First Impressions
Title: First Impressions: this is a pinch hit fic written for nordicjulfest.
Filled for: auroralsea
Filled by: kainoliero
Request: Norway and Finland as children (I dunno, 8-11 in age?). I don't want Sweden to have met Finland yet, but be a friend of Norway's. Can be human!AU or in-universe in the pre-viking era.
Again, human names and/or country names are fine if you write in-universe. I have a strong dislike for the popular fanname "Lukas Bondevik", and would prefer if he had a patronymic and a time-suitable name, though I'm not picky.
Again, no romance please.
Rating: G
Characters/Pairs: Norway, Finland, Sweden
Summary: A chance meeting can lead to many interesting things: Norway, or who he was around 3000 BC wanders upon another boy like himself, who lives in the east...
Notes: This fic happens around 3000 BC, when the first proof of links between the area now known as Nordic Countries appear. Naturally none of them had their present names. I decided to use the Proto-Germanic versions Norþweg (norþ weg = North road) and Swihoniz (One's own people) for Norway and Sweden and Zeme (= land), which is a Proto-Baltic word that's considered a possibility for the original form of Suomi. As he does not know Sweden yet, he cannot have the name Finland.
First Impressions
His footsteps crunched underneath him. Although the snow bore a hard layer that was relatively easy to walk upon, it now mattered very little to the boy, barely approaching of age, who was lost and tired and only moving onward because he had to. His strength was already failing and black spots danced in front of his eyes but still he walked, one stubborn step after another. If he did not he could as well sit down here and freeze on the spot. He clenched his fingers around the small parcel he held inside his glove and thought that maybe it would make things easier; for a boy his age his knowledge went deeper than many others', and one of the things he knew with calm certainty was that death was inevitable and came for everyone at a decided time. If it was in his fate to die here then nothing he did would have changed it, and if it wasn't then he would not die no matter what.
Upon coming to this final, exhausted thought he was about to give up and let himself crumple into a heap when a sudden movement caught his eye. He jumped, although mostly on the inside, realizing he had somehow been crept upon. For a while furious and embarrassed feelings fought with his wish to stay alive, crowned with a deeply resentful notion that this shape better not be Swihoniz or he'd never hear the end of it...
...well, technically speaking he'd never even hear the beginning of it, considering how little his brother spoke. The last time that the lad had pronounced a whole word had been in the summer when the boy in the snow had accidentally dropped a huge boulder onto his brother's toes. He found himself wishing he could somehow go back to that moment and suddenly he regretted bitterly that he had ever set his eyes on what he still held securely in his hand, a comb from some faraway country. It was made of bone so pale it seemed to shine with light of its own, was decorated with a tasteful carving along its side and had the finest prongs he had ever seen. It was a lovely, luxurious item and had cost him more than he could have easily afforded but the temptation had simply been too much to deny. Just a day ago it had so filled his world that he had not been able to think of anything else, and yet here and now its importance had shrunk until it was but a bitter reminder of having been utterly foolish. Had he not originally been separated from his group and then got lost simply because of how he had been too impatient to wait to get home first?
They had began their travel homewards in the first light. Some time around midday he had stopped to unwrap the comb for who knows how manyeth time to admire it, running it endlessly through his hair, reveling in the smoothness of it until he suddenly realized all his companions were gone. This had not been a problem at first - even in the icy layer of snow the faint tracks of the others could still be seen, but then it had begun to snow.
The figure moved again and it became clear it could not be his brother who, after all, was tall for his age. By the looks it still seemed likeliest to be a human, or a very small upright bear, judging by what little could be seen of it among the bundle of fur it was wearing. It walked towards him briskly if somewhat clumsily, a sharp contrast to how he himself was presently feeling, and whether this new person would be a friend or a foe would have to wait to be seen. Norþweg finally completed his earlier idea and fell face first into the snow. During his last few conscious moments he managed to register a childish voice say a name he did not know with a quizzical tone and then ask whether he was alright, which somehow managed to infuriate him. Of course, he wanted to say snappishly, top mood, wonderfully healthy, just lying here for fun. Darkness overtook him before any of this could work its way onto his lips and considering who was now approaching him that was probably for the best.
He jolted up and could have sworn that he had just felt his head smack into the hard top layer of snow somewhere in the middle of an icy nowhere. Yet his surroundings were now so different that his brain struck empty a couple of times before it could start to take in all the info.
He felt the familiar roughness of reindeer pelt underneath him. That was a start, he had clearly been given a comfortable place to rest so whoever owned this place was probably friendly towards him. Sitting up, ignoring his muscles protesting this, he noticed that he was now in a small, round dwelling. There was a hole up above him through which a wisp of smoke rose up and disappeared, and following its source down he saw to his great surprise a heap of rocks, and underneath them a small fire.
When his eyes began to get used to the darkness he could see that the place had earthen walls, covered in furs and hay. What few items he could see were a few clay pots with far less decoration than what he personally was used to, woven bags made of birch bark and some bones that had been cleaned and stacked up so meticulously that he suspected they were needed for some purpose, not merely cast away. It was rather warm in here and it was in no realistic comparison to the relative size of the fire, Norþweg thought and only then noticed that his thick winter coat, his long trousers, gloves and leather boots had mysteriously disappeared. Further examination located them in a neatly folded pile near his feet.
