Shit guys thanks for all the many reviews! Thank you especially to a particular critique that I will admit—angered me slightly—but made me realize that...Yeah. This story really doesn't have that great of a plot...(But it still sure is entertaining from the looks of all these reviews!) So, as many of you guessed, this story will be coming to an end fairly soon, but do not fret! I will do my best to make the ending to your liking, you lovely readers! REVIEW OR ELSE THE DOLPHINS WILL CUT OFF MAH TOES! Thank you to MalinChan, yotzie and Ruusu for being my awesome Swedish/Finnish translators! Much love to you beautiful Scandinavian's!

…...

After that stunning and a bit frightening performance, the hunting party, fit with howls and growls, were staring fiercely at the bonfire that was hungrily licking at the offered limbs of wood. By now the flames were like a torrent of knives raking against the gray and smoky boulders. The sounds of popping and boiling sap could be heard from the slabs of pine bows, only heightening the bonfires potency and fearful cackling noise.

But before the men could stare into the flames for much longer, they were suddenly called to attention by a female voice. The brunette Hungarian who was smiling brightly for some unknown reason quickly pushed the men to the left, letting them exit the clearing with grumbling protests, their bodies still twitching with excitement, grins not leaving their face. They feet shuffled with irritation as they made their way to the other seated spectators. The woman's pleated olive green skirt swayed against her hips as she once again shooed the males and their newly picked brides from the now dusty clearing of dirt and rock.

Abandoning her harp, she sat the instrument down to the left near the other waiting musicians who began to bend and twist their backs like willows by a stream, being pushed and pulled by the rivers steady gliding.

Slowly but surely all the men in the hunting party were marched off of the foot printed earth to find their seats at the front of the glen, their bent and bowed legs creaking with tuned excitement as they sat themselves down, licking their lips.

Berwald was the last to find his seat. He perched himself dead center into the row of men, their leering gazes growing more intently as Elizabeta, with a wink in her eye, swept her hands in front of her skirt, as if she was smoothing it down. She scurried over to the middle of the clearing, the bonfires hungry crackling behind her. Then, with a whispered word, another woman with ringlets of raven black hair and a pale delicate oriental face smoothy and daintily walked into the dusty clearing.

Her pink and golden silk dress blew with the warm hum of the wind as she stood next to Elizabeta, a flower also pinned to her hair with painstakingly gentle care. Cradled in her delicate grasp was a basket that was balanced on her pink clothed hip, her sunken gaze like that of a critical sparrow as she gazed across the crowd.

To Berwald's surprise, inside the basket was a flurry of color. Dollops of flowers, ranging in all sizes and colors fluttered silently in the low lipped basket, making Berwald's eyes twitch with confusion at the basket filled with greenery and blossoms.

Then, Elizabeta's smile never leaving her perfectly plump lips, flicked her wrist up and moved her fingers to and fro in a beckoning motion that left the few men sitting around the clearing puzzled.

All of a sudden in a mad dash that left some of the girls dizzy, the maidens that were clustered near the front row sat up with a rustling of skirts and a brandishing of bells, their feet tucking underneath them. There eyes caught the hidden signal from the Hungarian woman and they quickly stood up as delicately as swans. Like graceful flower stems, each one was tall and proud. Most of the females and few males faces were flushed pink including Tino's. The little Finn just could not quit his fidgeting as the row of females multiplied till there was a good bought of twenty unwed men and women all together that the Finn would have to compete with for Berwald's affections.

But, with a few flecks of confidence that wedged themselves in his heart, the Finn couldn't help but smile quite smugly. Berwald had already picked him, had already chosen him like a fair and beautiful Midsummer's flower. Now all he had to do was sway his hips a bit, flash a charming smile, and hopefully the Swede would fall head over feet for him. Hopefully...

But before Tino's maddening thoughts could progress into further worry or scheming, the Finnish man was nudged in his sides harshly by an elbow. Tino whirled his head to the left to see Nikolas, his eyes cold and neutral if not a bit nervous. The Norwegian man, with a low hiss of his breath grabbed Tino's attention.

