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Chapter 1: Pretty, Pretty

Late 1600's

Ivan was nervous.

The feeling was foreign to him; he was used to making others uncomfortable, not the other way around. And yet…

Pursing his lips, he fixed violet eyes on the fine wood of the door in front of him, his hand raised to knock but not quite ready to take that step. A breeze weaved its way through pale locks of hair, soothing the almost overwhelming heat that beat down from the sun overhead.

Adjusting his scarf, Russia sighed. He couldn't stand on the porch forever.

He moved to knock, when a sudden movement caught his eye. Turning, he locked eyes with a round, cherub face peeking out from the window to his right. They stared at each other for a moment. Russia blinked.

A child…?

The face vanished as quickly as it had appeared, only the faint rustling of the window curtain any sign it had been there at all. Intrigued, Russia moved to inspect the window when the soft 'click' of a door being opened reached his ears.

"You."

Ivan smoothed his face into a smile, turning from the window and nodding his head in greetings to the shorter man before him.

Arthur Kirkland (or England, if you're one for specifics) scowled at the sight of his guest. His blonde hair was immaculately combed onto his skull, and his garments were of a fine quality that spoke of his wealth. His chin was tilted ever so slightly upwards, as though he were attempting to look down his nose at the much taller nation.

"Me." Ivan said in response, the smile never leaving his face. He kept his eyes firmly locked on England's own in an attempt to ignore his over-sized eyebrows. He'd been told it was wise to avoid even glancing at them – the island nation tended to get irritated as a result. There was a long moment of silence between the two, England steadily growing uncomfortable and Russia waiting for permission to enter.

Finally, England sighed.

"Yes, well, I suppose you had better come in. We haven't got all day."

Quite the contrary, Russia thought to himself as he stepped into the blessedly cool air of the mansion. He'd been given strict orders not to leave until he and the other man settled things. Holding back another sigh he looked around, unsurprised at the cleanliness of the place. Not a book, parchment, or otherwise out of place.

"What a charming little place you have in your possession, England." Russia commented politely, his eyes roaming in search of the mysterious child.

"Yes, it is pleasing to the eye, isn't it? Then again, so is the rest of America. Temperature takes some time getting used to, though…Follow me."

England shut the door and moved past him, his strides brisk and hurried. Russia followed, his eyes discreetly searching the rooms for the child he'd seen earlier. He wondered who it was. Glancing at the rigid back of the British Empire, Russia found it hard to picture England in the company of any sort of child, at least willingly. Perhaps it belonged to one of the servants?

No, no. The shorter man didn't strike him as one to tolerate such things. It was likely he would have made the woman leave it at home, regardless of excuses. Russia frowned. Who, then?

"Here we are."

Russia was pulled from his thoughts when England opened a door that appeared to be a small study, with little more than shelves of dusty books and a large oak desk. A tray of tea lay on its surface.

The island nation walked and sat primly in the large plush chair behind the desk, crossing his legs in a decidedly feminine manner while gesturing for Ivan to do the same.

"Tea?" England asked.

"Yes, thank you."

The liquid was cool when it slid down his throat. Russia sighed contentedly. It really was hot, and the tea was a welcome remedy for the near suffocating heat. He was entertaining the thought of asking the other man about the mysterious child when the empire spoke again. "I'm pleased to see you like it," England said, his expression almost wistful, "Sometimes I think it's the only thing I ever make right."

Russia wisely chose not to respond. England's cooking was infamous throughout all of Europe. Even he -who rarely bothered interacting with the other nations – had heard of its unfailing ability to cause sickness in the people unfortunate enough to eat it. He had never had it himself, and he wanted to keep it that way.

Russia glanced around the room in an attempt to ward off the rising awkwardness between them. His eye caught a nicely done painting right above England's head; he studied the smooth, soft colors without really seeing them.

"Ivan, listen to me. It is imperative you help mend relations with the British Empire. More importantly, their representative. If we are to win this war with the Turks, we'll need…assistance. Am I clear? Do notreturn until you've a promise of alliance in your hand…"

Russia had had many leaders over the years, some bad, some good, and some downright insane, but he was still not quite sure what to make of the man who had most recently called himself his king. One thing he'd noticed upon first being introduced to him was that he was tall. Really, really tall. Tall enough that Russia, for the first time in his life, had to tilt his head ever so slightly upwards just to meet his eyes.

Though he said little and smiled less, in the past few decades under his reign, Ivan had gone through some major changes. The countries, though still somewhat unnerved by his size and demeanor, were starting to see him as something other than a backwater nation. His eyes found England's. He was rising, slowly but surely; perhaps one day he'd be even greater than the empire in front of him.

