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valmoraI HAVE NO IDEA WHERE THAT TITLE CAME FROM. Or actually I do, but it's totally irrelevant to the fic (hi, Shooglenifty!).
Title: the arms dealer's dowry
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Finland-centric, mild Sweden/Finland UST (this is kind of my Hetalia otp, guys. orz)
Time period: sometime in the area of 1000-1200
Disclaimer: Characters not mine, no money made, fic written solely for enjoyment. Liberties taken with history.
Feedback: Please. Concrit always appreciated.
Note: Sweden squints not because he’s badass or foul-tempered, but because glasses haven’t been invented yet.
Also, I am eliding so much war that this is incredible amounts of historical badness.
Sweden came to his door with treasures from the lands across the water to the south, gold worked in strange fantastic beautiful patterns, jewels and silver and Finland looked upon these goods through his slit-open door, wary. For after all, if Sweden - who, squinting into the darkness, looked fierce and strange, though not unhandsome – could send ships so far, and steal these lovely things, then could he not also steal what was Finland’s?
But when Finland bought nothing, Sweden merely tucked his things away in his bag and went away, his shoulders broad, back straight despite the weight of his pack, despite the wind and snow.
Finland shut the door and went to his hearth to cook dinner.
Sweden came again, not so much later. He squinted through the crack in the door, as though trying to make out Finland’s face, and answered in hand gestures to Finland’s questions to make up for his not speaking Finland’s language.
It was different treasures, this time – a coin with a man’s face stamped on it, and raised scratches; a jewel-encrusted box, rings and necklaces. One of the strings of beads was bright blue, solid rather than translucent, and despite himself Finland reached out to touch it. Sweden only watched him, hands at his sides.
The beads were, as he had thought, a strange bright blue, not unlike the sky, and speckled with flickering gold, and Finland was so taken with it, yet – it would be so expensive now that Sweden knew he wanted it, and surely there were others who would gain pleasure from the purchase…
He moved to put it back and Sweden caught his hand, pressed Finland’s hand closed around the string.
“Y’rs,” he said in Swedish. “F’r y’.”
Finland shook his head. “Too expensive.”
Sweden watched him, lips parted, breath steaming in the air. He looked down to where his gloved hands were wrapped around Finland’s, and drew Finland’s fist to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Y’rs,” he repeated.
Finland did not invite him inside. But he did take the necklace, which was long enough to wrap up twice, so that it lay against his chest beneath his shirt, little pricks of pressure that at first bothered him and later became unnoticeable, as much a part of him as his skin.
Next Sweden came, he came in armor, with a sword unsheathed, and the moment Finland cracked open the door Sweden forced it full-open and stepped inside, pressing Finland away from the gape.
“Dress,” Sweden ordered him. Finland thought of going for his weapons, for trying anything to hurt Sweden, and the moment his eyes flickered there was a blade to his throat.
“Dress,” Sweden repeated. “Y’r comin’ w’me.” He squinted, eyes focused on Finland’s throat, face red with the sudden warmth of Finland’s house against the cold of winter outside.
Finland dressed, because he had no weapons to hand, and when he moved towards the door Sweden slammed it open and pushed Finland outside, so hard that Finland ended up on his hands and knees in the snow, face-down.
Sweden closed the door behind himself, then dragged Finland to standing before marching him the long, long miles to the border and past, to Sweden’s house.
Finland knew it was common for the men in seized villages to be slaughtered, but killing a nation is a difficult thing, so he did not fear that. He feared being made Sweden’s woman, the space of his bed invaded as his land had been invaded.
Sweden did not rape him. He set Finland to household chores, cleaning and cooking, with simple mumbled words in Swedish, for neither spoke the other’s language well. Finland at first hid away,working only in rooms where Sweden was not, but soon he was not so afraid – Sweden was merely quiet, and a little gruff, with his squint and his frowning eyebrows.
