Both you and your father, Denmark, laughed loudly at the cartoon that was playing on the television. Your Uncle Norway sighed.
"Shouldn't (f/n) be in bed by now?"
Denmark blinked. "What time is it?"
"It's half-past nine."
Denmark turned around to look at you, his eyes wide. "You should have been in bed an hour ago! Aren't you tired?"
"Nooooooo…" Your words were slurred by the yawn that managed to get out, no matter how hard you were trying not to seem tired.
Norway sighed and made his way over to you, trying to lift you up. But before he could do that, Denmark had grabbed the back of the navy sailor suit Norway always wore and pulled him back down to his seat.
"She's my daughter. I'll put her to sleep."
Denmark lifted you up easily, cradling you in his arms. He walked out of the living room, moving towards the stairs that led to the second floor. He climbed up them easily and opened your bedroom door with his foot. He placed you on your bed and tucked you in.
"Wait! Could you sing me a lullaby?"
Denmark paused. A lullaby? She hardly ever asks me to sing! He grinned that big, goofy grin that could make even the most cold-hearted person in the world crack a smile. "Okay."
Denmark sat on the side of your bed, near your feet. He started to sing.
"Den lille Ole med paraplyen
ham kender alle små børn i byen;
hver lille pige, hver lille dreng
han genner skælmsk i sin lille seng.
Dog vil han først paraplyen brede
og uskylds hygge om lejet sprede;
så vil i drømme den lille fyr
fortælle dejlige eventyr.
Han kan fortælle om stjerner klare,
om himlens hellige engleskare
og om den yndige, milde fe,
som alle børn vil så gerne se.
Og har om dagen de artig været
og kærligt fader og moder æret,
da kan så glade til sengs de gå
og drømme sødt om Guds engle små."1
You were already asleep by the end of the song. Denmark grinned, but softer than his usual one.
"Jeg elsker dig, (f/n).2 I will be an awesome father, no matter what Norway thinks."