?"
"Unfortunate recent events," he began carefully, aware of the delicacy of the subject, "have unsettled many of us. As we recover from our long ordeal, would not a wedding raise the spirits of the court?"
"Very selfless of you," the King said, obviously not convinced.
"Of course I would not dream of taking such an important thing as marriage lightly," Norway continued. "I also feel it would reflect appropriately the more intimate relationship between the Lady Denmark and myself, in accordance with the declaration from the Privy Council."
That seemed to clear some of the shadows on the King's face. A concession from a Norwegian regarding the annexation, even if it carried no official weight as Norway could not speak for his government, was worth considering his request, it seemed. He kept his face blank, not betraying that he had no intention of lobbying for his politicians to recognize the declaration.
"We see no reason to deny your request," the King said after a moment, "but we would consult the Lady before giving our consent. You will summon her before us."
"Very good, Your Majesty. As you command." Bowing again, he respectfully turned and headed for Denmark's chambers. He didn't allow himself to start evaluating the outcome of the audience until he had put some distance between himself and whomever might be around to see and report to the King.
He hadn't truly expected that the King would hand him a fait acompli, although he had been hoping for it. Denmark was contrary on principle even at the best of times, and with how erratic her behavior had been recently, there was no way to know how she would react. Still, he couldn't fault his King for being cautious: the politicians tended to view the actions of Nations not as individual decisions by individual people, but as indicative of some greater political reality. It did not behoove any of them to explain that they were influenced by their people, but not the other way around; dispelling the mystery of the Nations could only erode their positions of power and confidence. Although the truth was that Norway wasn't trying to deceive him, it was right for him to seek Denmark's advice before agreeing to anything.
The question was, how much weight would he give to her wishes? She was almost certain to be opposed to marrying anyone, but would the fact that Norway was her suitor make her more or less likely to accept the proposal? Would the King ignore her objections if she could not produce a legitimate reason not to marry him, or would he favor her when weighing the decision?
The only comfort was that Denmark was almost certain to view anything to do with Norway as personal, which meant she wouldn't bring her considerable tactical chops to bear, but rather speak her mind honestly and sincerely. Tricking her was the only way he could hope to best her politically. He felt no compunction as he carefully planned his offensive. He was just playing the game, after all.
***
Raising his voice wasn't something Norway usually did, which is why he invited himself into Denmark's anteroom, entering as far as the doorway to her bedroom. "Dan," he called, knocking softly. "It's me."
The door opened almost faster than he could step back out of the way, and Denmark joined him in the parlor. Despite the fact that it was just past noon, she was still in her nightclothes, short hair wild around her face. Her blue eyes glittered with the mania that had possessed her recently in turns with darker, more violent moods. "Norge!"
Respectfully, Norway averted his gaze. "You could have told me to come back once you were dressed."
She laughed. "It's just you and me, Norge."
Frowning slightly, he shot back, "It's not proper, and you've put me in a difficult position. Have some modesty, my Lady."
Worried he'd let his temper get the best of him, he waited tensely as he heard the rustle of her skirt moving closer, but she didn't seem to be offended. She merely tried to move into his field of vision, following him from one side to the other as he studiously tried to look the other way. They continued the back and forth several times until Norway grew weary of playing. He grabbed her arms to hold her still and looked her in the face, not letting his eyes wander any lower than hers. He didn't appreciate the wry smile on her face. "Oh, come on," she wheedled. "We've known each other since we were knee-high to a grasshopper. You've seen me bloody and muddy and exhausted. My dressing gown shouldn't be anything compared to that."
"Bloody and muddy and fully clothed," he responded icily.
"Don't be such a fuddy-duddy--"
"We're not children anymore," he pressed.
Her expression changed, and he hoped he hadn't pushed her into a black mood. "You're right," she conceded after a moment. "I'll get dressed then." She pulled away, and he let her go, only then becoming aware of how tight his grip had been.
"Our King wishes to speak with you," he called after her, almost hesitantly. It seemed to break the tension of the room, however, and a slight smile had returned to her face as she looked back over her shoulder.
"Understood. I'll send someone to get you when I'm ready."
Nodding once, he watched her disappear into her bedroom, then turned around and headed for his own study. He steadfastly ignored the way his palms were slippery with sweat, wiping them with a handkerchief only after he was safely ensconced behind the closed door.
***
Apparently by "someone," Denmark had meant herself. She burst into Norway's study an hour later without so much as a courtesy knock and marched over to where he sat, throwing her hat down on his desk with prejudice. She clearly had left as soon as she possibly could, not bothering to properly affix her accessories or adorn any superfluous decoration.
He resisted the urge to stand and try to calm her down, because he had done nothing wrong, and he needed to remember to act like it. "I don't expect you to be refined, but are manners completely foreign to you?"
