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Chapter Text

The river is peaceful as it flows through the forest in the quiet morning. Water ripples, creating dancing shadows between the small stones dotting the riverbed, as the sunlight flickers across the surface.

A swan cries in the distance.

The light catches a small form, curled up between the stones dotting the shores of the river.

A sleeping child, nothing more but a babe, all alone. Wheat blond hair shines under the sun, healthy red cheeks glow like apples in winter. A small hand clutches a scraggly piece of bone.

The child's sleep is peaceful and quiet, unburdened by dreams as a slight wind tickles his nose and ruffles his hair.

The child sighs quietly, his lips stretching into a slight smile.

It's not yet his time to wake.

  Thus I heard it dictated,

and knew the hymn to be made:

for us the nights come alone,

for us the days dawn alone;

was Väinämöinen born alone,

appeared the eternal bard

from a slender carrier,

from mother Ilmatar.

The forest is quiet but for the song of the birds up in the trees. A child hums along softly as he lets his small fingers run slowly through the coarse brown fur, again and again. A small bear cub has curled up beside him, his head on the boy's knees, sleeping and seeing dreams of the forests and things the child doesn't know of. The boy smiles and tilts his head, his blond hair falling to his violet eyes as the cub's ears twitch in its sleep.

To any observer the boy would appear to be eight summers in age, wearing a knee-length un-dyed linen shirt – its neck adorned by a red ribbon – and brown trousers, his bark shoes lying on the ground beside him. He is a beautiful child, with a healthy, red-cheeked look to him but appearing somehow ethereal, being so at peace with the young King of the Forest beside him.

"There's a bear been given birth to,

the honey-paw been turned

beside the moon, at the edge of the day,

on the shoulders of the Big Dipper.

From there, lowered to the earth

a cradle of golden shine,

wrapped in silver cordons."

The boy sings softly and giggles as the bear's small wet nose twitches and then quiets down. For a moment he sits in silence while the cub sleeps, until suddenly its head shoots up, staring through the trees. The boy's gaze follows, only to feel the cub stand up, taking a step to the side, towards the thicket of trees at the edge of the meadow. The child doesn't pay any attention to it as the bear cub seems to somehow disappear into the shadows, becoming one with the forest. A lithe form of a predator seems to slink through the undergrowth before disappearing as well. Unconsciously, the boy reaches for the puukko hanging from his belt.

For a regular observer it would appear that the boy is alone in the meadow.

A moment later another boy – maybe twelve summers at most – walks out of the forest and looks down at the younger boy, an inscrutable look in his blue eyes.

"Suomi," he says, as if in greeting.

"Häme," the smaller boy – Suomi – replies, relaxing and letting go off the handle of his weapon. He knew that had he wanted to fight, he wouldn't win against the other. "What are you doing here?" he asks then.

Their voices are slightly hushed, as if to keep others from hearing them. The forests were holy and they protected you if you respected them. They both knew this from experience and exercised proper respect for the towering trees.

The older boy adjusts the birch bark pack slightly and sets it on the ground, followed soon by a spear and an axe. He sits down across from the smaller boy, not answering. They gaze into each others' eyes for a moment, blue meeting violet and watching as the rays of the spring sun dance upon their blond hair. Suomi can see a faint scar peeking from the neckline of older boy's shirt. A puukko with a beautifully engraved handle hangs from his belt as well.

"You aren't wearing your shoes," the older boy says then instead of answering the younger one's question.

Suomi shrugs his shoulders and glances to the side at his discarded shoes as he runs his pale finger over the petal of the delicate white, drooping flower beside him. "I like the grass between my toes," he says, a bit petulantly, his cheeks heating in embarrassment.

Häme chuckles a bit and leans back. "Such a child, still," he teases the boy, who scrunches his nose a bit but doesn't rise to the bait. He never really does, not with family. Anyone else is fair game, especially if they come traipsing through his lands.

Suomi raises his wide-eyed gaze from the flower. "You didn't answer my question," he admonishes.

Häme sighs a bit, gazing up at the canopy and the light-blue sky peeking out between the still thin leaf cover. "I'm going to Novgorod's place," he says finally, after a moment's contemplation on whether answer or not.

Suomi's eyes widen as fear grips his heart. Go to Novgorod's? Now? Yes, it happened from time to time and he even accompanied his brother sometimes because families help each other – except when Karjala is being a stupid girl and fights against them instead of Novgorod – but somehow he hasn't expected it to happen now. "Bu-but last year..." he whispers, biting his lip, his gaze shooting – almost without meaning to – to the scar on Häme's collarbone.

Häme turns his gaze away, running his fingers over the engraved wood of the axe handle, testing the sharpness of the blade with his thumb. "I need to avenge them, Suomi. You know how it is, they're my people and I can't let them be treated like that," his hands curl into tight fists, bunching up the hem of his shirt as he stares into the forest, his eyes distant and angry. Suomi bites his lower lip and looks down into his lap, fiddling with a loose string on the hem of his tunic. He'll need to fix it or ask one of the women in the town to do it.

After long moments of silence, Häme takes a deep breath and turns back to the smaller boy. "I just... thought you should know before I go."

Suomi bites his lip and hesitates for a moment before standing up and leaning over to hug Häme. The older boy stiffens for a moment but hesitantly returns the hug, burying his hand into Suomi's soft hair and breathing in his earthy scent strangely reminiscent of birch trees, mixed with the slight, salty whiff of the sea. He isn't doing this only for himself and his people, he reminds himself, but for Suomi and their other siblings, too.

"Be careful," the small boy finally orders as he pulls back, meeting the other's eyes again.

Häme grins wryly in an answer. "Sure thing, little brother."

It's a beautiful child Birger has found and brought for him to see at the camp. Hair like golden wheat under skördemånad – 'August,' he reminds himself firmly, 'It's August,' – sun and violet eyes bring to mind the deepest of lakes at sunset in the summer or the dancing lights in the sky in the north, even as they glare at him with a mix of anger and fear.

Swerike thinks he's seen glimpses of this child before, in the past. Running through the forests and villages as he traded or fought with her people. He's pretty sure she once shot at him, too.

The one thing taking away from the child's beauty is her kicking and screaming like a small devil as she's held aloft by the soldiers – who seem to have trouble holding her down in spite of the child's small size – unusually small even for someone who appeared to be eight years old. He can see one of them grimacing painfully as he's kicked in the stomach.

He's once again reminded why he preferred to trade with the locals. They are unexpectedly vicious if given a reason. But that hardly matters at the moment. He can sense it, the child's connection the land they're standing on. The child is a Nation like him – the personification of the people and the land.

And he needed her.

"Kotihisi, konna, riennä,

Paha, maahasi pakene,

Alle manteren yhdeksän,

Manner puolen kymmenettä–!"

The child pants and snarls, trying to catch her breath between the curses, shouted right at Swerike's face, tears springing to the corners of her eyes.

"Ikuisehen helvettihin,

Paksuhun pimentolahan,

Kuss' ei kuuta aurinkoa,

Ilmoa ihoavata –!"

He cannot understand a word the girl is shouting, her language odd and her tones lilting and hoarse in her anger. He suppresses a shudder, half-expecting to hear thunder grumbling in the distance, ready to strike him down at the order of this child.

"- Joss' on muutki murhamiehet,

Polvuiset pahantekiiät;

Sielt' ei kuulu kuuna päänä,

Ilmau sinä ikänä –!"

From the canting of the words, he could tell the child was using one of her pagan curses, most likely trying to drive him away. He's reminded of his own reluctance to turn to Christianity but it was happening, slowly but surely. Even this child's one measly diocese would gain power, leaving the land under the cross.

"Vaikk' ois päivyt päästämäsä,

Tahi kuu kumartamassa,

Otavainen ottamassa,

Tähet taivon tavoittamassa –!"

Swerike's gaze hardens as the child's curses falter, her violet eyes widening and the older Nation sees fear flash through them, stronger than earlier. He sees tears welling up in those eyes and crushes the stab of pity coursing through his heart. Now's not the time to feel sorry for the locals, human or not. He is not going to take any chances with that upstart Novgorod and if that means annexing this spot of land between them, he would do it because he needed that land to protect his people and gain power.

The child is opening her mouth to shout some more but before she can, Swerike crouches before her, quieting her again. Green eyes meet violet, the older one's glare dispassionate and the younger one's fearfully defiant. Yes, she had definitely shot him at some point, he recognised the glare.

He shakes his head to drive away such a useless memory.

"Swerike," he grunts, his voice higher than one would expect from his appearance and the child looks more confused than scared now.

"Swerike," he repeats and taps meaningfully at his chest.

The girl seems to understand and hesitates only for a moment before answering. "... Suomi."

The name sounds weird, like it's meant to be sung, and he suspects he wouldn't be able to say it properly, so he won't try. His people have been calling this land beyond the sea by other name for a long time, name that was going to be used even now when that land belongs to them. But now is not the time to tell it to this child. He has time for that later.

He stands up, glancing over at the soldiers and Birger standing to the side, his eyebrow raised.

"The girl's coming with us."

Wide eyes blink in confusion as they look up at the taller blond Nation. The flash in their depths tells him that even if she doesn't understand what he's saying, she still knows things are going to change.

Chapter Text

He knew it the moment Russia crossed the eastern border.

It was six o'clock in the morning on February 21 in 1808 when the ache strengthened across his left side, the creeping cold fingers of death wrapping slowly around his throat, as a presence, cold like fell-air in winter, trod upon his lands. The sensation had been tickling his body and mind for a while already and last evening and night it had been especially bad, preventing him from sleeping. So instead of letting the dark, cold night pass lying on his bed and staring the ceiling, he had got up and dressed, resolved to walk the feeling away.

When he felt it, he was standing on top of one of the bastions of Viapori, barely even feeling the cold wind blowing from the sea, as he realised that everything was about to change, once again. He shivered, his violet-eyed gaze turning unconsciously towards east, as if he could see the approaching army in the distance, instead of the frozen sea and the islands dotting it.

He had felt Russia's cold presence for a while already, lying in wait just beyond the border and disturbing his sleep for the last few weeks. He may not have been the most knowledgeable of world politics but he was under the impression that Russia's battle with the Ottoman Empire in Bessarabia was much more important than little old him. True, there had been tensions between King Gustav and Emperor Alexander and their respective Nations... The Swedish ambassador's reports from St. Petersburg hadn't been terrible promising either… Really, why must they always fight? He sighed tiredly, his breath turning white, and adjusted his gloves to cover his thin wrists better against the cold, cursing himself mentally for forgetting to bring his scarf. His face was freezing.

“Sir?” an uncertain voice brought him out of his thoughts as he glanced at the young man standing little ways to the left. His small greenish-grey eyes seemed scared as he gazed at the seemingly young blond haired man, standing self-assuredly straight-backed in his high-collared uniform, staring towards the dark eastern horizon. The sun wouldn't rise for hours yet.

The guard trembled both from the cold and nervousness, clutching his musket protectively close to his chest. The Nation offered the boy a strained smile, trying to hide his own unease and calm down the obviously inexperienced soldier. “It’s nothing, soldier,” he answered in Finnish, catching the flash of surprise in the human’s eyes at the lack of accent. 

“Just a cold breeze coming in from the neighbour's,” he continued softly, turning his eyes back to the horizon.

The boy glanced uneasily in the same direction but nodded, not saying anything.

'Neighbour', that's what they called Russia. Finland and his siblings had done it for centuries and at some point, the humans had started doing the same, even without knowing about the existence of the Nations or their unique positions and abilities.

He offered the soldier one last wave before turning and walking down the stairs, carefully avoiding the frozen patches, not wishing to end up on his back in the snowdrift when the temperature was below -39 degrees Celsius. His day was already proving to be miserable enough without that added to it. He rubbed his side distractedly, trying to ease the ache and cold that seemed to spread there.

Helvetin Venäjä.

Once on the ground he picked up pace and hurried through the dark morning, heading for the bridge to cross over to Vargön island, where the quarters of General af Klercker were located. He needed to inform his commander about the invasion as soon as possible if they wanted to prepare. Within half-an-hour he was invited to the old man’s warm office and served coffee which he received eagerly, sighing in relief as the warmth spread through his fingers. Oh, how he adored coffee; the warmth, the taste...

“So?” the General asked after a moment’s silence, taking in the man still absorbed in his warm drink.

Finland straightened a bit in his seat, meeting the General’s gaze seriously as he lowered his cup. He prided himself in his efficiency and while he would have loved to spend a quiet moment with a pot of coffee, he had more important things to do. “Russia has crossed the border at Kymmene älv.”

The General nodded, not looking surprised in the least. “We expected it. How fast are they moving?”

Finland closed his eyes, his brows drawing down into a slight frown of concentration, his hand moving as if unconsciously to grasp his left thigh. “They’ll be here in... ten days, if we take our... strategy... into account.” He couldn’t help a shiver of disgust running through him as he intoned the word ‘strategy.’ It was more of a tragedy in his opinion, not that that mattered to anyone. Why everyone seemed to believe he didn’t understand these things, he didn’t know. It wasn’t like he was the Nation – the very personification of the land, people and culture – or anything.

The General also grimaced slightly but didn’t say anything, apparently agreeing.

Finland liked the wizened old General; he had guts and was ready to even step on other people’s toes to get things done if the situation required it. But he was also respectful to Finland – or at least more respectful than high-ranked Swedes usually were – and listened to his opinions and even acted on them at times. He had been especially happy when the General had called the troops in and mobilised them at the first sign of trouble from Russia, without bothering to wait for the orders from Stockholm. The order would probably have been late anyway with all of the King’s hemming and hawing and Sweden doing a very good impression of a marble statue.

“We’ll need to wait for the official report from the border before we can take action,” the General said then, looking over the map of Finland he had spread over the table. “But we can start the preparation for our retreat to Tavastehus and make some plans in the meantime.”

Finland nodded in understanding as he leant to study the map. “The exact places where they crossed the border are here and... here,” he said, pale finger ghosting over the river, the border marker, in two places. “There’s also a slight chill – call it a hunch – here,” his finger tapped meaningfully at the border a bit further north. The General nodded and noted the places down with a pen, making hasty notes of the largest roads through the region.

“They're making use of the most effective places to cross,” he observed gruffly, frowning darkly the spots he had marked.

Finland had to agree as he stroked his chin thoughtfully, his eyes sweeping over the lines on the map, thinking and trying to sense the voice of his land. He didn't know what else to call it; to him it had always sounded as if the land was singing or humming, telling him things, whispering its secrets. “The battle plan is probably by Sprengtporten,” he said finally, his voice soft. "He knows the land, the tactics and has resided in the Russian Court since his resignation."

He took great care to keep his voice expressionless, not wishing to bring up his own conflicted feelings about the man – although helping Russia invade was making that opinion plummet very fast. Now was not the time to bring up that the man had championed for Finland's autonomy or even independence, no matter how much he wished for it in the deepest and darkest crevices of his heart, never daring to speak of it. Neither Sweden nor his officials appreciated such statements and at given time the talks would have been next to useless as well. There wasn't time for such talks during war and the last time he dared to whisper about such things was still too recent even if they had escaped Sweden's notice.

What the other Nation didn't know didn't hurt him.

Af Klercker let out a quiet swear but neither of them let it stop their perusing of the map and making notes about the condition of the roads and checking old reports about the state of their troops and weaponry. Finland's mind was only partly in the task however, as he found himself reaching out to the east mentally, trying to feel how his people and land fared. He could sense the fear that permeated the minds of his people as the news of the invasion spread, but oddly enough, there was no pain.

He frowned lightly and closed his eyes. The civilians had been instructed to avoid fighting so as not to get hurt or killed, but he had still expected the Russians to do something. After all, they always had in the past. But things felt considerably more peaceful than one would expect. It was unlike Russia.

It worried him.

As the day wore on they called other high-ranked officials in under the pretence of ironing out all the kinks if Russia invaded, all the while waiting for the messenger to arrive and inform them officially about it. By Finland's calculations that could take anything from ten to even twenty hours, depending on the inns and fresh horses along the way, along with the additional problem of the weather.

Vice-Admiral Cronstedt seemed rather pessimistic as they went over the plans for Viapori's defence, saying that it was out-dated and pointing out the Archipelago Fleet would be trapped there for months before the ice would clear. Finland also knew this; their plan relied heavily on the Navy coming to support the land forces when the sea melted. They all knew from experience that it could very well be well into summer by the time they would get reinforcements from the mainland. He knew Viapori – or Sveaborg as the Swedish speakers called it – would have absolutely no trouble under siege; it was well stocked and could hold up even to heavier artillery fire. Besides, he doubted Russia had brought anything too heavy, to avoid problems with the transport.

Or if he had brought something heavy, Finland wished he had got stuck into a snowdrift with it. 'To think I can be proud of bad roads…'

At about half past four there was frantic knocking at the door before a flustered messenger stumbled inside, his nose and cheeks red from the cold. He gave a hasty bow and was already speaking before he straightened, stumbling over his words at times. "I – I'm very sorry, sirs," he said, his Swedish awkward. "A Russian Army Division attacked across Kymijok- Ky-Kymmene älv – this morning at around six."

As murmurs broke out around the room, af Klercker appeared completely nonplussed. "Where?" he asked, pulling out a clean map.

"At King's Road, over Ahve– Abborrfors."

It's the spot Finland had pointed out in the morning but the General noted it down dutifully anyway.

"They'll be here in ten days if there is no resistance along the way," one of the officers noted worriedly. "What's the situation at Svartholm?"

"We have six hundred men there," Finland said darkly, "hardly enough to stop a full Division. At most they can tie up some men for a siege."

But not enough, went unsaid.

"And we'll leave about seven thousand here in Sveaborg," af Klercker reminded them sternly. "Your job, Vice-Admiral Cronstedt, is to command the troops here and keep the Russians occupied while the Main Army retreats to Uleåborg and – if necessary – to Torneå."

Cronstedt nodded sourly and Finland hid a grimace of distaste. Ever since the plans in the case of Russian invasion had been finalised he had felt sick to his stomach. The plan would practically force him to leave his entire land and all of his people to Russia's tender mercies.

He grit his teeth and dropped his gaze to the floor. He never seemed to be able to protect them, he was just so weak, seeming to always fall on his own land. One of his greatest moments of weakness had taken place only ninety years earlier, in Russia's hands. It felt too fresh and recent, like wound that had barely scabbed over as it was picked at again and again; it had taken years to recover from the occupation.

The second occupation only twenty years later hadn't helped at all. Nor the unlawful war only forty years after that.

He never seemed to get any peace.

"Ruotsi perkele!"

The foreign, rolling r's, cracking across the room like a whip brought the attention of every nobleman and soldier on him. Their gazes were astonished, as if they couldn't believe someone would dare to use such language in their presence, in the very presence of their King and their Nation. The King looked especially offended but Finland was too upset to feel ashamed. He would apologise later.

He knew what they were thinking; that of course it was that easterner, who only knew how to farm, complain and fight and who spoke an incomprehensible language. But they weren't important, not now, not when the fate of his land and people were on his shoulders, somehow feeling heavier than ever before.

"Calm yourself, Finland," Sweden ordered softly, stepping up to him and placing his large hand on the smaller man's slight shoulder.

The older, taller Nation didn't seem faced by his charge's harsh language but he hardly seemed to be faced by anything ever. Sometimes, when he was at his angriest, Finland actually wondered if the damn Swede even had any emotions. He glared up into the narrowed green eyes, before Sweden turned his gaze away, offering an apologetic bow to their King.

The nobles were murmuring again in distaste and the King positively radiated displeasure as Sweden pulled him out of the war room, through the guard room where the guards scrambled to hide their playing cards, and into the imposing baroque landing of the castle.

Finland wrenched his shoulder out his grip, his glare intensifying. "Don't tell me to calm down, Sweden!" he said sharply, trying to keep his voice low and level in the echoing staircase. "You and your King are telling me to leave my land and people to the Russians!"

When Sweden didn't say anything, Finland's hand clenched into tight fists at his side as he stepped up the taller man whose mere presence would have scared him on a normal day. But today was anything but normal; the country was on the brink of war and now was not the time to be scared of a man he had known and worked closely with for almost six hundred years.

"Don't tell me you already forgot all about isoviha – stora ofreden?" Finland's voice trembled with both anger and pain as he fought to hold in his tears of frustration.

Sweden eyes were pained as he sighed and shook his head, meeting Finland's eyes as he settled his hands heavily back on the smaller man's shoulders, both to restrain and comfort him. "That was a long time ago," he said. "Times change, this is the best tactic given the situation."

Finland grit his teeth as his gaze dropped to the floor. 'Best tactic'... what a laugh. It was the exact same tactic Sweden had been forced to employ before in regards to Finland and it rarely worked because Russia wasn't stupid and because it didn't protect his people worth a damn. He couldn't help feeling betrayed, being forced to abandon his people in this way. And on some level it felt as if Sweden and their King were thinking only of themselves and the mainland in planning to withdraw further and further west to 'protect the troops.' While regarding Finland as something of lesser importance to the Kingdom. 

He took a deep breath and stepped back, Sweden's hands dropping back to his sides, now empty. Finland raised his gaze, meeting Sweden's shadowed eyes, now feeling more disappointed and hurt rather than angry. But the anger had been all but forgotten.

They stood quietly for a moment.

"I need to go back home," Finland said softly. "My people need me."

Sweden nodded somewhat reluctantly, not saying anything but; "Go… and good luck."

Sometimes he really wondered what the big Nations' attitude problem was. Sweden, Russia, Denmark, France, England, Prussia, Netherlands... Expand, expand, wars going on left and right... He personally would have preferred being left alone. Sure, a fight every now and then was invigorating and fun but too much was still too much. By now he was almost used to being a battlefield between Sweden and Russia, which wasn't a good thing at all in his opinion. He much preferred the two of them duking it out on the sea or even getting involved with the big wars in Europe rather than messing up his people's lives.

Or better yet, stop the fighting entirely. Getting involved with France and England had led to this invasion in the first place.

"... and the rest of us will prepare to leave for Tavastehus."

As the officers dispersed from the room, Finland glanced at the nervous looking messenger still standing near the door. He didn't seem to know whether to continue on his way immediately or stay until dismissed.

"Have a quick dinner before heading to the next inn down the road," he said softly in Finnish, stepping up to the young man, giving him an encouraging smile.

He seemed relieved as he offered his Nation a quick bow. "Thank you, sir."

"Because of the ice, you'll need to go around the Gulf of Bothnia to get to Stockholm," Finland continued, "so make sure to ask an extra blanket from the storage before you go."

The man grimaced at the news but nodded before leaving. Finland glanced over his shoulder at the General, who was still perusing the maps, compiling the information from different papers onto one. The room was now empty except for the two of them. There was still a lot to do; he would need to contact his siblings; his brothers were already each with their regiments but his sisters needed to know their work load was about to increase momentarily in civil matters.

"You should get some sleep, sir," Finland said finally, not looking at the General as he picked up his hat, turning it in his hands, fluffing the yellow plume distractedly.

The General grunted, apparently not appreciating the unsaid remark about his age. For a seventy years' old he was still very energetic and his mind razor-sharp, the ideal, experienced person to help the country through a war.

As if Finland was one to talk about age, he was older than a good deal of other Nations even if no one acknowledged the fact. Not that he often mentioned it either, for in spite of his age he was rather inexperienced – though not as inexperienced as people seemed to think!  – and his earliest memories were rather fuzzy and vague. But it wasn't as if everyone else remembered everything either.

"In a moment, Finland," the General answered as he made another notation on the paper.

The scratch of the quill seemed to echo through the room as the darkness fell behind the windows.

Finland had been in Hämeenlinna, or Tavastehus as the Swedish-speakers insisted on calling it, for almost a week by the time Klingspor - the Commander-in-Chief of the Finnish Army - arrived from Stockholm.

He had been sitting and sewing in his room - the very same room he had slept in hundreds if not thousands of times since the castle had been built in the 13th century - when he had happened to glance out of the window. He could just make out a horse and a sleigh accompanied by an army unit approaching the castle. His hands fell to his lap as he looked expressionlessly down at the bundled up General.

The soft snowfall trailing down from the grey sky seemed to have wrapped the General into a fluffy white blanket. It fell away in clumps as the man stood up from his sleigh, raising his blue eyes to scan the windows lining the castle's inner courtyard. Finland was certain the man wouldn't be able to see him at this distance but he drew away from the window anyway, hoping the frost flowers blooming across the glass hid him from sight.

He carefully set down the undershirt he had been patching, well aware he would be cold as soon as they started marching. He blew out the candle he had been using as light and slipped out of his room, ghosting down the corridor.

He felt rather apprehensive about meeting the Commander, not desiring to see the man's reaction to him. The last time they had seen each other had been at the meeting earlier in February, when he had been dragged out midway through after cussing at Sweden. Oh, they could work together when it came down to it but Klingspor had never particularly liked or respected Finland, in spite of having worked closely with the Nation the past six years. While Finland was somewhat relieved that someone he was familiar with had been chosen to lead the war effort – it saved him the trouble of trying to make some newcomer believe that the eastern half of the Kingdom actually merited its own distinctive personification, something most found hard to believe – he had hoped it would have been someone more… proactive.

However, the bottom line was that Wilhelm Mauritz Klingspor was the most logical choice for the Commander-in-Chief, all things considered.

Even if Finland didn't like it.

"How are the preparations for the retreat progressing?" He heard Klingspor's voice drifting down the corridor from the meeting room and hid a grimace at the words. They still stung and he doubted they would stop doing that anytime soon.

"According to schedule," af Klercker answered gruffly. "The main force of seven thousand men is gathered here in Tavastehus and the townspeople are preparing provisions."

"It's quite a strain to the town," Finland offered without preamble, stepping into the room without knocking and shutting the door properly behind him. It wouldn't do for others to hear their discussion. "My brother tells me the local farmers are having trouble baking enough bread to feed all of them, even with the grain the Crown's provided for it."

Klingspor ignored the comment. "Finland, I expected better manners from you," the Commander frowned disapprovingly, the expression reminding the Nation quite vividly of Sweden. He didn't have any problem catching the double meaning either; Klingspor was anything but pleased with how he had addressed the King last time he had been in Stockholm.

"I could hear you down the corridor, sir," he answered expressionlessly, meeting the man's eyes steadily. "I figured it wouldn't be appropriate for anyone to listen in." Hiding behind a mask of pleasant politeness was the ticket to peace, he had learnt.

Af Klercker cleared his throat. "But Finland does have a point about the strain on the locals," he said, clearly doing his best to mediate and bring the discussion back to the matter at hand. "What else has Tavastland told you?"

Finland resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his brother's Swedish name. Häme didn't like it one bit – probably the reason he liked to rebel so much – but none of them really liked their Swedish names but some tolerated them better than others. He himself was mostly desensitised towards the whole thing, as were Varsinais-Suomi, Satakunta, Uusimaa and Pohjanmaa. Their more eastern siblings… not so much. And the multitude of names made it a constant headache to figure out which to name to use in which situation.

"Consulting with me about the situation in town, but mainly he's with the Tavastland Regiment preparing to march, just like I, Savolax, Satakunda and Österbotten are with our respective regiments," Finland answered.

"You're all taking part?" Klingspor frowned, seeming a bit taken aback. "I seem to recall that only you fought during Gustav III's war."

Finland ignored the question; he had no intention whatsoever to tell Klingspor that it had been a staged protest against the war in question. He would have stayed out of it if given the chance but being the main personification he had no such luxury. At least his siblings could always use the excuse that they 'need to keep things running while brother goes off to war.'

This time excuses wouldn't work nor were they interested in making excuses. They were being attacked and they would protect their land and people to the last man, woman and child. Their sisters, being unable to join the army, would keep things running in their absence and Åland would keep wheedling Sweden for reinforcements.

"Weren't we supposed to talk about the… preparations?" he asked instead. "The Russians are approaching."

As the clouds rolled across the grey skies, the grimy salt encrusted window let barely any light into the round stone room. The candle flame flickered in the barest of drafts, throwing dancing shadows at the form standing beside the table.

"Sweden."

The tall blond man looked up from the map spread before him, meeting the intense green-eyed gaze of his colleague standing at the doorway.

"England," he said expressionlessly, straightening and holding out his hand, which the other shook.

"You seem well," the Englishman noted, setting his dark bicorn on the table, his eyes taking in the expressionless face and immaculate uniform of the taller blond.

Sweden shrugged slightly. "Well enough. When did you arrive?"

"Just moments ago, they're probably still tying the ship," England answered, then hesitated, "I... really must thank you for not going along with the frog's scheme," he said softly, bowing his head in gratitude. Unusual for him, Sweden noted.

"You're an important trade partner," Sweden answered noncommittally. With how much timber and tar England bought for his Navy it would have been a serious financial handicap to give up the trade. And there really was no reason to tell England that Gustav's intense dislike for Napoleon played at least as large a part in this arrangement.

He himself was of the opinion it was all a bit ridiculous; leaders came and went and every one of them was accused of something like this at least once during their reign. Napoleon was hardly the first leader to be called the antichrist. But a Nation obeyed their leader, there was no question about it.

And at this point things were getting very troublesome; Sweden and England were the only major powers still fighting against France; Prussia and Russia had both switched sides after being defeated the previous summer and now the latter was knocking his back door and Denmark and Norway were hatching their own plans about his vital regions.

At least he had Finland guarding his back ferociously, still bitter about all the wars that were fought on his land the last century. They would be fine; Finland was good at fighting and hated Russia.

The shorter blond shifted slightly and Sweden realised he had been quiet for too long again. This was why he needed someone talkative around, to avoid awkward silences and even more awkward subject changes. "I hope the ice wasn't much trouble?"

England – apparently too relieved to complain about the choice of the subject – shook his head. "It wasn't too much trouble... although the winter in Gothenburg is rather chilly."

Sweden hmm'ed, amused. As far as he was concerned, Göteborg was one of his warmer cities and he knew the Englishman well enough to tell he was downplaying the 'chilliness'. Southern Nations really had no concept for true cold, not even the British Empire who had seen more of the world than most.

"Have a seat," Sweden offered, pulling out a chair beside the table. As England had seated himself he continued; "Thank you for coming to help. Being caught between Denmark and Russia is rather tricky."

"I'm in war with both of them as it is. It's better for the two of us to stick together," England pointed out.

"True. And let's not forget France."

England groaned, running his hand through his messy hair as he slumped a bit in the chair, an uncommon show of petulance. "Please don't talk about the frog, it makes me want to rip my hair out." He thought for a moment. "Or better yet, his."

"As you wish," Sweden said wryly. Really, these youngsters...

"Anyway," England sighed. "More reinforcements should arrive in a month or two, when the ice has melted properly. We'll just have to hope Denmark doesn't attack in the meantime."

"I doubt he will attack personally," Sweden adjusted his glasses, motioning to the map. "He's more likely to send Norway, as we share a border and there's no risk of your Fleet interfering."

England frowned at the map, his finger trailing over the lines thoughtfully, taking in the placements of the troops and squiggly arrows slithering across the paper. "He's afraid," England mused, a smirk stretching across his lips.

Sweden chuckled. "And he should be."

The wind was like ice, cold and hard, throwing the powder-like snow into his eyes, stabbing at his face like thousand of little needles and turning the landscape surrounding them into a white wasteland. The trees in the forests around them rose towards the grey sky like frozen corpses, bringing to his mind the old tales of Tuonela and the spirits of the dead.

Finland's head ached, making him feel nauseous and think his head was about to split in half. Fear and anger rose in turns in his heart, turning his stomach. His people were scared and uncertain, more than they had been in a long time and he knew it. Russia was on his lands and Sweden was withdrawing. Finland was withdrawing, he was leaving them.

Their fear was his fear, their doubt was his doubt.

It tasted like defeat and giving up.

Finland felt like crying.

The physical ache had spread from his left side, all across his legs and lower stomach, settling down into pangs of pain that could be tolerated, even ignored completely when necessary. He knew he would have been a moaning, feverish mess if the Russians had actually gone around killing, raping and burning villages and towns like they had in the past. But that was a small comfort because every day the pain was creeping closer and closer to his heart.

He adjusted his scarf tiredly, his gaze sweeping over the marching men, the plumes of their hats swaying in the wind. He felt somewhat guilty at not being forced to march but he doubted he would have kept sufficient pace up, not with the bizarre mix of pain and numbness overtaking his legs.

Lempi neighed a bit beneath him and he shushed her gently, patting the side of her neck distractedly. If he had been able to walk, his loyal mare would have been able to carry a bit more supplies for his hungry and cold men, making this at least a tiny bit easier for them. He never wanted to feel like a burden.

Suddenly, a cold wind seemed to pierce through his heart. He let out an involuntary gasp as he almost fell from the saddle. His hand grasped tightly at his chest as he hunched over, trying to ride out the pain, barely hearing the shouts and calls of the soldiers around him. Oh gods...

He knew this feeling, one of the most horrible feelings in existence.

They had Turku. They had his heart.

He whimpered weakly, trying to hold in his tears, already more from grief than pain.

"What's happening?" a sharp voice demanded, causing Finland to raise his head weakly. Klingspor, his Commander, was before him, perched atop of his own, taller horse, frowning at Finland. The man's eyes were hard and cold, bringing it home to Finland once again that he did not like this man and that he had come to despise him even more since the tactical meeting in Hämeenlinna.

"Å-Åbo," he cleared his throat weakly, suddenly having trouble twisting his tongue around the Swedish words, "they have Åbo."

Panicked and worried murmurs spread through the soldiers, causing the almost forgotten ache in his head to worsen, just as the pain in his heart lessened. After a moment he sat up slowly, steeling himself for another bout of pain. It didn't come.

Finland raised his gloved hand, pressing it hesitantly against his chest. Where was the pain? Why wasn't he hurting, like all the previous times his heart had been taken by Russia?

Then he realised it; they weren't fighting.

His people weren't fighting back, they weren't getting killed, they were okay.

So Varsinais-Suomi was okay too. Hopefully. His sister was tough and crafty, she would stay safe and keep their people safe too.

Unconsciously, his hand reached up to clutch at the cross necklace hanging around his neck, hidden beneath layers of cloth.

Despite his sudden relief at the realisation, it wasn't much of a comfort. The lack of fighting and the horrible, horrible headache told him a much more bitter story. They didn't have hope of them, of Sweden, winning.

And he didn't blame them for that. How could he, when he himself was starting to be plagued by the very same doubts. The army was only retreating, they weren't defending the land and people from the Russians. To the people it would seem that even the King didn't have any hope of winning or that he didn't care. They were losing their belief.

And because they were losing it, Finland knew he would lose it too, slowly but surely. 

He knew sending effective reinforcements was impossible until the ice melted and on top of that Denmark had declared war on Sweden. Supported by France and located – comparatively – closer to the capital, he was considered the bigger threat to the national security and so the bulk of Sweden's Army had been ordered to Götaland, bordering Norway and the Öresund strait, where they were expecting England's Navy to help them out. The King's intense dislike for Napoleon more than explained his preference in placing troops there as well.

After all, Finland was there to take care of the east border and Russia.

Even if he doubted there would be much 'taking care of' going on. Klingspor seemed intent on avoiding conflict by any means necessary, pulling their men further and further back. The men who were leaving behind their villages, friends and families grew restless during the long march. Dissonance and uncertainty was growing among the ranks.

And the commanders remained ignorant of it. Finland was there to hear all the whispers and rumours – partake in the men's fear and unease. At the beginning he tried to bring their unease up with the commanders, in vain.

They had their strategy and they would stick to it, for better or worse.

There were times he yearned to join the men in their talks, tell them he was worried as well and cared what was happening to them, to this land. But he didn't dare, for he knew they would start asking him why they were doing nothing and he knew that any answer he gave would be insufficient, both for them and him.

He hated it.

The uncertainty.

The cold.

Then, not even a week later, on March 28 1808 Emperor Alexander I declared that Finland would become one with Russia.

"Here."

As he turned to look at the other Nation in confusion, he saw a silver cross lying innocently in Sweden's hand, which he was holding out to Finland. The shorter Nation blinked in surprise as he looked up at the other, whose sharp-eyed gaze was locked down to the hall below them and the man standing before the gathered crowd,

"W-why?" Finland asked uncertainly. Why was Sweden giving him a gift? He never did that, not when there was nothing to be gained from it, Sweden always had a reason for doing what he did even if it was something as seemingly simple as giving a small gift. Hesitantly, he took the necklace, holding it up to the light filtering through the high windows of the chapel. The cross was plain and simple with no fancy carvings like crosses usually had, hanging from a thin chain and swaying lightly as it dangled from the minute movements of his hand.

Sweden shrugged slightly. "Gustav wanted me to give it to you," he muttered.

Finland's gaze flickered to the well-groomed man below. "Why would the King want me to have a cross?"

"We are Protestant from now on," Sweden answered, "Church is a matter of state."

"I know that," Finland huffed, clutching the cross in his hand. The first changes into this direction had started soon after Gustav became the King – refusing to obey the Pope and cutting all contact three years ago among other things. Not that he himself really had noticed much of a difference but he heard things. He doubted these changes would affect him much, the finer points of religion were irrelevant in everyday life and he hadn't been a particularly devout or knowledgeable Catholic in the first place anyway. Things were just fine as long as he knew when the harvest and sowing were. "What does the cross have to do with it?"

He hadn't had one even as a Catholic so getting one now felt a bit of a waste. Catholicism had seemed to put much stock into symbolism and opulence and he had been pagan before so the change had been greater. By all logic he should have gotten a cross then – not that he had ever fully converted per say – but it was still weird.

Sweden turned to regard the shorter Nation thoughtfully, before taking a deep breath. From his expression Finland would tell he was trying to be subtle again, which he thought was a waste of time. Why couldn't the other just be direct instead of avoiding the actual point? "Gustav thinks it's time to reorganize and stuff."

What 'reorganizing and stuff' had to do with a cross necklace he didn't know but he did know from experience that trying to get anything else out of Sweden was an exercise in futility. Finland liked to think himself as close-mouthed but Sweden had him beat any day of the week without really trying. He frowned up at the taller Nation and fingered the cross, letting the tips of his calloused fingers run over its smooth plains and just barely rounded corners. It was well-made as far as he could tell and weighted just right for that amount of silver – although he wouldn't have been surprised if small amounts of copper had been mixed in. Gustav and Sweden both had a thing for money and Finland wasn't important enough to warrant pure silver.

Sweden seemed to sense his uncertainty and sighed, digging his own hand down the gold-embroidered jacket, pulling out a larger cross, this one seemingly made of gold. "I got one too," his tone was defensive. His cross wasn't particularly ornamental either but it did have something Finland's didn't – a carving of three crowns in the middle of the cross. "It symbolises the union of the state and church," Sweden explained, "How church's coming closer to people, Swedish church services and stuff," the taller Nation shrugged his shoulders, seeming uncomfortable and excited at the same time which looked decidedly terrifying on his face.

Finland knew the New Testament had been published in Swedish the previous year and while it would probably go a long way in making Swedish church services possible, it wouldn't help him nearly as much. He bit his lower lip uncertainly, his fingers lingering upon the empty middle section of the cross.

"Sweden…" he started and the other Nation hmm'ed inquiringly, "…could I get someone to translate the Bible into Finnish?" he asked softly.

For a moment they stood in silence. It had been so long since Finland had the chance to honour a God – any god – in his own language...

"We'll look for someone," Sweden finally said with a sigh and Finland felt an ecstatic grin break out on his face as he impulsively grasped the other Nation's hand.

"Thank you, so much."

Sweden's cheeks seemed to flush as he coughed uncomfortably. "Aren't you going to put it on?"

Finland returned to earth with a jump. "Oh, right," he muttered, flustered as he fumbled with the necklace.

Sweden gave an amused sigh. "Let me help."

Finland handed the necklace over with a pout and let the other hang it on his neck. The chain was cold against his skin and he suppressed a shiver.

The taller Nation nodded approvingly as he stepped back, taking in the necklace, shining brightly against Finland's off-white shirt. "A good Christian needs a cross."

Finland frowned up at the other. "It's risti for me, Sweden," he admonished the other.

Sweden snorted. "As you wish."

