Os Alta is pretty far south. Does it mean most of Ravka doesn't have full nights?
Somebody better in geography, write down the consequences, please, because that would put all of Fjerda above polar circle, and Novyi zem is on the same level as Ravka- does it have extremely warm currents around to keep those huge fields warm? It should have those white nights too!
Would making Grishaverse globe larger help explain any of this?
Red star is Sankt Peterburg- an equivalent of Os Alta, since that's the Tsar-related city with famous White Nights festival.
I've used maps on oats, wheat (Russia) and rye (Sweden) production to see how far reaches crop production (Other crops maps were similar in how far does it reach.).
I put US plantations cca. in the rectangle- that one might be less accurate, but it should be enough to paint the picture, since polar circle is the green line in the upper part of the map. Novyi Zem, I cut similarly.
Just... compared to Grishaverse:
Even Wandering Isle should be freezing pretty much all the time!
Length of the daylight, temperatures... my head's refusing to operate with different data than ours.
Can somebody find an explanation, how can Fjerda grow enough to feed itself? Does this mean Wandering Isle isn't really pseudo-Ireland? Isn't Ravka just too far north to feed larger population, because from our world's map, it's too short to have those most cultivated areas?
I'm reading I've finished the Shadow and Bone trilogy after watching the show and have many thoughts about the relationship the characters have with the government and the monarchy. I will take elements from both the books and the show for this analysis.
I started to think about this back when I watched the show and came upon one of Alina's letters to Mal detailing her confusion and frustration at being stuck at the Little Palace.
What I haven't said in this letter, Mal, what I've been trying to write among all these scattered words is, is that I'm afraid. I'm scared, Mal. We grew up reading about a Saint who would one day perform a miracle of light and solve our country's problems, and we knew that was a lie. We knew that no stranger ever solved our problems for us. No great miracle was coming. That's why we had each other. The world is hard and cruel, but we had each other, and that was enough. That was everything. If Saints were once real, they've long since left us.
Season 1, Episode 3: "The Making at the Heart of the World"
(bold text added by me)
Alina's origins
I live in East Ravka, but I've never been welcomed here. Because I look like my mother, and she looked like the enemy.
Season 1, Episode 1: "A Searing Burst Of Light"
One of the opening lines of the show exposes well the feeling Alina must have towards her country.
It's a well-placed piece of word building. It tells us that Ravka is at war with a neighbouring country, that it has been for a long time, and to what extent it affects the lives of the people living near the borders.
As a side note, it's also a praiseworthy nod to the origins of Alina in book canon.
Keramzin and the army
First, in the book, both Alina and Mal don't remember much of their respective families, because it was forced upon them. Missing or recalling memories of lost family members meant being ungrateful towards the Duke, who was the reason they still had a roof over their heads. Even their own birthdays aren't their own, because they were registered on the same day as the Duke's, again, out of mandatory gratitude.
Second, enlisting in the army was also mandatory, at least from what I've gathered from the show.
Keep a pencil in your hand. Or else someone will put a rifle in it instead.
Season 1, Episode 1: "A Searing Burst Of Light"
[which, I have to say, gave more notice of Ana Kuya's character than in the books]
Third, crossing the Fold is basically a death sentence, and one you can't back away from.
Over and over again, their country has taken away the memory of their families, whatever agency they could have, and their life.
To Mal and Alina, it's less a question of what they feel about being Ravkan, and more of surviving it.
Os Alta and the Little Palace
After a life under this regime, all of a sudden Alina is the chosen one. She's immediately whisked away from everything she knows and dropped at court, to be paraded and trained as Grisha in the name of a country that couldn't care less about her until a minute ago.
She wants to tear down the Fold, that's a given, kind of scary but totally on the table for the entire story. However, I can't help but imagine a certain amount of resentment on her part for doing this knowing that it will all be in the name of the monarchy. That the rich assholes who have been sending common people to die on the fronts for centuries will come out of this ordeal looking better, that they do come out of it with their positions streghtened.
One royal heir caring about the commoners is not enough to me to fix the problem, because it's systemic. His successor may be just as incompetent as the others. Or the next. Or the further next.
