❝he shall defend their home, and katyusha will preserve their love.❞
Title: a song about the grey eagle of the steppe
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: ~1500
Characters: ukraine-centric (russia/ukraine/belarus ; mentions of lithuania and poland)
Rating: PG
Warnings: slight tweaking of historical circumstances and characterization
Summary: Written for fayore for the spasibodedmoroz exchange. based off of the folksong “katyusha”; waiting for russia’s return, ukraine goes down to the river to wait and sing a song of remembrance and love.
a song about the grey eagle of the steppe
ukraine wakes up every morning with a cold weight on her chest. though spring has come, the weather is icy, bitingly frigid-but that is not the reason she shivers as she pulls her worn grey dress over her shoulders and gently braids her hair, coiling it at the nape of her neck. shadows darken her young face as she finds a letter waiting for her; instead of opening it, reading it, she clutches the worn paper envelope between her hands and flees the house.
as she runs down the beaten dirt path, the scent of apple and pear blossoms follows her. at any other time, she would have stopped to pick a few flowers; she would have coiled them into her little sisters hair, taking care with belarus’ appearance in ways she’s never bothered with herself. today, however, she runs past them, and all the lingering fragrance does is bring tears to her eyes.
(why do you bother, putting flowers in my hair? belarus had asked the question so long ago, when they sat together by the river.
because you’re pretty, младшая сестра. you make the flowers prettier. she didn’t add that the flowers would be wasted on herself.
but you’re pretty too, Большая Сестра. a faint blush rose to ukraine’s cheeks at russia’s praise.
no, she had whispered, i’m really not.
but her words were lost to the wind, because at that moment belarus had latched on to russia’s arm, crying out, брат, брат, i’m pretty! look at me!
when russia grimaced and belarus pouted, ukraine smiled benevolently at them.)
the mist is rising over the banks when ukraine finally stops at the river. she has been strong; she has not allowed the tears to flow from her eyes. but every day since russia has been gone, it has gotten harder. she is crushing the letter in her hands, now; she cannot open it, she cannot stand any more bad news.
a grey eagle flies overhead, and she is reminded of her brother-the dark, penetrating look of his eyes, the soft, downy color of his hair. his face flashes before her-sometimes angry, often sad, and seldom blissfully happy. holding onto her memory of russia’s smile-his true smile, not the false one he so often hides behind-ukraine raises her face to the blue spring sky and begins to sing, a song of remembrance and love.
(you’re belarus and ukraine, if i’m not mistake? the man had looked harmless enough, nut brown hair pulled back from his pale, hesitant face. he smiled gently at them.
we are, ukraine had answered, her arm curling protectively around belarus’ shoulder. the younger girl reacted differently, however, immediately indignant.
so what if we are? what do you want? she hadn’t seen what ukraine had already spotted, a legion of troops surrounding them, and a blonde man, sword drawn, standing protectively behind the brown-haired newcomer.
we’re making a big home together, and we’d like to invite you to join us. the man, lithuania, said gently.
no! belarus cried at once, while ukraine just held tighter to her sister’s hand.
i think you’re missing the point. the blonde, poland, suddenly spoke up. we’re, like, not giving you a choice.)
but the song is not just about russia. as ukraine continues and her voice grows stronger, the melody suddenly shifts. whereas russia’s verse had been bold and powerful, warm and rich, the next is more subdued, softer. belarus’ verse is the story of a young girl with hair like snow and gold. ukraine can almost imagine her siblings singing with her, their three starkly different voices creating a beautiful chorus.
but then suddenly she stops singing. because russia and belarus are not beside her, and not amount of imagining will make it so. still, she likes to think that somehow, her song has reached across the great plains and tall mountains, and that, somewhere, russia is hearing it. she closes her eyes and imagines it: he’s standing over a sweeping meadow, sword in hand but completely unharmed. as the wind brushes his hair back from his face, an eagle flies overhead, and then suddenly he can hear his sister’s song, and he knows that everything will be alright.
( Большая Сестра? Большая Сестра! russia’s voice suddenly sounded in her head, waking ukraine from what had seemed like decades of sleep. when she finally blinked open her eyes, he was there, his arms wrapped around her, his head buried in her chest. i finally found you.
