Hey to everyone reading this. I had to write this for the simple reason that the pairing of Sweden and Finland has really caught on the last couple of weeks and I just had to write something for it. And no… It couldn't be simple… It had to be some large AU story that comes out of nothing and has no serious plotline.

Warning: Yaoi, boy x boy, 'evil' wizard, confusion of good and bad, mythical creatures appear… but not fairies… Well… maybe some… but not the stupid kind… you'll see what I mean. Maybe I'll do a lemon… or just suggest that there is one… because there is Mpreg. One thing I'm a sucker for is Mpreg. Swearing, alcohol, gore, adult themes, violence and I need a bad guy by chapter five! Is not Ivan! Is not Arthur! Those two are strictly forbidden as evil in this story… So I'll come up with someone unless you've any suggestions for the evil bad guy… that I agree with…

Where is Your Heart – Kelly Clarkson

I don't believe

In the smile that you left me with

When you walk away and say goodbye

Well I don't expect

The world to implode beneath me but for God's sake could you try

I know that you're true to me

You're always there, you say you care

I know that you wanna be mine

Where is your heart?

Cause I don't really feel you

Where is your heart?

What I really need is to believe you

Is it so hard to give me what I need

I want your heart to bleed

And that's all I'm asking for

Where is your heart?

I don't understand

Your love is so cold

It's always me reaching out for your hand

I always dreamed

That love would be effortless

Like a petal falling to the ground

A dreamer following his dream

It seems so much is left inside

But you can say anything

Oh anytime you need

Baby it's just you and me

I know that you're true to me

You're always there, you say you care

I know that you wanna be mine

:::

The heat of the market place was unbearable and people's hair stuck to the sides of their faces and the backs of their necks, due to the accumulation of the thick sticky sweat that rolled out of their pores under the relentless eyes of the desert sun.

Flies dodged irritable hands and buzzed lazily around the patties left by the oxen that pulled the carts and wagons across the cobble stones with a low hum of content, as their masters were too tired to use the feared and dreaded cane across their hides and instead supplied them with a sweet refreshment either from juicy fruit or a serving of cool metallic water.

Countless sales persons shouted their wares in a bid to attract the countless customers who could hardly care less or need the things they bought let alone afford it.

But the fine jewelry from the sands, the silks from the east and the delicacies of the desert lands meant nothing to three strange men.

They were of the most northern European tribes.

The first of their group was loud and boisterous. Waltzing around as if he had not a care in the world, his large almost over emphasized battle axe drawing attention, though not as much as it would have in another time and place. His name was Mathias Køhler and he had been orphaned from a small village that had been slaughtered by the most evil of villains. People only knew him as the King of Darkness. Angered by the death of all but him in his village and a few small words the 'King' had exchanged with him, he had swung his father's wood axe at him, taking a slice out of his leg, and ran for his life. He eventually came to live with a man the people of the world saw as their savior. The one to rid them of this dark King… The sobbing ten year old Dane had been taken in and taught to live the emotionless life of the warrior. And he did it well, though still had yet to achieve keeping his emotions under control. He was the elder and the leader.

The second of the party and the youngest was a young man who had grown up on the rocky cliffs in Norway. He never shared too much information about himself with anyone. He had forgotten his name and had returned to his family home to find it burnt to the ground when he still had a grasp of it as a ten year old boy. Ignoring the flames that licked greedily at his clothes and skin in ways that would make him cry out in pain later, he walked through the wreck and salvaged only one recognizable artifact. A small silver brooch once owned by his mother who was a woman of fine stature as he put it. He was found by the Savior curl up and half burnt in the ash, clutching the small silver cross to his chest. He woke up three days later, healed and well as if a miracle had occurred. The Savior asked him to join him in freeing the people and he readily agreed. He had fashioned the brooch into a hairclip and used that as a tribute to his family forever more. The only downside to this was that he was already of a very slight figure and delicate facial characteristics so that whenever he wore the hairclip he would be confused for a girl… more so than usual.

The Norwegian walked beside Mathias with two paces to his stride. They were arguing about what name to give the shorter of the two until he remembered his real name.