Finland liked to sing to himself when he washed dishes, and soon he found that Sweden would hum along to the melodies, as though he, too, had learned them. It was disquieting, to be so conquered that what was his would become Sweden’s. But Sweden had a pleasant singing voice, a little gravelly as though rough from too much shouting over the noise on a ship, and it was hard to mind so much when Sweden had been so kind, and as he began to understand Sweden’s fascination with the Christ who had died that all men might be saved.
One night, Sweden pulled him aside, until they both stood in a corner and one of Sweden’s hands, cold, pressed to his arm.
“’m goin’,” Sweden murmured.
“Oh,” Finland said, in Swedish, for that was all he spoke now; Sweden had not left him in the company of Finns, because that would have allowed him to raise resistance to Swedish rule. “On tour of your country?” All nations do so; they are drawn to the lonely places, to the common places, to all parts of themselves. Finland himself, every few years, used to travel around his land-self. For Sweden to be drawn to do the same would be natural.
Sweden nodded. Finland did not say, Will you also tour my lands, as though they were a part of yourself?
“I will miss you.” It was true, and Finland was only a little ashamed to say it. “Come back soon.”
Sweden left, and returned, and still Finland lived in his home. After some years, as people forgot who he was – humans only live so long, after all, and Finland looked quite human unless someone was looking for him – he began to be trusted, Sweden’s shadow, friendly and kind.
At least, he thought he was, until he was talking to a young woman, a daughter of one of the servants, who was to be married to a man from another house. And she said, “I worry about my parents. My dowry is so expensive, and we have to pay it – what was yours, to him?”
“I’m not married,” Finland said. “I didn’t marry him. It’s not a marriage.” He almost said, I paid for a strand of gold-speckled blue beads with all my lands, all myself, but did not. He wanted to think that was the true gift, for no cost. The string had broken many years previously, and spilled beads on the ground. Sweden had helped him pick up as many as could be found and gave him the string to put the necklace back together; Finland wore it still. He didn’t know why. Maybe to remember when he still kept his own house, to remind him to still wish for it, someday, so that he wouldn’t forget.
Title: the arms dealer's dowry
Fandom: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Finland-centric, mild Sweden/Finland UST (this is kind of my Hetalia otp, guys. orz)
Time period: sometime in the area of 1000-1200
Disclaimer: Characters not mine, no money made, fic written solely for enjoyment. Liberties taken with history.
Feedback: Please. Concrit always appreciated.
Note: Sweden squints not because he’s badass or foul-tempered, but because glasses haven’t been invented yet.
Also, I am eliding so much war that this is incredible amounts of historical badness.
Sweden came to his door with treasures from the lands across the water to the south, gold worked in strange fantastic beautiful patterns, jewels and silver and Finland looked upon these goods through his slit-open door, wary. For after all, if Sweden - who, squinting into the darkness, looked fierce and strange, though not unhandsome – could send ships so far, and steal these lovely things, then could he not also steal what was Finland’s?
But when Finland bought nothing, Sweden merely tucked his things away in his bag and went away, his shoulders broad, back straight despite the weight of his pack, despite the wind and snow.
Finland shut the door and went to his hearth to cook dinner.
Sweden came again, not so much later. He squinted through the crack in the door, as though trying to make out Finland’s face, and answered in hand gestures to Finland’s questions to make up for his not speaking Finland’s language.
It was different treasures, this time – a coin with a man’s face stamped on it, and raised scratches; a jewel-encrusted box, rings and necklaces. One of the strings of beads was bright blue, solid rather than translucent, and despite himself Finland reached out to touch it. Sweden only watched him, hands at his sides.
The beads were, as he had thought, a strange bright blue, not unlike the sky, and speckled with flickering gold, and Finland was so taken with it, yet – it would be so expensive now that Sweden knew he wanted it, and surely there were others who would gain pleasure from the purchase…
He moved to put it back and Sweden caught his hand, pressed Finland’s hand closed around the string.
“Y’rs,” he said in Swedish. “F’r y’.”
Finland shook his head. “Too expensive.”
Sweden watched him, lips parted, breath steaming in the air. He looked down to where his gloved hands were wrapped around Finland’s, and drew Finland’s fist to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. “Y’rs,” he repeated.
