Author's note: I aged Peter down a bit in this because for me, six is about the perfect age. Six the age of the kids I used to work with, and the oldest of my kids I babysit, and it's the age I really know the best. It's magical and Peter is wonderful and Berwald is my favorite. People don't give six year olds enough credit sometimes for how intelligent they are while still being innocent.
Also, not relevant in any way but I think you'll all appreciate this: I had thought about writing "The End" in Swedish at the end of this chapter because it has a real finality for me and I sometimes want to do that at the end of chaptered fics. I then discovered that the Swedish for the end of a movie like that is "slut". Stop it Sweden, you already have all my love! Probably not the best sentiment to start the only non-sexy chapter with, but I felt I would have failed you had I not informed you of that.
Don't forget reviews let me know what you want to see more of when I return from my vacation. Bonnes vacances à tout le monde and I hope you enjoyed all of this the way I did!
Five Loves for Berwald Oxenstierna
5. Peter Kirkland
The sun is warm on his skin, his shirt not quite connecting with the top of his pants. Berwald pillows his head with his large arms, a glare on his glasses from the sun as he watches his son.
His heart always beats loudest when he's with Peter, because the boy returns his love like no one else. Peter loves Berwald for Berwald, because he's his father and he cares for him and protects him, and because Peter is innocent and doesn't know better, doesn't know the cruelty his protector is capable of, doesn't know the things he's done. There are no bad memories, no ruined moments, no failed unions. There is only Peter, sweet and naïve and wanting so much to be a country.
"This big Papa!" Peter says, kneeling down beside him, holding his arms out wide to show his father.
"That's pretty big Peter," the Swede says lovingly.
"Bigger than all the other empires," the boy giggles, standing once more. He spins in the grass that perhaps Berwald should cut, but it tickles his skin and is soft under his boy's bare feet. "Bigger than the British Empire and the Russian Empire and the Roman Empire and all the empires!"
Berwald smirks. "Bigger than even my empire?" That throws the boy for a moment, who has to stop and think back on his history lessons. As he's grown his father has slowly introduced more and more Swedish things into the life they lead together: Swedish words, Swedish history, Swedish cuisine. Peter doesn't have a lot of people to practice with, and his English will always be best, but when he comes home to his father, to his real home, the micronation does his best to show what he knows of his father's country.
"Papa?" Berwald shifts as the boy lays beside him, wrapping one arm around his back. Peter's head is laid gently on his expansive chest, rising and falling in time with the larger nation's breathing. There's a pause before Peter finishes his thought. "Papa, what was your empire like?"
"Stormaktstiden," he whispers. When his boy's head pops up Berwald laughs. "It means the era of great power. We had so much land, so much power. We almost conquered all of the Baltic Sea." The nation smiles in memory of his family, of what the Oxenstiernas had become. They may have lost the empire as time slipped on, but history would always remember that family, his family. In the end their good fortunes came, the ones they had prayed to the old gods for centuries earlier, and Berwald, their precious prized member, well he's still here, their prayers to keep their immortal forever an Oxenstierna, forever strong and powerful, answered. That period wasn't the highest point in the Swedish nation's life; many were forgotten and abused and worse by officials in his name. Alliances had shifted with who was the most powerful that day; Berwald had had to forsake old friends he'd had for centuries in favor of new ones, replacing Christen with Bonnefoy, letting Lukas sway with the winds and watching Timo slip away.
But it had been power, and it had felt good at the time.
"Papa!" Peter whines. Looking at his son he could understand why the boy wanted to feel that power too. But Berwald also knows better, ruffling the soft blond hair before kissing it, pulling the boy onto his chest to hug him tightly.
"Don't ever grow up Peter," he whispers in broken English so that his boy understands every word. "Just stay like this, with me, forever Peter. Promise me."
The little Sealand-incarnate blinks, looking at his father, before seeming to understand something too complex for his young mind to voice. "Ok Papa." Then he kisses his father's forehead and Berwald holds him tight, his heart thumping in his chest. There's peace in the world, stability, and Peter to protect forever.
Somewhere a shutter clicks, the moment ending as Berwald opens his eyes to see Timo sitting beside him. Peter sits up, looking confused at his mother.
"You two looked so peaceful," Timo whispers, smiling, smoothing the boys hair that his father had messed up. He kisses his cheek.
