Companion fic to 'Sight' :) this story might just be 15x cuter and make a bit more sense to y'all that've read it. If not this story will make just as much sense too! As a bit of a heads up, Sight, Body Language, and Leaving (unpublished and incomplete as of yet...) and this one all fall in the same timeline. Well, happy reading!
The morning sunlight filtered in through his heavy curtains in one bright, dust-settled column, its path intersecting perfectly with Sweden's eyes. He was awake; it was too bright not to be. His glasses rest on the nightstand, his body aching from the previous day's training sessions. They were preparing for war, and he did not want to train today.
Somewhere, in his still sleep-fogged mind, he drifted off to thoughts of Finland. During the past weeks' practice, he couldn't help but pay a close eye to Finland's abilities- the man was a genius with a bow and arrow. Finland was probably the most accurate archer that Sweden had ever seen, and Sweden would tell you that he's seen quite a few archers in his day. The way Finland would hold his body, tense his arms, and then release, one fluid motion, all happening in the span of one breath, it was intoxicating and utterly sexy. Not to mention how easy he made it look to always hit his mark.
Sweden heaved a heavy sigh of infatuation, and rolled unto his back. His body was so sore he could feel the ache in his abs as he breathed. There were so many different methods of defence and offence that Sweden, Denmark, Norway and Finland had their hands full deciding which strategies were the best. Trying to learn, and then reteach them to the troops, proved to be overwhelmingly tiring.
With the oncoming war, Denmark hadn't picked so many fights with Sweden, but there was always the occasional 'demonstration' to their men. During which, Denmark would use a certain tactic on the Swede, who had to just stand there and take the beatings for the sake of their armies. To the audience, every jab in the stomach, every kick to the rib looked like there was no power behind it, but to the man throwing the punches, and to the man receiving them, there definitely was.
Sweden hated it. He absolutely hated resigning his body to the man he could most certainly beat the living shit out of, but he stayed put. He knew Denmark thought of it as a sort-of power play, but Sweden saw right through it. Sweden saw that Denmark was afraid of him leaving, because he knew that once Sweden broke the chain, the others would be inclined to follow. Maybe they wouldn't leave with him- but they would surely leave.
Sweden's stomach grumbled and moaned, hungry for its first meal of the day. The thought of sitting up and getting out of bed disquieted him, he was so tired, though he had only woken up. Rather than debate with himself about getting up, about seeing Finland, about dealing with the annoying Dane, he simply turned his back to the blinding column of light and pulled the covers up to his chin, and taking a deep, achy breath, he closed his eyes.
Not even three minutes into his dazed nap accompanied by a comfortable position, someone knocked on his door. Sweden rolled his eyes behind closed lids. He wanted a damned day off. He stayed quiet in hopes that whoever it was wouldn't bother him if he didn't respond.
Knock- knock, knock.
Again. Sweden wondered if it was a soldier under his command, though if it was, he thought that the soldier should know better than to disturb his commanders' rest. So, being obstinate, he pulled the covers over his head, and held them tightly in place.
Outside of his door, he heard some whispers, and then the sound of boots walking up the hallway in an unmistakable stride. The whispers quieted, and quickly all other sounds ceased other than the sound of those damned boots.
Soon enough, the boots came to a halt at their loudest, just outside of his door, and Sweden wished, only for a moment, that he could just so easily sit by that river with Finland again. Just so easily make him laugh, hug him, watch the stars turn to morning light with him. Return to simpler days when things weren't so complicated, structured, and rigid.
Groaning to himself, Sweden righted in bed, and then turned and limply swung his feet over the edge to shakily stand. He did not want to seem weak or submissive to Denmark's will, so he quickly put on his training uniform, grabbed his glasses, and slipped them onto his head just as his bedroom door started opening.
"Hey!" Denmark stood, blocking the doorway, with a firm stance, arms crossed over his chest, and a wicked smile across his face. Sweden wondered how he could be so peppy first thing in the morning. He really wasn't in the mood to deal with Denmark. He was hungry, wanted to see Finland, and more than anything, wanted to go to right back to bed.
"Hm." Sweden answered, matching Denmark's stance, with his own being a bit more intimidating due to the added glare and height.
"Yesterday too much for the big, bad Swede?" Denmark sniggered, "Have a hard time gettin' outta bed this morning? Huh?" He pressed, walking into the room with a commanding march.
Sweden visibly rolled his eyes. He's not much of a talker and doesn't care to afford Denmark any pleasure by even engaging with him. Sweden watched as Denmark advanced nearer, cockily cocking his head to the side, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and raising his brows to Swedens lack of deference. Sweden already had enough of him.