Finland did not invite him inside. But he did take the necklace, which was long enough to wrap up twice, so that it lay against his chest beneath his shirt, little pricks of pressure that at first bothered him and later became unnoticeable, as much a part of him as his skin.
Next Sweden came, he came in armor, with a sword unsheathed, and the moment Finland cracked open the door Sweden forced it full-open and stepped inside, pressing Finland away from the gape.
“Dress,” Sweden ordered him. Finland thought of going for his weapons, for trying anything to hurt Sweden, and the moment his eyes flickered there was a blade to his throat.
“Dress,” Sweden repeated. “Y’r comin’ w’me.” He squinted, eyes focused on Finland’s throat, face red with the sudden warmth of Finland’s house against the cold of winter outside.
Finland dressed, because he had no weapons to hand, and when he moved towards the door Sweden slammed it open and pushed Finland outside, so hard that Finland ended up on his hands and knees in the snow, face-down.
Sweden closed the door behind himself, then dragged Finland to standing before marching him the long, long miles to the border and past, to Sweden’s house.
Finland knew it was common for the men in seized villages to be slaughtered, but killing a nation is a difficult thing, so he did not fear that. He feared being made Sweden’s woman, the space of his bed invaded as his land had been invaded.
Sweden did not rape him. He set Finland to household chores, cleaning and cooking, with simple mumbled words in Swedish, for neither spoke the other’s language well. Finland at first hid away,working only in rooms where Sweden was not, but soon he was not so afraid – Sweden was merely quiet, and a little gruff, with his squint and his frowning eyebrows.
Finland liked to sing to himself when he washed dishes, and soon he found that Sweden would hum along to the melodies, as though he, too, had learned them. It was disquieting, to be so conquered that what was his would become Sweden’s. But Sweden had a pleasant singing voice, a little gravelly as though rough from too much shouting over the noise on a ship, and it was hard to mind so much when Sweden had been so kind, and as he began to understand Sweden’s fascination with the Christ who had died that all men might be saved.
One night, Sweden pulled him aside, until they both stood in a corner and one of Sweden’s hands, cold, pressed to his arm.
“’m goin’,” Sweden murmured.
“Oh,” Finland said, in Swedish, for that was all he spoke now; Sweden had not left him in the company of Finns, because that would have allowed him to raise resistance to Swedish rule. “On tour of your country?” All nations do so; they are drawn to the lonely places, to the common places, to all parts of themselves. Finland himself, every few years, used to travel around his land-self. For Sweden to be drawn to do the same would be natural.
Sweden nodded. Finland did not say, Will you also tour my lands, as though they were a part of yourself?
“I will miss you.” It was true, and Finland was only a little ashamed to say it. “Come back soon.”
Sweden left, and returned, and still Finland lived in his home. After some years, as people forgot who he was – humans only live so long, after all, and Finland looked quite human unless someone was looking for him – he began to be trusted, Sweden’s shadow, friendly and kind.
At least, he thought he was, until he was talking to a young woman, a daughter of one of the servants, who was to be married to a man from another house. And she said, “I worry about my parents. My dowry is so expensive, and we have to pay it – what was yours, to him?”
“I’m not married,” Finland said. “I didn’t marry him. It’s not a marriage.” He almost said, I paid for a strand of gold-speckled blue beads with all my lands, all myself, but did not. He wanted to think that was the true gift, for no cost. The string had broken many years previously, and spilled beads on the ground. Sweden had helped him pick up as many as could be found and gave him the string to put the necklace back together; Finland wore it still. He didn’t know why. Maybe to remember when he still kept his own house, to remind him to still wish for it, someday, so that he wouldn’t forget.
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no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 10:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 11:05 am (UTC)In other news, I now want to go dig up some history books and read about what actually happened between 1000 and 1200 AD in Scandinavia, other than occasional forays into the southlands.
no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 03:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 01:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 05:01 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-15 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-16 05:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-30 02:39 am (UTC)This shouda been canon.