He's based on a knygnešys, knygnešiai were npeople who would carry illegal literature through the border risking theirs lives and such and are a big part of Lithuanian history.
I was abot to make Liet fighting against the russians in the January 11th, but I thouhgt it was better to just draw him declaring his independence from the Soviet Union. So here it is!
So this is another entry for @aphlithuaniaweek2020! This time it’s for the Nature prompt!
I just wanted to expand more on the Baltic mythology after “The Fiery One”, though this is a different interpretation than that one, in which the communication is less direct, and also exploring how pagan/nature-worshipping beliefs form. It’s actually really fitting that they form through, in nation terms, the innocent eyes of a child.
Also, due to that this fic might kind of imply that Liet has been around since even before the birth of the Lithuanian state? Maybe the usual interpretation of when he was born in Alt-talia and canon could still fit, but it might make more sense if he’s actually even older than that just in this one case. After all, there was one tribe apparently called the “Lithuanians”... I guess it’s a similar case with the Polans and Poland in which they were the most major tribe or the one Mindaugas ruled?
It’s late here again, so not spending too much time on this Author’s Note. Let’s go.
Child of the Groves
Shrouded in forest and bogs, rain and low hills, a young boy was born. When he came to for the first time, some time everyone forgot for that was not important, that was all he knew.
The sky was infinite, neverending, all-encompassing. He didn’t speak, for all He had to be was to be present, constantly watching over all.
Days started when the sun showed its face. It was gentle, warm… like a mother.
She was the mother of children without one of their own. Maybe that included him as well. She was at Her strongest after the harsh, dreadful winters came to an end.
But when she left, the moon took Her place, so that he may not be cloaked in complete darkness. As if together, they repelled the demons and evil spirits that lurked in the dark away.
If Saulė was the mother, Menuo was the father, he thought.
His light was not as warm or strong, but it was refreshing, calming as he went to sleep. He would wax and wane, but always, He was reborn.
Together, they nurtured the fields of rye that nourished him.
And if they were the mother and father, the stars must have been his sisters, comforting him on dark nights even when Menuo was awaiting revival.
Often, rain fell from the endless sky. It fell so often, he became known for its abundance.
During these storms was when it struck with a deafening flash, crashing, deafening, shattering the air around it.
The young boy could only cower, shivering in awe as it displayed its mighty power. He was terrifying, forceful… bold, strong, powerful. Strict, but with it He inspired respect.
And where He struck, warm flames, like pieces of the sun, were left behind. She could be destructive, yet warm, protective, removing the toxins from and softening the flesh of the creatures of the forest and cattle, protecting the home from darkness consuming it all. Which she would choose to be was unreadable, but it was possible to appease Her.
The cows nourished the peoples here; and he had found snakes around them. Where the cows went, they followed, and when the cows were bountiful, so were they, watching over them with their unblinking eyes. So, he assumed, they brought wealth. And for they foretold of spring and basked in the sun, they must have served Her.
So if he spotted one, he was sure to offer it milk. His young eyes lit up when one followed him home, where he hand-fed it frogs.
Other welcome guests of spring among the many were the storks; despite their size, taller than even he, they were nothing to fear, though they were quick to chastise him if he were to play too rough with their chicks. The smaller birds serenaded them with their adorable lovely songs every spring, making their presence known even if they were less keen to be seen.
And most of all, most omnipresent, were the forests extending as far as he knew. They were everywhere, and he merely lived among them, much like they merely grew below the World Tree supporting the heavens. They were bountiful and his playground, where he foraged and hunted. Inside the trees waited the spirits of the people who had left this existence, upon them bees built their nests where they produced sweet, delectable honey, and somewhere among them was nestled the legendary fern flower that grew every Midsummer.
But they were also dark, mysterious, dangerous. There were groves he was to never enter or defile if there was no intention to bring prayer. Every variety of tree was left by a divine being as their presence on this plane of existence, and were therefore sacred. Even when childish curiosity pulled at him he knew never to step foot. While surely, the Lauma who dwelled within would spare a child, even they had their limits; and a less merciful spirit could take him to another world, or take his life. Or at least, it would if he were anyone else, but he did not wish to know what they would do to an immortal entity like he. If a rabbit crossed his path, he knew it was a warning from above to leave. And the bears and wolves would be nowhere as merciful. Even on a mundane walk, he needed to be alert for a devil’s mischievous tricks.
It was only when they welcomed him did he explore further; if he was in danger, he could vanish into their depths and let them take care of those who dared to threaten him.
They could be fickle; that was why sacrifice was needed, just to bargain with them, even if even such things were not always heeded. He was at their mercy, for good or bad.
They were not entirely like parents, but not entirely beasts. He never had seen them, but everywhere around him, evidence of their existence lurked, from the golden pieces of stone that washed onto shore, to the very trees in the woods.
The sun rose and fell in turn with the moon, the seasons came and went. For time was a cycle with no start or end.
That was how the child rationalized the world around him, for that was all he knew.
—————
The birds chirped that morning as the last leaves from last autumn crunched under Lithuania’s feet.
The man grumbled to himself, rubbing his forehead trying to fend off a hangover, regretting thinking that treating himself with his first binge drinking session in a while wouldn’t be a big deal.
“Augh my head… At least I can walk straight without throwing up I guess. That’s an improvement.”
Small animals rustled through the foliage as he took a deep breath of the clear air. The trees loomed above him, silently observing the lone man on his morning walk. He no longer feared the forest, so all that was left was it beckoning him further.
Crunch, crunch.
Another deep breath.
Steadily, he thought he felt his nausea and headache subside.
He wandered without particular aim, stopping every so often to pick berries and mushrooms, for once in his life not worrying where he was heading, bathed in the warm morning sunlight, producing an almost trace-like state, letting himself sink into the past. Here, he felt his troubled mind at peace, restful, more than he had ever been even when he called such woods home.
A rabbit ran by his feet, and he let it pass by.
He saw the forest clear in his view; then, a building, an old church.
The forest opened back into neatly maintained grass, and further a parking lot, into civilization, albeit with few here at this time.
He continued to walk towards the red wooden church, near which an old, large, twisted oak stood, protected from defilement by tall fencing, surrounding it in a large circle.
He stared up at it; now old, aging, tired-looking, exhausted and kept alive by caring locals, while he continued to appear not much past his prime. The one family there, or anyone for that matter, would have never suspected this man remembered when this tree was young and fresh. But even he knew nothing about how long it had been here; it was most likely older than even he.
Here, the god of Thunder was worshipped. And mere meters apart, the small church stood. Yet, it felt strangely fitting.
“Oh, you’se were here?”
He turned; just off the platform stood Latvia, his mop of dark blond hair just now entering his vision, his pet grass snake taking a ride in his hoodie and poking its head out.
“You were here too?”
“We’s were thinkin’ the sames things, it looks like.”
Latvia joined him on the observation platform, leaning his lanky body on the railing.
“I’m wonderin’s if there’s really a path to a different world in there… I’ve never gone theres, even if I was always tempted to…”
Lithuania raised an eyebrow.
“Wouldn’t count on it.”
“You haven’t beens in there, right?”
“If you haven’t, I haven’t either. Would make a good movie premise though, wouldn’t it?”
“Wonder since when it’s beens here… Wonder whats it’s seens…”
Maybe within, there was indeed a different world; one he had known, and never completely lost.
That morning, the two reminisced over berries for breakfast, his hangover a distant memory.