"Tino, it's time to move! Stop standing their like a sun-struck Troll!" Nikolas urged with warning, his own steps already quickening as the mass of women and few men began to slink to the clearings edge, their skirts trailing behind them like dried flower petals. Tino bit his lip nervously as his eyes gazed out in front of him, the flushed trail of long haired and big breasted women skipping in front of him, their eyes glassy like freshly polished river stones. Tino glared at them with jealously.

Should any one of those big eyed strumpets try to go near his man-! Well, let's just say they'd lose more than a few clumps of golden braided hair. Feeling a surge and defiance that was added with a few flecks of courage, the Finn picked up his feet, wedging himself between Feliks and Nikolas who were beginning to sweat with nervousness as well as the the added heat from the growling bonfire at their backs.

Cautiously they joined themselves on either side of Elizabeta her smile never waning, as bright as the red sun that gleamed above them. She brought her hands up in front of her to sway them in the air, mimicking the greeting that the old Germanic man had given the villagers.

With a wink of her eye everyone smiled and shouted, whooping out howls and bellows of shouts. The hunting party especially raised their voices like a thundering waterfall, their eyes gleaming and sharp like a hawks, lips curved into grins. Tino didn't know if it was the warm air around them or the power of the sun that was making the men dizzy with lust but it was beginning to scare him. He only wanted one pair of eyes on him, one stoney glare that could make his toes curl and his breath gasp out with heat. He was for Berwald's eyes only...

But, he would have to bare with the humiliation of strutting around for a whole mass of people. He was not so easily flustered that he couldn't keep his mind on his task, no, but the added heat from the sun and the fire at his back made his head dizzy. His stomach was also growling painfully and he would give his own arm for a drop of water—but he knew he could eat after the dance, he could stuff his face and fill his belly with all the yummy treats that each heavy pine bough table had to offer.

He and Berwald would feast, would toast with horns of golden mead to their Summer mock wedding... Tino paused, deep in thought, ignoring the words of greeting that was falling from Elizabeta's mouth as she walked along the clearing, her skirt kicking up in the wind.

Mock wedding. As in, not real. Well that certinaly left a sore spot in the Finn's heart... After tonight, what would happen? After they laid together under the warming sky, the sun's spotless shine lighting their faces, the soft heather and grass as a bed... What would happen? Would the dream crumble? Would Tino wake up only to find his arms empty of his Swedish lover—Berwald having gone back to his normal life, to pursue a real family, a real wife... One that could bear him strapping young sons and give him a hearth in his home? Tino bit his lip and frowned.

He didn't want tonight just to be a simple rolling in the hay, both waking up embarrassed and shy, mumbling a whispered goodbye as they never talked to each other again, never shared a kind word, never shared a memory...

He wanted their relationship to last, to prosper like the burning sun at the peak of its power. He knew marriages of this kind never lasted. A man simply could not wed another man—lest he had an heir to keep his name going...

Tino was sure the Swedish giant would want a son, would want a nice life with his loving wife. He knew Berwald loved him, he knew he would treat him gently tonight, would probably make a promise that he would always love Tino...

But where would that promise get the Finn. He didn't want to go back to the way things were, when they barely spoke, barely bumped into each other or even gazed at one another, for fear of loving too deep. For fear that the potency of Midsummer, of it's magic, would slowly drip away from their hearts.

Tino sighed as he watched the black haired Taiwanese girl sway her way to Elizabeta, her dainty arms laden with a basket of blossoms of every color and size, their perfume making Tino's head spin and reel.

He would have to tell the Swede what he felt, what he really wanted. A night of passion and lust was nice, yes, but if it was just the love making that mattered—well. Tino wanted more. He wanted the Swedes arms wrapped around his waist, he wanted a small cottage of his own, he wanted a son playing with their white little dog, and most importantly he wanted a wedding band on his finger.

Feeling his heart weighing with something thick and solid, Tino bit the inside of his cheek, begging himself to gain the courage to tell the Swede that he loved him and wanted more than one night of his love. He wanted to marry Berwald. He could only pray to the Gods that his thoughts would reach them...

While Tino was thinking such serious and heart weighing thoughts, he felt Nikolas shift next to him, the Norwegian pinking the skin between Tino's thumb, making the Finn pout and hiss with annoying pain.

