Archive of Our Own

Life has a cruel way of testing your absolute limits.

Crown Prince Wilhelm had thought that he would break eight years ago when he had been made to sever all ties with the one person who had understood him more than anybody ever did. Simon Eriksson was not at the same level as Wilhelm was when it came to class, as many people would have reminded him of constantly back in those days, but it was undeniable to Wilhelm that they connected on a level that had as of that time been considered impossible in his mind. 

But he understood why it could never be. Any relationship that a future monarch engaged in needed to be considered a serious one because there was always the possibility that their girl- or boyfriend would end up on the relatively smaller throne right by his side when he would be crowned king. And Wilhelm knew, not everybody was made for that, not everybody was meant for that.

Simon could be the ruler of the entire world, and the world would be better for it, because Simon had morals he upheld and fought for, and compassion and kindness in his heart that surpassed anything Wilhelm knew. Simon was made for a position of power, but it didn’t mean that he should be in any such position. (Or that he wanted to be. Simon was incredibly down-to-earth.)

But alas, Wilhelm hadn’t broken eight years ago, when he had thought he was at the deepest, lowest point in his entire life. It had been stupid to think that, he recognized that now - but it was only in hindsight, and hindsight did fuck-all to change anything. 

He hadn’t seen Simon ever since that afternoon. He certainly hadn’t stopped thinking about him ever since.

~...~

There had been rising tensions between two groups on opposite sides of the political spectrum for roughly a year now, and there had been heated altercations injuring both sides, most of them only a few blocks away from the palace. (Perhaps back when it had been built, it had been convenient to have the palace be close to the city center, but in the modern age, it was only asking for trouble.)

Wilhelm had been escorted off the palace premises every single time, especially later on, while his mother stayed behind to keep an eye on it. It wasn’t like anybody had expected the next altercation to go so spectacularly wrong as it ended up doing - how could anybody have anticipated this? It had just been a minor disagreement in Parliament a year ago, and now it was approaching a minor civil war, what with the amount of violence that was used, and the number of people that were involved.

Wilhelm still remembered where he was when he got the phone call that once again changed his life drastically, and left him searching for something, anything, to hold onto to keep himself from drowning. Back when he was sixteen, it had been Simon. Now, when he was twenty-four, there was only the memory of Simon to hold on to - nothing else sufficed.

Wilhelm had been in their winter residence, trying (and failing) to get down to some last-minute studying for his uni finals that were coming up, when Malin, promoted to his personal security officer some years ago, came into the room with an unreadable expression on her face.

“Your Majesty, I have bad news.”

Wilhelm didn’t miss how Malin called him ‘Your Majesty’ all of a sudden, instead of the regular Your Highness. Your Majesty was only reserved for the monarch. And yet, nothing could have prepared him for the news that he was about to receive.

There had been an attack on the palace. There had been no signs that the violence that was occurring in the city center would escalate to the outskirts of town, but it seemed one small group had sparked a metaphorical fire in the crowd, and they were just short of burning torches and pitchforks as they had made their way to the palace and attempted to ransack the place. Most of it was superficial violence and was controlled by the members of security and staff that were tasked with protecting the palace. But one person had had the bright idea to throw a Molotov cocktail through the nearest window, and the explosion that had followed had sent glass flying everywhere and had gravely injured a large number of people.

The room the bomb had been thrown into had been Queen Kristina’s office. The person who was responsible knew this and had used the opportunity to descend the country into downright war.

And he had succeeded.

Queen Kristina had died instantaneously, being only an arm’s length away from the bomb. Her first lady-in-waiting, and Wilhelm’s father, had been present in the room, too, and were escorted to the hospital with extensive burns and cuts.

Wilhelm stared at the textbook in front of him, lecturing him about some rudimentary accounting thing - and realized that now, he was the King of Sweden, and he had inherited a country that lay in shambles.

~...~

Wilhelm barely had enough time to try and get more information on the well-being of his father, for just as Malin tried to get some of the other security staff on the phone, they got wind of an attack on Parliament. The Palace attack had seemed spontaneous and improvised, but the one on Parliament was anything but - half the building had been blown to smithereens, and the other half was currently burning in the fire that firefighters were hesitant to extinguish, with the growing tensions and threat of more violence ever-present.

Even as King, Wilhelm wasn’t supposed to be an actual leader of the country, everything was symbolic, and he had known that. He had also known that his mother was in excellent health and relatively young, so there was no way that he was going to be following in her footsteps any time soon. But now, with the Parliament building burning, and the lack of information about the status of the members of Parliament and Wilhelm’s ministers, Wilhelm knew he was now the one to make the decisions.

It was an unprecedented turn of events that had been mentioned in the constitution but only in cases of absolute emergencies. It was one that Wilhelm now had to deal with.

~...~

They didn’t have time to properly crown Wilhelm, and instead, he was completely thrust into his new position as head of state. He barely had any idea of what to do, where to turn, his mind was in shambles. He didn’t even have time to grieve the loss of his mother.

He should have been taking his finals tomorrow. He was about to graduate, too. He had completely dedicated himself to his studies and had not had time left to go out into the world and be a human adult, to make new friends and see people, sexually or romantically or even platonically; he hadn't had time to travel and see the world; he hadn’t had time to even think of a future for himself, but perhaps that was for the better because he should have known that that kind of future was never in the cards for him. Of course, he had no control over his life, he never had, and he had been stupid to think that he could exert power over it in this way.

He could never be an accountant, even if it wasn’t necessarily his life’s dream. He could never be a normal human being. He might never even get to meet somebody and start a family with them if this sudden war had any say in it. 

There were a few of his mother’s advisors who had been rushed into the winter residence, and they actually managed to calm Wilhelm down, if just a little. He had always disliked them, they had looked down on him as he was growing up, and they had given his mother counsel on what to do with many of the situations that Wilhelm was in as well. Wilhelm blamed many of them for him having to separate from Simon. His mother was not the villain she was made out to be, but she was only doing what was best for him.

