Some people may be familiar with the Ring of Fire, or 1632, series of books by Eric Flint. Basically, a small American town gets sent back to Germany in the middle of the Thirty Years War. Then history explodes.
So how would the Nations react to this? Would Grantville have a personification, and would that personification merge into the USE, when it forms, or would he/she be replaced? Since the Americans ally with Sweden and go to war with France, what do those nations think? And how does the Holy Roman Empire feel about this, since the nascent United States of Europe appropriates much of his territory?
So, anything with any Nation in the Ring of Fire universe. Pairings are fine, but I'd prefer gen. Have fun!
He has ever been a poor nation. Huge, and tenacious, but poor and half-frozen and weak. Russia does not dance in the ever-changing theatres of Europe; no wondrous inventions emerge from his house; he is ever-present but insignificant.
Insignificant ... but not so long ago one of his people was held above the ground by only a cloth balloon filled with hot air. One of Russia's people flew.
Grantville's people flew a month before his, but Grantville is a nation of wizards. She has many skilled men, brought with her from a future so full of genius and astounding invention that it seems much like magic to Russia, and the house that was fired into the middle of the Germanies, like the ball from a cannon, was filled with fantastic engines and mechanisms from the father she never met. Grantville flew using gifts that she inherited. Russia's people flew only with his cloth, and his woven basket, and his bellows and ropes.
Russia's people, poor and backward as they are, were the first people who truly belong to this world to fly. They flew with Grantville's knowledge, but the works of Russia's hands.
Russia likes the knowledge that came out of Grantville's house more than her gadgets, anyway.
"What did you call it?" he asks the man his czar sent to explain to him, swinging his feet -- his legs are still too short to reach the floor. But oh, oh, in those books...
"A 'cash-flow problem'," the man repeats. "You see ... an economy is created when things are bought and sold. It is not enough merely to have things of great value. Gold in the ground is worth nothing. Those things have to be traded. You have great wealth. You have forests and furs, trading routes that span the continent, many skilled craftsmen." Russia knows that; he is proud of his craftsmen, but he has them only because his summers are short and you can't grow crops in ice. He knows his rivers, too; he's been on the barges that travel slowly up and down, waved to India from the decks and traded for silk with China. "There just isn't enough money to take advantage of that wealth. People trade, but ..."
Russia stops listening. He is a rich nation, in potential if not in reality yet. His czar will know how to turn that wealth into true riches; he's already taking the first steps. But Russia is a wealthy nation ... that knowledge came out of Grantville, and there's more...
In the world-that-will-be, that was in that other time or place, there was a war, or something like a war. Russia has already read the books; he doesn't like reading of himself as the enemy, but it's drowned out by excitement every time he thinks of it, because the America of that other world was the strongest nation around, and he was afraid of Russia.
Russia was powerful. The Russia of that world conquered Poland and Lithuania, and for the Russia whose muscles still ache from the Time of Troubles, the thought is unbearably exciting. The Russia of that world built something called the USSR, a house that held land all the way to the Baltic Sea, and extended into the Germanies. That Russia changed people's lives in countries halfway around the world, in places that he's never heard of. That Russia could have destroyed the world, if he'd wanted to. And that Russia started out as him.
Russia ... Russia can be powerful.
He doesn't have to huddle on the edges of European intrigue, intimidated and ignored. He can build his own wonders and masterpieces. He can tie China and India to Europe and grow tall and solid on the trade. He can push away the Commonwealth. He can fly.
Russia's people were the first into space, up-time. He wonders if they can be first to the Moon, in this one.
I love your Russia. The way you portray him is so ... childish? (in that sweet, innocent, lonely way)... that I can see him becoming the childishly, threatening Russia of canon. And yet, by becoming strong long before his time, and having a dream for the future, it makes you wonder what he could be like if he hadn't been so isolated for so long.
OMG I have received such a fantastic holiday gift in this fic! Thank you A!A for such a neat look at young Russia, whose strength and influence will only increase from then on, as his confidence is further bolstered not only by the knowledge of what his other self did, but now, what he himself is capable of doing. Is it possible you might continue in this universe? If not, that's entirely your decision, but I must confess I would love to see more! And thank you OP for posting this request. I made a similar request a couple of years back, but lost the link and could not repost it. Thanks again to you and A!A for further brightening my holidays.
He's lost Thuringia and Franconia. Holy Rome stumbles, leans against the cool stone wall of the cathedral, holding himself up with one hand while the other traces over his stomach and hip, marking Magdeburg and Jena and where they used to be. Ink briefly darkens his fingers, blood splashes on the floor.
It's hard to keep himself upright.
There are gaping holes inside him. Grantville -- the CPE -- whatever she's calling herself now -- Monica, he can call her Monica, they met once face-to-face and she asked him what she should choose because she wanted a German name or English, not Swedish, and he said Monica and that was the only thing he has ever freely given her -- she is ripping out his fertile heartlands, claiming farm and field and forest with every month that passes, and leaving him with great hollow wounds where they don't show. He can't stop her.
(Can't stop her because so many of his people want to belong to her, because so many of the states that he tried to bring to order have left him to shelter in her house. He did all he could, but she has so much more to offer, without even trying.)
...he wishes he could see Italy. It hurts so much, he'd give anything for a friend to hold him.
He pushes himself away from the wall and a black cloud of dizziness envelopes him. He wavers and nearly falls, but carries on grimly.
He's dying. He knows this.
Then again, he's been dying by inches since the Defenestration of Prague. Since men sailing from a window sent armies marching across his lands.
He doesn't hate her. His neighbours have been wearing him away with steel for years. Grantville simply tears out his innards with no malice at all and so much eager well-meaning that it's frightening to look upon. It's impossible to hate her. She offers his people stability and security where the others who grind him down offer only labour and the blade. It's hard to resent losing them to the best option around.
He wonders vaguely if he could have married her. Austria talked about it. About children. But Holy Rome could never marry anyone but Italy. Some things are mutable, but not that.
So he's dying. But he has things to do before he leaves.
Holy Rome staggers onward.
__
...yeah, this one was waaaay more depressing than the last one. Because, y'know, Holy Rome, Thirty Years' War.
Suddenly the world becomes a much more beautiful place! There are other Hetalians that have read the Ring of Fire! I am not alone!
And both fills are really great, capturing how the changing world has affect the nations, for better and for worse.
I'm hoping that Russia won't go quiet so crazy in this universe (I haven't read Kremlin Games yet but it sound like Russia is trying to be smart about the future) but the fact that he looses interest in what he's being told isn't a good sign. Ivan, you need to think for your self, sweetie, not leave everything up to your bosses.
And Holy Rome, it's just all so true. He's going to die either way and at least this way his people are better off. And Monica is femGermany and no one but the autherAnon can convince me otherwise. Holy Rome, can't you kick Austria in the balls and run off to Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar and be the new Nation he's making up.
"All right, I know I'm talking to a group of people who don't live long enough to actually remember these things firsthand, and you're all convinced you know best and anyway you've already made your minds up." Denmark steps into the middle of the room and turns around dramatically, spreading his arms out to indicate every person there. "But does anyone remember the last time the two of us shared a house?"
He drops his arms and glares at Sweden, who, while suitably impassive to anyone who doesn't know him, looks just a little smug. His king is also trying to conceal his smugness, but not doing nearly as good a job of it as his Nation. Finland, behind them, looks torn between triumph (not smugness, but Denmark guesses Fin doesn't have an oar in that race) and wincing. Probably at his own memories of being stuck in a house with the two of them.
"Beat you, fair'n square," Sweden points out in a rumble.
"I'm not arguing that." Although he plans on rubbing those two ships he sank with mines and a harpoon in Sweden's face every chance he gets for the next few decades. "I'm just saying, the two of us under one roof? Always ends in disaster."
"Enough!" Sweden's king says reprovingly. Soon to be his emperor, because Denmark's keeping his own king, thank you so very much, albeit having an emperor over that king isn't so great. At least one of his royal line is going to be married to the throne. Denmark quite likes Ulrich. Norway would say that's because he never got over being a Viking, but Denmark thinks that a man who'll ram one of Grantville's new ships with a bomb on the end of a harpoon is a man worth following.
Denmark can think that, especially since he met Grantville and her admiral afterwards, and while the technology was all well and good and terrifying, Grantville herself is the kind of Nation he'd respect if she was facing him with a sharp stick. Even if she is smaller than Iceland.
"Whatever," he says, shrugging. "Let's get this over with."
Their kings and assorted nobles rise and stride out, and the Nations wait for them to clear the room before heading out after them.
