A/N

A bit of a foreword from me. This was heavily researched. I did my very best to get most of this historically accurate. Herein is also my headcanon, so nations interactions are part of that. Lord the first bit of this is totally a history lesson, sorry.

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Tokhtamysh, khan of the Horde, was gathering an army, and it was moving for Moscow. No one had to say it; this would be a thorough revenge for the Horde's defeat at Kulikovo two years ago.

Those words sent dread straight to the hearts of the Russians. Word didn't come of support from the Grand Duchy of Lithuania this time, but the Horde had gotten stronger under Tokhtamysh's rule. His army now known as the Great Horde, his sudden advance on Russian territory was too sudden for the defending army to raise the proper numbers for any real stand against them. The easy answer was to surrender, and this was quickly suggested to Grand Duke Dmitri Donskoy by his boyars. Perhaps he was a proud man, and perhaps he was just confident. He had led the defeat of the Horde in Kulikovo, and Moscow had remained impenetrable against Lithuania's Grand Duke Algirdas' army, twice. But that didn't mean that the matter was being taken lightly.

Dmitry left Moscow to organize what resistance that he could against the invading army. If they backed down now, they would lose what upper hand that they had gained. Ivan, the nation with the heart of Moscow, had stubbornly decided to remain behind within the towering stone walls and iron gates of his 'heart'. He'd suffered much under the hands of the Mongolian-centered Horde, and he wasn't afraid to face it again, no matter the outcome. If his children had chosen to fight to defend, then there was neither question in his mind nor uncertainty in his heart. They would die for him, and he for them. No matter how Dmitry tried to convince him to accompany him, Ivan refused.

As a show of confidence Dmitry left behind in Moscow his own wife, the Grand Duchess Evdokia and a few major boyars of the city. Dmitry traveled to Kostroma, and he sent his cousin Vladimir of Serpukhov to Volokolamsk to defend the road to Novgorod. Sending word to Tver, the Grand Duke Michael responded only with a deafening silence. The truth was obvious and cold: Moscow would be left to fend only for its self.

This resulted in a quiet panic amongst Ivan's children in Moscow. It didn't take long for dissension to begin, starting with the wealthy. Their first instinct was to follow the Duke to safety, while the commoners vowed to stay and defend their home. The middle and lower class were enraged by the cowardice wealthy citizens who actually made an attempt at escape. They murdered those who dared to try, looting their property after. The thunder of the Horde's hooves was still out of earshot, and already Ivan's heart was bleeding.

A general assembly was raised to regain control, and it was founded with the commoners in complete control. This assembly was known as the veche. The walls were manned by them, forbidding anyone else to leave the city's walls. What was supposed to be a defense was now a sort of prison by choice. The only exception to this was the Duchess herself, who was given leave to join her husband in Kostroma on the condition that she leaves her wealth behind. This left Moscow with only the boyars and commoners, and the veche didn't trust the nobles who were so keen to abandon them with the defense of their city and their nation's physical incarnation, Ivan.

Out of this there came a decision which would bring quite the unexpected surprise to Ivan's heart, in more ways than only one. The veche elected as a commander of Moscow's garrison a Lithuanian prince by the name of Ostei*. With this slightly surprising event, another came just hours later. Toris, the Grand Duchy's own incarnation arrived. Ivan's feelings were quite mixed on this subject. Just two years earlier, Lithuania had aligned its self with the Horde against Ivan's children at Kulikovo. They had arrived late, and they had lost, but it was the fact of the matter! Add to that the twice-failed sieges of Moscow by Algirdas, and Toris' own desperate desire to obtain Moscow, and Ivan, was no secret.

The nation of Lithuania found Ivan in the church, praying for a miracle. He stood by and waited patiently for the kneeling Russian, back against the wall and arms crossed. Perhaps to spite him, Ivan waited a good hour before he would try and rise. Guiltily, most of that time was not spent in prayer but in hoping that the larger nation would give in and leave him be. He didn't want to face his feelings and his second-largest threat with the face of an angel. When his bruised knees could take it no longer, Ivan opened his violet eyes and pushed up from the ground, knees popping in protest.

"Ivan," Toris spoke up quietly, "You've yet to greet me."

"I was hoping that you would leave." Ivan replied with the shadow of a smile, though his eyes were cast aside even as he turned to face the other Duchy. Toris only smiled, and he stood up from the wall to step over to the Russian.

"Is that any way to treat someone who came to help you? I didn't have to come."

"Why did you?" Ivan tried hard to sound disinterested. Toris was at least half a head's height taller than he was, and his state of dress was much grander than Ivan's right now. It didn't seem right, dressing with wealth when your city was being defended by those most common.

"Is there something you want to hear from me? Should I say that I am sorry, or give you affectionate words?" Toris didn't even try to give any excuses, and he didn't seem apologetic to begin with. But he wasn't being sarcastic either, but honest. Whatever Ivan wanted to hear, he would likely say if only to soothe him. "My prince is commanding the defense of your city; you call Moscow your heart don't you? Then I came to protect that. I can say with honesty that I don't wish to see it in the hands of Naranbaatar again." Toris spoke of the incarnation of the Horde and Mongolia.

"My knight in shining rings and trappings." Ivan gave a sly comment towards Toris' appearance as he gave the Lithuanian a sideways glance at last. Toris glanced down at himself, and his face was a little red. It was true that the commoners would usually associate wealth with power and leadership, but right now that wasn't the most important thing was it? Ostei's, and thereby Toris' greatest assets right now were their knowledge of military excellence. Looking back up, Toris reached up with his right hand. Touching just under Ivan's chin, he turned that reluctant face towards him at last, and it didn't take much coaxing. Gazes meeting, Toris took a step forward which brought them only inches apart. Voice quieter, Toris gave a small smile.