"You! I would ask you to guess the interesting rumor my maid had to tell me when she helped me with my dress, but I have no doubt you already know!"
There was nothing to gain by playing dumb; he was clearly found out. "I have no doubt she reported the situation accurately to you. Even the rumor mill could not have distorted the facts too egregiously in such a short time."
"So you don't deny you asked our King for my hand as though he was my father!?"
"Who else was I to ask?"
"You could have asked me!"
Norway tried to convey with his expression how hysterical he thought she was being. Either of them would have to ask their King for permission to marry. He was the closest thing they had to a guardian.
Denmark's anger faded for a moment, and behind it he could see glimpses of hurt. It seemed he'd made a miscalculation, but he couldn't puzzle out how. His confusion must have shown on his face, however, because Denmark spoke to answer his unvoiced question. "I thought I could trust you."
He stood then, unwilling to let his actions be seen as a betrayal. "You can."
"Oh, can I? You go behind my back to conspire with my King--"
His hand on her shoulder cut off the momentum of her tirade. "That's not it at all."
"Then explain it to me," she demanded.
Sucking in a deep breath, Norway decided at the last moment not to repeat the justification he'd given earlier. "I refuse to watch you like this anymore."
"Huh?"
"You storm around the castle in moods oscillating between equally terrible extremes, prone to fits of paranoia and recklessness. We're all still here and not going anywhere. If you need some proof of that fact because you're too thick to see it for yourself, then I'll oblige."
Denmark's mouth open and shut a few times before she finally said, "Oh." There was beat before relief spread across her features. "You could have just said. I don't-- sorry."
Norway realized in the pause that followed that he was rubbing small circles in her shoulder with his thumb and pulled his hand as casually as he could.
"Okay, then," Denmark said, as if some agreement had been reached, and she turned to lead the way out of the room. Norway collected her hat and followed.
***
Frustration rolled off Denmark in waves as she exited her private audience with the King. "Norge, he won't listen."
Careful to keep his satisfaction off his face, Norway merely cocked his head in invitation for her to continue.
"He thinks it's a good idea! I tried to explain to him what you were trying to do, but I guess you gave him other reasons? Which, I appreciate, but now he seems gung-ho about it."
"And?"
"So. You tell him."
"No."
"'No'?" she repeated back incredulously. When Norway didn't go on, she continued. "Norge, you were right, and I understand that. So could you please call this wedding nonsense off?"
Norway shook his head slowly.
It was clearly too much for Denmark's temper, and Norway watched as she pushed down the urge to hit him almost as though it was a physical thing within her. The way her hand tightened into fists didn't escape his attention, nor the tremor in her shoulders. Despite it all, though, she didn't betray his expectations.
Whirling on her heel, she retreated with deliberate steps, presumably to regroup. Norway let out a breath and silently encouraged himself onwards. He had chosen the timing carefully, with just enough lead time to make Midwinter a possible and obvious choice for the wedding. He just had to outlast her, withstand the inevitable onslaught until then. Denmark was reckless, but she wouldn't go against the King so long as Norway could keep him supportive until then.
He was nothing if not patient.
***
For her part, Denmark bore the attention the announcement of their engagement brought with grace, not letting on that she was anything but delighted, though anyone who heard the rumors knew better. She had to hear the veiled remarks about what a relief it was she was finally settling down and how good marriage would be for her, but she ignored their intimations and responded cordially. She even managed to be friendly, if distant, to Norway when they were in public. Her acting was flawless, and served to remind Norway not to become complacent or underestimate her.
When they were away from the prying eyes of the court, however, which was not often, the icy silence that met him left no doubt that she was, in fact, cut from the same cloth as Sweden and him, even if she rarely showed it. She talked to him only as much as was necessary to keep the Dual Kingdoms running, and it was always in short, clipped sentences. She even started staggering her visits with Iceland and the other children, making it clear when she was going and that he was not to be in the nursery when she did. He supposed she didn't want to choose between upsetting or deceiving them, but it was clear from their demeanor they had noticed the change. That did make him feel almost guilty about what he was doing, but for some reason he couldn't convince himself to back down.
Discreet inquiries suggested Denmark was quietly searching for another pair to matchmake, apparently hoping that the King would accept any couple so long as there would be a celebration to distract the court. Norway hadn't been sloppy, though. He'd already thoroughly looked into the households with eligible bachelors and bachelorettes and made sure no such replacements would be found. As the days drew shorter, so did Denmark's window of opportunity, and she became more and more agitated. Norway was one step ahead of each increasingly desperate strategy she tried, straining himself to capitalize on all his influence to keep her stonewalled.