"Yer wrong," Sweden mumbles as they fall into stride beside one another. "Won't end like last time."
Denmark snorts. "What makes you think it won't? C'mon, Sverige, you and me fight like --" He thinks fleetingly of one of Grantville's books and smiles. "--like a brick of potassium chucked into a river. It never works out."
"Could."
"How?"
Sweden doesn't answer that one directly, oddly enough. Instead, he looks sideways at Denmarks and gives him a question. "What d'you think we could do, 'f it did?"
That makes Denmark pause. For a split-second, his stride falters.
Him and Sweden, always smashing against each other, clawing each other up and dragging Finland and Norway along with them, ripping up the North. The two of them grown strong and fierce on each other's blood, Denmark wild and Sweden as tall and sturdy as a tree.
Denmark feels an old, feral grin curling his mouth. Sweden stands watching him, the corner of his lip twitching up.
The two of them, against the world? With Grantville's weapons in their hands?
I suppose it was too much to hope for, that Denmark and Sweden could unite with brotherly love and apologies, instead of for the chance at more land and power. But I suppose Nordics will be Nordics.
Look on the bright sides guys, if you take over most of Northern Europe you should have almost enough room not to irritate each other. Although Poland, Lithuania and Russia may have a few things to say on the subject.
This is so great, have you planned how many more you will do. Or do you just write as the muses hit you?
The science-theme titling is now officially a thing, okay.
Poland has a very annoying laugh, at times.
"Shut up," Lithuania grits out, pulling the bandage tighter around his arm.
"Ahaha --" Poland wipes tears of laughter from his eyes and reaches out to help Lithuania tie the bandage off. "Russia? You got beaten up by Russia?"
"Shut up," Lithuania says through grinding teeth. The memory stings enough; he does not need Poland laughing at him.
"Russia? As in, the same Russia we danced all over a couple of decades ago?" Poland has to let go of the bandage, his hands shaking with mirth. "The same Russia who burst into tears when Sweden pulled out another Dmitri? That Russia?"
"He's upgraded." Lithuania scowls at the roll of bandage on the table. "Improved his army, his training -- he must have bought new weapons off the CPE or whatever she's calling herself, his guns were beyond anything I've encountered this far north --"
"Riiiiight," Poland drawls. "And that's how he beat you with his infantry, right?"
Lithuania slams his uninjured hand down on the table. "He used tactics we've never seen before!" Those walking walls... "I crushed his cavalry easily, but when it came to the battle his officers reacted like they were barely Russian at all! They've had training, Poland! Training and practice, and I wish I knew where they were getting it from --"
"Dude, calm down." Poland pries his hand off the table and forces a glass of wine into his fingers. "It's still Russia, okay? We'll play a few games with his trading agreements, and next time you two fight you'll know how to get around his new fancy footwork. 'Kay?"
"I hate that word," Lithuania grumbles. Okay has infested Poland's speech since he first encountered the term. "Fine. Are you sure our western front is secure?"
"Sweden's rumbling." Poland shrugs. "Sweden's always rumbling. Who cares? Germany doesn't want to invade us, and we can hold off Sweden if he comes at us without her."
"Who?"
"Duh. Germany." Poland sighs at Lithuania's confusion. "She's taken over the Germanies, right? And United States of Europe is too long, and nobody's going to call her Europe."
Lithuania isn't nearly as convinced as Poland that the girl from the future will stay out of it if Sweden demands an invasion, but he knows Poland well enough to see that if he argues the point, his partner will stick his fingers in his ears and start humming loudly. Well, fine. Lithuania will have to finish nursing his wounds before he can do anything, anyway.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Poland: not nearly as stupid as he lets Europe think he is, but not quite as smart as he thinks he is. Because he has USE all sussed out but fails to gasp that Russia is no longer an easy target.
You brought up the whole multiple prince Dmitri saga! Russia would certainly have been brought to tears over it.
Am I the only one who loved how Poland was portrayed in the series? For the first couple books we got the impression that Sweden will overpower Poland easily. Then the Eastern Front happens and Radio+Polish forces=a not so soft target.
But I would think that if either Poland or Lithuania ever got their hands on a history book the first thing the'd want to do was get rid of that pesky squatter they have living between them. Because in the other timeline Prussia grows to be a much bigger problem than they could ever imagine.
England would like to scream, would like to rage, would like to draw his sword and sever France's haughty, smiling head from his shoulders.
Instead, he sets quill to parchment and signs away America.
"Merci," France says, and at least has the decency not to look openly smug about it. He takes America's chubby hand in his long, bejewelled fingers. "Come, little one, our carriage awaits."
America looks back at England, uncertainty written all over his angelic features. "England?" he asks, and the part of England that still has not registered America's loss takes fierce pride in the way the colony digs is heels into the floor, refusing to follow France.
"Go on," England says, with as much reassurance as he can manage. "France owns you now, he'll take care of you." He'd better; if England hears a word about France mistreating America, then he's going to go hunting and kings be damned.
America's frown deepens, and he tugs his hand back. "But I belong to you."
And because England's governors have decided, and his King has spoken, and because England's signature is still drying on the document that forfeits any ownership he has over any part of the North American continent, England says, "Go on!" The words come out more harshly than he had intended, and America's face crumples before he lowers his head and trails reluctantly after France.
The door closes behind them and England glares at it, teeth gritted. He's just seen the last of his colony, no doubt.
Oh, he knows the arguments. His ministers were painstaking in their explanations. America will rebel against the Empire a hundred and forty years from now. America's arguments with the natives, and with Spain's and France's colonies to either side, will drag whoever owns him into expensive war after expensive war. England's economy is weak, and he needs the money that Richelieu -- everyone knows who France's secret master is -- has talked France into offering. The only argument England can offer in return is, Well, why is the Frog willing to pay so bloody much for him, then?
It's not an argument anybody is willing to hear.
And England's real reason -- that he has just given up the closest thing he has to a son -- will matter even less.
England glares at the closed door for a few more minutes, then turns sharply on his heel and marches out of the room. He will read the books of the future again.
I didn't read the books, butI have to say, I don't see that sitting well with the colonies themselves. New England's opinions of Catholics in the sixteen hundreds was slightly higher than their opinions of rats, and if I remember correctly France never came up with a great enough settler population to populate the New World themselves (Quebec managed to hold its own as much as it did population wise because it had giant families).
Meanwhile, England needed the population valve America provides more because its smaller than France and the a industrial Revolution hasn't kicked off yet. The excess population needs to go somewhere (so, I suppose, is this timeline going to get a leg up on colonizing Australia?) It also need American holdings to feed the sugar islands which are the real cash crop of the time. And what history books was everyone reading that suggested Britain couldn't have kept the colonies were they a little more careful to cultivate them over time? How stupid are his ministers at the time supposed to be to let their entry into the resources of North America go when they expressly know about them?
Err....sorry, this was a lovely piece. I just got a bit carried away with the details, none of which you created, so I'm not mad at you.
Poor England. I always pictured him being in pirate mode at this point in time, winding down from it just as the Cromwell revolution starts. So I imagine he does have a convenient ship and crew just waiting for the change to make history.
Poor America. I wonder if in this universe he grows up just as fast as he does in ours. I seem remember Richelieu sent some fanatic official of to America to set things on fire and basically grind all the colonists and Native Americans beneth his boots... but Grantville's spy master had lots of fun changing the information on America that was being smuggled out. The French and Spanish should be very preoccupied trying to find gold in malaria-rich Florida. The perfect time for a rebellion to start up north.
Poor France. England will never forgive him for this, and he has no idea what the Baltic war has in store for him.
I love these fills. I actually have a pointless one about Sweden's first visit to Grantville. Would you mind terribly if I post it? It takes place just after the Croat attack in book one.
Follows Sweden, Finland and King Gustav II Adolf as they deal with ungodly massacres, righteous battles and time-travelling Americans with history books.
Huge thanks to the first filler of this prompt, for showing me there really are other fans out there.
1631, Brandenburg
The Kingdom of Sweden frowned as his beloved king continued his prayers, his large, powerful body stooped over by the weight of his grief and guilt. Gustav II Adolf was one of his greatest rulers, had done so much to make Sweden respected and feared. Part of what made his king so great was his religious piety and unshakable faith in the Protestant cause, that had lead Gustav to the Germanies to challenge the Catholic Powers.