"Are you angry at me or grateful?"

"I don't wish to answer." Ivan stated simply. "We don't have time for this." He tensed as Toris pressed closer, noses brushing, and he could feel the other nation's breath with his next words.

"Do you think I'm trying something? That I'll take your heart single-handedly after the siege is done? I have no army with me Ivan; there is only me and my prince." Ivan felt a warm hand press against his chest over his heart. His breath caught for a moment, heat flooding his cheeks. Toris didn't close the distance between them, no matter how close, and finally Ivan couldn't take it.

He reached up to push Toris back by the shoulders. It wasn't a hard or rough shove, yet Toris fell back several paces willingly. Ivan reached up to rub at his lips with the back of his hand. Their lips hadn't even touched and yet the heat of Toris' breath made them feel as if they had. "What are you trying in my church?" He demanded without fire, moving to step past Toris quickly. The Lithuanian let their shoulders bump, smiling as he turned to set his eyes on that retreating back. "We need to get back to the preparations." Toris didn't argue, nor hesitate to follow.

Ivan couldn't stay bitter about it for long.

With Ostei at the helm, hasty preparations were quickly underway. Both Ostei and Toris worked with such self-assurance and efficiency that a confidence began to grow in his children's hearts. Refugees from neighboring towns and rural distracts flocked to Moscow for shelter, and they were welcomed by the Muscovites. The weapons they had would be suitable for fending off the soldiers of the Horde from atop the walls of the city. Crossbows and guns would be their offense, while they had stones and countless cauldrons of water to boil when and if they made it to actually attempting to scale Moscow's grand walls.

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August 22, 1382.

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Ivan could feel the tension in every occupant of Moscow.

The Horde was close, some said only a day away. Scouts had been spotted days ago already, and the impending feeling was hanging like heavy stones in everyone's hearts and minds. This was to be no battle, no matching of thousands against thousands. There were no invading and defending armies; there was only this grand city of wealth, full of the lives of so many hopefuls. Brave hearts, all of them, none of whom considered surrender. Fight and perish or die a coward.

Ivan was tireless, walking the walls of his city again and again. When he was finished, he went amongst the others in the city. He moved among them, raising spirits and handing out food and blankets to the elderly and the young. These children from the outside knew they would have no home to return to but here. Their crops would be burned, homes smashed by the Horde as it neared.

A war, Ivan could take. A war he could really fight in. What could he do now but fire upon his attackers and hide? Disconcerting still was the news that came to Ivan that the Duke of Ryazan who had fought against him alongside Lithuania and the Horde at Kulikovo had offered Tokhtamysh guides and information on Moscow's defenses. Ivan's identity was fractured enough from the disloyalty that his many providences held towards each other over the years. In this time of dire need of defense it was all he could do to stay confident for the children he was with right now.

Next it was checking or cleaning the weapons. One after the other he handled them, keeping the conversation near him off of the coming siege and on other topics. It was winter, and it would be cold. What they would do when it was over, how much they would drink, how they would celebrate. They sang songs, and they told shameless little folk stories after that. Toris and Ostei were all business, unable to relax with the Russians who Ivan could animate with only a few words.

Toris watched Ivan through it all. To say he was impressed would imply that he hadn't thought the Russian capable was it? Perhaps the word that he wanted was admiring. He was seeing Ivan as he must have been through the sieges Toris had fought against Moscow. Toris didn't want to believe that Moscow could be taken. It could be pride which led him to believe such a thing. He wouldn't accept the thought that Naranbaatar's army could obtain something that the Grand Duchy of Lithuania could not. But he would be lying to himself if he thought that jealousy had nothing to do with it. Naranbaatar had already had Ivan, but Toris had yet to bed him. The Russian wasn't adverse to the Lithuanian's advances, no matter how thick those walls around Ivan's physical heart were.

Moscow was prosperous and wealthy, and Ivan would make a suitably useful addition to the Grand Duchy through marriage. But Ivan, and his bosses, were both very stubborn and obstinate. The conflict of Ivan's personal wants were often clear. Toris had personally come close to… seducing compliance out of Ivan, but in the end the Lithuanian's own slip of the tongue had stopped him from finding any satisfaction there. Promise a union, a marriage, and then make demands about Ivan's land. Toris was awkward with how he went about things. Just because he led sieges and tried to gain Ivan's hand through war didn't mean that he would hurt Ivan outside of it. That was never his desire.

However, Ivan's expression whenever Toris caught sight of him alone held something that was starkly different from his confident expression amongst his children. Distraught, hopeless, and afraid. Toris… didn't know the feeling. Ivan had yelled at him before about it.

You don't know pain, don't know true defeat. You're a conqueror, and you show me kindness because you seek to one day have me! You kneel to no one and you act as if I should not be offended that you expect as much from me!

Ivan wanted to be equal. It was impossible with as divided as all of Ivan's children were. They fought each other, bribed and begged the Horde or Lithuania for assistance against one another. Ivan was caught between two of the most powerful forces in the world right now, and he was degraded from it. How could he even begin to find himself amongst such chaos? His sisters had a good home with Toris, why couldn't it be that simple for Ivan?

It would be late in the evening before Toris found Ivan again.

The Russian was in his room, hands on his windowsill and forehead against the glass. The fog of his heavy breaths had stolen the transparency of the window panes in front of his face. Fingers gripped at the edge so hard that his knuckles were white, and some of his nails were bleeding. His shoulders shook, and the hair at his forehead was damp with sweat.

