Fanfic: Beginning of the End
Pairing: Poland/Lithuania
Rating: PG
Warnings: Countries. Personified. You dun like? Steer clear.
Summary: In an ordinary year, it would have been a busy time- a hectic time.
Author's Notes: Written largely on the train to and from work, this was inspired by reading about the last years of the Commonwealth, and my sneaking suspicion that there was no way Liet, at least, wouldn't have seen it coming. Sorry for this.
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Beginning of the End
=====
The fields should have been golden by now, heavy with rye to be taken in; it ought to have rippled in the breeze, the strands making a whispering sound that somehow made the difficult work at harvest almost pleasant. Yesterday, Lithuania should have gone out to prepare; there ought to have been shipments to ready, and storage to see to, and of course if he didn’t keep the records, it simply wouldn’t get done, for his partner left the documentation to him along with most of the labor.
In an ordinary year, it would have been a busy time- a hectic time. The time that they lived for more than any other. It would have been the time that allowed them to thrive when so many others of their kind had suffered hunger, and poverty, and hardship.
It was not an ordinary year, however- and outside Poland’s pretty little house with its garden torn up by the passing of heavy boots, the fields lay bare. And today- today on this day when he ought to have gone out to collect the grain meant to see them through another year, the only thing left that might have been plentiful enough to gather up was ash. They had that in piles, sad little mounds of black and grey that was all that remained of this year’s rye.
But they would plant again, Lithuania told himself firmly. They would plant again, and they would recover, just as they always had. They were not strangers to war or its aftermath; they would see this setback through, just as they had all the others. And with that thought, he pushed the worries hard away and tipped his head sideways just a little, looking over at the face of the little blonde nestled beside him.
His partner was exhausted; that much was plain. Even in unconsciousness, there were lines of fatigue beneath his eyes, and the side of Poland’s face nearest him was mottled a sickly shade of purple. Lithuania knew that he must not look much better after their most recent battle with Sweden- could feel a sharp stab of pain every time he breathed, and was beginning to suspect it might be a broken rib- but he could not quite stop the wave of sympathy that set in every time he caught sight of the damage his lover had taken. Because Poland was already leaner than he ought to have been- was battered and bandaged- was curled like an ailing child amidst the blankets when they should both have been outside, beneath the open sky.
And perhaps he could not do anything about the injuries- for those, despite his careful tending, would need time to heal on their own- but at the very least, Lithuania promised himself, he could see about making sure his partner got a decent meal. And maybe, just maybe, there would be mushrooms enough for dinner tonight if he were to leave for the woods immediately.
There was enough daylight left that he had a chance of finding some in the time remaining until sundown, after all. The wild little things grew with a tenacity that seemed to ignore the passing of time and the coming and going of war; perhaps new ones had sprung up already to take the place of those destroyed by passing troops. He could go and come back before Poland had awakened, could provide him something of a surprise- their first decent meal in far too long, now that the rye they so relied upon for bread had been destroyed.
Decision made, Lithuania braced against the pain that he knew movement would bring, bright and sudden, to the injuries that hadn’t yet had time to heal. He levered himself up a bit at a time- bit his lip against the protest his body made- and lowered his feet over the edge of the bed, moving as though to rise. But below him, old wood moaned with the weight of even such a careful motion, and before he’d touched the ground he felt a hand against his back, small and warm.
“Liet?” The voice was thick with sleep, still- muzzy and a bit unfocused. “What gives? I’m, like, totally freezing. Get back here.”
When Lithuania turned to reply, the smile he offered was an attempt at reassurance, but there was strain at the edges, and the expression was as brittle as thin ice. It was a fragile thing, constructed of air and lies- for it was a warm afternoon, but he, too, felt the chill in the air, had needed to struggle to leave the warmth of Poland’s side.
“I thought I’d go and pick mushrooms,” was all he said by way of reply. “Make us a nice dinner, if I can find any.”
Half-lidded eyes flared briefly with a spark of interest- hunger- and for a moment, he was certain that his partner would rise to join him. But then Poland’s eyes were flickering closed once more, and he remained still for the space of one breath, then two- then a third.