Dropping his arms to his side, Sweden brushed past Denmark, shoving his shoulder against the Dane's on the way out of his room. Denmark merely scoffed, but for some reason, let the tired Swede pass without a fight.
Sweden went through the day in an almost numb way. He moved through the actions, the training, the orders and the commands until the sun nearly set and the men wished to return to their lean-to shelters and cots made of hay and withering summer grasses.
Soon, they would all be marching off, together. Some men never to return, and some men to sneak off into the night before they even face their first battle. But, with an enemy as fortified as theirs, the Kalmar Union had to be prepared.
Sweden, in a tired, dazed, and exhausted manner began to slowly make his way back to his domicile. He had left his staff back at camp, along with a good portion of his dignity. Several of his men seemed to be more upbeat than he was, and that worried him. What if Finland saw his sluggish pace? Would Finland think Sweden was weak?
Still walking, slowly and with haunched shoulders, Sweden rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was grateful for the food and good drink that his men provided him, but to him, nothing could beat sitting down and eating with Finland. He was truly torn between resting his body or trying to see if he could weasel in some time with the chipper Fin, when an arrow, shot from behind, planted itself firmly in the ground before him.
Had the war already begun?
Fearfully, Sweden Turned around, only to find Finland playfully smirking, holding his bow upright, the twine drawn back, but without an arrow to aim. He lowered his bow, laughing softly.
"Oh man! Sve you looked so terrified for a moment!" Finland walked beside Sweden, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder and looked up at the man. "I could see your whole body go stiff!" He laughed again, light, and full of energy.
Sweden couldn't do much but admire. His whole body felt energized, yet ready to collapse, his mind wanted to rest and also just drink up the sight of a smiling Finland. He had no words, no action nor emotion that he wanted to expose, partially because he was sure Finland already knew, but also (and mostly) because his lids were now nearly half-lidded.
Having Finland finally next to him, after what felt like weeks without being around him, Sweden felt he could relax. And so he did, albeit he tried his hardest to hold on for just one more second, his body was too exhausted.
His lids drowsily shut, and he faintly remembers hearing Finland mutter something before he felt his knees hit the ground and strong arms wrap around his torso.
Sweden was knocked out.
Finland didn't know what to do. Sweden just fainted- into his arms. Like a fucking damsel in distress. He pulled his canteen from over his shoulder and hastily unscrewed the lid, all the while balancing a passed out and very heavy Swede in his arms.
Tilting Sweden's head back- just slightly, Finland tried to pour very small amounts of water into his mouth. The Swede wasn't responding. Finland felt his brows crease and his lips pout with worry. He looked over Swedens face, and noticed the visible, dark bags under his eyes, the slight crows feet in the corner of his eyes, and his chapped lips, which were now slick with water. His eyes trailed further, down his jaw, over his neck, and finally being met by a bruised collarbone. When did all of this happen? Finland had always been around to mend Sweden's wounds! Finland instantly felt a pang of hurt in his heart, as if he hadn't been paying enough attention to Sweden. His heart was now pumping faster than it did during target practice and he hadn't the faintest idea why.
"Hey!" Finland whipped his head around to look in the direction of the unfamiliar voice. His eyes locked with a group of three men, from Sweden's battalion, Finland figured, by the way they were dressed and the armaments slung over their shoulders. "What happened to him?"
"He…" Finland cradled Sweden's head in his hand, holding it in a more comfortable position, "...just fainted. Can you guys help me get him inside?"
The men approached Finland and Sweden, a bit of concern laced in their silence and furrowed brows.
"If you three can carry him, I'll lead the way, and we can probably slip in past Matthias." It felt so weird, Finland mused, using Denmark's 'human' name. The men grunted in affirmation, two of them simultaneously passed their weapons to the shortest man, and immediately walked to Sweden's sides.
Soon, the two men, both blond, and probably in their late twenties, began muttering to each other in Swedish, probably trying to figure out the best way to carry him. After a few minutes of debating, the smaller man, with light brown hair and carrying too many weapons not fit for his size, pointed to the men, talking to them in Swedish, and then pointed to Sweden. This little exchange, with Finland right in the middle of them, was strange. He was able to pick up some words here and there in their speech, but not much. Soon, the two broader men lifted Sweden from Finlands arms, and supported the large man by draping his arms over their necks. They readjusted a few times before nodding to Finland and signalling that they were ready to get moving.
Finland stood, plucked his bow from the ground and began to lead the rest of the way uphill and to the back entrance of their home. Several times the men asked for a moment's rest, to catch their breath and see if their captain had woken up, but nothing had changed with Sweden's condition.