Chapter Text

Shots rang out in the cold air, the grey smoke from the guns and cannons mixing in the still crisp spring air. Finland's gaze was trained to the other side of the still frozen river. In the distance he could make out a slight rise in the land where the church tower and the separate belfry reached towards the sky, fortunately untouched by the battle. It had been a close call; the Russian artillery and the train had gotten stuck in the snowdrifts at the foot of the small hill. 

On the south bank of the river he saw Colonel von Döbeln and his men locked in battle against the advancing Russians. Shots were being exchanged and men fell on both sides, staining the snow with flowers of blood. The view wasn't the best possible, even from astride his horse and for the most part he was forced to rely in his mind and body, where he could feel the faint echoes of his men fighting, dying, if he concentrated really hard. While he knew he couldn't actually feel it to that accuracy, he could imagine the feeling of his right side throbbing at every blast of cannon fire, every man fallen. Because centuries ago, when he and his people were still young, he had been able to feel every death to that intensity. Pushing the phantom-like pain from his mind was easy after centuries of experience with the exact same type of and infinitely worse pain.

And his men weren't giving up despite all the odds stacked against them.

Not even after the disastrous battle two days previous when they had lost over 180 men in a bloody battle against the Russians at Pyhäjoki.

But today was different. There were a lot less Russians that they had been expecting, a lot less. Finland's men had the numerical advantage and he was itching to join the battle beside his men, to do his part as their Nation to drive out their long time enemies. No ordinary mortal weapon could kill him and a Nation's presence – a Nation's direct involvement – always made a difference. Usually for the better, especially if there was only one Nation present on the battlefield. Their very presence would encourage and strengthen their troops to triumph on the battlefield.

In a way, he was sorry that Russia himself wasn't present so that he could introduce the taller Nation to his musket. The cold pinch in his heart told him that Russia was still in the south, in his capital.

But even out of the battlefield Russia didn't only affect Finland's heart with his presence but also his head. It made his people afraid and uncertain, and they didn't dare to openly oppose the occupiers. The declaration of the annexation had only made the situation worse in his mind, because now Russia started to make a conscious effort to be nice about the whole invasion – as much as one can be nice about an invasion in any case. It was downright disturbing for Finland, on personal level. He knew the other Nation – had known him for centuries – and this invasion was so different from the norm it wasn't even funny.

Even if he wasn't thinking about Russia, he still had a headache due to his people's indecisiveness.

He had always been stuck in the middle of this great tug-of-war Sweden and Russia had going on. Before the Middle Ages both had raided his land in turns and after Finland was annexed to Sweden – who had never raided as much as his eastern neighbour – had stopped the raids and since then Finland only had Russia to worry about. And of course everyone else who wanted a piece of him or had a chicken to pluck with Sweden. So he was more than used to being invaded on regular basis, much to his chagrin. Even Easter wasn't holy, it seemed.

Finland's mare took a few restless steps at the sound of shots ringing out considerably closer than before. His gaze snapped slightly to the left, landing on a blue and yellow dressed dragoon squadron charging into the fray, assisting another battalion in drawing back from the fight, to their side of the river. The retreaters stumbled a bit in the snow and barely returned the fire – their ammunition must be low, Finland realised. But despite the difficulties, most of his people crossed the slippery ice safely, leaving the Russians and the corpses of their fallen companions behind.

The evening was drawing in; it was becoming harder to see the battlefield, at times illuminated only by the muzzle blasts from both sides. He could see the first lines of Russians reaching the banks, setting up their artillery stations and preparing to attack. He didn't have to worry for long as a drum roll rang along the Finnish lines. Colonel Adlercreutz's order to drive them back.

"Charge!"

Finland lurched forward, taking care to balance on Lempi's back as he drew his musket from the saddle fastening. Shooting on horseback was harder the larger the weapon but he trusted his skills; if anyone knew how to cause damage with a variety of weapons on horseback it was him, even if he wasn't even nearly as reckless as back in the 17th century.

The jägars marched on before him, stopping at his order and shooting, Finland's own round flying over their heads towards the green uniformed enemies. As the reached the south bank, Finland barely took the time to get down from his horse before he was already ordering the men to engage the Russians, joining the fray himself without a moment's hesitation. Finally, they were doing something, he thought distantly as he fired his musket with a deadly precision, watching a soldier fall down. He could hear the cannons on the north shore echoing his orders as the Russians started panicking, pulling back bit by bit, trying to hold off the attacking Finnish troops.

Finland felt his lips turning upwards into a parody of a smile as he stabbed the bayonet into a desperately defending Russian's chest.

'Insignificant' am I, Russia? he thought savagely, Let me remind you just how wrong that statement is.

As he pulled the bayonet out with a mighty yank he barely even felt the still warm blood spattering across his cheeks, for he was already turning away, attacking his next victim. Blood bounded in his veins as the sound seemed to disappear around him. For the first time in this war, he felt alive.

It didn't take long for the retreat orders to be called out across the Russian lines and they started drawing back, turning on their heels and some of them outright running like a punch of cowards. With a shout of victory the Finns took off in a chase, intent on driving them all the way back to Russia if necessary. Finland himself was more than ready to do so.

Sadly it was not to be and the chase was called off only after half a mile* but even that couldn't dampen their spirits at their first real victory in this war against Russia.

"Ja pysykääkin poissa!" he called, grinning as he watched the Russians retreat, the elated hoots of his troops ringing out in the air.

As far as Finland was concerned, the Battle of Siikajoki was a turning point. His steps grew lighter, the men grew in confidence and the commanders started to seriously talk about putting up more resistance against the attackers; things were really looking up. Even Kligspor was less insufferable than normally and the news of more Russians advancing from the south-east towards Revonlahti three miles* east from them didn't dampen their spirits and they had been quick to dispatch Colonels Adlercreutz and Cronstedt to take care of the trouble. Finland had been absolutely ecstatic at their total victory and especially when they had managed to bring a Russian Major General – although sans finger – as a prisoner. The only complaint he had was that he himself hadn't fought with them.

Not that he had really been needed, their forces seemed to have finally caught their first wind in this war. Finland was certain Adlercreutz was due a promotion soon and if he wasn't, he was going to recommend so.

They had camped down little ways south from Oulu – at Lumijoki – taking advantage of the peace and advancing spring by taking time to rest and train their troops. It was early May and Finland had slipped away from his work for a while. He leant against the gleaming white birch, watching the troops practising in the nearby field. He ran his hand distractedly over Lempi's neck, smiling sadly as the horse turned to inspect his hands for treats.

"Sorry, my little Lempi," he murmured softly. "But I've got nothing for you."

The mare snorted and turned her head away. Finland chuckled softly; really, all of his horses had always had such an attitude – Ukko, his steadfast steed during the Thirty Years' War, being the fiercest and most stubborn. He hummed an old march from back then for a moment, his smile widening a tad as Lempi straightened her neck, shaking her mane. Sometimes she really acted just like her ancestor.

"Why do we still have to retreat?"

As the question brought him back to the present, Finland glanced to his left where a young soldier was grumbling to an older man beside him as they walked along the perimeter of the horse fencing. The young man's hat was askew and his hold of the musket was awkward, the collar of his greatcoat flapping open, blue eyes staring darkly towards the vicarage in the distance. The older man seemed tired and weathered as he led the way towards a nearby cluster of rocks. They were both clutching bowls of broth in their hands, apparently taking a break from patrol to eat lunch. They didn't seem to have noticed Finland's presence.

The older man shrugged in answer as they settled down. "Don't ask me, I've got no clue how the commanders' heads work."

"But it doesn't make any sense," the youth insisted. "Just escaping like this."

"True," the older man agreed, blowing a bit at the faintly steaming liquid in his spoon. "But they've got to have some plan. Otherwise we wouldn't have bothered with anything official."

The youth sighed. "Yeah. The farmers seem to be achieving more in Savo, anyway."

"I didn't say the plan ain't full of shit," the man offered.

Finland couldn't hold in a snort of amusement. 'Full of shit' indeed, not to mention poor planning and equally poor execution. If the commander of the Savo Regiment hadn't panicked, they would have at least been retreating slower.

The twosome froze in fear and stared wide-eyed at the Colonel standing little ways away from them beside a sturdy horse that if not for its shining coat wouldn't have looked out of place in front of a plough. They clearly hadn't expected anyone to hear them much less a high-ranking officer. Insulting and questioning a superior officer were serious offences but they generally didn't know enough Finnish to understand local dialects or anything besides the stuff you needed in the Army, like commands.

"We're very sorry, sir," the older soldier stood up and bowed, the younger following his example hastily.

Finland offered the two a slight smile. "At ease, gentlemen," he said, turning to face them fully, "And the comments are rather helpful; they tell us a lot about the morale of the men."

The men glanced at each other warily but didn't contradict him. However, they did seem to relax a bit at his acceptance of their complaints. Although the true reason for relaxing was probably the fact that Finland was their Nation, more than anything else.

"Officers don't often seem to appreciate them, sir," the old soldier said wryly.

Finland offered him an apologetic smile. "Those in high positions are not always humble enough to listen to the opinions of the common man. That's often their weakness; their deep sense of pride and propriety."

In his considerable experience he was the 'common man' in the court, in spite of being a Nation, closest thing to an immortal people were ever likely to encounter. But as far as the nobles in Stockholm were concerned, Sweden was the more higher-ranked of the two of them, which was of course quite true. That however did not mean he was less important.

"As if we don't know anything," the youngster muttered, "like we're just farmers messing with turnips."

Finland's smile widened a tad as he leant closer to murmur conspiratorially; "Well they certainly don't know the right way to gather the turnips."

The soldiers smiled; they were relaxing more and more the longer Finland spoke with them, really spoke with them and not down to them. For once they were being acknowledged as being needed for the good of the kingdom as something other than soldiers. That they had worth other than the blood they could spill for the sake of the King and the country, that they were more than names and numbers on a muster roll or the vogt books.

This was one of the things he loved about being a Nation; talking with his people, getting to know them, taking part in their lives. Nations knew their people on a level no human could know another; to him they were like his children and his duty was to take care of them, protect them and provide them with a safe and plentiful land in which to live.

Some things he knew instinctively; the way they spoke and acted, and how their very presence felt to him on a deeper level told him they hailed from Häme's lands, probably even from the same village – the gruff attitude and the dialect, their vowels long and low, their r's sharp and rolling – gave them away, along with the faint echo of his brother's influence. Spending time with them told him more; their names, ages, natures and the state of their lives. But despite the kinship he felt with each of his people he always had to stay careful, and not let anything slip.

When he was younger he sometimes forgot this and spoke too much, scaring his people in the process. Sometimes it had even gone so far they had driven him out of the village into the forest. But as years passed and he learned to hold his tongue, they generally started to think of him as a god of sorts – most often as the son of Tapio, the god of forests and game. Such interpretation didn't bother him at all and maybe it was even true, how would he know? It wasn't as if anyone could tell him.

Or maybe Sápmi would know, being so old. Not that he was planning to ask, she probably wouldn't answer him anyway.

His siblings had grown up similarly in their own regions, having varying amounts of contact and relations with their people – who were understandably creeped out by the immortal children who could apparently talk to animals – and each other. The relations between their kind had always been and would probably always be, somewhat hindered by the fact that it was very natural for them to be selfish, and only look out for their own and their people's interests. And people were greedy, he could remember when it had been perfectly normal for them to fight each other and stab each other on the back on the basis off 'then he/she won't have the chance to stab me in the back.'

Finland himself had always had the best relationship with Satakunta. Before Sweden had come and somehow, inexplicably, raised Finland above his siblings in status, the two of them had stuck together in almost all matters. They were both small, stubborn and they even looked similar. One could have mistaken them for twins. Finland had actually once in 1698 sent Satakunta to a meeting in Stockholm in his stead because no one would have noticed the difference.

Well, Sweden had noticed but hadn't protested too much after Finland had whacked the taller Nation over the head with one the book of the dead, driving home his heavy reasons for not attending himself.

He listened with a smile as Samuli, the younger man, told them about his sweet girl "with flowing blond hair and eyes the colour of cornflower", Kaisa, waiting for him at home while the two soldiers ate. Really, some things never changed even over the course of centuries. That stability, as small as it would appear to some, always warmed Finland's heart. There were always brave young men whose deepest wish is to return home to their loved ones. It gave him hope for the future, even if older men like Mikael were quick to predict their doom just to keep their head beneath the clouds.

"Urgent messages from Helsingfors and Stockholm!" the call echoed across the dale as a horse galloped from between the trees, towards where Finland was standing beside the sitting soldiers.

The Nation's gaze had snapped up at the call, "Here!" he called sharply, reaching out his hand.

The soldier stumbled down from his horse and dug the thick cream envelope from his saddle bag, face turning red from the exertion. Finland took the letter without a word, ripping it open. His eyes ran over the hastily written lines and before he could stop himself a soft, frustrated curse escaped his lips. "No voi jumalauta."

And then he was already running with stumbling strides towards the local vicarage Klingspor was staying in, the letter clutched tightly in his hand. He should have realised this the moment it happened but he was so used to the constant numbness that he hadn't even noticed it!

He didn't bother with knocking but instead just barged in, interrupting the Commander in the middle of his dinner. Considerably better quality and quantity than what the troops were getting, he noted with faint irritation.

"We lost Sveaborg," he said without preamble and Klingspor dropped his fork and paled.

"Are you quite serious, Finland?" he asked weakly. "Because this really is no time for –"

"I wouldn't joke about something like this!" the Nation snarled, slamming his hands down on the table in front of his current leader before he even realised what he was doing. "It's not just a sea fortress to me! It's me!"

Why did the leaders – kings, parliaments, whatever they happened to call themselves that century – never understand this? What to them was a "tactical position" or a "civilian settlement" was to him and all other Nations part of their body, mind and soul. Part of them on the deepest level; at worst it was like losing a limb and sometimes Finland would really love to see one of his leaders shrugging that off as a joke. He could feel the cold ache spreading through his body and sometimes he could almost see Russia from the corner of his eye, smiling and creeping up behind him, closer by the minute.

Finland grit his teeth and met Kligspor's gaze head on.

'It was his fault, his and the other commanders',' Finland thought darkly. Maybe even the King's and Sweden's fault. Russia's power was spreading and Finland was afraid and angry. It was like the Wraths all over again, except that this time he wasn't imprisoned in the Turku Castle, still suffering from the after effects of the Famine and the plague on top of all the fighting and the destroying going on in his land.

"The surrender agreement and the King's proclamation about it were included," Finland continued, his throat feeling tight.

Klingspor groaned and rubbed his forehead. "What do they say?"

Feeling both vindictive and bitter, Finland barely glanced at the proclamation. "The King's trying to keep the spirits up; 'May you, in fulfilling with care this great and holy duty, turn to Eternal, Just and Almighty God, seeking hope and comfort in Him who, in His wisdom, not seldom puts honesty and perseverance to the test but never forgets to protect and reward them' and so on," he said dismissively, flicking open the agreement. "And Vice-Admiral Cronstedt clearly didn't believe in our chances form the start," he scowled. He remembered the man's expression when he had received the instructions for Sveaborg's defence. 

Klingspor looked weary. "How so?"

"Because there was absolutely no way for him to come out on top," Finland hissed, "There was no way the ice would have left early enough so that by May 3 the main branch of the Navy would have arrived to assist them. He practically gave up without a fight!" He slammed the eight-page agreement violently on the table.

He was just so angry; just as they had had two victories in the north, everything started to go wrong again in the south. Yes, unexpected things happened in wars, that was practically the whole point, but why was it always him? Was there no end to this?

Finland closed his eyes and took a deep, calming breath. Now was not the time to break apart on the inside; it was not pretty and would not help at all in this situation.

Klingspor seemed to sense the Nation had got to grips with himself as he slowly put his half-finished dinner aside, pulling the slightly crumpled papers closer for further perusal. Even he seemed stunned at the contents as his eyes widened bit by bit as he read over the agreement.

"Seven thousand men, the archipelago fleet, all the weapons and ammo... Oh dear God," Klingspor muttered weakly as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "This will destroy the morale."

"No kidding," Finland sighed tiredly, rubbing his stomach absentmindedly. It was churning unpleasantly. Really, it was not worth the energy being angry with Klingspor. Yes, the man had done very poor job leading them in his opinion but clearly it was the best the man could do and Finland really couldn't fault people for trying.

Not with how much trying and effort it required to make a good living here in his lands in the first place. He knew that better than anyone.

"Commander."

Klingspor raised his head from his hands and met Finland's gaze with his own tired eyes. For a moment the man and the Nation measured each other; the other eternally young, the other a fated to fade with time.

"We're in the disadvantage, there's no denying that," Finland started firmly, holding out his hand to the man, "I think it's the time to put our differences aside and work together to drive Russia and his men from my lands and protect my people."

The Commander's thin lips twitched into a semblance of a smile as he took hold of the Nation's hand. "Indeed. Let's work on our attack strategy."

Together they pushed the papers and cold dinner aside, ready to get down to work.

Russia hummed thoughtfully as he walked along the balcony, letting his fingers trail over the old and worn banister, looking down on the lower level of the castle. It had been a while since he'd last been here, not since he and Sweden signed a peace treaty almost seventy years earlier. Finland had stood at the edge of the room, looking pained as his fingers curled against the rough stonewall, holding his side surreptitiously with his other hand, probably trying to soothe the ache seated deep in his bones.

He hadn't felt guilty about that. It had been normal, a standard procedure after a war. Borders changed all the time, wars were fought left and right, people died, towns burned. He had won, why should he have felt guilty about it?

Nations didn't often feel guilt, at least not for anything they had done to someone who wasn't theirs. So while Russia did not feel guilty for the War and the following occupation of 1742-1743, he did, somehow, feel guilty about the time preceding that, over twenty years earlier during the Great Northern War. Finland had already been in poor condition when Russia had occupied the country and he had simply imprisoned the other Nation in this very castle. If he remembered correctly it had been one of the better rooms in the south side of the bailey...

In the beginning of his captivity Finland had spent most of his days lying on the pallet, sweating and moaning. And as Russia's men ransacked the country, Finland's condition had continued to deteriorate as farms and fields were burned and people were killed or taken away.

It hadn't taken long until Finland had been coughing blood.

Russia shook his head firmly, driving the memories away with a shudder. That time he felt guilty about, having himself been in equally poor condition in the past, and had since then made the effort to treat Finland better – like when he suggested the other should secede from Sweden. And he had seemed to even consider it too! So this time as his men occupied more and more of the country, he had taken great care to not bother, hurt or scare the locals, despite their occasional rebellion. He still wasn't sure whether he should be ashamed or amazed that a bunch of farmers managed to capture one hundred and sixty of his men in Åland. But it did in a way reflect the pesky little archipelago's tactical importance; the fore posts of Stockholm...

But it was only a matter of time, he was gaining more and more ground and it wouldn't be long until Finland – and all of his siblings – became one with him. Russia smiled brightly. This time he wouldn't need to lock Finland up.

" Госбодин Россия."

Russia looked curiously over his shoulder, adjusting his scarf as he met the gaze of the man behind him, the commander of his troops here in Finland. "How can I help you, General von Buxhoevden?"

The middle-aged man stepped warily up to stand beside his Nation, looking down at to the lower level and the men filling the space. His medals glinted in the little light provided and Russia could smell the powder in the man's hair. "I've brought the Oath to be reviewed."

Russia's mood brightened a bit more as he took the papers, taking in the words. "That's wonderful. What's Sprengtporten's take on it?"

While the man had disappointed Russia on more than one occasion, when it came to Finland he was a nearly invaluable source of information. Having been a military man and taken part in developing some of the attack strategies used by the Finnish army today, it was generally wise to keep him close. And he spoke Finnish, which was extremely useful with things like this, when Russia needed to appeal himself to the people. But for some reason the locals didn't seem to like Sprengtporten very much…

"He says the officials and the Clergy should have no trouble swearing it," the General answered.

"And the rest of the Estates?"

"They'll follow along when it's clear there's no way for Sweden to recover their previous position," General von Buxhoevden shrugged dismissively, "It's not as if we need all of their oaths."

Russia pursed his lips. While he was ready to acknowledge that von Buxhoevden had a point, he personally knew that things would be much easier for himself in the long run if he got all the Estates to swear the oath. "But it's tradition and I want Finland to support me fully when he officially becomes one with me."

Von Buxhoevden considered his Nation for a moment before nodding. "Of course Lord Russia."

Finland sighed in boredom as he leant against the windowsill, staring out into the rain. It was late marras; the leaves had long since fallen from the trees, turning the world grey and dead. It would have been nice to go out because playing outside was considerably better than staring outside and feeling sleepy, even if he couldn't find any frogs to play with... Not that he would have been let out to play anyway, not with Sweden being so stiff about everything. He had to wonder why the older Nation had even brought him here; he had been perfectly fine back home.

Finland didn't really like the castle with its cold and hard stone walls although the round tower was nice. It was so high it felt as if he could touch the clouds if he just stood on his tiptoes and stretched out his hand. There was nothing as high back home, except some hills in the east and far north but he never really had a chance to go there and it wasn't the same anyway. From what he had seen on their trip across the sea and land, Sweden's home was very similar to his own but somehow it felt wrong, making his skin itch like that one time he fell into a thicket of stinging nettles when he went out hunting with Satakunta.

"Österland."

Finland pouted as he turned to look at the door. "Why do you keep calling me that, Mister Sweden?"

"Because you're in the east," Sweden answered with a shrug as he stepped further into the room, surveying the smaller Nation with emotionless eyes. His blond hair fell across his forehead in mess as he squinted at the little light coming from the window. "Seems logical to me."

"But my name is Suomi," the smaller one insisted, jumping to his feet, feeling braver than he actually was as he met the other's squinted eyes. "Should I start calling you Länsimaa? Just because you're in the west."

The twitch of Sweden's eyebrows announced his victory and Finland fought down a grin. Not so great Viking Nation, was he now? Maybe he should stuff some nettles into Sweden's closet?

"I'll work on it," Sweden finally grunted and as he shifted his weight, causing Finland to notice a bundle of cloth under his arm. Sweden coughed nervously as he held it out to Finland. "It is for you," he muttered, his face turning a bit red as he turned to look determinedly at the tapestry hanging on the wall.

Finland blinked noncommittally as he took the bundle and shook it out, revealing... a dress. Violet eyes stared expressionlessly at the blue, carefully embroidered surcot and the white cotte, taking in the clearly more feminine look of the clothes. They were totally impractical, too! They wouldn't have even fit Karjala.

"Sweden," he started slowly, "why are you giving me a dress?"

Sweden flushed a bit more. "I just thought you'd like to wear pretty clothes and not those old things," he stammered out, "I thought you'd make a pretty wife..."

Finland stared at the other in disbelief. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry but figured neither would be a wise move in this situation.

So he decided to be angry, always a good alternative.

Or not but things had always worked out okay.

"Vaimo? Minä... Jag är inte din fru!"

Sweden looked shocked at his vehement denial but Finland really didn't care at the moment.

"I'm not your wife and never will be your wife because I'm a boy!"

Sweden's eyes widened even more. "I-I thought..." he started weakly, "You are so pretty..."

That really didn't help.

"I'm not pretty!"

"Are you sure about that, Лапушка ?"

Before his eyes, Sweden's face changed; it grew rounder, his hair became lighter as it fell around his head like a helmet and his eyes turned violet – the shade similar to Finland's own – as a smile crept across his face. Unconsciously Finland tried to take a step back at the sight and the suddenly higher voice, but the back of his knee hit a bed, causing him to fall on the messy sheets and a pain flare up his back.

"Ru-Russia," he choked out, as coldness seemed to creep up his legs and wrap around his heart and throat in a chokehold.

The other Nation leant close, placing his hand on Finland's forehead in a show of mock tenderness. "But I think your land is pretty, all those lakes and islands, lovely forests..."

The room that had been round was now square, the slight breeze had disappeared and Finland could hazily see the bars in the windows. His whole body hurt and his head felt as if it was about to split in two but he knew he was at home. He knew this room, he knew this castle and the land whispering in his ears, warning him and pleading with him. He was burning and freezing, his blood burned like poison in his veins as fields and villages burned, his people being hurt and murdered in the hands of the invaders.

What was going on? What was Russia doing here? Where was Sweden? Why did everything hurt? What was happening to his land?

He whimpered weakly, his eyes falling closed at the sudden pain flaring up his legs.

The hand was still on his forehead and he flinched from frowning Russia's touch. "You're burning up... We can't have that if you're going to become one with me, да ?"

And then he smiled.

Finland shot into a sitting position with a weak gasp, violet eyes staring wildly around the dark room. As his breathing slowly calmed down, he let out a tired sigh and flopped back down onto his temporary bed, pressing his forearm against his eyes and blocking what little early morning light had made its way in through the small windows.

He grit his teeth as a slight ache spread through his body. As it passed, he sighed tiredly and dropped his arm. The dream – or memories, really – were more than clear enough indication that his worst fears were being realised. More and more of his people in the towns were starting to accept Russia as it became clear Sweden wasn't going to do much to protect them. They were accepting that they would soon be annexed to Russia.

But still his farmers rebelled all across the country – Åland, Pohjois-Karjala, Pohjanmaa, Savo, Häme, Varsinais-Suomi, Uusimaa, Satakunta – and still the Army slowly made its way south, hoping to regain the lost lands.

Maybe he was just fooling himself but he wasn't ready to give up completely, not yet, Finland knew – was sure – there was still hope, Sweden might still come. He was sure of it.

But if he didn't... he could just hope Russia's sudden kindness wasn't just for show.

"Laupias Isä, anna meille armosi," he whispered softly, closing his eyes.

Chapter Text

"So another landing attempt has failed?"

Finland pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to stave off the headache already thumping at his temples. His head was a mess and more recently he found it hard to keep track of all the aches bothering him. He wasn't sure if he actually wanted to know, the things they did hear through traditional means were troubling enough without adding the information gained via whatever super senses the Nations had.

They were still without reinforcements and of all people the farmers using guerrilla tactics – disturbing supply routes, blocking roads and capturing warehouses – seemed to be doing the most damage to the Russians. Not that he wasn't proud, no, he was immensely proud on his steadfast, loyal, cunning and strong people but it made him want to seriously revolt and join them instead of staying and obeying Klingspor and his overly careful strategies. He wanted to make a difference, not dither around like Poland tended to do.

'No pain, no gain,' as the saying goes and they certainly weren't gaining much. It was already summer and while they had made their way south since April, most of the land and people were still under Russian control. And now they had to contend with the damn mosquitoes on top of everything else.

"I'm afraid so," Klingpsor frowned as he read over the latest missive from the coast. "Russians seem to be doing much better than we expected, even with the help we've received from the British Royal Navy."

Finland snorted, frustrated. "England has provided only minimal support because the King clearly doesn't know how to lead an army and keeps stepping on more skilled peoples' toes and the Russians are doing better because our plan failed, plain and simple."

Klingspor frowned darkly at him. "Don't be like that, Finland," he said sharply, "There was nothing wrong with the plan."

'Nothing wrong with the plan?' Now that was a laugh.

Finland pushed his chair back, causing the legs to screech loudly against the hardwood floor, as he stood up fast, glaring at his commander. "Don't start with me, Klingspor," he hissed. "As far as I'm concerned, this plan has been a failure from the start, täysi susi koko paska."

He was starting to rant and slip into Finnish, he knew. He always did when he was angry but he really didn't care until afterwards when he had to start smoothing ruffled feathers of whichever high-ranking human he had managed to piss off and insult that time. The fact that they generally had no clue what he actually said was a small comfort, his tone told them enough. At least this 'only' happened when the biggest crises struck the kingdom but even that was too often, normally several times a century.

This time was no different and now ranting was even easier because he didn't like Klingspor with his stupid retreating tactics and not allowing them to press the advantage when they did manage to gain it. Russia was sending more and more people all the time and as their numbers grew, the defending army had less and less chances of driving them out.

Everything was just so messed up and Finland absolutely detested it.

Suddenly he felt a force pressing down on his shoulders and he fell back into his chair with a painful thump, meeting the General's dark, furious eyes. "I advice you, Storfurstendömet Finland, to hold your tongue. The King and Lord Sweden left you under my command and I will not stand for disobedience from you!"

Finland grit his teeth but stayed quiet, a bit shocked at Klingspor's sudden snarls. The man and Nation stared at each other, both feeling resentment for the other. The Nation doubted Klingspor truly realised how bad the situation was getting for everyone involved. Many of Finland's people had already sworn loyalty to Russia and more and more were accepting the invaders and their inevitable victory in this war, making the best of it.

And even Finland himself had to admit that Russia's and his Emperor's promises sounded good. Hell, they were a tad better than what he had had with Sweden for the last six hundred years.

But he wasn't thinking that. He wasn't. He wasn't disloyal, even if me sometimes managed to gather his courage and dared to get mouthy. He wasn't so cheap as to just give up centuries of history and coexistence just because things could be better somewhere else. Was he? The thought twisted his stomach nauseatingly. He wanted to say he was loyal to the last, but that small nagging voice in the back of his head just kept whispering. He was the people, their Nation, he wanted what was best for them because it was best for him. And if the best was with Russia...

He shook the thought away. Now was not the time.

"And I advice you, Klingspor," Finland whispered coldly, his hands curling into fists as he clutched the knees of his trousers, gathering his previous indignation around him like a cloak, "I've been through more wars and calamities than you can even imagine, I'm a Nation, practically immortal and I'm not stupid or weak as you mortals seem to think. I'm as strong as my people; they may be few but they're steadfast and resilient. If they weren't, this land wouldn't be mine."

And it was his. He may live under Sweden's influence and laws but they were their own, separate people. They had their own language, their own traditions, their own way of life. Yes, they'd been heavily influenced by Sweden and his people, but that still didn't make them Swedish, not even those who still spoke Swedish as their only language despite having lived in Finland for generations.

It wasn't Sweden who heard their voices and felt their fears, it was Finland.

"And you and your land belong to Sweden," Klingspor growled.

Not for long if this war is any indication, Finland thought darkly. He had a feeling Russia was already working on his next move, he could feel the people's feelings stirring beneath the surface.

He wasn't quite certain whether it was a good or a bad thing.

Sweden breathed in deeply, feeling a small smile creeping up his lips. The sun shone on the gentle blue waves and green forests on both sides of the strait. Salty wind tickled his throat and messed his hair, the waves and seagulls made for a comforting song, constant and unchanged since the first time he set off to east in a longboat. Even the continuous orders to other ships and steps on the deck were only a moderate distraction to his stroll down the memory lane.

He loved sea; maybe not as much as England or Norway but there was no doubt that he loved it.

Their ships were deep in the Skärgårdshavet, sailing between the various islands on their way to hopefully assist Finland. He didn't know much about the situation on land as the King hadn't allowed them to even visit Åland on their way through the archipelago. His younger brother may have known something and Sweden's last news from him had been in May when Åland sent Russian prisoners to Stockholm, for lack of prison facilities on the islands. The lack of information was a bit nerve wracking; Sweden knew that Åbo lay only several islands away, occupied by Russians. He felt his stomach twisting uncomfortably at the thought. While Sweden did receive occasional reports from his – charge, little brother, partner, underling – friend he knew the other well enough to know that Finland was prone to downplaying his troubles and achievements alike.

Honestly, you had to use pliers to get Finland to compliment himself.

He knew Finland was much tougher than his outer appearance belied – how else could he have survived so long and retained his identity in spite of being caught between two much stronger Nations? – but he couldn't help but worry for him. He just looked so delicate...

"Do… do you really need to keep up with that stupid wife thing, still?" the voice was quiet and strained.

Sweden glanced up from his maps at Finland who was sharpening his sword. The candles barely illuminated the further reaches of the tent and Finland was mostly hidden in shadows. He could only just make out the shorter Nation's pout, whether at Sweden or the stubborn bloodstain on his sword, he wasn't sure.

His helmet and twin flint-lock pistols laid on top of the trunk beside him, their metal glinting dully in the dim light as the sharpening stone moved across the blade in Finland's hands. He had changed out of his leather armour into a more comfortable loose white shirt as the Nations prepared for the night.

At his silence Finland looked up from his work and met his eyes, his expression annoyed.

Not really," Sweden answered finally and dipped his quill in the inkpot, readying for the next set of figures on the paper. "Your reaction is just funny."

As Finland's scowl turned into indignant sputters, Sweden hid a smile.

"Sverige, vad ser du?"

Sweden turned from the bulwark to meet the grey-eyed gaze of the man in General's uniform and bowed. "Eders Majestät," he murmured, careful to keep his voice respectful, before straightening, "I believe Russia has people on the islands before us, it would be careless of him if he didn't."

King Gustav's eyes flickered over the seemingly empty shores as he nodded. "True," he mused before turning on his heel and calling sharply; "Get Admiral Hjelmstjerna!"

Sweden resisted the urge to roll his eyes as the men hurried to obey, sending a rowboat to pick the requested man from one of the other ships.  He always made the effort to be respectful to and obey his King but sometimes he really couldn't stand them. Gustav was an alright monarch in the peacetime and the people liked him and his honest efforts to make their lives better but his leadership during war... left a lot to be desired. At least he wasn't another Sigismund, even the farmers hadn't liked him.

The King and the Nation stood in silence in the meantime, not speaking. It wasn't exactly a comfortable silence but Sweden had never really been the best person to start discussions, especially not with this King. Nations generally cultivated a close relationship with their monarchs to ensure the health of the Kingdom and the happiness of the people. And over the centuries Nations tended to pick favourites out of their monarchs – like Prussia simply couldn't seem to ever shut up about Lovisa Ulrika's older brother – but Sweden would be the first to say Gustav IV Adolf wasn't one of his favourites.

"You called, Your Majesty?" Admiral Hjelmstjerna asked respectfully as he came to stand before his King and Nation. His grey hair shone in the sun as he offered a respectful nod to both of them but only Sweden returned the gesture, the King intent on going straight to business. Just a step behind the Admiral stood his adjutant, looking nervously at the King despite being clearly his contemporary. Probably promoted rather recently, Sweden mused.

Gustav cleared his throat and frowned slightly. "Yes, Admiral. Send a reconnaissance unit to scout ahead and smoke out those Russians," he ordered, indicating to the direction of the forested islands before them.

Hjelmstjerna turned immediately to the man at his side. "You heard your mission, Captain. Get to it."

The Captain bowed hastily at them and hurried away as Gustav turned his calculating gaze to Sweden. "Are you going to take part?" he asked calmly, well aware that while he could order the Nation, he was likely to earn the immortal's resentment if he did so. First and foremost, the Nation was the personification of the people and he only liked and obeyed his monarch as much as the citizens did.

Sweden considered for a moment before shaking his head. He wanted to save his strength for when they landed and he would need it to drive Russia out of Finland. No ordinary human would be able to do it, at least not without having the numerical advantage. "I shall not, My Lord," he answered but didn't elaborate.

Gustav frowned in displeasure but consented. They were already at a disadvantage, he wasn't going to add Sweden's anger to it if he could help it.

When the sound of cannons echoed over the waters awhile later, rocking the ship and sending the men scurrying across the deck like ants, Sweden sighed in defeat, before smirking slightly. He would rather have saved the fight to land but if the Russians insisted... he would remind the Slav why he was called the Lion of the North.

Finland hated being short.

Not only did it make him appear somewhat feminine – which resulted in things like Sweden proposing to him because the damned beanpole had been almost totally blind until 15th century – weak and totally unthreatening – which was actually quite useful sometimes but that was beside the point – but it made it really hard to see what was going on in the distance. The trees, other humans and random mounds of earth stood in the way and Finland didn't like it. At the moment he really wanted to kick the Lieutenant Colonel off of the high rock he was standing on. The Lieutenant Colonel was taller than him, why did he need to stand on the stupid rock?

"Because I'm in charge of this battle, Finland."

Finland looked sheepishly up at Lieutenant Colonel von Fieandt who looked mildly amused at the Nation's petulance. He really hadn't meant to say that aloud but he just felt so frustrated with everything he had started taking it out on everyone. Finland's job had been only to lead two battalions of reinforcements and several cannons here and have them join the battle. He was supposed to head back to the main army's position in Nykarleby as soon as the result of the battle was clear so as to report back.

"I apologise," Finland said softly, lowering his head in apology.

"It's fine, I understand," von Fieandt answered glibly, "I know how frustrated you truly are."

And he truly did know. It wasn't that long ago that Finland had finally decided to come clear about the many things that bothered him about his station within Sweden's kingdom and about the other Nation's attitude and even arrogance. It happened first in the dark tunnels of Sveaborg and later in the officers' meeting at Liikkala during Gustav III's lawless war against Russia – only twenty years before this one they were currently fighting, really Russia was like clockwork sometimes… The latter had been the first time his men, his citizens, had decided to do something about it. Of course, they'd had their own issues with the country and how it was run so he hadn't really needed to say much. However, all of their talks of independence and seceding from Sweden had come to naught.

Otto von Fieandt, a captain at the time of the conspiracy, had been sentenced to death just as the others had but in the end had been pardoned. Finland was still amazed only one of the conspirators had actually been executed for the treachery against Sweden. His own involvement had gone unnoticed and he hadn't been keen to let that little detail be known. Let Sweden and the powers that be on the mainland stay ignorant, it was better that way. 

He wasn't really sure how he felt about the Conspiracy now, and even back then he had felt conflicted about it. Part of him was always loyal to the crown and Sweden – willing to believe in their inherent goodness and ability to make things better and he doubted that part would ever truly leave him – but another part was discontent and yearned for freedom and independence. It felt as if this inner, quiet part twisted in on itself little by little every time he obeyed an order from the mainland, bowing his head down under someone else's order. This all-encompassing duality of feelings was what made being a Nation so tiresome. At times he wished he were human, just so his life would be simpler and his mind wouldn't always be plagued by these conflicting thoughts and feelings.

Suddenly a shiver ran down Finland's spine and he spun sharply around, his gaze sweeping over the battlefield. Violet eyes picked up on the Russians trudging painfully forward – trying to avoid the shots from the defenders' cannons as the Finnish forces tried to make things as hard as possible for them in the deceptively innocent looking open bog – the bodies dotting the wet ground, peeking out from between the longer strands of grass and the forest beyond them. For a moment he imagined seeing a huge eagle spreading its wings before the trees, as if to sweep the soldiers from its way, screeching towards the sky. A cold wind seemed to pick up, causing some of his men to shiver in surprise.

Russia was here; Finland would sense it with that same stone cold certainty as always.

Von Fieandt's gaze flickered at the stiff Nation beside him, brows furrowing. "What is it?" he asked softly.

"Russia," Finland murmured, his eyes locked to the other side of the bog.

The Lieutenant Colonel let out a sharp hiss of frustration, his own eyes taking in the situation on the field. The Russians were pulling back, returning to the forest to regroup. The Finnish soldiers also took the chance to do the same and fill in the holes in the lines, checking their fallen comrades for those who might still be breathing. "What are you going to do?" von Fieandt asked, leaning down on the stone, keeping his voice low so that the drummer nearby wouldn't hear.

Finland pondered for a moment before answering equally quietly. "I'll see if I can speak to him."

"Do you think that is wise?" the soldier's voice clearly indicated that he certainly didn't think so.

"Maybe not but I feel I should feel him and his plans out."

"As you wish," von Fieandt said finally with a sigh, "Make sure not to get captured."

Finland gave a breathless laugh as he un-shouldered his musket, taking a firmer grip of it. "Don't worry, I won't make that mistake."

He knew from experience that being captured by Russia was anything but pleasant. He had absolutely no intention to make that mistake again.

He didn't wait for an answer before he'd already turned on his heel, hurrying towards the road. He offered distracted nods to the sentries as he passed through the edge of the temporary base. They had made their base at the small wooded rise in the middle of the bog, ensuring that the Russians wouldn't be able to sneak up on them. He would need to go around the battlefield, going through the forest on the east side to avoid being captured.  His violet eyes rowed constantly between the trees, eyes and ears alert for approaching enemies.

The sun shone overhead, its rays sneaking between the tree branches and casting the forest into sleepy summer light. Bilberry twigs rustled as he stepped carefully on the narrow path sneaking between them, not daring to stop and pick any of the delectable berries even if he was hungry.

After about half an hour of walking he came to a stop, his grip on his weapon tightening. "I know you're there, Venäjä," he called out, spreading his stance a bit, crouching at the ready in case he needed to make a run for it. He hoped his voice hadn't wavered and that he pronounced the French correctly.