“We’re glad that you’re safe, Your Majesty,” the eldest of the bunch said, as they all bowed deeper than they ever had. Your Majesty . It was going to take some getting used to, but he would do so after the dust had settled. “We’re here to offer you support.”

Wilhelm was glad he wasn’t the only one who had to think. In fact, no matter what they said, he knew he was going to follow their advice because he couldn’t think properly at all.

~...~

The country quickly descended into madness. 

The attack had turned into a full-on coup, and within 24 hours of the moment the Molotov cocktail had been thrown into his mother’s office, the military had been enlisted to regain some order back. Every hour that passed by, Wilhelm seemingly lost more control over the situation.

If only he had stayed at the main palace and not his mother. If he had died, it would have been tragic, but his mother would have swiftly taken control of the situation and brought the country back on its feet. She knew what she was doing, she had experience with this. Wilhelm’s only experience with being king was attending some meetings of his mother to see what one part of her responsibilities was. It was not enough to govern a country, he knew that much. 

He had left all the important tasks to his advisors. He didn’t know what else to do, anyway.

He still had no idea where his mother’s body was. He had no idea how his father was doing, nobody was telling him anything. Wilhelm felt himself freefalling in tune with the rest of the country, and he had no idea how to recover from it.

He ended up calling Simon. His number was no longer in his phone, but he had never forgotten the number combination, somehow going over it at least once a week, just in case. He didn’t know why. He didn’t even know if Simon still wanted to talk to him after everything that happened. But even if Simon yelled at him, Wilhelm would get to hear his voice, and it would be better than nothing at all.

Simon answered after about the third time Wilhelm called, all in rapid succession. He didn’t say anything, but Wilhelm could tell it was him and felt his heart beating a bit less chaotically in his chest, even if it still fluttered there wildly. This was a better state for his heart to be in, rather than the nervous, anxious state it otherwise was in. 

“Wille, is that you?”

“It’s so good to hear your voice, Simon.” Wilhelm could nearly cry. He hadn’t seen nor heard from Simon in eight years now. He had once considered Simon the most important person in his life, and he wasn’t sure if he had ever stopped feeling that way.

“Are you alright? What the fuck is going on?”

Wilhelm sank onto his couch and let the tears flow freely.

“Oh, Simon…”

“Wilhelm, are you alright?” Simon repeated, his voice full of worry now, and eventually, Wilhelm answered him, his voice undoubtedly shaking. 

“Yes.” He left out the fact that he was slowly unraveling at the seams, and that he felt his head could explode any moment now. “You?”

Simon didn’t respond. Wilhelm felt like he knew enough. He had seen enough images of the rest of the country to know that Simon wasn’t doing okay and that he wasn’t safe.

“You be careful, Wille,” Simon said softly. “We’re all depending on you.”

This wasn’t true, if only Simon knew that, but there was so much the general public didn’t know about the current situation in every aspect that Wilhelm didn’t think it odd that Simon wasn’t aware of the bigger picture.

They ended the call after that, and even if nothing of real significance had been spoken, Wilhelm did feel calmer.

That only lasted for about a week, however.

~...~

Total chaos. Utter, complete chaos. That was the only way to describe how things were going.

Other countries had of course gotten wind of what was happening in Sweden and were interfering, but rather than come to their aid, extremists in some countries decided that this was the moment to plunge a large portion of Europe into a Third World War.

It almost calmed Wilhelm down, in a way. Of course, this was the worst possible scenario that could have occurred, to have a world war that Sweden was not just involved in, but in which Sweden performed as the main character, but the idea that it wasn’t just his own country now (that he was in charge of, he reminded himself often) did work to calm him down just a little.

Wilhelm wanted to fight. He wanted to do something, anything, to get things back on track. He had no idea how to govern, but he knew how to fight, and he wanted to fight so badly. He wanted to be out there, wanted to show his people that he was not afraid and that he would fight for them.

He had gone to an apartment building not far from the palace without letting anyone know, just to check up on the people who had lived there, to show his face and his support. Not many had survived, and the area wasn’t safe, so as soon as Malin had noticed that he was gone, Wilhelm was practically dragged back to the palace.

His advisors did a good job at holding him back, because they knew as well as Wilhelm did, secretly, that Wilhelm couldn’t go out there and fight - he was the King. The country couldn’t lose its King, not before a proper government was reinstated, at least. He was the only one who had the power to form a new government. 

“Your Majesty, I admire your courage and bravery to want to join in the war effort, but at this point, it would be safest for you to get out of the country. You can govern from abroad.”

“I can't just leave my people. Where the fuck would I go?”

They ignored his language, they always did. In the face of a global war, foul language like that was the least of their concerns. “There are only a few of our allies that aren’t involved yet, and of those not involved, there’s only one who is truly neutral.”

Portugal. Wilhelm was to go to Portugal, practically on the other end of the continent, and govern his country from there. He couldn’t stand it. He wanted to stay, even if he knew he couldn’t. He wanted to be there for his people.

But his bags were being packed even as he protested against the idea. This wasn’t the kind of King he wanted to be, the one who ran away when things got too hard and who abandoned his people. He wanted them to know that he was there for them - but a bag was shoved into his hands and his coat already draped over his shoulder.

He insisted on one last phone call before he would go to the airport. He just needed to hear one more voice, and then he would go and accept his and his country’s fate.

But Simon wasn’t answering. Not after the second, nor the third, nor the fourth time he rang. Wilhelm didn't know Sara's number, had never had it, and was struggling to think of a way to contact Simon. Surely if he was alright, Simon would have at least sent him a text saying he was fine, right?

A week ago he had asked Simon to come to the palace. Simon might not even think of Wilhelm anymore, but it didn't mean that he didn't deserve to be safe. Security was tight at the palace, and they could ensure that Simon and his loved ones were safe. But Simon had refused, because he wanted to fight, too, and he wanted to mean something to his country. 