Sleeping again, Lithuania concluded with a twinge of unease- for he had been prisoner to the same lethargy himself lately, moments of weariness that ran so deep they bordered on paralysis. He was even beginning to suspect that he knew the cause: the defects crippling their parliament were becoming painfully obvious, great oversights that left them floundering in the face of an attack, hands tied. And tellingly, he felt this new exhaustion most strongly after a session had come to a crashing halt, decisions and progress and any hope of defense against greedy neighbors scattered like seeds in a gale.
They would have to see to it, he told himself- as soon as they could make the time. He would mention it to Poland tonight, after they had gotten some food in them.
Lithuania had just gotten his legs up under him- had stumbled to his feet and waited until the pain passed- had taken a step toward the door- when his partner’s voice brought him to a sudden stop.
“I so don’t care about dinner right now.” There was a pressure at his wrist, an insistent tugging, and he half-turned to see that Poland had roused himself and was blinking sleepily in his direction. “And anyway, we’ve got, like, a little bit of rye put away, right? Just come back to bed, and we can have bread later.”
And he wanted to. It seemed suddenly the most appealing offer that had been afforded him in days, the most uncomplicated thing in the world: warm, rumpled blankets, and the afternoon sunlight creeping in through the window, and Poland’s arms around him.
The part of Lithuania which worried, however, was not so easily silenced, and it roused itself now, demanding to know what they would do during the winter if he began falling back on their stores of grain already. And so he smiled, reluctant and apologetic, and gently freed himself from his partner’s grip. “I really should, Poland. We have to be careful this year.”
It would not have been accurate to call Poland’s expression anything but a sulk, and no child denied a sweet had ever done it better than the little blonde managed in that moment. “Oh my god- you worry, like, way too much. We’re totally gonna be fine. We’ve always got rye we can’t even get rid of, y’know?”
“Well- all the same.” Lithuania reached with one hand to pull the covers up around his partner’s shoulders- lingered for a moment to brush his knuckles tenderly over Poland’s uninjured cheek. “It’s better to be safe.”
He had taken the first step toward the door, movement ginger and awkward with still-recent injuries, when Poland’s hand caught him once more. This time, the grip was firmer, tugging him resolutely backwards, and he turned, startled, to glance at the nation on the bed.
Whatever had caused his lover to sleep away most of the day was gone from half-lidded green eyes; they were clear and alert, and there was something reassuringly familiar about the way that smile quirked in the corner of Poland’s lips, self-assured. It did not set Lithuania’s mind at ease, precisely- for he had lived with the little blonde long enough to know that his confidence did not necessarily mean that things were going to turn out according to plan. But all the same, it came upon him like a fog clearing for the sun: the sudden knowledge that, despite everything, this one thing at least had not yet started to go bad.
“Hold up? If you gimme time to change I’ll, like, keep you company.” And just as Lithuania opened his mouth to say that he really didn’t have to- just as he began to tell his partner that he would be fine on his own, and that he really ought to be resting, Poland was pushing on with the rest: “Cause there’s no way I’m gonna spend all day in bed. Not when it was, like, supposed to be the harvest. That’d be majorly lame.”
Lithuania felt the smile as it spread, tentative but warm, across his own face- felt from somewhere the first faint stirrings of hope in far too long.
Surely they could make things work again. Surely with time and energy and a decent plan, they could cobble themselves together again.
“I’ll wait,” was all he said- and promised himself that the rest would come later.
Historical Notes: In 1655, Sweden invaded the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and achieved a series of military victories so complete that contemporaries called it a "deluge." The government was incapacitated enough that it was unable to keep records; grain production dropped by two-thirds, and a third of all cities were burned to the ground. Around the same time, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth's parliament was suffering difficulties as well, the most evident of which was the liberum veto, by which a single opposing vote to a single issue wiped out all accomplishments of a parliamentary session. Its ease of use made it tempting to use in factional infighting among the nobles- and allowed neighboring countries to bribe members of parliament into undercutting necessary changes.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Countries. Personified. You dun like? Steer clear.