A slight chuckle answered him as the taller Nation stepped out from between the white birch trees, holding his own musket at the ready. "You always had uncommonly sharp senses, Лапушка," Russia smiled, taking in Finland's stern expression and grey-blue uniform. His accent was considerably less noticeable than Finland's.

The shorter Nation narrowed his eyes and flexed his fingers. "What do you want from me, Russia?" he asked sharply.

Russia hummed a bit, lowering his weapon – a move that just had Finland even more wary.

"Nothing in particular," he answered. "I just think it's high time you step out from under Sweden's shadow," violet eyes met violet as a warm summer breeze blew through the trees, bringing to Finland's ears the calls of a kuikka, probably from the river on the other side of the battlefield.

"How so? What's in it for you?" Finland asked suspiciously. He couldn't deny that he wanted more freedom. He could only hazily remember the days when he used to run in his forests – playing, hunting, fighting – under the protection and watchful eyes of his gods, people and siblings, before Christianity with its distant God and Sweden with his rules came to sweep them aside. Back then there had been no one to tell him or his people what to do; if something bigger needed to be done, he would meet with his siblings to talk about it; if there was fight looming in the horizon, he didn't wait for orders from behind the sea but went and fought as he should.

But even if he regained that freedom, things wouldn't be the same. The world had changed too much from those days. And that still didn't explain why Russia was so interested in granting his freedom. And if Finland knew anything of the larger Nation, he certainly wouldn't grant him complete freedom, oh no. Russia was too concerned with his power and Finland knew perfectly well that compared to both Sweden and Russia he was weak. At this point in time, he still needed the protection of larger, more powerful Nations.

"Besides fulfilling my pact with France by forcing Sweden to join the Continental Blockade, da?" Russia clarified but surprisingly answered. "I would gain the ability to close of the Gulf of Finland and protect my capital from invasion by sea, I would become more powerful and..." the taller Nation's smile turned gentler as he stepped closer to Finland, startling the other into taking a step back, "... you have to admit the two of us share more similarities than you and Sweden, Финля́ндия."

Finland stayed quiet. What could he say to that? In a way it was true; physically speaking the two of them shared more similarities than most unrelated Nations, with their pale blond hair and violet eyes and their penchant for cold winters. And the fact remained that the border between them had changed numerous times, resulting in a sharing of culture in ways that couldn't be helped. Even now Finland's older sister lived under Russian rule.

But Finland's similarities to Sweden were just as numerous, woven deeply into his and his people's very psyche. They shared centuries of history and culture, their blood stained the same battlefields. They may have been separated by the sea and language but it wasn't as if his language was any more similar to Russian.

"Whether it is as you say or not is beside point," Finland bit out.

"Perhaps," Russia smiled serenely, as if he knew something Finland didn't, "whatever makes you feel better, Лапушка."

The condescending tone had Finland gritting his teeth. Just because the other was an empire didn't mean Finland was somehow lesser than him, to be looked down upon. It didn't mean he could be dismissed like a... something so small and insignificant he couldn't think off it at the moment.

Russia tilted his head, an amused smile playing on his lips as he glanced between the trees to west. "It's time for me to depart."

"Good," Finland said, "Be so kind and depart for St. Petersburg while you're at it."

As Russia turned his back to the shorter Nation, he laughed softly. "Not quite yet, Финля́ндия, I still have much to do. When you've finally had enough of these games, feel free to join the Finnish Deputation," Russia called over his shoulder.

"Painu hiiteen!" Finland snarled, his fingers tightening into a death grip on his weapon. Oh, how he wished to stab Russia in the back, sink the puukko between the other's shoulder blades to the hilt and feel Russia's warm blood splash on his hands... It wasn't as if it would actually kill him after all...

Soon he stood alone in the forest and only then could he relax his tense shoulders as a tired sigh escaped him. He had a feeling his attitude would only cause trouble for him in the future but he just couldn't help it. Something about Russia just rubbed him the wrong way and it was made even worse because Finland knew he was listening seriously to the Slav's propositions.

He just couldn't get over or around the fact that, at the moment, his life sucked.

He kicked at a stray stick on the ground, annoyed at himself and his current situation. Stupid Russia. Stupid Sweden. And stupid him for actually listening to the both of them and being generally indecisive.

"Perkele."

Finland was all for sulking his way back to the troops but his bout of childishness was abandoned the moment he realised he could hear other people stumbling through the undergrowth. The sounds were coming from south, the direction Russia had disappeared to, back to his own troops. Apparently the enemy had finally decided to give up on trying to attack them head-on and were circling around the bog instead. Finland picked up his pace, steps light on the forest floor. Now wasn't the time to be childish, he needed to get back now and warn von Fieandt, it wouldn't do to be caught proverbially with their trousers around their ankles.

Finland glanced warily over his shoulder. The sounds of the approaching enemy could still be heard but he had managed to widen the distance between them. The sentries straightened at their spots as he neared, looking worried.

"Be ready for anything," Finland told them softly, his eyes flickering towards the edge of the trees. "You'll get your new orders soon."

The men nodded, eyeing their surroundings much more warily as their Nation stepped into their base camp, heading for the high stone von Fieandt was still standing on.

Von Fieandt seemed to realise immediately something was amiss. "What is it?" he asked sharply.

"The Russians are circling through the forest," Finland panted, meeting the man's eyes. They both knew their troops wouldn't be able to hold the Russians off with their lesser manpower and lack of ammunition.

Von Fieandt gritted his teeth and nodded, turning to the drummer at his side. "Give an order to draw together and start retreating," he ordered, looking as if he wanted to bite his tongue in two for saying such a thing.

The soldier adjusted his drum nervously before striking the drumhead sharply, starting up the familiar rhythm. As the sounds rang out in the warm summer eve, Finland's shoulders slumped slightly.

"I think it's time for me to return to Commander Klingspor," he said with an air of defeat about him.

Von Fieandt nodded slightly. "You should, we'll be fine here."

Finland offered the Lieutenant Colonel one last nod before turning and heading over to the temporary paddock for the horses. He would need to leave now so as not to be caught underfoot, the reinforcements he had brought knew their duties and would act accordingly. Some of the soldiers were already preparing horses for the retreat and he gave a quick smile to the grey-haired soldier who had just finished saddling Lempi as he swung up on the mare's back.

"Let's go," he murmured softly and she nickered in response and broke out in a trot. As he pulled back to the road, his eyes met Savo's who was leading a small group of soldiers back from the bog. His greyish blue eyes were serious and seemed to stand out from his dirty, blood-smeared face in the falling evening. His eyes seemed to ask Finland what was going on and he didn't know what he was supposed to answer so he just offered his younger brother a smile and straightened in his saddle, trying to appear relaxed. Savo didn't seem to buy it but there was no time for the two of them to talk so the brothers simply exchanged quick nods before Finland urged his mare on.

Finland understood von Fieandt's frustration perfectly, as time passed and nothing actually changed in how the things were being handled in this war, the Nation became more and more disappointed as well. At this point he had no doubt that this time he would be annexed to Russia for good. He didn't even have the energy to be afraid of it, not like in the last century when he had been occupied and imprisoned. But both of those times he had been returned in the end and that was what had probably played a large role when this plan had been hatched. But third time was the charm; Sweden's gamble would finally fail him.

That however didn't mean he was going to fall and go the way of some of his officers and just turn himself in. He was still under orders and even if he had on one level already acknowledged his more eastern bound future, Sweden was still his friend. He would fight as long as he was able but he wouldn't step off of the Finnish soil with the army when they finally retreated that far. With the way things were going, it was inevitable.

He would stay on his own land no matter what.

"Who are you writing to?" Finland's voice was curious as he attempted to peer over the taller Nation's shoulder at the letter.

"America," Sweden grunted in response.

Finland tilted his head, confused, his mind flashing back to a small blond-haired and blue-eyed child he had encountered in the New World just a bit over a century earlier. His wide blue eyes had been scared as he had looked up at the three European Nations standing over him...

"Why?" he finally asked, "It's not as if you know him and isn't there a..." he licked his lips nervously, "war going on there? Against England?"

"There is," Sweden agreed distractedly, "That's why I'm writing. My King is offering his personal acknowledgement to the new country in the making. Thought I should offer my own congratulations on his impending independence."

"I... see," Finland murmured as an indescribable feeling travelled through him.

"He's done well for himself, for someone so young," Sweden continued. "Already fighting for his independence, makes me proud t' think he started out as New Sweden."

Sweden was being chatty today and while he often wished the other Nation would talk more, today he found himself fervently wishing the other would just stop. With considerable difficulty Finland summoned a smile to his face, "He has, hasn't he?" he mused, his gaze flickering to the huge map depicting most of the North of Europe on the wall, with the text Konungariket Sverige adorning the upper left corner.

His own name was visceral where it was printed across the landmass on the east side of Baltic Sea, unimportant, stunted aside, distant backwater.

He wondered if Sweden realised how much his words hurt. Probably not, the other Nation was very rarely cruel on purpose but he held a certain… blindness. He never seemed to notice when Finland was in trouble or unhappy and didn't even seem to acknowledge him on the same level as other Nations. Of course the Finn knew he couldn't have all the same rights as things stood now but the fact that Sweden didn't seem to think he ever would have them either, he didn't seem to even think that Finland would want them.

That made the shorter Nation feel as if he was insignificant, being so old yet still serving another Nation while someone so much younger was already grasping for their independence. Sweden wouldn't accept his independence, he knew that. Which made him wonder, how could he support America like this, yet expect Finland to stay happy with him for all eternity? What made the two of them – Finland and America – so different?

Sweden signed his name with a flourish before standing up. "Would you take care of the rest?" he asked, already heading for the door, "I'm about to be late to a meeting."

Finland gave a strained smile to the other's back. "Of course."

He stood numbly beside the table after Sweden had stepped out of the room, staring at the large map on the wall. Unconsciously his violet-eyed gaze slid down to the letter resting on the old table.

Kingdom of Sweden is planning to acknowledge the United States of America as a sovereign Nation at the first opportunity.

For a moment Finland wanted to rip the letter and its mocking words into pieces.

Chapter Text

The raindrops beat down on the red leaves dotting the ground where hundreds of boots hadn't already crushed them into the mud. Naked trees loomed behind the cover of rain, hardly discernible in the grey light, making the world seem like a half-forgotten dream. The building standing before him looked more like a red shadow. Finland brushed aside the wet bangs hanging before his eyes with a tired hand, letting out a weak sigh.

The rain hadn't let up for days, weeks, except for the short periods of threatening stillness and rolling clouds. Little ways forward he could hear coughing; the cold and the rain were getting on the men, just as the cold and the snow had last winter when this war had started. They were losing men fast but Finland was used to it. Cold, hunger and disease were always the first ones to come and take their pickings. And only then would come Surma to tear you apart, quick and violent.

The coughs turned violent and he stopped for a moment beside a guard who was coughing into his hand and hit him in the back firmly. 

"Ki-kiitos, herra," the guard rasped out as he straightened and pulled open the door of the vicarage.

Finland gave a returning smile and stepped in, taking off his felt hat and shaking the excess water from his hair. He sensed a presence in the side doorway and looked up, his gaze alighting on an old man in dark clothes. He straightened and offered the man a nod. "God bless."

The vicar returned the gesture. "God bless," he murmured softly, crossing himself. He was an old man, his back bent with age and his hair grey and face lined, but his eyes still shone sharply and serenely as he observed the seemingly young man.

"I hope our presence isn't too much of a burden to you or your parish, Father Törnudd," Finland said softly.

"In times such as these it's important we support one another and put our trust in the Lord," the vicar answered and stepped closer, lowering his voice. "And our Nation."

Finland's eyes widened as he stepped back in surprise. The existence of Nations wasn't exactly a secret but they didn't tend to advertise it to their regular citizens. It was easier that way; they could have at least some privacy when they weren't needed by the officials, the court or the army. Yes, the people were still drawn to them and came to tell their worries and problems but it was more spontaneous and they didn't try to manipulate them into agreeing with them so vehemently. Finland knew from experience that sometimes the more desperate people, if they knew of the Nations, didn't hesitate for a moment to guilt trip them with comments such as 'Do you truly not care for us? Your people? You're simply going to let us die like those high and mighty lords up in their castles?' They didn't necessarily dare to go to the actual decision makers about it – either because of the distance or the general trouble doing it was for an ordinary person or simply because talking about their problems with their own Nation would always be easier than talking about them to someone else because of their very nature.

But even if one ignored the Nation aspect, Finland's friendly face and demeanour went a long way in encouraging them to share their worries.

So having someone call him out on his identity, even if it was a man of faith, was surprising.

"You flatter me, Anders Törnudd," he said with a sad smile, "I'm not nearly great enough for that title."

Törnudd smiled softly in response. "Does it matter? We're talking of faith and I have faith in you."

Finland tilted his head. Thinking of it as a matter of faith was new to him; Nations just were, there was no faith involved.

Religion had always been a bit of a puzzle in how it related to Nations. On one hand, religion was an extremely strong driving force in wars and the balance of power between Nations and in their people's everyday lives but on the other hand, many of the Nations predated Christianity. Many of them professed to be religious to various extents and Finland himself had been a Catholic for about three hundred years before Sweden decided it would be more prudent – for the state treasury – to be Lutheran.

So having faith in Nations felt somehow bizarre. And having faith in him in particular felt extremely weird all things considered. And was that really so surprising? Most Nations wouldn't class him as one at all, he was at most a territory with his own language and culture; which was hardly different compared to the colonies Empires had, scattered around the world. The fact that he was Sweden's territory made him different, while there were differences on how people were treated based on which language they spoke and where they lived, the discrimination wasn't as bad as it could be.

"Fine," Finland sighed wryly. "Faith is better than nothing, right?"

Maybe he was too pessimistic but given how many times – because of faith and the sense of superiority it seemed to breed in people – he had seen the humankind make the same mistakes and how much suffering that lead to every time, he felt it justified.

"It will be enough," Vicar Törnudd said. "We're a strong people from a strong Nation. No matter what, we'll be fine."

But… he had to admit that someone having faith in him did feel heart-warming. 

The Nation gave a soft laugh. "As you say, Father Törnudd."

The grey-haired vicar's smile widened a tad, as he raised his hand and Finland's eyes fell closed without any conscious thought on his part, suddenly feeling acutely the metal pressing against his collar bone under his scratchy uniform. "May the Lord bless you and guard you. May the Lord make His face shed light upon you and be gracious unto you. May the Lord lift up His face unto you and give you peace. In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen." The vicar stepped back, his hand falling, "It's been an honour, Suomi."

"Thank you, Father," Finland said softly as he bowed his head. "Same to you."

The vicar disappeared back to his own room, leaving Finland alone in the entrance. He took a moment to gather himself in the dim light, tugging the cross carefully back inside his collar. He was thankful to the old priest for his words of support and trust; normally he was only third in line of things to feel loyal to, after the King and Sweden. Because of this he didn't have very much influence in how things were run and he really couldn't do much to protect his people. And to think, people still believed in him in spite of that...

He took a deep calming breath, gathering all of his sense of self-worth and confidence, before stepping into the room Klingspor had commandeered for himself as an office and a bedroom. "What's the situation, sir?" he asked the man as if he didn't already know the answer. He was curious to hear how the Commander would try to explain things for the better without succeeding in it. Their truce from the spring was all but gone by now, when they were retreating again.

Klingspor's eyebrow twitched dangerously as he frowned. "I really don't need your insolent remarks, Finland, as you very well know." The papers rustled as he made a notation about the provisions, a number far too depressing in Finland's eyes.

The Nation refrained from responding and set his hat on the table as he took a seat in the other chair, tucking his gloves into the pocket of his coat. He settled as comfortably as he could into the hard chair and raised his violet eyes to watch as the Commander worked. The room was quiet but for their breathing and scratching of pen on paper as Klingspor hovered over the table, frowning darkly in the candlelight.

They had every reason to be worried; the rain, lack of provisions and most importantly the lack of fighting spirit were serious problems. And they weren't about to eat the people out of food or drive them from their homes if they could help it. Their lives were hard enough without the army taxing their resources too much. Especially as the current situation strongly indicated that they would need to put up with both armies, one right after the other. As it was, they had already had to it, with how stupid this war plan had been from the start.

They had been fighting and retreating for seven months in total, in what Finland was ready to call one of his most depressing wars in history. It wasn't the most depressing, no – that dubious honour belonged to the Great Northern War – but certainly among the worst ones.

A forever seemed to pass in silence between the two before there was a nervous knock on the door.

"Yes?" Klingspor sighed, pushing his mountains of paperwork away, causing some lonely slips to fall on the floor.

The soldier, who opened the door and gave a nervous bow, his blond hair falling over his eyes. He flicked them away from his face and glanced at Finland uncertainly before addressing Klingspor. "A message from the scouts, Commander," the man said, licking his lips nervously.

Klingspor and Finland exchanged glances, for a moment forgetting their differences as the Commander took the message and Finland bustled the soldier out of the room. A loud thud had him turning around in surprise, seeing that the human had dropped back into his chair beside the table. The Commander stared in disbelief at the missive, eyes rowing over the flowing script – which Finland just barely recognised as French. The man seemed half-exultant, half-suspicious as he reread the letter several times, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"What is it?" Finland finally asked, unable to handle his curiosity anymore.

Klingspor took a deep breath before answering.

"General von Buxhoevden is proposing a ceasefire."

It was late September as he stood beside a young spruce, taking meagre cover from the slight drizzle under its green branches. His violet-eyed gaze was locked on the dirt road coming up to the vicarage from the main road. The fields around them were temporarily being used as a muddy campground for the men and currently the whole camp exuded silent fear and hesitance as they, too, gazed towards the main road when given the chance.

Finland was waiting nervously for the Russian delegation to arrive and discuss the conditions of the armistice. They were to be brought here blindfolded and while Finland would have loved to take part in the process himself, it had been deemed wiser to have him wait at the vicarage instead. Something about him being too important for 'running about.' Hah, as if that had mattered to any of them ever before.

Soon he saw the dark forms drawing closer, in the dark haze of the rain, some of them riding a horse while others were on foot. As he stiffened and his short nails dug into tree bark, the atmosphere in the camp turned instantly alert.

This would be the first time he'd seen Russia since the summer when they met during the battle at Kokkoneva. At the time he had been prepare to kill the other Nation – who had seemed to find the whole ordeal amusing at most – id necessary. Finland didn't know what to expect but he did know there was no way he was going to trust anything Russia was about say at face value. They shared too much history for him not to feel vary of the other. He would be sleeping with one eye open, a puukko under his pack passing itself off as a pillow and a musket and pistol beside his bed for as long as the discussions continued.

Then the taller Nation was already standing beside him, being guarded tightly by six of Finland's soldiers, a slight smile dancing on his lips. Finland's violet eyes took in the immaculate green uniform, its red collar barely peeking out from beneath the other Nation's ever present scarf. 

"Venäjä," he said softly in acknowledgement.

"Финля́ндия," the other replied cheerfully, despite the blindfold. Nothing ever seemed to shake Russia. "May I take this pesky blindfold off now?"

For a moment Finland considered denying the request out of spite. "You may," he said finally.

The taller Nation hummed as he raised his hands, untying the slip of cloth on his violet eyes, prompting the other Russian soldiers to do the same. They looked around the bleak copse of woods surrounding a red-painted house in the middle of fields, now filled with tents, horses, carts and tired men around weakly sputtering fires, fighting to stay alight in the humidity.

Russia frowned lightly, causing Finland to tense. What if the enemy forces had followed them and were now waiting to attack at Russia's signal? Had they just made a huge mistake in inviting the armistice talks to their headquarters?  What if –?

"It seems your troops are as badly off as mine," Russia observed and Finland's thoughts came to a screeching halt as he stared at the other in shock.

Russia interpreted his look of shock wrong which Finland was secretly thankful for. "The service lines back to my land are rather long and we don't want to tax the locals too much. They wouldn't like us very much then, да?"

Finland gave a weak nod as he cleared his throat. "Indeed," he raised his voice then, addressing the Russian negotiators. "Monsieurs, please follow me."

In the vicarage he pointed the bodyguards to one of the side rooms to be taken care of by the vicar and his wife before leading Russia and the officers to the Klingspor's chamber. The room had been immaculately cleaned since the possibility of armistice had come up and Klingspor was in his best uniform, standing beside the table on which he had carefully placed pens, maps and empty papers, all of their normal plans carefully hidden away.

Greetings were exchanged stiffly in French before both Finland and Russia were gradually pushed aside – one because his opinions were of no consequence and the other because his officials clearly weren't used to working with their Nation. As it was Finland didn't really have the patience to follow the discussion for more than a few hours with his atrocious French – he really had to wonder why these discussion couldn't be had in Latin or even German, he was much better at those – and the pain and annoyance of being bartered over like a piece of meat at the market place.

He felt an ice-cold shiver run down his side as they drew another line across the map. He drew into himself and retreated from the room with a nondescript murmur, unnoticed by the humans. He stepped out into the light drizzle, taking a deep breath of fresh air as he closed his eyes and leant back against the red-painted wall. Unlike in the past, now it was his right side that ached. It was... a weird feeling. His right side was generally left alone from all the border-mangling, thanks to the Baltic Sea lapping at his shores and his symbiotic relationship with Sweden.

"You are not feeling well, да?"

Finland flinched away from the voice in surprise, staring wide-eyed at the taller Nation standing beside him. When had he come outside? And why hadn't he noticed? Was he really that out of touch with the land and his people that he didn't even notice his enemy?

Russia tilted his head but remained otherwise unmoved, standing beneath the eaves only two metres away from Finland.

"What is it to you?" Finland finally asked tightly, hands clenching into fists at his sides as he squared his shoulders, determined to not show his unease at the decision being made inside.

"I'm worried about you," Russia answered.

A disbelieving snort was his answer. "Älä puhu paskaa, you really think I would believe that?"

Russia pursed his lips. "Knowing you, you just said something incredibly rude... But no matter: you're soon going to be annexed to me. At this point it's only a matter of time until it happens. If you're in a bad way, it will be a problem for me. You know as well as I do that repairs cost money and no one likes making themselves more work for later. Both of us know there's no hope for you and Sweden to win this – he has all but abandoned you already," Russia observed, ignoring Finland's gritted teeth at the last remark. "You are being offered a new home and freedom if – when – you finally give up this useless resistance."

"'Vive la révolution' and all that entails, was it?" Finland asked dryly.

"Preferably not," Russia mused. "I imagine a meeting with a guillotine wouldn't be too pleasant."

"I could arrange you one with an axe," Finland muttered under his breath in Finnish before raising his voice. "Doesn't that go a bit against your goals here? You speak of freedom but wish to annex me – my understanding of French may be poor but not that poor."

"Your resistance against me is to retain status quo, not about having freedom," Russia countered calmly, "Your current existence with Sweden, who has you do all the work, pay all the expenses, fight the wars... that is certainly no freedom. I'm talking about resisting Sweden and having freedom with me."

"But it wouldn't be total freedom," Finland argued sharply, his hand unconsciously sneaking to clutch the cross pendant hanging around his neck. "Stop contradicting yourself; most of your people are hardly better than slaves, serving those better off than themselves... How would I be any different?"

"You have heard my offer; autonomy and freedom under my and my Tsar's rule. Your people have also heard it and the representatives of your Estates have worked on forming the Finnish Deputation to send to St. Petersburg to discuss your future since summer," Russia spoke calmly, before smiling brightly. "And total freedom wouldn't last, as we've seen in the past."

"Been swapping stories with France, have you?" Finland himself hadn't had much contact with the southern Nation but he did distinctly remember the other blond groping him when Sweden and France signed the Treaty of Compiégne to ratify their alliance during the Thirty Years' War. He hadn't even had the chance to discourage such practices (with his pistols and sword or maybe he would've just had Ukko stomp France into mush...) before Sweden had swooped down and told France "to keep your hands to yourself and off of my wife." While Finland didn't appreciate being called anyone's wife (because he wasn't one!), he had to admit Sweden's swordsmanship had looked very threatening and France had wholeheartedly agreed. You don't mess with Empires.

And now they were messing with two.

"What is Europe? Where is it, if not with France and I?" Russia mused with a childish smile. "He has a vision, I have a vision... and they happen to coincide. Seems rather logical for us to work together, да?"

Finland gave a dismissive shrug, not particularly caring about Russia's self-important attitude, and turned his gaze towards the road leading through the camp. He frowned; a dark form was moving through the rain at a high speed.

He straightened as the horseman arrived at the yard, the horse's sides heaving and steaming as it came to stop before the vicarage.

"Where's Commander Klingspor? I have an urgent message from Stockholm," the wet messenger asked as he stumbled off the saddle, patting the horse distractedly at the neck.

"Inside," Finland answered stepping closer. "I'll lead you to him."

The messenger nodded gratefully as he followed Finland inside, both of them ignoring Russia who followed after them curiously.

"What is it?" Klingspor asked impatiently as the messenger and the two Nations stepped back into the meeting room where the Generals were arguing over maps spread haphazardly across the table. The mess was much worse than when the Nations had slipped out and the Russian officials seemed extremely annoyed by the sudden switch to Swedish and the interruption.

"A message from the King, sir," the messenger said nervously, digging the letter from his leather satchel and handing it to the recipient.

Finland slipped closer and peered – with difficulty – over Klingspor's shoulder, his gaze flying over the missive, widening at every sentence. It seemed that the powers that be at Stockholm had finally realised what Finland had months previous; Klingspor was ineffective as a campaign leader.

The King had decided to finally remove him from the post.

The blond man swirled the wine in his goblet, lounging on the hard chair as if it was the most comfortable divan imported from the Near East. His blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail and his face was adorned by a calculatingly bored expression as he sipped his wine. Russia himself was hiding his annoyance and frustration behind a fixed smile as his own hand clutched at a wine glass, nearly crushing it in his large grip.

"Your dear Alexander seems to be getting along with my Emperor," the other Nation observed smugly, taking a sip from his wine.

Russia's smile widened, his violet eyes flashing dangerously. "It certainly seems so, Фра ́ нция ."

France smiled. "We should get along as well, as the two strongest Empires in Europe," the gaze of his blue eyes was careful as he watched Russia. 'Good,' the Slav thought, 'He has at least enough sense to not dismiss me.' The larger Nation may have lost only recently, forcing him into this treaty, but he was once gain forced to admit that France was extremely charming about it all. And despite his somewhat foppish front, he was extremely intelligent.

"Certainly," he agreed, "What do you suggest?"

The Frenchman reached to the side, bringing up a rolled map, which he spread on the table, revealing the crisscrossing black lines crawling across its surface, forming the map of Europe. Russia raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything. He wanted to see what game France was playing first.

The blond's elegant finger trailed the lines on the map, as if caressing the shores of the British Isles. "You are well aware of the Continental Blockage I've been working on for dear L'Angleterre," he stated, not even waiting for Russia's acknowledgement. "After the treaty has been signed and you have joined the Blockade, his only ally will be..." the finger lingered on western coast of European continent before tapping meaningfully at the northernmost part of Europe, "Sweden."

And considering France's plans, that wasn't about to be allowed for long. Russia's heart skipped a beat as he stared at the map. "You want me to force him to join it, да ?" he stated more than asked.

"Exactement," France purred.

Russia had fought with Sweden countless of times and the best way to start a fight had always been – "That means I have to attack Finland," Russia mused softly, staring at the map. "There's not much there... Rather insignificant all things considered," he should know. He had fought the two of them so many times on Finland's land that he knew it as well as they. And while the land itself was beautiful, it didn't have that much value or use to him. Besides, he didn't want a repeat of the Great Northern War.

"True," France agreed, "But more important than Finland is..." his finger moved a bit to the east from Sweden's coast, coming to rest on a cluster of islands in the Baltic Sea, between Sweden and Finland, "Åland. Imagine, those islands are just like a loaded pistol, pointing right at Stockholm, at Sweden's heart..."

He knew all of this already. Peter had made similar plans a century earlier but later dismissed them. Threatening Sweden and forcing him to do his bidding would be so easy if one had a foothold on that Archipelago. They were also in a perfect position to control the whole of the Baltic; Gulf of Bothnia stretching north and support to the closure of the Gulf of Finland... But to control the islands, one had to control Finland first.

And Russia had to admit the thought of Having Finland at his side was rather pleasing. The larger Nation smiled, "It seems I'll have things to do when I return to St. Petersburg."

France chuckled and saluted the eastern Nation with his goblet. "À votre santé, Russie."

"Fucking pretenders the both of you," came a disgusted snarl as an empty glass was slammed on the table and chair legs screeched against the floor.

Russia looked to the side, meeting Prussia's enraged red eyes as the third Nation in the raft entered the discussion, standing tall and breathing heavily. His cheeks were sunken and his skin appeared even more pallid than normally and his dark blue military coat could have used a wash and several patches to fix the more worn parts.

France scoffed. "Do mind your manners, Prusse. I'll get to you the day after tomorrow, oui?"

Prussia's face twisted into an ugly snarl but he held his tongue, which surprised Russia. But maybe he should have expected it, he had read France's demands and they were certainly no smiling matter. Maybe Prussia had finally realised that he really was in no position to argue for it just might make the situation even worse. Although what could be worse than losing half of your landmass?

The pale Nation dropped heavily back to his chair, still scowling.

France smiled, refilling Prussia's glass. "Bon, trés bon, mon ami..."

Prussia's eyes flashed darkly and fast as lightning his hand swept across the table, hitting the glass and the bottle in France's hands, spilling the red wine all over the victorious Nation.

To Russia, the other Empire seemed to be covered in blood.

"Ich bin nicht dein Freund," Prussia snarled, his eyes promising revenge.

The relations between him and Finland weren't particularly friendly ether, Russia mused as he leant his back against a beaten pine tree, its bark already littered with bullet holes. Some of them were probably from the spring battle in this very same village, there hadn't been nearly enough shooting today for all of them to be fresh.

A three-bound cannon ball hit the ground two feet before the nearest company, sending earth and early snow flying into the air and throwing the men on their backs with painful crunches. One of them didn't raise again as others scrambled to their feet, shaking their heads. Russia's own ears rang as he brushed muck from his shoulders, his eyes sweeping across the all but abandoned village.

In spite of the determined resistance of the Finns, Russia and his men were almost ready to cross the river. Part of their troops had already done so by detouring further upstream, away from the concentrated artillery attack; it wouldn't take them long to arrive here and cut of the escaping Finns and disrupt their fire enough for the main force to cross.

Shouts rang out on the other side of the river, accompanied by cries of pain, and Russia smiled. Finally, he would have been displeased if they had dallied.

As Kulnev ordered the advance, Russia crossed the river among the first, looking around the seemingly empty village, if one discounted the corpses dotting the roads. The advance troops were already pulling their fallen resistance aside, out of the way. The civilians had probably hidden nearby in the forests and fields, not daring to stay behind as their homestead was turned into a battlefield.

Rather wise of them, Russia thought.

Little ways down the road shots rang out and the advancing soldiers ducked behind the walls and forgotten carts to avoid the fire. Even the cannon rang out again, apparently still in Finnish possession, and a cannon ball crashed through the roof of one of the houses. So the position hadn't been completely abandoned just yet. As the battle broke out anew, Russia stayed hidden observing their opponents. The soldiers appeared to be above the middle age, tired and some of them even injured, but they fought ferociously, like a bear protecting her cubs. They had clearly been left behind only to buy the retreating forces some time to draw further north and closer to the mainland, closer to Sweden and the invisible border that separated his land from Finland's.

Sometimes Russia wondered how such a border even existed. Finland had served Sweden for almost as long as he could remember, shouldn't they have become completely unified by now? As far as he understood it, if two Nations lived together for a long time, they would become more and more similar to each other, until one of them faded away, unneeded as the other could now personify both of their peoples. He had thought Finland and Sweden to be one such duo, with Finland fated to fade away at some point in time. As far as he knew, the only ways the two of them differed from each other were their outwards looks and language. But Finland didn't seem to have any intention of fading so maybe, somehow, he was unique and different enough to explain his continued existence. Russia supposed it was similar to him and all of the губе́рнияs living in his house, sharing his territory, not that they amounted to much.

But even the less significant Nations and sub-Nations can sometimes put up an impressive effort; from what he could tell, over a hundred men were hidden among the scarce buildings and trees lining the dirt road. All the snow had been trampled and was useless in trying to locate the soldiers by footprints. Finland and his people had always been uncommonly good at being sneaky, which Russia found himself envying sometimes.

By luck he noticed a musket pointing out from a snowdrift between a cart and a tree little ways down the road, aiming at one of his younger Cossacks about to cut down an old Finnish soldier. He couldn't see much of the shooter, not even the black hat they favoured but the Nation found himself adjusting his grip of his own weapon nonetheless, shooting at the hidden figure.

The bullet seemed to fly unnaturally slow before it hit the figure, causing the Finn's musket to drop, hopefully wetting the gunpowder and turning it useless. The figure disappeared even more completely behind the snowdrift, unmoving, as the Finns started pulling back further and further, out of the village entirely.

" Игнорируйте их!" Kulnev called sharply as the troops were about to give chase. "Check the bodies!"

Russia ignored the troops hurrying to comply and instead ambled over to the figure he had felled, lying face down in the snow. He stared curiously down at the short form, his blond hair and the snow around it stained with blood. His shot had hit the man in the head and he could see more blood slowly trickling from the hole in his temple, mixing with the sweat and dirt already streaking the form.

Russia nudged the man's side with his boot before kicking him over, curious to see the man's face. As the slowly fading daylight fell on the pale face, Russia's eyebrows rose in surprise before a smile broke out on his face.

For before him on the ground laid his lovely western neighbour.

"Looks like it's the time for you to become one with me, да? Лапушка..."

Chapter Text

Th-thump.

Th-thump.

Thump.

Thump.

The groan was slow and deep as it broke out, travelling through the still air before fading into nothingness of the empty room.

Weakly, an eyelid twitched as the head turned slowly to the side, a quiet hiss of pain escaping the chapped lips. The form stilled for a moment, breathing heavily, trying to ignore the pain, before he again tried to drag himself back to full consciousness. Violet eyes opened slowly, hazy from the pain thumping at the temples like a steady drum.

What had happened?

Finland raised his hand tiredly – the scratchy blanket falling partly off of him – touching the side of his head. His fingers met bandages wrapped snugly around his head. He frowned slightly, pressing at the spot that seemed slightly... dented. Pain shot through his head, his fingers clutching at the pillow beneath his head, trying to hold in a groan.

Right. He had been shot in the head.

He blinked tiredly up at the ceiling, wondering why he was here, wherever 'here' was. He had stayed behind to hold back the advancing Russians and he doubted any of his men had bothered to pick him up. Why should they, really? To them he had been just another fallen soldier, one with a bullet hole in their head. Who survived something like that?

No one normal, certainly. Only Nations and their ilk.

Nations were uncommonly hard to kill, a true death being near impossible to them as they were. You could shoot them, draw and quarter them, drown them, hack them to pieces, decapitate them, hang them, burn them on stake, execute them in hundreds of other unimaginable ways... and still with time they would get back up, missing limbs would grow back, damaged tissue would repair itself, wounds would disappear. They truly died only when they had lost it all, their people, their culture, their language, their  very essence...

Land itself wasn't as important but it was something to cling to, something you could use to buy time to adapt, take on a new name, a new life.

Those who couldn't do it, faded away. That had been the way the ancient Nations and – more recently – the Holy Roman Empire had gone. They hadn't been able to hold on to life and adapt to the changes brought by time.

Finland hadn't clearly been destined for the same, not yet at least.

So who had picked him up? The Russians? The locals after they returned from hiding? His current position, unguarded and alone in a nice side room that seemed to belong to the local vicar, implied that it had been the locals but somehow he couldn't quite bring himself to believe that the Russians had failed to check if he had been actually breathing.

He stared pensively up at the rafters, tracking the lines in the aged wood, his glazed eyes drifting over the hanging breads, trying to focus. The pain kept thumping at his temples, especially at the bullet wound. He could hear the fire crackling faintly in the oven in the corner of the room, spreading its gentle warmth, almost lulling him back to sleep. The blanket's scratchy wool tickled at his throat.

"You're finally awake."

Finland felt as if he had been doused in cold water as the unexpected voice startled him. He hadn't even heard the door open, he always noticed when that happened – His body struggled to sit up, whether to run or fight he wasn't sure, but he was not just going to lie there, helpless and vulnerable, not ever again –!

The pain in his head was immense, blinding him in his panic.

Suddenly a weight – hands were pressing down on his shoulders, trying to push him down. Finland struggled twice as hard, trying to throw the weight off. He wasn't just going to lie back and take it, he wasn't going to let Russia hurt him. Not ever, and especially not when his people needed him, when Sweden needed him. He had to go –

Then a stinging pain spread across his cheek, shocking him out of his panic and leaving him staring up at Russia. The larger Nation's hand was still raised after the slap as he frowned down at the injured Nation, trembling weakly on the bed. Finland could feel the warm liquid trickling sluggishly down the side of his face. His head wound had started bleeding again.

"Ru-russia?" he asked, his voice wavering with uncertainty.

"Да," the other agreed, gently pushing the now unresisting Finland to lie down on his back before letting go. The smaller Nation's eyes followed him warily as the he turned away from the bed, fetching a chair from beside the wall before taking a seat, facing the bedbound Nation.

For a moment the two observed each other, Finland taking in the other's admittedly healthier look. He himself was considerably paler but that was expected with foreign forces marching through his lands.

"How do you feel?" Russia ventured.

"... Been better," Finland answered, aiming for nonchalance but probably failing.

Russia nodded thoughtfully in agreement. "But you're getting better," he added cheerfully, his smile wide.

Finland gave a minute nod but remained silent; it was true after all. As he could see and sense it – despite the headache – he was recovering from the shot just fine. By the end of the week there would probably be no sign of the shot wound. He would be up and about in a few days, with at most a lingering headache his only reminder of the headshot. And it was all thanks to his people; they were generally healthy all things considered and the normal business that kept the society running hadn't been disturbed excessively.

"We took about twenty prisoners in addition to you," Russia continued after a moment of awkward silence, "they're being treated well."

Finland nodded in acceptance as he observed the taller Nation's cheerful countenance warily. Russia didn't seem to be lying and Finland didn't have the energy to put up a fight about it even if he was. He had been becoming numb to Russia for a while now as his people accepted the other Nation's presence and that let Finland's other feelings come to foreground. He felt tired; the war, the deaths and the useless fighting had taken their toll on him. Why was he even fighting in the first place? Because that's what he always did, because Russia was the enemy trying to take him from Sweden... But was he really? Finland didn't want to fight anymore, even though at this point he barely knew how to do anything else. He was just so tired... he hadn't even had the energy to fight properly for a while, really.

That was probably why he had got captured in the first place, carelessness on the battlefield.

Both he and Russia knew that out of the two of them, Finland was better at being sneaky, at hiding. That was how he had avoided trouble in he past, before being swept up by Sweden. The fact that he had been spotted and shot told a lot about his state of mind, to both him and the Empire. His time and energy had run out and there was only one course of action he could take.

"... Is there still a place in that Deputation?" he asked softly.

Russia's smile widened and seemed suddenly so genuine Finland was struck speechless.

"Да, there's always a place for you, Финля́ндия."

It was an evening in late November when Finland disembarked from a carriage in the inner courtyard of a huge looming palace. The normally tight backed earth beneath the wheels had turned into muck from all the rain and it would freeze into hard to navigate ruts when the temperature would eventually drop under zero. He looked up at the opulent building, its very top disappearing in the darkness of the sky. He could just barely make out the white and gilded ornaments adorning its walls. The light yellow base colour of the walls seemed somehow dirty but that might have just been shadows.

It had been well over a century since he was last in this particular area and back then it had only been a lively harbour city concentrated on trading and commerce, it's thick wooden walls rising high and giving the observer a great view across the Gulf of Finland and Neva River. Now that fortress was gone and in its place rose the capital of Russia. And if he was quite honest, Finland didn't know how to feel about that. He didn't know if he dared to ask the Empire about what had become of Ingria, whose lands these were.

"Shall we go in?"

