I never limited myself on what to write. To many I was a cold, expressionless man, but every man has feelings inside regardless of his exterior – it was from my hidden feelings that I wrote my first novels. And now it is from feelings, and memories, and out of respect to my best friend, that I write the story of the love of his life.

His name was Berwald Oxenstierna. A nobleman, landed gentry, with wealth and status. He was the eldest son of a rich lord, and if that wasn't enough to trap the ladies, he was handsome. Oh, he was handsome; hair the colour of fresh wheat, tall, shoulders broad and jaw chiselled. But there was something about it that pushed the women away. Perhaps it was that stony look, or those piercing blue eyes, that seemed to see everything and everyone.

They didn't. He was short-sighted.

As he came of age and became one of the most eligible bachelors in society, I, by his side, watched him grow, flourish, fall in love with all the wrong people. And it will be now, as I document his twentieth year, that I let go of my narrative, and become the unbiased third party that I wasn't when these events were taking place.

Act I
Scene I

It was during a ball on hot summer night, sky thick with stubborn clouds that trapped the heat, when Berwald Oxenstierna set the wheels of his future in motion.

"I need a new valet."

"Why?" asked his closest friend, a Norwegian nobleman-turned-novelist, Lukas Bondevik, sipping his drink with a long look of utter boredom. Around them, couples waltzed, but to these two, balls were a duty and not a pleasure; neither of them were, how to put it politely, ladies' men. Not at all.

"Old one left this morning." Berwald was short in his speech, never using more words than necessary – in fact, if he could avoid using words at all, he would.

"Ask Mathias. He'll have a connection somewhere."

'Mathias' was another friend, and a lord, as Berwald was. In many ways, they were similar – tall, broad, blond, proud. Maybe that was why they didn't get along at all. Mathias was on the brash side and often, Berwald found him insufferable.

Lukas was close to Mathias as well, but in an entirely different way. This story is not about that.

"My men!" Out of the crowd came Mathias himself, face split in a huge grin. He threw his arms around the two, much to both of their discomfort, and was soon shoved away.

"Speak of the devil and he shall appear," Lukas said dryly. "Berwald was just talking about finding a new valet."

"And of course you want one from the depths of hell," Mathias teased, quite used to Lukas' blunt rudeness. "I've just heard about a man, actually. A foreigner, in need of work. Belle told me her brother just turned him away." His hand came up to run through his already-wild hair, and the lights of the ballroom glinted on his golden wedding band.

"How fortunate, Berwald, he sounds like just the man for you." Lukas turned his full attention to the Swedish lord. "You should contact him."

"I'm sure he could be ready for work tomorrow morning, if you so wish!" Mathias grinned. "Get a message to him tonight!"

"I don't even know his name," Berwald said quietly. This caused Mathias to start an excited rummage through the pockets of his jacket.

"You were wearing your dress clothes this morning?" Lukas asked with a raised eyebrow, looking faintly disgusted.

"This was handed to me as I walked out the door!" Coming up with a slip of paper, Mathias beamed at Lukas as if the Norwegian was the sole reason for every good thing in his life, then handed the paper to Berwald. "There's his name."

Berwald held it up to the light to read the small, rather sweet handwriting.

Tino Väinämöinen.

A/N: I know, I've been away for so long, and I haven't even updated any of my WIPs, but this idea hit me like a tonne of bricks. It's a short beginning, but what do you think?