World History for Dummies (Hetalia Fanfictions)

Collection of my Hetalia x Reader one-shots and short stories(multiple part).
Requests are open.
Red for some of the chapters.


4. Nordics Songfic #1 ~Berwald Oxenstierna [Sweden]~ Herr Mannelig

Trigger warning, mention of character death; mention of nudity






"Bittida en morgon innan solen upprann

Innan foglarna började sjunga

Bergatrollet friade till fager ungersven

Hon hade en falskeliger tunga"

The Sun wasn't even up and the Swedish mountains were still covered by the dark of the night when [name] awoke. She sneaked out of the tiny village she lived in and started on a journey to the little clearing with the crystal stream, clear like the brightest diamond. It was cold this early in the dawn and she was pulling her thin clothes closer to her body. She walked through the quiet forest, the only sounds were her feather light steps and her breathing, barely visible puffs of air leaving her lips. Not even the birds were singing this day, although she travelled here everyday the same time, early enough to see the rays of the morning Sun shine on the hidden stream. She stopped a few times in her way, collecting berries into her small basket, the base of her daily meals. Of course she could always catch a fish and with the dagger hanging from her hip, she could easily prepare it but without the sour taste of the cranberries it wouldn't be the same.

[Name] reached the clearing and settled down on the banks of the stream right when the rays of the Sun started to shine over the mountaintops. The water was dancing in a million colours and the silvery, slippery fish made it sparkle like the king's treasury must do. She moved closer to the northern side of the clearing, to the tiny pond at the bottom of the waterfall. It wasn't big, barely two meters high and half a meter wide. She got off her clothes and walked into the freezing water, the momentary shock of the coldness soon turning into the refreshing cool of the water. After a good half an hour of swimming and cleaning she came out of the pond and re-dressing herself she went to eat some of the berries she collected, leaving the Sun to dry her now wet clothes.
Time went fast but [name] grew bored. She sang with the birds what woke up since she arrived and now she started dancing around the clearing. It wasn't a real dance but something she created. The grass and flowers were tickling her soles as she was walking around the clearing barefoot. She was singing with her eyes closed and she didn't noticed the blond man watching from afar. Tall and blond, the knight stood in the shadows, hidden from the girl who always had the clearing for herself. The knight watched her mesmerised, her every curve perfectly visible under the rough fabric of the tan coloured robes, the Sun shining through them like it was just a thin wall of ice.

[Name] turned around when she heard the clinking of metal and from the corner of her eye she could swore she saw movement. The knight shifted a bit, trying to fit better behind the tree he moved to. [Name] returned to the log her boots and basket laid, in the cover of a smaller bush. She eyed the forest cautiously, trying to find who was causing the noise. When she didn't turn up for a while the knight with his shiny chain mail poking out from under of his coat approached the little stream to finally sooth his thirst. When the knight returned to the shadows but not into the forest, [name] curiously peeked through the bush. She saw the man take off his coat and chain mail and also unbuckling the belt of his sword, settling it down on the soft grass.

"Herr Mannelig, herr Mannelig trolofven i mig

För det jag bjuder så gärna

I kunnen väl svara endast ja eller nej

Om I viljen eller ej:"

When she was certain that he was peaceful, she left her hiding spot and moved around the clearing, murmuring a prayer to Freya for help. "Vad heter du, min kära herre?1" she asked approaching the man carefully. She wasn't perfectly comfortable around him but he seemed harmless enough. From this distance she could see that his eyes were like the sea, the mixture of the sky's blue with the ocean's green and he was squinting constantly. "Jag heter Greve Oxenstierna, og du, min älskling?2" he asked back after introducing himself and he offered a place next to him for the captivating girl. "I'm [name]," came her simple answer and she sat down with growing antipathy next to the high lord. "Did you come to conquer a new land and throw it into slavery? Or did you ventured so far to the North to find a wildling to take as your wife?" she inquired, interested in what a noble like him would do in the mountains. "I came for neither but I have to admit, your beauty doesn't have a pair in the South," Berwald said and reached out to trail his fingers down her body. 

"Eder vill jag gifva de gångare tolf

Som gå uti rosendelunde

Aldrig har det varit någon sadel uppå dem

Ej heller betsel uti munnen

Eder vill jag gifva de qvarnarna tolf

Som stå mellan Tillö och Ternö

Stenarna de äro af rödaste gull

Och hjulen silfverbeslagna"

Her eyes lit up and her lips curled into a smile but she withdrew from his touch. "I'd love to see the South. Take me with yourself, min kära herre3. I will even be your wife, if that's what you want," [name] said and started to tear down flowers for a crown. "I can't take you as my wife," he replied and shook his head, the rays of the Sun dancing on his blond tresses with a golden gleam. She stood up and started dancing again, hips swaying to a music only she heard, each movement of hers capturing his gaze. The tunic fell slightly from one of her shoulders, a bigger part of her chest becoming exposed to the knight. Even if Berwald watched her with joy it was still not enough to agree to the betrothal. "I will give you twelve steeds never tamed. They will be the pride of your stables," [name] offered as she moved along to the music in her head. "I will give you a dozen of mills, the most famous and wealthiest of all," she continued, listing all the goods she could give. 

"Eder vill jag gifva ett förgyllande svärd

Som klingar utaf femton guldringar

Och strida huru I strida vill

Stridsplatsen skolen I väl vinna

Eder vill jag gifva en skjorta så ny

Den bästa I lysten att slita

Inte är hon sömnad av nål eller trå

Men virkat av silket det hvita"

She sat back but onto the other side of him where his sword lied and she pulled it out of the sheath. "You can have a better sword with what you surely win your fights and is lined with fifteen golden rings," [name] said as she brushed her fingers along the blade, its edges notched at places. She looked at his shirt with dismay, surely it saw better days and it was in an awful state from the chain mail rubbing against it. "You will have the fairest shirt, not ragged and woven like your but crocheted from the finest silk." She moved over and leaned her head onto his chest. "What do you say, min kära herre?3" 

"Sådana gåfvor toge jag väl emot

Om du vore en kristelig qvinna

Men nu så är du det värsta bergatroll

Af Neckens och djävulens stämma

Bergatrollet ut på dörren sprang

Hon rister och jämrar sig svåra

Hade jag fått den fager ungersven

Så hade jag mistat min plåga"

The knight pushed her away with a slight disgust. "These are gifts I'd gladly accept if you were of my kin," Berwald said and stood up with his sword in his hand. "But you are the descendant of the devil and Neckens. I can't take you as my wife ever." The knight seemed to be unfazed by rejecting the girl. She was nice and fair but she would never fit into the South. [Name] ran away crying and throwing curses at the man. "You would been the one to free of my plight but now you should be the one never finding true love," and she went on and on until the knight left and the Sun started to set, indicating that it was finally time she could return to her tribe.


The knight fell in his next battle as his sword broke from the impact of his enemy's bard and with his death all his lands fell into the hands of another knight.
The girl lived with her tribe, spending the days exiled from the village so she wouldn't distract the fighters from their duties and wouldn't spark envy in the women. On Midsummer's Day she couldn't bear the loneliness any more.


1 What's your name, my dear lord?
2 My name's Count Oxenstierna, and you, my sweetheart?
3 my dear lord


Link for English translation of the song

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