The voice behind him had Finland turning to glance at Russia. The larger Nation seemed relaxed as he gazed fondly up at the Anichkov Palace. His eyes shone with a certain naive eagerness Finland was used to seeing in small children when they got to visit the marketplace in the nearest town.

He gave a slight nod just as the doors were pulled open, letting them in to the high entrance hall. A huge staircase curved up the side of the hall and the light green marble pillars, leading to the balcony of the upper floor. A servant seemed to appear out of nowhere, bowing deeply to the both of them, before breaking out in respectful Russian.

It left Finland feeling awkward; the bowing, the palace, Russia's actions... everything. He didn't think he had ever felt so awkward in his life as he listened to the discussion he couldn't understand.

"Царьь хочет встретиться с вами, Господин Брагинский," the servant murmured softly.

He knew the word Tsar and 'Braginsky' was the human name Russia preferred to use if he remembered correctly but the rest... He couldn't understand it and that left him feeling unsettled; what if a decision was made on his behalf and he didn't understand it? Or what if someone asked him something or they thought he understood and they tortured him to protect Russia or what if –

He bit his lip hard, the pain bringing him back to earth, and gave a dark glare to his boots. Now wasn't the time to panic, he would be fine, just like always. He would learn Russian, just like he had learnt Swedish, German, Latin and French, and then it wouldn't be a problem anymore. It was that simple and he was old enough to know that but sometimes the deeply ingrained fear just burst out. But he would learn to control that too.

Russia frowned for a moment before nodding brightly and indicated to Finland, " Отведите его в синей комнату длягостей."

The servant's face remained expressionless as he gave Finland a long look and nodded in understanding.

Russia then turned to Finland, "I have a meeting with Alexander. Igor will take you to your room and show you where you can meet the rest of the Deputation after you've settled in."

"Sp-spasibo," he said uncertainly – one of the only phrases he knew – and Russia's smile could have blinded the room, it was so bright.

The servant bowed slightly and headed into the direction of the staircase. Finland glanced uncertainly at Russia who made a shooing motion, still smiling. He turned and walked through one of the side doors, leaving Finland alone in the large hall. For a fraction of a second he stood frozen before his gaze shot up the staircase, where the servant – Igor – was waiting on him in the next floor, looking down over the railing at him, his face expressionless.

Finland flushed and hurried up the stairs after him, distractedly hoping he wasn't dragging muck all over the place. Igor didn't react to Finland's fumbling but instead turned on his heel, leading the way down the corridor. Their steps echoed beneath the hustle and bustle of servants, dignitaries and courtiers walking to and fro. Finland kept his gaze on Igor's back, not daring to look around. Things felt larger and colder than they had ever felt in Tre Kronor or Kungliga slottet and visiting them had been awkward enough. He might be biased but he much preferred his own castles and manor houses to these overly lavish things other Nations put up on display.

The room he was shown to was painted a pale blue colour, the decorations shining white in the candle light, the painted cherubs peering curiously down at him from the ceiling. As Igor finally departed, Finland pressed the heavy door closed with a sigh, leaning his back against it and closing his eyes.

The darkness behind his eyelids was soothing after all the splendour of the Palace and the incredible nervousness that had plagued him for weeks. His nerves were shot; he didn't know what he should do or think, he had never done anything like this before.

Actually that was kind of a lie but that was beside the point. He hadn't cared back then and hadn't really understood what was going on either and Erik had been nice all things considered even if he didn't have a clue what the other was saying.

But this truly was the first time he would meet a foreign monarch alone, without Sweden's presence. He generally didn't meet any Kings or Queens or Emperors or the like, except Sweden's and consequently his. Some of them were nice, some not and some were downright horrible but he generally didn't have any trouble meeting them. He was – had been– allowed to bring his and his people's problems and issues directly to their attention – it was routine, it was normal... but meeting someone else? And the Emperor of Russia of all people? The only way it would be worse in Sweden's eyes would be if Denmark and his King were here too (he was reasonably sure they weren't but you never knew with Denmark – especially considering he was technically aligned with Russia at the moment and the other Nation had always professed to love surprises).

Actually, there was no way anything about this looked good to Sweden.

I really need to go to sauna just about now... But there was no hope for that for a while, because he doubted Russia had a proper sauna stashed in St. Petersburg – or if he even had saunas at all. A sacrilege as far as Finland was concerned but even Sweden had started to avoid them lately: something about them being "morally questionable." 

Which was just ridiculous, coming from a former Viking, a former colonialist, a former Great Power – which he didn't like to be reminded off, the former part, that is – who had done a great deal more 'morally questionable' things than get naked in a hot room. Finland couldn't think of a more refreshing feeling than getting out of the sauna; muscles loose, squeaky clean, ready to face any new challenges that might come his way.

At least he had got the chance to borrow the vicarage's sauna when he was recovering.

But that was neither here nor there, it wasn't as if Sweden's opinions actually mattered anymore at this point in time. He would meet Emperor Alexander in a few days at most and swear fealty to him after which he would all but officially be part of the Russian Empire for the better or worse.

He let out a sigh and gazed determinedly around the room. Time to unpack before he got ahead of himself. He ignored the soft twittering tickling the edge of his consciousness.

Finland had barely started putting his meagre things away in the abundance of closets, dressers and other assorted storing places when there was a careful knock on the door.

For a moment he floundered, having been about to invite them in with a careless call over his shoulder like normally. That wouldn't work, he doubted anyone in the palace understood Finnish or Swedish and he hadn't a clue how to say it in Russian. For a moment he thought he heard the quiet twittering of a small bird and his heart rate seemed to pick up on its own. Could it be –?

Slowly, he set his spare jacket down on the chair and returned to the door, opening it carefully and peeking out.

Time seemed to stand still before a wide smile broke out across his face as he flung the door fully open. "Viro!"

The taller blond smiled and returned the other's hug enthusiastically. "It's good to see you in such fine spirits, Soome."

Finland let out a breathless laugh, "Of course I'm in good spirits when in presence of a friend. Come in, come in," he pulled his southern neighbour – cousin, brother, fellow Nation – into his room.

He hadn't seen Estonia for almost a century and was eager to rekindle their friendship. The last he remembered – and his memories were rather hazy because of the pain he had been in – Estonia's condition at the time hadn't been any better than his. Violet eyes observed the bespectacled Nation, taking in the simple clothes, tired eyes and the thin frame.

He frowned. "Are you okay?" he asked softly as he pulled a chair out for Estonia.

"I should be asking you that," Estonia protested. "You've been through a war and you're being annexed to Russia as we speak," his voice faltered before he straightened his back, green eyes meeting Finland's. "I know how that is, so... how are you?"

Finland let a frustrated puff of air out through his nose and gave up – for now. Estonia's concerned tone and stressed face didn't invite questions. "Surprisingly good actually. The war's effects have been... a lot less severe than in the past. And Russia's being nice, which kind of creeps me out."

Estonia looked a bit perplexed. "Maybe he's.... never mind."

"Getting old and senile?" Finland offered.

"Or drunk," Estonia said reflexively, his immediate expression afterwards telling the other he hadn't meant to say it aloud.

"With his drinking habits? It's more likely that he's so saturated with alcohol that the effect is the same," his tone was jesting as he goaded Estonia to laugh with him.

A reluctant snicker escaped the taller blond as he shot a wary look at the door. While Estonia was clearly worried about being overheard and potentially punished, Finland was glad his southern brother hadn't lost his spirit entirely.

"But in all seriousness," Estonia coughed, "are you going to be okay with coming to Russia's house?"

Finland tilted his head thoughtfully, his eyes tracking the chubby, frolicking forms on the ceiling. "I... think so. Eventually, yes. Of course it's going to be awkward at first but..."

"I get it," Estonia smiled wryly, standing up, "let me warn you, though, it's going to be very different compared to the good old Swedish times. And I wanted to wish you luck and see how you're doing."

Finland smiled and gave Estonia another hug. "Thank you. I hope I'll see you again soon."

His hand was weak as he gripped Estonia's thin forearm. The feverish violet eyes met hazy green eyes through the cracked lenses of the glasses as they leant heavily against each other. They were both hungry, tired, weak and dirty from the hell that had been the past decade and while they had been separated and imprisoned – Finland in Turku and Estonia in Reval – they had still felt kinship towards each other in their shared troubles of plague and Russian occupation. Because in a way they were brothers, or at least cousins and the understood each other better than most others. There had been times – before Sweden, before Russia, before Christianity – when the two of them had been thick as thieves.

"Under better circumstances, I hope," Estonia gave a self-deprecating grin.

Finland gave a weak grin in return, opening his mouth to continue their goodbyes because he didn't know when the two of them would see each other again, or if they even would. Suddenly a shudder ran through his frame and he raised his gaze, meeting Russia's violet eyes over Estonia's shoulder. He froze, his hand grasping at Estonia's who let out a weak hiss of pain.

"It's time to go, Эстляндия ."

The voice was shiver-inducing in its deceiving warmth and cheer. Finland and Estonia's eyes met as a heavy hand landed on the latter's shoulder, pulling him away from Finland. Neither of them resisted, not that they would have had the strength to do so.

Russia's gaze moved from Estonia to Finland and he smiled. " До свидания, Финля́ндия. I'm sure we'll see each other again very soon."

Finland took an involuntary step backwards and Russia's smile seemed to widen. His back made contact with something solid and a hand came down on his shoulder. He flinched away, looking up over his shoulder, meeting Sweden's blue eyes.

A breath escaped him as his racing heart started to finally slow. Sweden's one-handed hold of his shoulder tightened momentarily, reassuring, before the taller Nation turned his cold gaze to meet Russia's.

"The Treaty's been signed, you have your territories. Leave."

Finland's gaze flickered around the room, taking in the tired faces of those who were now going to leave. His sister Karelia gave a weak wave, Ingria's fingers kept twitching, Estonia looked tired and Livonia looked hardly better. And that's not even taking the others – those too insignificant to even take part in the meeting – probably felt like. He wouldn't be seeing them for a long time, if ever.

Russia smiled amiably. "Pleasure doing business with you, Шве ́ ция ."

Sweden's face turned dark and for a moment Finland was sure he heard a lion roaring in the distance. "Dra åt helvete, Ryssland."

Russia's smile widened as a cold, malicious aura filled the room, "I'll be sure to take you there with me, then."

Cold wind blew from over the mountains in the west and the Atlantic beyond them, ruffling his blond hair, which luckily stayed out of his eyes. He adjusted the blue lapels of his red uniform coat distractedly to protect his neck better from the breeze. While he was used to the wind that didn't mean he wanted to feel it all the time. Norway stared expressionlessly over hills, his dark blue eyes sweeping over the woods, his shoulders tense. After a moment they relaxed as he let a soft breath escape his lips. It seemed that Sweden's general had kept his side of the agreement.

Not that it helped much with the diseases, hunger and cold bothering both of their men but it was better than nothing. And then there was that thrice-damned England... Sometimes Norway really wished he could return back to the Viking times just so he could ask Denmark to give the brat a kick to the backside. Or maybe he could just curse the Briton? Or ask some Nøkken drag him into the depths of one of his lakes...

He was brought back from his fantasising by a grunt from his side. Bright eyes peeking out from beneath long straggly hair were staring intently down the west side of the hill as the huge nose twitched, clearly smelling something.

Norway frowned. "Hva er det, Steinn?"

The troll grunted. "Dumbror."

It really figured.

"Dav, Norge!"

Speak of the devil and he comes, Norway thought wryly as he straightened, his shoulders tensing a bit again, not wishing to appear weak or complacent with the situation. "Denmark," he greeted his brother of sorts expressionlessly, "what brings you here?"

"A boat and a horse," the taller blond grinned cheerfully as he clapped Norway on the back, causing the smaller Nation to stumble. "England's got nothing on my gunboats. You know how it works, or have you forgotten in your old age?"

Norway's eyebrow twitched in annoyance as he slapped Denmark's hand away, straightening back up. "You know I didn't mean that, stupid. What are you doing here?"

Denmark's cheerful facade fell as he gazed intently at Norway, taking in his thin frame and worn expression. "I wanted to check up on you; you look horrible."

Norway snorted. "Like you're one to talk with that face."

"Don't get snarky with me, Norway. Now's not the time for it. Frederik is furious with you, what the hell was that Armistice Agreement about?"

Blue eyes met blue as Norway contemplated on his answer, or really, whether to answer at all. Denmark was rarely completely serious but when he was, things tended to get ugly fast. "The men are hungry, tired, cold and sick, we can't continue fighting. Sweden's general agreed."

Norway made sure not even a muscle twitched in his face as he returned Denmark's intense stare. The cold Atlantic wind blew harshly and he was only barely aware of Steinn glaring Denmark darkly from beneath his thick brows.

Finally the taller Nation let out a sigh, ruffling his hair in apparent defeat. "Alright, I believe you."

Norway felt his shoulders relaxing but he held himself off from slumping. Denmark seemed calm for the moment and he had escaped any reprimands.

Of course it was not to last.

"Wait a sec, Sweden's general? Are you saying that glorified kittycat ain't even here?!" Denmark seemed offended. Norway sympathised, he'd been annoyed too when the Swede had packed his bags and left some general in charge of his southern army while the Nation himself went haring of to north to deal with his Finnish crisis. Although he could have taken England with him...

"Hasn't been since early summer," Norway replied, "Already forgotten all about Finland, have you?"

"Oh, right." Judging by his expression, Denmark really had forgotten. The Nation who had once proclaimed himself the King of Northern Europe could be surprisingly short-sighted when the situation became hectic. Both Norway and Sweden had talked more than once back during the days of the Kalmar Union that Denmark had the attention span of a child.

Put the child to a work and go after yourself, had been Finland's rather sagely observation that Norway had been hard pressed to disagree with. Iceland had just called all of them stupid.

"That reminds me, I've actually got news about that," Denmark suddenly said, waking Norway from his thoughts.

Silence fell. The shorter Nation stared at Denmark expressionlessly, and the taller Nation's excitement seemed to wane in the silence.

"Aren't you going to ask?" Denmark pouted, his lower lip quivering theatrically.

Norway simply raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, making the conscious decision to appear even more bored than normally. That usually helped in situations like this.

Denmark gave up with huff, turning to stare towards the border between their lands and Sweden. "Fine, be that way. I'm not going to tell you then."

They stood in silence until Norway's curiosity finally got the better of him. Damn it, he was used winning these things. "What were those news, then, dumbror?"

For once Denmark was direct and didn't bother with any theatrics – or gloating at getting Norway to actually ask – as he was bound to when given the chance, "Finland's finally been captured by Russia. Sweden is alone."

"Hæ."

That certainly changed things. He could practically feel the power balance of the northern Europe shifting.

Finland's heart raced in his chest as he gazed up into the eyes of a young man with reddish-brown hair standing before him. Medals glinted on the chest of the fine clothed coat and he couldn't help but think that Emperor Alexander cut an impressive figure where he stood before his throne, young and regal.

He fixed his jacket nervously and bowed deeply to the Emperor and saying firmly, taking great care with his pronunciation:

"Votre Majesté, je me présente, je suis Finlande." His tongue felt wooden in his mouth – that is: even more wooden than it normally did. He desperately hoped he hadn't just made a fool out of himself.

The Emperor regarded him for a moment before answering. "A pleasure, Финля́ндия," he said, sitting down on the throne. His grey-eyed gaze was curious as he looked the small Nation up and down with interest. "I believe this is our first meeting?"

Finland nodded as he straightened. "Yes sir, it's an honour."

The Emperor rubbed the head of the golden Imperial eagle, carefully carved into the armrest of his throne. "You're quite unlike what I expected from Russia's stories," he finally said. "You seem… more reserved."

If Finland knew anything he had been thinking something else but his royal upbringing censored the thought, which he was grateful for. "Things are rarely as they seem, Your Majesty," he said instead. "I assure you, in some situations I'm anything but reserved."

The Emperor seemed to catch his hidden meaning as his lips twitched a tad in amusement. Alexander leant back in his thrown and motioned for Russia to step forward. "We'll see in due time, I'm sure. I believe it's time for you to swear your oath."

He gave an uncertain nod in response and bit his lip, glancing at Russia nervously. As he turned his gaze back up to his new sovereign, he couldn't help reflecting how different this oath would be and how relieved that made him feel.

The first time he had sworn the pledge to Sweden – to anyone, really – had been in 1280, when the Ordinance of Alsnö had come to effect; back then the King had wanted to strengthen his position, and his Nation, Sweden still young and impressionable at the time, had done the same, asking Finland to swear the Oath of Allegiance in his shaky Swedish to both the Nation and the King. Several times Sweden's monarchs had asked him to repeat it, for reassurance. The last time he had done so had been in 1743, after the Lesser Wrath, the last time when Russia had demanded his loyalty, for protection during the occupation.

Back then, Sweden had seemed unnaturally relieved then when he had knelt on the floor, as he had always done.

But now, the times had changed; he wouldn't need to kneel for Russia and his Emperor. He took a deep breath and met Russia's eyes where he stood on the dais and raised his right hand, palm towards Russia, middle and pointer fingers straight up.

"I, the Nation of Finland, promise and swear by God and His Holy Gospel that I will serve the Russian Empire and his ruler loyally and sincerely; obey their merciful orders to the last drop of blood, without thinking of putting myself first. I will maintain all laws and rules in the name of peace and if I were to become aware of any malicious plans against the Empire, secretly or publicly, I will protect the peace by all means, as is my duty as his loyal possession. This, I'm ready to swear before God at the Day of the Last Judgement and if I speak anything but the truth, then God help me for my people and soul."

Sweden froze mid-movement, his gaze almost unconsciously turning towards south. His breath turned white in the cold air as he stared across the Gulf of Bothnia with unseeing eyes. The sensation tickling at the back of his mind was unlike anything he had ever felt before; somehow it left him feeling empty and alone...

As if something extremely important had just been lost to him forever.

Something had happened. Something unexpected. And he had pretty good guess who was in the centre of it.

The mere thought made him nauseous.

"Finland...?"

Chapter Text

It was pleasantly warm in the hazy darkness, the cold creeping beyond the walls of the house could barely be sensed through the thick wood. Snow fell softly outside the window, silent and peaceful in the February night. The room was illuminated only by a lonely candle and the flickering fire, which could be seen through the open hatch of the ceramic stove. Shadows danced across the walls like spirits of the ancient world, long forgotten by the people when they moved from simple huts and tents to proper houses, gave up their beliefs for others.

Finland sat curled up in an armchair, wrapped into a woollen blanket, staring into the flames with a book held loosely in his hands. He hadn't felt like putting it aside when it had become too dark to read or get up and light another candle. Even asking for Anna to do it had felt like a waste of time. The girl had enough work dusting around the house after a year of abandonment.

It shouldn't have bothered him, he had been away from home for longer periods of time in the past, but somehow this time all the missed time left a sour taste in his mouth. Maybe he was getting old? At least he was finally home, things would start calming down properly. Of course first there were the –

"Herra Lugnström?"

He looked up from the hypnotising flames and blinked at the sudden darkness before his eyes focused properly on the young maid standing in the doorway, clutching at her apron.

"What is it, Anna?" he asked, not moving from the chair.

The girl shuffled her feet nervously. "I have cleaned your room sir, you should go to sleep."

The Nation sighed and finally moved, unfolding from the chair, his muscles protesting after spending hours in one position. He closed the hatch of the stove as the maid moved to draw the curtains before the window. She picked up the candle and moved out of the room at Finland's heels.

His violet eyes flickered at the dark circles under her eyes standing out from the young, pale face. Her blond hair was trying to escape its bun and the kerchief wrapped around her head. She had been in his service for three years already and if he remembered correctly she would be turning eighteen soon. She looked exhausted.

She started when he took the candle from her. "You should go to sleep too," he said sternly.

"Bu-but I still have to prepare the kitchen for the morning and –" her blue eyes were wide as she stared up at her Nation and employer.

"No buts, Anna. You need rest too."

She bit her lip and stared at her feet. "Yes sir. Hyvää yötä."

He smiled slightly, "Hyvää yötä."

She gave one last nod and returned to her room near the kitchen, leaving Finland standing alone in the hall with the candle.

His own room was pleasantly warm as he stepped in; Anna had clearly started a fire in the stove while he had been pretending to read his book. He set the candle carefully down on the table, glancing at his bed. It looked warm and inviting, making him wish he could just fall into it and forget everything in his slumber. A clock ticked softly on the wall.

It had been over a year since he had been in this room, before his trip to Stockholm and this war had started on that cold February morning. The war was still going but fortunately for Finland, on Sweden's side of the invisible border – the one both could sense but neither would acknowledge – between them.

Soon that border would become reality.

By now the other Nation would have realised Finland had turned his back on their centuries of shared history, betrayed him for Russia – their enemy. Part of him was elated at the prospect while a part of him writhed in shame at his traitorousness. But he hadn't really had a choice, had he? Wars were won and lost all the time, so far it had been luck that had allowed him to stay with Sweden. The other Nation had grown complacent in his position and on Finland's support.

Mistakenly, as it turned out. Finland couldn't let things continue as they had, not anymore in this ever-changing world.

He had made the right choice.

He would be happier with Russia.

Right?

Stockholm was alive with movement; the people on the streets went about their business, went to work, sold their wares, bought necessities… Nothing appeared to be amiss at a first glance but if you stopped to meet their eyes, listen to their whispers, hear their at times shallow breaths and the nervous vibrato of their voices – the illusion of normality was shattered. Distaste, rumours and uncertainty rose to surface, clear for everyone to see.

A tall form, wrapped into a thick coat, stood silently in a corner created by a clock tower and a small chapel pushing out from the side of a huge church. People hurried past the looming church and the form, throwing wary glances in the direction of both the man and the looming church.

Sweden felt restless and he kept jumping at small noises, as if he was a child afraid of the dark. He if anyone knew there were things much more dangerous and scary than the dark. But while he knew that on intellectual level, it really didn't help him to calm his anxiety. He rubbed at his chest, hoping to relieve the ache caused by the uncertainty among his people. At this point, he really didn't know what else to do; Finland was lost to him and seemed to be getting on fabulously with Russia if that little get-together they were organising in Borgå was anything to judge by. He couldn't believe Finland was going along with this, this... farce.

Hadn't he been fighting Russia as long as Sweden himself had? Hadn't he suffered unimaginable horrors because of Russia?

So why was he, in the name of all things Holy and Good, being friendly with the Empire?

Sweden couldn't wrap his head around it; it just didn't make sense. He scowled darkly at the ground, causing a nearby man squeak in fright and pick up his pace, clutching a bolt of cloth in his arms like a new born baby. Sweden did his best to ignore the stab of hurt; he knew he looked scary and that Finland had always just been better at being approachable, but these were his people in his capital. They shouldn't fear him. Respect, yes, but not fear.

He would need to do better on his own now when he no longer had Finland to offer the point of contact with the commoners. His Provinces did help but Sweden was always so busy…

The Nation shook his head sharply and stepped out from the corner, heading for the front of the clock tower and the huge double doors located there. They were heavy and closed tightly, forcing him to extend some strength to push one of them open before stepping into the dim church. He crossed the small entrance chamber and let his hand rest on the door leading to the main hall for a second before taking a deep breath and pushing it open as well. He stared expressionlessly into the cold and silent church hall, it's Nave stretching towards the altar and illuminated only by the grey winter sun through the church's high windows.

His steps echoed across the countless tombstones that had replaced the original floor over the centuries. The white walls shone dully and the thick columns rose towards the vaulted ceiling as he followed along the sides of the main hall. Periodically his steps would come to a stop beside the smaller chapels and chambers branching out from it, carefully locked behind heavy iron gates. He gazed through them at the sarcophagi and coffins in silence, without really seeing them.

The presence of the grave monuments of Magnus Ladulås and Karl Knutsson at the front of the church seemed to hang in the air like storm clouds on a hot summer day. Not that Magnus was truly there but no one had believed him when he told them the King's bones laid elsewhere.

Not that he remembered their real location anymore, after all this time.

The other graves were at least filled with the earthly remains of those they claimed to contain. The chapels lining the main body of the church were each filled with past rulers, as were the crypts beneath their floors.

Kings, Queens, Princes, Princesses, all of them his.

All of them Finland's as well.

Sweden grit his teeth, his hands curling into tight fists at his sides. He tried to control the sudden urge to hit the wall, pummel it to pieces. Instead he was left glaring darkly at the carving on the wall beside his Lion's grave.

Opressos liberavit
in Augustiis intravit
pietatem amavit
Hostes prostravit
regnum dilatavit
Suecos exaltavit
oppressos liberavit
moriens triumphavit.

Under difficulties, he began,
in August, he entered,
by piety, he loved,
enemies, he defeated,
Empire, he expanded
Swedes advanced,
the oppressed, he liberated,
dying, he won.

What Empire? he thought darkly. There's no Empire, not anymore.

"Lord Oxenstierna."

He started in surprise at the voice, turning on his heel and staring at the serious man standing by the stairs, holding a bicorn respectfully in his arm. His gaze spoke of seriousness and tiredness, as if he had seen things he would rather have not. Sweden tried to search his memory for the face and name, only receiving weak echoes, stretched thin by time and a sort of disconnection until he finally managed to dredge up the man's name from the depths of his memory.

"... Generalmajor Adlercreutz."

No wonder it had taken the time to recognise the man, technically one could call him one of Finland's people, having been born there – But no matter, Adlercreutz was here and not in Finland, he was Sweden's now.

"What's it?"

Adlercreutz hesitated, his gaze darting towards the doors leading outside and at the hidden shadows between pillars and statues. "The Kingdom is in chaos," he said finally.

The Nation didn't react to the words, wondering where the old soldier was heading with this. Such statements were dangerous in times like these and he would have thought a man of Adlercreutz's station would know that. But that didn't change the fact that the statement was true. Sweden knew better than anyone that the Kingdom was in chaos, he was the Kingdom. It had been a long time since he had last been this confused about his future.

The human took a deep breath, his words coming out in a hushed rush. "The King may be more trouble than he is worth."

He had been expecting it but Sweden still felt himself flinching as if he had been struck. He had discarded Kings and Parliaments in the past but every time it seemed that it would need to be done again, he still found himself recoiling from the idea on some level, appalled at the very thought. But he also, always, found himself agreeing with it in the end.

But never before had such a thing been requested among the graves of his past Kings, as if to mock them.

"One does not speak of such things here," he said quietly, his voice dark.

The Major General seemed to sense the Nation's unease and heeded the warning in his voice. "Forgive me, my Lord," Adlercreutz murmured, gazing at the coffins around them. "Shall we take this elsewhere, then?"

After a moment's contemplation, Sweden followed.

Finland really hoped there wouldn't be a fire this time. He hated fires, just like every other Nation he could think of, and Porvoo had burned more times than he cared to count (and he really didn't want to count that one time with the fish soup...) And the last thing he needed was another fire that would almost totally destroy the town, again.

Although knowing Russia the other might get the kick out of it, he had burned Porvoo a few times himself after all.

Actually he had burned loads of places but that was neither here nor there.

The late March day was sunny but crisp when the Emperor was scheduled to arrive at around midday. Most people were skipping work – or had chosen to incidentally have all of their errands at this time – and were crowding the streets, eager to get their first glimpse of their new sovereign.

Finland himself wasn't as eager per say, having already met the Emperor but he bit his lip nervously. The main reason he was nervous was because he kept wondering, in a half-panicked sort of frenzy, what his new ruler would think of the town and the people. The only reason he could see anything over the crowd's heads was because he was standing on the front steps of the town hall, one of the few stone buildings in town. Among the crowd he could just make out most of the Provinces; Varsinais-Suomi standing disapprovingly on the steps of another house, Häme looking distinctly annoyed, Pohjanmaa looking downright murderous, Savo seemed to be on the verge of falling asleep where he leant against the wall of the bakery, with little Pohjois-Karjala hanging from his arm, seeming to be scared to death, Uusimaa looked ready to bite her nails off in nervousness and Satakunta just appeared indifferent. Only Åland was absent which didn't surprise Finland in the least. As far as he knew the Archipelago was still fighting, if only barely.

Soon they could hear the clip-clop of horse hooves on the cobblestones as the first Cossacks rode up the hill from the river in formation, followed by a carriage shaped sled. Excited murmur rang through the crowd before a hush befell them when the sled came to a stop before the stairs.

As he stepped down the stairs, the door opened giving him a small glimpse of the upholstered inside of the carriage-sled, before a man rose out, taking off his thick gloves. His Majesty the Emperor and Autocrat of All the Russias, Alexander Pavlovich, his face serious, gazed around the small square, taking in the quiet people. He was dressed in a General's uniform: dark green jacket with high red collar peeking out from beneath a thick winter coat, his black boots shining against the snow covering the ground. Clear eyes shone with determination from a young handsome face as he smiled slightly to the people and inclined his head. Finland could hear a few admiring sighs from the crowd.

The Emperor seemed to notice this as well as he smiled and waved to crowd, encouraging some to come greet him by bowing or kneeling. For a moment Finland thought the man would revel in his people's mixed fear and respect, but the Emperor was quick to pull them back to their feet, admonishing them for kneeling in the cold snow.

For a while Finland watched as Alexander interacted with the people, the words being short and at times non-existent due to the language differences. Very few people in Finland spoke anything besides Finnish or Swedish and those who did where generally members of the nobility. In spite of the troubles the Emperor seemed to be very quickly charming the people and no wonder. He was only twenty-five and clearly a gentleman of impeccable manners.

He already knew this based on the month he spent at the Anichkov Palace but it was a relief to see the Emperor's image holding true even here, out among the people.

Finally when the crowd started to calm down, Russia stepped up beside the Emperor, seeming to appear out of nowhere, talking to him quietly in clipped Russian. Finland fixed his jacket nervously, glancing around at his Provinces, hoping to convey comfort and surety in his gaze, before heading over to the two Russians.

"Your majesty," he said, bowing to the Emperor and offering a respectful nod to Russia.

"Финля́ндия," Russia greeted him with a smile and a clap to the back, which caused the shorter Nation's knees to buckle momentarily. Alexander only smiled slightly and nodded in response.

Finland cleared his throat, "Shall I show you to your accommodations?"

"If you would," the Emperor agreed, giving the people some last waves and greetings before accompanying the two Nations, the crowd parting automatically before them. Finland led them down the street beside the town hall and stopped before one of the small town's better and more regal looking buildings in classic style. Two Cossacks stepped forward and pulled the door open, letting the Emperor and his entourage in with a bow. Finland declined the invite inside, insisting he still had lots of work to do.

A lie but he really needed a cup of coffee to calm his nerves right about now.

He was derailed from his plans by the Provinces showing up out of nowhere; Uusimaa and Pohjois-Karjala latching tightly to his arms while the others crowded around.

He suppressed a sigh. "Moi," he offered trying to appear nonchalant and probably failing dismally at it, "how are you doing?"

"Been better, been worse, now tell us what exactly is going on," Pohjanmaa all but ordered.

Finland gritted his teeth in annoyance – must the Province always add those extra vowels and hover like that? – but relented. "In a moment. Let's get out of the street first and I would really appreciate some coffee after that," he glanced pleadingly at Uusimaa who started dragging him down the street with a roll of her eyes and a murmur of assent.

Soon the seven Provinces and one Nation were seated around the sitting room of Uusimaa's modest house, all of them with a cup of coffee in their hands. Coffee was one thing they would all agree on, as one of the best inventions in the history of mankind. Finland quite often found himself wondering how he had managed to stay awake before being introduced to it.

"So," Varsinais-Suomi started slowly, setting her cup down on the saucer and adjusting her sensible but expensive dress, "What is going on, isoveli?"

The others quieted down at their sister's question, gazing now attentively at their higher ranked brother. Finland squirmed uncomfortably at the attention. He was well aware all of them could make at least an educated guess on what was going on – Pohjanmaa, Satakunta, Savo and Häme had all served in their respective regiments during the war while the three girls had all had to deal with occupiers or having their areas walked through – and he really didn't want to tell them what was going on. It somehow made his actions seem cowardly, spelling out that he had practically betrayed Sweden.

But he really didn't have a choice, one rarely had when dealing with their siblings.

He took a deep breath, "From now on, we'll be part of the Russian Empire."

Silence.

"What about Sweden?" Satakunta asked sharply, adjusting his glasses, leaning forward

The Nation made certain to keep his face expressionless. "He's inconsequential."

This resulted in total chaos. Finland stayed quiet as his siblings shouted, protested, pleaded, celebrated, swore... he didn't care to keep count. When it came down to it, all of them had issues with Sweden but they were also used to living under his power, it was safe and familiar, even comfortable. Russia on the other hand had been their age-old enemy for a millennia, and it hadn't even been a century since the Wraths. All of them remembered the damage and pain Russia could cause and they weren't at all keen to relive it.

Finland didn't blame them, he wasn't keen on reliving any of it either.

"Whatever we may think of it, it's a fact," Finland called sharply over the din. "It can't be helped, I've already sworn the pledge to Russia and I promise you, things will be different."

"For good or for bad?" Häme asked in that calm way of his. Finland's violet eyes met his older brother's blue ones steadily. Sometimes he wondered why it had been him who became the Nation, the personification whose duty was to speak for all of them. Why hadn't it been strong and steady Häme? He was the heartland of their land, Finland – Suomi – himself had been of the coast, easily influenced by foreigners. Wouldn't Häme obviously have been the better choice, purer and more detached from foreign influences?

"Things will be alright," Finland broke the silence with certainty he wasn't entirely sure he felt.

The quiet fell again and none of them felt the need to break it. What else was there to say? Facts were facts and they couldn't be changed so easily, by whining, what ifs and talking the matter to death. Finland sipped his already cooling coffee, staring distractedly out of the window and onto the streets where things seemed to have mostly settled down to their normal routes. Even if the Emperor was in town, the work had to be done.

"...Does this mean I'll see isosisko again?"

Finland glanced to the side, meeting Pohjois-Karjala's wide brown eyes. She was clutching her cup in a death grip, worrying her plump lower lip between her teeth and the Nation's gaze softened. "Come here," he said quietly, setting his own cup down. The girl was quick to clamber to his side, wiggling to sit in the chair beside him under the others' eyes as Finland wrapped his arm around her. "I'll tell you secret. You can't tell anyone else yet, okay?" he said softly.

Her eyes widened even more but she nodded and Finland felt fond warmth spreading through him. Little Pohjois-Karjala was the youngest of them, come to existence more of out of necessity than nature. Her distance from Sweden and closeness to Russia had caused her to be treated badly by laws for a long time. Then she had been all but torn apart during the Greater Wrath, only to be left behind when her elder sister was taken by Russia in the Treaty of Nystad. He ran his fingers through the girls brown curls as she curled up against him, eagerly waiting for him to tell her the secret.

So young and innocent, still, somehow. Sometimes he wondered how it was possible, or even if it was all just a front she put up to hide the hurt.

He wouldn't be surprised for he himself was guilty of the same trick at times.

"Russia said it might be possible for Karjala to come live with us," he whispered softly and she gasped in delight, causing Finland to smile and tickle the nape of her neck. "He'll need to speak with the Emperor first, though."

"Do you think she would come back quicker if I asked too?" Pohjois-Karjala asked breathlessly.

"Let's wait a bit more first, alright?" Finland smiled, "The things we already talked about seemed fantastic and we can't get greedy."

The Province nodded in understanding. "Okay, but can I still ask later?"

The Nation chuckled, "Sure you can, but not until I tell you."

"Kiitos isoveli!" she cried out and hugged him tightly.

The sun shone through the high windows, seeming to fall directly on the young Emperor standing beside his throne, placed on a temporary platform opposite the pulpit. Russia stood behind the platform, in the shadows thrown by the canopy erected above it, observing his young leader standing proud before his new subjects, back straight.

The church was packed full of people from the representatives of the Estates to the normal people. Among, them standing to the side, were Finland – dressed in a new, dark blue, uniform-like jacket with golden leaves embroidered in its high collar – and his Provinces, listening intently. A small girl was clutching Finland's hand in a death grip.

Russia listened distractedly as Sprengtporten – the newly chosen Governor-General of Finland, who was receiving a lot of disgruntled glowers from his fellow countrymen and the personifications themselves – read Alexander's Sovereign Pledge in Swedish to the gathered folk. While he couldn't understand what was being said, he did remember the intensive talks and discussions they had had of the wording of the Sovereign Pledge.

 We, Alexander I,

by the Grace of God, the Emperor and Autocrat of all the Russias, etc. etc,
Grand Prince of Finland, etc. etc.

  do make known: That, Providence having placed Us in possession of the Grand Principality of Finland, We have desired hereby to confirm and ratify the Religion and the Fundamental Laws of the Land as well as the privileges and rights which each class in the said Grand Duchy in particular, and all the inhabitants in general, be their position high or low, have hitherto enjoyed according to the Constitution. We promise to maintain all these benefits and laws firm and unshakeable in their full force.

In confirmation whereof We have signed this Act of Assurance with Our own hand . Given in Borgå on the 15th (27th) day of March 1809.

The original is signed under the Supreme Own Hand.

Alexander

Finland would be alright with that, right? The other Nation would be happy and maybe, hopefully, they would be friends.

Russia cared deeply for his sisters but he sometimes had a hard time connecting with them. They were women after all and had no place in men's world; there was no way he could ever understand them perfectly or connect to them in all the ways that mattered.

That was really one of the reasons he wanted more people to live in his house; so that he could have a friend and wouldn't need to be alone. His land was so vast and so many people lived there he could go for years without seeing any of the губе́рнияs – some of them related to him, some of them not – and for once he wanted someone close by. Finland was conveniently close to St. Petersburg, they shared history and even culture, he knew they could be friends. He had tried to be friends with Estonia ninety years earlier but that hadn't worked; it hadn't ever worked with anyone.

He didn't really know how to be a friend.

And if Russia could be friends with anyone, he was sure it would be Finland. The shorter Nation had been friends with Sweden after all and most people were scared of the dour Scandinavian.

Finland's agreement to join him had been relieving. He wanted the Finn to like him; that was why he and Alexander had made such an effort to give his new underling so much freedom. He was going to be a much better friend than Sweden.

Finland would like that and he would be grateful and then the two of them would be real friends.

He was woken from his thoughts by applause ringing out in the church as Sprengtporten handed the Sovereign Pledge to an old man standing directly before Finland and his siblings. The shorter Nation leaned closer to peer at the paper over the man's shoulder and they both read over it in silence before the old man bowed respectfully to the Emperor.

Then, one by one the Estates – Finland's Provinces among them – stepped forward in a scene hauntingly similar to the one that had taken place four months earlier in St. Petersburg, each of them swearing their pledge to their new ruler.

"You seem happy."

Russia glanced down to his side, his violet eyes meeting a similar pair, peering up at him wryly. When had the other crossed the church? He offered Finland a bright smile. "Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, "I'm getting a new friend."

The look in the shorter Nation's eyes was inscrutable but Russia didn't bother to think about it. Not even the loud hurrahs after the pledges interrupted their quiet staring contest. Even Alexander's speech didn't distract them, until the very end when Finland's eyes whipped to the Emperor, wide and somehow breathless in their disbelief. What was the Emperor saying that could bring such a reaction from the other?

"Cet accord va commencer une nouvelle période dans votre existence nationale. J'ai promis de garder votre constitution, vos lois fondamentales, notre réunion ici vous garantit ma promesse." Alexander's last sentence had Finland's lips turning up into a stunned smile, which in turn had Russia smiling like a child. Ah, that explained it.

As the last line was translated into Swedish, applause and cheers broke out in the church, accompanied by cannons somewhere in the distance.

As the things stood now, nothing could take Finland away from him.

Rain fell in a steady, ice-cold grey curtain around the forces marching along the muddy road.  The wind blew the water into their eyes, making it even harder to see in the gloom. Their boots were sucked into the wet ground, as if hands were reaching up from beneath, trying to drag them underground. The men were exhausted and they moved slowly but still strictly in formation.

Austria pursed his lips disapprovingly as he adjusted his glasses – which were making a brave attempt to slide down his aristocratic nose. He really did not like rain but considering that he knew for a fact that France didn't like it either, he was ready to brave the blasted weather in order to get his revenge on the flamboyant Frenchman.

He was ready to bet his Stradivarius – not really, but almost and it was the thought that counted – that France had stayed inside to protect his hair, not that Austria would have minded doing the same.