Before the sun touched the horizon, the men finally made their way to the servant's entrance of Denmark's house. It was now only a short walk from the help's quarters to Sweden's room. Finland pictured five men rustling around in the narrow hallways with their boots dragging and tracking dirt in every direction they went, and he was sure they would be caught by the obnoxious Dane if they tried to move Sweden in this manner. Figuring he could manage his way on his own, Finland politely thanked the men and told him he could manage to get Sweden to some relative comfort.
Gingerly, and with much care, or possibly respect, the unnamed men passed Swedens limp body to Finlands care, propping the door open to make Finlands access easier. They muttered a hasty, yet polite goodbye before the door swung shut and Finland was left standing with one arm wrapped tightly around Sweden's torso, the other holding the wrist of Sweden's arm that was draped behind his neck.
With trepid steps, careful and well rehearsed, Finland found his way out of the help's corridor and turned left, Sweden's room was just beyond the length of this hall, and he sincerely hoped that Denmark would not come across them. Finland could not even imagine how much of a miserable, living hell Sweden's life would be if Denmark showed up.
Honestly, he did not even know what Denmark's problem with Sweden was, but it annoyed Finland to no end. Sure, when they were little, Denmark picked on Finland, but now, it seemed Denmark focused all of his negative attention on Sweden. It didn't make sense. Sweden was truly such a kind-hearted man once you got past his slightly (ok, very) intense demeanour.
Finland paused for a moment before making his way to the end of the hall. Heaving a heavy breath, he pushed himself and Sweden against the wall. Sweden groaned lightly as his head hit the wall abruptly, and Finland was glad to know the man was still alive. Hopefully he'd wake up for those few steps across the open hall and into his bedchamber.
Finland peered down to Sweden's form, his glasses were about to fall off his nose so he quickly pulled them from Sweden's face, folded them up, and slipped them in his pocket, all the while tediously balancing Sweden against his body. Sweden was such a burly man!
"Sweden?" Finland whispered. He nudged Sweden with his shoulder.
When he received no response aside from a limp head bobble, Finland sighed again. This was so much trouble. He wished Denmark would just leave the house, just for literally three seconds so he could get the two of them in Sweden's room. All he had to do was cross the corridor, open Sweden's door, and get them inside. Once inside, he could latch the door and there would be no worry of Denmark's nuisance.
Finland rolled his eyes to the back of his head and allowed his lids to close. He could hear Denmark laughing raucously in the main foyer, probably accompanied by an annoyed Norway. Finland had no clue how Norway could put up with Denmark's antics.
He looked again at Sweden's unconscious face. He wondered how much it had taken to get Sweden to this point, and it really upset him. In spite of his generally unbiased nature, Finland was already blaming Sweden's condition on Denmark.
Suddenly, the laughter in the other room faded, muffled by a soft oomph. Finland figured that Denmark probably insulted Norway, or possibly just annoyed him too much, and Norway punched him in the gut. That was how it normally went. Which also meant, Finland remembered, that Denmark would then seek Sweden in probably a strange effort to reestablish his manliness? Finland really wasn't sure of the reason for Denmark's actions, but he definitely knew what was coming next.
"Shit." Finland whispered to himself.
Finland wondered if he had time to get themselves into Sweden's room, or if he should just run back down the hallway and into one of the servant's quarters. Looking to his left and right, he figured if he acted now he could probably hold Sweden on his back for just long enough to sprint into the other's room and lock the door behind them. So, dropping his bow to the ground, sliding his quiver from around his shoulders and eventually ridding himself of his satchel and canteen, Finland prepared to carry Sweden.
Knowing that each second spent thinking was a loss of time, Finland positioned Sweden against the wall and jerkily tried hoisting him onto his back. Their heads clanked together awkwardly and painfully until Finland finally got Sweden in a manageable position, but soon the pain dulled and his heart rate accelerated as he heard that all-too-familiar stride knocking against the hardwood floors.
"Fuck." Finland muttered, wishing he could peek his head around the corner to see if Denmark was actually nearing, but with Sweden limply hanging on his back, that seemed to be an impossible task.
Deciding it was now or never, Finland screwed his eyes shut and bolted for the oversized door just around the corner. Awkwardly hunched over, Finland could only manage to hobble his way to the door, at a much slower pace than what he anticipated. Reaching the handle he pulled jerkily against it, only to look up and find a not-too-pleased Denmark holding the door shut against Finland's motions.
"Well," he began, the shock, or possibly innate sarcasm that exuded from Denmark's pores, rolled off his tongue as he crouched to meet with Finland at eye-level, "what have we here?"
Please review my lovelies...It only takes a second and truly means so much to me. Hope y'all have a great night!
Xoxo, OurGloryDays