Prompt: 'Best thing I ever did was marrying you'
Bullets whistled overhead like deadly birds, spilling at irregular intervals from enemy guns. Sometimes there was a surprised yell from above, and Sweden would know one had found its mark. He hoisted up his own rifle and squinted through the eyepiece. The blurry forms of a thousand men came into view- Russian and Finnish alike, hacking at each other with bayonets or firing guns at close range. It was a dense and bloody battle. Far off, he could just make out the enemy machine guns, great grey lumps that shook constantly with their death rattle. Sweden picked his target. His finger brushed over the trigger, pushing down- but the Russian soldier fell before he could react.
'Fifty-seven!' came Finland's delighted voice from his side. Sweden lowered his rifle in disbelief.
'Fin, that one was s'mine! I'm only on twenty-three.' Finland shrugged, a lock of hair falling into one eye. It was caked with mud and blood, but here and there gold still shone through.
'You aim for too long. Shoot whilst you've still got instinct.'
'Very well.' They shouldered their weapons again. Sweden got in a couple of shots, though Finland would still have said he took aim for too long. His arm shook and bounced with every pull of the trigger, sending a rippling jolt of pain down the bone. Yet Sweden would rather be here than anywhere else. He was with Finland, fighting for freedom, no longer kingdom and colony but equals, with the same rights at long last.
'Sví!' Iceland's breathless voice called from behind them. They rolled out of their shooting positions and stood. 'Orders from HQ. You're both to retreat back to base for reinforcements, then head out into the woods. There's a fresh troop of Russians out there, apparently.' He grinned at them with all the romance and glory of war. Iceland's borrowed uniform was a little big for him, but he stood proudly, pleased to be included in the war even if he looked no more than fifteen years old. One day, he will learn. War is not all about fabled victories.
'Where's Denmark and Norway?' asked Finland.
'Up in the other watchtower. Den insisted he could take the lot of them with just his axe, but it didn't go down too well with the General. Norway's fine. Bored, probably, but there you go.' He shot them a clumsy salute, then disappeared down the stairs again. Sweden felt a slow smile spreading across his face.
'Ready?' he said.
'Readier than you,' said Finland, a little disgruntled. For once Sweden merely laughed, hugging Finland close.
'I'm sure you could take out all those Russians on your own.'
'Well, it'd certainly be quicker without you.' That earned him another laugh, and a kiss.
'Best thing I ever did was marrying you.' he murmured into Finland's hair. They both froze.
'Ruotsi...' Finland broke from the embrace, staring up with eyes that were suddenly serious. 'We're not married.' Congratulations, Sve, said a voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like Denmark. Messed it up again.
'Wait, Fin-' He put a hand in his pocket, rifling through various shredded papers and spare bullets. Something round brushed against his fingers. 'Here.' The ring was simple, a band of silver dusted with coal and other marks of war. There were no further embellishments; only the gesture, simple and sweet. 'Will you at least wear it?' Finland took it as though it was carved of the most delicate glass, holding up the ring so it was touched by feeble sunlight.
'I'll do much more than that,' he breathed, voice light as air. Sweden's lips brushed against his just as he slipped on the ring. And so they were joined at last, whilst the cacophony of war raged about their heads. Yet all Sweden could hear was the beautiful roar of his own joy.