"Mama?" The Finn nods. "Have you always loved Papa?"
The nice thing about Peter asking questions is that it means he's been paying attention in class, learning like a good boy. The hard thing about Peter asking questions is that it means Berwald has to find the nicest way possible to retell the darkest parts of Nordic history, things he's not proud to have done.
But for his wife it always seems to come easy, smiling at the boy with the most loving of eyes. Timo's gaze shifts, falling to Berwald, and his smile only grows before the Finnish nation leans down, kissing Berwald. The Swede closes his eyes, enjoying the chaste kiss more than he ever would have as a young Viking, before Timo lays under his other arm, Peter still sitting on his stomach.
"Yes Peter," Timo sighs, his head resting on his husband's shoulder, "I've always loved your father. It wasn't always easy, our relationship," and they both chuckle in that way that only time and their love has given them, "but I've always loved him. Always." Berwald kisses his wife's hair, watching Peter smile at them with two of his baby teeth missing, thinking of how they've grown over the years.
The Oxenstierna would be proud to see their Björn married and with his son, the true patriarch of the Steirnung ætt now.
It's the monthly dinner, Peter happily yakking between his parents, each of his small hands in one of theirs. Christen throws Peter in the air when they enter, Emil and Timo exchanging soft words, and Berwald kisses Lukas's cheek.
"Miss you," the Norwegian whispers before they break apart, looking to where Timo is now trying to break the Dane away from his son. Berwald can only grip those Danish hands tightly, guiding them back down to place Peter on the ground, before the waitress comes to show them to their table.
They normally sit the same way every dinner since it seems to cause the least amount of headaches: Peter placed between his parents, Timo speaking with Emil, Berwald with Lukas. Christen sits between the brothers joining in whatever conversation he fancies, making faces at his nephew from across the table.
"How has he been?" Berwald whispers to Lukas as they start dinner, this month American due to the world meeting being held in Washington. While the Swede would have liked to start right in on his steak, he knows Peter only eats what his father does and so resigns himself to the salad Timo passes him.
"Eh," and the Norwegian chances to look over at Christen who seems to be discussing sports with Emil. The Icelander just stares, having never been one for sports nor enthused conversation the way Christen is. "He's been Christen."
"But things have been alright?" Out of the corner of his eye Berwald watches Timo settle Peter in, the boy happily eating. His father steals a slice of cucumber from his plate, so his son does the same off the Swedish dish in retaliation.
"Oh yes," Lukas admits. "He's been very loving and considerate. I could almost love him, if I wanted to." Berwald understands what he's really saying. As if on cue Christen, grinning widely, kisses his boyfriend's cheek. Lukas does nothing to react, because it drives the Dane crazy when he doesn't.
At least, it looks like he does nothing at the kiss. While being equal in their standings as independent nations has helped Christen and Lukas's relationship, giving it a balance it always lacked before, it's only complicated Berwald and Lukas's relationship further. In fact as Christen takes one of Lukas's hands in both his, kissing it in some romantic gesture, the other hand is running up and down Berwald's strong thigh, fingers drumming a bit to rub against his manhood.
While his once-best friend is blissfully ignorant of it, living in his own happy world that the Swede envies him for having, Berwald's gaze falls to the side to see Timo watching him. His wife smiles sweetly, his eyes as loving as ever, but there's also an understanding there. The Finn knows what is going on, knows that Berwald and Lukas have been in love for centuries and that Lukas would snatch up the Swede in seconds were Timo to ever leave again. Knows Lukas is rubbing his husband's leg because he does this every time they go out for dinner, and so Berwald confesses each time to his wife what had happened.
Timo had told him that though it hurts to know Berwald has loved another, he trusts his husband, just as he always has, to do the right thing by their family. The Nordic nations have an intricate web of relationships, Berwald connected in so many ways to the others. But he is Timo's only connection, the only lover the young (by his standard's) nation has had, and so he smiles back over their son's head. He won't stop Lukas, but it drives the Norwegian crazy when he smiles at his wife, the same way it drives the Dane crazy that he doesn't react.
"Look Papa!" Peter proclaims as he finishes his salad; Berwald kisses him.