Concurrently, he started working overtime to ensure all the wedding plans would be set in place as soon as possible. The things he could handle on his own, he did, and by the first chill of winter he had everything but one in place, the one he dreaded most of all: her dress. The dressmaker was pressing him that if they left it any longer, there wouldn't be enough time to have it fitted and completed, and he was close to despair by the time he thought of the solution to his problem: he would feign embarrassment and ask the Queen to intercede.
The Queen disapproved of Denmark's short hair and rough edges, and mercilessly campaigned against them with "offhand" remarks about Denmark's comportment made just publicly enough to humiliate without actually being substantial enough for Denmark to lodge complaint. When Norway expressed his fear that she might decide to come in military dress, Her Majesty offered her help immediately.
Norway didn't know what exactly it was, but something said at the fitting seemed to be the final straw.
***
Denmark was waiting for him in the parlor of her chambers when he arrived. A sense of foreboding that had been growing since receiving her summons blossomed fully as he took in the dark expression on his face. It seemed her temper had finally boiled over, and he remembered clearly what had happened the last time she had been seriously angered. She'd had no reservations in making her displeasure clear to Sweden, and Norway wasn't foolish enough to believe that his place as the weak little brother would protect him if he had pushed her too far.
"Norge."
"You wished to see me?"
"I'm going to give you one last chance. Call this off."
Norway stood his ground. "I won't."
"Wrong choice." He wondered whether or not she actually intended to hit him as she approached him. She never had before, but there was a first time for everything, and he didn't intend to find out.
Despite the fact that adulthood had evened the field between them, Norway was sure there was no way he could win against Denmark in a fair fight. He wasn't so stupid as to even entertain the thought of giving her the same handicap he would afford to anyone else of her sex, or even to refrain from exploiting every weakness that presented itself. Diving for her skirt, he managed to grab enough of it that she fell over. He moved as close as he dared, winding the fabric around his hands. It wouldn't behoove him to underestimate her anger, her opinion of his tactics clear from the way she glared up at him from flat on her back.
"I didn't know you had so little honor as to use a woman's dress against her."
"I'm not like you. I fight to win."
"No, you fight like a coward! You've been quietly thwarting me at every turn instead of facing me like a man! If your motives are as honorable as you say, then there should be no trouble having them scrutinized in the light of day."
Norway marveled for a moment at just how naïve she was about the reality of politics, but that instant of distraction seemed enough for Denmark to make her move. She bent at the waist and grabbed his ankle before wrenching it forward, knocking him completely off balance. He had been truthful about his own ruthlessness, however, and let himself land hard on his bottom. Ignoring the pain that ran up his spine and rattled his teeth, he shifted forward, pinning the balled fabric tightly under one knee and putting all his weight on her shoulders, somehow managing to push her back down. Her arms, bent at the elbow, grasped his tight enough to bruise, but she didn't struggle, waiting for her next opportunity with sharp vigilance.
"You want to know my reasons?" he hissed. "I already told you! I'm trying to keep you from destroying yourself or the rest of us when you get in one of your black moods!"
"Ha," she laughed hollowly, mockingly. "That I should be forced to lower myself to marry a liar like you!"
His grip on her shoulder tightened to match hers, perhaps even a bit more. "Shut up."
"Now you're not even bothering to deny it? I suppose that's progress, probably all the progress I can hope for from someone as--"
"I said, shut up!" The shout reverberated in the sudden silence, and Norway realized even without looking at Denmark's face that he'd given himself away.
"Norge," Denmark began after a moment, but with nothing to lose now, Norway cut her off.
"Sve—" he stumbled over the name that had been verboten for so long, "Sve's gone. She didn't want us. She threw us away. Whatever you found in her bed, you and I both know it wasn't real."
Denmark's expression made it clear she hadn't intended for Norway to know about that. She waited wordlessly as he paused to gather his courage before forging on.
"I'm still here. I'm not leaving you. Am I not good enough?"
Puzzlement danced over her features as she fit together the puzzle pieces in her head. "You mean, you want--?"
Norway took the risk of moving one of his hands up to caress her cheek, but there was iron behind his gaze. "I want you. I want you to be my wife."
The grip on his elbows relaxed and her hands fell away. His heart nearly broke at how lost she looked. He had told himself he wanted to win, but now that he had, it felt hollow. Unable to meet her eyes, and he quickly got to his feet, offering her a hand up. She took it, still dazed, and suddenly staying in the room even a moment more was unbearable. He mumbled something indistinct, but as he went to leave, she refused to let him go.
"Norge."
He didn't turn, leaving his arm outstretched behind him.
"I-I don't know. But I'll think about it."
There was something firm in her voice that made his stomach sink even further, but he nodded anyway. She released him, and he fled the room.
***
With only one week left until Yuletide, Norway resolved that he would have to go to the King and beg him to cancel the wedding. Denmark had been right about him being weak, it seemed, but he couldn't let her marry him now.