The thought made him smile.

But now was not the time for fantasies. He had come to this strange land for an important purpose – England's help. And Peter the Great was not one to be disobeyed.

Shifting in his seat, Russia ignored England's uneasy expression and began to speak.

"England. I have come here today so that we might work out an agreement best suited to both our interests."

He picked up the leather suitcase he'd brought with him and laid it gently on the table, taking special care as he pulled numerous rolls of bound parchment from within. The island nation took them from him warily, as if he expected to be bitten. There was a long moment of silence as England unrolled the parchments and studied the contents, his eyes growing darker when he reached the last of them. Finally, he let loose a weary breath.

Leaning back in his chair, he gazed at Russia. "So," he said slowly, "You want my…assistance in your war with the Ottomans, yes?"

Russia nodded. "Da. It would be most appreciated. They are very…formidable."

England muttered something under his breath. Straightening, he fixed the other nation with a steady stare, one clearly meant to intimidate. Russia just smiled wider.

"An interesting proposition, Russia," the island nation said, sipping his tea, "But there is something important your document fails to mention. You see, we European countries are rather…occupied, at the moment. King Charles of Spain has died, unfortunately, and it seems he lacks a proper heir. The result? Competition. An ungodly amount."

Green eyes gleamed as they looked on his face. "Why, pray tell, should I divert my attention from such an important matter for you? Why should I fight a war I have nothing to do with?" Ivan's smile was strained now. Only the king's words kept him from glaring at the little man.

England ignored his guest's rising irritation and leaned forward. "What I'm trying to say, Russia, is what's in it for me?"

Pirate, Ivan thought to himself, watching the slow smirk that twisted the corners of the other man's lips. He is as they say he is.

Smiling with fake patience, Russia replied in the high, childish voice that would later strike fear in many hearts, "Ah, but England. I am but a messenger. If it is payment you wish to discuss, my king is the one to talk to, not me. I merely offered the proposal."

His smile grew a little less false when England's eye twitched at his words. The two stared at each other. After a moment, Russia chirped, "Oh, did you read the other parchment? The one where I'm to stay with you –"

"Yes," England said irritably, his face darkening with dismay. "I admit, that was an unexpected tidbit of information. I was not told you would be staying the week –" the island nation's voice broke a little, "-here."

At that moment, it was hard not to grin. "Your leader didn't tell you?" Russia asked innocently. "How odd. King Peter tells me everything." England scowled. "Does he?"

"Da! You see, during my time here, you and I are supposed to become best friends!" The smaller nation looked ready to gag. His voice was unconvincingly sweet when he replied, "Ah, well, I'm sure there's nothing to worry about in that regard. But, all that aside –"

Creeeaaak.

England froze, his eyes widening in surprise and dismay as they fixed on a point somewhere behind his guest. Ivan turned in time to see a yellow-brown blur disappear from behind the cracked door. The distinct sound of clumsy, hurried footsteps followed, and after that a loud smashing sound. Ivan watched interestedly as a middle-aged woman scurried into the room, struggling to catch her breath as she curtsied. "My-my lord," she wheezed, waving her plump arms frantically, "The boy-!" Britain held up a gloved hand for silence, kneading his temples with the other. "I don't even want to know," he muttered through his teeth, green eyes burning. The woman cowered under his gaze, and she looked ready to reply when she noticed Ivan, who stared curiously back. The woman looked back and forth between the two and paled.

"Oh," she said very quietly, "I…I didn't mean to interrupt, my lord..."

England's eyes narrowed. Russia was beginning to understand why so many of the other nations feared him. Where he had been a sour, somewhat arrogant little man minutes before, now he was the empire the bigger nation had heard so much about. Ivan watched, intrigued.

"Yes, I'm sure you didn't," he hissed, "Nonetheless, I expect your things to be cleared from my house by sunset."

The woman's eyes widened. "My lord –"

"If not, I'll be sure to have them thrown in the nearest body of water. Am I understood?"

The woman looked ready to protest, but nodded her compliance when an icy glare was thrown at her. "Yes, my lord." "Good, now get out. And clean up whatever it is the boy broke."

The door creaked shut as the plump woman left. England's shoulders slumped. Sighing heavily, he stood. "That blasted boy…I told him…"

He looked up at Russia, as though he had forgotten he was there. There was an awkward silence, in which the island nation rubbed wearily at his eyes. "Oh, this is horribly rude. I ask your forgiveness, Russia, but I've an important matter to attend to. If you'd excuse me, I'll return shortly…"

Ivan nodded. "Yes, of course." England moved hurriedly around his desk, muttering irritably to himself –something about hard-headed children and useless nannies - as he went. His boots clicked softly against the floor, and in a matter of moments he was gone.

