Daughter Of The Revolution:

This is a Historical APH fanfic which will surround the pairing of RusAme (Russia/America) foremost, and GerMerica (Germany/America) secondly.
All of these historical reference notes are true and if anyone has any issue with the uncensored history of their nations or other countries then do not read. This will cover light and darker times in history as well as trauma of said nations.
This is also written in a series of POV's and so a nation's thoughts can often be misguiding in concordance with historical justice. For example, a nation could see themselves as righteous for stamping out a race/other nation while in fact it was wrong in the sense of morals. So, their thoughts aren't always what is right, keep that in mind.

Also, while this fanfiction will be held as close to Historical Accuracy as possible I am still taking the liberty to place in headcanons and change how a few events went, and how certain nations reacted to these circumstances, but not by much. This is a fan's "fiction" and therefore, just a story.

Again if this story is not appealing to you in any way you have the freedom to stop reading and ignore.

Thank you for listening to my "Heads-up."

Moscow, Russia. May 3rd 1607

The window shattered and in poured the raging blizzard once confined to the outside only, but Russia didn't care; in fact he welcomed the cold bitterness. With eyes ablaze with violent violet he grit his teeth and shouted at the howling wind made bitterly cold by the night's dark shield over the sun. It was officially Spring but still this blizzard raged on and on until Russia found himself tormented by something he had once claimed to be used to.

Weary, so weary now. Russia wanted to see the sun. He wanted to see the flowers; fields of Spring flowers. He wanted to see his people outside in their light dress. He wanted to see the little ones dancing in the streets, their parents drying their soaking sheets; the young lovers displaying public affection in the valley of dandelions and clovers.

"Why do you torment me for so long, General?" Russia nearly cried out into the dark night whishing by him and his home. "Your season is over and yet you linger over my land and destroy the souls of my people!"

The wind seemed to pitch in its howl but Russia did not cringe. He was no longer afraid of the deity that haunted his land and mind. He had grown accustomed to the ghostly being but that did not mean he grew welcome. Distain and hate was all he's ever felt for General Winter. He had been a great ally when needed but a terrible enemy when he had oft been too weak to shield himself against those icy hands.

So he revered him and remembered him in prayer and gave to him whatever he asked for; whether it be a hundred human lives to thousands of human lives, Russia complied if only to keep the General in good standings with him and his country. All he asked for was protection against his vast enemies and he would sacrifice whatever chilled bone he desired.

But now, as the Winter season shifted into that of Spring, Russia had felt betrayed. He had not dishonored him in any way. That year had gone by like any other year so why was he stabbing him so hard in the back?

General Winter's wrath was easy to invoke but Russia had ceased caring as the month of May came into view with white surrounding its expectant greenery. When he usually steered clear of the glass windows opening the world of the General before him now was met with a half full vodka bottle and there was plenty more where those came from.

"Have I not been your loyal subject?" Russia shouted out his question to the howling abyss outside that slowly began seeping into his home and freezing it blue. "Have I not exalted you high enough? Surely I am the only one who remembers you. So why, why do you feel the need to be rid of me?"

More times than oft the General never spoke, or perhaps he never had and, like the good doctors kept telling Russia, that it was all in his head. Even so he stared down the wintery hell from the broken shards of glass and without glove or coat welcomed the cold as if daring the ghost to come to be rid of the only one still remembering of his name.

Those icy hands seemed to wrap around Russia's throat, but never crushing. In odd surprise he felt the soft caresses of a usually harsh might on his skin and soon he was looking into the eyes of the man, the being whom he had assumed created him.

'Then what should you have of me for such quality faithfulness?' The levitating transparent being had asked him. General Winter never asked anything of anyone. Russia assumed he wanted remembrance, Russia assumed he wanted reverence, Russia assumed he wanted the sacrifices.

Skeptical, Russia narrowed his eyes. General Winter never gave. He always took. What could this deity give though? The nation's curiosity was peaked.

"What can you give me besides bitterness and coldness and ice and snow and darkness?" Russia asked, and as the General smiled the ice bit into him and it took everything he's learned to handle the pain to stop himself from crying. If there was anything the General hated more so than over lookers, it was weakness.

'I can free you of my presence for a season. You would like that, da? The sun, the green, the blossoms? I know you secretly worship them more and in so know that they shall not protect you as I do. Hm, shall I go?'

"You would only return more terrible than before. I know your games, General Winter. You mock me in saying I'd accept such folly trickery," Russia spoke. The years of his acquaintance had sharpened his mind to the General's tricks and Russia would not be fooled twice.

Again that smile bit into him, but if this was a test then Russia would prevail. He had proved to the General time and time again he was worthy of respect and so he would pass whatever inspection he was being put through now.

With a silent hush General Winter pressed close and Russia felt the ice form around his skin. His eyes followed the jagged pattern as it grew up his arm and onto his shoulder where the General touched and pressed his blue lips against his red ear.

'Love.' The whispered word echoed.

Russia gasped and cried out in pain as his heart leapt forward inside his chest. For so long he had thought his chest barren of any such human and pathetic organ but now it was pounding against his chest as if it wanted to break free and run from him. He fell to his knees and clutched at his chest.

"W-What have you done?!" Russia gasped, his eyes wide and mouth agape as he felt his heart continuously throw itself up against his ribcage.

'That is it,' the General whispered knowingly as he floated around the nation whose limbs began to freeze and whose very heart violently banged against his chest for freedom from the icy grave threatening it. 'Love. Your soul, your mind, your heart longs for it. I should think you don't even know what it is.'

