Chapter 3
Laki Ruotsinmaan
The law of Sweden
"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.
A/N:
Chapter title: from a line from J. L. Runeberg's poem Landshövdingen/Maaherra (Swe./Fin. Governor)
Puola (Fin.): Poland.
Täysi susi koko paska (Fin.): The entire plan was a total failure. (Literally: Total wolf the entire shit). Calling something "susi" (wolf) is an old way of saying that thing is a failure or doesn't work.
Storfurstendömet Finland (Swe.): Grand Principality of Finland, a term first used in 1577 (before that Finland was technically just a duchy) when Swedish Kings or their relatives (usually sons) started using the title Storfurste av Finland - Grand Prince of Finland. The long name (or the title) wasn't used very often but it would technically be Finland's full name even at this point BUT the meaning was very different compared to the time under Russia. Under Sweden it was just a name and didn't hold much power/prestige. Just another title you could use to sound cool, really.
Skärgårdshavet (Swe.): the Archipelago Sea, between Turku(Åbo) and Åland.
Thirty Years' War (1618-1648) flashback because I can. And because the world needs more Hakkapeliitta!Finland (Hakkapeliitta were the Finnish Light Cavalry serving in the Swedish Army in the first half of the 17th century.)
Sverige, vad ser du? (Swe.): Sweden, what do you see?
Eders Majestät (Swe.): Your Majesty.
Sigismund (king of Sweden 1593-1599, king of Poland and Grand Duke of Lithuania 1587-1632), this is the king mentioned in the Polish-Swedish Wars strip.
Lion of the North was actually the nickname of Gustavus Adolphus (Gustav II Adolf), the King of Sweden during the Thirty Years' War and the "father of modern warfare." I figure the Nations are free to use the monikers of their citizens if they feel like it because they are their people.
Pukinsalmi Sea Battle: July 4 1808, no definite victory but the Swedish Navy managed to blockade Turku harbour for two weeks afterwards, which of course made things a bit harder for the Russians.
Kokkoneva (Kokonsaari) Battle: July 11 1808, Finns lost.
Nykarleby (Swe.): Uusikaarlepyy
Gustav III's War was fought in 1788-1790.
Two-headed eagle: a symbol of Imperial Russia.
Venäjä (Fin.): Russia (derived possibly from the Germanic word wened: Slav)
French was the lingua franca back in the day, because rest of Europe always copied them when they came up with something fashionable. Besides Russian nobility absolutely adored French culture in the early 19th century.
Kuikka (Fin.): Black-throated Loon/Diver, was believed to have magical properties, such as protection from witches but also that an arrowhead made from its beak was invincible. I used the Finnish name because the English ones sound weird and because magic.
Финля́ндия /Finlyandiya (Rus.): Finland.
St. Petersburg was Russia's capital 1713-1728 and 1732-1918. Although Moscow was apparently the spiritual capital the whole time?
Painu hiiteen (Fin.): Go to hell (older form, considered mild today).
Gustav III, King of Sweden 1771-1792, was the first head of state to acknowledge United States of America as a new country in 1777.
"America equals New Sweden" is a headcanon of sorts: America was the personification of the colonists (because he is white) and because Finland spotted him first, he had to be in an area where Finland would be, which would be New Sweden, around Delaware River. Then everyone (England and France) just assumed he was the personification of the whole land, which elevated him above other personifications running around (i.e. those who later became the Thirteen Colonies and eventually States); kinda like Finland started out as a region/province/whatever and became the personification of the whole country because Sweden thought he was cute and was the first one Sweden met when annexing the landmass-that-would-be-Finland-one-day.
Konungariket Sverige (Swe.): Kingdom of Sweden