Summary: In an ordinary year, it would have been a busy time- a hectic time.
Author's Notes: Written largely on the train to and from work, this was inspired by reading about the last years of the Commonwealth, and my sneaking suspicion that there was no way Liet, at least, wouldn't have seen it coming. Sorry for this.
=====
Beginning of the End
=====
The fields should have been golden by now, heavy with rye to be taken in; it ought to have rippled in the breeze, the strands making a whispering sound that somehow made the difficult work at harvest almost pleasant. Yesterday, Lithuania should have gone out to prepare; there ought to have been shipments to ready, and storage to see to, and of course if he didn’t keep the records, it simply wouldn’t get done, for his partner left the documentation to him along with most of the labor.
In an ordinary year, it would have been a busy time- a hectic time. The time that they lived for more than any other. It would have been the time that allowed them to thrive when so many others of their kind had suffered hunger, and poverty, and hardship.
It was not an ordinary year, however- and outside Poland’s pretty little house with its garden torn up by the passing of heavy boots, the fields lay bare. And today- today on this day when he ought to have gone out to collect the grain meant to see them through another year, the only thing left that might have been plentiful enough to gather up was ash. They had that in piles, sad little mounds of black and grey that was all that remained of this year’s rye.
But they would plant again, Lithuania told himself firmly. They would plant again, and they would recover, just as they always had. They were not strangers to war or its aftermath; they would see this setback through, just as they had all the others. And with that thought, he pushed the worries hard away and tipped his head sideways just a little, looking over at the face of the little blonde nestled beside him.
His partner was exhausted; that much was plain. Even in unconsciousness, there were lines of fatigue beneath his eyes, and the side of Poland’s face nearest him was mottled a sickly shade of purple. Lithuania knew that he must not look much better after their most recent battle with Sweden- could feel a sharp stab of pain every time he breathed, and was beginning to suspect it might be a broken rib- but he could not quite stop the wave of sympathy that set in every time he caught sight of the damage his lover had taken. Because Poland was already leaner than he ought to have been- was battered and bandaged- was curled like an ailing child amidst the blankets when they should both have been outside, beneath the open sky.
And perhaps he could not do anything about the injuries- for those, despite his careful tending, would need time to heal on their own- but at the very least, Lithuania promised himself, he could see about making sure his partner got a decent meal. And maybe, just maybe, there would be mushrooms enough for dinner tonight if he were to leave for the woods immediately.
There was enough daylight left that he had a chance of finding some in the time remaining until sundown, after all. The wild little things grew with a tenacity that seemed to ignore the passing of time and the coming and going of war; perhaps new ones had sprung up already to take the place of those destroyed by passing troops. He could go and come back before Poland had awakened, could provide him something of a surprise- their first decent meal in far too long, now that the rye they so relied upon for bread had been destroyed.
Decision made, Lithuania braced against the pain that he knew movement would bring, bright and sudden, to the injuries that hadn’t yet had time to heal. He levered himself up a bit at a time- bit his lip against the protest his body made- and lowered his feet over the edge of the bed, moving as though to rise. But below him, old wood moaned with the weight of even such a careful motion, and before he’d touched the ground he felt a hand against his back, small and warm.
“Liet?” The voice was thick with sleep, still- muzzy and a bit unfocused. “What gives? I’m, like, totally freezing. Get back here.”
When Lithuania turned to reply, the smile he offered was an attempt at reassurance, but there was strain at the edges, and the expression was as brittle as thin ice. It was a fragile thing, constructed of air and lies- for it was a warm afternoon, but he, too, felt the chill in the air, had needed to struggle to leave the warmth of Poland’s side.
“I thought I’d go and pick mushrooms,” was all he said by way of reply. “Make us a nice dinner, if I can find any.”
Half-lidded eyes flared briefly with a spark of interest- hunger- and for a moment, he was certain that his partner would rise to join him. But then Poland’s eyes were flickering closed once more, and he remained still for the space of one breath, then two- then a third.