But beggars – he shuddered at the thought of calling himself a beggar even in his own thoughts – can't be choosers, what with these wars against France getting more and more ridiculous by the year. The romantic Nation's head and ego were just simply too large to fit in Europe anymore – come to think of it, that was probably why France had gathered Colonies around the world in the first place – and they, meaning Austria, had to get him under control as soon as possible.

Although considering his... less than stellar recent performances on the battlefield, he was pretty sure he wouldn't able to beat France alone, even if the thought itself was appealing on a hypothetical level. That would even shut Prussia up for a while, especially considering the blond had chickened out right before Austria's planned invasion. 'Too awesome to work with Austria.' Hah, as if. The puny Kingdom was just in denial, not wanting to admit his weakness after losing half of his landmass and a good chunk of his population only two years earlier. He would rub Prussia's nose on that for at least century.

And no one else was of any help either. England was content playing around with his ships – probably in some delirious reimagining of his pirate days – while the Nations across the continent fell under France's control one by one.

Even Sweden, who had been among the most steady of France's adversaries, had deposed of his King and was still tussling with Russia up in the north. Austria personally didn't see what the fuss was all about; Sweden's vassal – whatever his name was – was hardly significant in the grand scheme of things.

A huge drop of water fell into his eye, causing him to almost fall off of his horse. He rubbed his eye irritably, trying not to drop his glasses.

This was absolutely the worst war he had ever been involved in.

His horse snorted and shook its mane as if in disagreement, somehow managing to drench Austria even worse in the process.

"Bach ohne Ohren," he growled, flicking water from the threateningly drooping Mariazell.

Make that the worst war in the history of the world.

Austria decisively ignored the infuriated sigh Hungary gave somewhere down the line.

Chapter Text

"Mon ami, you really have done a splendid job," France positively beamed as he sailed across the meeting hall to grasp Russia's hand in a vigorous handshake. "The way you have Sweden by the throat with your handling of Finland... truly magnifique."

"You flatter me, Фра нция ," Russia smiled blandly, "I may have the land but the Nation himself remains... elusive."

He never saw Sweden's dependent unless Finland wanted to be seen. He had gotten lucky in the summer, almost managing to sneak up on the smaller Nation. Otherwise they had only seen each other during negotiations, because they both had chosen to be there.

France blinked in surprise, sweeping his blond fringe aside, "Elusive? I admit to not having had much contact with him but he seemed anything but elusive during the Thirty Years' War..."

A fierce cry of "Hakkaa päälle!" seemed to echo through the years before fading to silence.

Russia shrugged uncomfortably, "Finland is many things and fast is one of them."

"Now that I can agree with," France hummed, gazing around the hall distractedly, taking in the mingling higher ranking generals and officials. No one seemed to be paying any attention to the two of them so he turned to Russia, peering at the Empire from the corner of his eyes, placing his hand on the Slav's shoulder, leaning in close and lowering his voice. "Just out of curiosity, why were you late to the Congress?"

A flash of irritation and unease coursed through Russia. France was too close and seemed to think he could order him around. The southern Nation's hot breath in his ear tickled and he took a step back, the smile falling automatically back on his face. He knew perfectly well that he was late; he had even missed a meeting with Prussia – not that he was much of a threat at the moment – on the way over. But France was too pushy; he seemed to think he was the biggest and most powerful Nation in Europe – which he was but it was a mistake to think he was more powerful than Russia. However he ignored the indignation and answered his ally.

Not that he would remain one for long with the way things were developing.

"I signed a second Armistice with Finland," he answered, "He didn't look too good, it's only a matter of time until he ceases his… elusiveness."

France's blue eyes narrowed suspiciously but he nodded in acceptance, before his normal charming smile slid into place. "Your right to Finland is truly undisputed, there's no doubt about that. But speaking of treaties, armistices, wars and allies," he started cheerfully, pulling the other Nation closer, while seeming to conjure two full glasses of wine out of nowhere, one of which he handed to his companion, "it seems Austria is finishing his piano polishing session and is up to no good. I believe it would be beneficial for us –"

For you, you mean, Russia thought darkly, contemplating the hand in his shoulder and what would be the best way to cut it off. A knife would be easy to dispose off while a sword would be at least twice as satisfying…

"– to agree to help each other out to the best of our ability if he decides to try anything," France finished, still hovering way too close for Russia's comfort.

But cutting his ally's hand off would be rude and blood could be really messy to clean up – and because screaming humans were very headache inducing – he decided that the best way to achieve a similar result would be to agree. It wasn't as if he needed to do much. "Fine, sounds good," he agreed, still smiling blandly as he extracted himself from the other's hold again. These southerners were way too touchy-feely. 

Alexander stood beside him, frowning darkly as he read over the missive from the person who seemed to be the most powerful Emperor in all of Europe at the moment.

Russia's luck had just finally about run out; he pouted as he thought back to his last meeting with the other Nation. As it was, he felt as if France was breathing down his neck, about to caress him in that unique way only France could. He shivered unconsciously and glanced over his shoulder and out of the window, seeing the islands dotting the sea.

"Россия, please look at this." Alexander moved the letter a bit so that his Nation could read it without trouble.

Russia pursed his lips as he read the letter from Napoleon and France over Alexander's shoulder.  Apparently Austria had invaded Bavaria and France wanted their help to protect his little vassal.

"Well," Alexander said wryly, "looks like they've come to collect our promises."

"Do we really have to help them?" Russia asked almost petulantly, "France is creepy."

Alexander seemed to consider this seriously. He had met France after all and would agree with Russia's assessment of 'creepy' in a heartbeat. Although some Nations would point out that he had no right to complain, which Russia really didn't understand. It wasn't as if he was creepy, right?

"...We can probably get away with minimal assistance," Alexander said finally. "As long as he's fighting someone else, we've got time to prepare."

Because both of them knew alliances such as theirs never lasted long.

Russia smiled brightly, relieved. He didn't really want to get involved with France any more than he had to. Yes, keeping contact minimal would be fine but it wasn't the time for total separation yet. Time for that would be later. And he wouldn't need to meet the southern Nation again yet either; it wasn't as if minimal assistance required his presence. He would have amble time to finish up with Sweden and agree on the final terms of Finland's living arrangements.

Life was looking good.

Finland was ecstatic and about ready to bounce off the walls in a mess of euphoric glee. However he didn't quite dare to do so, firstly because it would be rather undignified for a national personification to do, secondly because he was still half certain that this was just one absolutely wonderful dream and thirdly because his siblings would probably laugh at him.

At that moment he could care less that a war raged on somewhere far south in Europe, he didn't even care that Sweden was probably still fighting in the north.

For once in his existence – his life – things were going well for him and his siblings, and he wasn't going to let anything ruin it. Feeling sorry for everyone else didn't help them any and doing that always gave him a headache and it wasn't as if they cared what happened to him either. With the possible exception of Sweden, one could never quite tell what was going on in his head.

But who cared about Sweden? He, Finland, was getting autonomy!

The proposals the Estates were working on and the proposals the Deputation had worked on were strongly pointing in that direction – even Sprengtporten wasn't pissing him off as much as normally; okay that was a lie – and all the rights he would get to keep and all the new ones that would be put into place; his own army – carefully regulated, yes, but entirely his – and his own Senate to decide things, how to use the tax money and how to work for the betterment of their people and work with the Committee that would be established in St. Petersburg, a Committee that would only deal with Finnish matters and discuss them directly with the Emperor. For big, international matters they would need to consult him but otherwise they pretty much had free reign.

Finally he would be able to communicate his needs directly and much better than before. Sweden tended to be just as curt on paper as in person so communicating with him had always been a pain. He still felt ill and ready to throw up when he remembered that catastrophic famine in 1690s, God bless his people and especially those poor children's souls.

But right now felt wonderful; his heart soared every time he thought of it and a wide smile spread across his face, making his people smile as well when they saw him in the streets. Even the Provinces had been swept along by the excitement and the difference of it all; things would be different and better than they had ever been. Yes, they had a lot of work before them in order to recover from the war and then later to organise and implement all these changes but that didn't bother them. They were being given responsibility, they were trusted and that feeling was worth everything in the world.

And Russia was being very agreeable about it all, Finland truly hoped it would last and he wasn't being too greedy. But the larger Nation had promised and he wanted the two of them to be friends... So it was okay, it had to be. After all, Russia wasn't known for taking demands or orders lying down; if he truly did not approve of them, Finland would know about it.

But there was no sign of annoyance on Russia's part. The sun was shining on them and spring was on its way. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to ruin his day –

"Suomi, Åland has arrived."

– except that.

He gave a put upon sigh and waved tiredly at Satakunta who was still standing in the doorway. "Let him in."

His brother gave him a wry smile, nodded and opened the door wider, letting in a tall, surly looking teenager. His glasses were askew, he had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and his clothes looked slept in. But in spite of all this, his grey eyes shone with anger and determination as he marched up to Finland's chair, glaring darkly down at him.

The glare didn't do much, as Finland was used to much more frightening glares.

"You seem angry, Åland," he said in a way of greeting, "Coffee?"

"No thank you," he grunted. "However, I would like an explanation as to why the fuckin' hell you're having coffee and relaxin'? Why are you playin' pals with the Cossack?! What the fuck is wrong with you, you bastard finne?!"

The others in the room stared in shock as the smallest Province swore at Finland like the sailor he was and the Nation himself seemed to just take it with no reaction.

But inside he was fuming too.

Finland fought the urge to bang his head against the table at the impetuousness of his adoptive brother. The little twerp (or not so little considering said twerp was taller than him, perkele) had always resented him for not being allowed to live with his 'real' older brother and being forced to live with him and now the brat was being even more annoying than normal.

And that was saying something. 

"Åland," he grit his teeth to keep his voice level, "if you don't shut up right this second, I'm going to confiscate your merchant fleet."

The physically teenaged national personification of Åland Archipelago froze at the threat, "You wouldn't," he finally accused, "you wouldn't dare, storebror wouldn't let you."

Finland ignored the carefully honed twinge of wariness that coursed through him at the threat and ploughed on. It was a high time for the twerp to shut up for once.

"Sweden's opinions are of no consequence," he said sharply, "We're under Russia's rule now."

Åland's eyes flashed with rage behind the lenses of his glasses, "Don't patronise me, Finland. If you hadn't been so weak–"

Suddenly the boy was hoisted into the air by the lapels of his shirt and made to meet Savo's furious blue gaze. "'Weak' you say? If we hadn't been here to hold them off, do you really think you would have lasted alone on your stupid islands?!"

"Certainly better than you, Savolax," Åland spat, "Go back and burn down your stupid forest or something and yourself with it."

This brash statement had the Provinces up in arms as Savo attempted to slug Åland in the face, Pohjanmaa pulled a puukko out of nowhere (to help Savo or protect Åland was anyone's guess), Häme tried to calm Savo a bit so that 'he could have a turn,' Satakunta called all of them uncivilised brutes while trying to twist Åland's ear, Varsinais-Suomi tried to order them to cease and desist for the love of God, Uusimaa tried to join in the fight and Pohjois-Karjala looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Thank God chaos like this wasn't exactly a regular occurrence.

Finland stared at them in disbelief. Part of him was tempted to join in the mayhem but he was also supposed to be the responsible one, sometimes much to his chagrin. He sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. Why is it always me? he wondered despairingly.

"Turvat umpeen, håll tyst!" he finally shouted, banging the decorative bust of some dead noble on the table. Finland was generally a calm and reasonable Nation, but he liked a good fight as much as anyone. Just in carefully controlled amounts and not too often.

The rabble-rousers froze at the shout, all of them well aware that when Finland got pissed off and started shouting, it was generally a wise decision to run for the hills or at least have coffee or a warm sauna to offer as a consolation and an apology.

"Åland, your future is still a bit more open to interpretation than ours so kindly shut up. Also, keep in mind that we've had to content ourselves with practical abandonment from Sweden and we really don't have the energy to fight with anyone," Finland explained with considerably more patience than one would expect as he placed the slightly dented bust back in its proper place on the corner of the desk as if he hadn't even touched it, "The rest of you, just remember Åland is a prat and hates us."

Åland's protest went unheard as the rest of the Provinces muttered their consent at Finland's peace terms.

Although knowing them, the peace wouldn't last long but Finland remained hopeful.

Hope was what had got him through the troubles in the past after all.

As Finland had observed the Diet at work for the past two months or so, one thing over the others had caught his attention. This thing, that to many would only seem like one of the tiniest of details with no real importance, touched him on the deepest level imaginable. Until now, for centuries, he had been playing the second fiddle in the eyes of his people, even for those who had never in their life even though of crossing the Gulf of Bothnia. Sweden had always been the fädernesland – the fatherland – and he himself merely their fosterbygd – the homeland, home area.

"Mitt fosterland," Rehbinder murmured softly, with a dip of his head, which Finland found himself responding to with a slight smile.

But now... things were changing and they were changing fast, especially from the point of view of an immortal. It was mind staggering, the way especially the nobility's attitude evolved into something new and something so wonderful it left Finland breathless. And they did it so casually, as if it was a fact of life.

It had started out rather subtle; with them worrying about being 'too Swedish' for the Emperor to accept them properly. What if that endangered this special position they and Finland were about to gain? Then in the same breath they would be hurrying to insist that despite that they certainly didn't want to become Russians, as their uncivilised ways were clearly inferior to Swedish culture.

Finland didn't blame them for being torn about it, he was too.

And that was exactly why it was so wonderful, marvellous – or großartig as Prussia would say – that the nobles had started to talk of him – Finland – as their... fatherland. First only in the documents, and then they started to address him as thus to his face; våra kära fädernesland – our loved fatherland – they would say. Or just fosterland which he didn't mind either because fädernesland was a bit stuffy in comparison even though the meaning was the same.

But those were just minor details. The most important thing was that he wasn't just their dear home area anymore, he was so much more.

Their homeland, their fatherland.

The first time they did that had him blushing and stammering for a week. But in spite of his embarrassment, his sudden promotion from a mere underling to something that was almost an independent Nation was very flattering.

Even if Åland claimed he was just a dirty gold digger and that he should think more about all the good things Sweden had done for him. Finland personally preferred trying not to think about it, this whole situation was complicated enough without worrying about what Sweden might be thinking.

It wasn't as if he hadn't heard all of it before, he distinctly remembered Gustav III's speech after the Anjala Conspiracy had come to light. '...Let your conscience tell you in what sort of debt of gratitude you are to Us. Remember what advantages your connection with Sweden has brought you: the true knowledge of the Great God, knowledge and enlightenment, useful institutions, productive livelihoods and better ways of life. Remember, how often Svea's blood has been shed for your protection and how your power will never be enough to do it alone.'

Well, the apparent inability to protect himself had been proven true if nothing else. But whose fault was that? Certainly not his, he was tied to his orders just as tightly as any human.

And things were going to change now, all across the board. He would become stronger and he would retain a clear divide between himself and Russia, to ensure his chances to grow. He didn't want to be looked down on anymore.

Next time, he would protect himself.

 Sweden's recent disposition wasn't particularly sweet or popular in Stockholm – not that it ever had been but things were now worse and that was noticeable – and the Nation didn't have any trouble admitting that, to others or himself.  His king had been declared unfit to rule, the regent wasn't much better, there were Russians, fighting, in the northern parts of his land and on top of those he had lost Finland.

Sweden didn't curse very often but as things stood now he was very tempted to. A treason of this magnitude was near unheard off outside revolutions and now he was facing one. Finland didn't just do things like this, he was loyal to a fault and had stood by Sweden's side through countless wars, famines and other catastrophes.

In the beginning he had attempted to convince himself it was all just a huge mistake, that Finland was only captured and imprisoned again, that he was not actively working with Russia.

That his dependent, friend, partner, brother, hadn't betrayed him.

But now, after all the news and rumours that had trickled across the Gulf separating them, he had no doubts about it anymore; his long-time friend – more like a brother, really – had turned his back on him, abandoned him, for Russia. Finland's people had been leaning towards that direction for a while now – and he had noticed it but dismissed such thoughts as rubbish. But now when those fears had come true, he couldn't help but wonder if Finland, too, had entertained such thoughts. And if so, for how long?

Sweden hated being an underling of any sort – that was why he had fled Denmark's rule in the first place – and now, once again, he had some other Nation telling him what to do. And it just had to be this particular Nation...

"Stop scowling, it looks, like, totally creepy," his kind-of ruler of the moment huffed, whacking Sweden in the face with a handkerchief. His chin length blond hair was immaculately groomed as his green gaze flickered around the church in distaste. "I would say it will be stuck looking like that if it totally already wasn't."

Sweden's eyebrow twitched dangerously. To imagine, this jester had been at least wary of him just ten years earlier when he had been the conqueror of Estonia. And now he was just the old grouch, scowling in the corner, no one of consequence.

Not for the first time, he wished Johan hadn't married Katarina.

"It's just too plain, like your face," Poland pursed his lips disapprovingly. "I should totally be allowed to order you to turn back to Catholic, this Lutheranism thing is so not fabulous."

"We have an agreement," Sweden ground out. "I and all my people remain Lutheran in spite of Sigismund being Catholic."

"It's Zygmunt but whatever," Poland brushed the protest aside with a wave of his hand.

A slight cough interrupted their staring contest and Sweden turned from the other Nation to see a messenger standing warily ten feet away from the two, holding what appeared to be a letter.

"Vad är det?" Sweden asked gruffly, interrupting Poland before the other could do the same. He was not going to let the other treat him as he pleased; this was his land and these were his people and no Pole was going to tell him otherwise.

"A letter from herr Lugnström in Finland, my Lord," the messenger answered, shooting a nervous look towards Poland.

"Oh not again!" the shorter Nation wailed. "Why won't that insufferable country pumpkin just stop? Didn't I order all complaints to be totally stopped?!"

The messenger gulped nervously and handed the missive to Sweden before deciding it wise to leave the scene. The Nation ignored Poland's homicidal mutterings and broke open the wax seal.

Sweden,

Please, I implore you, this is already the fifth letter I've sent and I barely managed to get it past Fleming this time. He won’t listen to me at all, won’t you please speak to the Privy Council, the Duke and the King? I and my people just can't handle this anymore, they're tired after the long war against Novgorod and they can't support the upkeep of such a large army in times of peace. Some of those soldiers act as if we're the enemy! It's intolerable, seeing my people treated in such a way and it can't continue. We won't let it continue. They won't stand for it and neither will I. And all of this on top of all your other demands!

Please, just put a stop to this before something happens.

Deo volente,
Finland

He stared at the signature for a moment, before he carefully folded the letter again, staring expressionlessly at Poland who had apparently gone back to grumbling about the decor of his church. He had more important things to worry about besides Finland's problem.

He didn't really understand why his dependent was complaining. Finland's Stadtholder was the one who insisted the army was necessary to 'protect Finland and his people in case Novgorod decided to attack again. The eastern lands were especially vulnerable to attack, being so sparsely populated. Those men were necessary to protect the border.'

Neither Sweden or Duke Karl believed that for a moment. Ever since Fleming had received his position, Finland had been drifting further and further away from Sweden's control. The man was too keen to support Sigismund and was dragging Finland with him. The lesser Nation had no business coming to Sweden to complain about his own Stadtholder's 'unfair treatment' when Sweden had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Besides that, Finland’s other complaints about 'other demands' were utterly ridiculous; he needed those Finnish troops in the Baltics. The people there obeyed better when they could talk with the officials and soldiers. Finland was friends with Estonia, and the Baltic was much easier to control when Finland worked as an intermediary. And that tax money was needed to keep the Kingdom running, Finland really shouldn’t be complaining about that.

‘But maybe...’ he stopped to consider, still staring at the Pole,’ I could use this to my advantage...’

Parts of Finland had definitely not been loyal to Sweden then and after the lesser Nation had been punished for his infraction… Surely not since then? That was too fantastical, two hundred years of silence was just ludicrous, there was no way it could have lasted that long. And Finland had been happy to pay back all the dues in the following wars against Poland, he couldn't still hold a grudge against Sweden.

He frowned darkly at the map – a goddamned useless piece of paper since a few months ago – spread across his desk. How long had Finland been planning his betrayal? A month? Six months? A year? Twenty years? Two hundred years?

And why did Russia suddenly want to keep Finland? Every other time he had lost Finland, Russia had always given the smaller Nation back, mostly in one piece. Finland was a lovely country but there really wasn't that much there, so just... why?

And Finland was his.

He took his glasses off and rubbed his temple wearily. Nothing was going his way, nothing had gone his way since Karl XII was killed. As thins were, he would need to propose peace and fall in line with Russia's doubtlessly outrageous demands, starting with France's infernal continental blockade and ending with losing Finland.

A knock from the door roused him from his thoughts. "Kom in," he said, placing his glasses carefully back on his face and trying to appear busy.

A messenger stepped in, taking his high felt hat off and digging his letter for the missive, "A letter from Åland, Milord," the man said, holding the letter out to his Nation.

He felt a flash of irritation at the ambiguousness; he could never really tell if the letters were from the locals at the place mentioned or the actual personification. The human names were another stupid change in the recent world; of course they made dealing with certain groups of people easier but that didn't change his feelings about it.

"Tack," he said, taking the letter, not showing his thoughts except in the darkening of his expression. He ripped the envelope open the moment the messenger had left the room hurriedly.

To his relief, it was Åland's handwriting. Maybe he would finally find out what was going on with Finland.

Min käre storebror,

Earlier today the Borgå landtdag came to an end peacefully. Finne and the others seem to be okay – practically ecstatic, more like – about it and they dined with Ryssland and the Tsar afterwards. I refrained from joining out of loyalty to you and out of disgust of the Cossack.

I'm worried, the way they're talking makes it seem as if I'm fated to remain here. To be honest I don't want to. I know you preferred to have me live with finne but now it's coming back to bite me and you in the behind. I want to come back to live with you! I'm not like them, just willing to switch sides at the drop of the hat! I'm a proud Swede and nothing will change that!

Just... please, save me from this. I'm sure there's something you can do.

Din kärleksfull lillebror,
Åland

Borgå den 19 juli 1809

Duke Karl stood by the window in the Åbo Castle hall, staring down into the paved courtyard with a dark frown on his brows. Sweden stood small ways away, inspecting a worn tapestry hanging on the wall. A stylishly dressed medieval noble lady was smiling coquettishly at a nobleman wasn’t particularly interesting but at least it prevented him from wondering what he had seen and was about to see.

Dying wasn’t anything new to a Nation and neither were executions. In fact, Nations were executed considerably more often than one would think; Sweden himself as recently as during the Stockholm massacre barely eighty years earlier in Denmark's hands. But to his knowledge, this would have been the first time Finland had been executed.

And Sweden really wasn’t certain how he felt about it. On one hand it left him feeling sick to his stomach, thinking how his long time partner had been beheaded with an axe, while on the other hand he felt it was justified.

Finland had been getting big-headed in the last fifty years and just complaining more and more for the last four. It felt as if he was forgetting his place and while Sweden had been willing to... encourage that when it was against Poland, enough was enough. Finland had no right to think too much of himself.

“Bring him in,” Karl’s voice broke through the still air of the hall.

The guard bowed and pulled the door to the hallway open, admitting in just four people. If Sweden was honest, he had been expecting more; he was well aware that on a good day Finland could wrestle a bear down and barely break a sweat in the process.

Today was not a good day for obvious reasons.

Two people were holding a small form tightly between them, with the third one – a small girl of maybe eight summers in age – following along behind them, looking scared and staying near the door, clearly hoping to escape their notice. The captured form was slumped over heavily, his head hanging forward, legs moving sluggishly, stumbling on the hard-wood floor. The blond hair was a mess, still stained with crusted blood, even a week after the execution. His dirty linen tunic was stained even worse, as if the shoulders had been dyed unevenly with dark, rust-coloured dye.

The sight was chilling and Sweden was torn between hurrying over to check on Finland and standing back and looking judgingly down at the rebel. He was pretty sure he had never seen his partner this defeated, not even during the Black Death or the many wars the two of them had fought together.

The two guards dropped Finland down to his knees on the floor and stepped back, leaving the Nation swaying weakly, as if he was missing his sense of balance. The silence hanging around them felt heavy and oppressing. The girl shifted by the door, hugging herself tightly and staring anxiously at Finland. Then slow, measured steps echoed through the empty hall as Karl walked closer to the kneeling form.

“Look up,” the words were sharp and lashed through the air like a whip.

For a moment it seemed as if nothing would happen but then, slowly, the blond head started to rise, revealing hazy, violet eyes staring up at them from a bruised but surprisingly un-bloodied face.

Sweden could see the jagged scar marring Finland’s throat, stark and inflamed on the washed skin. He found himself hoping the crusted blood would have hidden it from sight.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Finland?” Karl asked.

Finland’s jaw opened slowly, his teeth stained black as a slow, wheezy gurgle escaped his lips, along with a bubble of blood that burst and dripped down his chin, painting it crimson anew. The girl gasped and took two hesitant steps closer. With an unpleasant jolt in the bottom of his stomach, Sweden realised that only the spine, his airways and some of the muscles had been restored.

More blood bubbled out and Finland let out a horrible, wet cough making blood splatter all over the floor.

Karl scoffed and walked past the defeated Nation, not even acknowledging him as worth a notice anymore. “Lock him back up and make sure he won’t cause any trouble to his new handlers.”

The girl stumbled aside as Karl swept out of the door and then ran across the room, dropping on her knees in the small pool of blood. “Isoveli...!”

With Karl out of the room Sweden’s breaths sounded heavy in his ears as he finally stepped closer to his partner, out of the shadows by the tapestry. The girl’s blue eyes were wary and even faintly defiant as her hold of Finland’s upper arm tightened. The small Nation’s eyes moved towards him at the sound, staring up at him and looking small and weak in a way he hadn’t ever seemed. Finland had always held a certain pride in him that was now absent and maybe that’s what prompted Sweden to speak.

“Finland...” he stepped closer, holding his hand towards the partner, his friend, his brother.

Finland flinched away, his eyes screaming of betrayal.

For half a heartbeat Sweden was frozen in place before his hand dropped and he marched out of the room after Karl, leaving Finland alone with his guards and the girl who was now wiping blood from the other Nation’s chin.

It was no use anyway.

"Ce peuple brave et loyal bénira la Providence qui a amené l'ordre de chose actuel. Placé desormais au rang des nations, sous l'empire de ses loix, il ne se ressou- viendra de la domination passée que pour cultiver des rapports d'amitié lorsqu'ils seront rétablis par la paix."

"These brave and loyal people will bless Providence that brought them their present order of things. Henceforth placed among the ranks of nations under the Empire's laws, they will remember the past domination and use it to cultivate this friendship, which will be restored with peace."

Alexander I ~ July 19 1809

Chapter Text

The sun shone brightly outside, a slight wind blew in through the window that had been cracked open, people walked the streets as usual and Finland finally had the house almost all to himself for a while. He felt a bit guilty for having forced Uusimaa to all but give up her house for their family to live in for the duration of their stay and Diet work in Porvoo. The whole arrangement just reminded him why they all preferred to stay in their own houses whenever given the chance, much easier on the ears and no conflict of interests in where was the right place to do woodwork.

He leant back comfortably in his chair, turning the page on the small book in his hands. Finland liked reading although he would have preferred if he had some material more fitting for leisure-time reading available. Not that all the philosophy and enlightenment literature wasn't interesting or invigorating; he just sometimes wanted to think less. Anders Chydenius's thoughts on the trade and economy were absolutely fascinating and his writings on the rights of the farmers and equality filled Finland with pride but they still made for rather dry reading.

Of course he had a secondary motive for wanting something more riveting to read; he was doing his best not to think of Sweden.

His former overlord hadn't attempted to contact him even once, not since he switched sides. And who could blame Sweden for that? He wouldn't have contacted a traitor like himself either.

And he himself wasn't planning to initiate contact either, not when it was so crucial to keep his distance, for the sake of his future.  At this point he was mostly certain he would stay with Russia but with the insanity once again taking over the world situations could change in the blink of an eye.

Funnily enough, for once he preferred the possibility of staying with Russia. While he didn't get even half the news he had previously got from Stockholm, the ones he did get weren't very promising. The changes that were taking place there were very much undesired and the things they said about his people – traitors, cowards and weaklings – were horrible. He played the best he could with the cards he was dealt and no one had any right to judge him for it as far as he was concerned.

Sweden had renounced him long before Finland had.

And all things considered he was – not okay, per se, but coping with it. He knew his treason had probably hurt Sweden and he hadn't wanted to do that, not really. But they were Nations (the feeling of having been acknowledged as one verbally had been unbelievable – he had actually hugged Russia, something he had never dared to do to Sweden in all the past centuries) and their actions were very much dictated by their people and history.

"Isoveli?"

He looked up from his book and smiled at his sister standing in the doorway. "What is it, Uusimaa?"

The girl shifted uneasily, glancing over her shoulder towards the front door. "Russia is here, asking for you."

Finland blinked in surprise. Why would Russia want to see him today? Things were under the control of what would probably very soon become his very first Senate and Finland himself really didn't have that much power... "Let him in," he instructed quickly, standing up and heading directly for the side cabinet; knowing from his recently restarted letter exchange with Estonia and the long periods of time he had spent with Russia recently that alcohol was an excellent way to stay on the other Nation's good side. A movement from the doorway interrupted him before he could do more than open the door.

"Greetings Финля́ндия," Russia smiled at his newest acquisition.

"Greetings Russia," he answered cheerfully over his shoulder, pulling out a half-full bottle and holding it up for a look, "Some pontikka?"

Russia tilted his head curiously, stepping into the room to peer at the bottle, "Is it vodka?" he seemed almost eager for a response and Finland smiled slightly.

"Home-burnt by yours truly," he replied, pouring a glass for both of them. Russia drank his down in one go, immediately asking for more.

"So... what brings you to my door?" Finland asked curiously after taking his first sip of the alcohol.

Russia hummed thoughtfully, swirling the drink around in his glass, "Do you still have people fighting in Sweden's army?" he asked instead of answering.

Finland licked his lips thoughtfully. "My people finished their last fight there two weeks ago, I've been told they've been freed from their duties."

Russia nodded in acceptance. "Are they coming home?"

"I... hope so," Finland admitted, not really knowing the answer. "It depends on how they'll be treated, I think."

Russia didn't acknowledge the roundabout inquiry but instead said something that Finland had both waited for eagerly and dreaded from the bottom of his heart.

"Sweden has proposed a peace treaty."

Finland's fingers twitched around his glass nervously and he took great care to keep his gaze on the liquid inside it. "… Am I to assume I'm staying with you?" he asked carefully. He didn't believe Sweden's thoughts on him were particularly heart-warming at the moment and Russia was honestly nice to him. Finland really liked his new freedom even if it was a lot of work.

"Of course you are," Russia said firmly, meeting the shorter Nation's eyes, "I just wanted to keep you posted and tell you where and when we will be signing the treaty, as is proper."

Finland nodded in acceptance, long used to such things. The highest-ranking provincial and regional personifications were always present when decisions were being made about them, even if they themselves had no say in how things were done. And that was usually the case with Finland; he was simply expected to show up with the personifications from his land who were the greatest points of concern for the negotiations, sit quietly while the Big Nations made the decisions and act accordingly.  "Where and when?"

"Friedrichshafen starting next month."

His heart made a funny little jump at the name. He knew it from before, it was his town, no matter what it was called. "Fredrikshamn?" he breathed in wonder.

Russia's violet eyes softened the shorter Nation's wistfulness. "You miss your sister, да?" he asked quietly.

Finland nodded slowly, "Yes, but not as much as Norra-Karelen."

Russia chuckled. "No, probably not. But I want you to know one thing," he continued, face now more serious as he met Finland's gaze. "I understand that this situation is a bit… sensitive. You and your Provinces can skip the negotiations, as long as you come to the signing."

Finland released a breath he didn't even realise he had been holding, his eyes flickering to his feet. "I think I would prefer that. Thank you."

"You're welcome, Finland."

*************

Russia's first meeting with Sweden in several years wasn't very heartfelt and he frankly speaking he wasn't very surprised about that. He had after all captured Finland again and he was keeping him this time too.

Sweden didn't seem to appreciate it.

"Du är död, Ryssland!" the Scandinavian hissed, hands clenching into tight fists. Russia felt pleasure at the rage displayed by a Nation who was generally regarded as totally unflappable.

"Нет, Sweden, if anyone here is dead, it's you," Russia said softly. It was true after all; Sweden's time of glory was well and truly over while Russia's growth was nowhere near ending. Old Nations and Empires always fall, sooner or later, no matter how strong they may have been in their glory days. "You've already lost your empire and Finland and deposed of your king; do not make this any more painful for yourself than it already is. You cannot do anything to me as things stand now, да?"

Sweden gritted his teeth and turned sharply on his heels, stalking over to the table covered in maps and other miscellaneous papers. He ignored Russia in favour of shuffling with them seemingly at random but Russia could see his old enemy's hands shaking and the lonely bead of sweat sliding down his temple. Sweden was more shaken than Russia had ever seen him.

"Why can't we draw the border at Kemi älv and Ounasjoki? Why would you want the eastern half of Lappland and parts of Västerbotten?" Sweden demanded sharply, ignoring Russia's mocking words, "Don't you have enough snow already?" he asked derisively as he pointed at the map spread across the table.

"For security," Russia answered, leaning his chin on his steepled fingers, "I can't have you looming over Finland from the north, you might attempt to take him back and he likes living with me. And the Каликс-Эльв makes good natural border to prevent that. " And his troops had made it that far, it would've only been fair to let him keep those lands.

Sweden's glare seemed to intensify but Russia had regarded himself as immune to it after all the wars the two of them had fought – at least ten as of today, and how do you properly count tribe conflicts anyway? – the Northern Crusades and the time under the rule of the Golden Horde – another Nation long past his height of power by now.

"Absolutely out of question," Sweden denied sharply. "You say you won't have me hover over Finland, and I'll certainly not have you hover over me."

Russia pursed his lips. "But most of the people in that region speak Finnish, correct?"

Sweden's eyes narrowed dangerously. "That does not matter, I'm not giving up that much of my territory to the likes of you."

Russia's smile was cold as he leant forward, his eyes flashing darkly. "You really have no say about that, do you Шве́ция?"

They had come to a standstill, neither of them willing to give an inch to the other. Sweden had just lost the worst war in his history and was ready to do anything to minimise his losses, while Russia simply revelled in his might, intent on proving it indisputably with this treaty. The peace talks stretched from days to weeks, with both the Nations and the humans bickering back and forth over the new border.

Then the Swedish main negotiator, von Stendigkt – whom Russia knew from the man's time as the Sweden's permanent diplomat in St. Petersburg – fell sick. Everyone knew that if the old man died, the negotiations would stretch even more and no one wanted that. They needed to reach a compromise and it was Russia's Tsar who proposed it to him in a private discussion.

"Are Турне-Эльв and Муониоэльвен good enough compromise for you?" Russia asked Sweden, standing a respectful distance away and pointing at the proposed line on the map. "Then no one's hovering anywhere."

The western Nation didn't protest this turn of events, content with his small victory for now. Sweden's reasons for protesting had been purely for his own self-interest because for everyday life, the northernmost parts of their lands held little importance. They were nigh impossible to inhabit, unless one counted Sápmi's nomadic reindeer herders and as it was, she had never obeyed any of their past borders anyway so her opinions hardly mattered.

Russia was used to negotiating treaties and he liked it when he was on the winning side of things, much easier to get his own demands through. It was a pity Sweden hadn't given up as much as he had wanted but at least he got a lot more than Sweden had been willing to give up. Now he would just have to somehow convince Sweden give up the Åland Archipelago, there was absolutely no way he was leaving such a nice strategic location to the westerner's hands. It would be an easy base to launch attacks on Finland, especially when he took into account all those little islands dotting the way between the mainland and the Archipelago.

Besides, he needed something to hold over Sweden's head... or point at his heart as it were.

He had managed to conquer the islands, there was no way he was giving up the perfect base to control all of the Baltic Sea.

And then there were those little details that would ensure Finland's compliance, ease of transition in the politics and general power structure and – most importantly – happiness. A thrilling hum of energy travelled through Russia's body at the thought. Finally, finally, he would have a proper friend, someone who liked him and whom he could talk to.

*************

Finland didn't like treaties. Treaties generally didn't end well for him, especially not after Sweden's empire had collapsed almost a century ago. From his point of view, every treaty had been another step downhill towards a total destruction since then.

This time, however, he was unusually confident. He had technically been under Russia's control for almost a year now and he had been treated extremely well, all things considered. Even the Provinces had been fine with the changes, minimal as they had been. Things were good and given the fact that Russia had the upper hand in the whole thing and considering their deals made over the past year, Finland might very well walk out of this situation with a larger landmass than ever before, more freedom than he ever dreamed off and the potential for his people to be happier than they had ever been.

His only company for the journey to Hamina was Åland, the only Province whose fate in the Treaty was in question. Everyone else's futures were tied tightly to his own and thus were not needed for the final signing. The Archipelago was scowling darkly as he gazed around the town – Finland wasn't entirely sure if the glare was because of the situation or because Åland was unused to extended amount of riding.

Finland's own observations were more curious than annoyed as his gaze swept over the quaint wooden houses lining the streets up the hill. He felt rather relaxed and couldn't help wondering if Karjala was also in attendance, for he had no doubt she knew what was going on. There was no way she wouldn't keep an eye on all the traffic passing through her lands. Although knowing Russia she probably wasn't present, and was instead at her normal place of residence, in Viipuri.

The two of them met Russia at one Commandant’s house, located near the centre of town. The taller Nation smiled brightly at the two of them, inviting them in for refreshments and accommodations before the next day's final formalities. Åland slipped away the first chance he was given, possibly to go to the harbour or even smoke out Sweden's accommodations (not that he actually cared), while Finland forced himself to socialise with Russia for a moment, trying to get the taller Nation to tell him the conditions of the treaty. He only got insufferable smiles in response to his inquiries and decided it would be prudent for him to take his leave as well.

He was starting to think again even though he tried not to. He tried not to think about how the next day would be the first time he would see Sweden since that day in Stockholm one and half years ago.

It was already late in the evening when he wandered down the streets, gazing in turns up at the cloudy sky or the beaten dirt of the street. He could smell the slightly salty whiff of the sea behind his back, in the south, the only sound he could discern was the crunching dirt beneath his Sunday shoes.

No matter how much he brooded or – as he did more recently, complained – the companionship he had shared with Sweden had been... comfortable and familiar, for the lack of better words. They had had their rough patches but not nearly as many as some other Nations had had, if the stories he had heard over the years and his own observations held any truth.

And now it was ending, just like all things came to an end at some point.

Finland didn't particularly like getting involved with Sweden's court – it tended to end badly and the nobles in Stockholm didn't particularly like him anyway – so when he was handed someone who the regency council wanted to get rid off, he had felt rather apprehensive. Sure, he wanted someone to keep an eye on things and stand by his interests while he fought for Sweden in the Holy Roman Empire's lands, but having it be someone who wasn't seen favourably by the court left him uneasy.

France's involvement in the war against the Catholics had afforded him a visit home – a huge relief as he had barely had any time for it, what with Sweden having him gallivanting all across Europe. Their forces were once again gaining momentum, properly for the first time since the King's death, so he had even less time than before. Sweden himself managed to escape the battlefield from time to time to have tea parties with his Girl King… (Not that Finland would have minded doing the same, she was intelligent and considerably better company than, say, France).

He shouldn't have worried because if Count Pietari Brahe was anything, he was efficient and Finland's head had never felt clearer. Sure, not everyone liked him – Sweden and his high officials among them – but Finland generally liked the Count, he took his job seriously and honestly asked Finland and his people if something needed fixing.

Then he went and fixed it in an almost brutally efficient manner that sometimes left people complaining; 'the new post is too much trouble to maintain' even if it worked better than ever.

Of course, the fact that the Count also tried to learn at least basic Finnish helped to appeal him to the nation. He had been rather sad to see him go when he was named a riksdrots again.

As the Count had said, Finland had been quite pleased with him.

Soon after he had been recalled to the battlefield under the orders of Field Marshal Torstenson and he had returned gladly now that he knew things at home were well or even better than they had been in the past.