"Ivan?" Toris spoke with worry. The Russian glanced over to the door in alarm, though he seemed relieved when it was only Toris. Another nation would understand him, but his children couldn't see him like this.

"Close the door. Lock it." Ivan demanded, and Toris did as he said. When the Lithuanian sought to come close, Ivan stood and turned his back to the window. "Don't," He swallowed. Toris stopped and let his arms stay at his side, helplessly. Ivan closed his eyes, reaching up to grasp his chest over his heart. "I can hear them Toris. I can feel every doubt and every speech of confidence. The weight of it is crushing me. It never felt like this when you put me under siege." Words were quick, almost raspy in Ivan's distress. "More than that," The corner of Ivan's lips twitched, settling on a wry and bitter smile. "I feel those hands. I hear every discouraging insult, every mocking laugh; I see that expression of fury he last had. He won't accept it that I had to fight. Lord Naranbaatar will destroy me when he gets his hands on me." Ivan smiled fully now, and his violet eyes opened to set his hard gaze on the Lithuanian. Toris was unnerved by the sight of it, a cold chill finding its way down his spine.

"I'll be here." Toris stated, frowning a little.

"You are not an army."

"Your wall will hold." He tried, but Ivan gave a short, cold laugh.

"For how long?"

"You held me off. Twice."

"I mean no offense to you my Lord Toris, but you are no Mongol. They are as devious and brutal as they are clever. You are a military force to fear, believe me I know! Did you know, the Mongols don't like to spill blood? They think you lose a part of your soul. Do you know how they like to execute my princes Toris?"

"Stop this, Ivan." Toris took a few steps forward again, but Ivan slide away from him, keeping his back to the wall.

"They crush them or they beat them to death! It's the right thing to do, Lord Naranbaatar told me. It's not a quick death, there's suffering—."

"Stop it!" Toris hurried his steps, but Ivan was only smiling, his sweat-dampened bangs shadowing his eyes a little.

"Oh God the sounds!" Ivan stopped only when he felt Toris' hands grasp his shoulders firmly. He felt trapped, and he did what first came to mind. He crumpled, his exhausted legs giving out from under him. Toris moved down with him just as swiftly as if to catch him, kneeling in front of Ivan. Ivan's smile fell, and he met Toris' gaze when the Lithuanian brushed his bangs from his face. He felt small right now. So very small. All the wealth in the world didn't matter when you couldn't protect it. It was almost insulting to be comforted by the very man who had besieged him in the past. The heretic Duchy, the deceivingly kind knight. The hand still holding one shoulder captive held more power than Ivan's whole arm.

Toris didn't speak; he didn't know the words to say. He only held Ivan's eyes with his own, and his hand brushed Ivan's cheek. All of that strength, and Toris couldn't help him. Toris was one man, right now no more powerful than one of Ivan's children. Another body to fight for Ivan's heart, one more soldier for the fodder. Naranbaatar was bringing an army. Ivan wanted to show Toris, he wanted to defend himself against the Horde just like he had the Lithuanian. That way he could have some pride for himself. He could defend himself against another enemy, who happened to be Toris' biggest rival. Ivan would make himself untouchable, unobtainable. Maybe then he could have some respect. Toris was moving, taking a seat beside Ivan against the wall.

"Don't," Ivan asked, half turning away. Toris only pressed in against that back, one knee bent and one folded under him. His chin rested on Ivan's shoulder, his breath soft on the Russian's neck. Ivan closed his eyes. They both sat in silence for a while, the silence growing heavy with the mood. Ivan took a slow breath, "If you were human… would you be here? If you could actually lose your life?"

"My prince is here. He is only human."

"That's not what I asked." Ivan protested. Toris was quiet as he thought about this, deciding on what to say. When he spoke again, his voice was quiet and confident, and Ivan fought not to shudder at the breath which crept over the edge of his scarf to ghost across his neck more.

"If we consider our status… I would be a Grand Duke and you the Duchess of Moscow… I would be here to defend your hand to me in marriage." Toris explained. Ivan was a bit put off by being called a Duchess, but he understood the meaning. So that wasn't what bothered him.

"So this is still about my house?" Ivan asked with a touch of defeat in his voice. His dreams of being equal seemed to not be shared by anyone.

"Did I say defend the city?" Toris countered. "Your hand comes with your home, but then you would have mine as well." Ah, Ivan thought. Being called a Duchess was a double edged sword. The property and power lay in the hands of the Duke, while the Duchess resided over the dwelling and family. If Ivan had no choice in being 'married' some day, there was no question which 'suitor' that he would prefer. The Mongol barbarian and the naïve Lithuanian knight.

Somehow, Ivan had stopped thinking of the enclosing Horde for a moment. The voices in his head were finally quiet. The body against his back was warm, and it didn't create the sick feeling in his stomach that it usually would. He would never willingly give in to Toris' charm, never hand himself over without a fight. But for right now in this moment, Ivan played with the idea of what it would be like to truly be defended by the strong empire behind him. Could the line between nation and physical body be breeched without consequence? No matter what Ivan's body or his heart desired, he wasn't free to choose. He had almost given himself to Toris once. His body; not his providences. Had Toris wanted only him too, or had he had ulterior motives?

Ivan would never vocalize his questions, and he knew that Toris would never tell him unless he did ask. For all of his charm, Toris was rather socially inept. Ivan closed his eyes, letting his body press against the Duchy behind him. Toris resituated himself to support that weight, his arm around Ivan's waist.

Neither of them slept that night. But they sat together, bodies pressed against one another's for warmth in the chilly room.

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August 23, 1382.