Wilhelm asked Malin to figure out what had happened to Simon, and she immediately set her best people on it.

Just before Wilhelm got on the plane, Malin got back to him. 

Simon had enlisted in the military, and nobody had seen him since he had left for his nearest base.

Wilhelm felt his priorities shifting, even if he knew they shouldn't, there were bigger things to worry about. The entire country was crumbling, his people were dying, he knew where his priorities should be. 

But the idea of Simon Eriksson going off to fight, at the risk of never coming back, was something that made Wilhelm physically ill. 

He threw up in the airplane toilet. And then took his seat and looked outside at his country which was quite literally burning.

What a mess his life was, it always had been. Why did it have to extend to everybody else as well?

~...~

Days turned into weeks, which slowly turned into months. Wilhelm tried his best to get every bit of information he could - sometimes he wished he didn't, because after each new bombing that he learned of, he woke up in the middle of the night in a pool of sweat, with an immense sense of guilt that he wasn't there to do more, to show that he was supporting everything his fellow countrymen and women were doing - and at the same time, perhaps an early sense of grief, knowing, no, feeling like he would never see Simon again. Knowing that just as Wilhelm was worried about Simon’s safety, hundreds of thousands, if not millions of people were worried about their loved ones, and there was nothing Wilhelm could do about it.

He met with other world leaders in secret to try and get peace talks going, but the war effort on the side of the aggressors wasn't led by people who were willing to talk and weren't influenced by any world leader to cease fighting.

Was this really something everybody had missed? He knew the previous time war had broken out, there had been major warning signs that something big was afoot, and people had ignored it then, too. (Wilhelm remembered learning about Hitler in school, and vowing he wouldn't have let it come that far if he was in charge. Well, that had been a fucking lie.)

The people were disappointed that Wilhelm had left, but they seemed to understand, too. He did a lot of speeches, and that seemed to be received relatively well. He worked himself practically down to the bone to get his people help, to let them know that he was alive, that they were doing well, and that he had faith in them. Fat load of bull that was going to do in the grand scheme of things.

Anytime Wilhelm saw images of home, of the military making slow progress on reclaiming bits and pieces of the country, he kept expecting to see Simon. He never did. Wilhelm wasn't sure whether he should be scared or comforted by it. (He knew Malin and her people were attempting to keep track of Simon, even if Wilhelm hadn't requested it of her. She knew how much Simon meant to him, even if the words had never been spoken out loud in eight years.)

~...~

The war dragged on and on, Wilhelm almost forgot what day it was. He hadn’t seen his mother since she had passed away, hadn’t been able to bury her properly, and ever since his father had been released from the hospital, they had only spoken over the phone. Surprisingly, he had been allowed to stay in the country by Wilhelm's advisors and had joined the war effort, too, taking up a position he’d had to leave when he had married Wilhelm’s mother. (So now, on top of not knowing how Simon was doing, Wilhelm had to worry about his father as well. He didn’t want to be the last remaining member of their family.)

He was so tired. Every day he got new reports from home, and every day the guilt and shame of leaving grew heavier on his heart. He felt helpless, he couldn't do anything other than instill people with false hope, because nobody knew how this war was going to turn out, and how long it would take.

He wished he could have stayed in Sweden. Could have fought, could have done something, anything. Instead, he was stuck here, living like proper royalty abroad while his people were suffering and dying daily.

He was prescribed a whole host of medications now. It felt stupid, ridiculous, his people were dying, and yet he was prescribed medication because he wasn’t sleeping. His people had worse things to deal with than a lack of sleep. (Anytime Wilhelm closed his eyes, he saw the images on news channels flash before his eyes, of another apartment building blown up, people screaming and crying and panicking. He had stopped sleeping a few weeks ago, to be honest. It wasn’t like it was a choice.)

And one afternoon, as he was in between meetings with some politicians who would make up the new government soon enough, Wilhelm saw it. He was watching the news, there was rarely a time where he wasn’t, mostly to get a complete sense of what was happening at home because people didn’t inform him of everything that was happening when a group of soldiers had marched past. Wilhelm had lost all hope of ever seeing Simon again and had found some sort of peace with the idea of learning of his unfortunate death when the war was done. (If the war would ever be done.)

But there he was. Third row, second on the left. Alive and everything - his curls were gone, making place for the more customary shaven head, and the smile that Wilhelm had fallen in love with so many years ago was nowhere to be found, either, but it was undoubtedly Simon.

“How recent is this?” Wilhelm asked, after sitting up straight and looking at the TV intently. He had interrupted some conversation between his advisors but it didn’t matter to him.

“This is from this afternoon, Sir.”

This afternoon. Simon had been filmed, alive, this afternoon.

God, Simon was still alive. If Simon had made it this far, please let him make it a little longer. The peace talks were going better than anyone had hoped for, and the military was getting a good grip on the aggressors. There was no way of knowing how long this would take, but there was every possibility that this shit would be reeled in by the end of the year.

It left two more months. Simon had to make it two more months. Simon, and the rest of Wilhelm’s ruined country.

He wasn’t going to think about what would happen after that. He would probably collapse entirely.

Wilhelm prayed that night for probably the first time in his life. He had prayed before, sure, but he had never meant it, had never had anything to pray for. But now, he prayed and asked whoever was up there to let Simon live.

"Please," he whispered against his hands, "let him live. He's the man I love, and he deserves to live. Don't let him suffer for the mistakes that I have made. I don't need to be with him, I don't even need to see him if that is what you need for us, but please, please, let Simon live."

He couldn't help but feel like his prayers were just useless calls into a silent night, drifting off into the beautiful countryside of Portugal, never to reach Sweden.

He didn't know that someone up there must have listened.

~...~

The guesses from his advisors had been correct, if a bit off with regards to the time frame. Peace had come, eventually, but instead of the two months that had been estimated, it had taken almost nine more months before the initial aggressors had been under control, and another month for general peace to follow.