"What?" Tino whispered out harshly, his gaze flickering to Nikolas, his eyes irritable. Nikolas' eyes remained neutral, but his voice clipped back, his words biting Tino in the ear.

"If you keep daydreaming you are going to miss the instructions of the dance!" Nikolas scolded Tino, Felik's himself giggling because of Tino's furrowed brows. Tino bit his lip, his pout not dissolving fro his face as he glared at his cousin, Nikolas rolling his eyes in annoyance before he returned his gaze to the Hungarian, Tino, begrudgingly, doing the same.

Much to Tino's surprise the brunette woman was giggling and talking to the villagers, her voice as sweet as honey, cheeks flushed.

"...I remember when I was a young maiden, standing on this very clearing, out-looking into a see of careful and watchful eyes... So I know when I say that this is not easy for our young gentlemen and ladies to press themselves to such strenuous lengths to obtain a summer husband! So please, do not grab at the ankles of the one you desire, do not pinch the flesh of the virgin that dances in front of you, only look with heated gaze. You may only touch your destined bride if-," Elizabeta stopped her voice to turn to the obsidian eyed woman that was holding the flowers to her hip. Elizabeta dug her thin fingers into the froth and foam of petals before she picked out a long green stem of an ox-eyed daisy, the white petals instantly making Tino remember his dream. "-your virgin Goddess gives you her chastity, like a delicate flower. Should you, young hunter, find yourselves with a flower clipped between your fingers from your loved one—then you are bound by the sun that drips before you to share in the great union of life."* Elizabeta's gaze flickered over to Berwald, her knowing eyes making him stiffen and blush. She smiled, a quick upturn of her lips before she spun quickly on her heel, turning behind her to greet the beautiful and fresh faces of the virgins that had amassed themselves around the bonfire like a great and knitted ring.

With a quick trot of her dainty feet, almost like a dance, she fluttered over to where Tino was standing and placed the glaring flower of the daisy into his hands, her fingers cupping his smoothly. Tino blinked back before he pressed the flower to his heart, the beautiful Taiwanese woman already passing out the other blooms and blossoms.

"This Maidens dance is called 'Flowers Pick'!" Elizabeta called out again, her dress skirts swishing over the dust, a small little farm boy having already swiped the holes and tuffs of dirt smooth, like the surface of a glassy lake so that the fair maidens would not trip and fall upon their skirts.

"As I have said before—these beauties you see before your eyes must remain pure until the dance is complete..." Elizabeta's voice grew low with warning as her eyes flickered over to the hunting party, their backs bowed, hands grinding into the dirt like pawing bulls. Her eyes were especially trained on Mathias as the Dane gave out a wolfish grin that would put Fenrir's snapping jowls to shame.*

"...Sampling any of the petals of the flower before the dance is over will get you thrown in the stalks...Do you understand young Coyote?" Elizabeta narrowed her eyes as she placed her hands on her hips, glare bleeding through to Mathias.

The blonde only grinned wilder, his eyes shifting to Nikolas who scoffed with disgust.

"Aye Ma'am... I'll wait till after ta' slate my hunger..." He cackled, blowing a small kiss to the Norwegian who just wrapped his arms over his chest, turning his face away with a tight clenching of his jaw. Most of the waiting hunters simply laughed, their fingers craving the sensation of flesh, making them restless.

Elizabeta, seeing as how that was going to be the only promise for non disturbance during the dance from the Dane that she was going to get, nodded and turned back to the patiently waiting virgins, their hands all wringing in their pleated dresses and skirts.

Each woman and man was nervous—to say otherwise would be an outlandish lie. They all breathed in through their nose, smelling the smoky haze of the greenery as it burned with fever on the bonfire. They tasted the sun in their mouth, the dewy warmth that beaded against their skin, that made their dresses and skirts hot. They felt the sun peel at the paint decorated on their flesh, felt the burning hotness of the sand and dirt that was beneath their feet. They felt the strain in their hearts and it nearly made them cry out with agony. They felt the Maidens dance.

