Chapter 7

Jos katsot itää kohti
If you look towards the east

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Life was looking good.

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

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

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

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

The proposals the Estates were working on and the proposals the Deputation had worked on were strongly pointing in that direction – even Sprengtporten wasn't pissing him off as much as normally; okay that was a lie – and all the rights he would get to keep and all the new ones that would be put into place; his own army – carefully regulated, yes, but entirely his – and his own Senate to decide things, how to use the tax money and how to work for the betterment of their people and work with the Committee that would be established in St. Petersburg, a Committee that would only deal with Finnish matters and discuss them directly with the Emperor. For big, international matters they would need to consult him but otherwise they pretty much had free reign.

Finally he would be able to communicate his needs directly and much better than before. Sweden tended to be just as curt on paper as in person so communicating with him had always been a pain. He still felt ill and ready to throw up when he remembered that catastrophic famine in 1690s, God bless his people and especially those poor children's souls.

But right now felt wonderful; his heart soared every time he thought of it and a wide smile spread across his face, making his people smile as well when they saw him in the streets. Even the Provinces had been swept along by the excitement and the difference of it all; things would be different and better than they had ever been. Yes, they had a lot of work before them in order to recover from the war and then later to organise and implement all these changes but that didn't bother them. They were being given responsibility, they were trusted and that feeling was worth everything in the world.

And Russia was being very agreeable about it all, Finland truly hoped it would last and he wasn't being too greedy. But the larger Nation had promised and he wanted the two of them to be friends... So it was okay, it had to be. After all, Russia wasn't known for taking demands or orders lying down; if he truly did not approve of them, Finland would know about it.

But there was no sign of annoyance on Russia's part. The sun was shining on them and spring was on its way. Nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to ruin his day –

"Suomi, Åland has arrived."

– except that.

He gave a put upon sigh and waved tiredly at Satakunta who was still standing in the doorway. "Let him in."

His brother gave him a wry smile, nodded and opened the door wider, letting in a tall, surly looking teenager. His glasses were askew, he had a smudge of dirt on his cheek and his clothes looked slept in. But in spite of all this, his grey eyes shone with anger and determination as he marched up to Finland's chair, glaring darkly down at him.

The glare didn't do much, as Finland was used to much more frightening glares.

"You seem angry, Åland," he said in a way of greeting, "Coffee?"

"No thank you," he grunted. "However, I would like an explanation as to why the fuckin' hell you're having coffee and relaxin'? Why are you playin' pals with the Cossack?! What the fuck is wrong with you, you bastard finne?!"

The others in the room stared in shock as the smallest Province swore at Finland like the sailor he was and the Nation himself seemed to just take it with no reaction.

But inside he was fuming too.

Finland fought the urge to bang his head against the table at the impetuousness of his adoptive brother. The little twerp (or not so little considering said twerp was taller than him, perkele) had always resented him for not being allowed to live with his 'real' older brother and being forced to live with him and now the brat was being even more annoying than normal.

And that was saying something.

"Åland," he grit his teeth to keep his voice level, "if you don't shut up right this second, I'm going to confiscate your merchant fleet."

The physically teenaged national personification of Åland Archipelago froze at the threat, "You wouldn't," he finally accused, "you wouldn't dare, storebror wouldn't let you."

Finland ignored the carefully honed twinge of wariness that coursed through him at the threat and ploughed on. It was a high time for the twerp to shut up for once.

"Sweden's opinions are of no consequence," he said sharply, "We're under Russia's rule now."

Åland's eyes flashed with rage behind the lenses of his glasses, "Don't patronise me, Finland. If you hadn't been so weak–"

Suddenly the boy was hoisted into the air by the lapels of his shirt and made to meet Savo's furious blue gaze. "'Weak' you say? If we hadn't been here to hold them off, do you really think you would have lasted alone on your stupid islands?!"

"Certainly better than you, Savolax," Åland spat, "Go back and burn down your stupid forest or something and yourself with it."