Wilhelm had been on a plane back home barely fifteen minutes after his advisors had said that it ‘might be safe enough to go home now’ - he hadn’t even packed any of his stuff, had only brought his phone and a jacket because it could be cold back home, and he knew what he was going to be doing for the next few days.

The engines of his plane had barely even shut off completely before he was already going down the stairs, and he dismissed the car that was waiting for him, instead electing to walk into the city himself, knowing it wasn’t that far of a walk.

As much as he had wished to go back home all this time, the stark contrast between him and his people was fully visible while he was roaming the streets of the capital.

He felt like he was intruding on a party he had no right to be attending. He hadn’t been here for too long, he didn’t even know how long he had been in Portugal, but he had been there long enough to develop a tan, something that was difficult with his complexion, and now he was coming across people who looked even more exhausted than he did, who looked injured, who looked devastated. He thought he needed medication - these people needed it far more than he ever had.

And yet… They were happy to see him. Shocked, but incredibly happy, and grateful, and they shook his hand and allowed him to hug them and they involved him in their celebrations. The war had been won. It had gone on for far longer than anybody had anticipated, but it was over now, and they were free and safe. 

Wilhelm eventually climbed into the car that was not far away from him when things got too hard for him to handle.

He shouldn’t be feeling like this, he hadn’t done anything to help them and had fled the country when things had gone truly apeshit. And yet, the people thanked him.

Wilhelm fell face-first into his bed in the winter residence, the palace in the capital nowhere near functional enough to live in - and he slept for eighteen hours straight.

~...~

People got their lives back on track eventually. Morale was high, and people were finally starting to clear the rubble that the many bombings and attacks had left on the streets and buildings. Properly rebuilding the country would take months, and a lot of money, something that the country in general didn’t have, but people were determined nonetheless, and Wilhelm admired that in them.

He watched all this from his bedroom, on the TV that was situated there, beneath his warm comforter even though it was still summer, not leaving his bed except to go to the bathroom. He couldn’t face any of these people, couldn’t show his face while these people had suffered, and he had done fuck-all to stop it.

He felt he had done wrong as their King. They deserved someone far better than him.

Nobody tried to get him out of bed, and he supposed that was for the better. It wasn’t until someone familiar walked into his room and pulled the comforter off of him that he realized he couldn’t hide away from this, and had to face the outside world eventually.

It was his father. Wilhelm looked at the man in shock and surprise, feeling how his lower lip was trembling and his hands started shaking before he could stop them.

The last time he had seen him had been before his mother had died. He hadn’t thought he would see him ever again. The reports on his whereabouts had stopped after a while, and Wilhelm had assumed the worst, and hadn’t had anything to refute that idea. Even after the war was over, which was over a week ago now, nobody had had any news about his father’s well-being. He hadn't had time to register his grief properly.

But he stood in front of Wilhelm now, battered and bruised but alive, and Wilhelm had never been happier to see anybody in his entire life. (In hindsight, he knew that to be false, but he hadn’t known what he knew now.) He jumped up into his father’s arms and didn’t let go until much later in the day, feeling like a little child again but not caring at that moment how people perceived him.

His father got him back on his feet. The two of them were happy to just ignore how broken Wilhelm’s father looked.

~...~

Wilhelm did a public speech eventually, at their main palace where all this shit had started. He had expected to be pelted with all kinds of shit, as you saw in the movies, or else to find an angry mob ready to attack him and plunge them into yet another war.

Instead, the people were smiling, some people were even crying, and they were incredibly happy to see him. In fact, that was a common theme everywhere he went that week, was people clapping and cheering and thanking him.

His tireless efforts to get them help, food, shelter, anything, hadn’t gone unnoticed. People appreciated everything that he had done for them, especially considering that he was practically still a child and now had the fate of the entire country resting on his shoulders.

It hadn’t seemed enough when Wilhelm had been far away from everything. Now that he was back home, he saw the impact that his speeches and his efforts had had. It might not be enough to rebuild the country, but it had kept people together and united in a time when they had needed it the most. The people were eternally grateful - Wilhelm hoped one day, he could see it that way, too.

~...~

When the dust had fully settled, literally and figuratively, and they could look at the future of their country and the people in it, Wilhelm started searching. He didn’t even leave it all to Malin and her people anymore, because the government that he had helped form had worked tirelessly, even in the last months of the war, to get them back in control of the situation, and he was no longer in charge of running the country anymore.

He’d had enough of that for the rest of his life. (He considered simply abdicating, leaving it to the next in line, but he couldn’t do that, couldn’t give them a country still in literal shambles.)

Wilhelm was on a mission now. He called everywhere, went to stations he knew might be of help, but nobody had any information on Simon, and Wilhelm was losing hope altogether. That one time he had seen Simon on TV was the only time he had seen him, and while it was in no way a sign that something had happened, he was slowly starting to feel deep within his heart that it probably was a sign after all.

He couldn’t stand the idea of Simon having perished in this war. Simon was a good man, a good person, he didn’t deserve to go like this, but then everybody had lost loved ones, nobody had been spared that, and Wilhelm had to suffer through it as well as anybody did. 

Wilhelm didn’t stop looking, however. 

~...~

His mother received a proper burial eventually, not that it mattered in the long run, she had already been dead for a while then, she was just bones now. Wilhelm had almost forgotten what she sounded like, what with everything else in his life overpowering the neutral memories of his mother spouting nonsense at him and judging him at every step of the way. Still, even she didn’t deserve to go the way she had, and Wilhelm did miss her, in his own way.

Following her funeral, Wilhelm was crowned properly, too. There was no extravagant ceremony, hadn’t been one since Wilhelm’s great-grandfather, but even if there had been such a tradition, it wouldn’t have been right to do one with the country in disrepair. 

Slowly but surely, the country was rebuilt, and Wilhelm was still looking, how could he not? If not to find a body, then at least to know what had happened to Simon, and give himself and perhaps his family members some peace, too, after everything.