But now Gustav’s piety was a weakness, his belief in his divine responsibility to protect bringing him guilt and shame. The king of Sweden had vowed to defend the city of Magdeburg, had promised to aid them when the General Tilly and his forces were at their gates. And he had failed to get there in time, to prevent the massacre that followed their surrender.
The greatest king Scandinavia had ever produced, the father of modern warfare, composer of hymns, leader of armies remained on his knees, praying for the souls he had promised to save and failed.
Words had never come easy to Sweden. In times like this they were even harder to find. He wished he could say something to bring peace to his king. Tell him that those German souls did not matter, tell him that war was always unkind to civilians, something to snap him out of it. But none of those things would bring any peace to Gustav’s soul.
Sweden approached his king silently, knelt down besides him and offered up his own prayers, less certain of the good it would do to any of the dead, but willing to try. For his king.
Much later, when his king had finally risen to resume his duties, Sweden searched out his own source of comfort. The army camped out on Brandenburg territory was 20 thousand strong and none too organised, but generally soldiers from the same territory stuck together. It was easy enough to find the Fin part of the Swedish army.
Compared to some of the armies they had faced the Swedes were a ragged filthy mob, with no uniform to speak of and cleanliness forgotten in favour of ferociousness. The Fins were no exception, many still dressed in their Eastern European styles of caps and furs. Sweden had to wait until he heard Finland’s sweet voice coming from a truly repulsive hooded coat before he was certain he had found his ward.
“Ruotsi.” Finland smiled happily as Sweden approached the fire he was cooking over. Around him his country men quietly left to find another fire, not comfortable around another Nation. Especially the Swedish one who ruled over them and their young .
Finland did not appear to mind being abandoned as he offered Sweden a spoon of mush from the pot. Sweden sat down on a left behind rug and swallowed the mush politely, trying not to notice the taste. He had eaten worse. He gave Finland back the spoon and waved away the offer of more.
“I heard the king got bad news today.” Said Finland quietly, settling himself down with a bowl. “We could hear the furniture breaking from here.”
Sweden nodded his head, staring into the fire. “He blames himself… for Magdeburg.”
“But it was Pappenhein that lead the attack.” Pointed out Finland logically, “And Saxony’s prince that delayed the reinforcements.” He scowled into his bowl adorably. “And Bandenburg too.” Out of nowhere Finland whipped out a knife. “You give me one minute alone with him and I’ll end his indecision once and for all.” He stabbed into his pot violently, pulling it out with a piece of meat on the point. “He called me a savage to my face, thinks I can’t speak German.” Finland delicately nibbled on the meat. “He can’t speak a word of Swedish, let alone Suomi and I’m the savage?”
Sweden nodded again, letting Finland’s chatter wash over him. He had been against him coming with the Fin and Lapland forces to the German States, but was now glad he had the company. It looked to be a long and violent war his king was leading them into, and trips back home would be impossible. Finland was a balm to his tired heart in this blood soaked land.
He let his thoughts float back to Stockholm and the Baltic, his court and his young princess. A stray wish for a prince and a clear succession sprung to his mind but he pushed it back down. Gustav was healthy, there was time yet for him to have a son.
“We will deal with them all.” Said Sweden firmly. One way or another Saxon and Brandenburg would be brought to heel and Tilly would be defeated. And then all of Germany would be his for the taking. And no one, not Denmark, not Poland or even Austria himself, would stop him.
...
Six months later, on the field of Breitenfeld, Sweden made good on his promise. Gustav Adolf himself led the cavalry charge himself, Sweden and the king’s exasperated bodyguard right behind him. Forever and always this battle would be the Lion of the North: Gustav Adolf's defining battle, defeating the undefeatable Johann Tserclaes, Count of Tilly. The road to central Europe lay open to Sweden and the Catholic Nations quailed.
Sweden spared a moment to come out of his daydreams of power and land and admire the figure of Finland, blood spattered and wielding his knife, chasing after retreating Catholic forces, screaming his people’s favourite war cry. Such an adorable sight.
“No no, you don’t understand.” The woman reached out to Finland’s shoulder, then looked at Sweden and took her hand back hurriedly. “You’re Finland. You have to know how to shot. Your country is world famous for marksmanship, the best there is. You guys fought off Russia for years.”
“Yeah. But you… I” the woman huffed and threw up her hands. “Never mind. I’m just very honoured to meet you. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” Finland tugged at Sweden’s sleeve until he grunted his own fair-well. Then she finally went away, Scotsman ushering her back to the rest of the delegates.
They stood in thoughtful silence for a while.
“She knew who I was.” Finland said finally. “She thought I was important enough to speak to.” He stopped for a moment, judging Sweden’s frowning face. “Why would she think I could speak English? Nobody believes I can speak German or French. Why English?”
Sweden did not like the turn the day had just taken. A few unpleasant thoughts about this alleged future had belatedly occurred to him and he suddenly did not want Finland anywhere near these strange people.
“If you hurry, you can join the bridge assault.”
“Really?” Without waiting for confirmation, Finland was already running towards the marsh and the group of Fins waiting the surge over the half built bridge and give Tilly an unpleasant shock.
Sweden watched him go with a frown, then turned back to the American group. Up until now he had not truly believed their wild claims of time travel, even with all the proof they had brought. But the girl’s words, about his Finland. He did not want to think about them or the feelings they evoked in him, at all. To know the future would be a great thing, but at what cost?
Even a day later, when Tilly was permanently defeated, in part due to the American’s engineers, and Southern Germany was open to his King, Sweden’s bad mood remained.
(If this seemed a bit rushed, it’s because I’m summarizing madly.There are some spoilers for the first book but I tried to avoid all of them.)
It was then that the rest of Europe finally began to take Gustav seriously. Cardinal Richelieu, puppet master of France, declared Grantville Satan’s work, Thuringia damned to hell and Gustav in league with Jews and other devil worshipers. To this end, France would finally allow the Spanish army to go through it's borders to the Germanies and do the Lord’s bloody work.
Meanwhile the bulk of the Swedish army was stuck in the siege of Nurnberg (there would NOT be another Magdeburg), circled by the Bohemian army and the incoming Bavarian forces. In the midst of all of this the Spanish army marched unchallenged for Grantville. The Americans had marvelous weapons and had fought against invaders before, but in the face of an army of Croats? They would need experienced soldiers to aid them. A small expedition was sent, lead by the Swedish madman: Captain Gars.
Sweden, for reasons of his own went as well, compelled to see with his own eyes where these time travelers came from. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control, and he needed answers to questions he could not bring himself to ask. In the madcap rush to beat the Spanish army to Grantville, the small cavalry force failed to notice an additional party member, until they stopped to let the Lapplanders scout ahead, several days later.
Finland should have been back in Nurnberg, helping with the siege. Not half way to Grantville where the mysteries of the future was available to anyone who could understand English. Finland could not read, thank God, but his English had rapidly improved as he bullied the Scot cavalry into lessons.
Finland brushed some mud from his filthy face, avoiding Sweden’s furious glare. “You.” Sweden was overcome with anger, almost unable to speak. He pointed back the way they had come. “Go back.”
“You want me to go back, by myself, though a war sewn land with 10 different armies running about?” exclaimed Finland, “The forest is crawling with Swabians! Do you know what Swabia does to hostages?”
“Then don’t get caught!” Sweden grabbed Finland by the scruff of his neck planning to place him on his horse and send him on his way. Instead Finland hit him with his elbow, causing Sweden to react by hitting back with his other hand.
Finland looked up at him, eyes suddenly scared as his cheek began to redden. “You promised you’d never hit me. You swore to me when we left Denmark you’d never hurt me.” As Sweden let him go he scrambled back, afraid of another blow.
“Said I’d keep you safe!” growled Sweden, “’s all I promised you. Can’t promise you anything if you come with us.” His voice failed him for a second, but he pushed on. “Please Timo, go back.”
I can’t protect you, I understand nothing about these people, their weapons, their ways, go home and be safe. The things they have, the promises they made. There will be consequences and I… Even in his mind his feelings were foggy.
“Ruotsi.” Finland had stopped backing away, but he was still wary. “I’m a Nation too. And part of your territory. Everything you do affects me, just like everything I do affects you.” He stood up, still out of reach. “I have to know what these Americans are, what they know about me. Please.” He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. “Don’t you want me to grow up someday, be strong like you?”
A small vicious part of Sweden thought that that was a terrible idea, letting Finland become strong enough to leave him. He pushed that part of himself away and merely glared at his ward in silence.
“I hate to interrupt.” Said Captain Gars loudly, intruding on the two Nations. “But if we don’t get moving there won’t be any American’s alive to ask anything.” He swung his horse around without waiting for a reply.