A sudden hissing sound made him look up again and he realized that there was another person in here with him. A flood of warmth swept across his face and he saw the other one, likely a young boy, extend his arm again and pour water on the rocks. Another hiss, another blast of warm, humid air. So that was how this small hole in the ground was kept warm, he mused. A little different from how things were back home, and this thought alone perked up all his curiousity. He hobbled over to the boy as well as his legs allowed and sat next to him to see what he was up to, even though his nose had already told him meat of some kind was being cooked, probably a bird of sorts. The boy nodded at him and stirred the contents of a small clay pot, blackened by use, spooning out a piece - no, a heart, Norþweg corrected himself and couldn't help smiling happily when the boy offered it to him. The meat was hot and he picked the piece gingerly between two fingers, blew on it hastily to cool it down and still burned his mouth trying to eat it too soon. The other boy laughed like it was the funniest thing he had seen all year and pushed another small clay pot towards him so he'd have a place to set his food and began to ladle in more of the contents.
“Do you live alone here? I'm called Norþweg. I'm from,” and he made a vague gesture to a direction he thought might be about correct, “the west. It means 'north road', I'm named that seeing as to how I live in the north and all.”
“I'm not sure what I'm called... maybe zeme. It just means 'land', though. I don't know, no one ever gave me a name yet. I moved here some time ago.” The boy paused to think. “Well, not too long time ago.” He fell quiet for a bit longer and then continued: “I'm alone now but I've got family. They live in the south.”
“Ever see them?”
“No, not really... sometimes. One of them at least. What about you, do you have a family?”
“Two older brothers. They're around all the time and they're both really annoying. And Zeme's a good name, sometimes it's better to name yourself than to wait for someone else to do it first.”
Zeme seemed to be listening with only half an ear, trying to force his fingers through a stubborn tangle in his hair and Norþweg almost wrinkled his nose at disgust. Instead he kept eating, now glancing curiously around the hut.
At a first glance there was nothing remarkable in here. What few items there were looked self-made and practical, even the decorations seemed to serve a purpose of some kind. He had a feeling his own home might have once looked similar to this but that must have been a long time ago. Maybe once upon a time he had had no combs other than his own fingers either... He didn't want to think too much about it so instead he dug into his belongings and eventually found what he was looking for. The other boy didn't need much by the way of persuasion, he seemed just as curious about him as he was of him, and so he sat quietly letting Norþweg comb his hair, wincing every now and then when he tugged too hard at some part. It took ages to get all the knots out, and after that Norþweg turned the comb around for the thinner side and began to comb him very thoroughly with the smaller prong side. No doubt Zeme's head would be teeming with whatever things liked to live in unkempt hair.
“You could visit us sometime”, he finally mustered. “Or I could come over to visit you. We could do trades.”
Zeme nodded at this, emptying out the last of the meat from the pot. “Sure, if I've got anything you like. And I'd get to meet your brothers too, right? Although I don't know if I like them if they're annoying.”
"You probably won't like them. The other one's noisy and the other one hardly speaks and they're always arguing about stupid things. I was going to ask, how do you get those pots so thin and light? Don't they just break?"
"Oh, no. We use hairstone, or some call it unburnable. Mixing it in with clay gets you really strong clay."
"What's that... hairstone?"
"I'm not sure, actually! We find it around this one lake in the east. It looks like rotten wood, or like clumps of hair. You can't set it on fire, I tried many times but it just won't burn at all."
His work done, Norþveg moved aside to wipe the comb clean and to wrap it up. Then, without any hesitation, he handed the little parcel to Zeme who looked a little frightened at the gift.
"This is way too much for clay pots!"
"It's not for that, stupid!" And Norþveg smiled again, "I just wanted to give it to you. Use it every day, your head's going to be full of lice if you don't."
The next day when he set on his way, now pointed towards a right direction and equipped with skis Norþveg made a solemn decision of returning here as soon as possible. With clay ware that light and durable they would be easy enough to transport and maybe, just maybe the strange, lonely boy might also sell him some hairstone. He took in a long breath of fresh, cold air, feeling so energetic with all these new plans he now had for the future that it made him dizzy.
End notes: This story is set around ~3000 BC, a time when the area now known as Finland began to make connections with the other tribes of the Baltic area. I'm basing everything loosely on facts and archaeological finds, although of course this should all be taken with a grain of salt, seeing how no one can say with certainty how people used to live this far back in history. Norway's home would have been build of wood, by the way.
Combs were used as a primary way of battling head lice and other parasites that live in the hair. People of the Scandinavian area were the neat freaks of their time so I found it suitable that while Finland did not own one, Norway definitely did, probably many. The belief in fate at the beginning of the fic is taken from the basics of Ásatrú, I figured that even if the religion itself may not have existed at the time, its central features would very likely have - and one of them is that everything in your life has already been decided.
Finland's home is actually just a portable hut used for winter hunting (and the birds they were eating are snowgrouse). They are considered to be the first type of sauna and were indeed heated with steam, with the exception that the fireplace was also used for cooking. They were fairly small and were built in holes that were dug into a slope. The walls and the floor would be covered with straw/hay and furs for insulation and the roof was made, most likely, of thick leather.
The "hairstone" is just a word I came up with myself, meaning asbestos. The invention of asbestos clay comes from around lake Saimaa and it was first discovered around 3900 BC. It could be used to make clay items extra thin, durable and heat resistant. It was also less decorated than the previous type of Comb-Ceramic clay items. Comb, get it? Get it? Haha I'm so smart I slay myself! I mean hi.