When most of the city of Stockholm had been cleared of the rubble, at least, and they had started rebuilding some of the buildings that had been there before, there was a big ceremony commemorating the fallen soldiers and civilians, and before Wilhelm was forced onto the stage to greet his broken, mourning fellow countrymen, he spent about an hour going through the extensive lists of people who were known to have died.

Simon’s name wasn’t on there, on any of them. It wasn’t enough to make him not worried about his safety.

~...~

It had probably been about a week after the war had broken out that Wilhelm had had a dream about Simon, and upon waking up, he had known exactly how he felt about Simon. He had realized then that he was in love with Simon, always had been, never would stop, because if he was going to fall out of love with him, surely it would have happened in the eight years since they had left each other outside of Hillerska, or else when the war had started and Wilhelm’s priorities should have shifted elsewhere.

He hadn’t stopped thinking about Simon a single day in his forced exile into Portugal. He wondered whether the situation would have been different if he had told Simon how he had felt back when he had tried to convince him to come to the palace, to safety. If he had told Simon that he loved him, would Simon have stayed with him? Or would things have played out the same way as they had now, with Simon enlisting in the military and perhaps meeting his untimely end on some battlefield?

Wilhelm struggled to focus through anything. But upon his return to Sweden, he didn’t stop looking, even if, a month later, the authorities claimed to have recovered every single body from the rubble and the battlefields, and that anybody who was still missing should be considered as deceased, too. Wilhelm refused to do so. He felt that if he admitted that Simon was dead, that it would become reality, and that it would kill Simon even if he was still alive somewhere. As if he would will Simon’s death into existence in that way.

So Wilhelm simply didn’t say that Simon was gone, even if he knew he probably was, and he didn’t stop looking. 

~...~

One rainy night, roughly two months after the end of the war, somebody showed up at the palace unannounced, drenched in baggy clothes that looked like the kind people were given at the hospital these days when they were released, and they’d had no proper clothes when they had come in. (Wilhelm knew them all too well because his father had returned in clothes similar to those, too.)

The palace staff had let the stranger in and had given him some warm, dry clothes and some food. He was left in the kitchen close to the heater in the corner of the room, and he was left alone for the most part. The head of staff had informed Wilhelm of the stranger’s presence but had promised that they wouldn’t interfere in Wilhelm’s business. (Before the war, this would have been highly unusual. Nowadays, everybody was just trying to survive.)

Wilhelm shuffled into the kitchen to get a late-night snack and saw the figure in the corner, hunched over and shaking despite sitting right in front of the heater. Wilhelm abandoned his snack and carefully made his way over to the stranger but stopped at a distance, aware that most people were severely traumatized by the war, and that you couldn’t just sneak up on somebody.

“You alright?”

The person looked up, almost perked up, in fact, at the sound of his voice. Wilhelm had worried that it was because of him being startled, which would have been fair, the palace was mostly quiet now, but when the moonlight illuminated the stranger’s face, Wilhelm dropped the cup of tea he was holding, making the hot water splatter all over his own feet.

Simon. It was Simon. He was battered, bruised, especially psychologically, like everybody else was, but it was undoubtedly him. 

"Oh my god."

Time stood still for a bit. 

Wilhelm had been certain that he would never see Simon again; had been certain that Simon had died a lonely, horrible death during some battle far away from home; had been certain that Simon wouldn't even get a grave, least of all his name on some monument years from now. Wilhelm had cried for his friend long ago, even if he hadn't stopped thinking about him.

Perhaps the reason he hadn't been able to stop thinking of Simon was that he wasn't gone yet.

Simon stood, and Wilhelm looked him up and down, in awe, and very much in love. (It had been a few weeks after Wilhelm had been relocated to Portugal when he finally realized what the reason was for his constant thinking of Simon. He hadn't needed his advisors for that, surprisingly.) 

Simon hadn't changed much, and yet, he had changed significantly, too. He still had those beautiful deep brown eyes, but they no longer sparkled; the smile that had once been directed towards Wilhelm did not quite reach his eyes; and Wilhelm could see that one of his arms was in a cast, his right, held against his chest by a sling, and Simon was cradling it with his other hand as if it still hurt, despite the measures in place to prevent that.

Wilhelm didn't know what to do or say. He was still trying to grapple with the fact that Simon was alive, let alone currently here, in the winter residence, staring at him in silence.

"Simon, are you real? I… I'm having trouble discerning whether this is just a beautiful dream."

"I'm here." But Simon's voice was barely more than a whisper, which didn't quite answer Wilhelm's question.

"Fuck, Simon… I… uh, would you like something to drink? Some tea, maybe?" Simon didn't stop staring at Wilhelm, his hand against his covered arm, his eyes never leaving him. "Something stronger?"

Simon nodded then, and Wilhelm mirrored the movement, walking over to the room adjacent to the kitchen and grabbing a bottle of whiskey, pouring them both a glass and carefully putting Simon's glass in front of him. From up close, even in the darkness of the room, he looked even more bruised, a scar visible now from his cheek to his jaw. Wilhelm longed to reach out and brush his fingers across Simon's face - but he didn't know if Simon would allow him to do that, so he wrapped his fingers around his glass and didn't say anything.

They downed their drinks in one go, and then sat there in more silence, looking at each other and leaving the feelings unsaid between them.

Wilhelm broke the silence. 

"Simon… Simon, I can't begin to explain…" But as Wilhelm looked at Simon, he realized that no words would do right by how he was feeling right now. And perhaps Simon wasn't even waiting for him to admit his feelings, was simply here to get some support, to be someplace warm and safe. (Simon's apartment had been destroyed in the war, Wilhelm knew that because he had gone to it when he had heard of bombings close by and had found only death and destruction and no Simon.)

"Do you want to stay here tonight? I can have a bed prepared-"

"Can you hold me, Wilhelm? Please?"