Sweden shot a warning finger at Finland. “Stay in my sight, don’t go anywhere without me.”
Finland huffed, but nodded as they both mounted their horses. Captain Gurs was a mad man; he would leave them both behind if he felt the need. . . .
But a furious ride across Germany on a rescue mission was not conducive to holding onto hard feelings. Forbidden fires, with limited sleep and constant alertness, the miserable conditions forced the Nations to make up and unite in mutual discomfort. Captain Gars was a hard task master; fair but mad.
They arrived at the edge of Grantville just as the first gunshots began. Sweden looked up from his examination of the strangely smooth road they stepped onto. He drew his saber as Finland whipped out his knife, both of them nodding to their captain and each other before bellowing their respective war cries and spurring their mounts to charge.
“Gott mit uns!” God is with us! “Haakaa päälle!” Hack them down!
Four thousand West Goths, Lapps and Fins followed. . . . Later, when they had ridden to the rescue of the hurriedly, but impressively barricaded town, when Captain had led the charge against the Croats, an unseen sniper aided by shooting down row after row of soldiers in their path.
Later, when they dove into the school after the invaders, Finland got to watch the sniper in action, Julie Sims dispatching four men in the blink of an eye, before racing towards the gymnasium where most of the students had been gathered.
Later, with his madman of a Captain being tended to by a Moorish doctor with impressive skill, Sweden got a chance to look around him at the crowds of untouched school children, in the strange but now safe school.
Leaving his injured but safe captain he got up and went in search of Finland
He found Finland in a deserted classroom, staring at something on a wall. There was a large peace of paper on it, showing a large map of several territories. Each territory was clearly marked, shaded in a different colour with one label each. It was oddly familiar to Sweden, though he did not know why.
Finland reached out a slim finger and placed it on one spot, a territory up at the top of the map, part of an overhanging section of land. “That’s me. I can’t read the writing, and I’ve never seen this chart before, but I know that’s me. Suomi.”
Sweden squinted, moving closer to examine the territory. Next to it, across a small bay, but connected at the top, was a long, strip of land divided down the middle. The one on the right looked familiar to him. He put his own finger on the map, tracing a coastline he knew like he knew like the swing of his sword, the heft of an axe. His very bones knew that section of land was his.
Sweden’s eyes swept down away from their fingers to scan the rest of the map closely, now able to recognise the rest of the coastline on the map. That island at the very top corner of the map, had to be Norway’s little brother. France was still recognisable and he saw what looked like the Swiss Confederation, still squatting defiantly between France and Italy.
He was so focused on the inland that he missed a vital point, until Finland exclaimed “Look at the size of Denmark! That can’t be right Rutsi, can it?”
He stared at his brother’s birthplace, at the peninsular of land just barely linked to Europe, with Holstein firmly separated into a much larger territory below. Was that the Germany the American’s referred to, the impossible unification made visible?
“I have to learn English.” Said Finland firmly, finger tracing his own land. “I have to learn what the American’s know about me, what’s going to happen to me in the future. Look at the size of Russia, he doesn’t end!”
Gently but firmly Sweden took Finland’s hand and pulled him away from the map, though he would have liked to have spent hours on it himself, trying to find answers to questions he could not form. “We will learn to read English.” He agreed.
Finland looked up at him, blue eyes wide and worried. “They’re going to change everything aren’t they? That’s what you were so worried about. That the American’s will make everything we know, everything we believe, change.”
Sweden sighed and nodded. “It’s always bad, when change happens quickly.” He thought of his painful converting from pagan to Christianity, the joining and separating of the Kalmer Union. He looked down at his hand, still held by Finland. But sometimes change was worth the risks.
It took a lot of arguing. This Mike Stearns, leader of Grantville, wanted impossible things. Separation of the church and state, commoners having the vote, taxation limited and religious tolerance. Madness. Seer folly.
And yet, Sweden sat at the back of the library while his representative argued furiously against it all, silent except when Finland showed him a particularly interesting picture from a book. Machines that flew through the air, bridges that staggered the mind, buildings that reached the sky, ships beyond his understanding. He looked up, caught the eye of his fuming diplomat and nodded. The man threw up his hands in disgust and went back to negotiating furiously. . . . In the aftermath of everything it was revealed that Julie Sims, best shooter in Grantville, was pregnant via her Scottish Fiancée. Piteous Gustav immediately ordered a marriage, partly to avoid the sin of basterdy, but mostly as an excuse to bestow a title and Finnish land on the bride.
Finland had been giddy with joy, promising his new baroness that he’d carve a pair of skis just for her, if only she promised to go hunting with him and teach him how to shoot. Sweden had a horrible suspicion he would get no peace until Finland had an American rifle to call his own, even if the bullets were terribly limited in number.
He watched as Gustav accepted the groom’s startled thanks. His king: Gustav II Adolf, King of Sweden and the Baltic territories, newly crowned Emperor of the Confederated Principalities of Europe, who would defy the history books and not die within a year of battle wounds, but live to see a new Europe emerge from the devastation of the 30 years war.
Sweden smiled and wondered when Denmark would receive his letter and the ‘photocopy’ of the ‘European Union’ map. He was confident he would hear the screams of outrage from his new capital. . . . Map they were looking at: http://www.vidiani.com/maps/maps_of_europe/european_union_member_states_detailed_map.jpg
What Europe looked like at that point in time (roughly, 1632 was a very confusing time for map makers, plus nowhere as accurate as we are used to) : http://www.balagan.org.uk/war/thirty-years-war/images/map_1648_Europe.png
"You have made your decision, then?" France inquires. He is eager to know the answer; who would not be, when the subject is one of miracles?
"I have." Cardinal Richelieu's voice holds a trace of regret. France smiles. The cardinal has excellent command of his face and his voice, but there are things he will show to his nation. Many rulers seek to better their nations; few truly love them. France finds it flattering that one so intelligent as the cardinal does so.
"And what did you decide?" The regret in the cardinal's voice could stem from either route: Regret that, despite all their faults, the new up-timers' methods are for the best; or regret that, despite the virtues of the people they sent, their ways must be rejected. France knows well that the choice cannot have been easy. He is the king and the court, yes; but he is also the peasants in the fields, the craftsmen in their workshops; he is, by his own nature, something of a diffuse and divided entity. To have someone with the cardinal's intelligence is reassuring.
The cardinal sighs. "Everything I have done, I have done for your betterment. You know this." Perhaps a slight question, there?
"I know this." France waits, watching.
"And a message from God, nonetheless." Richelieu shakes his head. "Such a complicated message. But that is the way of divinity. Subtle." He turns to gaze out of the window, over the huddled roofs of Paris.
"It is a warning," he says after a few moments. "A warning against continuing along the path that has already been set in motion. A warning that we must hold true to our ways. A demonstration from God, that the changes we had already seen before the Ring of Fire will have great and terrible consequences. So be it. We will heed the warning."
France inclines his head.
Now, finally, Richelieu cracks a smile. "You do not doubt me?"
"I am old," France says equitably. He rises, and pours wine into a flute. "Few people realise how old, it seems. But I trust that you will do as you think best for the future centuries, not merely now. Whether you are correct..." He crosses the room and hands the cardinal the glass. "Time will tell."
Richelieu accepts the glass, but he does not drink. "America," he muses. "North America is the key. Whoever controls that continent will rule the world."
France makes a face. "Please. Must we?" His own dear Canada is sweet and well-behaved, but France has heard tales of what his southern counterpart gets up to.
"I am confident that you can iron out any difficulties." The cardinal's voice becomes drier. "You will, after all, have centuries to do so."
"Indeed," France murmurs, and looks out over Paris himself. His beloved city, his beating heart...and perhaps, if he is clever, and fortunate, the heart of the future.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Ensemble, Ring of Fire Crossover
(Anonymous) 2012-12-25 06:24 pm (UTC)(link)So how would the Nations react to this? Would Grantville have a personification, and would that personification merge into the USE, when it forms, or would he/she be replaced? Since the Americans ally with Sweden and go to war with France, what do those nations think? And how does the Holy Roman Empire feel about this, since the nascent United States of Europe appropriates much of his territory?
So, anything with any Nation in the Ring of Fire universe. Pairings are fine, but I'd prefer gen. Have fun!
SECONDED!!!
(Anonymous) 2012-12-27 07:07 pm (UTC)(link)Russia, Hydrogen Future
(Anonymous) 2012-12-29 02:45 pm (UTC)(link)Insignificant ... but not so long ago one of his people was held above the ground by only a cloth balloon filled with hot air. One of Russia's people flew.