брат? she could scarcely believe it was him. she reached out to touch the crown of his head, as if only to reaffirm his presence.
come on, we’re getting out of here, he said suddenly, breaking their embrace but rising to his feet. we need to go before lithuania regroups.
but what about belarus? shamed though she is to admit it, ukraine thought for a moment that russia would just abandon their little sister, nuisance that she was to him. but russia just shook his head, sadly.
i’ll have to come back later, and fight harder, to free her. there was a deep remourse in russia’s voice, and though there was urgency and danger, ukraine began to sob.
russia patted her head gently-a strange mirror of what she’d done to him moments before-and said with certainty, i’ll find her. don’t worry, Большая Сестра, i’ll find her.)
he left to find their sister many months ago, and since then ukraine has been home, watching for any sign of them. every few weeks she receives a letter, but the news they contain is never good, and so she has given up on reading them. now that her song is finished, she has nothing left to do, so she merely stands on the banks of the river, with the mist rising to her eyes and the scent of the blossoms filling her senses.
she promised him that she would wait; that she would stay and wait until he brought their little sister home. so now every morning she stands on the banks, waiting for his return. the wind tousles her hair and the spring air is cold through her thin dress. but she waits, and she waits. because if she does not, who will be left to preserve their love?
(a letter from брат! she had been so worried when no news had come, but as soon as she sees the letter waiting for her, she knew the long wait is over. she rushed to it and ripped it open, anticipating the good news she knows it must contain.
dear Большая Сестра,
the lithuanians have grown fiercer since the loss of you. we’re fighting hard, and of course they are no match for us, but it will take time to find her.
i know you’re a crybaby, and so you can’t help it, but try not to be too sad. it may take a little time, but i’ll be back, and i’ll bring her with me. i promise.
-russia
he told her not to be sad, and she wanted to honor his request. but upon reading the letter she seemed to deflate, all her good humor and great hopes escaping at once. she clutched the letter to her breast and willed herself very hard not to cry. but that was not enough to stop the tears.)
eventually the sun begins to set, and ukraine cannot wait any longer. she turns to go home, and suddenly the path is clear because the mist has vanished. along the dirt path are the strewn petals of apple and pear blossoms, the braches of their trees standing bare above her. she doesn’t see them, doesn’t notice, only continues her slow and lonely trek home.
ukraine leaves the river banks, and takes her little song back home. asleep that night, she clutches the letter to her heart and dreames of a day when a solider and a little girl would return home.
( dear Большая Сестра,
we have beaten the lithuanians! they will return belarus to us now, because they have no choice. we will be home within the week. have some golubtsy ready when we arrive.
-russia )
Apple and pear trees have lost their blossoms,
the river mists have vanished.
Katyusha left the river banks
and took her little song back home.
---
footnotes;;
→ this story is based off of the russian folksong “katyusha”.
First this song was written in times of peace and probably for the sentry squads at all the far frontiers of the country, but when Hitler attacked the Soviet Union in 1941 it suddenly got a new meaning. Soon everybody knew this song. The Soviet leaders produced a lot of very heroic and patriotic battle hymns, but this simple little song about the blooming apple trees at home and the girl who sent her love song to her darling remained the favorite song of the young men at the front. Soon the lively melody became well known also in the western world. Since 1930, it was popular among German youth groups with various text versions in German language, and in the seventies a pop band used the melody to create a hit named "Kasatchok".
→ i left the time-period of this story slightly ambiguous, because i squished some time periods together. basically, the time when russia, ukraine, and belarus are children playing together takes place under the rule of those three nations by the kievan rus’. when poland and lithuania come, it is as the polish-lithuanian commonwealth, which controlled ukraine, belarus, and even parts of russia for a time. it held belarus the longest. tsar ivan iii eventually re-conquered all three lands and incorporated them into russia.
→ i imagine that though belarus and ukraine have their own languages, they converse with russia and once another in russian. therefore, the terms they use to refer to one another are all in that language: “младшая сестра” is “little sister”, “Большая Сестра” is “big sister”, and “брат” is “brother.”