Wilhelm’s jaw would have dropped - actually, it probably did anyway, because he was prepared for anything except for that. 

"Uh, yes, of course, yes," Wilhelm stammered and put his long-empty glass on the table between them. He got up, approached Simon carefully, wondering if this was really what he wanted, but his doubting was erased quickly when Simon practically threw himself into his arms - and broke down into tears.

Wilhelm held him as best he could, but he couldn't stop the tears from coming, either, just as Simon. 

"Oh, Wille," Simon sobbed, trying to pull Wilhelm closer and failing, because they couldn't get any closer than flush together, especially not because Simon's arm was stuck in between them, and Wilhelm didn't want to hurt him further. Not that Simon was letting him pull away at all.

Why had it taken a literal world war for them to finally be reunited, and to finally realize just how much they cared about one another? Why had it taken the very real threat of Simon dying to make Wilhelm face the truth of his love for the man?

"'M so tired," Simon sobbed, leaning his head in the crook of Wilhelm's neck. Wilhelm brushed his hand through Simon’s short hair - Wilhelm supposed its length was because of the military, but he wished he could have run his hand through Simon's luscious curls instead.

Wilhelm swallowed and took in a deep breath. He needed to be here for Simon now, Simon needed it more than Wilhelm.

"Come. Let's get you to bed," he whispered and pushed on Simon softly to get him into his intended direction. Wilhelm brought them to his own bedroom before he could fully think about it, but Simon was grateful to slip into bed regardless, so Wilhelm shrugged it off and helped Simon get more comfortable. 

When Wilhelm was about to leave, Simon grabbed hold of his wrist with his injured arm, making him gasp out loud in pain and yet sob at the same time.

"Wille, don't leave. Stay, please, stay." Simon was begging him now, as if there was any universe in which Wilhelm would leave him like this. He shrugged off his cardigan and snuck beneath the covers - Simon instantly inched closer until they were in each other's arms again.

"I thought you were going to die," Wilhelm whispered, brushing Simon's cheek. "I thought I was never going to see you again."

Simon nodded - he must have feared the same thing, not never seeing Wilhelm again, but dying. Wilhelm had wanted to fight, so badly, but he wasn't sure if he had been ready to die if it had come down to it. (He hadn't been allowed to let that thought blossom into more, because he was the King, and he needed to be kept alive at all costs.)

Wilhelm carefully entwined his fingers with those of Simon's injured arm and allowed it to rest on his chest, hoping it was supported enough for Simon to be comfortable now. 

"Wille?" Simon whispered eventually as he was calming down a little, enough not to be sobbing uncontrollably anymore. Wilhelm hummed. He didn't trust himself if he opened his mouth to say anything. When Simon didn't say anything, Wilhelm looked down, and their eyes met.

Fuck. If he hadn't known that he was still in love with Simon, he did now. And judging by the look Simon was sending him, he felt the same way. 

He couldn't believe his luck, but he wouldn't turn down the wonderful opportunity that he had been given.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, safe and warm and loved. 

~...~

Wilhelm tended to Simon in his chambers and felt like he finally had a purpose in life, in this war. (People could tell him endlessly that he had helped the peace talks along, and that they wouldn't have peace without him, but it wasn't enough for him. It was never enough.) 

The next morning, Wilhelm served him breakfast in bed and checked up on his arm, for as much as he could because the cast blocked his view and he was no medical professional. It seemed to bother Simon more than it should, considering it had apparently been about two months since he had broken his arm, and they had set it soon after and prescribed him pain medication. Wilhelm would definitely get his own doctor here as soon as they finished with their breakfast.

It almost felt like a dream, to walk into his bedroom and see Simon there, but then he would see the state of his love - exhausted and emotional and injured - and he knew it was not a dream, but reality.

Simon told him about what he had been through during the war, the friends he had gained and then subsequently lost; the times he had nearly died, and how close he had come sometimes to dying, too. 

"I, uh… I think I knew before, well… the war... that I was in love with you, but… when I kept getting into situations where I should have died, but I didn't, I… I think I realized that I was meant to live, and… I had a feeling that it had everything to do with you. I was meant to live because I love you, and we were meant to see each other again. Somebody up there must have really loved us."

Wilhelm guessed that that must be the case.

He prepared lunch for the two of them, having dismissed any possible appointments he might have that day. Simon sat on a barstool in the corner, wearing Wilhelm’s hoodie which was way too big for him, which made Wilhelm fully realize how much weight he had lost. 

Simon was still cradling his arm, and now that the initial shock over his sudden reappearance into Wilhelm’s life had subsided a bit, instant worry kicked in. Simon had told him only briefly that he had been in the hospital since the war had ended because he’d had a head injury, and because they hadn’t been able to confirm his identity, nobody had known where he was. The fact that he had been dismissed from the hospital with a broken arm that was still hurting after a few weeks made Wilhelm frustrated, but he also knew Simon and knew he might have downplayed his discomfort and downright pain. Perhaps Wilhelm would have done the same. The idea that Simon wanted nothing more than to leave and go home, wherever home was, Wilhelm could completely understand.

Wilhelm finished the sandwich he had been making (and failed, but could you blame him, when it was usually other people cooking for you?) and made his way over to Simon, who had been fumbling with the hoodie’s string, and looked up when Wilhelm was standing in front of him.

“Will you let a doctor take a look at your arm?” Wilhelm asked softly, placing the plate with the sandwich on the table. Simon looked down at the dish, then looked back up at Wilhelm, and without saying a word, he stood, grabbed hold of Wilhelm’s shirt and pulled him in - and their lips met for the first time in so, so many years, Wilhelm could scarcely remember how this had felt the last time, as if all the years of staying apart, and of heartbreak and struggles and literal war had erased this from his mind.

How could that be? How could he ever forget how Simon felt in his arms, felt against his lips? How it seemed like the hole that had been left in Wilhelm’s chest since that one afternoon was now filled because Simon was here, and he made everything feel better?

