AN: Couple of things about the story. First of all, the story line will be based on the actual history of Finland, but I'm going to take some artistic liberties in the presentation of the events. Secondly, my background information comes from the various sources (basically what I remember from the school flavoured with little details I've checked from the Internet or a few books), so bear with me if there's some inconsistencies or errors. Thirdly, each chapter will a kind of one-shot, which can be read separately from the rest, but there should also be some development among the story arch. The fourth and the last thing is about this chapter: it takes place on the Iron Age, so all the Nordics are still kids.

In the end of the chapter, there'll be translations for a few sentences and more rambling about the details and the background of the story for those who are interested. Hopefully you'll enjoy the story!

Disclaimer: The probability of me owning Hetalia is as high as facing a polar bear in a Finnish forest. And I don't own the story image either. All the credit and glory to the original artist.

Chapter 1: The boy

Wind had finally started to blow from the south. The sky was clear blue and the sun had started to warm, even though it hadn't yet managed to defeat the relentless frost that came back every night. Sweden looked at the open sea. Grey floes seemed thick and steady, but it was only an illusion: they wouldn't take a weight of a man. Denmark had demonstrated that couple of days before, when Norway had dared him to go to prove that.

Loud toots filled the air. He raised his eyes to see the wedge of cranes fly over him towards the inland. He let his gaze follow them until they disappeared behind the woods.

Their voices receded slowly and the silence returned. He crouched to pick up his packages. He would have to get from the shore before dark or otherwise the freezing sea wind would make his night extremely uncomfortable. He was already hoisting the bag on his back, when he suddenlt halted. There was something in the bushes. Something, that made the branches sway almost imperceptibly. Twigs moved a bit and he saw a pair of violet eyes staring straight at him. The said eyes widened in horror when their owner realised they had been noticed. He heard a soft gasp. The eyes blinked once and before Sweden could even consider moving, the bushes jerked and the creature was gone. Only a small rustle told that the owner of the eyes was fleeing deeper into the woods. Soon even the sound faded away leaving Sweden alone at the seashore.

After that day, there were several similar encounters. Every time Sweden ended up to the other side of the gulf on his expeditions, he could feel someone trailing him. Most of the time he couldn't see anyone, but sometimes, when he was lucky, he managed to catch a glimpse of violet eyes or a blonde hair.

This time he had ventured further on the inland than ever before. He had stopped to rest near a small lake. His shoulders were stiff from carrying the packages whole morning. He dropped them on the moss and sat next to them leaning his back on the trunk of a nearby pine tree.

He had started his journey at the sunrise, which this far north in summer time meant really early. He could feel the drowsiness starting to creep into his limps. The forest around him was peaceful, a few birds singing and a couple of squirrels sounded to tussle in a group of spruces. He closed his eyes and let his head rest against the trunk despite the high possibility of getting resin in his hair. Slowly, sleep started to take over him.

Suddenly all his senses sharpened. It was that feeling again. He wasn't alone in the forest.

He didn't open his eyes but listened carefully to his surroundings. For a moment, there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. But then, something rustled on his right. Then silence again. He stayed still and strained his hearing distinguishing a quiet susurrus. It appeared in an irregular rhythm as if the cause of it would have been stopping every ones in a while.

This continued for some time until the sounds were only a couple of metres away and then they stopped completely. Regardless of how hard he tried, there weren't anything to hear. Finally, he couldn't hold himself and slowly opened his eyes.

In front of him stood a small boy. They stared each other, neither one daring to move. The boy was definitively the one he had seen in the bushes. He had a short fair hair and big eyes with a distinct violet shade. He was younger than Sweden, four or five years old, and wore a white tunic and blue slacks and had an arrow and a quiver strapped in his back.

It was as if time had stopped; they both just stayed still facing each other even though the forest continued its life around them. Finally, Sweden was the first to break the spell. He started slowly to move his hand to his side to use it to prop him up. However, once the boy realised what he was doing, he let a strangled yelp and dashed towards the shrubbery.

"Wait! Don't go!" Sweden called after him, but too late. The boy had already vanished.

He slumped back on a tussock cursing his impatience. It was no use to run after someone who probably knew these forests so much better. He just hoped he hadn't scared the boy for good.

"What is it?"

Sweden raised his eyes from the blade he had been sharpening to the Norwegian standing in front of him.

"What ya mean?" he asked continuing his work.

"You have clearly been pondering something since returning from your latest journey. What is it?"

Sweden ran his finger at the blade checking its sharpness. He hadn't told to anyone about the boy. There wasn't any real reason why not, but for some reason he wanted to know more about him before sharing him with the world. But if there were one person he could trust, it was Norway. He had nothing to lose.

"There's this small boy," he started waiting Norway's reaction, but when he didn't say anything, he continued.