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Words: ~1500
Characters: ukraine-centric (russia/ukraine/belarus ; mentions of lithuania and poland)
Rating: PG
Warnings: slight tweaking of historical circumstances and characterization
Summary: Written for fayore for the spasibodedmoroz exchange. based off of the folksong “katyusha”; waiting for russia’s return, ukraine goes down to the river to wait and sing a song of remembrance and love.
a song about the grey eagle of the steppe
ukraine wakes up every morning with a cold weight on her chest. though spring has come, the weather is icy, bitingly frigid-but that is not the reason she shivers as she pulls her worn grey dress over her shoulders and gently braids her hair, coiling it at the nape of her neck. shadows darken her young face as she finds a letter waiting for her; instead of opening it, reading it, she clutches the worn paper envelope between her hands and flees the house.
as she runs down the beaten dirt path, the scent of apple and pear blossoms follows her. at any other time, she would have stopped to pick a few flowers; she would have coiled them into her little sisters hair, taking care with belarus’ appearance in ways she’s never bothered with herself. today, however, she runs past them, and all the lingering fragrance does is bring tears to her eyes.
(why do you bother, putting flowers in my hair? belarus had asked the question so long ago, when they sat together by the river.
because you’re pretty, младшая сестра. you make the flowers prettier. she didn’t add that the flowers would be wasted on herself.
but you’re pretty too, Большая Сестра. a faint blush rose to ukraine’s cheeks at russia’s praise.
no, she had whispered, i’m really not.
but her words were lost to the wind, because at that moment belarus had latched on to russia’s arm, crying out, брат, брат, i’m pretty! look at me!
when russia grimaced and belarus pouted, ukraine smiled benevolently at them.)
the mist is rising over the banks when ukraine finally stops at the river. she has been strong; she has not allowed the tears to flow from her eyes. but every day since russia has been gone, it has gotten harder. she is crushing the letter in her hands, now; she cannot open it, she cannot stand any more bad news.
a grey eagle flies overhead, and she is reminded of her brother-the dark, penetrating look of his eyes, the soft, downy color of his hair. his face flashes before her-sometimes angry, often sad, and seldom blissfully happy. holding onto her memory of russia’s smile-his true smile, not the false one he so often hides behind-ukraine raises her face to the blue spring sky and begins to sing, a song of remembrance and love.
(you’re belarus and ukraine, if i’m not mistake? the man had looked harmless enough, nut brown hair pulled back from his pale, hesitant face. he smiled gently at them.
we are, ukraine had answered, her arm curling protectively around belarus’ shoulder. the younger girl reacted differently, however, immediately indignant.
so what if we are? what do you want? she hadn’t seen what ukraine had already spotted, a legion of troops surrounding them, and a blonde man, sword drawn, standing protectively behind the brown-haired newcomer.
we’re making a big home together, and we’d like to invite you to join us. the man, lithuania, said gently.
no! belarus cried at once, while ukraine just held tighter to her sister’s hand.
i think you’re missing the point. the blonde, poland, suddenly spoke up. we’re, like, not giving you a choice.)
but the song is not just about russia. as ukraine continues and her voice grows stronger, the melody suddenly shifts. whereas russia’s verse had been bold and powerful, warm and rich, the next is more subdued, softer. belarus’ verse is the story of a young girl with hair like snow and gold. ukraine can almost imagine her siblings singing with her, their three starkly different voices creating a beautiful chorus.
but then suddenly she stops singing. because russia and belarus are not beside her, and not amount of imagining will make it so. still, she likes to think that somehow, her song has reached across the great plains and tall mountains, and that, somewhere, russia is hearing it. she closes her eyes and imagines it: he’s standing over a sweeping meadow, sword in hand but completely unharmed. as the wind brushes his hair back from his face, an eagle flies overhead, and then suddenly he can hear his sister’s song, and he knows that everything will be alright.
( Большая Сестра? Большая Сестра! russia’s voice suddenly sounded in her head, waking ukraine from what had seemed like decades of sleep. when she finally blinked open her eyes, he was there, his arms wrapped around her, his head buried in her chest. i finally found you.
