Author's note: Expect fewer updates during the next two weeks while I get used to school again.
So far, I think I'm learning a lot because of this first fanfic. That's a fancy way of saying that there are a lot of mistakes and stuff to fix all the time and that makes me sad ~(‾⌣‾~).

A few days passed and Berwald began to slowly establish a routine. He began to feel at peace with the rhythm of the sunsets and sunrises that governed the daily life of the village. After being shown the herbs that grew in the area, he spent time picking and preserving them for the winter. Then hung to dry by the fire or from the wooden rafters, and his house gained an earthy, warm sort of smell, far different from what he usually associated with his trade. Outside, a small garden was beginning to take shape, though it would still be a while before it would bear fruit.
He treated a sheep that had an infection around its ears and eyes (It wasn't exactly his area of expertise, but he managed). And lastly, there was the homesickness that came and went, steady as the rhythm of night and day.

All in all, he was beginning to settle in.

Then it happened.

Berwald had sat in the dirt of his small field with an elderly man. They had been discussing what crops could be planted in autumn and what help Berwald would need for such a small area when a child came running towards them. It was a girl. Her eyes were bright, and she giggled as she came closer. "Mathias 's up!" she said, "He's aliiive!" Then she ran off again, her braid swinging side to side. Berwald watched her as she disappeared behind the walls of a house further ahead. He excused himself and went to get his bag.

When he arrived at the small house on the other side of the village, children already surrounded the entrance. Some of the stared inside with wide, curious eyes while others were scared and trembling by the edges of the group. Most seemed worried. They all moved aside for Berwald who stood still a moment as to adjust to the half-dark inside. He shut the door behind him.

Berwald's eyes met Mathias' for the first time.

Mathias was sitting upright, gripping the edge of the bed so tightly that his knuckles were white. His head was bowed down, and damp strands of his blonde hair clung to his forehead. When Berwald entered the room, Mathias looked up, and at first, all Berwald saw was the sheer will in his eyes. Will to live.

...And then Mathias began talking.

" 'Ello. My lips are so dry – Can I get some beer or something?"

"I'd-" Berwald began before he was cut off by his patient.

"You're... new, aren't you? I guess it's you I have to thank for all of this," Mathias said, gesturing weakly towards his surroundings.

"You's be right," Berwald answered. He took a step closer, watching for reopened wounds or signs of confusion in his expression. Mathias was still wearing nothing but the cloth he had pulled over his waist. "Your dressing's 'ndone."

Mathias looked downwards to his leg where the bandage had come loose, one end trailing across the floor. "Oh - are you going to fix it up or what?" He attempted to move aside and get his leg back up on the bed, but it was clear that the movement was painful. "Ouch-"

"Stay still."

"You're a man of few words."

"'n you talk t' much," Berwald said slowly as he began to work.

Mathias seemed to ignore the remark. "Kind of weird to have you kneeling on the floor for me, though," he continued, "You don't sound like you're from 'round here. By the way, what's your name?"

"...Berwald. Oxenstierna."

"That's some name."

"Fr'm Sweden."

"You speak the language quite well," Mathias said. He groaned as Berwald grazed the bare wound with his fingers even though it was healing well. "But I guess it's not that different. Oh, here she comes."

The clatter of wooden buckets and the sound of water splashing heralded the arrival of Mathias' mother. She put away the water in the corner of the room and then turned towards the two men. Berwald was just about done with putting on the new bandages. He saw what he thought was hope in her eyes – a twitch of her mouth, something in her eyes – when she looked at her son. Mathias didn't look at her – his eyes were turned down, fixed at the floor, his leg, or Berwald's hands, he couldn't tell. The Dane's grip on the bed had loosened. One hand, he laid flat on the damp surface of the bed sheets, the other... that right hand with its blisters and burns hovered in the air centimeters from Berwald's head as if Mathias was about to touch his hair or face for some reason. Berwald noticed. Then Mathias seemed to have second thoughts and let that hand, too, lay to his side.

For a while, nobody said anything. There was only the silence, the movements of Berwald's hands and Mathias' eyes occasionally finding Berwald's, although both looked away immediately.

Then the mother spoke, her voice harsh.

"Is there something you'd like to tell me, Mathias?"

Berwald saw Mathias tense as he answered without looking at her.

"I don't know."

"May God have mercy with you – you - " His mother began, but she stopped when she seemed to remember that Berwald was in the room with them. Needless to say, he was a bit confused about the conversation and the suddenly oppressive atmosphere and was relieved that he could excuse himself, having just finished applying the ointment and redressed the wound.

"I should go," he said.

Nobody stopped him. Just as he stood in the door, he heard Mathias call out.

"So remember that beer, alright, Berwald?"

"I'll try," he answered. Were they already on first name basis?

Berwald kept his eyes at the dirt beneath his feet while he walked home.

His thoughts circled around those eyes and a small gesture that he told himself could have meant anything. He realised that he had gotten his hopes up, a dumb thing to do in his situation. Even though it had felt like it by Mathias' bed, there was simply no way the Dane would have been able to sense those emotions that had grown inside Berwald during the last days.

It was a fool's hope.

And so, the next days passed. The rhythm of sunsets and sunrises continued, and at least during daytime, Berwald felt that he had everything under control. Mathias was better now, his fever receding rapidly, meaning Berwald wasn't needed every day. The one time he visited, Mathias was asleep and Berwald did not wake him (although his hand lingered as he took Mathias' temperature).

He left a cup of borrowed ale on the table.

His garden took shape.

Berwald had Karen over at his house. They sat by a newly cleaned hearth and discussed grain and payment and neighbouring villages with sick sheep. She said that Berwald looked like he didn't sleep well. He agreed. (He had dreamt of black birds and a man's touch and church-bells ringing in the distance.) All sorts of small thoughts seemed to fill his brain, and he moved from task to task as if afraid of standing idle for too long. Then he went to sleep and woke up and the sun rose again.

In need of fresh air and light, he walked downhill, following the town's only road.

He greeted the women who stood in their doors or came back from their work.

He looked up at all the morning sky with all its nuances of orange, yellow and red between the clouds.

Mathias had the sun behind him as he approached Berwald. Its golden glow appeared as an aura around his hair, his head, his limbs – Berwald stood completely still, almost frozen in place as he saw him.

Smiling, Mathias took another slow step towards Berwald. His house was not far away (maybe fifteen steps at most), but even that was an accomplishment for someone who was recently on his deathbed. Mathias ran his fingers through his hair.

"C-could you help me out here?" he asked. Berwald saw how his patient's legs trembled and quickly closed the space between them with a few decisive strides. He draped Mathias' arm around his own broad shoulders and supported him as they headed back.

"Don't strain yours'lf," Berwald said.

"I wanted to try. If anything went wrong I thought you'd help me back." He shrugged. "You know, on one hand, I didn't make it. On the other, I was right."

"Could 'ave left you."

"But you wouldn't."

"...Slowly, now." The grip around Berwald's shoulder tightened momentarily when Mathias almost lost balance. They both paused for a moment before going inside.

Berwald had only seen Mathias inside his dim house. Now, the sunlight allowed Berwald to see all sorts of small details - the eyelashes, the hint of freckles, the place where his dry lips had cracked and the subtle nuances in the colours of his hair, eyes and skin. There was a smile on his lips – a cocky smile, but genuine.

Maybe it's enough, he thought, just watching. Just looking. Then again, it would have to be enough.

Mathias didn't seem to think anything of the pause.

Soon, he was inside and fast asleep – the heavy, deep sleep that shrouded him from all pain and ill things.