Let's flip the idea: after all this time, only one guy with a semblance of political power amongst the entire nobility cares for the lives of the people underneath him?
Two times you decide to stay, and one time you have no choice but to leave.
A/N: mega ouchie, my friends. Just so ya’ll know i havent read the Nikolai Duology, and im like 14 chapters into R&R. Teensie bit of an AU, we’re gonna pretend the Darkling didnt attack the palace until a few days after Nik’s birthday dinner shin-dig:)
Mostly fluff and some poorly(but also well) written angst :)
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14
Nikolai Lantsov was well accustomed to the serenity that came with life in Os Alta. What he wasn’t quite so accustomed to was the sound of your chittering laughter as he lay out in the sun, eyes closed against the orange sky, only a few paces from the edge of the lake. You giggled once more, holding out two bottles as you clamored around your forgotten purple kefta in the grass.
“Okay, now lean your head back, open your mouth, and keep your eyes shut.” Nikolai furrowed his brows, perfectly shaped, as always, and opened one eye at your words.
“You’re not gonna kill me are you?” The fourteen year old boy glanced up to you, and felt his heart nearly stop. Eyes roving over your face, cased in golden light from the impending sunset, he masked his awe with his usual banter. “Has the jealousy caught up to you? You’ve come to take your revenge because my hair is softere than yours! I knew it!” You cackled as you crouched over his head.
“Shut up,” you laughed. “I don’t want it to go in your eyes, is all. I’d hate to ruin those lovely blue orbs.”
“They are quite nice, you’re right.” he conceded, and did as he was told. “Kindly refrain from poisoning me.” You smiled and poured both liquids in his mouth before he could protest.
He was quiet for just a moment, until a choked sound clawed its way out of his throat. Nikolai rushed to sit up, the concoction dribbling down his chin and onto his pristine shirt, staining the linen a muted orange. You hurriedly dropped the bottles and thumped him on the back, eyes growing in concern and apology.
“Nikolai, oh shit- You're alright?” Nikolai nodded, beating on his chest, smiling despite his watery eyes.
“Too much- Too much at once,” he rasped, and coughed once more. He straightened up and turned to you with a grin. “But, all saints, delicious! What was that?” You grinned, consoled by the fact you hadn't killed the younger prince.
“Sweetened jurda nectar and aged Kvas,” you said, taking a swig yourself. “My father would let me have it sometimes when I was young.” You took notice of an orange droplet, hanging just at the corner of Nikolai’s lips, baiting you to come a little closer.
You reached out without a second thought, and swiped your thumb across the stain, hurriedly sucking the substance off your finger, heart thudding and mind moving a mile a minute, as always.
Oh saints, I’ve done it now. You’re so screwed.
Nikolai sat still as a board as your calloused thumb ran over his lip, all too quickly in his own opinion. His eyes caught yours as you put your hand back into the cold grass, a welcome reprieve from the burning of your ears. He licked his lips, searching for just another drop of the sweet taste, or maybe, his brain argued, you’re searching for the feeling of her.
Suddenly, the towers of the Little Palace began to ring, signaling the call for all grisha to their tables for supper.
“Dinner,” you said softly, looking out into the distance, where the sun had begun to disappear over the horizon. “I should go back.”
Nikolai stilled his beating heart, and laid back into the grass. “Say’s who?”
“The general, Nikolai.”
He shrugged and tugged you down by your sleeve. “Who cares about the General” You collapsed with a small shriek and oomph next to him, giggling once more as you turned to face the darkening sky as he did. “I’d have you stay with me for a while.” He glanced at you, hoping to catch the glow of your face before the darkness took over. “Just until the night sets in.”
You stayed until dawn.
23
Dinners were always particularly difficult for you, as there was no empty corner for you to back into when you were overwhelmed, no sense of privacy, which was something you were hoping for that particular night. You were sitting, stiff as a board at the dinner table, unable to focus on anything but the boy sitting across from you. After all, it was no easy feat to look away from that damnably charming smile when it showed itself, usually after an unbearably vain joke, and especially when it was directed towards you. If fact, you were certain that every heartrender in the palace could hear the way your heart gave a stutter when Nikolai winked at you, or slung his arm around your shoulder, dragging you with him towards the fabrikator workshops.