брат? she could scarcely believe it was him. she reached out to touch the crown of his head, as if only to reaffirm his presence.
come on, we’re getting out of here, he said suddenly, breaking their embrace but rising to his feet. we need to go before lithuania regroups.
but what about belarus? shamed though she is to admit it, ukraine thought for a moment that russia would just abandon their little sister, nuisance that she was to him. but russia just shook his head, sadly.
i’ll have to come back later, and fight harder, to free her. there was a deep remourse in russia’s voice, and though there was urgency and danger, ukraine began to sob.
russia patted her head gently-a strange mirror of what she’d done to him moments before-and said with certainty, i’ll find her. don’t worry, Большая Сестра, i’ll find her.)
he left to find their sister many months ago, and since then ukraine has been home, watching for any sign of them. every few weeks she receives a letter, but the news they contain is never good, and so she has given up on reading them. now that her song is finished, she has nothing left to do, so she merely stands on the banks of the river, with the mist rising to her eyes and the scent of the blossoms filling her senses.
she promised him that she would wait; that she would stay and wait until he brought their little sister home. so now every morning she stands on the banks, waiting for his return. the wind tousles her hair and the spring air is cold through her thin dress. but she waits, and she waits. because if she does not, who will be left to preserve their love?
(a letter from брат! she had been so worried when no news had come, but as soon as she sees the letter waiting for her, she knew the long wait is over. she rushed to it and ripped it open, anticipating the good news she knows it must contain.
dear Большая Сестра,
the lithuanians have grown fiercer since the loss of you. we’re fighting hard, and of course they are no match for us, but it will take time to find her.
i know you’re a crybaby, and so you can’t help it, but try not to be too sad. it may take a little time, but i’ll be back, and i’ll bring her with me. i promise.
-russia
he told her not to be sad, and she wanted to honor his request. but upon reading the letter she seemed to deflate, all her good humor and great hopes escaping at once. she clutched the letter to her breast and willed herself very hard not to cry. but that was not enough to stop the tears.)
eventually the sun begins to set, and ukraine cannot wait any longer. she turns to go home, and suddenly the path is clear because the mist has vanished. along the dirt path are the strewn petals of apple and pear blossoms, the braches of their trees standing bare above her. she doesn’t see them, doesn’t notice, only continues her slow and lonely trek home.
ukraine leaves the river banks, and takes her little song back home. asleep that night, she clutches the letter to her heart and dreames of a day when a solider and a little girl would return home.
( dear Большая Сестра,
we have beaten the lithuanians! they will return belarus to us now, because they have no choice. we will be home within the week. have some golubtsy ready when we arrive.
-russia )
Apple and pear trees have lost their blossoms,
the river mists have vanished.
Katyusha left the river banks
and took her little song back home.
---
footnotes;;
→ this story is based off of the russian folksong “katyusha”.
First this song was written in times of peace and probably for the sentry squads at all the far frontiers of the country, but when Hitler attacked the Soviet Union in 1941 it suddenly got a new meaning. Soon everybody knew this song. The Soviet leaders produced a lot of very heroic and patriotic battle hymns, but this simple little song about the blooming apple trees at home and the girl who sent her love song to her darling remained the favorite song of the young men at the front. Soon the lively melody became well known also in the western world. Since 1930, it was popular among German youth groups with various text versions in German language, and in the seventies a pop band used the melody to create a hit named "Kasatchok".
→ i left the time-period of this story slightly ambiguous, because i squished some time periods together. basically, the time when russia, ukraine, and belarus are children playing together takes place under the rule of those three nations by the kievan rus’. when poland and lithuania come, it is as the polish-lithuanian commonwealth, which controlled ukraine, belarus, and even parts of russia for a time. it held belarus the longest. tsar ivan iii eventually re-conquered all three lands and incorporated them into russia.
→ i imagine that though belarus and ukraine have their own languages, they converse with russia and once another in russian. therefore, the terms they use to refer to one another are all in that language: “младшая сестра” is “little sister”, “Большая Сестра” is “big sister”, and “брат” is “brother.”