When you first lay your eyes on Berwald Oxenstierna, he doesn't seem the type to wear jewellry. And that is correct, if not counting the occasional ring on his right thumb.

Not many know it, but Berwald has a necklace. A simple necklace, not valuable in money – actually, the exact value of the necklace would be 25 öre. There aren't many of those who know this. No one besides Berwald himself know that he actually wears it.

All the time.

To him, the necklace is dear. Precious. A secret. He did not make it himself. Nor does the person who gave it to him know that he wears it.

Berwald wears it all the time. Meetings. Shower. Restaurants. Bed. But he always, very carefully, hides it. Makes sure no one sees it. The least he wants someone to find out about it. The least the person who gave it to him.

That would be humiliating. He was strong and independent now. Free, no strings attached. But sometimes he still misses. The past days. What had been. The necklace isn't that old. It's from 1970.

He misses the person whose name is on the necklace.

Berwald still remembers the words the necklace was given with.

"This is exactly what ye're worth to me, Sverige."

And he remembered the grin as the coin with a leather string attached to it was handed to him.

With all the love, Danmark's eyes had said.

He hadn't noticed that back then. The words spoken had made him angry and he had refused to meet the other for some years.

Never, not even in his darkest moments of hatred, has Berwald thought of throwing the necklace away.

Just somethin' I wrote real quick as the inspiration hit me.

Inspired by m'necklace, really. I have a Danish coin of 25 öre as necklace, 'n I pretty much wear it all the time now. Funny 'nough, m'sis has exactly the same kinda necklace. The coin's just from 'nother year.

And forgive me for usin' the Swedish way o' writin' öre instead o' Danish. I simply don't have that Danish letter on m'keyboard. But I do've that Swedish. So yea. There ya go.