Names used: Sweden (Berwald), Finland (Timo), Norway (Lukas), Denmark (Christen), and Estonia (Eduard)

Author's note: Historically accurate SuFin.

First, I'm changing my penname in a few days to « coeurgryffondor »; check my profile for updated links once that happens. Didn't want anyone to get thrown when I do. Second, this one goes out to the SuFin shippers, especially Kitty-Kat Allie, who are giving my SuNor fics a try. This isn't necessarily meant to occur at the same time as my SuNors, though it is the same time period.

The only things you should need to know for this fic are « hjärtat » is (in my understanding) Swedish for « heart » and can be used as an endearment, and that « Frithiof's Saga » is an Icelandic tale that became popular in Sweden due to translation in the 19th century. You shouldn't need to know that story to understand its reference, though if you'd like to go read the short summary on Wiki you can do that now, it's not that long and is interesting. Also I don't pretend to be a poet, but in my mind Be is. I couldn't find any examples of Swedish poetry at the time (which is how I stumbled upon the saga) so I wrote like poems of that period I like were written.

Unsent Letter #1,247

23 December 1899
Dearest Timo,

Remember how I wrote of how much snow had fallen yesterday? I swear, the snow has got to be taller than you now, but it is so beautiful. I wish you were here to see it with me, I have already made a path down from the house to the lake, made it wide enough so you could walk through it easily like you used to like. I know you hate to walk in the snow when it is so much taller than you but today, today it looks beautiful Timo. Just like you. It is soft and delicate and wonderful.

Not sure how much snow you get over there, though it must be a lot as well I suppose. Do you still experience polar nights? I hope they do not consume you, like they used to. It could drive a man crazy to spend all of winter without sun, without another to keep them sane. The polar nights are still hard for Lukas even now, he has become withdrawn and even more difficult to deal with than normal. He is nothing like having you here with me, though I suppose there is worst company than the Norwegian (Christen). He is quiet and he is reserved but he is capable of so much more; dare I say we are now friends? Perhaps. I think, if given the chance, you two would get along. Do not laugh! I am being serious, if history would allow us to have but a few years of peace to just be, to get to know each other, I very much believe you and Lukas would get along now. And you two are my neighbors, I enjoy both of your company; it would make me very happy to know you got along and that we three could enjoy quiet nights together. That would be nice.

While Lukas is difficult in the winters Christen still wins for being the most aggravating all the time. I wish I could kill him Timo, I know you do not like when I say that but I really really do want to some days. It has only gotten worst since now Lukas is here with me, and I understand what he must be going through, Christen. To have the one you have loved for centuries, cared for and grew attached to, taken away from you- well, you must know how Lukas feels beneath that blank face of his. I only wish Christen could stop and see that I too understand what he is going through, but alas, what is Christen's pain is clearly worst than the heartbreak of all others. I suppose some things will never change with history no?

Writing of wanting to kill Christen, I saw your friend the other day. Eduard I think it is? You introduced us after we left Christen's centuries ago. It was only in passing after some meeting that we met, and he seemed ill when I attempted to speak to him; his face was all flushed and he was having trouble speaking and breathing. But he did manage to tell me something of you, that your language has been promoted in its recognition within the Finnish duchy. It is now given equal status with Swedish I believe? If so I am very glad, Finnish is just as beautiful and intricate as you and deserves to be treated with respect and given its due honor. I hope it makes it easier for you, to communicate; your Russian was never very good I am sorry to say. You tried, I know you did, and perhaps it was my fault in how I taught it to you. I imagine living in Russia you now use the language much more often than you ever did here in Sweden.

But do not lose your Swedish, hjärtat. When you speak Swedish it is like music to my ear, every sound perfect. And when you would speak in Swedish to me, though I had told you to speak in Finnish so that I may practice your language, your lips would curl into this sweet little smile as if you knew how much it meant to me. It would be the end of me if you were to forget your Swedish while learning Russian. It was a constant reminder of how much time we had passed together, how history kept us together for so long. I miss those days.

However I understand, at the same time, that you must do what makes you happy. I know you only ever acted in accordance with your people, as we all must do. None of us wanted the world to come to this, not when we entered that ill-fated union so many years ago. But when I left you came with me, keeping me grounded. You were my star in the sky by which to sail my vessel home, the rock on which I built my life; you were my everything.

