Chapter 5

Te voiton saitte, teill' on valta nyt
The victory is yours, now you have the power

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 для гостей."

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. " Досвидания, 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, Шве́ция."

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...?"

A/N:
Chapter title: from a line from J. L. Runeberg's poem Landshövdingen/Maaherra (Swe./Fin. Governor)
The Holy Roman Empire was dissolved on 6 August 1806, by its last Emperor, Francis II (from 1804 Emperor Francis I of Austria) after losing to France in Ulm and Austerlitz and the subsequent Treaty of Pressburg and withdrawal from the Third Coalition.
Winter Palace was yellow until 1837 and dull red until after WWII, when it was painted its current green colour.
Царьь хочет встретиться с вами, Господин Россия /Tsar' khochet vstretit'sya s vami, Gospodin Rossiya (Rus.): The Tsar wishes to meet with you, Lord Russia.
Отведите его в синей комнату для гостей /Otvedite yego v siney komnatu dlya gostey (Rus.): Take him to the Blue Guest Room. (I made up the Blue Guest Room.)
And Igor because the only more Russian name is already in use.
Спасибо/ Spasibo (Rus.): Thank you. Not in Cyrillic because Finland's Russian sucks.
Finland's worry about the language is partly because of the fact that having always been an underling whose language no one could understand, he made an effort to learn other languages because it garnered him more respect. This is an actual tactic Finnish diplomats used.
Kungliga slottet (Swe.): Royal Palace, the current royal palace.
Erik Eriksson (XI by some counts but he called himself III) was the King of Sweden 1234-1250. He's been described as a wise king by some accounts, but Birger jarl (from the preface) was the person who held the true power during Erik's late reign.
Sauna, everyone's favourite steam room. Also, to all perverts because naked Nations; sauna is a holy place and the spirits don't like hanky panky.
Viro (Fin.): Estonia (derived from Virumaa county). Eesti is also acceptable but less used and it doesn't have as longstanding historical basis in Finnish language, vabandust, eestlased.
Soome (Est.): Finland.
Some of you may remember from the series that Sweden had a "partial custody" of Estonia (sometimes called the good old Swedish times), which he lost in the Great Northern War in 1721 when Estonia became part of the Imperial Russia. It should be noted that Finnish and Estonian histories share lots of parallels but for some reason, Finland seems to be luckier when dealing with their stronger neighbours.
Treaty of Nystad was signed on August 30 (OS) 1721 between Russia and Sweden. It was the end of the Great Northern War and the Swedish Empire. Of course, most say the latter ceased existing after the Battle of Poltava 1709.
Reval: the old name for Tallinn, the capital of Estonia.
Эстляндия /Estlyandiya (Rus.): Estonia, the spelling used for the Swedish Estonia (1561-1721) and the Governorate of Estonia (1721-1917).
До свидания/ Do svidaniya (Rus.): Goodbye.
Livonia; here's where I'm going to deviate a bit from the canon and give Livonia his own personification instead of using relationship is best described by saying that Livonia is to Latvia kind of what Prussia is to Germany.
Ingria: basically the same area as St. Petersburg/Petrogard/Leningrad Governorate, occupied by mainly Finnic peoples in the past.
Шве́ция /Shvetsiya (Rus.): Sweden.
Dra åt helvete, Ryssland (Swe.): Go to hell, Russia.
Denmark keeping England in check is a reference to Danelaw, when Vikings ruled England 886-954 AD. Although Norway was involved, he left the boring administration work for Denmark.
Nøkken (norsk bokmål, nykk in nynorsk): Neck, a water spirit that drowns people.
Remember back in earlier chapters when I said Sweden was fighting Norway and Denmark and that England was trolling along with his Navy?
Hva er det, Steinn? (Nor.): What is it, Stone? (Steinn is Old Norse for "stone" and it's the trolls' byname. According to some legends trolls can be killed by a Christian saying their true name.)
Dumbror (Nor.): Stupid brother. (Anko is also an archaic Japanese word for "fool" so it works!)
Dav, Norge (Dan.): Hello, Norway!
Gunboat War 1807-1814, a naval conflict between Denmark-Norway and the British Navy.
Frederik VI was the King of Denmark 1808-1839 and King of Norway 1808-1814 although he served as the regent from 1784 because his father - Christian VII - was mentally ill.
"Put the child to a work and go after yourself" (Fin. Laita lapsi asialle, mene itse perässä.): is a Finnish proverb, implying that if you give a job to a child, they'll mess it up you'll have to do it again yourself to get it done properly.
Hæ (Nor.): Huh (interjection).
Votre Majesté, je me présente, je suis Finlande (Fra.): Your Majesty, let me introduce myself, I'm Finland.
Ordinance of Alsnö resulted in creating frälse; the secular nobility who were exempted from taxes in return for committing a heavy cavalryman to the King's service.
1597 was the year Cudgel War ended; it was basically a peasant uprising against unfair taxes, and all other burdens that the nobility and military heaped on them. It was also part of the power struggle in the royal family. Our old friend Sigismund was the King then.
Finland's pledge is heavily modified and majorly shortened from the actual pledge people were expected to swear back then. The hand position is the same used by present-day Finnish soldiers when they swear the soldier pledge.