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Ivan had felt it just an instant before he heard it, a skip in the beat of his heart. His sudden jolt had alerted the Lithuanian behind him, and they were both on their feet in the next breath. The very moment that the first shout rang out, the entire city was on its feet as well. The air outside was cold as death, clouds appearing from heated breaths as the two nations ran up the stairs to the top of the walls. Neither of them had taken the time to put on their coats, but it wasn't as if they could feel the bite of the air just yet. Reaching their goal, Ivan placed his hands onto the edge of the wall and leaned out so far that Toris feared he might fall.

The wind picked up, whipping Ivan's scarf about and forcing both he and Toris to hold their bangs aside to see. The thick blanket of snow covered the landscape in front of them, pockets of caught up in the air making it hard to see very far. But movement was evident, like the shadow of an intruder from behind the billowing curtains of your bedroom window. A dozen men pushed past the concealing blanket of snow, and then a hundred in mere moments. The snow dulled the sound of their approach, but it was not silent.

Perhaps though, it was the beating of every heart in the city that was causing Ivan's ears to ring. A shout startled the Russian, and Toris grabbed his arm to keep him steady. It was Ostei giving orders to get into their positions. Toris gave Ivan a small smile, letting go to pat his shoulder before he turned to leave. He would go to another side of the wall and help with things there, and Ivan should do the same. Most of those who had stayed to defend the city weren't experienced soldiers, but simple commoners. Some of the men who had come for refuge had joined them as well.

There was a shape there on the ground, a gray figure standing alone at the bottom of the wall. Ivan narrowed his eyes to focus, taken back when it turned to look up at him. Those ice blue eyes told him everything he needed to know, and Ivan took a deep breath. I know, General. He said silently. You did your best. The rest is up to me and my children. General Winter's dominion over winter was only as good as their invaders' tolerance against it. Unfortunately for Ivan, the Mongolians were well equipped for a winter campaign against him.

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The Great Horde began their siege no sooner than they came close enough to fire their arrows, which was from hundreds of yards away. Defenders fell even before the furred caps of their invaders had come into view. The zith of an arrow narrowly missing your head was enough to send anyone ducking for cover. But the foot soldiers were advancing, so staying down for long was not an option. The first blood was drawn by the Mongols.

Under the black hail of the arrows from the cloudy sky, the enemy grew closer. Novices were learning all too quickly under Ostei's direction, backed up as he was by Toris and Ivan's words as well. Every Russian heart knew exactly what they fought for. Not a soul, young or old, had not been touched by war in their lifetime. Everyone knew what they faced should the Horde overrun them. It was no secret the wealth that Moscow held right now, and this was a lesson wasn't it? Northern Rus had bitten the hand of their disputed master, and Moscow would be made an example of. Everyone knew it; all of Ivan's children from other providences were willing to sacrifice Moscow for their own lives. Willingly kneeling before the might of the Horde, it was something Ivan couldn't ever fully accept.

It wasn't just pride, and it wasn't obstinacy. It was an inborn fear of becoming someone else, losing your national identity if you were too strongly oppressed. All a nation was made of was national identity.

Moscow's garrison was well equipped for defense. Their reach wasn't quite enough to keep their enemies back very far, but it was enough to keep them at bay for as long as their ammunition lasted. They had bows, crossbows, and even guns and canons.

Bodies fell on both sides, but the numbers were not significant just yet. Blood stained the snow, which was quickly turning to mush where the Horde had decided to settle. A siege was expected, and so the Mongols wasted no time in setting up their camp behind the lines of fire. The points of tents went up, nearly out of sight of the Muscovites.

For twenty-four hours the first leg of the siege raged almost without pause. The seasoned men of the Horde were tireless, but the men and women of Moscow were no strangers to patience. The walls were a prison once again, but outside the gates there was nothing but quick and brutal execution awaiting them. Shifts changed, bodies were carried down from the walls and into the crude hospitals or the buildings chosen for a makeshift morgue. Blood stained the stones, but it only made their will stronger.

By the time the sun rose on the second day of the siege, Ivan's spirits had lifted. The invaders were attempting to scale the walls now, but they found nothing but boiling water to scald their skin or heavy stones to crush their bones and their ladders to greet them. No matter the hail of arrows the Tatar's attempted to create a cover with, not one soldier successfully breeched the walls of Moscow. Where one man fell dead or wounded, another took his place with the next cauldron or stone.

It was on the morning of the 25th of August that an arrow struck Ivan's shoulder as he poured a kettle of bubbling water over the wall. Straight through the old leather lamellar that he currently wore, as easily as the skin and muscle behind it. The scalded men below had just begun to scream it Ivan him with enough force to send his entire body back a step. The kettle slipped from his hands to crash down onto the already burned soldiers, loosening what hold they had left on the ladder and sending others still falling from the great heights. Ivan grit his teeth as not to cry out, his left arm immobilized for a moment. As he stepped back another took his place. The last thing that he wanted to do was stop and take a breath, but stubborn or not he would need this arrow out of his shoulder to continue.

The wounded filled the hospital, spilling over into a few unoccupied homes. Ivan made his way to one of them, finding an empty bedroom and tearing the sheet from the bed. Taking a seat on the edge of that bed, he found he didn't have the strength to rip it as he had intended. Every move of his left arm sent an excruciating pain throughout his body, and sweat already dampened his skin and clothes. Standing, he dropped half of the sheet to the floor, stepping on it with his left foot. Grasping one corner in his right hand, he pulled with all his might. The sound of tearing cloth was satisfying, but it was interrupted by an irritated voice.