Dragging. You knew that you would always go willingly, wherever he led you. Nikolai Lantsov could lead you by the hand to your death, and you would follow happily with a smile and a skip in your step, if only for the warm feeling that comes with gripping his palm in yours.
The man in question laughed boisterously at something his cousin had said, and turned to face you once more, with a smile that could only ever be described as contagious in the extreme.
Nikolai looked at you with meaning in his eyes, trying desperately to send a message. Go on and laugh, he forced them to say. Laugh, please, and lift my heart out of its heavy slump. We both know that you’re the only one who can. He seemed to inflate when you let out a giggle, so small that he was certain only he who was searching for the tinkling sound could hear it.
Sweet music, he thought. You are so screwed.
Nikolai’s father waved his hand in the air, and all overlapping conversation at the table came to a staggering halt, attention falling solely on the portly king, holding an egg.
“Happy birthday, Nikolai,” he said curtly, ever the sovereign, never letting emotion past his bristly mustache. “May the saints bless you with good fortune.” He extended the egg to Nikolai, who accepted it with tender hands.
Slowly, the top began to chip off, revealing a miniature version of Sturmhond’s ship, complete with confetti cannons and little red flag. You slid your hand into the folds of your kefta, gripping your own gift with slender fingers, and suddenly feeling the uneasiness of inadequacy creep down your throat as you swallowed a sip of wine.
Alina smiled from her place beside Nikolai and sent you a quick wink before she spoke up. “Y/N has something for you, Nikolai, don’t you, y/n?” You sent her a small scowl, but masked it when you saw Nikolai smile at you.
“Understandable that you’d want to repay the gift of my company with something of your own.” Nikolai smiled easily and extended a hand out to take the box from your own outstretched arm.
He made quick work of the ribbon tying the box shut and opened it to reveal a copper compass, about the size of his palm, if not a little smaller. He looked up at you with that smile, the delicate words engraved along the edge not gone unnoticed, and you winked before you spoke.
“It’s made of Zemini copper, responibly mined and shipped.”
Nikolai turned it over in his hand twice before smiling at you. “Stronger than any bullet.” You nodded.
“Open it.” He did. For a moment nothing happened, and you faltered, wondering if the contraption had malfunctioned. And in the next moment, hundreds of lights littered the ceiling of the hall like the diamonds strung across the Queen’s neck. Nikolai threw his head back with wide eyes and a glowing grin as he studied the little holographic lights.
“They’re the stars,” he whispered, once to himself, and again to the rest of the table. You nodded happily.
“It’s calibrated with the calendar, so they’ll always reflect the sky over Os Alta, no matter the day.” You paused briefly. “A reminder of home, if ever you find yourself... lost.”
Nikolai could have died a happy man at that moment, to know that you had taken such care to build him something with your own hands, something meant to remind him of you, of home. Though, the night was far from over. It wasn’t until a few hours later, did Nikolai Lantsov know what it was to feel incandescent happiness.
He’d strolled down to the lake, as he’d done, many nights, and taken a seat down at the lake’s edge.
Right beside you.
You didn’t turn to him, and he didn't turn to you, not for a few minutes. Until he took a breath and produced the compass from his coat pocket. He flipped it in his hand a few times, until the engraving faced the sky.
In this life and the next
He read the words out breathlessly, and they nearly went unheard over the sounds of the night. You shifted to face him, faces so close it would only take a little push on either of your parts. His breath hit your cheek as his eyes roamed your face, committing every slope, freckle and scar to memory before licking his lips.
“How terribly awkward would this be if you meant in terms of friendship.”
“What makes you so sure that I didn't?”
Nikolai cracked a smile, inching ever so close to you, eyes flicking between your lips and your gaze.
“I expect you would have shoved me into the lake by now.” He kissed you swiftly, finally, sweetly.
So sweet, you could almost taste the heavy flavour of honey from his evening tea lingering on his tongue, and so loving, he lowered you both to the grass slowly, and with purpose as he situated you on your sides, each with one hand cradling the other’s face, and one hand keeping you from collapsing.