Russia stared at the place he'd disappeared, still surprised from the ruthless display he'd just seen. If that is what Britain is truly like, perhaps it would be good to have him on our side.

After a few minutes, when England had still not returned, Russia began to grow bored. He played with the ends of his scarf for a while, glancing disinterestedly at the rows of books on the mahogany shelves. Then that got boring, so he turned his attention to the many paintings in the room. They were all very nicely done, but equally boring, and after checking to see that England had still not returned, Russia stood. His mind wandered as he opened the heavy door and stepped from the study. The child mainly took hold of his thoughts. He was sure now that the blur he'd seen earlier was the child. And apparently he (Russia was sure it was a 'he' now) had escaped his nanny, who was supposed to have been watching him if England's reaction was any indication.

Whistling to himself, Ivan roamed the halls, absently noting the absence of the expensive-looking vase he'd passed earlier. Perhaps that was what had been broken. It crossed his mind once or twice that England would probably consider it rude he was wandering his house without permission, but Russia found he didn't really care. The man made him wary, yes, but his interest in seeing the child up close was far greater.

Such lovely eyes…

Ivan had just passed the entrance to what looked like a garden when he heard a soft step behind him. Turning slightly, he felt his breath catch in his throat. Standing behind him, a little ways away, was a child. The child. Russia eyed the soft gold of his hair, the tanned skin, the bright, sky blue eyes – and thought he was perhaps the most beautiful child he had ever seen. Those eyes (even prettier up close!) blinked slowly up at him, just as awed as he was, but for a different reason. There was silence, in which Russia could do nothing but stare. The boy's lips stretched in a small, angelic smile. "Wow!" he chirped, skipping up to the other's side, blue eyes round with wonder. "You're really, really, big! Like, bigger than England!"

Strands of blonde hair fell away from his eyes and framed his face as he craned his neck, sticking one small hand out for him to shake. "I'm America, but you can call me Alfred! Arthur calls me Alfred."

America?

He bounced excitedly on his heels as Russia slowly, hesitantly took hold of the little hand, marveling at how big his own hand was compared to the little angel's. "Alfred," he said softly, watching the boy beam in response. "Yup! You say it kinda funny, though." He paused. "What's your name?"

Ivan was silent, too mesmerized to really hear the question. It was only when the boy –Alfred-repeated himself that he thought to answer. "My name?" Alfred nodded. "I…I am Russia," at the angel's curious look he added, "but you may call me Ivan."

"Ivan?" he laughed, "That's a silly name!"

A part of Russia thought he should perhaps have been offended at the reaction to his name, but Alfred's laugh had wormed an unfamiliar warmth into his heart. "Hey, Mr. Ivan," the boy said, his voice lowering as he looked over his shoulder. Leaning on his tippy-toes, he said, "You're a country, like Arth-England, right?" At Ivan's nod, a grin stretched across his face. "Really? I knew it!" He stopped abruptly, glancing around again. "Arth…England's looking for me. I…kinda did something bad." His eyes locked with Russia's. "You won't make me go to him, will you?"

At that moment, Alfred could've asked him to murder someone and he'd have seriously considered doing it. Russia nodded once. The little angel beamed. "Great! C'mon, let's go outside!"

The pale-haired nation followed dumbly as the little boy tugged at his arm. He opened the glass door Ivan had passed earlier and stepped into the sun, hair shining in the light. Russia stepped after him, wincing as a wave of heat assaulted him. He'd forgotten how hot it was in this strange, strange land. The garden was wide and circular, with a plethora of flowers, from tulips to daisies to red, red roses scattered everywhere. Trees swayed lazily with the occasional breeze, and provided a welcome shield while Alfred tugged him towards a wooden bench at the far corner of the gardens.

"Whew!" he said, plopping next to a fiercely sweating Ivan. "It's pretty hot today!" He frowned. "How come you're wearing all that stuff? Aren't you hot?" Alfred fanned at his face, not waiting for a reply. "I'm hot."

Russia was silent. He had never been one for words, and was content to simply stare at the little one next to him. Besides, he thought amusedly, he does enough talking for both of us.

After a brief silence, they both cooled off somewhat in the shade of the trees. "So!" Alfred said suddenly, twisting his little body around, "What's it like?"

Ivan blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Alfred moved his hands impatiently. "You know, being a real nation!"

Ivan blinked again, surprised and a little confused at the question. He thought for a moment. "I…well. It is…" He trailed off as Alfred leaned closer, eyes wide. Tilting his head, Russia tried to think of the best answer. "It's…different, I suppose."

"How?