Grantville's people flew a month before his, but Grantville is a nation of wizards. She has many skilled men, brought with her from a future so full of genius and astounding invention that it seems much like magic to Russia, and the house that was fired into the middle of the Germanies, like the ball from a cannon, was filled with fantastic engines and mechanisms from the father she never met. Grantville flew using gifts that she inherited. Russia's people flew only with his cloth, and his woven basket, and his bellows and ropes.
Russia's people, poor and backward as they are, were the first people who truly belong to this world to fly. They flew with Grantville's knowledge, but the works of Russia's hands.
Russia likes the knowledge that came out of Grantville's house more than her gadgets, anyway.
"What did you call it?" he asks the man his czar sent to explain to him, swinging his feet -- his legs are still too short to reach the floor. But oh, oh, in those books...
"A 'cash-flow problem'," the man repeats. "You see ... an economy is created when things are bought and sold. It is not enough merely to have things of great value. Gold in the ground is worth nothing. Those things have to be traded. You have great wealth. You have forests and furs, trading routes that span the continent, many skilled craftsmen." Russia knows that; he is proud of his craftsmen, but he has them only because his summers are short and you can't grow crops in ice. He knows his rivers, too; he's been on the barges that travel slowly up and down, waved to India from the decks and traded for silk with China. "There just isn't enough money to take advantage of that wealth. People trade, but ..."
Russia stops listening. He is a rich nation, in potential if not in reality yet. His czar will know how to turn that wealth into true riches; he's already taking the first steps. But Russia is a wealthy nation ... that knowledge came out of Grantville, and there's more...
In the world-that-will-be, that was in that other time or place, there was a war, or something like a war. Russia has already read the books; he doesn't like reading of himself as the enemy, but it's drowned out by excitement every time he thinks of it, because the America of that other world was the strongest nation around, and he was afraid of Russia.
Russia was powerful. The Russia of that world conquered Poland and Lithuania, and for the Russia whose muscles still ache from the Time of Troubles, the thought is unbearably exciting. The Russia of that world built something called the USSR, a house that held land all the way to the Baltic Sea, and extended into the Germanies. That Russia changed people's lives in countries halfway around the world, in places that he's never heard of. That Russia could have destroyed the world, if he'd wanted to. And that Russia started out as him.
Russia ... Russia can be powerful.
He doesn't have to huddle on the edges of European intrigue, intimidated and ignored. He can build his own wonders and masterpieces. He can tie China and India to Europe and grow tall and solid on the trade. He can push away the Commonwealth. He can fly.
Russia's people were the first into space, up-time. He wonders if they can be first to the Moon, in this one.
Re: Russia, Hydrogen Future
(Anonymous) 2012-12-29 10:24 pm (UTC)(link)I love your Russia. The way you portray him is so ... childish? (in that sweet, innocent, lonely way)... that I can see him becoming the childishly, threatening Russia of canon. And yet, by becoming strong long before his time, and having a dream for the future, it makes you wonder what he could be like if he hadn't been so isolated for so long.
"He can fly."
<3
Re: Russia, Hydrogen Future
(Anonymous) - 2012-12-30 06:59 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Russia, Hydrogen Future
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 04:08 am (UTC)(link)Is it possible you might continue in this universe? If not, that's entirely your decision, but I must confess I would love to see more!
And thank you OP for posting this request. I made a similar request a couple of years back, but lost the link and could not repost it. Thanks again to you and A!A for further brightening my holidays.
Re: Russia, Hydrogen Future
(Anonymous) - 2012-12-30 06:52 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Russia, Hydrogen Future
(Anonymous) 2012-12-30 04:12 pm (UTC)(link)But now that I'm in Hetalia, I might just have to give it another shot, especially if I can get a better look at the other countries.
Re: Russia, Hydrogen Future
(Anonymous) - 2012-12-30 16:39 (UTC) - ExpandEvent Horizon Spiral
(Anonymous) 2013-01-17 03:03 pm (UTC)(link)It's hard to keep himself upright.
There are gaping holes inside him. Grantville -- the CPE -- whatever she's calling herself now -- Monica, he can call her Monica, they met once face-to-face and she asked him what she should choose because she wanted a German name or English, not Swedish, and he said Monica and that was the only thing he has ever freely given her -- she is ripping out his fertile heartlands, claiming farm and field and forest with every month that passes, and leaving him with great hollow wounds where they don't show. He can't stop her.
(Can't stop her because so many of his people want to belong to her, because so many of the states that he tried to bring to order have left him to shelter in her house. He did all he could, but she has so much more to offer, without even trying.)
...he wishes he could see Italy. It hurts so much, he'd give anything for a friend to hold him.
He pushes himself away from the wall and a black cloud of dizziness envelopes him. He wavers and nearly falls, but carries on grimly.
He's dying. He knows this.
Then again, he's been dying by inches since the Defenestration of Prague. Since men sailing from a window sent armies marching across his lands.
He doesn't hate her. His neighbours have been wearing him away with steel for years. Grantville simply tears out his innards with no malice at all and so much eager well-meaning that it's frightening to look upon. It's impossible to hate her. She offers his people stability and security where the others who grind him down offer only labour and the blade. It's hard to resent losing them to the best option around.
He wonders vaguely if he could have married her. Austria talked about it. About children. But Holy Rome could never marry anyone but Italy. Some things are mutable, but not that.
So he's dying. But he has things to do before he leaves.
Holy Rome staggers onward.
__
...yeah, this one was waaaay more depressing than the last one. Because, y'know, Holy Rome, Thirty Years' War.
Re: Event Horizon Spiral
(Anonymous) 2013-01-18 05:38 am (UTC)(link)Re: Event Horizon Spiral
(Anonymous) 2013-01-31 09:23 am (UTC)(link)And both fills are really great, capturing how the changing world has affect the nations, for better and for worse.
I'm hoping that Russia won't go quiet so crazy in this universe (I haven't read Kremlin Games yet but it sound like Russia is trying to be smart about the future) but the fact that he looses interest in what he's being told isn't a good sign. Ivan, you need to think for your self, sweetie, not leave everything up to your bosses.
And Holy Rome, it's just all so true. He's going to die either way and at least this way his people are better off. And Monica is femGermany and no one but the autherAnon can convince me otherwise. Holy Rome, can't you kick Austria in the balls and run off to Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar and be the new Nation he's making up.
So yes, I love this fill. Thanks ever so much.
Re: Event Horizon Spiral
(Anonymous) - 2013-02-01 21:19 (UTC) - ExpandVolatile Reactions
(Anonymous) 2013-02-02 04:54 pm (UTC)(link)He drops his arms and glares at Sweden, who, while suitably impassive to anyone who doesn't know him, looks just a little smug. His king is also trying to conceal his smugness, but not doing nearly as good a job of it as his Nation. Finland, behind them, looks torn between triumph (not smugness, but Denmark guesses Fin doesn't have an oar in that race) and wincing. Probably at his own memories of being stuck in a house with the two of them.
"Beat you, fair'n square," Sweden points out in a rumble.
"I'm not arguing that." Although he plans on rubbing those two ships he sank with mines and a harpoon in Sweden's face every chance he gets for the next few decades. "I'm just saying, the two of us under one roof? Always ends in disaster."
"Enough!" Sweden's king says reprovingly. Soon to be his emperor, because Denmark's keeping his own king, thank you so very much, albeit having an emperor over that king isn't so great. At least one of his royal line is going to be married to the throne. Denmark quite likes Ulrich. Norway would say that's because he never got over being a Viking, but Denmark thinks that a man who'll ram one of Grantville's new ships with a bomb on the end of a harpoon is a man worth following.
Denmark can think that, especially since he met Grantville and her admiral afterwards, and while the technology was all well and good and terrifying, Grantville herself is the kind of Nation he'd respect if she was facing him with a sharp stick. Even if she is smaller than Iceland.
"Whatever," he says, shrugging. "Let's get this over with."
Their kings and assorted nobles rise and stride out, and the Nations wait for them to clear the room before heading out after them.
"Yer wrong," Sweden mumbles as they fall into stride beside one another. "Won't end like last time."
Denmark snorts. "What makes you think it won't? C'mon, Sverige, you and me fight like --" He thinks fleetingly of one of Grantville's books and smiles. "--like a brick of potassium chucked into a river. It never works out."
"Could."
"How?"
Sweden doesn't answer that one directly, oddly enough. Instead, he looks sideways at Denmarks and gives him a question. "What d'you think we could do, 'f it did?"