I have been looking back through the old journals I used to keep then, the ones you used to tease me about because I only ever wrote of how much I loved you and little else. Do you remember that? As we sat before a roaring fire, warms blankets wrapped about our bodies, holding each other close? I do Timo. You never loved me the same way I loved you, I know that, but you were still kind and understanding that my hjärtat, my heart, was all yours. You would laugh that beautiful laugh of yours, your hand resting on my arm to steady your shaking body, and it served to only make me love you more.

You and I both know I have never been one for the spoken word, that in those journals or in these letters the sentiments I express are things that take me time to deliver. Not once did you ever rush me, in speaking, in giving you a compliment because you looked so wonderful that day, in asking for you to accompany me somewhere because I did not want to be alone when my officials would leave at the end of the day to return to their families. Perhaps I am being consumed by the polar night, but I think more than that I am being consumed by my longing for you. Timo I never thought I would be able to live a day without you. You were my family, the only family I ever had. I used to dream of us, happy, forever. Maybe we could have adopted a child, a little girl to give beautiful dresses and take to balls, or a little boy to teach to use wooden swords and chase about on our grounds. That would have been nice. Yet no words ever came to me as we sat before those roaring fires, when I had thought that perhaps that night I had drawn up enough courage to ask. Never did I find the words I now find so easily, now that you are gone from me.

I wrote you a poem. You know I have always loved poetry, the ancient sagas that spoke of the old ways. I dedicated my poem to you despite knowing that it is not good enough to be worthy of your name. Will you read it and tell me what you think? Frithiof's Saga inspired me the other day while reading, spoke of what I feel now in missing you; this was the product that came of that lonely evening before our large fireplace:

O! wherein my weak bodied yearned for rest,
That I awoke to find my beloved Ingeborg taken
Far from me. O! how now does my heart beat quick
In knowledge of what has transpired against me.

My sword guides my way forward to that place
Where no hurt is caused to any man's heart
And I thus break that wicked land's spell
With the pain that my heart feels at her lost.

It was not my wish to have been born of a king
Yet Fate she gave me such honor. This warrior
Seeks only those who took what was mine
From my home, my most beloved Ingeborg,

For is she not the fairest of all? And I,
The tallest and most brave? Were we not
Meant to rule together over this vast land?
It is so empty without her by my side.

They say she will marry a foreign king
Whom has never done me injury, yet if
He but lay a hand upon my sacred love
I do swear now his kingdom shall be mine.

O! fair Ingeborg, no wrong have you ever done
Me nor any other man. You who are but
Sweet and fair to all creatures, return
To me. Life is not worth living without you.

It requires much work, yet I hope you will consider it as a Christmas present from me to you in that foreign land so different from mine. This fast approaching holiday which once brought us joy and happiness now serves only as a constant reminder of that distance that is between us. Christmas must surely in Russia be different, but I hope you are allowed to continue as you always have with your sweet traditions that gave you simple joys. I hope you are being treated well, with dignity and respect. And I hope that I treated you always that way as well, though my recollections may be lying to me in that regard. In my memory I only ever did what was best for you, but perhaps I did not understand how my actions hurt you. If that is the case do tell me, correct me, that I may learn. I am your student Timo, my heart and mind are yours to teach and nurture in whatever way you see fit. If you said the sky was not blue but yellow, I would note that lesson down with great joy, preaching and spreading it as if it was gospel, unwavering in my faith in what you had told me.

There is only one thing I could never believe, and that is that my love for you was ever anything less than pure. I am not the smartest of men, nor the quickest in thought. I often miss how I intimidate others; perhaps that is why Edouard was having such troubles. But Timo, you never cared. If I thanked you, every day, from the day we met to the day when the earth stops spinning, it would never be enough for how much it meant that you did not care. You would patiently explain what I had missed every time I did not fully understand another, smiling in amusement at my misunderstandings because they were cute; never did you laugh at me as if I was some idiot, as others surely have when my back was to them. You and you alone I allowed in to my heart, to become a part of me, because I could trust no other. Any other nation would have scoffed and sent me away, dismissing me as if I was nothing. Was I not a great warrior? A vicious Viking? Did my country not rule for so long over so much land with strength and ferocity? It all would have come to naught if you had not been there, the source of my strength, explaining and aiding and helping me.