Russia hadn't really comprehended what General Winter was saying at the moment as a pain worse than black ice engulfed him.

'Feel it, Rossiya? You think yourself so mighty and tolerant to my affliction. No, you shall never stop feeling them, not as long as I exist in this world.'

As the General pulled himself away the cold settled back into Russia's chest and calmed his heart in a frozen vice. He was able to catch his breath. His wide eyes were able to glance up at the ghost of the land above him. His eyes were colder than his touch and his frown more painful than even his heart trying to burst from his chest.

'You desire something of me and yet remain quiet in my presence,' the man said as he gazed down at the country devoted to his worship. 'It is I that know what bleeds bright in your heart. So it is I who shall decide your reward for you. I shall create for you a mate. One to tie your soul to, and one for your heart to flee to when your chest becomes too cold a carrier. You shall know the bond of nations and the power of alliance. They will be strong, and fair, and all yours.'

A vision of one such as that appeared before Russia's eyes. They were beautiful, so very beautiful. Inwardly he hoped his imagination to this promised one would be lacking when he finally set eyes on them. But he had never cared for such companionship before. Why now? Perhaps General Winter was right. Perhaps Russia had longed for this all along and hadn't realized it.

After struggling for centuries and even a millennia to strengthen himself and be recognized among his peers as a force to be reckoned with, Russia had thought he was content with such a status and now the General before him had pointed out a missing piece that he had not seen until now. So, as the General turned to leave out of the shattered window he entered, Russia reached out as if to touch him only to be met with the bite of frost upon his fingertips.

"Wait!" Russia inhaled a cold blast of wind and coughed. His lungs nearly collapsed upon themselves from the unbreathable air. "When, when will I see them? Show me their being, please."

"You shall know no vision of appearance nor shall I tell you of a time destined. But know this that I shall open your eyes to the one I have created for you," the General replied.

And just like that the deity was gone. Russia shook the bite of the frost from him and stood to his feet again. What he had been told was something that he'd never forget. But as his body began to warm itself slowly he felt his heart. It was beating and it was now so angry at him. It had been offered the warmth of a love it had longed for before its barer even realized it was there, and now it came to the realization it was going to have to wait for its other half.

Russia was usually a patient country, but now as this foretold promise weighed on him he became excited, he became hot, he became hopeful dare he say and never once in the back of his mind had he thought about the General's usual scheming ways.

General Winter wouldn't betray him, he had thought. Not after all he had offered and sacrificed to him.

Virginia, New World. May 4th 1607

There had been a frost early in the morning and the huntsman cursed it as he trudged back into town clinging to his wet cloak that would provide no warmth. It had been a horrible night for hunting anything. It had rained throughout the night and in the dawn hours the rain turned to ice and chattered every slumbering man's teeth until the chatter awoke them fully.

Oddly enough he was not greeted by the usual gatekeeper or fellow townsman whom he knew would be up from the chill. Instead he heard what he thought were whispers until a gasp echoed across the wooden homes; that gasp sounding like the captain. Breaking out into a jog he let the sudden curiosity spur his legs to run faster to warm the rest of his body. When he stopped his eyes widened.

"Look!" There was the rest of the town. All of the people crowded in a circle near the center. It looked as if they were looking at a dead horse. But they didn't have . . .

Pushing his way inside the circle he looked down at what everyone else was looking at.

It was a babe.

Golden hair, fair skin, an infant baptismal robe draped about him. Yes, it was a boy. But what was he doing there?

In awe amazement the people watched as the frost that once covered the entire land that morning of a cold start of May started to melt from the child's body, as if his skin burned at the touch. Then everyone held their breath as those little rosy lips parted and the babe inhaled its first breath.

"He breathed!" the captain said with a grateful smile and just as the cheers of relief resounded it all went silent once more as the captain picked the boy up and held him close. "Feel him, he's warm," he motioned the others to lay their hands upon the still child.

"Tis a miracle."

"By the grace of God."

"So little."

Once again everyone held their breath as the boy shifted in the captain's arms and leaned even closer than comfortable. When the babe opened his eyes for the first time to reveal the most beautiful of blue eyes anyone had ever seen, sighs of relief were let go. Just seeing him like this made the people smiled. His life was a symbol of their success and now it was up to them to keep his health.

Since coming to that godforsaken land the people felt a genuine need to smile. The captain turned toward the ocean and with bright eyes and a triumphant smile declared, "When the ships return we must send word back to the King and him. He will be pleased there had been a child. Even more so that it's a son."

"Perhaps it'd be best to let the child go so as to see how he fairs in the upcoming years," the huntsman suggested. "Say he should die?"

"Then we shall perish," the captain said grimly as he looked down at the child in his arms, but as the child clung to him he could feel his strength and he knew right then that this child would survive. "He is strong, I can feel it. I will send word anyway. This babe needs their parent's approval and protection. Under his wing he will thrive."

They smiled as the little one cuddled close in the bosom of the captain. He was beautiful and they were all very anxious to show his parent that this colonization had worked and a child had come forth, albeit unexpectantly and in a mysterious way, but he was there and alive and he was going to survive.

Historical Notes

Commentated by the Authoress

May 4th 1607 was the first permanent English settlement in the Americas. The settlement became known as Jamestown in the Colony of Virginia. I deem this as America's actual "birth" day because it's literally his beginning.