"Simplicity"
Title: "Simplicity"
Author: wizzard890
Character(s) or Pairing(s): young Russia, Israel, Byzantium. Various humans.
First Posted: For pyrrhiccomedy, at her journal.
Rating: PG
Summary: 988 AD: In which little Russia searches for God. Or a god. At this point, either one will do.
+++
Vanya is looking for God.
Well, another god. He has lots of his own already. He doesn’t even have to try and believe in them either. He’s seen them, moving through the trees, or in the dark edges of the evening sky. He hopes that finding a new one won’t hurt their feelings.
It won’t, he’s sure. He’ll just bring his new god home and all the old ones will get to have another friend.
Now all he has to do is find him.
He clings tightly to Oleg’s hand as their little party moves through the city. The man looks down at him, smiles. Vanya likes Oleg. He’s one of his Prince’s favorite advisors, and he knows everything about everything. Sometimes Vanya thinks he must be the smartest person in the world.
“Don’t be afraid, little one. You’ve seen many great cities these past months.” Oleg’s voice is nearly lost in roar and hustle of the crowd.
Vanya nods, nibbles on his bottom lip. He tries not to fuss with the collar of his jerkin. It’s stiff, made of better material than he’s used to. They’re so dressed up, him and Oleg and all the other advisors and warriors that travel with them. The Prince had wanted them to make a good impression.
It’s been hard, trying on gods like pairs of shoes. Vanya wonders if maybe it’s a little bit wrong, too. Gods don’t like to be strung along; it makes them angry. He’s been visiting Europe for three months, and in that time, he thinks he must have a few gods quite upset with him.
First, they had gone to see what Oleg called “Christians of the Latin Rite.” There had been a huge, beautiful building, and shiny floors, and Vanya’s footsteps had echoed when he walked. He’d hopped like a rabbit for a few minutes, just to hear that sharp click as his feet touched back down. But people had started frowning, and one of his advisors hushed him up. And then the mass started.
Vanya had tried to pay attention, tried so hard, but the man in the robes wouldn’t stop talking, and all the pictures on the walls were so bright, and they wouldn’t let him or his advisors drink out of the cup that they gave to everybody else--
When it ended, he realized that Oleg and the others were watching him closely. “What did you think?”
Vanya had sat for a moment, trying to come up with an answer. He rubbed a hand through his hair, mussing it up; and then his stomach growled, loud enough for everyone to hear. He blushed, giggled, and squirmed down onto his belly so he could touch his toes to the floor and stand up. The seats were high. “Can we get something to eat?” He’d asked.
They hadn’t gone to a Latin Mass since. So there was one god who probably wasn’t happy with him.
He tugs a little on Oleg’s hand as they turn down a wide street. It smells of spices and horses and lots of people. Vanya can’t even begin to understand all the different languages tumbling through the air. “What’s this city called again?”
“Constantinople,” comes the reply.
Vanya has to trot to keep up, but he looks down at the dust under his feet and tries the word out for himself: “Con--Constantinople.”
It even sounds pretty.
A week after he’d disappointed the Christians--well, they hadn’t said he’d disappointed them but he felt bad anyway-- they visited a synagogue instead. Vanya had liked this one. It was quiet and a lot smaller, and even though he didn’t know what to do or who they were praying to, it made him feel nice.
And he’d met a nation afterwards!
He thinks that she probably knew that they were coming, even though she pretended she wasn’t a nation at all. Vanya’s advisors had all gone to speak to the, um, the...the rabbi, and Oleg had told him to wait very patiently outside, and that if anything scared him, he was to come and find them right away. It was a good thing, Vanya reflected, that he was so brave.
So he’d kicked a shiny rock around in the road and sat on the rough stone steps, and looked at the afternoon sky. Clouds floated across it like sheep. Sheep that could fly. That’s when the nation had come up to him. She was small, like a girl, but her face was a grown-up’s. She’d settled down a few feet away from him and asked what he thought.