Elizabeta, feeling the restlessness of the women behind her, clapped her hands together, her smile never fading. She turned to the maidens who all had a flower tucked into their hand. Tino the glaring daisy, Nikolas the scrubby heather and Feliks the golden yarrow. She turned to them and raised her hands up to the sky, the clouds melting against the blue and gold of the fainted moon and the bright sun above.

She grinned up at the sky before throwing her hands down, making the spectators that were watching with eager eyes quip and howl with delight.

"Ladies of the purest heart..." She dropped her eyes to gaze at the row of fidgeting virgins behind her before she tossed her head to look at the men, especially the hunters party who were watching the bonfires flames with bright eyes.

"Hunters with lust so quick..." The men cackled and growled low in their throats, the bones underneath their bodies growing taunt underneath the muscles, aching to move. They all licked their lips.

"Welcome all—to the Flowers Pick!" She cried out with a bleated smile, her green eyes sparkling with anew mirth.

All around her the villagers erupted with smiles and shouts as the young and old watched with merry eyes at the women and men who would try to seduce a husband into their arms. They threw flowers into the air, enchanting the wind to the smell of biting sweetness. They stomped their feet on the ground, making the earth shudder and quake as if the rocking land beneath them would heave and pull apart with a molten growl. They raised their cups of golden mead, sloshing the liquid to the floor where the dogs hungrily lapped it up.

The cattle that had been doused with ash previously bawled and cried low in their throats, the cats mewled, the ravens cawed, the rooster crowed and the sheep bleated, the ponies whinnied and the dogs yipped. The air was filled to the brim with sound.

All of the maidens, at that heated cry from the beloved Hungarian woman, shuffled onto their feet, their hands balled into fists at their sides. They clutched at the long trails of their skirts and fluttered them around like hens ruffling their feathers. They tucked their flowers in the sashes at their waists, in their hair and in their boots. They kept the fragrant bud near to them, guarding it like their own virginity, parting with it only for the promise of a man's love.

The hunting party, there eyes hungry, began to holler and howl like wild beasts. They drummed their fists upon the poor flesh of the earth, they smacked their lips and shouted up to the sky. Berwald himself was beginning to grow nervous and edgy. His eyes began to scan the crowd that had pushed up to the edges of the clearing in hopes to win a fair maidens heart. Many men of all ages and sizes pressed their fingers to the scavenged earth, raking grass between their clutched hands.

Berwald frowned. He did not like the sight of all these leering men. Tino was his, no other man's eyes should fall with lust upon the Finn's body.

Berwald began to grow angry and flushed as he heard the deafening howls of the men, their eyes attentive, watching, trying to comb out the perfect beauty to hone the suns fertility.

It made him nervous and jealous, to think that other men's gazes would be fixed on his little bride! How dare they look upon Tino with such heated eyes?

But before Berwald could think much more on the anger that was welling up inside him, he heard the unmistakable sound of bells as the maidens hurried around the clearing, their brass belled feet creating a sound of music as they scuttled.

Soon Berwald's stoney stare was brought back to the delicate body of the Finn, Tino's face flushed, mixing in with the pale makeup that had been dredged on his blushing cheeks. The Finn had stood himself in the middle of Nikolas and Feliks, Elizabeta herself insisting that he be flush dead center in front of all the bachelor men that were looking for a bride.

The Finn bit his lip, trying desperately to find the heavy eyes of the Swede. He scanned his gaze over the crowds of onlookers, his eyes all but whirling till they laid on the sharp and stern glare of a stormy blue-green gaze. Tino immediately blinked, his lips curving into a smile as he met with Berwald's stoney eyes, the giant not too far from Tino. In fact, if Berwald pushed his way a bit from the crowd, he could practically touch the fringe from the Finn's dress.

Tino smiled down and him and shook his hips a little, making the bells from his feet jingle. Berwald's face instantly grew as red as a roosters crown, his eyes misting.

Tino, glad that he had caught the Swede's attention, blew a small kiss to him, a few of the men sitting around the bearish Swede chuckling and nudging him in the rib. Berwald could only do his best to cover his blushing face as well as he could, but to no avail.