"Ivan!" Violet eyes turned to meet Toris' own with an equally irritated expression. "Why didn't you find help?" The Lithuanian demanded, heading towards the Russian. Ivan set one half of the sheet aside, taking up the remaining half in his hand and stepping on it again.

"I can handle this." Ivan protested, his voice stubborn but obviously pained. "Why are you not on the walls?" He yanked the sheet again, tearing it into another thick strip. Toris caught his hand as he tried to drop it aside like the other. One hand pressed to Ivan's good shoulder, pushing him to sit on the side of the bed again.

"Your children are bad at triage; I came to see what I could do for the wounded. Besides, I thought you had the walls covered." Toris stated with a hint of a tease to his voice. Ivan had to smile a little, letting Toris take the ruined sheet from him.

"I do. I did." He corrected himself as he watched Toris tear the sheet into thinner strips. They were uneven, but they were each several inches across, and long. It was done in moments by the Lithuanian with use of both his hands, and he was setting them beside the wounded Russian next. Gently guiding Ivan to lean forward, Toris gave a small hiss of empathy.

"You're lucky. The tip is already out. I'll need to break it and pull it trough, but the hard part's already over." The Lithuanian lifted a strip of the sheet, folding it until it was thick enough to hold up to Ivan's lips. Ivan accepted the now thick bit of cloth between his teeth, biting down and breathing deeply through his nose. "Sorry for this." Toris murmured as he wrapped his fingers around the shaft of the arrow right where it vanished into Ivan's shoulder armor. His other hand grasped just a little further out, thumbs pressing in between the two. The arrow was sturdy, but it was no match for a nation's strength. It snapped in two, and a pained cry tore its self from Ivan's throat, muffled by the cloth in his mouth. His right hand came up to grasp at Toris' pant leg, knuckles white. "Almost." Toris encouraged as he dropped the broken end of the shaft aside.

Letting go of the arrow, he grabbed a strip of the sheet and folded it up. Gently he untangled Ivan's hand from his pants, pushing the cloth into it. "Press it over the wound when I pull it out." He directed as he took up another to wrap around the head of the arrow.

"Ahn oh." Ivan muttered around the cloth. He meant 'I know' of course. You didn't fight the Mongols without learning very quickly how to handle wounds from arrows. Ivan pressed the cloth to the broken end of the arrow. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to Toris. It was a slow and steady pull, and Ivan felt sick to his stomach from the pain of the wooden shaft slipping out from his shoulder. He could feel it all the way through, and though he was trembling slightly, his eyes were dry. The cloth he held came to press over the open wound once it was nearly out, and he felt it come free from the other side as well. Toris quickly dropped the bloodied weapon, pressing his cloth against the back.

"Can you move it? Was anything broken?" He asked with a touch of concern. Ivan let his breath out at last, ragged and heavy. Clenching the fist of his left hand a few times, he ventured to move the arm. Though he gave a whine of pain, he shook his head no. Now that the hard part was over, Toris frowned a little. "Why aren't you wearing proper armor?" Ivan spit the wet cloth out of his mouth, smiling up to Toris.

"Because I can't die." He said as if it was the most obvious and natural answer. "And because my children need it more than I." Indeed almost every available scrap of armor had been handed to the men who had decided to fight. There was the armor of the dead and those too wounded to fight, but Ivan hadn't gotten that far yet. He'd given up his own after seeing a few men not properly prepared fall to arrows. "Not like silk would have helped this anyway." He spoke of the arrow, as it had already gone all the way through. "Mail, but…"

"This is exactly why you need someone to look after you." Toris said with a frown. "Move it away, can you lift your arm?" Both cloths came away, and Ivan shook his head. Toris worked quickly to undo the straps of the leather lamellar armor, getting it off so they could work on the shirt under it. It was stained with blood to Ivan's waist now, and there was no choice but to tear it to get it off. Both nations were silent as Toris' skilled and now blood-covered hands tended to the wound. Soon it was wrapped and secured, and Ivan moved his arm again to test it.

"Better already." He stated with relief. Toris was wiping his hands on the bed's other sheet, silently concerned over who's house this might be and what they would think of the mess they left.

"Get yourself a proper suit, Ivan. This isn't like your sieges with me; the men out there fighting for you are not all soldiers. They need you strong Ivan, they need you protected. If they see you like this they'll lose heart. All we have to do is hold out. This is a winter campaign, they can't wait forever. They'll run out of food, they and their horses will start to starve."

"So will we." Ivan reminded bluntly. Toris stood straight again, having nothing left to do. It was true. The water they had was being used on the invaders, and even with those who had fled, the vast majority of the city had stayed. And then there were the refuges who had come looking for protection. At this rate it was a waiting game. Tokhtamysh's grudge against the Muscovites' will. Ivan didn't see a way out of this that wouldn't cost them both many lives.

"See you back on the wall." Toris stated, as neither of them wanted to think too far into the future just yet.

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August 26, 1382.

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By the sunrise of the 26th, only three days after the siege had begun, things fell eerily quiet. Everyone in Moscow had mixed feelings towards this surprising development. Some of them were relieved, suspecting that perhaps they had given up. Others feared that the Horde was planning something dire, some new trick or brutal assault. The one feeling that everyone shared was trepidation, every breath baited with a cold anticipation. It wasn't until late morning that there was movement on the Horde's front. A lone rider advanced towards the front gates of Moscow, drawing Ostei, Ivan, and Toris to the wall above it.