Vanya had been speechless for a moment. A nation was talking to him. A real nation! And he could tell that she was, because his chest had felt a little warm when he saw her, just like it did with his sisters. “I l-liked it,” he stammered finally. “Very much.”
The nation had reached out and ruffled Vanya’s hair. “Good to hear, kid,” she’d smiled.
Vanya had thought that she probably didn’t smile very much.
When Oleg came back out, the nation had given the man a nod and slid to her feet. She raised her eyebrows at Vanya, straightened the piece of cloth she had wrapped over her curly hair, and melted into the crowd.
Later, Vanya had wanted to try and see her again, but Oleg and all the rest of them said that they weren’t going to go to the synagogue anymore either. The rabbi had told them about the Jewish god, and Oleg had decided that a kind god does not let his chosen people lose their land.
That had been the end of that.
Their party skirts past a string of donkeys gulping from a trough in a cool, shaded corner of the street. Vanya’s feet are starting to hurt. He hopes they get there soon. He really, really doesn’t want to ask Oleg to pick him up and carry him.
He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if this isn’t the right god either. His Prince is going to be so disappointed, and Vanya can’t bear to see him sad. The other gods will probably be happy, but he was getting so excited about a new god, one he could believe in and then carry back home to let free in the forests and mountains.
“Vanya,” Oleg brings the little nation to a halt, lays a hand on one of his soft shoulders. “Look. Here it is.”
Vanya’s gaze skitters up from his feet...and up, and up, and up. He’s never seen anything so big in his life. It’s like a temple and a palace and a--a--a story, all rolled into one. “Is that the--the...” He can’t remember what it’s called.
“The Hagia Sophia,” the advisor murmurs.
They move closer, round the side of the building, and the dome at the very top looks like it fills the sky. Vanya can hear his advisors gasping in awe as they enter through the southwestern door. He catches a glimpse of a mosaic gleaming in the tympanum before the cool darkness of the church swallows him up. It’s a woman on a throne, holding a baby. They both wear crowns. He wonders who they are.
Vanya blinks a few times. Sunlight flashes green against the backs of his eyelids; it’s hard to see. But when the spots finally clear from his vision...his breath stops.
He feels too young, too young and too small, because he doesn’t know any of the right words for what’s before him. There’s just...just gold, and glistening tiles and pillars that keep stretching up into the air. And then pictures, everywhere, of serious people with wise, sad eyes, all of them with glowing rings of light behind their heads. He cranes his head back until his neck hurts. Even the ceiling is beautiful. Light winks through tiny windows up in the dome, and it has to travel a long way before it scatters across the floor like a handful of gems.
Vanya wants to cry. This is what a god’s house looks like. It’s exactly like he’s always imagined.
He realizes distantly that he’s alone. His party has moved down the nave to talk to someone, their voices hushed, reverent. He makes his way towards them, tripping over his own feet. He can’t look away from the vaults and the lights and the glimmer, not even for a moment. Everyone parts when he tugs on the back of Oleg’s robe, his eyes still fixed upwards. “S-Sorry I didn’t stay with you. But, but, Oleg, did you see? There’s windows in the roof!”
The advisor chuckles, and propels Vanya into the center of the group. “There are indeed,” he replies. “But Vanya, I need you to pay attention. There is someone I would very much like you to meet.”
Vanya’s attention finally comes to rest on the woman--nation, it’s another nation!--standing before him. Her robes are a deep, deep red, and rings glitter on her long fingers as she holds out her hand to him. “I am Byzantium,” she smiles. She has a deep voice, for a woman, and her skin looks very dark against Vanya’s when he gets up the nerve to touch their fingers together.
“I-I’m Vanya,” he whispers. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone so pretty in his life. Not even his big sister.
Byzantium gives the men around them a look, and they disperse. Oleg hovers a short distance away, out of earshot, but still close enough to keep an eye on Vanya. That must be all right, because Byzantium doesn’t appear to give him another thought; instead, she crouches down so her face is level with Vanya’s. A strand of her upswept hair curls over her forehead. “They say you are looking for a god, little one.”