Their war cry rang out as the cavalry unit charged towards opposing army, pulling out his first pistol, taking aim and firing. The Nation righted his posture on the saddle a bit, his hold of the reigns tightening, before he fired his second pistol. Finland was grinning madly as he pulled out his sword and his sturdy horse trampled their first victim, amidst the cries of the soldiers. As he pulled his sword out of the shoulder of the enemy soldier, he barely felt the still warm blood splatter over him like rain, staining his horse's flank red.

For a moment he lost himself in the mass of bodies and the cries of the dying. Excitement and blood lust coursed through his body, generating a frenzy of movement that somehow seemed to last forever. Everything seemed sharper, more in focus as he sliced through the soldiers, their dying voices echoing in his ears before falling silent.

Finally the swarm of bodies seemed to lessen, leaving him and Ukko standing, panting, in the middle of the circle of calm among the chaos.

"A horribile... Haccapaelitorum agmine... libera nos, Domine," a scared voice gasped out behind him and as Finland turned to look, he saw a child - maybe eight summers in age at most, with wide blue eyes and light blond hair - crossing himself as he stumbled backwards from him.

As if that would do anything on the battlefield.

Finland straightened in his saddle, adjusting his grip of his sword, causing the younger Nation to take a step back in fear and stumble a bit.

"Holy Roman Empire," Finland mused, smiling slightly, staring down at the lad, who seemed to pale even more as he realised the blood covered, violet eyed young man before him was a Nation - older and apparently more dangerous than himself. "I didn't know you were that scared of me," he grinned.

He was actually astonished they hadn't run across each other earlier, they had already been at war for eleven years.

The Empire took a deep breath and lifted his chin, trying to look imposing and fearless. But just as he was opening his mouth to retort, the retreating soldiers pulled him along, away from the advancing enemy. Finland was just about to urge Ukko on after the retreating army when a call behind him stopped him.

"Finland."

The Nation turned and grinned. "Sweden," he said in greeting.

The other raised an eyebrow, taking in the shorter man's blood spattered wide collar that used to be white, the stained sword and leather armour and the slightly panting horse. "Enjoying yourself?"

The young man blinked in surprise at the question and looked down at himself, causing his a bit too large helmet tip a bit, hiding his forehead, before he pushed it back into its proper position. "Oh," he hummed, "actually, yes."

He looked up and positively beamed at Sweden atop his higher horse, that looked considerably more regal than Finland's smaller and sturdier stallion - the very one the Germans had been laughing at when he first showed up in the battlefields. Shows what they know. "Holy Roman Empire prayed for the Lord 'to deliver them from the terrible army of hakkapeliitta.'"

Sweden actually snorted, his lips twitching in a terrifying manner - which Finland recognised from experience as an attempt not to smile. "They're rather terrifying," he agreed. "I might get more time to fight if I left you home."

Finland huffed and sheathed his sword. "Don't you dare. I'll fight, I'm not anyone's housewife."

Sweden hmm'd in response, raising an eyebrow meaningfully at him.

"Don’t you ‘hmm’ at me! I don't look like a girl!"

*************

Sweden didn't really know what to think when Finland and Åland stepped into the meeting room on Russia's heels. His little brother was scowling and his former vassal looked remarkably calm in spite of the clear signs of nervousness, biting his lip and tugging his sleeve to better hide his wrists. How many times had he seen Finland do the same in the past?

Too many to be forgotten about but could he really act any other way than cold indifference? He had long exhausted his hate and anger arguing with Russia and their officials about the final terms of the treaty. He just felt so empty and he was, inexplicitly, wary of the future in a way he hadn't been for a long time. How would he and his country function from now on, after losing Finland?

And he still wasn't any clearer on how he felt about Finland's betrayal.

He tried to catch the shorter Nation's eye, in vain, before meeting Åland's worried, scared and angry grey eyes. He didn't have anything encouraging to offer his little brother and Sweden turned his head away in shame. He felt an uncertain hand touch his upper arm and he glanced down, to the side, meeting the brown eyes eastern Lappland. She tried to offer him an encouraging smile, but it seemed somehow frail. A slight whine from her arms had him scratching Blomma's ear.

When this was over, he would be leaving Fredrikshamn alone, leaving behind Finland and all the eastern Provinces. His land would be reduced to half of what it used to be, when he shared it with Finland.

It would get better with time, he hoped. He had lost land before. But not anything that had been a part of him for so long.

Russia clapped his hands together, smiling brightly at the people in the room. "Now," he said, "we have a treaty to sign."

Sweden scowled darkly but nodded, all but ready to sign the stupid paper already and just leave. He didn't want to prolong this farce any longer than he had to; he had better things to do in reorganising his government and trying to forget this fiasco ever happened.

Russia turned formally to Finland, clearly eager to explain exactly what had been agreed on between the two Nations. "In addition to details about you, we also talked about some international articles which are not important or affect you much, so we'll not go over them now. Firstly; the new border that has been agreed on is as follows; from Sea of Åland to Gulf of Bothnia and along the Tornio and Muonio Rivers."

Finland's eyes widened slightly as his gaze shot quickly to Åland, standing at his side looking absolutely crushed, and to eastern Lappland standing nervously to the side with Blomma. He seemed totally astonished about this turn of events and opened and closed his mouth a few times as if he were a stranded fish. It was unusual, if not totally unheard of; Sweden certainly had never heard of a conquered region gaining more territory. He motioned for the Province to come forward and she offered a nervous smile to Finland who grinned nervously in response, seemingly uncertain how to react.

Russia's smile seemed to widen. "Be sure to welcome a new member of our family," he said, waving his hand at the girl and the dog.

Blomma – utterly unconcerned by the tense atmosphere – started yipping happily at the sight of Finland. He chuckled a bit, relaxing as he took the excitable dog from his new sister.

"Hei, Kukkis, it's been a while," he murmured softly to the white puppy, who licked his cheek happily and Lappland relaxed a bit. Finland offered the girl a smile, looking up from Blomma. "Lappi, it's been a while, hasn't it?"

Eastern Lappland nodded. "Nice to meet you...?" It sounded more like a question than a proper greeting but Finland didn't seem to mind as he handed the puppy back to her, returning his attention to Russia, who had surprisingly let the two greet each other in peace. Lappland glanced at Sweden, looking relieved that Finland had seemed to welcome her warmly, if a tad uncertain.

"In addition," Russia continued as if nothing had happened, "All of your people are automatically freed from their pledge to the King of Sweden and my army will return peacefully through your lands back to mine, relying on our own supplies. All prisoners of war will be returned within three months with no monetary ransom required, but if they're unable to return within that timeframe due to illness or some such, there will be no follow-up consequences; there will also be no trials for those whose integrity has come to question."

Finland seemed to relax and smile more and more as Russia listed the points in the treaty. The last one seemed to be particularly relieving, Sweden thought darkly. Of course Russia wouldn't want the people who helped to cement his power to be punished but why did Finland seem so happy about it?

And why must they go over it in such detail anyway? Finland could just read it later, right? Russia probably just wanted to humiliate Sweden even more in his loss.

Oh how the mighty have fallen. Ett liv för rikets väl, aldrig återvända – a life for the kingdom's sake, never to return.

"All old debts, by Finns to Swedes and Swedes to Finns must be paid in the agreed schedule. All trade between you and Sweden is to continue as your people see fit. And, most importantly, we've agreed on a three year change period during which time those on your land who are of Swedish descent and those on Sweden's lands who are of Finnish descent, are allowed to choose in which country they wish to live in," Finland's eyes widened in shock, actually letting out an astonished gasp and Sweden turned his gaze away, bitter.

"Tha-that's..." Finland stammered, before clearing his throat. "Thank you, Russia, Sweden," he said firmly, except for the slight waver in his voice at the last name, "This means a lot to me."

Russia clapped him on the shoulder, setting the treaty back on the table and signing it with flourish, handing the pen to Sweden who had said nothing during the whole meeting. He felt numb and he really had nothing to say. Finland clearly felt this was all for the best and that... actually hurt.

He had thought he was long past hurting over such things.

He signed his name on the paper, knowing that things would never be the same anymore.

The Provinces slipped out of the room at Finland's nod as Russia walked over to clap him on the shoulder again, smiling brightly at Finland's dazed expression. Sweden stood frozen as Russia congratulated his official new vassal who offered a slight smile in response, before the eastern Nation stepped out of the room, Finland just on his heels, before he finally regained his ability to speak.

"Fi-Finland."

The shorter Nation looked over his shoulder, meeting Sweden's tired eyes. "Yes?" he asked softly.

The Swede hesitated for a moment, his hand raised, before stepping forward and settling both of them on Finland's shoulders, oddly reminiscent of the scene a year and a half earlier in Stockholm when they had seen last. Sweden's green eyes searched the other's violet ones for something – and seeing only confusion – his grip tightened momentarily.

He knew what he wanted to say but he was not good with words, never really had been. He was good with facts, science, reasons and debating (probably why deciding things sometimes took so long)... not feelings. And his generally taciturn nature made speaking even harder. And he knew that Finland had never understood him completely.

He didn't know when he would see the other Nation next and no matter his feelings concerning the heartrending betrayal… he had to tell his true thoughts now.

"Finland... du är som min bror," the man said softly, stopping for a moment, looking for... acceptance, maybe, in Finland's eyes. When no response was forthcoming, he continued, "Jag... skall aldrig glömma dig," Sweden's face twisted into an expression some would have thought was rage but was actually grief and sorrow, "Fö-förlåt mig..." Sweden's head fell, as if wishing to hide the tears trying to escape.

Finland's face relaxed into a sad smile as he raised his hand, ruffling the other's short blond hair gently. "I will… with time. You're... " he hesitated, "like a brother to me as well. And in spite of everything... thank you."

Sweden took a shuddering breath but nodded and straightened, looking almost as unruffled as he normally did if not for the tightening of his jaw.

"Go, Russia's waiting," he said gruffly nodding towards the door behind the shorter Nation's back where they could both sense the other Nation standing, waiting for his new vassal.

"Näkemiin, Ruotsi," Finland said quietly and hurried off to join his new mainland.

Sweden was left standing in the room, alone.

Chapter Text

Великое княжество Финляндское.

Storfurstendömet Finland.

Suomen suuriruhtinaskunta.

The Grand Principality of Finland, an autonomous state of the Russian Empire.

Damn if that didn't sound and feel like a great name.

But with a great name came a great responsibility and Finland and his new Government Council had been hard at work since all the papers had been finalized; there were laws that needed to be updated and they would have to reorganize pretty much the entire shebang so that it would work together with Russia's system – but in a manner they could ensure their continued separation at the level it already was. And of course they had to figure out how the former soldiers who had fought in Sweden's Army until the end should be treated – luckily one of his smarter former Army Officers managed to put together a manifest to ensure things would go well and it seemed to be working out okay – how they should regard the Russians, what rights they should have and also start up the Committee of Finnish Affairs in St. Petersburg.

If he had the right to go straight to the Emperor and Russia with his issues, Finland was going to use it.

And then there were even talks of moving his capital from Turku to Helsinki – Uusimaa and Varsinais-Suomi were having a very snarkily feminine spat (a 'cat fight' as Savo called it eagerly) about that and everyone else, Finland included, made sure to stay out of it. Even though he had to agree that from a governmental point of view in made sense, Helsinki's location relatively near St. Petersburg would ensure quick communication with Russia and the Emperor. But on the other hand Turku had always been his heart, trying to imagine it being anything else felt... discomfiting.

And the rumours that changing one's capital could drive a Nation insane didn't help either. Russia made for a very convincing example.

Turku and its surrounding areas had belonged to him, it was the area he had born to over two millennia ago, to personify a small tribe of people, who were content to mind their own business. Then his stronger and bigger neighbours decided they wanted more land, and Sweden had picked him up. And when Sweden strengthened his hold and widened his sphere of influence to Finland's siblings' lands… and those new lands had been treated as if they were Finland's. He had effectively grown out of his area and his own people, coming to encompass all of his siblings' peoples too.

Then Varsinais-Suomi had been born to replace him.

And now, six centuries later, Russia would effectively be cutting his last direct connection to his old heartlands.

The thought made him uncomfortable but he knew himself well enough to know that he had the habit of clinging to things. If he remained in Turku, on some level he would still cling to Sweden and he didn't want that.

With all the changes lately, he felt that making a clear difference between his time with Sweden to his time with Russia was actually a good thing. A clean slate, a new start, so to say.

Finland might have started liking Russia after he got to know the other Nation better, but he still didn't like him enough to obey everything without question or to become like him. They had too much shared, dark history for the smaller Nation to let go of all of his principles. Finland was his own Nation, thank you very much.

Another hard thing to figure out was how to regard Sweden. What sort of 'foreign relations' should they establish? Finland didn't really know; not only had he never really needed to establish foreign relations before – because the trading he did with Germania and his children and the Baltics before Christianity certainly didn't count. Back then it had simply been trade with no undue conditions attached for the most part.

And on one hand he missed some of the camaraderie he had shared with Sweden. But with the changes brought by Finland's move and the loss of war... Sweden really didn't seem like the same person anymore.

Of course they hadn't seem each other since the treaty signing in Hamina but all of Finland's officials in the Council had some family in Sweden and Åland certainly hadn't stopped exchanging letters with his blood siblings. Lappi was also quick to offer information on how thing were in the north, apparently determined to stay with Finland who was at least familiar to her, unlike Russia.

And all these minor connections meant that Finland heard things, how Sweden seemed to be withdrawing into himself and bowing under pressure, if the phony war he had with England was anything to go by. And that was not even taking into account how he had just stood to the side as one of his high officials and Lords of the Realm had been beaten and stoned to death in the streets of Stockholm. During a funeral of a Crown Prince.

That was not like Sweden at all and Finland couldn't help thinking that the other had truly grown so weak that he gave up. Yes, Finland had essentially been one third of the Kingdom both in area, population and commerce but Sweden was a fighter at heart, he shouldn't be giving up.

It disturbed Finland in a whole new level and he simply found it easier to pull away. Sweden's new attitude and his own rise in the world… yes, it would be better.

Sweden's new choice of a crown prince didn't really help his stance in Finland's eyes. King Karl XIII, Gustav IV Adolf's uncle, was old, childless and now – according to rumours – permanently disabled. And after the first heir candidate to him had died, they had chosen his crown prince to be a French General.

And only two years ago they had both been agreeing that France and Napoleon were both insane.

That if anything had ensured he would keep his distance from now on.

Sweden was weak. 

Finland hummed happily as he nearly skipped down the slippery street in Viipuri with a bemused – and much more careful – Russia on his heels. Even the ridiculously cold winter or thick banks of snow couldn't dampen his mood. Finally, today, after three years of careful political work from both Finnish and Russian officials – especially Armfelt who had very quickly become one of Finland's favourite humans ever – he would have the best Christmas present ever for Pohjois-Karjala.

Karjala was coming home today, on December 23 1811. Well it would become totally official after New Years but the Emperor was giving his manifest today so it was close enough as far as he was concerned. Russia was only along because he was apparently avoiding work and possible derisive letters from France. What Finland had gathered of the situation, the two weren't getting along at all anymore after Russia's money troubles forced him to start trading with England again.

Finland wasn't complaining; he had also re-opened his own timber and tar exports with the Island Nation and appreciated the money it brought in greatly. Running an autonomous household required a lot of money and even though all of his tax money stayed in his own coffers for a change, he was constantly nearly bankrupt. And that left him feeling heady and dizzy, as if he was constantly drunk and feverish, but not badly enough to stop him from functioning. Well, most of the time he could function and some of his recent ideas had been called ridiculous. And while the feeling wasn't nice per se, he was willing to work on it. He had even opened his own bank last year!

He hadn't been involved in any war efforts since the treaty, not even when his officials insisted on gathering a small volunteer regiment to send to St. Petersburg. Although there were now talks of establishing more troops, Finland remained hopeful that he wouldn't need to actually send them anywhere.

If nothing else, he was absolutely certain that he himself wouldn't be going to battlefield anytime soon. Russia seemed intent on keeping him close to home.

"You seem uncommonly cheerful," Russia observed.

Finland grinned over his shoulder, "Just happy I can finally see Karjala again, we've missed her a lot."

Russia smiled slightly, "I can understand that, I miss Ukraine and Belarus a lot when I go a long time without seeing them."

They fell into easy conversation about their siblings – sharing funny anecdotes from the past and bemused griping about their sisters never making sense – as they continued on their way. But as they finally reached Karjala's home street, Finland's voice faltered and he fell silent except for a few nervous laughs that were quickly covered by coughs. Now that he was so close, he couldn't help wondering how his sister felt about all this. She had been living with Russia for a lot longer time than he had and she had been forced to adapt to Russia's style of leading and living. Would she even be the same Nation anymore? Did she even want to return to them?

From his point of view the answer seemed obvious, even if he was biased about it. And if the things he had seen and the documents he had received from Russia were anything to judge by, there would be a lot of work before Karjala's standard of living was up to the same levels as her siblings'.

Russia had to actually push him forward once they reached their destination. Finland took a deep breath and knocked quickly on the door. It didn't take long until a maid opened the door, peeking out and looking nervous.

"Kuiten mie voija auttoa työt?"

When Russia floundered for a moment, Finland offered the girl a bright smile, easily slipping into one of his more eastern dialects. "Onks siun emänt koton?"

The maid was quick to nod, "I'll announce you…?"

"Misters Lugnström and Braginsky."

They were let into the cosy entryway to take off their coats as the girl disappeared deeper into the house. Finland's scarf had barely joined Russia's fur hat on the hat shelf before they heart quick steps hurrying towards them. And suddenly Finland's arms were full of sturdy woman who appeared to be in her mid-twenties, her hair tickling his nose.

"Moi, Karjala," he said contently, hugging her tightly, smelling the familiar whiff of hay, pines and homemade cooking in her hair.

"Suomi, sie mukoma!" she laughed as she pulled back, her grey eyes shining with happiness. "What have you been up to? What's this I hear about becoming an autonomous state while I wasn't looking?"

Finland flushed slightly, still grinning. "Oh you know, just a lucky break for once. How've you been doing?"

"Okay," she shrugged before glancing at Russia. " Здравствуй, Россия."

"Привет, Карелия," Russia returned the greeting. "We have things to talk about, shall we proceed?"

"Of course," she agreed, her back straightening and her countenance losing some of its warmth in reaction, "Please follow me."

She bustled them to her sitting room and sent her maid to bring them snacks and coffee as well as vodka, just in case. Finland relaxed happily into one of Karjala's sturdy country chairs, gazing around the modest home that had changed even less in its character than the town outside the window.

"So what brings you two here?" the female Province asked curiously as she sipped her strong black coffee.

Finland and Russia glanced meaningfully at each other before the Empire started speaking. "For the last three years I've had this project with Finland, you might have heard of it. We've been thinking that you would like to return to your siblings and –"

"– join the Grand Principality of Finland as the Viipuri Province," Finland finished.

The Province's eyes widened considerably as she looked from one of them to the other. "Truly?" she asked hopefully.

Finland grinned a bit, getting up from his chair and giving his older sister another hug. "Of course, we all want you to come home to us."

Her eyes flickered uncertainly to Russia, who simply smiled in response and nodded. Karjala bit her lip before grinning widely and hugging her little brother back. "So when do we leave?"

"As if that half-burned backwater village would ever make a fitting capital!"

The screech echoed through the door and long ways down the street. Finland let out a frustrated sigh at Varsinais-Suomi's indignant screaming and glanced wryly at Karjala who raised her eyebrow at the racket. They'd arrived at Turku day after the New Years to reintroduce Karjala to the rest of the family and it was chaos even before they had seen each other. They had felt rather slighted when Finland had told them he wouldn't be spending the Christmas or the New Years with them and refusing to explain where he was actually spending them. The Nation figured they would be more likely to forgive him with the peace offering – the gift – of their sister's return.

Of course, the fact that he liked giving gifts – and said gifts being surprises – meant that his family had been angry with him through the season.

Finland had to wonder why there was suddenly so much work involved in taking care of his land. Maybe it was all the responsibility he had been given in running it?

"Just because you've had our capital until now doesn't mean you should have it!" Uusimaa's voice reproached sharply. "From a purely practical point of view it would be better to move it to Helsinki!"

"Now now, calm down the both of you," Häme tried. "There's no need to shout about it."

"You shut up!" the female Provinces snarled, Varsinais-Suomi's voice just a hint louder than her sister's.

Finland rolled his eyes and pushed the door open. "And I was hoping to give you all a late Christmas present," he observed blandly, "but it seems you're being naughty. Maybe I should hold onto it as punishment?" he asked Karjala over his shoulder.

The fighting girls huffed and refused to look at each other as Karjala stepped in, smiling slightly. "Well you can't punish others for their mistakes and I want to see everyone else at least."

For a moment there was silence and then a scream of joy as a small dark haired girl launched herself at Karjala. "ISOSISKO!"

The older Province caught Pohjois-Karjala with a laugh and hugged her tightly as the younger babbled happily into her ear. Finland smiled softly as the other Provinces hurried to join in the hug; it was good to have her home.

Even Lappi seemed happy as she hugged the tiny Lapphund pup into her chest, smiling softly, unnoticed in the commotion. Finland knew she was still uncertain about her part in the family, so he stepped next to her quietly, placing his hand gently on her shoulder. She looked up, her brown eyes wide and Finland offered her an encouraging smile, which she answered with a wide smile of her own.

Kukkis yipped happily in her arms.

"I still think the capital should stay exactly where it is."

"Ski up a pine, Varsinais-Suomi."

Russia blinked in surprise as a sheaf of papers was thrust to his face the moment Finland stepped into his office in the Winter Palace. Лапушка seemed uncommonly harried, his hair stuck up in every direction, there were dark bags under his eyes and his collar wasn't as groomed as normally.

"What's this?" he asked curiously, his gaze flickering over the carefully written documents and what appeared to be a detailed city plan.

Finland slumped into the guest chair, letting out a tragic sigh. "I," he announced, "have finally had enough of my sisters' fighting and am taking charge and requesting myself that I can move my capital from Åbo to Helsingfors."

Russia blinked, bemused. Well, that was unexpected. But not at all unwelcome. It was actually a lovely gesture of friendship. The Empire's lips stretched into a smile. "Of course, let's bring it up with Alexander at dinner."

Finland nodded resolutely.

Russia could tell the Emperor was pleased to see the newest addition to their Empire at the dinner table and he asked quite curiously after Finland's affairs, seeming impressed and pleased with Finland's responses. When the issue of Finland's capital was brought up, Alexander seemed even more pleased and was quick to approve the plans after just a cursory glance at the papers. Although he did admit that one of Finland's high officials from the Committee – Armfelt, if he remembered the name correctly – had brought up the matter before and quite determinedly too.

"But really, I must admire your initiative, Finlande," Alexander stated appreciatively as he signed the document the moment he got his hands on a pen after the dinner. "I truly believe your shared future with Russia is going to be bright."

Finland flushed a bit, smiling slightly, "Thank you, Your Majesty. The future seems extremely bright for me as well," he shot a sunny grin at Russia who returned it with equal brightness.

His chest felt warm, as if ice was melting somewhere deep inside him. He had finally done right by someone and it felt wonderful to him. Many of his officials had been saying to both him and Alexander how they were going too easy on the Finland, giving him all these special privileges, like letting him keep his own language, laws, religion and traditions as well as letting him keep all of his tax money for the upkeep of his own house, upholding the old tariff borders and now – with Karelia's move back to her family – establishing new ones.

But Alexander wanted to try a different way to lead and govern – and Finland offered a great testing ground for that – while Russia himself just wanted to have better relations with his neighbour. A friend who could support him and who he could talk to.

Russia smiled; he had to agree with both of their assessments. The future was indeed bright.

Finland's capital had never been moved, not really, and while on the intellectual level he figured it would feel like… something, he had never actually expected it to be so unsettling. And that was the only word he could think for it; it wasn't painful, not like when it had been attacked or obliterated almost completely over the past few centuries by Russia and Denmark or when his people escaped the occupying Russians in 1714 and Finland was finally captured, to be imprisoned in the castle for seven years…

It was better not to think about it.

Instead he felt weird tingling in his heart and his stomach rolled as if it was contemplating regurgitating his lunch on the hill overlooking the Suurtori. He glanced down at the papers spread across the temporary table the Helsingfors Rebuilding Committee had appropriated from some nearby house. Pretty much all of the old town centre would first be torn down and then rebuilt in neoclassical style – loads of pillars and pediments from what he had gathered – a new, huge square, flanked on the north side by a brand new Lutheran cathedral – noted on the papers as the Church of St. Nicholas – on the east side by the new Government Palace and on the west side by the palace of the Governor General.

At least they would keep the old bourgeois houses even if they had to be renovated. And what the hell was that part about filling in part of the bay?

The plans were grand and while he felt a bit nauseous at the moment, he was certain it would look gorgeous once it was finished.

Maybe even a tad too gorgeous for what was essentially a Russian provincial capital.

"This all seems rather… grand," he said uncertainly, glancing at the man standing beside him. He cut an intimidating profile with his strong hawk-like nose, only accentuated by the hairline that had receded so far that the top of his head appeared nearly bald.

Mister Ehrenström and the Chairman of the Rebuilding Committee as he was currently called, huffed slightly. "It's meant to be grand, herr Lugnström," the man said imperiously, sweeping his hand over the scene before them. "Emperor Alexander in all his wisdom has decreed that your city is to become great, and that, of course, requires great framework."

While being allowed this much freedom was wonderful, Finland knew quite well that he was, for the most part, a social experiment for both Russia and the Emperor. A chance to see if the Empire could have a good friend nearby, who was not planning to stab him in the back. At the same it was a chance for the Emperor to see how a different system worked and if it could potentially be modified to work in a larger scale, throughout the Empire.

But he wasn't going to say it aloud. Questioning things was a risk he wasn't willing to take.

"Now if we only could find a good architect," Ehrenström pursed his lips disapprovingly, seeming to almost pout. 

"I'm sure you'll find someone," Finland offered, still perusing the map. "Which reminds me, are you sure your plan here will work out?" he pointed at the upper right corner of the map where the new street plan had decisively been drawn over what he knew to be bedrock.

Meaning it would extremely hard to level down enough to build streets through it, let alone build houses to line those streets.

Ehrenström leaned over to peer at the Nation's point of concern and coughed nervously. "Well, yes but that grand framework I talked about requires the strict plan and the plan requires that there are streets there. So we'll figure it out."

Finland raised an eyebrow wryly. "If you say so."

As it was, this town had already faced one big change before, having first been founded considerably deeper among the multitude of islands scattered near the coast. When it hadn't become the great centre of commerce capable of rivalling Reval across the Gulf and when it became clear that the first bay had been too shallow for the larger ships... Queen Christina's regency council had ordered it to be moved further out, here on Estnäs. And now they were here again, upsetting the lives of these people.

Finland remained hopeful that the end result would be worth all the hassle. And they did need to repair it; he could still clearly see the places where the fire four years ago had raged.

France's lips stretched into a suave and pleased smile as he rode into the city beside his Emperor, his gaze sweeping over the streets and their tired forces. The roads had been absolutely horrid, nearly non-existent and the peoples between here and his own lands had been so filthy France didn't know what to do with himself. The city would certainly be better, if only so that he could avoid the dirty locals.

The empiric-neoclassical white palace rose before them across the square they rode into and he could barely make out several forms standing on its front steps. In the very front stood a slight figure, waiting for them calmly. As they came to a stop and France got down from his saddle, he gazed up to observe the slight man, who seemed out of place there, among the aged gentlemen. He was young, with shoulder length brown hair pulled back in a low ponytail, unassuming and rather average appearance.

What France really liked were his eyes, their green not even nearly as brilliant as Angleterre's but just as strong and determined. They spoke of age and experience, as well as unspeakable horrors that he and most of his contemporaries had seen and taken part in. He had a feeling he knew who this was.

"Sveiki atvykę į mano mieste, Prancūzija," the man bowed, his sharp gaze taking in France's immaculate uniform and proud bearing with certain wariness.

"Merci beaucoup," France smiled slightly, grazing the other with a regal nod in spite of not understanding a word. "Lituanie, I presume?"

The other Nation nodded noncommittally, seeming somehow tired and resigned, but still without seeming to give up his pride. France didn't know much of the East-European Nation as Lithuania had never been anyone of concern to him. He had either conducted his business with Poland or, more recently, Russia. He tilted his head thoughtfully, pursing his lips, Lituanie was rather attractive… in a sort of plain and homely way.

He glanced to the side; Napoleon was ordering the local officials around, leaving the Nations to their own devices. He really had to appreciate his Emperor, so decisive and determined and he clearly didn't mind France's more curious tendencies, checking out the rest of Europe and getting a bit more elbow room on this way too cramped continent.

Sometimes he really envied Angleterre and his fréres; a group of islands with no one to bother them – except him of course. And Denmark and Norway back before they became Christians. Although the Isles' brothers did bother each other too…

He motioned meaningfully to Lithuania and started walking, the East-European Nation joining him silently. France gazed around curiously as they walked along the streets with a contingent of his soldiers following along Just In Case and to offer some extra persuasion…

"You don't seem too eager to attack me," he observed after a while.

Lithuania hummed thoughtfully, not looking at the invading Nation, his fingers fixing his sleeves nervously. "I don't see a point," he said calmly. "It's not as if I like living under Russia's rule."

"You… miss Poland, do you not?" France gave a dramatic little titter, pulling a rose from his sleeve and smelling it with a smile. "How positively quaint."

"Don't be disgusting!" Lithuania snapped sharply, his hands clenching into fists, green eyes flashing darkly as he glared darkly at the other Nation, "My relationship with Lenkija isn't like that!"

France raised his hands in calming gesture, both to stop his guards from pulling their swords at Lithuania's aggressive tone and to appease the angry local. "Oui, oui, I believe you Lithuania, do calm down."

He really didn't but that hardly mattered in this situation. As far as he was concerned there was something suspicious if two or more Nations lived in that sort of symbiosis for a long time. There just had to be something more to it, otherwise his romantic's heart wouldn't be able to stand it.

"But you do miss him, is that correct?" France asked, attempting to pull the discussion back to the main point.

Lithuania frowned darkly at him for a moment before letting out a tired sigh. "Fine, yes, I do miss him. Life was considerable better when I was with him, and truly with and none of this 'under someone's rule' nonsense."

France nodded, Definitely more than friendship, no way that sort of relationship works without some sex to keep it going.

"But why would you care anyway?" Lithuania asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. "You're doing exactly the same thing."

France chuckled a bit, bringing the rose back to his nose and taking a deep breath. "Ah, mon ami, but I'm not."

At Lithuania's doubtful expression he hurried to explain. "You see, I wish to free maltreated Nations such as yourself, I'm marching to fight Russia. Even Pologne is taking part under his new name, Duchy of Warsaw" he paused for dramatic effect. "Would you like to join us?"

Lithuania stared at him for a moment, seemingly uncertain. France could tell he wanted to say yes, but seemed to be afraid to do so. "…Are you sure you know what you're doing? If you're not out of there by winter…"

France waved the other's concerns away dismissively, placing his arm around Lithuania's shoulder. "Don't worry, mon Lituanie, I have everything under control."

After a moment of doubtful silence, Lithuania sighs resignedly. "…You clearly need someone along to make sure you don't get yourself killed. Lenkija, too I suppose, he's always been too impulsive… So, where do I sign up?"

"Venäjä, are you absolutely certain this is a good idea?" Finland demanded, hurrying after his overlord, who was humming cheerfully as the meandered down the street of Turku towards the Governor's house. "You were being invaded the last time I checked! Is this really a good time to have a meeting with Sweden?"

Finland may have professed to be nervous about Russia's health but he did have his own cow in the ditch; he was nervous, almost frightened really. He hadn't seen Sweden since the Treaty of Fredrikshamn had been signed and now his old overlord would be meeting his new overlord on his land. As far as he was concerned, it was a supremely bad idea of epic proportions. He just hoped it wouldn't come to blows like it inevitably tended to when the two of them were on his land at the same time.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad…

Who was he kidding, with his luck Turku would burn again.

"Oh don't worry Финля́ндия, I have everything under control," Russia answered cheerfully over his shoulder. "France is no match for General Winter."

"…It isn't winter."

'It's August,' remained unsaid but was very clearly implied.

Although he could see the point about General Winter's might; while he himself hadn't taken part in Sweden's invasion of Russia during the Great Northern War, Sweden's refusal to talk about it after the fact told him a lot. And it wasn't as if his own winters were that much warmer, if they were warmer at all. He really didn't know and wasn't actually all that interested in finding out.

"My winters come early," Russia waved his hand dismissively before letting out a harsh cough and frowning slightly. "And I think I need to remind Sweden of his place…" Russia gave a creepy smile and continued on.

'If those two try anything, I'm tying both of them to their chairs and dragging them to sauna, let them sweat a bit,' Finland thought sourly as he ambled after his overlord.

If he was completely honest, he wasn't actually sure why he had been invited along to the meeting between Sweden, Russia and their rulers – unless it was to supervise and referee or possibly simply because it was polite. They were on his land after all and it was only common courtesy to invite the host, not that it actually happened very often in their circles.

And he really would have preferred not having to meet Sweden or his glorified French Crown Prince. He was still hoping Russia would give him a free pass from the meeting. Although considering the second choice was listening to Varsinais-Suomi bemoan her fate in losing Turku as the capital and how she was 'positively going to die from the indignity of this tragedy…'

In the long run attending the meeting might be better for his sanity.

In the end it became clear he had no such luck on his side. Just before Sweden and Prince Karl XIV Johan were scheduled to arrive and his one last pleading look towards Russia had been waved aside with a careless smile, he took a step back from the situation. Russia and Alexander were talking quietly to each other as he situated himself near one of the windows with a view of the Aura River. Maybe that way he could escape attention for a while at least.

"You seem uneasy, Mr. Finland."

The voice startled him from his intense inspection of the spider making its way across the windowsill beyond the glass.

A smile broke out on the Nation's face as he turned to meet the gaze of one of his favourite people. His eyes were sharp and he stood relaxed but attentive beside the short immortal, the posture of a soldier. His answering smile was genuinely warm as he waited for a response.

"Just worried about having Russia and Sweden in the same room," Finland answered with a slight incline of his head towards the Empire and the Emperor discussing in quiet voices near the table. "It's nice to see you again, General Adjutant Armfelt."

"You as well, mitt fosterland," Armfelt said softly, his eyes fond as he gazed down on Finland.

The Nation flushed and brushed his fringe nervously from his eyes. He was pretty sure he would never get used to that, the feeling of warmth those words caused to run through him.

"S-so, yes, I've been meaning to thank you for a while, for everything you've done for me, Armfelt," Finland hurried to change the subject. Thankfully the human didn't remark on his flushed state or how he stumbled over his words.

"It's nothing," Armfelt denied. "I just did what I felt was right for our future. We Finns are not to be underestimated," he chuckled.

Finland grinned as well, it felt gratifying to know that someone as well travelled and versed in the ways of the world would still feel that way. Armfelt was ambitious and steadfast, he had grand plans and worked hard to see them through, oftentimes succeeding. And that would always be something Finland admired in a person.

The first time he had met Armfelt had been over twenty years ago, now. The human, only thirty years old at the time, had been commanding the infantry in the war against Russia and their meeting had been short and to the point. His status as a Nation hadn't even come up and had only been referred to as 'uncanny knowledge of the land and people.' Two years after that Armfelt had been appointed into the secret war preparation council and had apparently been informed about Nations because soon after when they were negotiating peace together in Värälä, Armfelt was very quick to ask for his input.

The sound of the door opening interrupted their discussion.

"Bienvenue á l'Grand-principauté de Finlande," Emperor Alexander said grandly from the general direction of the meeting table somewhere behind Finland. "I hope your trip was pleasant?"

"The Baltic Sea is quite nice in the summer," an unknown male voice agreed. "My first time taking the trip and my first time in these lands. They are rather lovely."

Russia chuckled. "Да, Финля́ндия is a very lovely nation, wouldn't you agree, Шве́ция?"

He was ready to bet Russia was winding Sweden up on purpose – actually, there was no betting about it, he was sure Russia was doing it on purpose.

Stupid big countries.

But almost without meaning to, Finland found himself straightening his back, waiting for the Sweden's response. He barely felt Armfelt shifting beside him.

"I don't see anything special about it," Sweden grunted.

Finland gritted his teeth in response. Suksi kuuseen, Ruotsi, he thought darkly and turned sharply on his heel to face the room, offering a deep bow to its residents at large. "Welcome on my part as well," he stated expressionlessly, ignoring the startled twitch from Sweden. 'Noticed I'm here, did you?' "I hope your accommodations are up to your expectations?" he addressed the Prince.

The Prince nodded pleasantly. "Oui, they're fine… Finlande, I presume?"

Finland nodded but stayed quiet, glancing towards Russia, clearly expecting him to take control of the meeting now. But Russia seemed to be determined to act childishly instead of like the respected, powerful Nation he was supposed to be.

"And Finland's place has such a lovely weather too…"

He had been entirely correct in his prediction; while Karl Johan – or Jean-Baptistewhat'shisface – and Alexander haggled about Swedish-Russian relations with Armfelt making notes or offering his input (something about Sweden getting some recompense for losing Finland; well at least Norway would have an easier time communicating with the Swede, and about how France was totally out of control and something needed to be done about that soon), Finland was left with the job of babysitting his current and former overlords. His job was made even harder by Russia constantly complimenting him – clearly trying to piss Sweden off – and Sweden putting him down – clearly trying to piss Finland off. He was actually tempted to leave the two to their own devices if he wasn't afraid of the consequences. He didn't need any extra money-eaters if the two decided to start destroying his property.

‘And these two are supposed to be former and current Empires?’ he thought despairingly. ‘Oh God, have mercy. If they try anything stupid I’m seriously tying both of them to their chairs.’

Chapter Text

Russia adjusted the scarf around his neck to better protect his face from the smell of smoke wafting in the air. In the distance he could just make out the red glow against the night sky and the billowing smoke as Москва burned. He felt sick as he leant heavily against the horse by his side, hoping not to fall down on his knees. Петербург may be his capital now but for a long time his ties to Москва had been much more powerful and watching it burn like this hurt. It felt as if his heart was trying to crawl out of his chest, as if it twisted and shrivelled from the heat inside him. His only relief was that most of his people hadn't remained in the city but instead had fled under the Governor's orders.

Of course, watching France panicking was pretty nice too but somehow it wasn't as good as he had imagined. Many of his ideas weren't as good in practice as they were on paper, no matter how many times he tried.

Well, actually, there were a few exceptions but somehow even that thought left a bad taste in his mouth.

Russia was overcome by hacking coughs, his gloved hand rising to hide his mouth as he choked the phlegm free from his throat. He lowered his hand with a grimace, his eyes landing on the glob of spit and blood, black from all the ash in the air.

It was the third day after the first fires had been started and they still weren't showing any signs of stopping as they raged across the wooden structures on either side of Волга.

"Мы ликуем славы звуки,

Чтоб враги могли узреть,

Что свои готовы руки

В край вселенной мы простреть…" he murmured softly, closing his eyes and flinching as he poignantly felt, at that moment, as another building came down miles away.

At the heavy footsteps behind him, he turned, meeting the eyes of Governor Rostopchin who offered Russia a stiff bow. The man was short and wrapped in a thick coat as he held a handkerchief delicately before his nose to lessen the stench of burning wood in the air. "Lord Braginsky," he said softly. "The scouts have returned with a prisoner."

Russia took a steadying breath and pushed the pain aside, pulling a vacant smile to his lips. It wouldn't do to seem weak before his men; to them he was merely an extremely high-ranking member of the court, whose death would potentially open a nice position with the Tsar's ear. Sometimes he thought that the only thing that stopped some of the more ambitious nobles and generals from attempting to assassinate him was that subconscious recognition of his status as their Nation.

He followed the aged Governor down the side of the hill, keeping a white-knuckled grip of the harness of his horse. They soon arrived to the army camp, its edges dotted with the now homeless Muscovites. The officers' tents in the northernmost side of the camp took a while to reach, especially by foot. But while his knees shook as he walked, he felt that climbing onto the saddle would be somehow worse.

He was pretty sure he would fall, for one thing. Or at least waver, looking like he might faint.