It was a similar argument that had started out their odd friendship when he had come to live with the Savior and had first met Mathias in the training yards.

Mathias thought he had been a girl so kept trying to give him girl names and they always bickered. None the less, Mathias developed feelings for this 'girl' and on the night of his eighteenth, three weeks since the other had reached his sixteenth, Mathias succeeded in doing something he never thought possible. Luring the other to his bed.

It had all started with a kiss, which Mathias snuck in every chance he got with a cheeky grin. But it had turned out differently than all the other countless times he had brushed against the fairer cheek with a feathery breath. The Norwegian had turned and kissed him back.

Ignited by whatever strange passion they held, they found themselves in the Dane's room and Mathias found a young man in front of him instead of a woman. He had been confused and the younger blushing profusely.

Somehow, and all their friends blocked their ears when it came to this part, the two still slept together and the next morning Mathias vowed to stay by the younger male's side until he no longer wanted him. Three years later and the two are closer than ever… which is odd considering at this point in time…

"Fuck off you moron! You're not calling me Nora! God you're such an idiot… I wish you would just disappear!" The Norwegian stormed off through the crowded market place with Mathias running after him, grinning like he just had the best lecture in the world from an expert on beer. That being one of his favored beverages.

Up on the roof tops, overlooking the scene was the third member of their party and the second oldest. He rolled his eyes and continued to scan the square for any signs of danger. He would have been down there with the other two… but for some odd reason, he seemed to scare people without even knowing it. Maybe it was the fact that he almost always seemed to glare or of because of his towering height. But for whatever the reason, he couldn't afford to scare the locals. It would be very bad for them if they earned themselves a bad name and reputation in this area as they were on an errand for the Savior.

The third member of the party was from Sweden. He had been with the Savior far less long than the others. But he was still determined to prove his worth. He hadn't lived in a country type village or on the cliffs. He had lived in one of the old rotting cities, away from all humanity save from his small son and flourishing wife. He had smiled then. He had loved. They made their home in the top floor of what had once been a great hotel, now a simple family home. The hotel would have thrived in the time where technology reigned. But now the only three people in the city save for about four other small families that claimed other districts, were the only ones to give life to the place. It was a hard life, but a good one and Berwald Oxenstierna would have given anything to have it back.

He had been walking home, between the old vine covered abandoned cars, carrying firewood in arm when he heard a relentless scream. He dropped the stack of wood and began running as fast as he could.

The scream cut short abruptly and a few moments later he turned the corner to see a man in a black cloak standing above the mangled and contorted bodies of his wife and son. In his hand there was a bloodied sword and his golden hair darkened by the offensive color that tainted his blade and the pavement.

At the sound of Berwald's approach, he had turned and looked over his shoulder with piercing green eyes. The first thought to cross the Swede's mind was that he had never seen eyes that had seemed to witness so much sorrow in their lifetime.

The second thought was at a look the man cast to his wife and child before walking away, saying one thing before he left. "I was counting on you being here sooner…"

Falling to his knees, Berwald closed his eyes and waited for death. But it never came and he realized the stranger had left.

"I was counting on you being here sooner…"

Did that mean that if he had been there sooner, if he hadn't gone out for firewood, that this stranger would have killed him instead…?

It was his fault his family died. The only people he could talk to without having to pass a note to explain what he was trying to say. The only people he had ever loved.

He shed not one single tear as he buried them. He stood staring at their graves unsleeping, and staring down at them listlessly as if there was no soul within him. And soon, two maybe three days later, curious as to why he hadn't been around with his wife and child of late, the other people that resided in the rotting city, found him standing there, standing tall and stiff as he looked at the settling mounds of dirt, dry eyes and a glare that could melt ice and freeze fire across his face.

Their friend that smiled for them and shared jokes with them, laughing animatedly when they had a bit too much to drink was gone… some how buried with his family. The person standing before them was a stranger. They asked what happened, wary and frightened of him.

"Th'nk n'th'n' m'r' th'n I m'rd'r'd th'm…" He said with the thick Swedish accent saying, if not under stood; Think nothing more than I murdered them…

And then he had turned and left. Not knowing where he was going. Not quite knowing what they would think of him now. He just walked. Step after step; never sleeping, never eating… just walking until he fell and died on the side of the road.