Vanya nods. She even smells nice. “I-I’ve looked in lots of places, but--but none of them turned out right.” He twists his hands in the hem of his shirt and flushes a little. “There was no one there.”
The older nation touches his cheek. “That’s all right. You don’t need to look anymore. Because I’ve found Him.”
“You have?” Vanya’s eyes widen. Oh, yes. He knew he’d find one, he knew it! “And I can take him home?”
“Of course.” She smiles again, and straightens up. “Would you like me to tell you about Him, darling?”
“Yes!” Vanya hesitates, then slides his hand shyly into hers.
Byzantium guides them to the altar, and she begins to explain all the pictures, who they are and what they mean, and it sounds so wonderful and exciting, it really does, but Vanya thinks that maybe he...maybe he believes a little bit already, without even hearing.
Because Byzantium is beautiful and her church is beautiful, and, and even the sunlight looks more beautiful, in here. He wants to believe in something beautiful.
And so he does. With Vanya, it’s as easy as that.
+++
-As Prince of Kiev, Vladimir the Great's most notable achievement was the Christianization of Kievan Rus', a process that began in 988. The annals of Rus state that when Vladimir had decided to accept a new faith instead of the traditional idol-worship (paganism) of the Slavs, he sent out some of his most valued advisors and warriors as emissaries to different parts of Europe. the emissaries visited the Christians of the Latin Rite, the Jews and the Muslims, they finally arrived in Constantinople.
-They rejected Islam because, among other things, it prohibited use of alcohol and Judaism because the god of the Jews had permitted his chosen people to be deprived of their country. They found the ceremonies in the Roman church to be dull. But, at Constantinople, they were so astounded by the beauty of the cathedral of Hagia Sophia and the liturgical service held there, that they made up their minds there and then about the faith they would like to follow.
-Upon their arrival home, they convinced Vladimir that the faith of the Byzantine Rite was the best choice of all, upon which Vladimir made a journey to Constantinople and arranged to marry with Princess Anna, the sister of the Byzantine emperor Basil II
+
Author: wizzard890
Character(s) or Pairing(s): young Russia, Israel, Byzantium. Various humans.
First Posted: For pyrrhiccomedy, at her journal.
Rating: PG
Summary: 988 AD: In which little Russia searches for God. Or a god. At this point, either one will do.
+++
Vanya is looking for God.
Well, another god. He has lots of his own already. He doesn’t even have to try and believe in them either. He’s seen them, moving through the trees, or in the dark edges of the evening sky. He hopes that finding a new one won’t hurt their feelings.
It won’t, he’s sure. He’ll just bring his new god home and all the old ones will get to have another friend.
Now all he has to do is find him.
He clings tightly to Oleg’s hand as their little party moves through the city. The man looks down at him, smiles. Vanya likes Oleg. He’s one of his Prince’s favorite advisors, and he knows everything about everything. Sometimes Vanya thinks he must be the smartest person in the world.
“Don’t be afraid, little one. You’ve seen many great cities these past months.” Oleg’s voice is nearly lost in roar and hustle of the crowd.
Vanya nods, nibbles on his bottom lip. He tries not to fuss with the collar of his jerkin. It’s stiff, made of better material than he’s used to. They’re so dressed up, him and Oleg and all the other advisors and warriors that travel with them. The Prince had wanted them to make a good impression.
It’s been hard, trying on gods like pairs of shoes. Vanya wonders if maybe it’s a little bit wrong, too. Gods don’t like to be strung along; it makes them angry. He’s been visiting Europe for three months, and in that time, he thinks he must have a few gods quite upset with him.
First, they had gone to see what Oleg called “Christians of the Latin Rite.” There had been a huge, beautiful building, and shiny floors, and Vanya’s footsteps had echoed when he walked. He’d hopped like a rabbit for a few minutes, just to hear that sharp click as his feet touched back down. But people had started frowning, and one of his advisors hushed him up. And then the mass started.