"Sometimes, when I'm in the woods he seems to watch me."

"Maybe he's just one of the locals?"

Sweden shook his head. "It's been 17 years since I first saw him and he hasn't changed at all. And he has this air..."

Norway was quiet for a moment digesting the information and considering the possibilities. "Have he ever talked to you?"

"No."

"Have you seen him everywhere you go or just in a certain place?"

"Just on the other side of the gulf."

Norway paused again before voicing his guess: "He might be a Landvættir."

Sweden gave him a questioning look.

"They are the spirits of the land. They protect and promote the flourishing of the place they live. It seems that this spirit of yours is settled down to the area behind the gulf." He looked Sweden in eyes. "It's probably no use to try to speak to him. He just wants to make sure you respect his home."

Sweden watched as Norway closed the door behind him and left him alone in the shed. He didn't have a clue how the other knew about what he had been trying. After the incident at the lake, he hadn't seen the boy anymore, but the feeling of being watched stayed, so he started to speak knowing that the other one was listening. He hadn't got any answer but kept talking, hoping to lure the boy out. But if Nor was right and the boy really was a nature spirit, there would never be a real conversation. The spirits were overly shy and there were only a few stories about them talking to anyone. It seemed that he had to settle for admiring the boy from far.

The sky had turned to deep blue. Sparks crackled from their campfire when the flames licked pitchy wood, floating towards the darkening treetops.

"Well, it's not half bad. But there's nothing we wouldn't have back at home." The Dane stretched his legs and adjusted a package behind his back.

"There should be some sort of a lake area in the North-East, wasn't it so?" Norway asked from the Swede on the other side of the fire. He got just an affirmative grunt.

"Nah, I've never cared much for fishing."

They sat for a while in silence staring in the fire. Finally, Denmark got bored and broke the atmosphere. "Man, I'm hungry," he gushed shifting to dig his bag. "Anyone els-"

Both Sweden and Norway glanced at him to see why he had stopped. They heard a muffled thump and rustle, but his back was at them and the fire didn't provide much light so they couldn't tell what he was doing. A loud shriek split the air and almost drowned the Danish cursing: "Päästä minut! Mitä helvettiä luulet tekeväsi? Päästä irti!" With a great difficulty, Denmark managed to turn and drag something into the light. Sweden stiffened when he recognised the blond hair.

Norway noticed his reaction, glanced at the small boy who was wriggling fiercely in the Dane's hold yelling much louder than one would have expected from his size, and quickly connected the dots. "Is that the boy you've seen?"

Sweden gave him a nod being unable to tear his eyes from the boy who was now trying to kick Denmark.

"After you two have done your chitchat could you please help me with this little brat?"

"It seems to me you're doing just fine."

Denmark glared the Norwegian and was about to snap something back when the kid managed to jab his heel to his thigh. He grunted and wrapped his legs around the boy and clasped a hand over his mouth to stop the continuous rant. "This little thief was digging our- Ouch! Dit svin! He bit me!"

Using Denmark's shock, the kid managed to wriggle himself free. He stumbled on his feet and sprinted away but had forgotten the other two around the fire. Before he had time to realise his mistake he was tackled down by Norway. This caused a new litany of incomprehensible words, but the tone made their meaning quite obvious.

Sweden could only blink. Was this really the same shy boy he had seen? He looked the same, but this kid fought like a wolverine. Nor had to use his whole body weight to pin him down. And all this time he was shouting something in a weird language.

"Cut it off," Norway snarled at the kid. "Or I'll break something."

The struggle and the yells died immediately. The boy laid still on the ground panting heavily, but Norway didn't ease his hold. "Well, he's definitely not a Landvættir," he said glancing at Sweden. "But you're right; he's not a human either."

"What the heck are you talking about? Do you know that brat?" Denmark asked pointing the boy.

"I've seen him couple of times," Sweden admitted.

"He's been stealing from you too?"

"No, he've just watched."

Norway started slowly to release the kid still staying close enough in case he would try something. The boy looked at him warily not knowing what the older boy was planning. When nothing happened, he slowly sat up.

"There really is something odd about him," Denmark said peering at the kid. "He surely isn't a normal human. Could he actually be one of us? A nation?"

Norway opened his mouth to tell the Dane to shut up, but stopped because, surprisingly, the Dane had actually made a rational point.

All three turned to scrutinise the kid, who was sitting between them and glancing from side to side looking more and more horrified as he realised how small his chances of escaping were.

"It'd explain everything," Sweden finally admitted.

"Yep, he has to be. So brat, what's your name?" Denmark asked stepping in front of the kid.

The boy's eyes widened and he stumble backwards before colliding into Norway. This made him to jump and crawl to other direction. He didn't stop until he was as far from both of them as possible. After that, he curled into a tight ball and buried his head into his knees looking miserable.

