![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
valmoraTitle: "i have found grace in thine eyes"
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: Finland/Sweden
Disclaimer: not my characters, no money made
Notes: originally written for this prompt and archived here on the kink meme, and linked here on the kindex.
Certain phrases, including the title, are drawn from 1 Samuel 18-21 (KJV).
He once knew the stars so deeply that he felt them as tides in his bones, dancing slow waltzing pivots in the sky. Now there are stars all around him, and none of them guide his ships home.
It has been a long time since he went sailing into the ocean, not knowing where the nearest land would be. A thousand years and more, since long before he had heard of the White Christ.
This ship has no dragon’s-head, no oars, no rocking deck. No sails, but rather flux-drives with which to fold the shape of the universe. To take them beyond all known shores.
A hand, pressed flat to his back. “What are you thinking?” Finland asks, moving to stand beside him.
“We're ‘n a ship, but there’s no sea.”
Finland bows his head a little. He is not tempted to the pleasure of sailing, raiding, looting. Gold and fire. But Sweden – well, the unknown. No laws, no police, no intergalactic tribunals, yet. It is as things were before, but with fifteen hundred years of history and savagery to teach them civility. Somehow he doubts that he will be the only one tempted to piracy. If he does not fall, then that is not because others will not.
“The navigators say there’s a planet thirty minutes’ jump from here. It might be habitable. We’ll be passing by.”
Sweden closes his eyes, then opens them again to watch the stars. He knows what those of his people who came on this ship asked for: a planet like Earth, with seasons and infrequent seismic activity, and soil that could support edible food without too much terraforming. Water, and enough of it for a world’s worth of people, though they are few now.
He worries about inbreeding. He worries, because this is a one-planet system, and the proper plural of human is murder, and Finland came with him.
He is not afraid to die, to fade away in a thousand years in Finland’s arms as their child, this future-planet, stretches and grows, healthy. What he fears is a thousand years of watching Finland die in his arms, beloved and hated as their people kill each other for want of humanity. What he fears is a thousand years of bleeding as Finland breaks his bones, again and again, killing him as Finland’s people kill his own.
“We should have a dual-planet system,” he breathes. “Two houses. Like b’fore. United currency, free trade. Free travel.”
“But that might take a long time to find. We can only go so much longer before we’d have to go into cold sleep and just keep going, and going, until there's nobody nearby.”
Their provinces are gone, their own colonies established elsewhere; Åland fled Earth long years ago, barely a decade after Sealand did. He only has Finland left, really. There isn’t enough fuel to return. They can only go forward, and once they settle, there will be no leaving again.
Finland’s hair glitters silver-gilt in the light. They have both become younger during this trip, to reflect the mindset of their people. Sweden’s knees no longer ache in the morning, and Finland’s mouth has no longer been set by sadness. The curve of Finland’s back is still some of the most elegant poetry Sweden knows. “I need t’know y’could leave if y’had to.”
Finland laughs softly, turns, pulls Sweden close and kisses the corner of his mouth. Even after, he rests his head on Sweden’s shoulder, lets his arms fall loosely around Sweden’s waist. “I’ve lived all my life beside you, two small countries in Northern Europe. Give me half a world and I shall be content for at least a little while.”
“’n if you’re not?”
“Then let me make a ship, that you and I alone may go and leave our child here.” He brushes his fingers along the fall of Sweden’s neck. “You have given me the robes that were upon you, and your garments, and your sword, and your bow, and we have made a covenant between our houses. My soul is knit with yours, as yours is with mine.”
Sweden closes his eyes, buries his face in Finland’s hair. Holds him. His lips taste of the sea.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: Hetalia
Pairing: Finland/Sweden
Disclaimer: not my characters, no money made
Notes: originally written for this prompt and archived here on the kink meme, and linked here on the kindex.
Certain phrases, including the title, are drawn from 1 Samuel 18-21 (KJV).
He once knew the stars so deeply that he felt them as tides in his bones, dancing slow waltzing pivots in the sky. Now there are stars all around him, and none of them guide his ships home.
It has been a long time since he went sailing into the ocean, not knowing where the nearest land would be. A thousand years and more, since long before he had heard of the White Christ.
This ship has no dragon’s-head, no oars, no rocking deck. No sails, but rather flux-drives with which to fold the shape of the universe. To take them beyond all known shores.
A hand, pressed flat to his back. “What are you thinking?” Finland asks, moving to stand beside him.
“We're ‘n a ship, but there’s no sea.”
Finland bows his head a little. He is not tempted to the pleasure of sailing, raiding, looting. Gold and fire. But Sweden – well, the unknown. No laws, no police, no intergalactic tribunals, yet. It is as things were before, but with fifteen hundred years of history and savagery to teach them civility. Somehow he doubts that he will be the only one tempted to piracy. If he does not fall, then that is not because others will not.
“The navigators say there’s a planet thirty minutes’ jump from here. It might be habitable. We’ll be passing by.”
Sweden closes his eyes, then opens them again to watch the stars. He knows what those of his people who came on this ship asked for: a planet like Earth, with seasons and infrequent seismic activity, and soil that could support edible food without too much terraforming. Water, and enough of it for a world’s worth of people, though they are few now.
He worries about inbreeding. He worries, because this is a one-planet system, and the proper plural of human is murder, and Finland came with him.
He is not afraid to die, to fade away in a thousand years in Finland’s arms as their child, this future-planet, stretches and grows, healthy. What he fears is a thousand years of watching Finland die in his arms, beloved and hated as their people kill each other for want of humanity. What he fears is a thousand years of bleeding as Finland breaks his bones, again and again, killing him as Finland’s people kill his own.
“We should have a dual-planet system,” he breathes. “Two houses. Like b’fore. United currency, free trade. Free travel.”
“But that might take a long time to find. We can only go so much longer before we’d have to go into cold sleep and just keep going, and going, until there's nobody nearby.”
Their provinces are gone, their own colonies established elsewhere; Åland fled Earth long years ago, barely a decade after Sealand did. He only has Finland left, really. There isn’t enough fuel to return. They can only go forward, and once they settle, there will be no leaving again.
Finland’s hair glitters silver-gilt in the light. They have both become younger during this trip, to reflect the mindset of their people. Sweden’s knees no longer ache in the morning, and Finland’s mouth has no longer been set by sadness. The curve of Finland’s back is still some of the most elegant poetry Sweden knows. “I need t’know y’could leave if y’had to.”
Finland laughs softly, turns, pulls Sweden close and kisses the corner of his mouth. Even after, he rests his head on Sweden’s shoulder, lets his arms fall loosely around Sweden’s waist. “I’ve lived all my life beside you, two small countries in Northern Europe. Give me half a world and I shall be content for at least a little while.”
“’n if you’re not?”
“Then let me make a ship, that you and I alone may go and leave our child here.” He brushes his fingers along the fall of Sweden’s neck. “You have given me the robes that were upon you, and your garments, and your sword, and your bow, and we have made a covenant between our houses. My soul is knit with yours, as yours is with mine.”
Sweden closes his eyes, buries his face in Finland’s hair. Holds him. His lips taste of the sea.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-03-14 08:39 am (UTC)I'm glad you enjoy it - this is one of my favorite pieces I've written, for Hetalia or otherwise, so it means a lot to me that you do.
no subject
Date: 2010-03-15 06:39 pm (UTC)