Enough is enough, the Swedish man decides. When he was young he played outside with his siblings, his father and uncles and cousins. Sure the family isn't as big now, but Berwald doesn't care. Peter spends too much time playing these newfangled video games by his father's standard, and so the man finds himself squeezing through boxes in the garage until he finds the circuit breaker box, flipping the electricity in the house. Immediately Peter screams.
"Papa! Papa! The electricity went out Papa!" Closing the garage door quickly Berwald tries to act as if he had been in his study.
"I noticed," the Swede concedes in his flat tone. Peter's used to his father's shifting displays of personality, from the cold and distant man in public with the flat voice to the happy, loving man who throws him in the air, spinning and chasing him in the backyard. "What should we do?"
"Make it come back!" the boy announces, following Berwald like Hanatamago does as he pulls open the blinds in the house to let in more light.
"If it's out, it's out Peter." They climb the stairs, where Timo is already waiting on the landing, fluffy dog in question napping outside Peter's door.
"Power went out?" He's brushing his hair, dressed in his suit. The Finnish nation has a meeting today while his husband has the day off.
Berwald grunts in response, kissing his wife who seems to take the hint.
"Shame, hope you two can find something to do until it comes back." Timo kisses the Swede once more, handing him the brush, before kissing their son and going down the stairs. "See you later boys!" he calls from the front door, Peter waving over the banister at the top of the stairs.
"So," Berwald begins, leaning on the banister as well and watching his son. "What shall we do while we wait?" He grins despite himself, quite proud of his little idea and not quite sure why he hadn't thought of it earlier.
While he'd prefer not to have anything resembling war in the house Berwald did allow Peter's brothers to gift him with board games ranging from Battleship to Stratego for his last birthday. Chess, while still the Swede's favorite, is a bit too complex for the boy and Risk, his father's new favorite, is still out of the question.
As they move from game to game on the kitchen table Berwald teaches his son the Swedish names of various pieces and moves, leading to small history lessons that involve more language lessons. The boy's French is actually pretty good; Berwald's always liked French, probably due to his years of strange friendship with the French nation. Peter's Germany Berwald gave up on years ago; he refuses to touch on what Russian Peter might have picked up from Alfred.
For lunch they eat in the backyard, playing cards in the grass. His boy's gotten better at both winning and taking his loses with grace; the Swede would have to thank Matthew for that next he saw him.
When the sun's set, a chill coming over the house, Berwald thinks about going to flip the electricity back on to get the heat going. He's almost made up his mind when Peter wraps his arms around him from behind, squeezing his father's stomach. "Papa?" the boy asks, his words muffled by his father's sweater.
"Yeah Peter?" His hands hold the boy's head behind him.
"Can you read to me in front of the fire?" Being a much better idea then turning the electricity back on, Berwald smiles.
"You pick the book, I'll get the fire going."
He's not sure what time it is when Timo returns, though he knows it's late. As the front door creaks closed, the locks being placed, Berwald shakes his arm to read the watch. Eleven thirty; no wonder Peter had fallen asleep in his lap.
"Hey," his wife whispers, approaching cautiously. Most of the Finn's things are laid on the couch, stepping out of his shoes before crawling up beside his husband. Berwald wraps an arm around his shoulders, kissing the man deeply. He holds him tight, the other arm around Peter with his head falling off his father's shoulder. Moving closer he feels one of Timo's arms come around his neck, the other going around their son to keep his head steady. The kiss grows almost desperate though the Swedish nation tries to control himself; Peter's only here for a few more days and then he'll have his alone time with Timo. As if reading his mind his Finnish wife moans against his lips, breaking the kiss and breathing deeply. His head is buried in the crook of Berwald's neck and shoulder, watching the sleeping micronation. "He looks so peaceful." His voice is hushed.
"We were reading." Berwald gestures to where the book had fallen.
"'Where The Wild Things Are'," Timo reads, smiling. "Classic Peter."
"Never grows old." He had meant the book but as the silence fills the room, only the sound of the fire crackling before them breaking through, Berwald thinks that maybe he had meant Peter too. He smooths the boy's hair, Timo leaning against his shoulder. Peter's grown the slowest, being the youngest.
"You want me to go turn the electricity back on now?"
"Just wait a little longer," Berwald pleads quietly. Timo nods knowingly.
"And what are you reading here?" His wife gestures to the book in his lap.
