Author's note: Only one and a half chapters to go, hehe. Meanwhile, in this chapter, footnotes! I'm going to have the last parts up during next week (hopefully) and I'm really starting to look forward to finishing this...
Havn is what Copenhagen (København) would have been called at the time. It simply means "Habor".

The village church was made of grey stone and stood on top of a small hill. Inside, the pews stood empty and Berwald's footsteps echoed under the arched ceiling. It was rather small with only a single piece of ornamentation apart from the altar – a painted epitaph on the western wall. The frame was gold-coloured, but Berwald could not decide whether it was real or just paint. It held three pictures – one large of Christ standing by his grave and two smaller, placed above the first. Sten and Marie Larsen looked at each other, each painted in profile, each with their names written underneath. Their faces and names would be as close to God as possible, their money in the pockets of the church, and Berwald wondered whether their souls were a little closer to forgiveness. He also wondered what they had done to need it.

Three Sundays had passed since the doctor had arrived. He had not been to church yet, having always excused himself with work (Mathias), even though he had plenty of time. This thursday, it had been the architecture and history calling, not... anything else. There had always been too many questions and not enough answers.

He pondered whether these people where the type to suspect someone who avoided church for witchcraft or other such things. While he had found other people who shared his views in Stockholm and Havn, here, here knew he was surely utterly different.

Outside the church there were rows of graves marked by small stones or wooden crosses. There was no fence surrounding the sacred ground, only rocks placed in straight lines as to mark out the perimeter.

The next sunday, the weather was very mild. The church bells rang and the villagers walked by in their finest dress. Berwald didn't follow them; instead, he entered the town square and sat underneath the tree. It was quiet now, and he thought that he was alone. He closed his eyes-

-and heard a familiar voice.

"Morning!"

Mathias waved as he arrived. His walking had improved. There was still a noticeable limp, but was quicker and apparently not in as much pain as before. Soon, he stood in front of Berwald, seemingly eyeing him from top to toe.

"G'morning," Berwald said. "How come you're-"

"Out and about? Not in church? Doesn't matter, I'm feeling better than I have in a long while. Told my mother I was still exhausted because there's something I have to do – want to come with me?"

"Where?"

"Out. I passed out somewhere on the road, right? I'm pretty sure I still had it with me at that point but I wasn't found with it, so I either dropped it or threw it away or something. I'm going to look around where mother said I was."

" 'It'?"

"My axe. Do you have anything better to do? Besides, I'd like to have you just in case-"

Berwald let out a small sigh and nodded. "As long 's you don't exert y'self."

He stood up and followed Mathias' lead.

They walked until the houses grew small in the distance and the trees became more frequent. Large stones laid in the grass, covered in moss and grass, along with branches that had blown of the birch trees and beeches. The leaves would soon turn yellow and gold and all sorts of different shades, but the prospect of staying in that village and seeing the seasons change was no longer as daunting to Berwald as it had been. He glanced at his patient occasionally, slightly worried.

"So," Mathias said, trying to break the silence, "Where in Sweden are you from?"

"Lived west 'f St'ckholm 'nd went t' college there later."

"You're a scholar? I thought you were some – um, nevermind, it's just unusual to have people like you around here where most of us can't read."

"You said you went t' Germany," Berwald said, "That's unusual too." He paused for a moment, then asked: "Sprichst du deutch?1."

"Ein bisschen,2" Mathias replied. "Aber ich bin nicht sehr gut...3I can get by. And I understand 'halt und antreten und recht euch und so weiter.4'" He smiled, "And the ever-important 'Ich möchte eine Bier, danke'."5

"'f course," Berwald said. Mathias' vocabulary was most likely very small compared to his own, he thought, but in time they might be able to hold conversations. They walked side by side for a bit. Mathias stopped every once in a while to take a good look around, but nothing turned up.

"So, how'd you even end up out here?" he asked.

With that question, much of Berwald's good mood disappeared. "'s a long story. Could 'sk you th' same."

"That's a long story, too. On the other hand... We've got plenty of time and I'm curious. Wanna trade?"

Berwald was aware that he was far, far to interested in Mathias' story to not say anything, but his throat was still strangely constricted. But, he thought, he could always leave out the most embarrassing details. He slowly gave Mathias a nod.