The worst part was that he knew she would. Now that she knew it was more than politics for him, she would protect his feelings just as surely as she'd always protected his person and his countrymen. It had seemed like such a good idea at the beginning, to use the marriage as an opportunity to convince her to love him. He didn't know why tricking her into it would have been acceptable to his conscience, but now that she knew the truth, he couldn't trust anything she said about her feelings for him ever again.
As if somehow informed by a vengeful spirit, however, Denmark suddenly appeared after a long absence and waylaid him before he could reach the throne room.
"Just, listen," she said, forestalling any attempt at protest. Something about the conversation felt illicit, and she spoke in hushed tones in the room she'd pulled him into. "I-- I'm going to be as honest with you as you were with me, even if it may not be what you want to hear." Norway didn't respond, so after a hesitant look, she went on. "You're my little brother. I can't change how I see you overnight, and I had never thought of you in any other light until the other day."
"I understand, Sister," he said, the words tripping over each other in their haste to leave his tongue. Her eyes widened a little, and he supposed she hadn't noticed it had been quite a while since he had addressed her that way. He turned to leave, but she was faster, putting herself between him and the door.
"That said," she began, and when it was clear he wasn't paying attention, she grabbed his hands and repeated herself, demanding his attention. "That said, I think I could return your feelings, in time. I want to try."
It took herculean effort to shake his head. "No." She brought a hand up to his cheek, and he tried to pull away. "No."
"You're so strange," she said fondly, "It's cute." He couldn't resist her as she brought their foreheads together, cursing his body for betraying him.
"I don't want you to do this out of pity, or obligation."
She hummed through her soft smile. "I don't understand your moral code at all, Norge. But you're important to me. You know that, don't you?"
"Dan," he said in a last ditch plea.
Letting out a put-upon sigh, she huffed, "I promise not to tell you I love you until if and when I mean it." Going up on her toes, she kissed his forehead. "Okay?"
Bringing his free hand up to cover hers where it rested on his neck, he let their foreheads fall back together. In that moment, he was reminded that her kindness more than made up for all her other faults, and he let himself accept the absolution she was offering. He closed his eyes and listened to the quiet melody of her laughter.
***
Norway had certainly been right about the effect his and Denmark's nuptials would have on the court. The entire castle seemed abuzz, laughing and dancing in high spirits. Servants, too, had offered their congratulations, not only to Denmark, but to him as well. It almost made him forget the war and the worry its aftermath brought for his country. Denmark's real warmth, missing from his life those past months, had finally returned, and he hadn't even realized how cold he'd been without it. It was almost as intoxicating as the wine.
He had to step away from the party to put the children to bed, but after wishing them all sweet dreams, he headed back down to rejoin the revelers, feeling almost disconcertingly lightheaded. He didn't quite make it back to the hall, however.
They stopped under a lit sconce, and his hunch at who had pulled him away down a side hall was proved right. "Dan," he breathed. She was beautiful, the gold of the firelight matching the orange blossoms in her hair and the bold red of her dress. Catching himself a moment later, he cleared his throat and said, "Shouldn't we go back?"
"I think they understand," she said wickedly. "It is our wedding night."
His mouth went dry. "Danmark," he forced out between his teeth.
"Lighten up," she responded. "No one would say a word against us; if anything they might die of shock that two married people might sleep with each other and not their illicit lovers."
Norway didn't say anything even as she drifted closer to him. He felt the hem of her skirts brush his ankles.
"You know what I think? I think regarding this whole seeing you as a husband thing, I probably just need a little convincing."
With the waggle of her eyebrows, Norway let the last of his reservations slip away, and pulled her to him, kissing her gently. She laughed sharply, too loudly like always, and pulled his hat away, burying the other hand in his hair and tugging just a little. "Come on, Norge," she challenged. "You're supposed to be demonstrating your masculinity here."
His brows knit, and he kissed her again, harder this time. "Better," she said, looking like the cat that got the canary, "But I think you know you didn't marry a delicate maiden."
The lines of eyes always drooped, but the self-depreciation was written in them nonetheless. It made his heart clench that she still didn't understand. "Not delicate," he said, "but precious."
"It's not like you to be so sappy," she said quickly, but he didn't let his gaze waver, determined to convince her it wasn't sap but sincerity. A few moments later, he saw the hint of a hesitant, fragile smile. Before it could turn into the awkward laugh she always used to defeat serious situations, he swiftly scooped her up into a bridal carry, a mean feat considering the excess of layers between them. "Wha--?"
"Shut up, Dan," he said, setting off with purpose for their new chambers.
Winding her arms around his neck, she collapsed into giggles. "As you wish, husband of mine."
"Thank you," he said quietly. "My wife."