Author's note: Written for Nordipalooza 2013 which I almost completely forgot about while living in India! My prompts were Iceland, Any Nation (Sweden), growing up, Kalmar Union. I hope you enjoy because oh, they probably have one of the least explored relations in the Nordic 5 but oh, I love it so much!
A life lesson, of sorts
V.
At dinner Berwald lifts Emil with greater ease than anyone has ever lifted him in his short life. As if made for the spot, the seven-year-old boy fits snuggly onto the older teenager's thigh, resting against his chest as Lukas passes him food across the table, Christen quizzing Timo on what he had learned at his lessons today. The five young Nordic boys gather happily around the table that evening, a fire roaring, the cold wind blowing outside the colder walls of the castle.
When Emil coughs he receives a gentle pat on the back, not unlike his brother's pats. Yet when Lukas patted his back there was almost a sense of him shaming Emil for coughing, for disturbing him and Christen. His brother doesn't mean it to be like that, he knows, Emil watching him with big eyes as the Norwegian leans over to lazily kiss the Dane. Lukas doesn't mean it but it still hurts to know that his brother doesn't like his coughing, so the Icelander tries his best not to.
Berwald's pat is less brotherly, more fatherly (if Emil were to have had any concept of what a father was at that time- if any of the young orphans were to have had such a concept). There's a rub along with the pat, the boy's airway clearing immediately. The Swede leans down to allow Emil to sip at his drink, asking in an already deep voice that cracks just a little, "Better?"
"Much," the boy blushes, trying to see if Lukas had heard his cough. Lukas didn't like when the doctor had to come, liked to take care of them on his own without Mortals who, as far as Emil could tell, were Bad and upset his brother. "Thank you."
The older boy kisses his forehead, holding him close, before reaching out to pull Timo in under Berwald's other arm. The Finnish boy giggles as Emil nibbles at his food.
IV.
Mortals, Emil now knows, means Other People. What they were instead were Immortals, which wasn't normal and sometimes upset Other People who would call them witches. Witches, Christen had said, practiced magic but when Emil had asked if they were real and if his brother was a witch because he did magic, the Dane had laughed.
"Berwald?" The Swedish teenager is outside chopping firewood under the endless daylight, pausing and looking at Emil. The older boys were changing, becoming men: Berwald was tallest and Christen broadest and Lukas was the one Other People's girls liked to giggle at.
"Ja?" Emil comes to trace his hand down the smooth handle of the axe, watching the Swede's calloused fingers grip it tight.
"Are witches real?" The "promise you won't laugh" is implied in the statement, Berwald knowing that if Emil was asking him, he didn't want to feel any stupider than he already did.
"Nah."
"So Lukas isn't a witch, right?"
"Nah, his magic is-" looking up the ten-year-old finds Berwald staring out over the giant lake before the castle they called home "-magical in a different way."
"What's that mean?"
The Swede shrugs without looking at him. "Hard to explain. You just... get it. Sorry." Because Emil didn't like being told he'd understand one day, but at least Berwald tried.
"Thank you."
III.
Lukas is Very Annoyed at Berwald; they had been informed of such at breakfast, no one saying a thing until the Norwegian had stormed out after making his announcement. The Dane has been in a good mood since, including while writing in the library to his monarch, a task he normally despises. But there has been no developments yet on Lukas being Very Annoyed at Berwald, leaving Emil to ask, "Why?" since the reason was first and foremost the biggest mystery to him. Christen laughs at his question and Berwald, at the window, pulls even more of a sour face than his already sour face was, though whether it's at the question or the laugh, the Icelander isn't sure.
"Yeah Berwald, why he mad at you?" the Dane roars, looking back down at his letter and blotting his quill in some ink.
The Swede jerks his head towards the door, rising, and so Emil follows him out the library.
"Oi!" Christen shouts after them. "Where you going?"
Berwald ignores him.
"Where are we going?" Emil is trying his best to keep pace but his companion was too tall, too bulky, too... manly. On one level it really sort of freaked Emil out, that a man could be that much of a man to be a man like Berwald Oxenstierna. On another level, he was just old enough to realize he kind of, sort of liked it.
"I think," the deep voice that no longer breaks booms, "you're finally reaching the 'you'll understand when you're older' age."
"Really?"
"Ja. Maybe not fully there yet but..." Berwald shrugs, slinging an arm around Emil's shoulders like Christen would Lukas's. "There you go."
It in no way answers the question and yet, the Icelander is quite fine with that.
II.
"French is stupid," Timo laments for what must be the hundredth time this hour. Emil has given up at looking at the words on the page because if he looked he made himself more confused than simply listening and following along.
Berwald grunts.
"We already speak Danish," the Finn continues. "Why do we have to learn French too? No one talks to us anyway, and never in anything other than Danish."
"You didn't like German," Berwald comments across the table from the two younger boys as if that answers the question. No one comments on his black eye, just as no one had commented on both of Christen's at breakfast or the fact that Lukas has taken to holding his arm at a funny angle since last night. "Thought French might be better."
"Combien de langues parlez-vous, Berwald?" Emil asks lazily, How many languages do you speak Berwald? or something like it. His accent is all off and they know it.
There's a pause before the man replies, "Eleven, and you don't have to be formal with me Emil."
Timo, who had been reprimanded about five minutes previously for being informal with his protector, makes a noise of disapproval. What he misses, which would have upset him more, is Berwald's wink towards the Icelandic colony.
I.
Timo, centuries later, will tell him that he knows for a fact that no one saw him or Berwald leaving. The Swede and Icelander will both know it's a lie.
Because Emil had that evening been having another sleepless night. It had been years since he and Timo had shared a bed, the Finn now having a room much closer to his protector while Emil remained near Christen and Lukas's shared room. So with no one beside him to wake, and fourteen years of age too old to climb into his brother's arms when awoken from his slumber, Emil had decided to get up and explore the castle with no one up to stop him or ask him what he was doing.
And so, not expecting him, he very quickly bumps into Berwald's chest and, before he even truly registers who this massive mountain of a man was, Emil finds himself pinned against the wall, one Swedish hand covering his mouth, the other to Berwald's lips signifying he is to remain silent.
At which point, something coming over him, Emil nods, Berwald removes his hand, and the younger boy leans forward to kiss him.
His lips are hard and rough and taste like meat and wine. Within seconds they're gone, the Swede sweeping down the hall as if nothing had happened. But before he turns the corner Berwald does look back, just once more, and winks at Emil to show that something had indeed just transpired.
That night is the last night of his childhood and Emil is grateful in a way to Berwald for all he's done for him over the years.
He hates him when Christen and Lukas wake to find the Swede gone.
He hates him for the pain it causes in the castle.
He hates him when he returns, later, to take Lukas from them.
But he can never hate him for all he gave, years earlier, during the union, without the Icelander even realizing how much he's always meant to Berwald.