But before Tino could tease the Swedish man any longer, he heard the plucking of a harp and the windings of a fiddle blare into the humming howls of the villagers. Immediately Tino and the rest of the maidens turned their heads sharply to see Elizabeta back at the harp, her fingers plucking madly. The Dutch man with the scar above his head puffed on his pipe before pounding his fists into the drums madly, the swirl of smoke clouding around him.

Arthur as well began to play his lute-like instrument with ease, his eyes concentrating on his work as his half-son Peter merrily began playing the pan pipes, his freckled smile never leaving his face. Tino smiled. He liked the little British boy well...Perhaps, if he had enough courage to ask Berwald to marry him, and the giant Swede said yes...Well, maybe they could adopt the young lad. Tino was sure Arthur wouldn't mind, the Druid was always complaining about the child anyway...*

But Tino's merry thoughts were broken as Nikolas, once again, elbowed him in the hip.

"Ow!" Tino hissed, rubbing his bare hip bone with his hands, glaring at Nikolas. The Norwegian simply rolled his eyes, informing for Tino to pay attention lest he wanted to be left in the dust by the other dancers. Tino, the inkling's of a glare still in his eyes, stuck his tongue out at his cousin before turning back to the swarmed mass of villagers.

Well. There certainly was a lot of them...Tino thought with nervousness as the music behind him began to grow louder, the heat from the flames all but licking his back hotly, making Tino stiffen.

He let out a sigh and begged himself to relax, to calm down. He was doing this for Berwald, he was doing this to prove that he wanted him as a Summer husband—and a real husband for that matter.

But Tino couldn't be bothered with that train of thought now, for suddenly the fiddle began to quip and wail and the Hunting party, hearing that shrill sound, howled with want, knowing the start of the 'Flowers Pick' was about to begin.

The fiddle raged on and Tino, swallowing a big drought of air, looked to his two companions who were smiling nervously. Well, Feliks was smiling, Nikolas looked like he was going to be sick. But they returned Tino's gaze just the same, their eyes wide and glassy with excitement and nervousness. Then it began.

Elizabeta paused in her harp playing to give a shrill yip in the air, sounding like a small little cat. All the other villagers eyes widened before they too took the cue—most of them screaming and howling like wolves, entreating the instruments to a more natural sound. The hunting party beat their fists mercilessly onto the dirt ground, their eyes never leaving the maidens that slowly began to sway to the music.

Slowly, with a bending of a shoulder, with the twist of a leg, the first maidens began to shake awake, like flowers blooming in spring after a harsh winter. They patted their feet onto the earth, shaking their ankles to create a clinking noise of bells that made all the people in the crowd smile with the familiar sound.

Tino too began to move to the shrill and inviting music, the chorus of the musicians voices joining into the sounds of warmth, speaking in twisted tongues that didn't make sense, Elizabeta and Arthur adding extra volume to the sounds with an animal sound or two.

It was very natural, very primitive, and it called to Tino's heart. The beating of the drum was his pounding blood. The hissing of the fiddle was his tentative steps. The harp was his voice as he joined the other maidens in making small yelp's of sound. The pipes were his breath as he tried to not fall down and faint, the heat at his back swelling against him. The lute was his body as it vibrated with a will of it's own.

Then, he was set free.

He no longer cared about the heat that growled at his back. He no longer cared about his hungry stomach that begged for nourishment. He no longer cared about his bare torso and his swinging hips. Because all that mattered right then and there, was a pair of steely river-stone eyes that were drinking him in.

So, with more bolder steps he joined the other women and men as they made their way around the fires, their steps skidding and sliding in the dirt. There bodies withered like flower petals to the sun and their eyes glowed like embers. Their mouths breathed hissing noises and cries of breath as there legs moved at impossible angles. There hips swayed and dipped, nudging against each other in a movement of friendly flesh as they huddled together like frighted deer, no one approaching a man yet—too afraid and too humbled by the flames to even think of anything else but the dance.

So, together they danced, like a great herd of a frightened and stalking animals, their courage growing as the flames hissed and bubbled and growled, smoke dancing over their body in a chocking but warm embrace.