Down on the humans' level, it was easier to escape notice; part of the time he could hide behind the horse and he didn't stand out by being above everyone else.

"What was it you had for me?" he asked after having handed his horse away and locking his knees, still smiling and trying to appear nonchalant.

Rostopchin waved sharply at one of the guards standing to the side who disappeared behind one of the tents with a slight bow. The Governor turned back to his Nation, frowning slightly. "A most unusual prisoner, my Lord. The troops who captured him swore they saw him rising up right after being shot in the leg and he seems barely affected by having his finger ripped off."

Russia stiffened a bit. "Oh? Most interesting."

Either it was a human with an uncommonly high pain tolerance or a Nation. Russia found it hard to believe but he doubted anyone besides a Nation would be able to ignore a wound so easily. Could they have captured France? Shuffling footsteps behind them alerted him to the approaching guards and their prisoner. There was no limping and if the prisoner had truly been shot in the leg…

He turned sharply on his heel, taking in the apparently docile form held between the guards, dressed in a singed blue uniform jacket, long brown hair falling messily across his shoulders. He appeared to be clutching his bloody hand close to his chest, as if to hide the missing finger and how it was slowly growing back.

'Ah,' Russia's eyes turned cold as he took in the stumbling personification of Lithuania.

"It has been a while, Mister Laurinaitis," he observed with a cold smile, causing the other Nation's head to snap up, his eyes wide as he stared up at Russia with fear in his eyes. "It seems French service hasn't been treating you too well, да?"

Lithuania winced at the tone, biting his lip. " Пр-прости меня…" he whispered, stumbling a bit over the pronunciation. 'As if the mere speaking of Russian would earn him forgiveness,' Russia thought savagely, his hands curling into fists at his sides, wishing to punch the kneeling Nation in the face and kick him in the stomach for good measure. How dare Lithuania oppose him?

"Don't try to act innocent, Laurinaitis," he ordered sharply and Lithuania shivered, seeming to fold in on himself. He turned back to the Governor who had been observing the interaction with barely concealed curiosity. "Take him back to his… accommodations. I'll deal with him later."

"Да, сэр."

Canada didn't really like fighting; as he saw it, talking was generally the best way to work things out. His logic was that a lot less people got killed that way but did anyone ever listen to him? Noo, of course not; he was just a young and stupid colony, not old and powerful Nation like the Europeans or 'an independent Nation of freedom and greatness' as America had taken to calling himself after leaving England. And he had attempted to drag Canada along with him, too.

'And now he's doing it again,' Canada thought with a huff, adjusting his grip on his musket, trying to ignore the scratchy feeling of his red, ill-fitting uniform jacket. They were all a bit too big for someone who appeared at most fifteen years old.

Sure, it would be nice not to listen to anyone but when it came to down to it, someone would be telling him what to do anyway, especially if things went America's way. And he honestly would rather listen to England than America; at least the older Nation wasn't always there to breath down his neck and he was actually smart and knew how Nations and governments worked. America though? He was not only younger than Canada (by 96 years!) but he had been independent only 36 years; as if he was going to listen to America, ever.

America still probably couldn't even tie his tie properly.

And now the stupid Yankee was attempting to annex him, eh? No way that was happening; Canada would protect himself to the last. And he would have to, especially with the war in Europe tying up most of England's forces.

France was a hoser too, now that he thought about it.

And couldn't America have at least chosen a bit more humane time to attack? Canada had been shaken out of bed barely after five in the morning; by all logic America should still have been asleep. Maybe his brother just hadn't slept at all? That would explain the unnaturally early hour.

He adjusted in his position behind a slight rise on the heights, peering down at the Americans crossing the river in the gradually growing morning light. He took aim with his musket at one of the invaders already on his shore and shot, feeling morbid satisfaction as his victim dropped like a stone. 'Good riddance.'

A second man went just as easily as the first, one moment it was there and then gone, like a candle that had been blown out. 'Humans are so fragile,' he thought distantly as he felled the third invader, who made an attempt to crawl away from the line of fire. Maybe he should feel more guilty about killing and injuring them, and on some level he did feel guilty. But that was just a waste of time.

"Guilt has no place in battlefield," England said as he gently adjusted the grip of Canada's small hands on the weapon. One of his arms was in a sling and his voice was rough and dark but gentle in how he educated Canada. "Guilt only leads to hesitation and that leads to losses – losses of people, territory, battles and eventually wars. If you must feel guilt, leave it for after the battle, when it can do no harm."

Canada bit his lip nervously and nodded, hefting the heavy gun in his hands, pointing it at the target England had set out. His hands shook from the exertion, the muzzle wavering up and down, from side to side as a bead of sweat trickled down his temple, tickling his face and making him want to blink.

He glanced up at England who stood slightly to the side and behind him, staring expressionlessly down at his colony. It sounded as if he was speaking from experience that pained him deeply… but he actually wasn't certain of that. He hadn't been under English rule for long but in those decades he had already learned his new guardian differed from France like night and day. Where France was generally rather open about his feelings, England preferred to keep his hidden. And that left Canada guessing on his caretaker's true feelings, carefully hidden behind the brusque words.

"O-okay…" Canada murmured nervously, taking a deep breath. 'No guilt, no hesitation.'

He squeezed the trigger.

"Found you!"

His blue-violet eyes shot up and to the side from the battlefield below, his heart beating wildly as his gaze fell on his brother grouching only several yards away, grinning. His blond hair was windswept and his blue uniform fit him much better than Canada's red. America's musket was hanging carelessly across his back, as if he didn't even expect to need it against his brother.

Canada's knuckles turned white and his eyes narrowed as he immediately swung his weapon to point straight at America, something stopping him from shooting. "Get off of my land or I'll shoot you, America," he growled.

America snorted derisively. "As if you could ever do that," he said, appearing wholly unconcerned by both Canada's threat and his musket.

"Don't try me, eh."

"You're only saying that 'coz you're afraid of England," America refuted with what seemed to be one hundred per cent certainty. "Why don't you ditch the old man and come with me? England's got nothing on me, I'll protect you!"

Canada stared at his brother in disbelief. Did he honestly believe that? He wasn't afraid of England in slightest. Sure he could've been a little nicer and less unfair and he did have his scary moments – especially when talking about America – but scared?

"Sorry, I'll have to refuse," Canada said firmly, raising his musket, now actually in a position ready to shoot. "Get out off here, Yank."

America had never been one to give up easily (or maybe it was just stupidity) and he continued to smile brightly, his blue eyes shining with excitement, trying to cajole Canada into seeing his side of things. "Awww, don't be like that, my place is great. I mean, I've got democracy and none of this stupid monarchy shit –"

No guilt.

No hesitation.

Canada squeezed the trigger and the musket roared.

As a rule, Prussia didn't like being told what to do. Sure, military discipline was okay (sometimes, when it was justified) but he had had enough with overzealous orders and over the top discipline when he still went by the name Teutonic Order and later when he was a vassal of Poland and Lithuania. Then later he had to take orders from his Brandenburg too – and kind of from the Holy Roman Empire but he was, had been, weak and no one obeyed the Empire absolutely anyway. But now Brandenburg obeyed him and his other older brother was dead, at France's and Austria's hand.

Was he bitter? Not really, they had been anything but close. Austria had been the one who was close to the Holy Roman Empire, which was why he had been so surprised to hear the aristocrat had assisted in their brother's demise.

But that was over and done with, and of no consequence anymore, years after the fact. What did any of that matter to Prussia? He had his own worries, one of them at the moment being avoiding orders.

Religious Orders were all about discipline and while Prussia had all but revelled in it at the time, it had eventually left a sour taste in his mouth. Since then he hadn't been the most obedient of Nations to his leaders; but he worked hard and did well, excellently even, with a certain amount of freedom. And after some time his leaders learnt he was more likely to listen to orders too if he was given a chance to run wild at least sometimes.

Everyone else knew that too; the other Nations and their rulers, the fisherwoman down the street in Königsberg.

So France treating him like a mangy dog was a definite mistake; there was no way Prussia wouldn't rebel and turn a bad situation to his advantage at first available opportunity.

His withdrawing from the war in 1795 and then the losses in 1806 had shocked him to the core; zum Teufel, most humans alive still remembered when he was called 'an army with a country!'  Losing to France like that had not been in his plans and if nothing else, it had proved to him that no matter how awesome Alte Fritz and his tactics had been, the world evolved. And if the großartig Preußen was going to stay awesome, he would need to evolve too and catch up with the latest military tactics.

And going vigilante seemed like an excellent way to do that.

While he had been forced to give his men to France to attack Russia (his retrained, reorganised and too-small army – stupid treaty), he himself had ignored the summons, preferring to return to his beloved Königsberg, which he had always held more dear to him than any other city. Even his King, cautious as he was, preferred to have the Nation out of the capital for a while. Although Prussia was ready to bet he wouldn't be nearly as relieved if he knew what the Nation was planning.

Namely, telling Frankreich to fuck off and beat him into a pulp afterwards.

A sudden breeze of cold wind threw heavily falling snowflakes right into his face, causing him to sputter and stop in the middle of the street, wiping his face in agitation. He scowled at the dark clouds for making him colder than he already was but continued on his way, adjusting his hat. Now, where was that stupid mill again?

He had assured Yorck that he could make his way there just fine (because he was großartig) but the stupid weather made this harder than it had to be and the mill remained nowhere to be found.

"Are you lost?"

Prussia stumbled in surprise at the question, turning on his heel to meet the gaze of the Nation he had been on his way to meet. Russia was smiling that same creepy smile he had had since the Northern Crusades and Prussia didn't like it because it was as if he had plunged into that frozen lake all over again.

"Of course not," he scoffed, straightening under the taller Nation's scrutiny. "Just taking my time, enjoying the awesome weather."

"Of course," Russia agreed brightly. "Shall we?"

It didn't take them long to arrive at the mill, where Prussia was – unjustly – scolded for wandering off on his own and Russia was simply served a bottle that even at this distance smelled slightly of alcohol. A slight shift from the corner drew his attention and he felt his eyes widening in surprise at the sight of a dirty and slumped Nation leaning heavily against the wall.

Russia followed his gaze and smiled slightly. "Ah, yes, I had to teach Литва some manners. I hope you don't mind he'll be sitting in?"

Prussia cooled his expression into one of indifference, not willing to admit his unease. "Sure, as long as he won't be bothering us."

Russia's smile seemed to darken. "Oh, he won't, he's learnt his lesson."

As the two Nation signed their agreement, Lithuania seemed to curl in on himself in his corner, the ice-cold wind screeching beyond the thin walls of the mill.

Karl Johan was eager to please; that had become quite clear the moment he had been chosen as the Crown Prince of Sweden and had met his new Nation for the first time. He had heard stories, Sweden could tell that much and the Prince had seemed somehow disappointed when the meeting finally took place. The Nation had a vague feeling that the French general felt sorry for him and how he nowadays preferred moping around the palace instead of taking active part in politics as he used to.

And he really couldn't blame him for that. As he was now, he really wasn't a Nation, a Kingdom, to be proud of at the moment. He felt unbalanced, as if something that had always been there was now missing, as if he had lost one of his limbs.

And Finland truly had been his right arm, his support in all things.

And Karl had realised it very quickly and apparently decided he needed compensation and because Russia was far more useful as an ally, had set his sights on Norway. Not that he hadn't been intent on adding Norway's lands to his own for several of his previous wars with Denmark already but this time…

… that idea had truly set fire within him.

He didn't need Finland and his weird eastern ways, not when he could have Norway, who was practically his brother and a much greater threat encompassing pretty much all of his western border. Together they would be powerful, with their shared peninsula united under Sweden's flag and King. And it would weaken that Danish mutt, still thinking he was better than everyone else just because he used to lead the Kalmar Union –

Yes, getting Norway was the best choice.

And he wouldn't enter the war on the continent unless he had his guaranteed compensation. Russia had already agreed – doubtlessly thankful he wasn't gunning for Finland – almost a year ago in the secret meeting in St. Petersburg and later again in Åbo. But with how the alliance was shaping up, he would still need to convince England and Prussia of his right to Norway – and to Greenland, Iceland and the Faroe Islands as backup.

And today, if things went as planned, he would get the first one on his side.

England stood in the meeting room, staring rather pensively out of the window. The only sign of nervousness were the sharp taps of his right boot against the stone floor, clearly restless but forcing himself to stay still. Weak spring sun shone on his messy blond hair, making him appear somehow ethereal in the light, a painting by one of the Renaissance masters.

"England, thank you for comin'."

The Island Nation's alert gaze snapped to his northern counterpart, offering a tight nod. "My pleasure, Sweden. It's always good to meet you."

A bit of a lie probably, there had been a period of time when Sweden had been considerably closer to France and his interactions with England had been strained. Besides that, the phony war they had had the past two years and his unofficial and official recognition of America's independence before the Treaty of Paris had been signed notwithstanding, the two of them generally got along rather well. And Sweden wasn't very convinced about the meeting being England's pleasure either; the younger Nation was pale and had heavy bags under his eyes, stretched thin by the fighting both here in Europe and in his colonies in North America.

"You as well," Sweden nodded, motioning for the other to take a seat. "Tea?" he offered, knowing the other's preference for that over coffee.

"Gladly."

Each having received their choice of beverage from a handy servant stationed outside the door, they sat quietly for a while, enjoying a silent moment in the hectic world that surrounded them. While England was young – younger than Sweden at least – and Middle-European, he knew how to appreciate silence (at least sometimes when France wasn't involved) which Sweden found unusual the further one headed south. Southern Nations didn't seem to understand the concept of silence, meandering around their loud cities, not quieting even in the rare moments they weren't at war with each other.

Sweden was secretly convinced that Denmark and Netherlands had switched places at some point in history. Denmark was just too loud to be a true son of the north.

“You haven’t left Denmark with much choice in your Treaty with Russia,” England observed, green gaze intense over the edge of his teacup. “You have me in quite a bind and I don’t like it.”

Sweden shrugged, unconcerned. “It’s non-negotiable,” he said calmly. They both were well aware that if England didn’t agree to the Treaty and attempted to get Danish support for the Coalition against France, he risked war with both Sweden and Russia. And with the Treaty between the two of them in place… Denmark would lose Norway no matter what. And even if England approached him about joining, who would willingly join an alliance that was determined to take your lands from you?

“Surely you’re aware that your help in Europe is limited unless Denmark is on our side,” England pointed out.

“That doesn’t concern me.”

England let out a growl, almost slamming his cup on the table and standing up, marching back to his previous spot by the window, glaring down on the bustling streets of Stockholm. Sweden sat there calmly, observing the younger Nation expressionlessly. He remembered when he had been hot-headed like that – taken by the powerful feeling of independence and other nations falling before him left and right – before the Battle of Poltava and the subsequent losses had taken everything from him. This time he was determined to gain something; he would be strong again.

And England knew he would need to bow down to his demands if he wanted the help he desperately needed against France’s expansion. The maritime Nation whirled sharply on his heel, pointing a finger sharply at Sweden. “I have one condition before we sign this Treaty.”

The Scandinavian raised an eyebrow and grunted. “And that is?”

“We offer Denmark a chance to join the Alliance on his own free will and secede Norway,” a hopeless proposition on all accounts but apparently it made England feel better and righteous in his decisions. 'To be so young and innocent again,' Sweden thought, amused. And it really was no skin off his back to agree; if nothing else it gave him even more of a right to take Norway when Denmark refused.

Sweden hummed, pretending to think, staring expressionlessly at England, who was already starting to fidget. “Alright… if you can guarantee a colony in the West Indies for me.”

No matter how much this was about the war, it was also business.

A moment of silence, during which England clearly wracked his brain on how to fulfil that wish. “Guadaloupe,” he said finally. “I’ve seized her from France and I’m willing to give up my position in relation to her,” he glanced sharply at Sweden, “with you having the exact same rights and duties as I have at the moment.”

“That's acceptable,” Sweden agreed. “Let’s inform our representatives so that they can write up the papers.”

Italy let out a frustrated huff as he applied too much force to the brush, leaving a glaring splotch of reddish-brown paint on the canvas. He pouted at the smear marring his lovely hillside landscape; he had hoped to add a some subtle warmth to the shadow beneath the tree.

But on top of not having the proper control of his hands, the colour had come out too intense, looking a bit as if blood had been spilled on the spot and was then left to dry. He sighed tiredly and cleaned his brush, starting to mix more of the grassy green colour. He still wasn't used to his larger body and the lack of coordination showed in his painting. And in most other things; it was really frustrating.

To think he had spent centuries hoping to grow.

'Lucky I'm using oil paints…' he thought, shaking the annoyed thought determinedly away. He could still save his tree-shadow no problem; he just needed to spread the reddish-brown properly among the blues and greens the shadow was comprised of. And then maybe add some dashes of yellowish white to give it some depth…?

Italy hummed thoughtfully, his tongue poking out from the corner of his mouth as he started fixing the colour with careful brush strokes. It would still take many more layers before the mistake would be completely hidden but that was fine. Italy was willing to spend time on perfecting his technique and polish the end result.

As long as he wasn't bothered, that is. He just hoped France wouldn't try more hare-brained schemes like attacking Russia again; that hadn't been nice. It had been really cold there and so few had returned – Italy still considered himself lucky to have managed it and it was one of his worst experiences ever. Although he hadn't lost any flags, which was good.

And he much preferred staying out of the actual fighting when given the chance. Oh, he could fight, and pretty well too, but it was generally just too much trouble and he preferred trading. One could ruin someone just as easily through trade as through war and it was much less of a hassle. In wars a Nation lost lives, in trading, it became rich and Italy liked being rich.

There was a knock on the door and Italy, long-used to the fact that when he was disturbed he should not have a paintbrush in his hands to invite the risk of destroying his painting or the disturber’s clothes, set it down before calling cheerfully: “Come in!”

The door was pushed open, letting a familiar face saunter in, dark hair, dark eyes and olive toned skin, generally annoyed expression, with a smidgen of dust on his shoes. “Fratello,” Italy said with a smile.

“Bastardo,” his older brother said blandly, peering curiously around the room, even risking a few pokes at one of the still life paintings comprised of delicate glass vases and colourful flowers, leaving a slight grease stain on the drying canvas and a burgundy paint stain on his finger. Italy held in a sigh of frustration; now he would need to fix that too.

He wasn’t even offended by the bastard comment, he had learned to never expect anything else from some of his siblings, especially Napoli – who went by Sicily because politics were a total mess and why did they have to have two Sicilies literally? – who was one of the oldest. As far as most Italian states were concerned, the present-day Kingdom of Italy had always been too German to be one of them. And still, somehow, nonno had liked him more, so his southern siblings had always been a bit bitter about it. Not overly – except when they tried and sometimes succeeded in taking his lands.

Not that it mattered much at the moment; if he discounted Sicilia-Napoli, he was the strongest Italian Nation on the Peninsula, French puppet State or not. Some of his siblings were mere French Provinces right now.

“What are you doing here, Sicilia?”

His southern brother shrugged, seemingly uncaring, “Just checking how the venerable ‘Kingdom of Italy’ is faring,” he answered somewhat mockingly.

Italy hid a scowl and instead smiled sweetly. “That’s nice of you, fratello. And how is the venerable ‘Kingdom of Sicily’ doing under French rule?”

His older brother shot him a scowl and Italy swallowed down his victorious hum of 'Be~'.

“Fucking miserable,” his brother’s answer was surprisingly frank and shocked the younger of the two into silence.

"Oh?" his fratello generally liked to pretend everything was fine and nothing actually concerned him. And Sicily actually had many Nations fooled that his only expressions and feelings were ‘angry’ and ‘annoyed.’

And 'scared' but he refused to show that if he could help it.

Sicily shot him a scowl. "Think about it a bit, idiota. Isn’t it bad enough we’ve already been ruled for centuries by other Nations and now we can add another one to the list!"

“I’ve been under French rule before,” Italy shrugged, internally agreeing that his brother was correct. Sure, Austria had been nice enough (sometimes) but that was mostly because Italy knew how to work his way around a trader of any sort and was thus considered useful. Especially if he was distracted by something else – like cleaning – while Austria took care of his money.

But it would be nice if he didn’t have to listen and obey other Nations and given France’s recent problems… who knows, maybe he could become independent someday.

That is, if he managed to subdue his siblings who were most likely as annoyed with the situation as he was.

“Well fuck you. As far as I’m concerned, Spain was bad enough,” Sicily gritted his teeth and blobbed down on one of the spare chairs he sometimes used for portrait models.

“I’ve been under Spanish rule too,” Italy observed thoughtfully.

“Shut up Lombardia.”

"That's Regno d'Italia to you, be!"

Chapter Text

Iceland didn't visit the continent very often and due to this he communicated mainly through letters. Not that me minded, he liked writing and he was generally quiet so the lack of vocal communication didn't bother him too much. Besides, living under the rule of a loudmouth like Denmark taught one how to appreciate silence and actually thinking before acting. Expressing oneself on paper was so much simpler – and sometimes even more efficient in spite of the extra time it took – he could take as much time as he wanted and needed to think about what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it. Writing eliminated misunderstandings pretty well as long as both parties involved knew the language used and trusted each other not to exaggerate – which Denmark tended to do sometimes.

Not that any of that mattered this time around; this time, he couldn't trust his thoughts to a letter alone. He wasn't even sure if his hypothetical missive would have even reached the intended recipient. Possible future letters were even less likely to do so; they would soon belong to different Kingdoms after all.

Not that he particularly cared of course; it was just a matter of convenience. Norway's presence in his life had been constant, never changing, eternal and infinite. Iceland had no wish to recall the times before, when Norway had not been a part of it. After he came into Iceland's life, the unflappable Nation had been as constant as the changing of the seasons as far as the younger Nation was concerned.

And now with this treaty that would come to an end, Norway would be gone and quite possibly unreachable.

His gaze flickered over the corridor before coming to a stop on a tall, blond-haired figure whose forehead was pressed against the window overlooking the harbour. The blue eyes were empty of all emotion and Iceland felt his breath catch in his throat at the robust Nation's uncommonly forlorn and defeated look.

"Danmörk," he called softly, coming to a stop beside his overlord.

The Dane blinked wearily down at him, his lips attempting to form something that only barely resembled a smile. "Ah, Island… You came then?"

Iceland felt his face flushing slightly in embarrassment, well-aware that his trip was very out of character. "Someone needed to look after the interests of us dependencies," he mumbled. Faroe didn't like Denmark and Greenland lived even further away so Iceland was naturally the best choice.

And it had absolutely nothing to do with Norway, nope, not at all.

The Island Dependency coughed meaningfully. "Should we… get going?" he asked uncertainly.

Denmark's expression darkened but he nodded, taking a deep breath as he straightened from his slumped posture, seeming to loom over Iceland who suddenly felt very small beside the Kingdom. Denmark frowned at the window and smoothed the wrinkles on his bright red vest and black jacket before turning to head down the corridor without a glance at Iceland.

They came to a stop before a dark door on which Denmark knocked sharply, his voice sounding hesitant. "Norge? It's time. We… need to get going."

Iceland's heart jumped to his throat as Norway opened the door slowly, his face as expressionless as always, his blond hair immaculately groomed and looking wholly unbothered by the Treaty they were about to sign. "Then let's," Norway said calmly, meeting Denmark's eyes expressionlessly.

An involuntary sound escaped Iceland, bringing the older Nation's dark blue eyes on him. For a moment the two of them stared at each other before Norway's gaze seemed to turn warmer. "Only you, then?" he asked softly, his hand rising to rest on Iceland's white-blond hair.

He could only nod, still staring at the Nation who had always been there. Norway was his first memory that mattered, before that there had only been fear and uncertainty, his people shunning him out of fear because he wasn't human. And now, somehow, he found himself returning to those times as his voice came out small and uncertain. "Do… do you really have to go, Noregur?"

Quite uncharacteristically for the Scandinavian, he pulled his small Dependency into a firm hug. And just as uncharacteristically, Iceland found himself answering the hug, his arms wrapping around Norway's neck as he stood on his toes and buried his face into the older Nation's shoulder. He smelled of pine and sea and fish, of cold winds and storms and snow.

"I'm afraid so," Norway murmured softly, dropping a gentle kiss on top of the younger Nation's head. "It'll be alright, lille venn."

Icy cold wind blew across the bare, rocky shore as the small form attempted to start a fire in a small barely-sheltered corner of some huge rocks. A cod lay on a large slab of stone next to him as he readjusted the few pieces of wood piled before him. He shivered as a particularly cold breeze sneaked its way beneath his leather tunic and tickled his sides.

He swallowed tears by screwing his face into a determined grimace as he hit the stones together again, trying to get the spark to catch on the wood. He knew he would go hungry and cold again if he didn't succeed.

There was no one willing to feed him.

The villagers didn't like him, they called him draugur and always drove him away. He guessed it was because of his nearly white hair and that one time he fell in the sea, ad didn't drown like all the other children… Maybe he really was a draugur? He sniffled a bit as the spark failed to catch again.

"Hv-hví?" he finally burst out, tears rolling down his cheeks as the flint fell from his cold fingers.

He didn't know how long he spent there, curled up on the ground, just crying beside the small pile of wood and the dead fish. He wondered if he would die there, go back to his grave like the villagers wanted. At least he wouldn't hurt then anymore or be cold…

Suddenly, he felt something warm being placed on his shoulders and fingers carding through his pale hair. "Hush… Hvem er du, lille venn?"

Iceland's breath caught again.

He felt a heavy hand squeeze his shoulder gently. "We really should get going, before they come looking," Denmark murmured softly.

With one last squeeze the older Nations let go of Iceland, who was left wiping his eyes and staring at the floor. Norway took his hand and the three of them continued on their way, soon coming to the meeting room where Sweden and England were talking quietly to each other.

England noticed them first and cleared his throat, all the while smiling at them uncomfortably. "Ahem, shall we, Denmark?" he asked, nodding towards the table where four stacks of papers were carefully prepared.

A nod was his only answer as the treaties were signed, some signatures steadier than others, Iceland looking on. England packed his copy of the Treaty methodically away – Iceland was under the impression he had received one island somewhere. Sweden then walked up to Norway, placing his hand on the shorter Nation's shoulder possessively. Norway shrugged it off in disgust and walked out of the room without a look at either Denmark or Iceland, as if the two of them were only air. Sweden frowned darkly and followed after his new vassal.

Iceland feared for Norway's future. Sweden had already been slighted so many times he was pound to snap soon.

He just hoped it wasn't at Norway.

"Let's go, Iceland," Denmark whispered softly. The Dependency nodded and let himself be led out of the room, with his overlord's heavy, trembling hand on his shoulder.

One of the things that had always bothered Finland on some level about wars, was the fact that they made taking care of normal, everyday things, especially hard. However in the past he had quite often been able to ignore this inconvenience mostly because he himself was out of the country as well. When he was fighting enemy soldiers he didn’t have time to think about if there was a bad year or if one of the Province Governors was treating people unfair or if there was an unnaturally strong snowfall in the winter or a fire in one of the towns.

And that had been so much simpler even if it had left him feeling woozy, not entirely sure what was going on at home, just dead certain it was bad…

But now he just couldn’t ignore things. This time he wasn’t fighting somewhere in Europe for something big, larger than the simple lives of his people; this time he was at home, stuck in endless meetings, talking and listening, offering advice. In a way he felt good about it, not being forced to push his people’s concerns aside in favour of a King’s ambitions, but on the other hand it left him feeling unsettled, only hearing second-hand what was going on elsewhere.

Or actually it was more like third-hand because neither Russia or the Emperor had time for him at the moment and he had to rely on the slow trickle of letters from the family, friends and acquaintances of his more well-connected nobles. He himself received some missives from the German States he had warm relations with but on the whole Finland felt very uninformed about the state of affairs outside his own immediate sphere of influence.

It also meant that certain matters and propositions had to be postponed, because with the Emperor marching with his army there was no one for the Committee of Finnish Matters to present their matters to. Which left things to standstill and for a moment he even considered longingly the possibility of approaching the Russian ministries until he realised that that would be giving his special position within the Empire away. He had been given the special privilege to always have a Finn presenting his matters either directly to the Emperor or to his right hand man. Not only did it eliminate most possibilities for misunderstandings due to differences in culture, but it also rather effectively kept Russia’s and his officials own interests firmly separate from Finland’s matters.

Basically the only Russian humans who had direct power over him were the Governor General and the Emperor. And even the Governor General could be Finnish as Sprengtporten’s – who he still had trouble pinning down as a person because of all the conflicting opinions surrounding him – and Armfelt’s appointments had proved.

Finland enjoyed Armfelt’s company – the old General had chosen to be Finnish and had left behind his career and past in Sweden in favour of him – and had spent long hours talking with the man whenever he was given the chance. And when Armfelt spent time in St. Petersburg under the Emperor’s favour, they wrote long letters, discussing both Finnish and international matters.

Finland imagined that this was what a close relationship with a Nation’s leader felt like.

Of course he had had his moments with Sweden’s Kings in the past; after his unlawful war and Finland’s own quiet rebellion, he had learned to truly like Gustav III who had done many things to better the lives of the farmers before he was murdered. Gustav II Adolf had actually chosen to ride beside him to some battles, leaving Sweden to his own devices. And Prince Johan, he had been special even before he became a King, but parts of Finland’s recollections of the man would always be shadowed by the sadness that followed. He hadn’t been particularly fond nor had he had much contact with Johan’s father, Gustav Vasa, but he had had such a large impact on how things worked that Finland couldn’t help but respect him.

If he had to compare, he would say that the closest he had ever come to what he shared with Armfelt, had been with Pietari Brahe. But even that had been marred by the Thirty Year’s War and he had never had the chance to enjoy a true understanding with the man.

With Armfelt he had that and while the man felt that his farmers were stupid – as most nobles felt and Finland had long ago learnt that getting frustrated about it didn’t help anyone and was an altogether useless endeavour – and sometimes the way he treated and spoke of Finland left him wondering where Armfelt had come by such thoughts, he still cared for the man. So when the news of his impending death reached the Nation, he didn’t know how to react. The news added on top of already heavy workload and frustration of not knowing what was going on had him leaving Turku in order to just not think for a while and hopefully enjoy the quiet. He had just wanted to forget all of his worries for a while.

Warm air rose in a rush and Finland felt a shiver of pleasure wrack his body as the heat enveloped him in the dark room. The scoop fell into the wooden water bucket with a dull thunk and a splash as he let himself relax against the wall, staring sightlessly up at the dark ceiling, feeling beads of sweat trickling down his chest. A slight smile curled across his lips as he stretched his neck languidly, his eyes falling closed. The soft, smoky and woodsy smell lingered in the room, enchanted by the heat and moisture. The sauna was dark and quiet, its only light coming through a tiny window. He could just barely make out the sound of birds outside.

One of the reasons he loved the countryside was that it gave him a proper chance to enjoy sauna. After a few too many unlucky fires in the past his people had felt it wiser to not have saunas in the towns, forcing him to have his own private hideaway he could travel to far too rarely. How was one supposed to be properly clean if they weren’t given a chance to bath regularly?

He let out a sigh of pleasure, picking up the tightly tied bunch of birch branches, their green leaves shining in the darkness as he slammed it to the back of his shoulder, repeatedly. He switched hands and ignored the stray leaves sticking to his wet skin. A stray thought of a continuous argument between his eastern and western siblings about proper sauna terminology had him snickering softly as he but the branches aside, reaching again for the scoop and throwing more water on the kiuas.

Another wave of heat rose up, softer than the last and Finland knew it was time to start the actual bathing process. He rose slowly and clambered down from the laude, stretching as his bare feet touched the wooden floor. He reached for the washing bucket, only to be interrupted by a knock on the door. He blinked in confusion before pursing his lips in annoyance. For a fraction of a second he considered answering the door naked for revenge before discarding the idea.

“Just a moment!” he called and reached for the flax towel and wrapping it around his waist. His clothes were on the bench outside so that was the best he could do under the circumstances.

Not that he would have dressed anyway; the clothes would have chafed and felt extremely unpleasant on his wet skin. And he really didn't want a repeat of the time he had done it and been finding leaves and rash on his person for months on end.

He pushed the door open and stepped out, accompanied by a cloud of steam, ignoring the choking sound to his left. He blinked his eyes for a moment to get used to the light and turned to face his visitor. Estonia had placed a hand over his eyes, his cheeks flushed beneath it.

“Some decency, if you please!” his voice was cross despite his annoyance and Finland only snorted.

“Yes, yes, I’m an indecent heathen, I’ve heard it all already,” he said dismissively and reached for the bench, taking up a fresh towel and drying his hair. He ignored Estonia’s annoyed mutterings and draped the towel over his shoulders, hiding his scarred body from view and took a seat on the bench, rolling his eyes in amusement. “You can turn around, I’m decent enough.”

Estonia lowered his hand and glared at his northern neighbour darkly but didn’t comment on his friend’s lack of clothes as he gingerly sat down on the bench as well. “A bit carefree of you, just lazing around like this,” he offered dryly.

Finland gave a careless shrug, leaning back against the rough log wall, gazing towards the lake only ten metres away. He wasn't carefree, he was here because he had too many worries. “Hardly, I just needed to get away from the politics for a while. You should know by now I get cranky without at least some peace and quiet. And really, what did you expect coming to knock on my sauna door?”

Estonia flushed a bit. “I didn’t think and that was the problem, I believe,” he stated sourly. “And I certainly didn’t expect you to open the door naked.”

Finland turned to the other Nation, his eyebrows raising to his hairline. “With my clothes outside? You’re lucky I had the towel.”

Estonia huffed and abandoned the line of conversation as useless, well-aware that Finland could be totally unreasonable about saunas. “Anyway, have you heard about the Congress?”

“The Congress of Vienna, you mean?”

Of course he had heard of it, what sort of Nation would he be if he hadn’t heard of it? Representatives from all the great Nations would be gathering there soon, to decide the future of Europe now, after France and Napoleon had torn it apart. The map of Europe would be redrawn and there would be big changes if the things he had heard of the Treaty of Paris were any indication. The German Nations were restless, now that there was an even bigger power vacuum than before with Holy Roman Empire gone. The Confederation of Rhine had been a mere mockery in the first place, not having even had a personification, and wouldn’t stand, not without the support of the German Nations. It would be disbanded and maybe, something new would rise in its place.

But that mattered very little to Finland. Of the Germans he truly knew only a few of them, such as Pomerania, Brandenburg and Saxony and the Kingdom of Prussia, who he had fought both with and against in the past.

Estonia nodded, leaning forward and lowering his voice, as if he was telling a great big secret. “Yeah, that one. There have been… talks that the personifications whose lives were greatly affected by the wars, are to be invited as well.”

Finland’s eyes widened and he found himself dropping his own voice as well. “Are you sure?”

“One can never be sure of anything, Soome,” Estonia admonished him softly, before his smile turned into a smirk. “… except this time.”

And he pulled a cream coloured envelope from his pocket, presenting it to Finland. “I was in St. Petersburg for business and Mr. Russia asked me to swing by on my way home and give you this.”

“Kiitos, Viro,” he said taking the letter excitedly. His hands were luckily dry enough from sitting around outside as he opened the letter, his violet eyes scanning over the text.

Дорогой Финляндия,

As you’re without a doubt aware, the Nations of Europe and their leaders have been called to Vienna to discuss the future of our world. The wars that have lasted for almost two decades have left us and our brethren in disarray as the world and circumstances changed around them. I and Alexander will be setting out for Vienna soon and, as you’re one of the Nations that has been touched by the wars, we wish for you join us.

It’s a mere formality, to finally note you down as one of my vassals in the eyes of the rest of the world. We’ll be redrawing the map of Europe. Please come to St. Petersburg by the end of August so that we may start our journey.

Yours Sincerely,
Russia

“Well I’ll be damned,” Finland said with a grin. “Looks like I’m going to Vienna.”

But before he went to St. Petersburg, he had another stop to make in a nearby town of Tsarskoje Selo. He remembered visiting it when it had still been called Saari, when it still belonged to Swedish Empire in late 17^th century and had just been a little village with a Lutheran parish, like so many others on Ingria’s lands.

He tried not to think of her; he and Sweden hadn’t treated her all that well. And from his own experiences with Russia before and after the Treaty of Nystad, he had a feeling she had not fared very well.

He made sure to round St. Petersburg from afar on his way to south, not wishing to be stopped on his journey. While he wasn’t outright forbidden from wandering, he knew that if an order came in for him to go directly to the capital, he would have to do so.

And he wished to see Armfelt before the man passed away.

He rode slowly into the lush gardens of Armfelt’s summer villa that stood tall but very modest compared to the likes of Catherine Palace nearby. It was a stone villa with only two floors and relatively few white decorations on the corners and surrounding the doors and windows. The sand crunched under Lempi’s hooves as he came to a stop before the short stone stairs leading up the double doors.

A stable boy appeared from the side of the house, a smear of dirt obscuring most of his left cheek. As Finland handed over the reins he tapped his own cheek meaningfully and chuckled as the boy blushed, seemingly mortified.

The Nation climbed the short stairs and knocked on the door, which was soon pulled open by a modestly dressed man, who was already opening his mouth to apparently turn Finland away. But his hand was up before the man could say anything.

“Jag var inbjöd.”

He hoped the man knew at least Swedish as he wasn’t willing to trust his meagre Russian skills to try to explain. To his relief the servant nodded and stepped aside, pulling the door open wider.

He lowered his head respectfully to the servant who then led him quickly to the bedroom. He was left to stand, alone, beside the bed where his good friend and a great leader laid, his breaths raspy and weak. Finland slowly pulled up one of the spindly-legged chairs that had been left next to bed and had clearly seen frequent use lately.

The room was silent as the man slept, with his Nation sitting quietly beside him, content to wait. His mind was blank as he stared at the floral wallpaper, tracing the faded patterns with his eyes without actually seeing them. It just wasn't fair, but he had always known that, nothing in this world was actually fair. Armfelt wasn't even that old and already his time had come.

The voice that spoke up from the bed was weak and raspy. "You… came to see me…" Armfelt's eyes were barely open as he gazed up at his Nation.

"Shhhh," Finland said softly, "Save your strength."

Armfelt gave a huff, which turned into a painful cough that had Finland hurrying to pour water to a glass on the nightstand and help him drink. But despite his attempts to push the discussion into some far off future, the ailing man was determined to say his piece. "It would be… no use at this point, Finland. I'm going to… go nonetheless."

"Then do it for me," Finland countered. "Give me just one more moment in the company of a great person like you."

Armfelt shook his head. "There… have been men greater than me… in the past… and there will be many… in the future as well…"

Finland turned his gaze away, unwilling to concede the mortal's point. ‘Is this what having a true leader feels like?’ he wondered. ‘This uncertainty and even fear at their inevitable passing?’

"Maybe so," he answered finally, his voice quiet. "But you…" intense violet eyes met hazy blue, "… you've been so intent from the beginning for me to be me and no one else… For my people to be mine, unavoidably and totally, for all of eternity… But I just can't help but doubt, what if someday…?"

Armfelt gave a weak cough. "That does not… matter. Our – the people's – duty… is to live and die Finnish… not Swedish or Russian, because… our Finnishness is our greatest… honour," his voice was growing weaker.

Finland felt something constricting his throat and tears stinging his eyes as he reached to hold tightly onto the dying man's hand. He could feel it trembling weakly between his own strong and calloused palms, appearing young and unblemished wrapped around Armfelt’s frail, old fingers.

"Kiitos, kiitos paljon," he whispered softly as Armfelt's rasping breaths finally ceased and his heart stopped beating. The Nation's gaze softened as he leant closer to the man, bestowing a gentle kiss on his already cooling forehead as he whispered: "Lepää rauhassa."

Prussia’s gaze flickered over the still form lying on the bed, faint and frail, almost invisible in its paleness. The small chest barely moved as it slowly rose and fell in time with the weak lungs expanding and emptying. Stark bandages were wrapped tightly around the child’s chest, peeking out from the neckline of an overly large shirt. This time they were not stained red, as they had been so many times in the past. A weak cough broke the silence in the room and Prussia leant forward, pouring a cup of water and gently reaching for the child on the bed.

None of his rivals – or friends or acquaintances or even leaders – would have believed their eyes as the powerful Kingdom gently tended to the small boy. He slid his arm beneath the narrow shoulders, raising the child up gently, just enough for him to dribble some of the water through parted lips.