"Well, you first!" The Dane said, and Berwald stared at him for a moment – the sun had done wonders for his skin, and a lively colour was returning to his face... Then he averted his eyes and instead looked at the landscape before them, the lines of the hills or the paths or the birds, anything else.

"Studied for a while 'n a school f' medicine," he began. "Was a good student. Then I got in a 'fight with a professor an' ind th' end, it was his word 'gainst mine. Don't know if you've noticed, but... I'm not very devout. I believe in m'self and my country, not... God." Berwald drew a deep breath. It was strange to talk so freely about something that personal, but he found that he was also surprisingly comfortable with Mathias. Maybe because he suspected him of sharing his views. The thought was... nice. " 'nyway, th' professor then accused me 'f a lot. Being a heathen, a fraud, a homosexual 'n I got expelled after th' ensuring academics. Took th' discussion too far, I s'ppose... Then thought I might 's well go use my talents. Heard about this place... I think that's th' most I've talked 'n a while."

"Were you?"

The question was short, to the point and utterly confusing for the swede. Mathias waited for a moment before he elaborated, a strange look on his face, "Well, were you? A heathen or any of the... other things?"

"Don't believe in older gods... either. And I was honest. 'nd-" Berwald looked straight ahead "- ...I've never slept with anyone."

A childish giggle escaped Mathias, who covered his mouth with his hand immediately. It could have been of relief or genuine amusement. "Really? I thought the girls would have been all over you with your looks! If you wanna do something about it, I can give you a list of some great german whore-houses and a couple in Havn too...!" He seemed to notice Berwalds discomfort and slowed to a halt. "...Anyway, uh, about that whole story of yours – If it helps I'm glad you decided to come to this side of the country. Really glad. I just hope you didn't do it for the money."

Berwald chuckled at the remark and for a while, they walked in silence again, a comfortable silence this time. He waited for Mathias to start talking by himself, but nothing happened. When the town was no longer visible – when even the church's small tower had disappeared – Berwald raised his voice.

"And your story?"

"Oh, yeah, yeah..." Mathias cleared his throat, "Well, sort of the same thing. A disagreement. I had been fighting and serving with these men for a long while. We were sort of a mixed bag, bunch of danes and germans and a norwegian even, and we were finally going home. Since we'd be splitting up for good in the next town over – I don't know if we can see it from here, maybe on the next hill – we were drinking. So, I get into this... disagreement with a guy, and it becomes a fight. People join in and they don't even now what it was about in the first place and soon everyone has the wrong idea about who did what and such. People start yelling things and before I know it, there's a mob and the friends who are with me are lost somewhere in the crowd. Actually it might not have been very many people, but it felt like it at the time... So I got wounded trying to scare them off and then I just tried running and that got me this far. When you're fighting, you're in this state of mind with no sense of pain or tiredness. That's what I was like at that point- I just collapsed afterwards. Somewhere around... " He looked around before suddenly pointing, "Here! I must have lost Torsvind somewhere around here..."

"...Torsvind?" Berwald asked.

"That's the axe's name. A friend suggested that I name it, and unlike you, I know a bit about the old gods. Tor's wind."6

Now that they had found the right place at last, both men began searching. There was still something unsaid in the air between them, a distinct feeling that neither had told the truth in its entirety. Berwald barely had time to think about this, however, before Mathias called him over.

"It's here, I'm sure..."

Berwald looked over Mathias' shoulder. The bushes before them were a mess of plants and dirt and thorns, but Mathias shrugged and began untangling the branches and brushing the leaves aside. They saw it at the same time – the blade was exposed and gleamed in the sunlight close by.

They both reached for it at the same time.

Mathias' hand brushed against Berwald's, and for a brief moment he felt like all of his being was concentrated in that one spot where warm fingers touched his own. Like time stood still. Then he came back to his senses and let go of the handle so that it could be where it belonged – Mathias' hand.

The young warrior smiled.

1. ["Do you speak german?"]

2. ["A bit"]

3. ["But I'm not very good"]

4. ["Hold and fall in and line up and so on" (These german drill commands, along with others, were used in Denmark too during late 1700's to early 1800's)]

5. ["I would like a beer, thanks", (There's a mistake - It should be "eine bier"]

6. [Tor, sometimes spelled Thor, is the old nordic god of thunder and war.)