Ivan felt a familiar shudder run down his spine by the time that he recognized the horse and rider. A black mare, a little larger than the usual Mongol horses which were smaller than their more Western European breeds. No matter the color the Horde organized its ranks by; this man never changed his preference. A long black braid from under a furred hat bounced lightly on the rider's back, the fur from his coat enough to reach his chin and the sides of his face. Thick leather boots stuck into the stirrups of his saddle, solid enough to give him the balance he would need to ride and shoot a bow at the same time. Only the rider's longbow and quiver were missing, and there was no saber at his hip. He came to a stop below the gates, his horse giving a toss of its head. It had probably seen less action than expected, and getting quite anxious.

"Naranbaatar." It was Toris who spoke quietly to his prince, glancing to Ostei. "He likely speaks for his master directly." Ostei nodded, calling down to the nation to ask what it was that he wanted. Naranbaatar looked up to the top of the gates, giving the Lithuanian prince a smile. He didn't acknowledge either nation at the Ostei's sides. The Mongolian nation's face was clean-shaven this day, something Ivan hadn't seen in a while. Naranbaatar usually chose to do this when he was taking a more active part in his conquests, rather than travel as he did constantly between the Mongolian empire's fractured regions.

"To propose a truce!" He called up in a voice loud enough to be heard perfectly. Surprise alone was enough to shock the three into silence, though others behind them were whispering at once. Ostei turned to the veche gathered, engaging them in conversation briefly. Toris glanced to Ivan curiously. The Russian's violet eyes never left the Mongol's form, narrowed as they were. He held his tongue however, waiting to see how this was going to play out. Finally Ostei turned to the gate again.

"Your conditions?" He called down.

"Oh, only a tribute! Just small gifts. Moscow seems to be long overdue! Tokhtamysh believes it to be a fair price compared to any more bloodshed." Naran lifted a hand, and a few more men on horses began to ride forward. "But don't just take my word for it! I give you two reliable vouchers as to our offer. A few princes of your own! Or at least, the Russians own." Naranbaatar gave a small wave of his hand, almost as if dismissing the Lithuanian prince.

"He can't be… All this way for that? He won't be satisfied." Ivan protested, though his voice was quiet. Ostei had turned to the Russian men again, their discussion quite animate. Ivan couldn't believe his ears, finally looking away from the Mongolian nation and back to them. Toris stepped over to him, though he didn't have the words to say at first. Tribute was something he too was used to collecting from others, and he knew the khanate loved it.

"Tokhtamysh is not Naranbaatar. Perhaps he really would be satisfied with wealth?" Toris offered quietly, seeming to echo the words of the veche and his prince Ostei. Ivan turned his frown on Toris, incredibly hesitant. A part of him wanted to believe that it would be this easy. He wanted to believe that he had held out and won. His shoulder ached with a warning however, and he couldn't ignore it. Ostei was turning around again, hands on the wall as he leaned over.

"We will discuss the matters in front of the Khan personally."

Ivan looked back to Naranbaatar quickly, searching for any sign of malice in that well-guarded face. But the Mongol only bowed his head and waved his hand outwards. "We will gather to meet at noon then. The Khan will appreciate your swift decision." Naran turned his horse around swiftly, riding back towards his gathered army. Ivan glanced to Toris, worry on his expression.

"I hope we've come to the right choice."

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It was a show of respect that the commanders of the two opposing forces should meet without armor. Against Ivan's wishes, Toris insisted on going out of the gates with his prince. He wanted to protect his child if things went wrong, the Russian could understand. But Toris was putting himself directly in the crossfire of this, when the truth of it was that he shouldn't be here at all. Any lingering suspicions that Toris had come only to win Ivan's favor were gone now, leaving only slight confusion along with his concern for the Lithuanian.

As was worried he was for Toris, Ivan's bigger concern nearly blocked that out completely. Naturally, that was overwhelming concern for his children. There were so very many lives gathered in Moscow right now, from the old to the young. Those with no place else to go, who had come to his heart for protection. They were opening the gates on those impenetrable walls now. As much as he would have liked to blame Ostei for his call to do such a thing, his own children had all agreed. They were filled with relief, some of them already celebrating slightly. They didn't know. They hadn't been there, seen the hatred in the Mongol's eyes as he had retreated from battle, defeated and humiliated.

Ivan stood atop the wall above the gates, still fully dressed in armor, and waiting. Toris' little parting kiss to his cheek still burned there amidst the cold of the winter day. Ivan was starting to wonder what should happen, should everything go as according to plan. If Tokhtamysh kept his promise and left with a tribute of money. Did they have enough food and vodka left to celebrate? Would Toris leave as quickly as he had come, on a whim?

Ivan watched with trepidation as Ostei and his small entourage neared the Khan and Naranbaatar. Guards for Tokhtamysh sat high on their white steeds, lances in hand. Ivan only wished he could hear them when they began to speak, watching expressions and gestures avidly for some sign of the conversation's mood.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ostei and Tokhtamysh spoke through the interpretation of one of the Russians who had come out with them, and as such Toris could keep up with it. Things were going well, it seemed. It was all the way until the amount of money was being discussed that things began to grow tense. Toris' stomach began to feel hollow, that growing unease twisting. Green eyes moved to Naranbaatar as if searching for something which would give them away. To his alarm, the Mongol was staring right back. On those tanned lips was a small smile, and it was much too amused to be gloating over a victory ending with money. That was when he noticed the air around him seem a little thinner, and he glanced behind him to see that the enemy soldiers seemed to have shifted.

Turning around, Toris' hand went to the sword at his hip casually. "Ostei," He whispered, drawing a sideways glance from his prince.

"You know," It was Tokhtamysh who spoke up, drawing the now alarmed attention of Toris, his prince, and the few Russians who had accompanied them. "I hate that you got caught up in affairs not your own, Lithuanian," He spoke to Ostei, "But I do not regret ridding myself of a competent enemy either way." Ostei and the Russians all shouted their protest at once, but the soldiers were quicker. Toris' sword was halfway out of its scabbard by the time that he was grabbed. Naranbaatar shouted something to the men, and Toris was drug away from the rest who had also been immobilized in mere moments.