“Hard to believe you could act like that, Preußen,” came a soft observation from behind his back.

Prussia stiffened in surprise at the voice before relaxing, and snorted softly, setting the boy back down gently before turning to face one of those aforementioned rivals. “No one asked you, Österreich,” he scoffed, standing up and shooting one last fleeting look at the boy. “Let’s get out of here.”

Austria still gazed at the sick child, eyes intense and sad as Prussia stepped out of the room, their shoulders barely brushing in the tight doorway. “Is he really…?”

“Yeah, he is,” Prussia answered snidely, “Hoping for absolution from your sins for giving the last blow?”

Austria flinched and glared at the pale man beside him. “Didn’t you give up God ages ago when you allowed all sorts of heretics in your lands?” he hissed.

Prussia wasn’t moved. “Just because my people can choose what they believe in doesn’t mean I’ve given up my personal faith. I’m just as devoutly Christian as in the Middle Ages–”

“Except you gave up the Roman Catholic faith in exchange of Protestantism,” Austria’s tone was biting but Prussia didn’t expect anything less. The two of them tended to be more honest when they were sniping at each other anyway.

“I do what’s best for my people,” Prussia answered, starting to move down the hallway again. “But that’s beside the point. Did you read my letter?”

Austria gave a stiff nod and picked up his steps so that he could be abreast with his rival. Austria wasn’t a follower and he certainly wouldn’t follow Prussia anywhere. “I did and I agree. We'll continue as we planned in the Treaty of Paris. The German States cannot continue like this, they need to be united or they’ll be torn apart in the next war, again.”

And there would be a next war. There always was and they were both old enough to know it.

“But are you sure he can really do it?”

Prussia nodded. “Ja, if he gets the help and support he needs,” he glared darkly at Austria. “You won’t be leeching off of him like before.”

The brunet Nation flushed with indignation. “How dare you? I was simply –!”

“Save your excuses, you still all but killed him eight years ago,” Prussia snapped. “This time, we’ll make it work. This time, the German States will be united even if I have to die to pull it off.”

Hah, as if. He was going to rule the German States.

In the room they had left behind, the small form turned weakly to his side. Blue eyes, hazy with sleep and pain, opened slowly and stared expressionlessly out of the bright window.

"Bruder…?"

Chapter Text

Finland had trouble holding in his excitement; it had been ages since he had been out of the country. Not that he didn’t love his lands and people, but sometimes even Nations needed a change of scenery to keep things from becoming dull, and to avoid turning complacent in the matters of their state. Of course the only reason he was along at all was because Napoleon had finally abdicated and now all the Nations and their leaders were gathering in Vienna – for the first time ever – to agree on the aftereffects of the wars. Such things had never been done before. He had no trouble recalling the times when it was extremely rare for more than five Nations to meet at the same time and now most of Europe was coming together to talk.

It was unprecedented, it was exciting beyond measure.

Even vassal-states like him were invited along, but not to talk, no. Things hadn't changed that much and Finland wouldn't have known what to say anyway. But as the changes that were being discussed directly affected them, the Great Powers had figured it would be at least courteous to have them along for the talks. For Finland it was merely a formality at this point, after five years as a part of Russia’s household.

Besides that, it would be his first time in Vienna. He had seen many cities all around Europe during his time but never Austria's heart, no matter how hard he and Sweden tried to capture it during the Thirty Years’ War. But in the end they hadn’t even got the proper chance to try, the Northern States having been too restless at the time and the two of them becoming a bit drunk off of their power. The rush had been unbelievable and made Finland kind of understand what the appeal of Empire status was.

One thing about the trip that did worry him was that he would be out of contact with his government and officials, who were still working on how to make things better. He was also forced to leave Ehrenström to his own devices with his German architect, the two of them under Uusimaa's at times lax supervision. While the Province's plans and the ferocious gleam in her eyes did worry him a bit, he remained hopeful that Helsinki, his new and shy heart still waiting to grow, would truly become the pearl of the Baltic Sea.

As long as it wasn't too feminine or something. He didn't want a repeat of Sweden's wife talks with Russia. God, the very thought made him nauseous.

His gaze flickered around the high, splendorous entrance hall of Ballhausplatz in wonder, taking in the golden coloured decorations lining the shining white walls. With half an ear he listened to the servants walking by, trying to make sense of the accented and tilted German these people spoke. Some words were wholly unfamiliar to him while those more familiar were pronounced differently.

All the people and Nations were dressed finely for the opening celebrations. Even Finland was wearing his newest and most expensive finery for the dance, the long tail of his dark double-breasted jacket fluttering regally somewhere around the back of his thighs. While having a dance for the opening seemed a bit excessive to him – it would only make the losers more sour and bitter about the whole affair – he was still curious to see what such an occasion looked like in one of the most modern courts.

“You seem excited, Финля́ндия,” came an amused voice from behind him and the northern Nation glanced over his shoulder, offering Russia a wide grin.

“It’s my first time in Vienna and the chance to take part in this Congress is an honour,” he explained, flicking his blond hair away from his eyes, his gaze shooting curiously to a group of dark haired young men and women, some of them looking annoyed and some relieved. Their looks were so similar to each other it was obvious they were siblings. And if so many of them were coming… they would probably be divided pretty heavily.

Russia chuckled and nodded. “Да, it will be interesting. So many Nations coming together…” the Empire smiled brightly, looking around the hall, where the Austrian German was slowly being replaced by a smattering of other languages. “It’s a beautiful thing, is it not?”

Finland simply nodded as they stepped into the Congress hall. It was huge, with high ceiling and huge candelabras and tall windows illuminating the room, making the intricate red decorative panel shine on the walls. He felt a heavy hand on his shoulder and a breath of air in his ear as Russia leant close, murmuring softly: “Stay close to me.”

“Yes sir,” Finland murmured in return, dropping back several steps and placing himself to Russia’s right and a step behind, exactly where he had stood with Sweden in the past. But this time his back was straighter, his posture more relaxed and at ease with the situation as he followed his Empire across the hall, ignoring the whispers of other Nations. England, Sweden, Prussia, Denmark, Spain, Norway, Netherlands, Bohemia, Poland, Saxony, Hanover and countless others, seeming tired and battered. Some seemed fearful and some hopeful for the future as they pulled back to the edges of the room, leaving the Big Players – the ones who would be deciding their destiny – to the middle.

Even though he didn't know all Nations by sight or even name, they were easy to tell apart from the rest for they very rarely had a partner with them. Women tended to assume things and most Nations found romantic relationships a hassle that should be avoided. Having such an affair with a human would feel as if being involved with a child, especially if they were one of their own people. And being romantically involved with another Nation tended to get messy with the ever-changing politics.

It was just more convenient to keep any close relationships between Nations out of the picture completely.

The doors banging shut caused silence to fall in the room as the Nations and humans alike turned to regard the sharp-eyed, light-haired man standing beside Austria at the head of the hall, looking over all those in it expressionlessly. Beside them stood a man with short, curly brown hair and intense gaze as he observed the people filling the hall.

"We, the First Emperor of Austrian Empire, Franz, and my Empire welcome you to the Vienna Congress," his voice carried across the entire hall, his French carefully pronounced so that everyone would understand him. "The main goal of this Congress will be to return the balance that was prevalent in Europe before the French Revolution and Napoleon's insanity disturbed it," the Emperor continued. "But before we talk of that, let us dance."

Austria was once again standing at the head of the room, his purple suit immaculate as he observed them all with an arrogant sort of air around him. "Welcome to Vienna on my part as well, I hope you enjoy your stay," he started regally, with a slight, polite but empty smile on his face.

The set up was the same as the previous evening when the Congress had officially been opened, with both the Nations and humans present. Today however it would be just them and Finland couldn't help but hope that there would be more business here today. Otherwise he might have as well stayed in Helsinki.

"In spite of our leaders having decided to postpone the actual Congress until November 1, I thought it prudent that at least we start some of the actual work before then. We'll however only have a quick overview of the biggest issues so as not to disturb the upcoming human talks too much," Austria's voice didn't let on whether he approved this decision or not but there were many disgruntled murmurs in the hall. Slow politics were the worst nightmare of most Nations.

"Today," Austria continued, "we'll address firstly our… colleague, who caused this whole mess," his purple eyes flickered to the side as he nodded to one of the lesser Nations – probably either a German or Austrian State – standing by the door. With a nod the lesser Nation opened it, letting in several others, all of them subtly but heavily armed and surrounding France. His normally luscious hair hung limply on his shoulders and while his suit was clean, it was also wrinkled and Finland could just make out several places where it had been hastily fixed.

Angry murmurs broke out across the hall. "What's he doing here?!" England's protest was predictably the loudest but some Germans weren't far behind in volume.

The fallen Empire didn’t react to the jeers or let his thoughts show on his face but simply followed along, docile, to the chair along the long table that had been appointed for him. France was normally so full of life that this form appeared to be a mere shadow of him. But he still held himself with a sort of resigned pride that spoke not of total defeat but merely a temporary setback.

Austria gave the Island Empire a reproving look. "He has as much right to be here as you, England. It's his mess we're trying to fix and we need to make sure he won't try it again," Austria turned to the imprisoned Nation. "Isn't that right, Frankreich?"

France's smile seemed forced as he coughed out roughly. "Of course… Autriche."

Austria nodded approvingly, turning back to address the hall at large. "Now, as we've all agreed to act like civilized Nations; Prussia and I have an announcement regarding the future of the German States.”

A new wave of murmurs broke out as the tens – fortunately for there was no way all three hundred would have fit comfortably in the hall – of German States glanced warily at each other. What sort of announcement could they have? Prussia didn't seem to be present even though he was certain the ghost-like Nation had been in the hall just moment's ago.

Austria shifted uncomfortably. “As you know, the Holy Roman Empire… passed… in 1806, leaving the German States without a unifying power.”

Not that they had been very united back then either but the others were feeling too curious to point that out. Even France appeared curious in the middle of his guard.

“The Treaties of Paris and Chaumont already implied that Prussia and I had plans in place and today, we’ll introduce you to those plans.”

Surprised glances and whispers broke out across the room, only for silence to fall as one set of doors were pushed open, revealing Prussia, who was carrying a small form in his arms. Finland stood on his tiptoes almost without meaning to, cursing his shortness. It appeared to be a small boy, maybe six summers in age, wearing a small dark-coloured suit and resting his pale-haired head on Prussia's shoulder.

“Who’s that, Pr-Prussia?” came an uncertain question and Finland glanced towards the speaker seeing, a wide-eyed, anxious looking teenager with brown hair standing to the side. On the lapel of his jacket was a decorative pin in the shape of a coat of arms Finland couldn’t make out.

Wine-red eyes flickered for a moment towards the southern Nation before he answered. “Mein kleiner Bruder, the soon to be German Confederation.”

The silence hanging in the hall was heavy, no one knowing how they should react.

Finland wasn’t sure what to even think of this scheme Prussia and Austria had going. The German Confederation seemed small and weak, his light blond hair falling over his apparently feverish forehead and into his eyes as if someone had forgotten to cut it.

Austria seemed to notice that as well when he pursed his lips disapprovingly, stepping closer and pushing the strands away from the small face. For a moment he even seemed to contemplate the possibility of using grease to push it back and he probably would have done it if it hadn’t drawn even more attention to the child’s red, feverish forehead and he hadn't been in the middle of the Congress. And the child really did look sick, not even completely aware of what was going on around him as he clung to Prussia’s clothes.

Finland felt a bit sorry for him, already carrying a heavy burden at such a young age and if the history was anything to judge by, he would fall, sooner or later – and quite possibly alone and despised. He had to wonder if it wasn’t too cruel to force the heavy mantle of the late Holy Roman Empire on such a young Nation so soon.

Finland's breath left him in a rush as he stared around the hall wide-eyed and feeling quite bewildered. Despite having spent almost three months in Vienna he was sure he would never get used to the white and gold splendour of the Hofburg Imperial Palace, with it's grand halls and shining crystal chandeliers and endless number of beautiful halls and rooms.

Today he had managed to slip out of the Russian Imperial tactical meeting (which was centred around Poland, again), hoping to attend one of the many concerts held in Vienna to entertain all the guests residing in the city. Even though the actual Congress had finally started, it wasn't as if he had much to offer to the discussions – there was absolutely no question what his current and future positions were politically and nationally speaking and no one was interested in his opinions on other things anyway – so why not take advantage? He had already been offered the change to hear some truly amazing music in the opening of the Congress but he wasn't going to say no to more.

Finland enjoyed watching theatre and going to concerts but was only very rarely offered a chance to do so. King Gustav III period had been an exception as the King had actively encouraged both of his National Personifications to go to theatre or opera or concert at every chance – Finland's visits to Stockholm had always included at least one cultural visit. But this would be the first time he would have the chance to listen to one of the great Middle-European composers directly and not through the interpretation of others.

His seat was rather far back but he wasn't complaining, this concert was first and foremost for the leaders; kings, nobles, lords, counts and the like, not for the Nations. Finland didn't know why that was, maybe they assumed that they were so far removed from humanity that things like this didn't interest them?

He had no clue how such a misconception was even possible in Austria.

As the orchestra started he closed his eyes and leant back in his chair, letting the music wash over him; strong and majestic at times, then dropping down to a quiet whispering before bursting out again like an explosion. The singer's voice ringing out bright and clear, singing of Europe and its peoples, their glory. The cantata reverberated through his body, tickling his imagination and causing him to subconsciously straighten his back.

'A Glorious Moment' indeed.

It sounded just as good as in the opening night, if not even better.

Then something bumped against his chair and his eyes shot open and down at the form crouching on the floor.

"Preussi?" he whispered in disbelief. Prussia had always had some unusual tendencies but sneaking around and crawling on the floor of a concert hall seemed a tad too weird even for him.

"Hi Finland," the Kingdom gave an unrepentant grin, seeming wholly unconcerned with his current situation. "Fancy seeing you here."

"What are you doing?" Finland asked blankly.

"Conducting an awesome rescue operation to save my little brother from Austria's lame concert," Prussia declared proudly and a bit too loudly, causing the nearby nobles to shush him disapprovingly. Prussia stuck his tongue out at them the moment their backs were turned and Finland stifled a snort of laughter. Prussia could be such a child sometimes.

"That's nice," he murmured with a chuckle, relaxing back into his seat. "Don't mind me."

But the Kingdom was already observing him with a calculating expression. "Actually… you could help me out."

Alarm bells were going off in Finland's head immediately. While he wasn't outright friends with Prussia, the two of them were rather well-acquainted and he knew the other well enough to tell this would be a supremely bad idea. "Oh no no, I'm sure you can rescue your brother just fine without my input," he hastened to whisper in order to avoid annoyed stares from the surrounding humans.

His protests were ignored as Prussia slung his arm over Finland's shoulder, pulling him closer. "Now, my awesome accomplice, you're going to distract Austria while I do the actual saving –"

"You do know you're about fifty times more noticeable than I am, right?"

A particularly passionate violin accompanied Prussia's stunned silence as he stared at Finland looking flabbergasted before recovering from the vassal Nation's bout of sarcasm.

"Okay, the new plan's this–"

He sat curled up in his seat, his winter coat wrapped tightly around him even inside the fully packed hall. His forehead was damp from sweat but he kept shivering from the cold that seemed to permeate his body. He just wanted to sleep but Österreich had insisted he come to the… concert. It was okay he guessed but when the music became loud and intense he wanted to hide and cover his ears but Österreich wouldn't let him and the older Nation would look down at him disapprovingly if he moved too much so he tried to stay still.

His head was hurting again and he tried not to think. That helped sometimes. Other times it just made his head hurt more and somehow he felt really scared at the same time.

Then he would get these… flashes was probably the best word for it; a sudden smell of smoke in his nose, the taste of iron in his mouth or a girl he didn't know smiling at him. If he asked about them, Österreich would look pained and refuse to answer and Preußen would say he didn't want to talk about 'un-awesome things like that'. So he slowly stopped asking.

Sometimes, in the flashes, he would see one of his myriad of brothers fighting or just talking or even dying. He was never quite sure who was who, there were so many of them that matching a name to a face was hard. He wasn't even certain of his own name; he wasn't the German Confederation yet and Preußen got offended if someone called him the Confederation of the Rhine, which didn't feel right anyway even if it was currently more correct. Probably.

German Confederation didn't feel right either. But maybe it would when it became his name officially.

The music rose again and he tried to surreptitiously cover his ears by ducking his head lower. Maybe Österreich wouldn't notice.

"Well well well, why am I not surprised I found you here, Zimperlichen?"

His head shot up at his older brother's voice, who was lounging on the chair next to Austria, looking smug and talking way too loudly for a concert. Humans were looking at him badly.

Austria's face drew down into a scowl. "Prussia, hold your tongue and let me enjoy the music."

"Sorry, can't do that, it would be total un-awesome of me to fail my older brotherly duties to Westen here," Prussia offered him a grin and a wink. He looked up at his brother, confused as Prussia continued goading Austria, drawing more and more disapproving looks.

"Just because some of us are cultured –!"

"Bah, pretentious bullshit –"

"Psst, kid," someone was tugging at his trouser leg and he peered down, meeting the wry violet eyes of a young man hiding partly beneath his chair.

He didn't recognise the man and the boy pointed uncertainly at himself and the man nodded, glancing at where Prussia and Austria were barely managing to keep their argument low enough so as not to disturb the orchestra, before motioning for the boy to lean down.

"You're looking a bit tired, what do you say if we slip out while your guardian's distracted?"

The man's grin was mischievous and for a second the boy saw blood splattered on his dirty cheeks and smelled smoke and he shivered. The man didn't seem to notice but simply held out his hand, still smiling. After a moment's hesitation the boy took the hand and followed the blond man under the chairs.

The amount of fancy looking shoes and carefully embroidered dress hems was staggering and he had to stay careful so as not to trample them to the floor. The man didn't seem to have any problem navigating the two of them through the mess and soon he was pulling them up to stand at the edge of the hall. They were a lot further away from the orchestra but the playing was so intense it didn't really help with the pain in his ears.

The man gently placed his hand on the boy's shoulder and pulled him a bit closer. "C'mon," he murmured softly, starting to walk towards the doors at the back of the hall and the boy felt relieved at the thought of getting out.

There the man pulled him to sit on a spindly side-chair-divan thing next to an ornate mirror. He curled up gratefully, closing his eyes with a sigh, enjoying the feel of the firm wall behind his back. Somehow he felt uneasy even if the man had been nice.

"How're you holding up?" the man asked, crouching down to his level, peering up into his feverish eyes.

"Okay…" he muttered in answer, "Why did you –?"

A rueful smile. "Prussia asked, he figured you wouldn't enjoy the concert."

The boy felt it necessary to protest because he did think the music was good. "It wasn't bad –"

"I meant you look a bit peaky, like you're about to fall over," the man hastened to explain, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I'm not claiming you don't like Beethoven."

The man's violet eyes were sincere and the boy's gaze dropped to his knees uncertainly, trying to think of something to say. He hadn't spent much time with anyone besides his brother and – uncle? cousin? another brother? he really didn't know how to classify Austria in his confusing family dynamics – so suddenly talking with a stranger was… discomfiting.

The man's German was good, with barely any discernable accent although his o's and u's came out a bit funnily. He had heard them like that somewhere before though… "Are you… one of my brothers?" he asked uncertainly.

The man blinked in surprise. "Me? Heavens no, I'm one of Russia's vassals, Finland."

He tried to think about that. He didn't remember the man but he did remember being told to be careful around Russia, to watch his words.

"But your German's very good," he pointed out to Finland, his fingers twitching nervously in his lap. This couldn't turn into a dangerous discussion right?

Finland shrugged, "Out of necessity really, for trading and whatnot. And I studied a few years in Leipzig University."

That's where he had heard them before; Saxony's u's and o's had always sounded a bit funny to him, like he was making the sounds at the front of his mouth. "When?" he asked instead, to keep the conversation going.

Finland tilted his head thoughtfully. "Hmm… must have been sometime in the early 15th century, I never really kept track. But it was a really new university back then, Saxony was really proud of it and wouldn't stop bragging until I went to check it out. "

He stared at the man in mixed awe and disbelief. He still had trouble believing that Nations could live for hundreds of years and look barely old enough to shave. Not that Finland looked that young, if he was a human he would have guessed the older Nation to be about 17 or 18 summers at most and that was plenty old enough to shave, at least according to Prussia.

"Oi Finland!" a cheerful call had both of them looking towards the double doors of the concert hall. Prussia was grinning broadly as he ambled over to them, ruffling fondly his younger brother's hair. "Thanks for the help, I'll take this rascal somewhere more quiet."

Finland grinned and straightened up from his crouch. "It was no trouble, the kid's very well-behaved," he glanced back at the boy and grinned, "See you around, Saksa."

As Prussia led him down the hallway, he looked over his shoulder at the older Nation as the other headed back into the concert hall. Finland seemed like an unusual Nation.

Chapter Text

It was colder in Vienna than he had expected but not as cold as in northern Europe. The weather was frequently overcast but it consistently stayed lighter than at home, which made him scowl at the injustice of it all. The weather here was consistently more pleasant than at his home. There were no thunderstorms either which was a nice change to his normal winters.

The coming of winter had heralded the proper beginning of the actual work – why he had expected Austria to get to work immediately he couldn't fathom, he should have seen the endless string of concerts coming from miles away – and the beginning of the actual headaches. Russia had been intent since the very beginning to get Poland's lands for himself while Prussia was just as intent on getting Saxony. And they had a deal to help each other achieve their goals. It was a fine old mess Europe had turned into after that Frog became big-headed, not that he had expected any different. It was all he and the other Nations and their rulers could do to keep Russia contained outside central Europe.

They didn't need another Empire fighting for the limited landmass in Europe, less of all a Slav like Russia.

England let his gaze sweep over the private meeting room, ignoring his colleagues and exchanging a look with Lord Castlereagh who was slowly stirring a spoon in his tea. The Island Nation himself wished for another cup but at this point it would only be putting the actual decision making off. France was examining his nails in a subdued manner while his human representative Talleyrand kept flicking through the pile of papers before him. Austria and Metternicht were in a deep discussion near the window, with both of them looking rather concerned about the situation. Considering they had been the ones to call this meeting it was no surprise.

Finally England gave a frustrated sigh. "We just need to somehow break Russia's and Prussia's alliance and restrict Russia's influence in Europe, right?"

The others glanced at him and Austria nodded and took off his glasses, "That's right," he said, cleaning them carefully with a white, lace-edged handkerchief. "Prussia's insufferable as he is and having him allied with Russia certainly wouldn't help the situation. And fact is, we do not need Russia to push any further into Europe."

Austria was understandably the most concerned about this new alliance, he shared a border with both of them and giving in to their demands would lengthen that shared border even more, which obviously wasn't a desirable outcome. Prussia was generally regarded as someone who was more bloodthirsty than Nations normally were and while Russia was pleasant and smiled a lot, he could scare most Nations within an inch of their lives if he tried. And sometimes even if he didn't try.

France only nodded briskly in agreement – a wise decision from as far as England was concerned; the Napoleon debacle couldn't be swept under the rug that easily. Both he and Talleyrand were present only because it broke the deadlock the Big Four were currently in. Slimy frog.

Metternicht grunted in agreement as well. As far as England was aware, the man had almost ended up in a duel with Tsar Alexander due to disagreements about Poland and had refused to see Russia's ruler since. At least the actual politicians from Russia were being somewhat reasonable. And then there were Prussia's demands to contend with as well, not to mention the general unrest still prevalent throughout Europe. Austria and Metternicht seemed to have an uncommon amount of trouble with the whole Congress, which just made him thankful that he wasn't the one hosting it. It was more trouble than it was worth, really.

"But there's really nothing we can promise them in exchange," Lord Castlereagh pointed out briskly as he set down his teaspoon. "Our choices are very slim."

"Please don't remind me," Austria huffed. "Does anyone have anything constructive to offer?"

Talleyrand and France exchanged meaningful looks and England found himself straightening in his seat, eyes narrowed. France cleared his throat, bringing the other three's eyes on himself as well, "We could form a Secret Defence Alliance, " he offered, his voice a bit raspy.

England frowned suspiciously but Austria looked intrigued. "What would you propose?"

France shrugged nervously and loosened his cravat. "Just an agreement to help each other against Prussia and Russia if they were to do anything untoward. I would be the next in line after you, Austria," he added, "And Angleterre after I."

Lord Castlereagh tapped his pen against the pile of papers before him and England glanced at the man who first looked meaningfully at Austria, then at France before frowning. England reached out inconspicuously for his teacup, turning it just a bit clockwise. Message received.

He cleared his throat, meeting the gazes of the two other Nations. "I don't mean to be rude, but I don't trust the frog as far as a bulldog can kick him," which was not very far, they weren't really built to kick anything at all, "and if something were to happen to Austria –"

"Are you implying the Royaume de France is untrustworthy?" Talleyrand interrupted sharply, looking ready to pull out his pistol on the Island Nation.

Lord Castlereagh scoffed and poured himself and his Nation new cups of tea. "France and England have fought numerous wars between each other –"

"Twenty-two by my last count," England offered wryly.

"– and expecting us to trust you is a bit much to ask in my humble opinion," the Lord finished firmly.

Austria gave a long-suffering sigh as the English and French human representatives glared at each other, "What do you propose then, England?"

"An Accession," the Island Nation answered, "taking other Nations with the same concerns into the treaty."

"Sounds reasonable, that would offer all of us some added security," Metternicht hurried to agree, probably eager to get out of the meeting. "Is this fine with you?" he asked looking at the French delegation who, after a moment's consideration, nodded.

"Hanover will join in," England said without preamble. He was in a personal union with the German State so there really was no need to ask her.

"I can talk Bavaria into it," Austria offered somewhat hesitantly.

"Sardinia said she'll never let me or anyone else take her lands from her," France offered reluctantly. "She could have potential as a member."

Lord Castlereagh had been observing the small map of Europe mixed along his papers. "What do you say we unite the western shores? We would only be missing Netherlands."

'One extra Nation between me and the potential threat,' England mused, pretending to think about it. "Sounds like a plan."

Finland didn't get to attend many meetings during the Congress but from what he gathered, between the parties and the splendour, others did gather in groups of four or so. Both humans and Nations kept their meeting small and private, except when there was something so important everyone's presence was required.

The Congress hall was considerably quieter with Prussia, England and France gone; the latter had somehow managed to give the slip to his German guards after the news of Napoleon’s escape from Elba had reached them. Why he had done so, Finland couldn’t fathom; the talks had been going relatively well for the Frenchman, as had all the socialising that seemed to play a larger role than actual talks in this ‘Congress.’

And even more bafflingly, one of the Italian Nations had sneaked out after him but he didn't think anyone had noticed. There were so many Germans and Italians in attendance it was no wonder their disappearances were not noticed.

And Prussia, always eager for a fight, had taken off after him to call his men to arms, cackling all the while. England on the other hand, had left simply for the chance to beat France up again without anyone telling him to behave civilly, leaving his human representative standing to the side, looking quite baffled about the whole thing. Netherlands had given a put upon a sigh and told to the room at large that he was going too, to ‘make sure those two don’t destroy everything.’

That had left the others with the duty of compiling the last of the treaties and to finalise the new map of Europe.

Austria gave an annoyed huff and turned to regard the main table, which was now considerably emptier than it had been just moments previous. “Shall we get to work?” he asked blandly. “Or is someone else going to go haring off after those idiots?”

No answer was forthcoming as some Nations eyed each other warily. Just now they had lost three of the Great Powers who were basically controlling the talks, leaving Austria and Russia as the most powerful Nations in the room.

Finland had no trouble sensing others’ unease but he himself felt fairly confident. He was fine with how things were and this was merely a formality as far as his lands were concerned anyway.

And thus several days later when the time came to sign the so-termed Final Act – on June 9 1815 – the Nations were once again gathered in the Grand Hall, to watch the main signatories. The rest of them – those who were most affected by the treaties this Act finally ratified to full effect – could only stand to the side and watch as their lives were decided for them. Their only duty, after the treaty was signed, would be to draw their borders and mark their lands on the huge map of Europe that had already been spread out on another table, standing a bit to the side. For some that would be like signing their death sentence. Finland preferred not to think about it; he had more freedom than in the past and with time he would gain more. For now he would bow his head and gain strength, confidence and experience in running a country small scale, until the time came for him to break away from Russia.

Because sooner or later that would happen, he was sure of it.

For now the Empire was turning out to be a friend of sorts to him but the relations between Nations were fickle. Where he and Sweden had once been thick as thieves, they now regarded each other with certain disdain and communicated only when necessary. Just as recently Russia had been classed as his arch-nemesis but now they were getting along and respected each other.

The main treaty was signed by Austria, whose violet eyes remained emotionless, Russia, who was smiling slightly, Portugal, who didn’t seem all that bothered, Sweden, his gaze stony and his posture stiff, Norway – having entered into a constitutional monarchy with Sweden and was thus entitled to a signature, no matter how small – stepped up next, seeming resentful behind his usual mask of indifference.

With three of the main signatories absent, their stand-ins were called up next; Ireland, who had been called to take the place of England, looking generally annoyed by the whole matter; the French Region of Vendée, signing in place of absent France – who would without a doubt fall back in line with the treaty the moment he was beat up – and finally Brandenburg in Prussia’s stead, looking rather bored and annoyed by the situation as a whole. Finland was relatively certain he heard her muttering something about Prussia being an idiot, hardly a rare opinion.

Spain, in spite of being among those who really should have signed the Act, declined with a shake of his head, stepping away from the pen offered to him. Austria frowned darkly at his old ally but relented, turning to address the hall as a whole.

“Now, the map,” he said calmly.

They moved to the other table, gazing down at the mostly empty map, only marred by coastlines, lakes and rivers. Not even towns and cities were named on it. “I thought it would be more practical to redraw it from scratch than trying to fit the new borders in-between all the old ones," Austria explained, setting up the ink and pen beside the large paper.

Russia was nodding in agreement. “Да, makes sense. Much easier to understand without all the old scribbles,” a slight smile twisted his lips. “Some even still show our friend Poland,” his eyes flickered to the lesser Nation standing small ways away. The Duchy of Warsaw’s green eyes flashed darkly as he crossed his arms and turned away with a huff.

The other lesser Nations – even if none of them wanted to think of themselves as that – stepped forward, some of them looking uncomfortable and staring at the map as if it was a viper waiting to strike. Silence hung heavy in the air as they looked carefully at each other, as if wondering who would sign their future away first. After a moment Finland sighed, holding out his hand for the pen, which Austria handed to him with a raised eyebrow.

“I can start,” he said calmly, walking carefully around the table so he could reach the northernmost parts of Europe.

With a sure and steady stroke of the pen he drew a thick line in the Baltic Sea, separating Åland from Sweden, before reaching further north to follow the rivers already agreed upon in the Treaty of Fredrikshamn. The border between him and Norway was a bit uncertain in places and not clearly defined all the way through. That would need to be agreed upon soon, even if only Sapmí travelled there. The border between his and Russia’s lands was thinner but clearly defined and his pen didn’t hesitate even for a moment as he drew the squiggly line all the way down to the Gulf of Finland, near St. Petersburg. For a moment he stared at his borders, before signing his name across the landmass in Finnish, Swedish, Russian – taking a moment longer to think through the Cyrillic alphabet – and finally French for the sake of clarity. He placed the pen calmly aside and stepped back, regarding the other Nations as if this was a usual occurrence and he had done nothing more unusual than feed his horse.

Finally, slowly, one by one every one of the Nations took a up the pen, filling in their own part of the map; Poland, looking enraged at being handed over to Russia like a smelly sock, the countless German Nations filling their names in under the German Confederation, those of them who were not called to fill in their names looking worried and some even resigned, for only a fraction of them would live to see the dawn of the next century. None of the Nations would say it though, the world was cruel and the passing years waited for no one.

The child-faced German Confederation – with his feverish blue eyes and sweat-soaked blond hair and whose shaking hand was supported by Austria circled the large landmass encompassing most of Middle Europe; the Italian Nations dividing their peninsula first amongst themselves before bowing under the ruling of others – the distracted looking former Kingdom of Italy shooting quick glances at the young Confederation – with the head of the Papal States seeming a bit annoyed at some loss of territory; Switzerland noting his own entirely neutral territory down quite smugly.

The procession of Nations was long and Finland was left sitting to the side, somewhat bored by the whole affair. There was probably a huge pile of paperwork waiting for him at home, which he didn’t look forward to doing at all. Although Russia’s pile was probably larger and as Finland would most certainly be adding some of his own to it after first looking through them himself… Maybe he would just do his paperwork without complaint, the amount was bound to be reasonably small compared to a larger Nation’s corresponding one.

“You’re looking content,” came an annoyed observation and Finland glanced towards the voice, meeting Poland’s dark green eyes.

The Finn shrugged slightly. “My situation’s actually better than it used to be,” he answered. “Of course I’m content.”

Poland, the Duchy of Warsaw, scoffed and dropped surprisingly gracefully down onto the chair beside him, glaring at Russia’s direction – who didn’t seem to notice. “Well some of us have always been, like, second class,” he said mockingly.

Finland’s eyes narrowed darkly as he shot glare at the Pole. “Oh? Is that so? Let me welcome you among us second class Nations then,” he said mock-courteously, “I hope your stay will be long and most enjoyable.”

If looks could kill Finland was reasonably sure he would have just died very painfully. Although by all rights he should have died of Sweden’s looks a long time ago. He leant closer to Poland, lowering his voice. “And if nothing else, it does prove that what goes up, will eventually come down. For me,” a grin stretched across his lips, "the only way now is up."

The grey trail of smoke seemed to disappear as it rose towards the sky in the faint morning light. There was a faint scent of wet grass he could just barely make out through the smell of tobacco and the slight wind felt pleasantly fresh on his face. He inhaled the smoke from his pipe deeply, gazing across the fields towards the ridge separating them from the French forces under the command of Napoleon. It seemed the smeerlap had decided to wait until both the fields and roads dried a bit from previous night's rain. He wasn't complaining, he didn't particularly want to fight knee-deep in mulch either.

Netherlands frowned slightly, emptying his pipe with a sharp tap against his thigh, grinding the still softly smouldering tobacco leaves into the ground, putting them out. While the foliage was still too wet to catch fire, he preferred being careful. Especially because he knew Belgium would throw a hissy fit if he accidentally set fire to her field.

"You're up early," England observed dryly, walking up to him, his thick eyebrows drawn down into a sharp frown as he glared south.

"Like you're one to talk," Netherlands grunted. England had been up since two or three in the morning, sending scathing letters to Prussia. Netherlands had to wonder why the Empire even bothered; it wasn't like Prussia was very likely to listen, being 'awesome' and all.

England ignored his comment (that actually happened to him quite often…). "Any sign of France?"

Netherlands rolled his eyes and shook his head, digging his tobacco pouch from his pocket. He so couldn't deal with this mess without a smoke to calm him. At this rate he would run out before this battle even started and that would be a very bad thing as he knew from experience.

"Do you have anything else to mention about the area?" England asked then, only now turning to regard his ally seriously.

Netherlands filled his pipe slowly, trying to buy time as he wracked his brain for anything at all. Sure, Waterloo was his land in name but if he was entirely honest, he didn't feel much of a connection to the land itself. His sister's influence here was stronger.

"Nothing in particular," he finally answered. "The scouts would have already notified us and the commanders if there was something I don't remember. As long as we can keep France off-balance we should be fine."

England gave a savage grin. "Indeed, and I so enjoy keeping the frog off-balance."

"Remember you can't just go and kill him," Netherlands admonished the Island Empire shrewdly. "Even if he'd heal quick, you know how annoying it's to drag a should-be decomposing corpse around with you, especially if it's dropping entrails and limbs all along the road."

England sighed. "Pity, I was looking forward to dragging him along the ground behind my horse for the entire trip back to Vienna."

"And I thought we all got over the Middle Ages," Netherlands muttered dryly and lit his pipe, following after England back towards their temporary lodgings as the other cackled in a sinister manner.

Finland wasn't entirely certain how he ended up as a babysitter.

Okay, that was a lie but the situation baffled him nonetheless. There were several more likely choices for this but for some reason he had been chosen. Finland suspected neither Austria nor Prussia trusted the other German States to look after the young Confederation, whose very existence would eventually result in the death of some of his brothers. And Russia probably preferred to know where Finland was instead of having the Grand Principality wandering around the French capital.

And there was no way he was going anywhere with little Germany who seemed to have constant troubles walking. He had been getting a bit better since the Confederation had been officially formed before the Final Act had been signed in Vienna, but not by much. Ineffective system and just as ineffective politics with barely any patriotic feelings from the people did that to you.

He looked up from his book and shot a quick glance to sleeping child Nation. He was curled up on the royal purple divan under Finland's own suit jacket, still shivering. Finland gave a sigh but didn't move. There was nothing he could do.

He returned to his book, shutting the slight shifting sounds decisively from his mind.

He was still a bit sour about the fact that while he had been present in Vienna, he hadn't actually taken part in any of the talks or decisions. He had just sat aside in the concerts and meetings, listening and never saying anything. And now, instead of returning to Finland straight from the Congress, the Emperor had decided to come to Paris instead – which basically meant all the Nations who were part of his entourage had to come too, including Finland – apparently to ensure France wouldn't keep causing uproars. The Hundred Days had been enough of a headache to everyone involved even if England and Prussia both absolutely loved rubbing France's loss at Waterloo to his face.

And now Russia, Prussia and Austria were finalising their plans in case of another revolution. They called it the 'Holy Alliance' because it would be signed by the representatives of the three sects of Christianity; the Orthodox Russia, the Catholic Austria and the Protestant Prussia.

The Papal States of course thought that the whole thing was most unholy and lamented about how Prussia used to be such a good Christian. From what Finland had gathered from the whispers, some Nations were very supportive of the treaty while others, such as apparently England, were against it.

Finland personally didn't really care one way or the other, someone would always be unhappy anyway.

Like he for example, he wanted to just go home already, he had been away for over a year already. He wanted to know what was going on at home. Sure, he could ascertain some things through his very self but it didn't feel like there were that many things to ascertain in the first place. He had occasional headaches and slight flus, which he was pretty sure were because of his economy but he couldn't tell any more than that.

The thing was, it didn't really feel like anything had changed at all. Not in the year he had been gone, not since his separation from Sweden. And while that had been kind of the point of the autonomic position in the first place it didn't mean he wanted to stagnate. Because stagnation happened when you grew too used to how things were and didn't strive to evolve. It had happened with Sweden's Empire and Finland was sure it would happen to him if he just played Russia's wingman like he had used to do for Sweden.

He let out a quiet sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. It didn't really help but a slight sound of fluttering feathers and a cold shiver distracted him from the ache.

"Don't bother hiding in the doorway, Russia," he remarked without opening his eyes, "it's unbecoming of you."

A slight chuckle and firm steps on the floor answered him. "I really wish I could figure out how you can tell it's me every time."

Finland smirked slightly and looked up at his Empire. "It's a sec-ret, Veli-Venäjä."

The taller Nation rolled his eyes in amused exasperation, both at the answer and the name. Finland had taken to calling the other 'Brother Russia' and his only explanation had been that he liked alliteration, which Russia had no trouble believing, he had heard old Finnish poems. His gaze flickered to the small Nation on the sofa, taking in the sweating forehead.

"No change?" he asked.

His vassal simply shook his head. "I don't think there will be any change unless Prussia and Austria completely reorganize German States," he said, "the kid's really weak."

Russia tilted his head to the side as he looked down at the child. Finland was pretty sure the Empire agreed with his assessment, anyone could see the kid wasn't doing particularly well. The Grand Principality had never even sensed the Confederation's luonto. It either didn't exist or was so weak it couldn't be detected, neither of which would particularly surprise Finland.

Russia hmm'ed and turned back to Finland with a bright smile on his face. "Well, it really isn't any of my business," he remarked cheerfully, "How do you feel about going home?"

Finland shut his book with a thump and stood up with a grin. "As soon as possible, please."

The Empire laughed patting his shoulder and leading him towards the door, not paying any mind to the child remaining behind. Prussia and Austria would probably show up soon with Russia having already left their meeting. "Let's go pack our bags and head north."

"Yes, sir."