Long flowering hair blew in the wind as the lengthy flesh of legs peeked out from stiffened skirts, a flurry of color that embraced every dancers hips and breasts. Curls of flowers and robes dragged along the dirt as the dancers moved faster and faster, some getting so dizzy that they leaned in against the other female dancers, to tired to continue. Without a sip of wine or a bit of bread in their stomachs they danced, like wistful fairies jumbled together with the jingles of sound and the smells of the smoke that curled and fluttered through their hair. They were all still timid, but slowly, barriers were broken as the harp plucked with mocking and the fiddle screeched like a great bellowing monster. Women began to clank rocks together to further the beat as a group of unwed men began to howl like fierce wolves—shaking some of the women with fear and nervous giggles.

But finally, just as Tino was rounding a corner of men, a bellow of noise was heard on the other side of the fire. Tino strained his neck upward to see a woman bending low to the ground, a wild rose in the hands of the man before her. Tino smiled as he watched the unknown man accept the flower, taking his bride by the hand as they disappeared into the forest.

But once again his attention was captured by other noises that bellowed and roared as more women and men began to break from the herd of dancers to thrust flowers into the hands of unwed men.

Tino bit his lip as he rounded the corner of the bonfire again, his eyes finding the golden bounding hair of Feliks as he too broke from the music of the Maidens to skip merrily over to Toris who was watching with nervous and heated eyes.

Tino gazed on and watched as the young Polish beauty shimmied over to the stunned Lithuanian, the pink paint on Felik's stomach wriggling on his body as if the swirls had a mind of their own.

Toris, hands painfully clasped in his lap, could only watch with opened mouth as Feliks, a giddy grin on his face, charmed his way over to his Midsummer husband. He swayed, he dipped, he giggled and he fluttered, and, before Toris was reduced to a pile of goo, Feliks bent down to his eye level, hand flicking to his hips before he produced a spring of golden yarrow that glinted with promised mischievous. Toris eyed it hungrily, his eyes that were usually so nervous settling into a calm and heated stare. Feliks threw his head back and laughed as he flicked the yarrow into the Lithuanian's lap, Toris grabbing at it awkwardly before staring back at Feliks who had, with a wink of his eye, gone back to dance along the fast running and skipping dancers.

Tino couldn't help but feel a bit envious of Felik's courage as he watched the haughty Polish man skip away with a swing in his step. Tino bit his lip and placed his hands out in front of him, doing his best to not slip on his skirts and fall flat on his face. He had to be graceful, he had to be seductive—he had to give Berwald his flower soon lest another maiden encroach on Tino's soon to be husband!

So, feet quick with determination, the Finn, leaping like a deer with the other woman, began to circle round and round with his steps, feeling quiet dizzy as his glassy violet eyes searched for the handsome and hardened glare of Berwald.

Tino felt his hair whip against his face as he danced faster and faster, his feet curling underneath him to keep up with him, Oh where was Berwald! No longer could the petite Finn find the glare of the man. Tino, feeling frustrated, picked up his step, his feet skidding into the dusty earth.

He just had to find him, he had too! If not...well then... Tino bit his lip. No, Berwald would not accept another woman's flower. The Swede loved him and him alone. It was utterly foolish for Tino to think otherwise!

So, with a bit more bounce in his heart, the Finn stiffly twirled around the flames that raced against his back. He could feel his pulse in his throat as it beat wildly. He could feel his feet ache and his eyes flutter as the smoke blew against his violet gaze.

He coughed quietly to himself as a spew of dust ranged from his vision from the eccentric stomping of a young girl with black hair and beautiful red pigtails. The girl's eyes shone a bright black as she danced on, paying Tino no heed as she sought out the hand of her preferred male.

As long as she does not seek Berwald for her bed... Tino thought a bit sourly as he began to clip his feet up and down as if he was dancing to some unbalanced jig that only he himself knew eyes the steps too.

Round and round he twirled until his burning eyes caught the glimpse of Nikolas, dancing very slowly, drag his feet over to a highly exited male. Tino's lips twisted into a tiny smirk as he recognized the wild throws of hair that was crowned atop the familiar Danes head, Mathias's grin back in place and as wide as ever.