Sleeping again, Lithuania concluded with a twinge of unease- for he had been prisoner to the same lethargy himself lately, moments of weariness that ran so deep they bordered on paralysis. He was even beginning to suspect that he knew the cause: the defects crippling their parliament were becoming painfully obvious, great oversights that left them floundering in the face of an attack, hands tied. And tellingly, he felt this new exhaustion most strongly after a session had come to a crashing halt, decisions and progress and any hope of defense against greedy neighbors scattered like seeds in a gale.
They would have to see to it, he told himself- as soon as they could make the time. He would mention it to Poland tonight, after they had gotten some food in them.
Lithuania had just gotten his legs up under him- had stumbled to his feet and waited until the pain passed- had taken a step toward the door- when his partner’s voice brought him to a sudden stop.
“I so don’t care about dinner right now.” There was a pressure at his wrist, an insistent tugging, and he half-turned to see that Poland had roused himself and was blinking sleepily in his direction. “And anyway, we’ve got, like, a little bit of rye put away, right? Just come back to bed, and we can have bread later.”
And he wanted to. It seemed suddenly the most appealing offer that had been afforded him in days, the most uncomplicated thing in the world: warm, rumpled blankets, and the afternoon sunlight creeping in through the window, and Poland’s arms around him.
The part of Lithuania which worried, however, was not so easily silenced, and it roused itself now, demanding to know what they would do during the winter if he began falling back on their stores of grain already. And so he smiled, reluctant and apologetic, and gently freed himself from his partner’s grip. “I really should, Poland. We have to be careful this year.”
It would not have been accurate to call Poland’s expression anything but a sulk, and no child denied a sweet had ever done it better than the little blonde managed in that moment. “Oh my god- you worry, like, way too much. We’re totally gonna be fine. We’ve always got rye we can’t even get rid of, y’know?”
“Well- all the same.” Lithuania reached with one hand to pull the covers up around his partner’s shoulders- lingered for a moment to brush his knuckles tenderly over Poland’s uninjured cheek. “It’s better to be safe.”
He had taken the first step toward the door, movement ginger and awkward with still-recent injuries, when Poland’s hand caught him once more. This time, the grip was firmer, tugging him resolutely backwards, and he turned, startled, to glance at the nation on the bed.
Whatever had caused his lover to sleep away most of the day was gone from half-lidded green eyes; they were clear and alert, and there was something reassuringly familiar about the way that smile quirked in the corner of Poland’s lips, self-assured. It did not set Lithuania’s mind at ease, precisely- for he had lived with the little blonde long enough to know that his confidence did not necessarily mean that things were going to turn out according to plan. But all the same, it came upon him like a fog clearing for the sun: the sudden knowledge that, despite everything, this one thing at least had not yet started to go bad.
“Hold up? If you gimme time to change I’ll, like, keep you company.” And just as Lithuania opened his mouth to say that he really didn’t have to- just as he began to tell his partner that he would be fine on his own, and that he really ought to be resting, Poland was pushing on with the rest: “Cause there’s no way I’m gonna spend all day in bed. Not when it was, like, supposed to be the harvest. That’d be majorly lame.”
Lithuania felt the smile as it spread, tentative but warm, across his own face- felt from somewhere the first faint stirrings of hope in far too long.
Surely they could make things work again. Surely with time and energy and a decent plan, they could cobble themselves together again.
“I’ll wait,” was all he said- and promised himself that the rest would come later.
Historical Notes: In 1655, Sweden invaded the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth and achieved a series of military victories so complete that contemporaries called it a "deluge." The government was incapacitated enough that it was unable to keep records; grain production dropped by two-thirds, and a third of all cities were burned to the ground. Around the same time, the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth's parliament was suffering difficulties as well, the most evident of which was the liberum veto, by which a single opposing vote to a single issue wiped out all accomplishments of a parliamentary session. Its ease of use made it tempting to use in factional infighting among the nobles- and allowed neighboring countries to bribe members of parliament into undercutting necessary changes.