Vanya had tried to pay attention, tried so hard, but the man in the robes wouldn’t stop talking, and all the pictures on the walls were so bright, and they wouldn’t let him or his advisors drink out of the cup that they gave to everybody else--
When it ended, he realized that Oleg and the others were watching him closely. “What did you think?”
Vanya had sat for a moment, trying to come up with an answer. He rubbed a hand through his hair, mussing it up; and then his stomach growled, loud enough for everyone to hear. He blushed, giggled, and squirmed down onto his belly so he could touch his toes to the floor and stand up. The seats were high. “Can we get something to eat?” He’d asked.
They hadn’t gone to a Latin Mass since. So there was one god who probably wasn’t happy with him.
He tugs a little on Oleg’s hand as they turn down a wide street. It smells of spices and horses and lots of people. Vanya can’t even begin to understand all the different languages tumbling through the air. “What’s this city called again?”
“Constantinople,” comes the reply.
Vanya has to trot to keep up, but he looks down at the dust under his feet and tries the word out for himself: “Con--Constantinople.”
It even sounds pretty.
A week after he’d disappointed the Christians--well, they hadn’t said he’d disappointed them but he felt bad anyway-- they visited a synagogue instead. Vanya had liked this one. It was quiet and a lot smaller, and even though he didn’t know what to do or who they were praying to, it made him feel nice.
And he’d met a nation afterwards!
He thinks that she probably knew that they were coming, even though she pretended she wasn’t a nation at all. Vanya’s advisors had all gone to speak to the, um, the...the rabbi, and Oleg had told him to wait very patiently outside, and that if anything scared him, he was to come and find them right away. It was a good thing, Vanya reflected, that he was so brave.
So he’d kicked a shiny rock around in the road and sat on the rough stone steps, and looked at the afternoon sky. Clouds floated across it like sheep. Sheep that could fly. That’s when the nation had come up to him. She was small, like a girl, but her face was a grown-up’s. She’d settled down a few feet away from him and asked what he thought.
Vanya had been speechless for a moment. A nation was talking to him. A real nation! And he could tell that she was, because his chest had felt a little warm when he saw her, just like it did with his sisters. “I l-liked it,” he stammered finally. “Very much.”
The nation had reached out and ruffled Vanya’s hair. “Good to hear, kid,” she’d smiled.
Vanya had thought that she probably didn’t smile very much.
When Oleg came back out, the nation had given the man a nod and slid to her feet. She raised her eyebrows at Vanya, straightened the piece of cloth she had wrapped over her curly hair, and melted into the crowd.
Later, Vanya had wanted to try and see her again, but Oleg and all the rest of them said that they weren’t going to go to the synagogue anymore either. The rabbi had told them about the Jewish god, and Oleg had decided that a kind god does not let his chosen people lose their land.
That had been the end of that.
Their party skirts past a string of donkeys gulping from a trough in a cool, shaded corner of the street. Vanya’s feet are starting to hurt. He hopes they get there soon. He really, really doesn’t want to ask Oleg to pick him up and carry him.
He doesn’t know what he’s going to do if this isn’t the right god either. His Prince is going to be so disappointed, and Vanya can’t bear to see him sad. The other gods will probably be happy, but he was getting so excited about a new god, one he could believe in and then carry back home to let free in the forests and mountains.
“Vanya,” Oleg brings the little nation to a halt, lays a hand on one of his soft shoulders. “Look. Here it is.”
Vanya’s gaze skitters up from his feet...and up, and up, and up. He’s never seen anything so big in his life. It’s like a temple and a palace and a--a--a story, all rolled into one. “Is that the--the...” He can’t remember what it’s called.
“The Hagia Sophia,” the advisor murmurs.
They move closer, round the side of the building, and the dome at the very top looks like it fills the sky. Vanya can hear his advisors gasping in awe as they enter through the southwestern door. He catches a glimpse of a mosaic gleaming in the tympanum before the cool darkness of the church swallows him up. It’s a woman on a throne, holding a baby. They both wear crowns. He wonders who they are.