Tino watched sneakily from the edge of the flames as the young and doleful eyed Norwegian, with a sour glare on his lips, thrust the prickly and scraggly stem of the heather into the Dane's fluttered fingers. Mathias's eyes twinkled brightly like unleashed stars as he threw his head back and cackled deep in his throat like a tone deaf Coyote. Nikolas only groaned from embarrassment before he stealthily danced away before the perverted Danish man could grab for a bit of flesh from the Norwegian.

Tino smiled as he turned his eyes away from the scene of his friend and his soon to be Summer Husband.

If Feliks and Nikolas could muster up the needed courage to find their Summer husbands, than Tino could do the same...At least he thought.

The young Finn, his steps beginning to grow heavy, his lashes beginning to flutter, swayed his hips over to the mass of men that he knew Berwald was sitting next to. A small sinful smile graced his lips as he moved quiet slowly, with purpose.

Soon, with a glinting from the fires help, Tino could make out the stern and overpowering glare of the man that he desperately wanted to impress tonight. It seemed that no other female had made their claim over the Swedish man, probably too damn afraid of his venomous glare to even dance near him let along touch him!

But Tino was glad for this, for it meant that Berwald was all his...

Skipping to a fro with a bit more flash of his hips, the young Finn danced nearer and nearer to the Swede. Berwald's eyes were careful as he drank in the sight of his beloved wife as the young man took low and shimmied dips of his hips, flashing a smooth expanse of thighs that made a few men coo and cackle.

Berwald turned his head sharply to the men that had their eyes on his sweet little wife and gave them the death glare of their life, sending them blinking their eyes back into their cooled horns of mead, vowing with silent breath to never look at the Finn with lust again lest they wanted their limbs to stay on their body.

But, with a smile, Tino caught Berwald's attention again as the Finn began to shake his feet closer to where Berwald was sitting, the little tiny bells making tinkling noises in the back of Berwald's skull that reminded him of bridal veils fit with chimes and keys. Tino was his bride. There was no doubting it now.

Not when the Finn swayed around to the fiddle and drums with such sultry delight that Berwald was afraid his jaw would drop from his mouth and land in the dust at his feet.

But before the Swede could entertain thoughts about lunging and ravaging said Finn, Tino had made his way closer to Berwald than he had through the entire dance.

The Finn seemed to smile with unleashed delight as he gave Berwald a little show of his naked hips, his stomach glistening with sweat that curled and shimmered with the body paint on his milky white skin.

It made Berwald swallow thickly, feeling his pulse in his mouth.

This was it. This was the night he would take Tino for his bride.

With that comforting thought of determination, the Swede dared to dart his eyes over to the yellow eyes daisy that was mocking Berwald from a distance. A very, short distance.

Tino, bending his head down as he shifting from his feet, his body all but curved over Berwald, giggled at the look in the man's eyes. He had finally snared the man of his dreams with his body and heart. Now it was time to seal the deal.

Taking a deep breath, Tino dragged his fingers slowly over his hips, his short legs still swaying back and forth, thighs rocking with circular motions that seemed to drag Berwald into a mindless stupor.

He had no idea Tino could do that with his body...Could—could bend that way! Could twist and pull! Could look so damn sexy that all Berwald could think about was how nice it would be to have the Finn be rid of all that clothing.

But before Berwald could let his thought drift to more dirty scenarios and ideas, the corner of his eye caught the flash of the soft petals from the flower as they were lifted from nimble fingers to rest in the Finn's palm.

Berwald looked up at Tino with widened eyes, his mouth drying as if he had just swallowed a fist full of sand. The Finnish man could only smile as he held the delicate flower in his fingers, the flowers thin green stem twirling in the bright and crackling light of the great Bonfire.

Berwald raised his eyes to Tino's suddenly, his gaze solidifying, glaring almost, like a wild monster to be set free.

'This is what you want?' The Swede's eyes seemed to ask as he looked straight into the face of his lover. Tino's face only seemed to bright softly, like a winter candle being lit as he bent down to eye level with the seated Finn.

Tino's lips curled into a small smile as he rested his hands to his chest, the flower pressed softly to his heart, the glow from the flames illuminating his skin so that it grew a pale bone white.