This brash statement had the Provinces up in arms as Savo attempted to slug Åland in the face, Pohjanmaa pulled a puukko out of nowhere (to help Savo or protect Åland was anyone's guess), Häme tried to calm Savo a bit so that 'he could have a turn,' Satakunta called all of them uncivilised brutes while trying to twist Åland's ear, Varsinais-Suomi tried to order them to cease and desist for the love of God, Uusimaa tried to join in the fight and Pohjois-Karjala looked like she was about to burst into tears.

Thank God chaos like this wasn't exactly a regular occurrence.

Finland stared at them in disbelief. Part of him was tempted to join in the mayhem but he was also supposed to be the responsible one, sometimes much to his chagrin. He sighed deeply and rubbed his temples. Why is it always me? he wondered despairingly.

"Turvat umpeen, håll tyst!" he finally shouted, banging the decorative bust of some dead noble on the table. Finland was generally a calm and reasonable Nation, but he liked a good fight as much as anyone. Just in carefully controlled amounts and not too often.

The rabble-rousers froze at the shout, all of them well aware that when Finland got pissed off and started shouting, it was generally a wise decision to run for the hills or at least have coffee or a warm sauna to offer as a consolation and an apology.

"Åland, your future is still a bit more open to interpretation than ours so kindly shut up. Also, keep in mind that we've had to content ourselves with practical abandonment from Sweden and we really don't have the energy to fight with anyone," Finland explained with considerably more patience than one would expect as he placed the slightly dented bust back in its proper place on the corner of the desk as if he hadn't even touched it, "The rest of you, just remember Åland is a prat and hates us."

Åland's protest went unheard as the rest of the Provinces muttered their consent at Finland's peace terms.

Although knowing them, the peace wouldn't last long but Finland remained hopeful.

Hope was what had got him through the troubles in the past after all.

As Finland had observed the Diet at work for the past two months or so, one thing over the others had caught his attention. This thing, that to many would only seem like one of the tiniest of details with no real importance, touched him on the deepest level imaginable. Until now, for centuries, he had been playing the second fiddle in the eyes of his people, even for those who had never in their life even though of crossing the Gulf of Bothnia. Sweden had always been the fädernesland – the fatherland – and he himself merely their fosterbygd – the homeland, home area.

"Mitt fosterland," Rehbinder murmured softly, with a dip of his head, which Finland found himself responding to with a slight smile.

But now... things were changing and they were changing fast, especially from the point of view of an immortal. It was mind staggering, the way especially the nobility's attitude evolved into something new and something so wonderful it left Finland breathless. And they did it so casually, as if it was a fact of life.

It had started out rather subtle; with them worrying about being 'too Swedish' for the Emperor to accept them properly. What if that endangered this special position they and Finland were about to gain? Then in the same breath they would be hurrying to insist that despite that they certainly didn't want to become Russians, as their uncivilised ways were clearly inferior to Swedish culture.

Finland didn't blame them for being torn about it, he was too.

And that was exactly why it was so wonderful, marvellous – or großartig as Prussia would say – that the nobles had started to talk of him – Finland – as their... fatherland. First only in the documents, and then they started to address him as thus to his face; våra kära fädernesland – our loved fatherland – they would say. Or just fosterland which he didn't mind either because fädernesland was a bit stuffy in comparison even though the meaning was the same.

But those were just minor details. The most important thing was that he wasn't just their dear home area anymore, he was so much more.

Their homeland, their fatherland.

The first time they did that had him blushing and stammering for a week. But in spite of his embarrassment, his sudden promotion from a mere underling to something that was almost an independent Nation was very flattering.

Even if Åland claimed he was just a dirty gold digger and that he should think more about all the good things Sweden had done for him. Finland personally preferred trying not to think about it, this whole situation was complicated enough without worrying about what Sweden might be thinking.

It wasn't as if he hadn't heard all of it before, he distinctly remembered Gustav III's speech after the Anjala Conspiracy had come to light. '...Let your conscience tell you in what sort of debt of gratitude you are to Us. Remember what advantages your connection with Sweden has brought you: the true knowledge of the Great God, knowledge and enlightenment, useful institutions, productive livelihoods and better ways of life. Remember, how often Svea's blood has been shed for your protection and how your power will never be enough to do it alone.'