Oh God I love you so much Timo. You were like the morning sun, bringing light and life into my being. The day I first met you, that day where you were so small and frozen from the harsh winter, where I picked you up in my arms and wrapped you in my cloak, carrying you home with me to lay you out before the fire, feeding you until you had had your fill- that was the day my life began. Nothing before that moment mattered, that moment where I saw your little head peaking out over the tall snow. You may not remember that day but I do, as sure the sun will rise, and I have always held that that was why you hate when the snow grows taller than you. It must bring you back to that day, somewhere in the back of your mind, that first day we met, because you have only ever gone through the tall snow with me, as if I was once more rescuing you each time.

When you left it was like the sun set, death and pain ushering in a new era upon my soul. Since that day there has been only one long polar night, the sun never returning soon enough. Please return. Please. I beg you, return to me my sun, my god, my everything! Return because I do not know how much longer I can live without light, without life. Life is not worth living if you are not here with me, under my arm. Your love was never the same as mine but it was there, you always assured me, in your heart: small, blooming, growing steadily with each day. I told you I would wait until your love was stronger, bigger, would wait until the end of time with longing for that moment when we would both be in love and that would be enough, the simple truth that you and I would be in love.

How much I hate the world! I hate it for taking you from me, how can your love grow if I am not there to nurture it, to feed it on my own love? I swear on all that is holy if Braginski touches you I will end him, it would be so much worst than spending eternity with Christen. Do not think I am unaware of how innocent you are; I was the one silently protecting you for all these years. You blushed so deeply, like the strawberries I used to buy for us on diplomatic trips, the first time I held your hand. The first time I kissed your cheek you turned as red as the roses I would gift you with on days set aside for lovers. The thought that another may be your first kiss breaks my heart, eats at me, keeps me from sleeping at night. Let no other take any first from you Timo, please let me be all your firsts: the one to give you your first kiss, the one to first see you naked, the one to first lavish you and touch you and make love to you. I am so selfish to want all those things but please Timo, please, give them to me and me alone. No one else could cherish those gifts as I could, prizes for the centuries I spent protecting and loving you.

God alone knows how I burn for you, how even the simplest of smiles you ever gave me made me hard with lust. My flesh is not as strong as yours, I burn with physical desire for you. When I close my eyes I see you, naked, your body arching up on my bed as I touch you, running my hands down your chest, parting your legs, taking your erection into my mouth. All the pleasure in the world I would give to you, until you would scream my name, over and over, and I would never stop, would swallow each drop greedily. I would be gentle the first time I pushed into you, I would kiss away any pain I might cause and I would cherish every sound, every moan, that would escape you as you came apart once more in my arms. Those arms would hold you tight to my chest as we drifted off to sleep, would hold you close to my hear throughout the night, and maybe then you would begin to grasp even the smallest amount of how much I love you and need you.

These tears will not stop because I know that day will not come, what I see before my eyes is only an illusion. I yearn for you like I yearn for the sea; she is sometimes calm, sometimes violent, but always she was mine and I her master. You are my master Timo, master of my heart, and I would give anything for you. Just to see you again, once, even at a distance, to know that you are well cared for and still have no doubt as to the affection I feel for you. How many letters have I written now? Letters I cannot send? Shit! I cannot keep on with this, a century without you is a century in hell. Please hear my prayers, let angels bring them to you on their wings. Do not forget my voice as I spoke your language, do not forget the feel of my hand in yours as I first took it in mine to warm that winter day where you had forgotten your glove. Let memories of our nights passed before the fireplace always warm you, giving you some small comfort, as writing these letters that only I will ever know exist gives me some small comfort.

Night, she draws close though no ease of sleep will befall me. This letter that I have now spent all day on will be only one in a collection of letters: the letters I wrote yesterday and the day before that and the day before that; the letters I will write tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that. You will always remain in my heart, my hjärtat, who took everything from me without ever intending it. You are my love and I will never not love you. So please Timo, let these words you will never see somehow call out to you and bring you back to me. Let no more centuries pass without you by my side. I would rather die a thousand deaths than live one more day without you.

I love you,
Berwald