"Ya scare him," Sweden said and went to dig his packages. After he found what he was looking for, he walked at the boy crouching next to him but keeping a small distance not wanting to startle him again. "Ya must be hungry," he said as friendly as he could.

Slowly the violet eyes peaked over the knees. "Here." They widened as the boy spotted a piece of bread Sweden was handing to him. "Ya can have it."

The kid didn't do anything to take the bread, so Sweden put it down next to him and returned to his place at the fire.

Silence fell again when the all three deemed the boy. Finally, Denmark cut it by exclaiming that he was hungry too and trudged back at his bags. He tossed a bundle of dried meat to Norway. "If the brat's gonna eat, then we can too."

Sweden followed from the corner of his eye how the kid hesitated. He clearly wanted to take the bread but didn't dare to. He watched closely as the others started their meal and then, when he thought no one was looking, he reached a little, snatched the bread and curled back into a ball.

When the older three were ending their supper and the boy was nibbling his own meal, Sweden decided to repeat the Dane's earlier question: "What's yo name?"

The boy didn't answer and only locked his eyes tightly to the ground before him.

Sweden tried another one: "Where are ya from?"

The boy didn't answered to that either and Sweden was already turning back to the fire when he raised a quivering hand and pointed to the East.

"At least the brat seems to understand us," noted Denmark.

"You can't keep calling him that," Norway said.

"Why not? He refuses to tell his name."

"We just have to decide another name for him until he tells his real one. Something like Österland for example, since he comes from east."

"Sounds fine to me."

"I'm gonna stick to brat."

This earned a slap from Norway, which lead to the usual bickering. Soon enough Sweden got bored of watching their squabbling and turned to look at the kid. To his surprise, the boy had laid on the ground and fallen asleep. Like this, he looked much more like the boy he had seen at the lake all those years ago. The flames made his hair glimmer and his face looked peaceful, all the previous frenzy gone. Sweden rose and went to wrap his cloak over him. The boy stirred a little but continued to sleep.

A smile ghosted on his lips as he returned at the fire. Denmark and Nor had got enough of their bickering and were now discussing the next day's travel plan. Sweden listened at them half-heartedly as his eyes kept wandering to the sleeping figure. In the light of the fire, the boy actually looked ethereal.

At the morning, first thing Sweden did when he opened his eyes was to check the boy. He dashed up right when he realised that the place where the boy had been was now empty.

"He left."

He turned at the Norwegian who was crouching at the remains of last night's campfire trying to get the embers to catch ignite again.

"He was already gone when I woke up. He left your cloak," he pointed a pile of things next to Sweden's bed.

"That brat!" Denmark yelled bouncing up from his bed hair sticking into random directions. "He of course nicked all our things and slipped away while we were-"

"He didn't take anything and returned what he had already taken last night," Norway interrupted pointing the pile again.

"He had already managed to stole something before I caught him? That's it, from now on I'm not gonna let my bags out of my sight," Denmark fumed.

Sweden shut off his rambling and ran his fingers over the neatly folded cloth. Any of the things set on it weren't that important and they wouldn't have missed them in several days. Just some food, a small knife and a clip of rope. He rested his hand on the blue fabric. Maybe his efforts last night hadn't been totally fruitless. Maybe next time…

AN: Hope you enjoyed it! Here's some more rambling about for those few who're interested. I want to use the opportunity and thank my sister who tolerated me when I was agonising about the Sweden's speak (or just spamming her with random Hetalia stuff :)

And here are the translations:

(Finnish) "Päästä minut! Mitä helvettiä luulet tekeväsi? Päästä irti!" = "Let me go! What the hell do you think you're doing? Let go!"

(Danish) "Dit svin!" = "You bastard!"

And then some random history facts I used. Yay! As long as there have been people in the area nowadays called as Finland, they have had some kind of interaction with guys on the other side of the Gulf of Bothnia, but for the sake of the story I put Tino and Berwald's first encounter to the Iron Age. The timing is as it is because it ended c. 1150 AC when Swedish Conquest to Finland was over. There weren't any kind of written sources before that. And I've made a conscious anachronism when I made Norway name Finland Österland (literally meaning Easternlands) 'cause the name didn't become in to use until on Middle Age, when Finland officially became part of Sweden.

The reason why Finland and the others had bit difficulties to understand each other was due Finnish belonging into completely different language group than the most of the other European languages. Finnish is part of Finnish-Uralic language family (which originated from the Ural as the name states. Estonia and Hungarian are also part of this group.) The rest of the Nordic languages belong into Germanic language family, which is based on the early German.

I already know what the next chapter will be about. Now I just have to get myself to write it…