He cradled Simon close, never wanting the kiss to end, finally feeling like he belonged somewhere. He put his hand in the back of Simon’s neck but the other man was already pulling away, their eyes meeting and seemingly prolonging the kiss.

It was almost odd, because Wilhelm had known that he was in love with Simon for a while now, and Simon had also flat-out told him that morning that he was in love with him, too, and yet the feelings didn’t seem as real as they did now, with Simon almost completely against him, cheeks flushed. Neither had actually said the words, either, even if they both felt that they didn’t have to say them out loud for them to be real.

But Wilhelm realized at that moment that it could have very well been possible that they had never seen each other again because of the war, that either of them had been killed, and that they would never have had the opportunity to say the words out loud. Now, Wilhelm got the opportunity - he was going to take it.

“I love you, Simme,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against Simon’s and making him back up a little, so he could sit back down on the barstool. Simon was still shorter than Wilhelm, but the barstool made it so that they were at the same height. Simon snuck his good arm around Wilhelm’s middle and pulled him close until they were once again in each other’s arms.

Simon let out a contented sigh. The sound reached all of the parts within Wilhelm that had been dead or at the very least numb, and he stored it for later, for when somehow, inevitably, Simon would be taken from him again, the way it had always been.

“I love you, too, Wille.”

Wilhelm’s life was finally complete after that.

~...~

Of course, life wasn’t entirely perfect, not for King Wilhelm of Sweden. 

He had had somewhat of a bad start with regards to being the king. None of his predecessors had had to deal with the complexities and difficulties of being a monarch at such a young age out of the blue. Perhaps it would have been different if he had already been the King, but then perhaps he would have been the target for the attack that had now killed his mother. 

It didn’t really do much in the grand scheme of things to think about possible ‘what if’ situations.

The country was still in shambles and it would take literal years to rebuild it. The government that he had been forced to create while in Portugal had done the bare minimum and were already broken up, the task of putting order back into the country proving to be too difficult for them. There had been some people on social media as well as in Parliament who coined the idea of putting Wilhelm back into power because he had done relatively well, but Wilhelm had vetoed that idea as soon as it had reached him. He didn’t want to be an actual ruling King - he was fine with being a ceremonial monarch, but that was it.)

Wilhelm had been contacted for some support at certain points, and it felt odd, because these were adults who were over twice his age, who should have more experience in these matters and a big drive to be in control, as it were, and yet they were coming to him for advice. He now had the protocol changed so that they immediately were redirected to his own advisors - he couldn’t be bothered on policy decisions anymore.

~...~

It had taken some time for Wilhelm to realize that he no longer had to be held back by his mother with regards to his love life and that the only person who had truly been against it had been her. Everybody else was either supportive of it, or otherwise simply neutral, and that, too, had taken a while to land with Wilhelm. By that time, though, he already had Simon in his bed every night, and simply couldn’t imagine his life without Simon - even if Simon was different following the war, and that was understandable, and perhaps even alright. If somebody hadn’t been changed because of the war, it would have been odd.

Simon was impacted in a way that broke Wilhelm’s heart. He had trouble settling back into what one might consider a normal life because there would always be something that triggered him and sent him into a panic attack. Simon had a lot of trouble sleeping, as well, and that first night had only been easy because he hadn’t slept for three days before, and that night, in Wilhelm’s arms, he had basically slept for twelve hours straight. The nights following that first one had been horrible, especially for Simon, because he would wake up screaming, crying, sobbing, and shaking uncontrollably, so stuck in a painful, traumatizing memory that even Wilhelm holding him in his arms didn’t calm him down enough. 

It absolutely broke Wilhelm’s heart. Here he was, Simon Eriksson, the love of his life, and he was plagued by memories that might have fully been prevented if Wilhelm had only come clean with his feelings, and told Simon how he felt at the start of the war. If he had told Simon that he loved him, he might have agreed to stay with Wilhelm at the palace.

If that one person hadn’t thrown that bomb into the office of Wilhelm’s mother and started an all-out war, Simon wouldn’t have been left scarred for life. There was no changing that, however. One could only move forward and try to pick up the shambles. 

Wilhelm got Simon the best care he could afford, which was still quite good. The doctor had taken one look at Simon and had referred him to a psychiatrist and had then taken a better look at Simon’s arm, and after some tests, it was revealed that he had severe nerve damage, causing him (permanent) pain in his arm even long after the fracture had healed. It didn’t help with his internal struggles, and after he had been diagnosed with PTSD, Simon had been on the verge of ending it all.

“My love,” Wilhelm whispered gently in Simon’s ear, as they stood on the balcony while Simon was dealing with another panic attack, holding on to the railing as if for dear life. “Just take a deep breath in. That’s it. I love you, and I’m here. You’re safe, alright? Just keep breathing.”

Simon would collapse into his arms when the worst of it was over, and he would voice his doubts, his fears, about how perhaps Wilhelm was better off without him, and that it would have been better if he hadn’t come back into his life. 

Wilhelm disagreed whole-heartedly, and he always told Simon eventually, usually in the morning, when Simon had rested a little and wasn’t still in the aftermath of his panic attack. Simon had trouble believing it, and Wilhelm had reached a point where he didn’t know how else to make his love known to Simon - before he realized he had one more trick up his sleeve, and employed it.

He made Simon sit on a bench outside the main palace, much of the building still under construction, but they had been rather forced by circumstances to stay at this palace for a few days. Wilhelm had made sure that Simon was warm and comfortable, even shrugging off his jacket and draping it over his shoulders to ensure he was warm enough. When he was certain that Simon was alright, he sat down beside Simon and entwined their hands between them. 

“I can hear you brooding,” Simon murmured. “Stop it.”

Wilhelm rolled his eyes and chuckled, lifting Simon’s hand to kiss the top of it. Then, he slid off the bench onto one knee. Simon stared at him wordlessly, his expression set to neutral.