Enemy swords were drawn even as the sudden thunder of the armies advance began. The gates! Toris glanced towards the city's still-open gates, giving a cry of dismay as he realized they would never close in time. His attention was drawn back by the agonized cries of his prince and the Russian's, eyes widening as the multiple swords sliced into their flesh. Blood stained clothing and the metal of the sabers, but most troubling was that they were not fatal stabs. Indeed those swords plunged in again, cut, and sliced. Toris was furious, terrified, struggling fiercely against those holding him. With a man on each arm and even one for each leg, he wasn't going anywhere no matter how he tried. Naranbaatar appeared from the side to block out the horrendous sight. Before he could open his mouth to shout—curse at or plead with the Mongol to end their suffering, a pain pierced through his chest. Drawing the breath to gasp, he felt blood in his throat.

Naranbaatar drew in close, lips brushing Toris' ear as the Lithuanian struggled to breathe. "You were a fool to come here, Grand Duchy. Do you think it matters if you win little Ivan's real heart?" Naran pressed the dagger between the Lithuanian's ribs, and Toris coughed, blood slipping from his lips as he struggled to breathe with that punctured lung. "I hope you've learned your lesson, my naïve little Duchy. The only way to get what you want is by force, by whatever means necessary. Even if you have to break his heart to obtain it…" Naran pulled the dagger out with another jerk, and Toris coughed harder. Released by the soldiers, he fell to his knees, hands pressed to his chest as if to staunch the blood flow. It didn't matter, as his vision was already blurring. He was going to black out, the trauma too much for his body to take.

He didn't want to sleep! Not now! The cries of his prince and the others had finally stopped, and it was the last thing that he would be grateful for before he fell heavily to the ground. Naranbaatar waved his hand. "Keep him back here; if he gets up make sure he stays." He said to his soldiers, who gave their nation quite the confused look. How could a man live after that? The Mongol ignored them, turning to the city again. Ivan was missing from the top of the gates, and he smiled.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Ivan had watched with muted horror the betrayal of his city. The moment he had seen the soldiers creeping into position he had wanted to shout his warning. But they were too far to hear him, and he could only give a small and private cry of dismay when they were seized. He hadn't stayed to see anymore, his feet taking him swiftly down the stairs. There was no time to close the gates. The only thing that they could do now was fight, and Ivan knew just where he should go. He would defend his children until he could no longer stand, until his hands could no longer hold the sword or gun.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

It only took a matter of hours.

Bodies littered the streets, blood staining the stone at every step. The elderly and the young were the first ones to fall, and any man who tried to defend them. The women were saved for last of course, no pillage would be complete without the rape. Their cries were the most painful at all, such violation worse than a quick death by the saber. The treasury was raided quickly, all of the collected wealth of the boyars and wealthy merchants. Golden crosses were ripped from alters, the church burned along with the rest of the buildings.

Smoke filled the streets so thick that breathing was painful, and eyes stung with soot. Countless and aged books set alight in those churches, a vast collection of knowledge. All the neighboring villages and cities had brought their books to Moscow for protection from the raiders, and all was for naught. The anguished cries of his children still called out into the air; even after most the city was aflame. Ivan searched for every one of them, pulling them from the collapsing buildings and out into the blood-drenched streets. Any straggling Tatar that he found he cut down with all the mercy that his city had been shown.

Thousands, his city had held many thousand lives. And with each voice that ceased to call out for help, Ivan's heart grew heavier with the loss.

As he made his way to the side of the city that had yet to catch fire, Ivan was stopped by the shouts of distress from inside a small house. The front door was open, and he nearly pulled it from the hinges as he opened it. There stood two invaders, who seemed to have cornered a terrified woman. A young man lay dead just feet away from them, and Ivan gripped the hilt of his sword as they turned on him. Bright light flashed across his vision as he was struck behind the head, but Ivan failed to lose consciousness all together.

Vision swimming, he stumbled away from the doorway, keeping his hold on his weapon. Naranbaatar stood in the doorway, crossing the threshold to follow the nearly exhausted Russian. Several soldiers followed in after him, and the small living area was crowded with them in no time. The Mongol held his saber in hand; the hilt of which must have been had hit Ivan. Ivan swung his sword in near panic, still feeling quite dizzy. Naranbaatar laughed as he stepped back out of range. "Careful boy, if you play with swords you're liable to be cut." He warned. To his men, he ordered in his native tongue. "Take the girl outside." Ivan watched in panic as the two men who had been near the woman seized her, dragging her kicking and screaming out past the other soldiers. "Now Ivan, be reasonable. Right now, you cannot even defend yourself." Naran soothed mockingly.

"I believe the scar on your shoulder says otherwise." Ivan spoke of the wound he had given the Mongol at Kulikovo. Naranbaatar reached up with his free hand, placing it over his shoulder with a smile on his face.

"Ah yes. But let me ask you one thing, my dear. Was it worth it?" Naranbaatar's voice lowered, and his tone almost affectionate as he spoke of this tragedy. Ivan was struck speechless, the hatred and defiance in his glare the only answer. "Your precious Moscow has opened its self to me. Why don't you be a good boy and show me the same respect? I might go easy on you if I do. You know I hold a certain fondness for you."