Well, the apparent inability to protect himself had been proven true if nothing else. But whose fault was that? Certainly not his, he was tied to his orders just as tightly as any human.

And things were going to change now, all across the board. He would become stronger and he would retain a clear divide between himself and Russia, to ensure his chances to grow. He didn't want to be looked down on anymore.

Next time, he would protect himself.

Sweden's recent disposition wasn't particularly sweet or popular in Stockholm – not that it ever had been but things were now worse and that was noticeable – and the Nation didn't have any trouble admitting that, to others or himself. His king had been declared unfit to rule, the regent wasn't much better, there were Russians, fighting, in the northern parts of his land and on top of those he had lost Finland.

Sweden didn't curse very often but as things stood now he was very tempted to. A treason of this magnitude was near unheard off outside revolutions and now he was facing one. Finland didn't just do things like this, he was loyal to a fault and had stood by Sweden's side through countless wars, famines and other catastrophes.

In the beginning he had attempted to convince himself it was all just a huge mistake, that Finland was only captured and imprisoned again, that he was not actively working with Russia.

That his dependent, friend, partner, brother, hadn't betrayed him.

But now, after all the news and rumours that had trickled across the Gulf separating them, he had no doubts about it anymore; his long-time friend – more like a brother, really – had turned his back on him, abandoned him, for Russia. Finland's people had been leaning towards that direction for a while now – and he had noticed it but dismissed such thoughts as rubbish. But now when those fears had come true, he couldn't help but wonder if Finland, too, had entertained such thoughts. And if so, for how long?

Sweden hated being an underling of any sort – that was why he had fled Denmark's rule in the first place – and now, once again, he had some other Nation telling him what to do. And it just had to be this particular Nation...

"Stop scowling, it looks, like, totally creepy," his kind-of ruler of the moment huffed, whacking Sweden in the face with a handkerchief. His chin length blond hair was immaculately groomed as his green gaze flickered around the church in distaste. "I would say it will be stuck looking like that if it totally already wasn't."

Sweden's eyebrow twitched dangerously. To imagine, this jester had been at least wary of him just ten years earlier when he had been the conqueror of Estonia. And now he was just the old grouch, scowling in the corner, no one of consequence.

Not for the first time, he wished Johan hadn't married Katarina.

"It's just too plain, like your face," Poland pursed his lips disapprovingly. "I should totally be allowed to order you to turn back to Catholic, this Lutheranism thing is so not fabulous."

"We have an agreement," Sweden ground out. "I and all my people remain Lutheran in spite of Sigismund being Catholic."

"It's Zygmunt but whatever," Poland brushed the protest aside with a wave of his hand.

A slight cough interrupted their staring contest and Sweden turned from the other Nation to see a messenger standing warily ten feet away from the two, holding what appeared to be a letter.

"Vad är det?" Sweden asked gruffly, interrupting Poland before the other could do the same. He was not going to let the other treat him as he pleased; this was his land and these were his people and no Pole was going to tell him otherwise.

"A letter from herr Lugnström in Finland, my Lord," the messenger answered, shooting a nervous look towards Poland.

"Oh not again!" the shorter Nation wailed. "Why won't that insufferable country pumpkin just stop? Didn't I order all complaints to be totally stopped?!"

The messenger gulped nervously and handed the missive to Sweden before deciding it wise to leave the scene. The Nation ignored Poland's homicidal mutterings and broke open the wax seal.

Sweden,

Please, I implore you, this is already the fifth letter I've sent and I barely managed to get it past Fleming this time. He won't listen to me at all, won't you please speak to the Privy Council, the Duke and the King? I and my people just can't handle this anymore, they're tired after the long war against Novgorod and they can't support the upkeep of such a large army in times of peace. Some of those soldiers act as if we're the enemy! It's intolerable, seeing my people treated in such a way and it can't continue. We won't let it continue. They won't stand for it and neither will I. And all of this on top of all your other demands!

Please, just put a stop to this before something happens.