“Simon, I know that the past few years haven’t been easy on either of us, especially not you, and you would have me believe that you’re not good enough for me, but… since you’ve come back into my life… I haven’t really had a purpose before, which… is weird to admit, really, because I’m the King and I had to govern our country for a while before there was a new government in place, but… with you, it feels like I have a purpose. Like I belong somewhere. I belong with you, wherever that is, and… I’ve been an idiot for ignoring my feelings for that long. When I saw you again that rainy evening, I… it’s true, I also knew that I was in love with you before the war, but… there was always something that was holding me back from admitting it. But now I know… there’s no time like the present, and… there’s also nothing like the threat of death to make previously hidden emotions resurface." He had started to sound like a cliché now. "And, well, what I’m trying and failing to say is that… I love you, Simme, more than I have ever loved anyone, more than I love life itself, and… I would love to spend the rest of my life by your side, if you would let me.”

Simon looked at him quietly, then stared ahead of him in quite the same kind of silence as before. Wilhelm took his silence, too, sitting down beside Simon and wanting to link their hands between them, but not knowing what it was that Simon was feeling right now, and not wanting to make anything worse. 

“I will.”

“Huh?” Wilhelm had, quite frankly, forgotten all the things he had said before because he had been rambling and he didn’t tend to memorize every single word that was spoken in those moments. 

“I will let you spend the rest of your life by my side. I don't think I can function properly without you, and… I used to think it was stupid, pathetic, even, but… after everything that happened… you're right, Wille. We could have died, and we didn't, and…"

Simon stopped talking, and Wilhelm was still looking ahead of himself, so he didn't notice that Simon was now looking at him until the silence stretched out for so long, he eventually ended up looking to his side. Simon was looking at him with a soft expression, the scar on his cheek emphasized by the afternoon sun. Wilhelm reached out now and traced it, from Simon's cheekbone to just below his ear, where his hand slipped down and brushed his neck. After a bit, it slid down to Simon's injured arm, no longer in the cast but the pain remained, Wilhelm knew. (Wilhelm had hosted a few fundraisers and memorials in honor of the fallen soldiers and had seen many others gravely injured, some even missing some limbs. All things considered, perhaps Simon had been lucky.)

"I want to celebrate life with you," Simon whispered. "We've spent long enough trying to keep each other at a distance, and being unhappy for a whole host of reasons. And now, we're here together…" Simon paused, then a small smile spread across his lips. "Did you want to ask me something?"

Wilhelm chuckled and nodded. He didn't go down on his knees anymore, but instead took Simon's hands in his own and lifted them to his lips.

"Will you adopt a puppy with me?"

Simon huffed and pushed Wilhelm's hands away, getting up all offended, but stopped when Wilhelm grabbed his good arm, pulling him back on the bench.

"And also, marry me? Please?"

"You don't have to beg," Simon joked, leaning in and kissing Wilhelm sweetly, tenderly, and making Wilhelm melt beneath him. "But yes, I will-"

Wilhelm was overcome with happiness, even the few weeks before this moment right here hadn't allowed him to be this happy, and then Simon pulled down his heart temporarily. 

"-adopt a puppy with you."

Wilhelm was shocked but only for a few moments because it became increasingly clear soon enough that Simon was joking, and Wilhelm again melted in Simon's arms.

They sat there on that bench for a while in happy silence - all that, despite the world that still lay in shambles around them. Here, on this bench, nothing else mattered but them. 

~...~

A year after peace had been accomplished, most of the country had been rebuilt, even if the old buildings and memorials would never be able to be restored to what they had been before the war. People were licking their wounds - together with the only parts of their pasts before the war that had been visible, never truly being able to heal properly.

The country, no, the world (or at least the countries involved in the war) held on to small displays of hope and love, like a group of small children helping to build a new memorial for this past war, or the silence that stretched out across the city when everybody was inside their homes and asleep - a stark contrast to the barrage of explosions that had been ever-present during the war.

Another small joy to the recovering world was seeing King Wilhelm of Sweden marrying Simon Eriksson. They had seen him turning from a regular university student to a monarch in the time span of several hours, and even though he'd had to leave the country when it became too dangerous for him to stay, he had obviously done whatever he could to reach peace, form a functioning government without any political experience, and managing to get most of the country's expenses to the survival of his people back home. He had done many speeches, many appearances on TV, to try and inform the people that he was trying his best to ensure that peace would come soon. 

Shortly after the war, he had pulled away from the public eye for a long time, and insiders had revealed that he felt he hadn't done enough, that he felt too ashamed to be seen in public. (Simon Eriksson had been spotted sometimes at the palace, but people understood the need for privacy.)

When the young King had reappeared in public again, and not just the private memorials that he had insisted on attending regardless of the shame he might feel, Simon was by his side. It was not a surprise to anybody - in fact, the sight of Wilhelm so happy and full of hope, filled everybody else with hope, too.

At their wedding, a little over a year after the war had ended, people from all across the country, and even abroad, had come to the capital to catch a glimpse of the happy pair. They represented the kind of post-war hope, of repair and finding happiness in the unlikeliest of circumstances that people enjoyed seeing, and continued to draw hope from.

King Wilhelm always stayed humble and didn't always see the impact that he'd had on his people - but his people never forgot, and inspired many people in doing the right thing, too, and making many people still believe in the goodness of humanity.

They remained this for the rest of their lives, even if slowly but surely, there were fewer and fewer people alive who had first-hand experience with the war. They had a happy marriage, had a child through a surrogate (to please the small percentage of the population that still wanted to stick to old traditions with regards to the line of succession - after everything that had happened, those people would always think like that) and adopted two children who had lost both their parents in the war - further proving the fact that they were the kind of future that the world saw for themselves, too.

King Wilhelm would always be under the impression that he had not done enough, and nothing anybody said would change his mind. The people knew better, however; they knew how much he had fought for their country to be free, and they had given them hope when there was none.