[Fanfic] Syvinki
Title: Syvinki
Author: kainoliero/mirrorshoppe
Prompt: Sweden, Finland - Long way (Medieval)
Other characters: None
Rating: G
Content notes: Takes place around the 1400's, long after Swedish crusades. Syvinki is an exceptionally beautiful inlet in Ruovesi, Finland.
Summary: Words should not be trusted, especially when it comes to writing down the history.
Syvinki
He climbed carefully past Finland, trying to not upset the boat. The middle plank always seemed so far away when you needed to change seats, he thought while fumbling a little, trying to grab the edge of it. He pulled himself up and sat down as gingerly as possible. It was not only the fact that the boat was Finland's, slender and easy to maneuver in the shallows and narrows of his labyrinth-like lake system and equally quick to turn over. A quick dip in a lake was something that Finland would not really mind but - and this was something he cared not think much further - himself, he certainly would.
He dug his heels onto the bottom of the boat, feeling a lot happier now that he once again was in control. He rubbed his hands together briskly before he took the oars. Finland was already sitting comfortably at the back and stretching the tiredness out of his muscles. His face seemed to glow with warmth within and for a split second Sweden wished he could somehow share in that, pull him closer and hold him until his own coldness would be defeated by that presence... but that was another option that one might not mind but the other one surely would. Nothing to it, he said to himself and pulled at the oars. The coldness in him was just lack of movement and the cold breeze over the water, nothing more, and in a few moments he would feel all better.
Finland locked his hands behind his own neck, gave the lake a quick glance and wordlessly nodded towards the left where Sweden had but a moment ago spotted only a shoreline. He turned the boat immediately towards the pointed direction since this was Finland's turf, not his.
His home, not...
well, technically speaking it was Sweden's home as well because...
well.
Sweden forced his thoughts to a more optimistic direction. Now at least his choices on the route would not cause them both extra trouble or take them a longer way than necessary. He rowed fast with slow, leisurely pulls that pierced surface that had turned mirror smooth here between the small islands. Wasn't it amazing how the oars dug deep crevasses into the water that were nevertheless immediately healed, leaving only a couple of tiny little water spirals, miniature vortexes that quickly died out and disappeared? Not a mark of them passing here would ever be found. This thought was at the same time comforting but with a hint of sadness.
How would the text put it, if it were to be written down? Who knew. Maybe it would be a hero story of Sweden and his most loyal vassal making their way to yet one more important meeting that would decide the fate of many. Or maybe it would show Sweden as a tyrannic ruler, enforcing his power over people who wanted nothing to do with it. Maybe it would be both. Books were certainly the most flimsy and changeable things there were in the world, no matter how heavy importance his other brothers placed on them. One could not trust written text, not a sincle word of it, since they each were penned down with specific intention behind them that steered their way in a manner much more cunning than a boat gliding on a lake. The words of the past guided the course of the present day without leaving as much as whirpools in their wake.
For example.
The books said he had given Finland Christianity and waged a heroic crusade against the stubborn pagans of Hame. Finland's books, what few of them he had, said very much the same. Both equally agreed that the outcome, Finland becoming fully Christian, was good. The books were so similar and yet how was it that they were read so differently? What little change of words had it so that his own books made it sound like he had saved Finland but Finland's books seemed to claim that he had ruthlessly beaten him into submission instead?
Take the legend of bishop Henrik for instance, he who had traveled Finland fearlessly, converting people to the right belief and ending up murdered on the icy lake Köyliö. It had not been a long time ago and the books were already filling themselves with lies. Had he been trying to get a criminal to be convicted of his act and been thus cruelly removed? Had he been betrayed by a woman who had first promised him help and then set her husband after him? Or had he, in fact, stormed a farmer's house while he had been away from home, attacked his family, stolen their winter food storage for his own troops and been killed out of revenge? The last story was not even written down but he had heard the suggestion of it in a song, which all just went to show that words were the last thing ever to be trusted; they could wreck havoc even without the backup of parchment and ink.
Words, or as much of them as possible, were best left out whenever they were unnecessary. Sweden glanced over his shoulder and saw that what he had taken as unbroken shoreline had suddenly opened up as if split by a giant, showing a broad and majestic route between two large hills that were covered in pine and spruce, their dark shadows casting a striking contrast against the pale water. He was so taken in by the view that when he turned back to continue rowing his oars struck the lake shallow and he pulled the biggest and the most humiliating crab of his whole life, falling off his perch and hitting the boat with a thud that no doubt resonated to the very bottom of the lake. Finland burst out laughing and made absolutely no effort to help him, perhaps knowing already how the relationship between them two was not quite as black and white as the history books had it.
What did those books know anyway. Not a mark of their passing here would ever be written in them but right now the two of them were here nevertheless, the reason that was important for the both of them would be lost and forgotten but right now they both knew it, small waves hit the sides of the boat with playful, splashing sounds and the sun was shining so brightly above.
End notes: the stories of Swedish crusades to Finland have been questioned because Finland had in fact already become mostly Christian at the time they were supposedly waged. The current theory seems to be, more or less, that the creation of the legend had a political reason behind it.
Bishop Henrik has likewise always been a bit of a mystery!