Vanya blinks a few times. Sunlight flashes green against the backs of his eyelids; it’s hard to see. But when the spots finally clear from his vision...his breath stops.
He feels too young, too young and too small, because he doesn’t know any of the right words for what’s before him. There’s just...just gold, and glistening tiles and pillars that keep stretching up into the air. And then pictures, everywhere, of serious people with wise, sad eyes, all of them with glowing rings of light behind their heads. He cranes his head back until his neck hurts. Even the ceiling is beautiful. Light winks through tiny windows up in the dome, and it has to travel a long way before it scatters across the floor like a handful of gems.
Vanya wants to cry. This is what a god’s house looks like. It’s exactly like he’s always imagined.
He realizes distantly that he’s alone. His party has moved down the nave to talk to someone, their voices hushed, reverent. He makes his way towards them, tripping over his own feet. He can’t look away from the vaults and the lights and the glimmer, not even for a moment. Everyone parts when he tugs on the back of Oleg’s robe, his eyes still fixed upwards. “S-Sorry I didn’t stay with you. But, but, Oleg, did you see? There’s windows in the roof!”
The advisor chuckles, and propels Vanya into the center of the group. “There are indeed,” he replies. “But Vanya, I need you to pay attention. There is someone I would very much like you to meet.”
Vanya’s attention finally comes to rest on the woman--nation, it’s another nation!--standing before him. Her robes are a deep, deep red, and rings glitter on her long fingers as she holds out her hand to him. “I am Byzantium,” she smiles. She has a deep voice, for a woman, and her skin looks very dark against Vanya’s when he gets up the nerve to touch their fingers together.
“I-I’m Vanya,” he whispers. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone so pretty in his life. Not even his big sister.
Byzantium gives the men around them a look, and they disperse. Oleg hovers a short distance away, out of earshot, but still close enough to keep an eye on Vanya. That must be all right, because Byzantium doesn’t appear to give him another thought; instead, she crouches down so her face is level with Vanya’s. A strand of her upswept hair curls over her forehead. “They say you are looking for a god, little one.”
Vanya nods. She even smells nice. “I-I’ve looked in lots of places, but--but none of them turned out right.” He twists his hands in the hem of his shirt and flushes a little. “There was no one there.”
The older nation touches his cheek. “That’s all right. You don’t need to look anymore. Because I’ve found Him.”
“You have?” Vanya’s eyes widen. Oh, yes. He knew he’d find one, he knew it! “And I can take him home?”
“Of course.” She smiles again, and straightens up. “Would you like me to tell you about Him, darling?”
“Yes!” Vanya hesitates, then slides his hand shyly into hers.
Byzantium guides them to the altar, and she begins to explain all the pictures, who they are and what they mean, and it sounds so wonderful and exciting, it really does, but Vanya thinks that maybe he...maybe he believes a little bit already, without even hearing.
Because Byzantium is beautiful and her church is beautiful, and, and even the sunlight looks more beautiful, in here. He wants to believe in something beautiful.
And so he does. With Vanya, it’s as easy as that.
+++
-As Prince of Kiev, Vladimir the Great's most notable achievement was the Christianization of Kievan Rus', a process that began in 988. The annals of Rus state that when Vladimir had decided to accept a new faith instead of the traditional idol-worship (paganism) of the Slavs, he sent out some of his most valued advisors and warriors as emissaries to different parts of Europe. the emissaries visited the Christians of the Latin Rite, the Jews and the Muslims, they finally arrived in Constantinople.
-They rejected Islam because, among other things, it prohibited use of alcohol and Judaism because the god of the Jews had permitted his chosen people to be deprived of their country. They found the ceremonies in the Roman church to be dull. But, at Constantinople, they were so astounded by the beauty of the cathedral of Hagia Sophia and the liturgical service held there, that they made up their minds there and then about the faith they would like to follow.
-Upon their arrival home, they convinced Vladimir that the faith of the Byzantine Rite was the best choice of all, upon which Vladimir made a journey to Constantinople and arranged to marry with Princess Anna, the sister of the Byzantine emperor Basil II
+