That makes Denmark pause. For a split-second, his stride falters.
Him and Sweden, always smashing against each other, clawing each other up and dragging Finland and Norway along with them, ripping up the North. The two of them grown strong and fierce on each other's blood, Denmark wild and Sweden as tall and sturdy as a tree.
Denmark feels an old, feral grin curling his mouth. Sweden stands watching him, the corner of his lip twitching up.
The two of them, against the world? With Grantville's weapons in their hands?
Well. Wouldn't that be a sight to see.
Re: Volatile Reactions
(Anonymous) 2013-02-03 09:01 am (UTC)(link)Re: Volatile Reactions
(Anonymous) 2013-02-04 05:22 pm (UTC)(link)Look on the bright sides guys, if you take over most of Northern Europe you should have almost enough room not to irritate each other. Although Poland, Lithuania and Russia may have a few things to say on the subject.
This is so great, have you planned how many more you will do. Or do you just write as the muses hit you?
Re: Volatile Reactions
(Anonymous) - 2013-02-06 12:50 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Volatile Reactions
(Anonymous) - 2013-02-23 08:48 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Volatile Reactions
(Anonymous) - 2013-02-24 09:05 (UTC) - ExpandPoland and Lithuania, Freeze-Thaw Erosion.
(Anonymous) 2013-02-19 01:01 pm (UTC)(link)Poland has a very annoying laugh, at times.
"Shut up," Lithuania grits out, pulling the bandage tighter around his arm.
"Ahaha --" Poland wipes tears of laughter from his eyes and reaches out to help Lithuania tie the bandage off. "Russia? You got beaten up by Russia?"
"Shut up," Lithuania says through grinding teeth. The memory stings enough; he does not need Poland laughing at him.
"Russia? As in, the same Russia we danced all over a couple of decades ago?" Poland has to let go of the bandage, his hands shaking with mirth. "The same Russia who burst into tears when Sweden pulled out another Dmitri? That Russia?"
"He's upgraded." Lithuania scowls at the roll of bandage on the table. "Improved his army, his training -- he must have bought new weapons off the CPE or whatever she's calling herself, his guns were beyond anything I've encountered this far north --"
"Riiiiight," Poland drawls. "And that's how he beat you with his infantry, right?"
Lithuania slams his uninjured hand down on the table. "He used tactics we've never seen before!" Those walking walls... "I crushed his cavalry easily, but when it came to the battle his officers reacted like they were barely Russian at all! They've had training, Poland! Training and practice, and I wish I knew where they were getting it from --"
"Dude, calm down." Poland pries his hand off the table and forces a glass of wine into his fingers. "It's still Russia, okay? We'll play a few games with his trading agreements, and next time you two fight you'll know how to get around his new fancy footwork. 'Kay?"
"I hate that word," Lithuania grumbles. Okay has infested Poland's speech since he first encountered the term. "Fine. Are you sure our western front is secure?"
"Sweden's rumbling." Poland shrugs. "Sweden's always rumbling. Who cares? Germany doesn't want to invade us, and we can hold off Sweden if he comes at us without her."
"Who?"
"Duh. Germany." Poland sighs at Lithuania's confusion. "She's taken over the Germanies, right? And United States of Europe is too long, and nobody's going to call her Europe."
Lithuania isn't nearly as convinced as Poland that the girl from the future will stay out of it if Sweden demands an invasion, but he knows Poland well enough to see that if he argues the point, his partner will stick his fingers in his ears and start humming loudly. Well, fine. Lithuania will have to finish nursing his wounds before he can do anything, anyway.
Re: Poland and Lithuania, Freeze-Thaw Erosion.
(Anonymous) 2013-02-19 06:46 pm (UTC)(link)Re: Poland and Lithuania, Freeze-Thaw Erosion.
(Anonymous) - 2013-02-19 20:16 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Poland and Lithuania, Freeze-Thaw Erosion.
(Anonymous) 2013-02-23 08:26 am (UTC)(link)You brought up the whole multiple prince Dmitri saga! Russia would certainly have been brought to tears over it.
Am I the only one who loved how Poland was portrayed in the series? For the first couple books we got the impression that Sweden will overpower Poland easily. Then the Eastern Front happens and Radio+Polish forces=a not so soft target.
But I would think that if either Poland or Lithuania ever got their hands on a history book the first thing the'd want to do was get rid of that pesky squatter they have living between them. Because in the other timeline Prussia grows to be a much bigger problem than they could ever imagine.
I love your fills. Thank-you for them.
Re: Poland and Lithuania, Freeze-Thaw Erosion.
(Anonymous) - 2013-02-24 07:23 (UTC) - ExpandEngland, Polar Magnetism
(Anonymous) 2013-04-24 11:24 am (UTC)(link)Instead, he sets quill to parchment and signs away America.
"Merci," France says, and at least has the decency not to look openly smug about it. He takes America's chubby hand in his long, bejewelled fingers. "Come, little one, our carriage awaits."
America looks back at England, uncertainty written all over his angelic features. "England?" he asks, and the part of England that still has not registered America's loss takes fierce pride in the way the colony digs is heels into the floor, refusing to follow France.
"Go on," England says, with as much reassurance as he can manage. "France owns you now, he'll take care of you." He'd better; if England hears a word about France mistreating America, then he's going to go hunting and kings be damned.
America's frown deepens, and he tugs his hand back. "But I belong to you."
And because England's governors have decided, and his King has spoken, and because England's signature is still drying on the document that forfeits any ownership he has over any part of the North American continent, England says, "Go on!" The words come out more harshly than he had intended, and America's face crumples before he lowers his head and trails reluctantly after France.
The door closes behind them and England glares at it, teeth gritted. He's just seen the last of his colony, no doubt.
Oh, he knows the arguments. His ministers were painstaking in their explanations. America will rebel against the Empire a hundred and forty years from now. America's arguments with the natives, and with Spain's and France's colonies to either side, will drag whoever owns him into expensive war after expensive war. England's economy is weak, and he needs the money that Richelieu -- everyone knows who France's secret master is -- has talked France into offering. The only argument England can offer in return is, Well, why is the Frog willing to pay so bloody much for him, then?
It's not an argument anybody is willing to hear.
And England's real reason -- that he has just given up the closest thing he has to a son -- will matter even less.
England glares at the closed door for a few more minutes, then turns sharply on his heel and marches out of the room. He will read the books of the future again.
There's a world out there for him to conquer.
Re: England, Polar Magnetism
(Anonymous) 2013-04-24 02:09 pm (UTC)(link)Meanwhile, England needed the population valve America provides more because its smaller than France and the a industrial Revolution hasn't kicked off yet. The excess population needs to go somewhere (so, I suppose, is this timeline going to get a leg up on colonizing Australia?) It also need American holdings to feed the sugar islands which are the real cash crop of the time. And what history books was everyone reading that suggested Britain couldn't have kept the colonies were they a little more careful to cultivate them over time? How stupid are his ministers at the time supposed to be to let their entry into the resources of North America go when they expressly know about them?
Err....sorry, this was a lovely piece. I just got a bit carried away with the details, none of which you created, so I'm not mad at you.
Re: England, Polar Magnetism
(Anonymous) - 2013-04-24 17:37 (UTC) - ExpandRe: England, Polar Magnetism
(Anonymous) - 2013-04-24 20:12 (UTC) - ExpandRe: England, Polar Magnetism
(Anonymous) - 2013-04-24 19:33 (UTC) - ExpandRe: England, Polar Magnetism
(Anonymous) 2013-05-01 11:59 am (UTC)(link)Poor England. I always pictured him being in pirate mode at this point in time, winding down from it just as the Cromwell revolution starts. So I imagine he does have a convenient ship and crew just waiting for the change to make history.
Poor America. I wonder if in this universe he grows up just as fast as he does in ours. I seem remember Richelieu sent some fanatic official of to America to set things on fire and basically grind all the colonists and Native Americans beneth his boots... but Grantville's spy master had lots of fun changing the information on America that was being smuggled out. The French and Spanish should be very preoccupied trying to find gold in malaria-rich Florida. The perfect time for a rebellion to start up north.
Poor France. England will never forgive him for this, and he has no idea what the Baltic war has in store for him.
I love these fills. I actually have a pointless one about Sweden's first visit to Grantville. Would you mind terribly if I post it? It takes place just after the Croat attack in book one.