Author: kainoliero/mirrorshoppe
Prompt: Sweden, Finland - Long way (Medieval)
Other characters: None
Rating: G
Content notes: Takes place around the 1400's, long after Swedish crusades. Syvinki is an exceptionally beautiful inlet in Ruovesi, Finland.
Summary: Words should not be trusted, especially when it comes to writing down the history.
Syvinki
He climbed carefully past Finland, trying to not upset the boat. The middle plank always seemed so far away when you needed to change seats, he thought while fumbling a little, trying to grab the edge of it. He pulled himself up and sat down as gingerly as possible. It was not only the fact that the boat was Finland's, slender and easy to maneuver in the shallows and narrows of his labyrinth-like lake system and equally quick to turn over. A quick dip in a lake was something that Finland would not really mind but - and this was something he cared not think much further - himself, he certainly would.
He dug his heels onto the bottom of the boat, feeling a lot happier now that he once again was in control. He rubbed his hands together briskly before he took the oars. Finland was already sitting comfortably at the back and stretching the tiredness out of his muscles. His face seemed to glow with warmth within and for a split second Sweden wished he could somehow share in that, pull him closer and hold him until his own coldness would be defeated by that presence... but that was another option that one might not mind but the other one surely would. Nothing to it, he said to himself and pulled at the oars. The coldness in him was just lack of movement and the cold breeze over the water, nothing more, and in a few moments he would feel all better.
Finland locked his hands behind his own neck, gave the lake a quick glance and wordlessly nodded towards the left where Sweden had but a moment ago spotted only a shoreline. He turned the boat immediately towards the pointed direction since this was Finland's turf, not his.
His home, not...
well, technically speaking it was Sweden's home as well because...
well.
Sweden forced his thoughts to a more optimistic direction. Now at least his choices on the route would not cause them both extra trouble or take them a longer way than necessary. He rowed fast with slow, leisurely pulls that pierced surface that had turned mirror smooth here between the small islands. Wasn't it amazing how the oars dug deep crevasses into the water that were nevertheless immediately healed, leaving only a couple of tiny little water spirals, miniature vortexes that quickly died out and disappeared? Not a mark of them passing here would ever be found. This thought was at the same time comforting but with a hint of sadness.
How would the text put it, if it were to be written down? Who knew. Maybe it would be a hero story of Sweden and his most loyal vassal making their way to yet one more important meeting that would decide the fate of many. Or maybe it would show Sweden as a tyrannic ruler, enforcing his power over people who wanted nothing to do with it. Maybe it would be both. Books were certainly the most flimsy and changeable things there were in the world, no matter how heavy importance his other brothers placed on them. One could not trust written text, not a sincle word of it, since they each were penned down with specific intention behind them that steered their way in a manner much more cunning than a boat gliding on a lake. The words of the past guided the course of the present day without leaving as much as whirpools in their wake.
For example.
The books said he had given Finland Christianity and waged a heroic crusade against the stubborn pagans of Hame. Finland's books, what few of them he had, said very much the same. Both equally agreed that the outcome, Finland becoming fully Christian, was good. The books were so similar and yet how was it that they were read so differently? What little change of words had it so that his own books made it sound like he had saved Finland but Finland's books seemed to claim that he had ruthlessly beaten him into submission instead?
Take the legend of bishop Henrik for instance, he who had traveled Finland fearlessly, converting people to the right belief and ending up murdered on the icy lake Köyliö. It had not been a long time ago and the books were already filling themselves with lies. Had he been trying to get a criminal to be convicted of his act and been thus cruelly removed? Had he been betrayed by a woman who had first promised him help and then set her husband after him? Or had he, in fact, stormed a farmer's house while he had been away from home, attacked his family, stolen their winter food storage for his own troops and been killed out of revenge? The last story was not even written down but he had heard the suggestion of it in a song, which all just went to show that words were the last thing ever to be trusted; they could wreck havoc even without the backup of parchment and ink.
Words, or as much of them as possible, were best left out whenever they were unnecessary. Sweden glanced over his shoulder and saw that what he had taken as unbroken shoreline had suddenly opened up as if split by a giant, showing a broad and majestic route between two large hills that were covered in pine and spruce, their dark shadows casting a striking contrast against the pale water. He was so taken in by the view that when he turned back to continue rowing his oars struck the lake shallow and he pulled the biggest and the most humiliating crab of his whole life, falling off his perch and hitting the boat with a thud that no doubt resonated to the very bottom of the lake. Finland burst out laughing and made absolutely no effort to help him, perhaps knowing already how the relationship between them two was not quite as black and white as the history books had it.
What did those books know anyway. Not a mark of their passing here would ever be written in them but right now the two of them were here nevertheless, the reason that was important for the both of them would be lost and forgotten but right now they both knew it, small waves hit the sides of the boat with playful, splashing sounds and the sun was shining so brightly above.
End notes: the stories of Swedish crusades to Finland have been questioned because Finland had in fact already become mostly Christian at the time they were supposedly waged. The current theory seems to be, more or less, that the creation of the legend had a political reason behind it.
Bishop Henrik has likewise always been a bit of a mystery!