Deo volente,

Finland

He stared at the signature for a moment, before he carefully folded the letter again, staring expressionlessly at Poland who had apparently gone back to grumbling about the decor of his church. He had more important things to worry about besides Finland's problem.

He didn't really understand why his dependent was complaining. Finland's Stadtholder was the one who insisted the army was necessary to 'protect Finland and his people in case Novgorod decided to attack again. The eastern lands were especially vulnerable to attack, being so sparsely populated. Those men were necessary to protect the border.'

Neither Sweden or Duke Karl believed that for a moment. Ever since Fleming had received his position, Finland had been drifting further and further away from Sweden's control. The man was too keen to support Sigismund and was dragging Finland with him. The lesser Nation had no business coming to Sweden to complain about his own Stadtholder's 'unfair treatment' when Sweden had absolutely nothing to do with it.

Besides that, Finland's other complaints about 'other demands' were utterly ridiculous; he needed those Finnish troops in the Baltics. The people there obeyed better when they could talk with the officials and soldiers. Finland was friends with Estonia, and the Baltic was much easier to control when Finland worked as an intermediary. And that tax money was needed to keep the Kingdom running, Finland really shouldn't be complaining about that.

'But maybe...' he stopped to consider, still staring at the Pole,' I could use this to my advantage...'

Parts of Finland had definitely not been loyal to Sweden then and after the lesser Nation had been punished for his infraction… Surely not since then? That was too fantastical, two hundred years of silence was just ludicrous, there was no way it could have lasted that long. And Finland had been happy to pay back all the dues in the following wars against Poland, he couldn't still hold a grudge against Sweden.

He frowned darkly at the map – a goddamned useless piece of paper since a few months ago – spread across his desk. How long had Finland been planning his betrayal? A month? Six months? A year? Twenty years? Two hundred years?

And why did Russia suddenly want to keep Finland? Every other time he had lost Finland, Russia had always given the smaller Nation back, mostly in one piece. Finland was a lovely country but there really wasn't that much there, so just... why?

And Finland was his.

He took his glasses off and rubbed his temple wearily. Nothing was going his way, nothing had gone his way since Karl XII was killed. As thins were, he would need to propose peace and fall in line with Russia's doubtlessly outrageous demands, starting with France's infernal continental blockade and ending with losing Finland.

A knock from the door roused him from his thoughts. "Kom in," he said, placing his glasses carefully back on his face and trying to appear busy.

A messenger stepped in, taking his high felt hat off and digging his letter for the missive, "A letter from Åland, Milord," the man said, holding the letter out to his Nation.

He felt a flash of irritation at the ambiguousness; he could never really tell if the letters were from the locals at the place mentioned or the actual personification. The human names were another stupid change in the recent world; of course they made dealing with certain groups of people easier but that didn't change his feelings about it.

"Tack," he said, taking the letter, not showing his thoughts except in the darkening of his expression. He ripped the envelope open the moment the messenger had left the room hurriedly.

To his relief, it was Åland's handwriting. Maybe he would finally find out what was going on with Finland.

Min käre storebror,

Earlier today the Borgå landtdag came to an end peacefully. Finne and the others seem to be okay – practically ecstatic, more like – about it and they dined with Ryssland and the Tsar afterwards. I refrained from joining out of loyalty to you and out of disgust of the Cossack.

I'm worried, the way they're talking makes it seem as if I'm fated to remain here. To be honest I don't want to. I know you preferred to have me live with finne but now it's coming back to bite me and you in the behind. I want to come back to live with you! I'm not like them, just willing to switch sides at the drop of the hat! I'm a proud Swede and nothing will change that!

Just... please, save me from this. I'm sure there's something you can do.

Din kärleksfull lillebror,

Åland

Borgå den 19 juli 1809

Duke Karl stood by the window in the Åbo Castle hall, staring down into the paved courtyard with a dark frown on his brows. Sweden stood small ways away, inspecting a worn tapestry hanging on the wall. A stylishly dressed medieval noble lady was smiling coquettishly at a nobleman wasn't particularly interesting but at least it prevented him from wondering what he had seen and was about to see.