A!A
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-04 16:03 (UTC) - ExpandFaith and Facts 1.a
(Anonymous) 2013-05-07 07:58 pm (UTC)(link)Follows Sweden, Finland and King Gustav II Adolf as they deal with ungodly massacres, righteous battles and time-travelling Americans with history books.
Huge thanks to the first filler of this prompt, for showing me there really are other fans out there.
1631, Brandenburg
The Kingdom of Sweden frowned as his beloved king continued his prayers, his large, powerful body stooped over by the weight of his grief and guilt. Gustav II Adolf was one of his greatest rulers, had done so much to make Sweden respected and feared. Part of what made his king so great was his religious piety and unshakable faith in the Protestant cause, that had lead Gustav to the Germanies to challenge the Catholic Powers.
But now Gustav’s piety was a weakness, his belief in his divine responsibility to protect bringing him guilt and shame. The king of Sweden had vowed to defend the city of Magdeburg, had promised to aid them when the General Tilly and his forces were at their gates. And he had failed to get there in time, to prevent the massacre that followed their surrender.
The greatest king Scandinavia had ever produced, the father of modern warfare, composer of hymns, leader of armies remained on his knees, praying for the souls he had promised to save and failed.
Words had never come easy to Sweden. In times like this they were even harder to find. He wished he could say something to bring peace to his king. Tell him that those German souls did not matter, tell him that war was always unkind to civilians, something to snap him out of it. But none of those things would bring any peace to Gustav’s soul.
Sweden approached his king silently, knelt down besides him and offered up his own prayers, less certain of the good it would do to any of the dead, but willing to try. For his king.
...
Re: Faith and Facts 1.b
(Anonymous) 2013-05-07 08:04 pm (UTC)(link)Compared to some of the armies they had faced the Swedes were a ragged filthy mob, with no uniform to speak of and cleanliness forgotten in favour of ferociousness. The Fins were no exception, many still dressed in their Eastern European styles of caps and furs. Sweden had to wait until he heard Finland’s sweet voice coming from a truly repulsive hooded coat before he was certain he had found his ward.
“Ruotsi.” Finland smiled happily as Sweden approached the fire he was cooking over. Around him his country men quietly left to find another fire, not comfortable around another Nation. Especially the Swedish one who ruled over them and their young .
Finland did not appear to mind being abandoned as he offered Sweden a spoon of mush from the pot. Sweden sat down on a left behind rug and swallowed the mush politely, trying not to notice the taste. He had eaten worse. He gave Finland back the spoon and waved away the offer of more.
“I heard the king got bad news today.” Said Finland quietly, settling himself down with a bowl. “We could hear the furniture breaking from here.”
Sweden nodded his head, staring into the fire. “He blames himself… for Magdeburg.”
“But it was Pappenhein that lead the attack.” Pointed out Finland logically, “And Saxony’s prince that delayed the reinforcements.” He scowled into his bowl adorably. “And Bandenburg too.” Out of nowhere Finland whipped out a knife. “You give me one minute alone with him and I’ll end his indecision once and for all.” He stabbed into his pot violently, pulling it out with a piece of meat on the point. “He called me a savage to my face, thinks I can’t speak German.” Finland delicately nibbled on the meat. “He can’t speak a word of Swedish, let alone Suomi and I’m the savage?”
Sweden nodded again, letting Finland’s chatter wash over him. He had been against him coming with the Fin and Lapland forces to the German States, but was now glad he had the company. It looked to be a long and violent war his king was leading them into, and trips back home would be impossible. Finland was a balm to his tired heart in this blood soaked land.
He let his thoughts float back to Stockholm and the Baltic, his court and his young princess. A stray wish for a prince and a clear succession sprung to his mind but he pushed it back down. Gustav was healthy, there was time yet for him to have a son.
“We will deal with them all.” Said Sweden firmly. One way or another Saxon and Brandenburg would be brought to heel and Tilly would be defeated. And then all of Germany would be his for the taking. And no one, not Denmark, not Poland or even Austria himself, would stop him.
...
Six months later, on the field of Breitenfeld, Sweden made good on his promise. Gustav Adolf himself led the cavalry charge himself, Sweden and the king’s exasperated bodyguard right behind him. Forever and always this battle would be the Lion of the North: Gustav Adolf's defining battle, defeating the undefeatable Johann Tserclaes, Count of Tilly. The road to central Europe lay open to Sweden and the Catholic Nations quailed.
Sweden spared a moment to come out of his daydreams of power and land and admire the figure of Finland, blood spattered and wielding his knife, chasing after retreating Catholic forces, screaming his people’s favourite war cry. Such an adorable sight.
Hakkaa päälle!!!!!!
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-07 22:23 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Hakkaa päälle!!!!!!
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-08 06:32 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Faith and Facts 1.c
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-14 14:39 (UTC) - ExpandFaith and Facts 1.d
(Anonymous) 2013-05-14 02:40 pm (UTC)(link)“Fight Russia?” Asked Finland, “Everyone fight Russia, everyone win.”
“Yeah. But you… I” the woman huffed and threw up her hands. “Never mind. I’m just very honoured to meet you. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye,” Finland tugged at Sweden’s sleeve until he grunted his own fair-well. Then she finally went away, Scotsman ushering her back to the rest of the delegates.
They stood in thoughtful silence for a while.
“She knew who I was.” Finland said finally. “She thought I was important enough to speak to.” He stopped for a moment, judging Sweden’s frowning face. “Why would she think I could speak English? Nobody believes I can speak German or French. Why English?”
Sweden did not like the turn the day had just taken. A few unpleasant thoughts about this alleged future had belatedly occurred to him and he suddenly did not want Finland anywhere near these strange people.
“If you hurry, you can join the bridge assault.”
“Really?” Without waiting for confirmation, Finland was already running towards the marsh and the group of Fins waiting the surge over the half built bridge and give Tilly an unpleasant shock.
Sweden watched him go with a frown, then turned back to the American group. Up until now he had not truly believed their wild claims of time travel, even with all the proof they had brought. But the girl’s words, about his Finland. He did not want to think about them or the feelings they evoked in him, at all. To know the future would be a great thing, but at what cost?
Even a day later, when Tilly was permanently defeated, in part due to the American’s engineers, and Southern Germany was open to his King, Sweden’s bad mood remained.
Re: Faith and Facts 1.d
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-15 07:16 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Faith and Facts 1.d
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-15 16:34 (UTC) - ExpandRe: Faith and Facts 1.d
(Anonymous) - 2013-05-16 17:49 (UTC) - ExpandFaith and Facts 1.e
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 08:27 pm (UTC)(link)It was then that the rest of Europe finally began to take Gustav seriously. Cardinal Richelieu, puppet master of France, declared Grantville Satan’s work, Thuringia damned to hell and Gustav in league with Jews and other devil worshipers. To this end, France would finally allow the Spanish army to go through it's borders to the Germanies and do the Lord’s bloody work.
Meanwhile the bulk of the Swedish army was stuck in the siege of Nurnberg (there would NOT be another Magdeburg), circled by the Bohemian army and the incoming Bavarian forces. In the midst of all of this the Spanish army marched unchallenged for Grantville. The Americans had marvelous weapons and had fought against invaders before, but in the face of an army of Croats? They would need experienced soldiers to aid them. A small expedition was sent, lead by the Swedish madman: Captain Gars.
Sweden, for reasons of his own went as well, compelled to see with his own eyes where these time travelers came from. The situation was rapidly spiraling out of control, and he needed answers to questions he could not bring himself to ask. In the madcap rush to beat the Spanish army to Grantville, the small cavalry force failed to notice an additional party member, until they stopped to let the Lapplanders scout ahead, several days later.
Finland should have been back in Nurnberg, helping with the siege. Not half way to Grantville where the mysteries of the future was available to anyone who could understand English. Finland could not read, thank God, but his English had rapidly improved as he bullied the Scot cavalry into lessons.
Finland brushed some mud from his filthy face, avoiding Sweden’s furious glare. “You.” Sweden was overcome with anger, almost unable to speak. He pointed back the way they had come. “Go back.”
“You want me to go back, by myself, though a war sewn land with 10 different armies running about?” exclaimed Finland, “The forest is crawling with Swabians! Do you know what Swabia does to hostages?”
“Then don’t get caught!” Sweden grabbed Finland by the scruff of his neck planning to place him on his horse and send him on his way. Instead Finland hit him with his elbow, causing Sweden to react by hitting back with his other hand.
Finland looked up at him, eyes suddenly scared as his cheek began to redden. “You promised you’d never hit me. You swore to me when we left Denmark you’d never hurt me.” As Sweden let him go he scrambled back, afraid of another blow.