You pulled away with a soft sigh, eyes closed and breathing heavy as Nikolai placed his forehead against your shoulder. After a moment, he turned his face into your neck and smirked.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting to head back. Although, walking alone in the dark can’t be wise.” He kissed you softly underneath your ear, smiling only when he felt a shudder cross your shoulders. “After all, the field is no place for a young woman, especially at this hour.” You turned Nikolai’s face up to yours as you dipped your head and kissed him, slowly and deliberately, pulling at his bottom lip, and lightly scraping your nails through his hair.
“I suppose I could be persuaded to stay a while. Just until dawn.”
You stayed all night.
23
The heat of battle was sweltering, in more ways than one. The terrain was hot, yes, but so were the flashes of battle. The lightning fast bullets racing past every which way, causing the hearts of a thousand men to quiver in their chests.
Equally hot and suffocating was the fear, inwardly felt, but never shown. Fear of bullets striking where wounds cannot be healed, striking someone else, someone unquestionably dear.
The Lantsov King felt this crushing fear when he watched you tumble to the ground, clutching desperately at the tear in your stomach, gruesome and painful. He raced towards you yelling for a medic who could not hear over his shoulder, and hoisted you up.
He held you close and he scrambled for shelter, away from the cruel rainfall of bullets, one hand held along your face, and the other arm wrapped firmly around your waist, simultaneously holding you up and keeping pressure on the wound he feared may kill him as well as you. He took shelter behind a skiff, abandoned and barren, and set you down against it.
“You’re alright,” he said, catching his breath and keeping his hands on you, if only to make sure you hadn't passed out. “It’s not even that bad. Just a scratch,” he reassured you as your head slumped to the side. He set it straight once more. “Just a scratch.”
You inhaled slowly, and looked up at him, face caked in dust and blood, yours or someone else’s, you couldn't be sure. Your thoughts were beggining to swim, the only thing remaining solid was your husband’s face as he kept pressure on your stomach and yelled once more for a medic, who you knew would not come. A horrid couch drew itself from your throat, and with it an alarming spatter of blood.
Nikolai didnt see it land on his shirt, or bleed into the mass of red already staining his torso.
Bringing your hand over the one holding your wound, you breathed his name in a breathless rasp, once, twice, until he met your eyes.
“Tell me- Tell me about Os Kervo.” He’d built you a house there. For the both of you.
Nikolai shook his head. “It was a surprise,” he said softly, pulling you against him, for he had no need to see your face, not like this. He had long since memorized it, burned it against his heart and soul for all to see, and like a radio broadcast, it screamed, I love this woman. I dare you to try and take her from me.
He sat on the ground and kept you alive, hands holding your body together, while his words tended to your soul. “You’ll see it when I take you there.” He swallowed, tucking his chin over your shoulder, steadying his voice as it shook. “We’ll grow old together, you’ll see. You and me, seventy years old, and still gorgeous, watching the grandkids, and the dogs-”
You smiled, paying no heed to the coolness creeping into your fingers. “I seem to recall you promising me a cat, Lantsov.” The words began to blur, and your grip on his coat slackened. “You- You better- get one when I'm gone.” Nikolai shook his head and moved your hand back to its place on his shoulder, bringing his own back to your head, cradling it against him.
“Together,” he said firmy. “We’ll get one together, no matter how often the wretched thing gets fur on my clothes.”
Inhaling no longer came as easily as you laid your weight against Nikolai, your Nikolai.
You slurred into his shoulder. “Together,” you repeated with dimming eyes as your chest seized and stilled. “In this life, and the next.”
Thoughts that come to me at 11.54 in the evening, and throwing it out to you guys:
why is Os Alta so far east?
Wouldn't it have made much more sense for it to be built far nearer to the Shadow Fold, so that the Eastern half of Ravka would be able to maintain stronger ties with the Western half? Even if Os Alta existed before the Shadow Fold was created, that doesn't mean anything; they could easily have chosen a new spot for the capital city, especially considering four hundred something years ago there probably would have been far fewer people and materials to move. Why didn't Kribirsk become the new capital of Ravka? That way, it would take far less time for things brought through the Shadow Fold to get to both the Great and Little Palace, and with Novokribirsk on the other side of the Fold, they could have styled themselves as two halves of the same city!
