Reunion with Strangers (Viking Nordics x Reader)

Loved

The sun had drifted below the horizon. As it began to slumber, stars, thousands of them, twinkled into view. The moon gracefully took her place above the silver waters of the lake; with her came the droning of insects and the rustling of nocturnal creatures.

A bone-chilling howl pierced the stillness. A band of sleek shadows prowled along the far edge of the lake. Instinctively, you scooted closer to Mathias. He traced your bewildered look to the pack of rouge silhouettes.

"Wolves." He murmured. "I wouldn't sweat it. As far as I'm concerned, they're walking fur coats."

Despite how the warmth of the fire swaddled you, a chill slithered up your spine.

"Wolves, huh?" You shuddered.

"Yeah, they like to come around every so often. They won't bother us though. The smoke keeps them away."

"That's smart."

Mathias drew his attention from the flames and faced you, wearing the same old cheeky grin.

"Are you surprised, Turtle?"

You withdrew eye contact and spoke softly. "Well... I guess I took you for more of the goofy, jokester type."

"Don't forget handsome and buff!" He chuckled.

There was a brief silence before you spoke again.

"You all have been so kind to me... I barely know anything about you."

You watched the embers as they swirled upwards and melted into the starry night sky.

"We're just three brothers. There's not much to know... Ooh, I've got it! Lukas once spent three days trying to conjure a bucket of butter. Once he got the bucket to appear, the butter inside was totally rancid! Hahaha! You should have seen his face! It was all red and scrunched up! Hahahahaha! Priceless."

Mathias wiped tears from his eyes as his giggling began to fade. With one eyebrow raised, he flashed you a dazzling smile.

"Hey! You haven't told us too much about yourself either. Don't you have anyone looking for you? Family? Friends?"

Your face slackened. Your cheerful countenance dwindled down to a mortified grimace. Time slowed to a deafening halt. The realization had hit you.

Family? Friends? Anyone? Is anyone worried about me?

You juggled the words in your mind, fumbling for a response.

I've been alone so long. Without mother.

You yearned to confess to him. You longed to confess, but how? How could you relate feelings that you yourself did not understand?

After an eternity of stuttering and spluttering, you collected yourself. You whispered a response in low, solemn tones, trying desperately to ease the tension in your voice.

"No one is going to worry about me. I can take care of myself." You paused before clearing your throat. "Speaking of caring for myself, I should get some sleep. I'll see you tomorrow. Goodnight."

With that, you trudged up the grassy hill and began the trek back to your room. Along the way you retrieved the bucket, tossed the water out, and swung it to your side.

You slipped through the door and entered into a calm house, devoid of its usual jesting and bickering. The majority of the house was darkness, broken only by the periodic flickering of candle light.

With aching feet, you lumbered up to Berwald's room. You clasped the doorframe before leaning down and placing the bucket inside the room.

As you straightened yourself and looked up, your eyes connecting with two deep, ocean-blue pools.

Berwald was hunched over his desk. He was scratching a stick of charcoal, a make-shift pencil, against some sort of schematic. He peered at you with his unwavering reticence. After a while he spoke.

"...I hope you like it..."

You had no clue what he was talking about.

"Like what?"

He stared at you bluntly for a few moments and returned to his work. Strange.

You backed out of the doorway, leaving more confused than ever. Feeling along the dark hallway, you eventually succeeded in reaching your room.

A candle was resting on top of your nightstand. Its dim flame outlined two objects. The one on the right was a plate of biscuits; probably scavenged from an earlier meal.

It was the object on the left that piqued your interest. You reached out and gently ran your fingers over the object. It was palm-sized, wooden, and had many varying edges and curves. It had definite detail. You lifted the object closer to the light.

There in your hand, a darling, sky-blue bird was perched. It was so realistic, it seemed as though it could almost fly away.

"Aren't you adorable." You cooed.

Your fingertips brushed something made of paper. A note was tied around one of the bird's skinny legs. You plucked the note from around the leg and began to unfold it. Scrawled in charcoal were four words: "You are welcome -Ber."

You beamed, flopped on the bed and proceeded to wriggle under the covers, bird in hand of course.

Clutching the bird to your chest, you gently stroked its wings and hummed a sweet tune.

"Thank you." You mumbled to the empty room.

As you reflected on the note, your chest became tight with a foreign feeling. It was a peculiar sensation, possibly familiar at one time.

Is this what it feels like to be loved?

You sat and listened to the nighttime sounds. After an interminable amount of time, the room began to meld with the darkness. You had one last thought as you were carried away into a deep sleep.

Loved...