Tino looked into the eyes of the Swedish man once more before he slid his eyes shut like a contented cat. He took a soft breath of air from his lips, a slow stream of smokey mist that filled his lungs like specks of embers from the fire.

Berwald could only watch with reverence as the Finn, bending down, slowly took the flower from his flesh covered heart to relax the stem into the Swede's outstretched hands, the Finn's fingers locking over the Swede's in a gentle embrace that sent sparks through their bodies.

It was like magic, as if the flower itself was possessed by all things good in the world, all things lovely and sweet. It was like the flowers stem and leaves, petals and buds were controlled and ruled by each others heart strings, connecting them as one.

Everything stopped.

The Fiddles quieted, the Harp made it's last pluck. The Drums were stilled, the pipe's noises lost in the whispering wind.

The cattle stood with ash dripping from their brows, the dogs pressed their noses to the sky with a subtle sniff as the smelled the potency in the air.

The garlands stopped their insistent swinging from the trees, the flowers stopped their growing.

The mead wash hushed from the pots, the meat would not sizzle.

All around was silence. Even the groaning and hissing bonfire had humbled itself and stood still and waiting in the middle of the clearing.

The maidens had scattered, leaving only the timid Finn and the abashed Swede to stare at each other, the flower that represented their love for each other clasped between their hands.

No one breathed, no one blinked, no one thought...

All was quiet but the timid pounding noise of the two lovers pressed against each other from the heat of the Midsummer's bonfire. The flower was clung to with all their might as they rose almost together, one towering over the other.

Their eyes were locked as their mouths parted, their lungs begging for breath that was denied. Because even to breathe would distract themselves from the love that they had for each other. To think of anything else but them, together, united—it was impossible.

They had not meant for this to happen, at least not to happen so magically. They had to leave it to fate. They had to trust in one another to make it happen. To let their hearts sing with quiet whispers that no one could hear. They had to hum it with their lips, express it with their eyes, drink it with their actions.

It was not them that made their hearts connect.

It was not the Gods nor the Goddesses that looked down upon them with contentment and mirth.

It was not the Bonfire that shone so brightly behind them like a whole nest and cradle of captured stars.

It was not the shimmering wind that promised something otherworldly in the air.

No, it was none of these.

It was the small little flower that had disguised itself as their love. As their devotion, their lust, their hopes, their dreams, their courage in their hearts that led them to love each other.

It was all in a power of the little plant that enchanted them, that magical herb that blissfully took hold of their hearts and molded them into one.

It was none other than the Flowers Pick.

...

Shit, sounds like the ending huh? It's not—but the ending will come soon! Haha, I made Tino sound like a damned stripper! (Sorry ^^") I might make only one more chapter for the end—sorry!

Authors Notes:

-"-your virgin Goddess gives you her chastity, like a delicate flower. Should you, young hunter, find yourselves with a flower clipped between your fingers from your loved one—then you are bound by the sun that drips before you to share in the great union of life."*-Just putting this in here to expain somethin' to y'all. Midsummer is like a mixture of Litha and Beltane. Litha is a Pagan holiday that pays homage to the sun, Beltane is a Pagan holiday that pays homage to the Fertility to the Goddess and God. This little bit of speech that Elizabeta gives is more of the British belief than Nordic. When couples fornicated in the forest, they played the role of God and Goddess. Hee hee Tino is a Goddess (BLASPHAMY! OAO)

-Her eyes were especially trained on Mathias as the Dane gave out a wolfish grin that would put Fenrir's snapping jowls to shame.*- Fenrir was the Wolf son of the God Loki. He was bound by the Gods because he was growing stronger and stronger each day and was in danger to Odins life. When the end of the world occurs, he will break from his fetters and swallow Odin whole.

-He liked the little British boy well...Perhaps, if he had enough courage to ask Berwald to marry him, and the giant Swede said yes...Well, maybe they could adopt the young lad. Tino was sure Arthur wouldn't mind, the Druid was always complaining about the child anyway...*-The Covens of the Druids are still in the world today. Though small in order, they are the Pagan priests of the Old Religion that are very knowledgeable on the teachings of Polygamist religion. Most Covens are in Britain, where they are most famous for their religion.