And then one day after many days of this painful continuance, he just collapsed on the side of the road. The rocks and dirt grating against his grazed flesh painfully. But he didn't care. The numbness was overtaking him and he was on the fringes of blackness. His glasses had fallen a few feet away and were horribly scratched. But as already said he didn't care.

But then a pair of feet joined his blurred and failing line of sight and he looked up at someone, silhouetted by the sun behind him.

He knew he looked helpless and pathetic from where he lay, hair horribly dirty, face scratched, eyes narrowed as he tried to get a clear line of sight and his mouth half open with a line of drool running down his cheek. Helpless; Pathetic; Weak; and on the verge of death. All those things and more. And it made him ashamed to be so in front of this person, whoever they may be.

As he lay there, dying and feeling ashamed of that fact, the stranger stooped and picked up his glasses, wiping them before setting them back on his face.

"You have yet to shed your tears my friend."

Berwald's eye's rolled back and his eyelids folded closed before he had anything to make of the man.

The next thing he remembered was waking up in a bed with a tray of hot food and cool water being served to him. A meal foreign to him, but nice nonetheless.

He only ever saw the stranger once more and that was to give him a key to his own small house built out of logs with a whicker roof and get his permission to let him join the great and honorable cause against the evil Shadow King!

The man seemed pretty passionate about it but once again, Berwald didn't care. He didn't show any form of emotion and refused to share anything about his story with this man except the exact same words he had said the morning he left his home. Which of course he had to write on a piece of paper to make him understand. But despite his refusal to share much about himself except his name, he thanked his savior, also to be known as THE Savior, and took up his new accommodation as soon as he was allowed out of bed.

Living in the castle had been odd while he was recovering… but the sudden change from the abandoned city environment to the small wooden log house was much stranger. He was around nineteen at this time. His wife at eighteen and son at two, died only one month ago.

As soon as he moved into the small house… not home… house, he left within the hour for early training where he met his neighbors Mathias and the nameless boy, who had been a couple for one year at this time. They would be his new 'best friends' as Mathias put it… and he did enjoy their company and said friendship. But they never made him smile, for all that they tried and all that the Dane held competitions around the small warriors' city. No one made him smile. His lip never even twitched and his eyes remained the deep midnight blue pools of self hate.

But one evening, by a small fire as the three ate a stew he had cooked to thank them for their… attempts and trouble, some things were said and they managed to get him to tell them about his life and what really happened to his family. He told them and they were shocked…

… But still, he didn't cry…

Now two years going and back on the roof top, swatting a fly away from his ear, he watched Mathias chase after the nameless man, now no longer boy, and apologize for calling him Nora.

The Savior had told them that they would know what they were looking for when they saw it. But he could see nothing, and the heat waning on his concentration. God he could have gone with a glass of cold water right about now…

And then he saw it.

Both much too pale to be from the desert clans… and appearances far too fair. The taller looking one had blonde hair and ice blue eyes. By appearance he was the older of the two. He looked strict and hard, but held a quick smile for the man at his side.

The shorter of the two companions chattered away happily and Berwald lip read the word, Awesome, several times over. He had white hair and even paler skin and his eyes just screamed blood with the violent red disposition.

Berwald signaled to Mathias and the Norwegian and they looked in his direction, both signaling that they already knew. Hence they busied themselves and took up their allotted positions.

Following their general direction, he saw that they were headed towards a small stall that sold cheap broth. What the hell were they going there for? They couldn't just be hungry?

:::

Uh yes… that's the first chapter I suppose~

It should be getting more interesting third chapter probably. In the next chapter we'll be walking with Finland~! XD Yeaha ~ and after the next chapter, they should also be getting longer too~ these are just quick intro tit bits before the actual story.

Hope you're reading this and you should know I'm throwing aside all cares for other stories by writing this, so get your butt to the review box and leave a cookie! And a fresh out of the oven Review if you please.

3

Prussian Mongrel XD

THERE US NOW A PLOT LINE!