Dying wasn't anything new to a Nation and neither were executions. In fact, Nations were executed considerably more often than one would think; Sweden himself as recently as during the Stockholm massacre barely eighty years earlier in Denmark's hands. But to his knowledge, this would have been the first time Finland had been executed.

And Sweden really wasn't certain how he felt about it. On one hand it left him feeling sick to his stomach, thinking how his long time partner had been beheaded with an axe, while on the other hand he felt it was justified.

Finland had been getting big-headed in the last fifty years and just complaining more and more for the last four. It felt as if he was forgetting his place and while Sweden had been willing to... encourage that when it was against Poland, enough was enough. Finland had no right to think too much of himself.

"Bring him in," Karl's voice broke through the still air of the hall.

The guard bowed and pulled the door to the hallway open, admitting in just four people. If Sweden was honest, he had been expecting more; he was well aware that on a good day Finland could wrestle a bear down and barely break a sweat in the process.

Today was not a good day for obvious reasons.

Two people were holding a small form tightly between them, with the third one – a small girl of maybe eight summers in age – following along behind them, looking scared and staying near the door, clearly hoping to escape their notice. The captured form was slumped over heavily, his head hanging forward, legs moving sluggishly, stumbling on the hard-wood floor. The blond hair was a mess, still stained with crusted blood, even a week after the execution. His dirty linen tunic was stained even worse, as if the shoulders had been dyed unevenly with dark, rust-coloured dye.

The sight was chilling and Sweden was torn between hurrying over to check on Finland and standing back and looking judgingly down at the rebel. He was pretty sure he had never seen his partner this defeated, not even during the Black Death or the many wars the two of them had fought together.

The two guards dropped Finland down to his knees on the floor and stepped back, leaving the Nation swaying weakly, as if he was missing his sense of balance. The silence hanging around them felt heavy and oppressing. The girl shifted by the door, hugging herself tightly and staring anxiously at Finland. Then slow, measured steps echoed through the empty hall as Karl walked closer to the kneeling form.

"Look up," the words were sharp and lashed through the air like a whip.

For a moment it seemed as if nothing would happen but then, slowly, the blond head started to rise, revealing hazy, violet eyes staring up at them from a bruised but surprisingly un-bloodied face.

Sweden could see the jagged scar marring Finland's throat, stark and inflamed on the washed skin. He found himself hoping the crusted blood would have hidden it from sight.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Finland?" Karl asked.

Finland's jaw opened slowly, his teeth stained black as a slow, wheezy gurgle escaped his lips, along with a bubble of blood that burst and dripped down his chin, painting it crimson anew. The girl gasped and took two hesitant steps closer. With an unpleasant jolt in the bottom of his stomach, Sweden realised that only the spine, his airways and some of the muscles had been restored.

More blood bubbled out and Finland let out a horrible, wet cough making blood splatter all over the floor.

Karl scoffed and walked past the defeated Nation, not even acknowledging him as worth a notice anymore. "Lock him back up and make sure he won't cause any trouble to his new handlers."

The girl stumbled aside as Karl swept out of the door and then ran across the room, dropping on her knees in the small pool of blood. "Isoveli...!"

With Karl out of the room Sweden's breaths sounded heavy in his ears as he finally stepped closer to his partner, out of the shadows by the tapestry. The girl's blue eyes were wary and even faintly defiant as her hold of Finland's upper arm tightened. The small Nation's eyes moved towards him at the sound, staring up at him and looking small and weak in a way he hadn't ever seemed. Finland had always held a certain pride in him that was now absent and maybe that's what prompted Sweden to speak.

"Finland..." he stepped closer, holding his hand towards the partner, his friend, his brother.

Finland flinched away, his eyes screaming of betrayal.

For half a heartbeat Sweden was frozen in place before his hand dropped and he marched out of the room after Karl, leaving Finland alone with his guards and the girl who was now wiping blood from the other Nation's chin.

It was no use anyway.