"If that is fondness then you can shove it right back up yourMongol infidel—"

"Careful, boy." Naranbaatar advanced again, and Ivan swung his sword with all his might. Naran's saber met it full force, and the reverberation stung Ivan's aching hands, the vibration of it excruciating on his wounded shoulder. His last defense flew from his hands, stabbing into the wooden floor of the small abode. Ivan's back literally to the wall, his breath was coming in ragged huffs. "Now then, since that's settled…" Naranbaatar sheathed his saber, approaching the Russian again. He didn't need a weapon to take the debilitated nation.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

The first thing that Toris came to feel was pain. An ache in his lungs, and it wasn't only from the dagger. Each breath burned, and he slowly came to recognize the scent as smoke. Not just wood—no, something much worse. Flesh. A little longer and he could move his fingers, opening his eyes. He could see the embers of fire, and orange flames still licking at some of the remains. The remains. Coughing, he felt more wetness on his lips. Bringing his hands up under him, the Lithuanian pushed himself up from the earth under him. It looks like he'd been left just outside the gates of the city. Taking deep breaths made him cough, and so he struggled to keep them shallow as he stood. Nearly falling over, he leaned against the side of the wall. He had to find Ivan.

By this day and age, no living nation had the blessing to be unused to the sight of war and pillaging. But this… Toris looked only straight ahead as he walked the blood-drenched streets of the once grand and beautiful city. The sounds of the dying and the mourning were all around him amidst the cracking of the dying fires, and he fell once or twice, tripping up over something or just his own two feet. He knew where he would find the Russian…

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

There was nothing left of the church but crumbling walls and scorched earth. It looked as if it might come down at any moment. Ivan wasn't the only one in there however. The remains of the holy dwelling were filled with survivors, sobbing and praying to God. They prayed for answers, for salvation, and for the souls of their fallen loved ones. There was nothing left.

Violet eyes were red and irritated from all of the smoke, but they caught sight of the Lithuanian who appeared at the slanted doorway. Ivan frowned, looking away quickly. Around his shoulders was a filthy blanket, and he hugged it tighter about him. He didn't want to see Toris now. Ivan had lost this day, not Toris. The Lithuanian came in close, hand up to cover his mouth. Ivan had seen the blood already though; he'd seen the other nation stabbed in the first place. It shouldn't have happened.

"Ivan…"

"Go home, Toris." Ivan stated tiredly. "I lost. This was never your battle to begin with, and now you're injured for it. You were so arrogant that you thought I couldn't lose with you here?"

"That's not—" Toris paused to turn his head, coughing wetly into his hand. Swallowing a few times, he looked back. His voice was hoarse as he spoke. "It was nothing like that."

"…I know." Ivan admitted quietly, pulling his knees up and leaning against the wall as he hugged them. There was a cut on his left cheekbone, and a bruise around it. His lip was split as well, his wounded shoulder noticeably favored, the blood having seeped onto the blanket about his shoulders. "He'll come back. He said he would. Unless your boss wants to come and finish the job first, I'll go with him again. I don't have a choice…" Ivan smiled a bit, helplessly. He still refused to look at the Lithuanian. Toris frowned a little, looking to the floor. His boss Jogaila was going to scold him already for coming here and getting injured. Toris swallowed,

"I'm… I won't give up, Ivan. I won't rest until I reunite you with your sisters in my house." He stated. Ivan only closed his eyes in irritation, breathing in slowly and deeply. The Grand Duchy didn't have endless money. There was no wealth left in Moscow right now, so there would likely be a break for a while as far as war came. He doubted that Lithuania's children would advance just now, when it would mean a sure clash with what the Horde had just claimed. "I don't have a lot of freedom, Ivan, but I'll come and visit you when I can."

"Do what you like." Ivan tried to sound as if he didn't care. But as pushy as Toris was, the Russian couldn't help but hope he would. When they weren't at war, Toris was at least kind to him. It was more than anyone else gave him. He winced a little when Toris came close, not knowing what to expect. But those long fingers only slid into his hair gently, brushing over his scalp. Ivan closed his eyes again and leaned into it. Comfort, it wasn't something he ever got much of.

"Until I see you again." Toris reached into his pocket, pulling something out. He dangled it in front of Ivan's face, and the Russian finally turned his head to look. His eyes focused on the hard-carved wooden Orthodox cross, hanging from a worn strip of leather. "An old woman gave me this. I didn't have the heart to let go of it." Toris admitted. He wasn't a Christian after all, but how could he have turned down the woman's intentions? Ivan reached up with his right hand, taking it slowly without letting his blanket fall. He held it in his hand, taking a deep and shaking breath. "Please take care Ivan." Toris said more quietly, turning on his heel to walk away.

All of this was over, and it was only now that Ivan felt his burning eyes stinging with tears. Though it wasn't as taboo to cry in Russia as it was in other countries, Ivan had gotten very good at not doing so.

Before Toris set foot out of the ruins of the church, he heard those sobs join the ones of Ivan's many children.

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Afterword

I want to thank my friend Lilia who is a major in Mongol-Muscovite relations for most of the help. ;A; Without you I wouldn't have done this for fear of such inaccuracy! Seriously, it means so much to me. All the information you gave me was too much to fit into just one fanfic, so expect more! Including your dear buterbrod, haha. xD

*Most sources said the veche and Ostei accepted the offer to pay, while one said they resisted it. Either way they opened the gates. x.x
*Death of Ostei: I actually didn't make this brutal for show. This is exactly what they said happened to Ostei and the ones with him, they were literally cut to pieces.
*Great/Golden Horde: It was Lilia who told me that at that era they actually said Great Horde instead of Golden. She said they didn't really use the term 'Golden' Horde until later in history looking back. So I used Great to be more accurate for the time, but it is the Golden Horde.