Chapter 2

Miss' sota tuimin

Where war were the fiercest

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.

A/N:

Chapter title: from Runeberg's poem Veteranen/Sotavanhus (Swe./Fin. Veteran/War elder) (The Finnish translation is from 1889, what did you expect?)
Battle of Siikajoki: April 18 1808, it was Easter Monday.
Jägars (Swe.): Jaegers, the light infantrymen. For the record, the Finnish term is jääkäri.
Insignificant: Russia actually wasn't interested in attacking Finland in the beginning, but Treaty of Tilsit (July 1807) with France said they would force Sweden to join the continental blockade against Britain, so... they attacked Finland. More on this later.
*Scandinavian mile (10 km) was in use in Finland until the end of the 19th century (called in Swe./Fin. mil/peninkulma). It equals about 6.2 statute miles. So the distances represented here are:
Russians retreated 1/2 mile: 5 km: 3,1 statute miles
Distance from Siikajoki to Revonlahti 3 miles: 30 km: 18.6 statute miles
Ja pysykääkin poissa! (Fin.): And make sure to stay away! (plural address)
Revonlahti (Fin.): Revolax (Swe.)
Ukko (Fin.): old man; also the name of the Finnish pagan god of thunder, the chief of gods. The full name of the steed was Ukonvasaran Verinen Isku (The Bloody Blow of Ukko's Hammer).
Old march: Finländischer Reitermarsch, Hakkapeliittain marssi, Finska Rytteriets Marsch... whichever name you want to use.
Savo (Fin.): Savolax,/Savonia one of the old provinces, like Häme.
No voi jumalauta. (Fin.): Oh god damn it, (literally "God, help.": Jumala, auta.)
There was a plague epidemic in Finland in 1710-1711, add to that the Great Famine of 1695-1697 and the Greater Wrath during the Great Northern War in 1713-1721... Finland was in deep shit.
Actual quote from the proclamation. And trying to translate the agreement was downright painful so I paraphrased, because honestly, Cronstedt.
Госбодин Россия /Gosbodin Rossiya (Rus.): Lord Russia. (a bit archaic in meaning)
Oath of loyalty was traditionally sworn in both Finland and Sweden when a new monarch took the throne and when the situation seemed promising while Russians were occupying Finland, they also asked it from the Finns, like during the Lesser Wrath in 1740s.
The dream is in two parts; the first taking place in 1249-1250 and the second in 1713, during Greater Wrath.
Marras (Fin.): short for marraskuu, November. When grass type plants died due to frost (which generally happens in November) they were called marras, it was also a word used to talk about dying or dead people in general.
Finnish national bird is a whooper swan.
The castle is the Tre Kronor (Three Crowns) castle, the original royal castle constructed sometime in the 12th and 13th centuries, starting as a round tower that was added to. It burned in 1697 and the Stockholm Palace - the current royal palace - was built in its place.
Österland (Swe.): Eastland, the name was used for Finland in the Middle Ages.
Länsimaa (Fin.): Westland. Yes, Finny is being snarky.
Surcot, cotte: Medieval clothes.
Vaimo? Minä... (Fin.) Jag är inte din fru! (Swe.): A wife? I... I'm not your wife!
And thus Sweden is sexually confused and the starting point for "all Swedes are gay" stereotype so prevalent in Finland today. (C'mon, it makes total sense!)
Лапушка/Lapushka (Rus.): little paw; a term of endearment.
The second castle is the Turku Castle and more specifically King Erik XIV's cell.
Some historical/current Finnish provinces; historically there were 8 but nowadays there are 19; Åland, North Karelia, Satakunta and Finland Proper are most similar (landwise) to their historical counterparts, most others have separated into smaller provinces. Still debating with myself how to portray them.
Laupias Isä, anna meille armosi (Fin.): Gracious Father, grant us Your mercy; modified from Mikael Agricola's prayer book (1544).