"Ce peuple brave et loyal bénira la Providence qui a amené l'ordre de chose actuel. Placé desormais au rang des nations, sous l'empire de ses loix, il ne se ressou- viendra de la domination passée que pour cultiver des rapports d'amitié lorsqu'ils seront rétablis par la paix."

"These brave and loyal people will bless Providence that brought them their present order of things. Henceforth placed among the ranks of nations under the Empire's laws, they will remember the past domination and use it to cultivate this friendship, which will be restored with peace."

Alexander I ~ July 19 1809

A/N:
Chapter title: from a line from J. L. Runeberg's poem Trosskusken/Kuormarenki (Swe./Fin. The Coachman)
September 27–October 14 1808, the Congress of Erfurt and the last meeting between Napoleon and Alexander I, things had changed a bit since Tilsit, and not for the better.
Magnifique (Fra.): magnificent.
Hakkaa päälle! (Fin.): cut them down (lit. beat on them); the war cry of the Hakkapeliitta, nowadays used as a cheer/chant in sports matches, most often football. (Hakkaa päälle Huuhkajat!)
Napoleonic!France is still a total creep, je suis désolé.
Great Famine 1695-1697 killed almost 30% of Finland's population. In Finnish they're called 'suuret kuolonvuodet' (Great Death Years) and there were cases of cannibalism during it, mostly children being eaten, sadly.
Åland/Ahvenanmaa: bit of an isolationist, stubborn, doesn't know much Finnish, is actually Sweden's brother.
Finne (Swe.): a slur for Finns, means literally "pimple." I'm sad I couldn't use finnjävel (Finnish devil) but it would've been a tad anachronistic :P Finne is probably anachronistic too but it just fits Åland's personality until a certain point in history!
Storebror (Swe.): big brother.
Åland's insult actually has historical basis. They used to practise slash-and-burn agriculture (you burn a section of the forest, and use the suddenly very fertile patch of land for farming for a few years before moving on, rinse and repeat) in Savo.
Turvat umpeen (Fin.): Shut up (lit. shut the muzzles (of a horse)).
Håll tyst (Swe.): Shut up.
Fädernesland, fosterbygd (Swe.): were actual terms the Finns of the time used to describe Sweden and Finland respectively. It relates closely how the people of the time viewed patriotism; the simplified order of loyalty, so to say, was King, fatherland, home area; so Finland being emo about it is pretty understandable.
And for those wondering; that transition in address and attitudes totally happened.
Großartig (Ger.): Awesome. What, you thought it could be anything else?
Gustav III apparently gave that declaration after the members of the Anjala Conspiracy were captured in 1789. The English translation is from the Finnish version because I couldn't find it in Swedish. Phooey, who cares about accuracy besides me?
Mother Svea is the more traditional personification of Sweden, created in 1672.
And I finally get my Cudgel War (1596-1697) flashback! In two parts and not involving any actual fighting but who cares, it's got Poland in it! And a blood covered Finland!
Vad är det? (Swe.): What is it?
Herr (Swe.): Sir, mister.
Deo volente (Lat.): God willing.
Kom in (Swe.): Come in.
Tack (Swe.): Thanks.
Min käre storebor (Swe.): My dear big brother.
Din kärleksfull lillebror (Swe.): Your loving little brother.
Borgå, den 19 juli 1809 (Swe.): Porvoo, July 19 1809.
Finland's super-strength: Himaruya's called him powerful several times in his notes and it goes very well with my America=New Sweden headcanon; lot of the people who populated the aforementioned Swedish colony were ethnically Finns. However, I figure Finny's strength is more mental than physical and it only shows up under duress. So Finland's super-strength = sisu.
Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, at the time, was about 1 000 000 km2 /390 000 square miles and also included lands from modern-day Estonia, Belarus, Latvia, Moldova, Romania, Russia, Slovakia and Ukraine. So those two can be pretty damn hardcore.
Tsardom of Muscovy, Ottoman Empire; considering no-one can quite decide even today whether they're European/partly European or not... and back then no one definitely counted them among the Europeans, have some of Sweden's western superiority™
Quoted from the actual French speech and the translation is totally transmalformed.