"Oh, you know, my biography," he whispers seriously which makes Timo giggle more as he picks up the book.
"This is a history of Sweden."
"Like I said, my biography."
Timo sighs, shaking his head. "I don't think a history book will have fully captured who you are as a person," and he finishes the sentence with a kiss.
Peter's breathing is raspy so his father tilts his head forward some more until it calms, holding his boy close and closing his eyes. His nose rests in the soft blond hair, sighing as he thinks about his son. Sometimes he wishes he'd always had Sealand, always had someone so sweet and young to protect, a little boy to depend on him. Then maybe things would have been different; not necessarily the history because Timo's right, the history doesn't capture who Berwald was or is. But maybe he would have done different things with the hand life had dealt him, made different decisions or friendships. Berwald feels best when he's protecting someone he loves, because while he was built to be a warrior he was also built to love and be loved.
In the firelight Timo's wedding ring glints and the Swede realizes he has had someone all along to protect. The Finn was only a child when he first met him; hell, Berwald himself was still a child, seventeen being nowhere near an adult. But he hadn't been ready to be a parent, he hadn't been able to protect Timo the way he can now protect Peter. His mind easily finds new activities to play with the boy who laughs easily and smiles widely at his father, sensing none of the intimidation nearly all others find. Timo had been for so long scared of him and while he too now knows the real Berwald, the one who was quiet in winter and playful in summer, it took a long time and several wars to reach this point.
Sighing he watches the man turn the book as he pages through, reading the notes Berwald had scribbled in the margin. He flips through the book backwards, going back in time, nodding his head knowingly at the passages about the last union between Sweden and Norway before reaching the eighteenth century, the year when Timo came to him on a night not unlike this one, ready to accept his love. Looking at the man who has grown so much since then Berwald smiles bittersweetly. "I love you," he whispers as one Finnish fingers runs over a note. His head comes up, smiling at his husband, before going back to the book.
The Kalmar Union is still hard to read about. Lukas and Christen are still together but the Norwegian was right, it was always unequal. So many things they've done that Berwald now regrets, Christen feeling the same. And before the union, when what is now Sweden and Denmark defeated Norway, when they still worshipped the old gods, Berwald can only picture small moments. He remembers the words in that old language, remembers the Danish voice because it's still there for him to hear, but it's hard to see all the faces. There's Christen, no Ketill's, bright face, and there's the first time he ever saw Lukas. There's Timo being brought to him in the early morning during the crusades and there's Emil being brought to them for the very first time by his brother. A thousand years; how much the world has changed in a thousand years.
Berwald's about ready to bring Peter upstairs to let him sleep in his own bed when Timo reaches the first chapter, the page falling open to perhaps the earliest thing Berwald can remember clearly. On the one side there's a woodcut engraving of the sacred grove at Uppsala; a post-it note is on the page with Berwald's corrected drawing that he'd have to slip to some official to have put in the next edition of the book. On the other page is general guessing as to what life in Birka and Hovgården had been like. The Swedish nation's still yet to decide what notes to make in the margin beyond writing a single word.
"Urd?" Timo reads; his husband's body freezes. "Urd," he repeats more confidently, swallowing. Big violet eyes meet his sea-green ones, and Timo nods in understanding. "Was Urd the first one you ever loved?" Something akin to guilt fills Berwald, who can't figure out why he wants to apologize for loving a woman four centuries before he met the nation now called Finland. "Be," Timo whispers, and he nods for his wife to go on. "Be, I know you've loved others. That's ok, you- your heart is meant to love. And you're good at it. And I meant it when I said I trusted you. I know when you told me forever you meant it, and maybe you won't always be able to keep that promise but…." His words trail off as he leans into his husband's shoulder. Under one arm Berwald holds Peter, the other Timo. In the crackling fire he can remember evenings spent reading with Lukas, or nights sleeping before the fire with Christen. He remembers speaking with his Unna on cold winter nights in his first house. It was always borrowed time.
"But what?" the Swede asks, his chest growing tight waiting for the end of the thought. Timo's light breathing serves as his answer, and looking down he smiles at the sleeping Finn. Berwald finishes his wife's sentence with, "But nothing," before closing his eyes, trying to remember this moment for the next thousand years, his heart beating quickly in his chest.