“Said I’d keep you safe!” growled Sweden, “’s all I promised you. Can’t promise you anything if you come with us.” His voice failed him for a second, but he pushed on. “Please Timo, go back.”
I can’t protect you, I understand nothing about these people, their weapons, their ways, go home and be safe. The things they have, the promises they made. There will be consequences and I… Even in his mind his feelings were foggy.
“Ruotsi.” Finland had stopped backing away, but he was still wary. “I’m a Nation too. And part of your territory. Everything you do affects me, just like everything I do affects you.” He stood up, still out of reach. “I have to know what these Americans are, what they know about me. Please.” He clenched his fists and took a deep breath. “Don’t you want me to grow up someday, be strong like you?”
A small vicious part of Sweden thought that that was a terrible idea, letting Finland become strong enough to leave him. He pushed that part of himself away and merely glared at his ward in silence.
“I hate to interrupt.” Said Captain Gars loudly, intruding on the two Nations. “But if we don’t get moving there won’t be any American’s alive to ask anything.” He swung his horse around without waiting for a reply.
Sweden shot a warning finger at Finland. “Stay in my sight, don’t go anywhere without me.”
Finland huffed, but nodded as they both mounted their horses. Captain Gurs was a mad man; he would leave them both behind if he felt the need.
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Faith and Facts 1.f
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 08:31 pm (UTC)(link)They arrived at the edge of Grantville just as the first gunshots began. Sweden looked up from his examination of the strangely smooth road they stepped onto. He drew his saber as Finland whipped out his knife, both of them nodding to their captain and each other before bellowing their respective war cries and spurring their mounts to charge.
“Gott mit uns!” God is with us!
“Haakaa päälle!” Hack them down!
Four thousand West Goths, Lapps and Fins followed.
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Later, when they had ridden to the rescue of the hurriedly, but impressively barricaded town, when Captain had led the charge against the Croats, an unseen sniper aided by shooting down row after row of soldiers in their path.
Later, when they dove into the school after the invaders, Finland got to watch the sniper in action, Julie Sims dispatching four men in the blink of an eye, before racing towards the gymnasium where most of the students had been gathered.
Later, with his madman of a Captain being tended to by a Moorish doctor with impressive skill, Sweden got a chance to look around him at the crowds of untouched school children, in the strange but now safe school.
Leaving his injured but safe captain he got up and went in search of Finland
He found Finland in a deserted classroom, staring at something on a wall. There was a large peace of paper on it, showing a large map of several territories. Each territory was clearly marked, shaded in a different colour with one label each. It was oddly familiar to Sweden, though he did not know why.
Finland reached out a slim finger and placed it on one spot, a territory up at the top of the map, part of an overhanging section of land. “That’s me. I can’t read the writing, and I’ve never seen this chart before, but I know that’s me. Suomi.”
Sweden squinted, moving closer to examine the territory. Next to it, across a small bay, but connected at the top, was a long, strip of land divided down the middle. The one on the right looked familiar to him. He put his own finger on the map, tracing a coastline he knew like he knew like the swing of his sword, the heft of an axe. His very bones knew that section of land was his.
Sweden’s eyes swept down away from their fingers to scan the rest of the map closely, now able to recognise the rest of the coastline on the map. That island at the very top corner of the map, had to be Norway’s little brother. France was still recognisable and he saw what looked like the Swiss Confederation, still squatting defiantly between France and Italy.
He was so focused on the inland that he missed a vital point, until Finland exclaimed “Look at the size of Denmark! That can’t be right Rutsi, can it?”
He stared at his brother’s birthplace, at the peninsular of land just barely linked to Europe, with Holstein firmly separated into a much larger territory below. Was that the Germany the American’s referred to, the impossible unification made visible?
“I have to learn English.” Said Finland firmly, finger tracing his own land. “I have to learn what the American’s know about me, what’s going to happen to me in the future. Look at the size of Russia, he doesn’t end!”
Gently but firmly Sweden took Finland’s hand and pulled him away from the map, though he would have liked to have spent hours on it himself, trying to find answers to questions he could not form. “We will learn to read English.” He agreed.
Finland looked up at him, blue eyes wide and worried. “They’re going to change everything aren’t they? That’s what you were so worried about. That the American’s will make everything we know, everything we believe, change.”
Sweden sighed and nodded. “It’s always bad, when change happens quickly.” He thought of his painful converting from pagan to Christianity, the joining and separating of the Kalmer Union. He looked down at his hand, still held by Finland. But sometimes change was worth the risks.
Faith and Facts 1.g (last part)
(Anonymous) 2013-05-29 08:36 pm (UTC)(link)And yet, Sweden sat at the back of the library while his representative argued furiously against it all, silent except when Finland showed him a particularly interesting picture from a book. Machines that flew through the air, bridges that staggered the mind, buildings that reached the sky, ships beyond his understanding. He looked up, caught the eye of his fuming diplomat and nodded. The man threw up his hands in disgust and went back to negotiating furiously.
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In the aftermath of everything it was revealed that Julie Sims, best shooter in Grantville, was pregnant via her Scottish Fiancée. Piteous Gustav immediately ordered a marriage, partly to avoid the sin of basterdy, but mostly as an excuse to bestow a title and Finnish land on the bride.
Finland had been giddy with joy, promising his new baroness that he’d carve a pair of skis just for her, if only she promised to go hunting with him and teach him how to shoot. Sweden had a horrible suspicion he would get no peace until Finland had an American rifle to call his own, even if the bullets were terribly limited in number.
He watched as Gustav accepted the groom’s startled thanks. His king: Gustav II Adolf, King of Sweden and the Baltic territories, newly crowned Emperor of the Confederated Principalities of Europe, who would defy the history books and not die within a year of battle wounds, but live to see a new Europe emerge from the devastation of the 30 years war.
Sweden smiled and wondered when Denmark would receive his letter and the ‘photocopy’ of the ‘European Union’ map. He was confident he would hear the screams of outrage from his new capital.
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Map they were looking at: http://www.vidiani.com/maps/maps_of_europe/european_union_member_states_detailed_map.jpg
What Europe looked like at that point in time (roughly, 1632 was a very confusing time for map makers, plus nowhere as accurate as we are used to) :
http://www.balagan.org.uk/war/thirty-years-war/images/map_1648_Europe.png
France, Terminal Velocity.
(Anonymous) 2013-07-07 05:03 pm (UTC)(link)"I have." Cardinal Richelieu's voice holds a trace of regret. France smiles. The cardinal has excellent command of his face and his voice, but there are things he will show to his nation. Many rulers seek to better their nations; few truly love them. France finds it flattering that one so intelligent as the cardinal does so.
"And what did you decide?" The regret in the cardinal's voice could stem from either route: Regret that, despite all their faults, the new up-timers' methods are for the best; or regret that, despite the virtues of the people they sent, their ways must be rejected. France knows well that the choice cannot have been easy. He is the king and the court, yes; but he is also the peasants in the fields, the craftsmen in their workshops; he is, by his own nature, something of a diffuse and divided entity. To have someone with the cardinal's intelligence is reassuring.
The cardinal sighs. "Everything I have done, I have done for your betterment. You know this." Perhaps a slight question, there?
"I know this." France waits, watching.
"And a message from God, nonetheless." Richelieu shakes his head. "Such a complicated message. But that is the way of divinity. Subtle." He turns to gaze out of the window, over the huddled roofs of Paris.
"It is a warning," he says after a few moments. "A warning against continuing along the path that has already been set in motion. A warning that we must hold true to our ways. A demonstration from God, that the changes we had already seen before the Ring of Fire will have great and terrible consequences. So be it. We will heed the warning."
France inclines his head.
Now, finally, Richelieu cracks a smile. "You do not doubt me?"
"I am old," France says equitably. He rises, and pours wine into a flute. "Few people realise how old, it seems. But I trust that you will do as you think best for the future centuries, not merely now. Whether you are correct..." He crosses the room and hands the cardinal the glass. "Time will tell."
Richelieu accepts the glass, but he does not drink. "America," he muses. "North America is the key. Whoever controls that continent will rule the world."
France makes a face. "Please. Must we?" His own dear Canada is sweet and well-behaved, but France has heard tales of what his southern counterpart gets up to.
"I am confident that you can iron out any difficulties." The cardinal's voice becomes drier. "You will, after all, have centuries to do so."
"Indeed," France murmurs, and looks out over Paris himself. His beloved city, his beating heart...and perhaps, if he is clever, and fortunate, the heart of the future.