"Well…" He thought back to days long past. "It is scary, at first. To know you are on your own for the first time ever. People fight over you a lot - some of them tell you to do or say things you don't want to do…It's hard at first, and very confusing…"

Russia doesn't notice Alfred's face fall at his words.

"There are bad times, lots of them, but there are good things, too." He smiled. "My people, for instance. I love them very much, even if they don't love me. It is…indescribable, the feeling I get when I see my brethren happy…But then, I suppose that's what every country wants most in the end. Their people's happiness…"

Russia turned to see America staring thoughtfully at his knees, blue eyes soft. The sun made his hair shine like gold, and Ivan wished he were an artist, that he might capture the moment. When Alfred spoke, his voice was quiet. Tentative. Fiddling with his fingers he said, almost to himself, "But…what if you're not a country?" Ivan's brows furrowed, confused.

"What do you mean?"

Alfred looked up and said, louder this time, "What if you're not a country? What if you're a colony, like me? "He looked down at his hands. "I love my people, too. But…I'm not like you, or England. I'm not a country. Maybe if I was, my love would mean more…"

Ivan laughed lightly. "What a silly idea. " He looked at Alfred. "It does not matter what you are – colony, country, or territory. Being either does not make what you feel any better or worse than the other. To think such is, as I said, silly." Smiling truly for the first time in a long time, he touched Alfred's head, enjoying the feathery softness of his hair. "You should not trouble yourself with such things, Alfred. "

America relaxed against the bench, swinging his legs lazily. The troubled expression was replaced with a smile. "Yeah, you're right! Sorry I got all mopey on ya there, a second ago…It's just, I've never really met any other country besides England. Well, there was France, but…" Shaking his head, he turned a bright expression on Ivan. "Anyways, thank you, for making me feel better."

Ah, but to see that smile…

"You are welcome, friend."

~#~#~#~#~#~#

They talked until the sun went down, about all sorts of things; Ivan's home, Ivan himself, America, the sky, various pranks Alfred had pulled, how many nannies those same pranks had gotten fired, and his numerous misadventures, many of which involved making Arthur furious. Ivan found himself laughing along with Alfred as he recounted some of them, particularly one in which the colony had let a stray dog into the large house while Arthur was sleeping. Apparently Alfred fed it some bad food while it was there – Arthur had woken up, and, too tired to notice, stepped in a pile of one of the dog's various 'gifts' it had left around the house.

"I swear," Alfred laughed, "he screamed so loud people three towns away could hear him!" Ivan allowed himself a quiet chuckle. "It sounds like you were quite the little troublemaker…"

Alfred beamed. "Sure was! That whole poop thing was an accident, though. Really! I mean, England was still pretty mad. He grounded me for a whole week!"

"Did he?"

"Yup! It was torture…" He groaned at the memory. "The only thing I was allowed to do was read. Who reads?"

Russia hummed softly. "Many great people remembered throughout history have been avid readers. You don't read, Alfred?"

The boy frowned. "Sometimes. But only when Arthur reads with me. It's a lot harder otherwise…"

It was Russia's turn to frown. "That will not do, Alfred. Reading is the key to knowledge. And knowledge," Ivan leaned close to the blonde little boy, as though he were about to share a secret, "is the key to power."

Alfred thought about that. After a moment, he nodded slowly. "Yeah, I guess you're right. But, but it's not the only key!"

"Oh really?"

America adopted a fierce expression, lifting his arm and grabbing the bicep. "Power's also the key to power, and one day I'm gonna be the most powerfulest nation in the entire world!""

Ivan laughed.

Alfred pouted as the noise rang across the gardens, his little arms crossing as a gloved hand patted his head. "Don't laugh at me! It's true!"

Russia kneeled until he was at eye-level with the angry blonde, his laughter fading to a wide smile. "I was not laughing at you, Alfred," he said, violet eyes shining, "Your determination is very inspiring. I believe one day your wish might come true-"

"Ahem."

Both Ivan and Alfred started at the sound of the polite cough.

England was watching them from a few feet away, his posture very stiff. His eyes were locked on America's face, and Russia had a feeling that the anger in his eyes was not caused by the boy having eluded him all day. Those eyes slowly slid from a silent Alfred to Russia himself. A chill went down his spine. Britain the Empire was standing before him, trying and failing to suppress an icy glare as he looked at the bigger man.

If looks could kill…

Ivan stood and stepped, very slowly, away from America, his gaze never leaving England's. Those green eyes were burning, trying to tell him something, something he knew he wouldn't like, and he remained silent as America spoke. Kicking at the dirt he said quietly, "Sorry, Arthur…for…you know. Breaking that vase you liked so much. And the teapot. And that sculpture-thing…" He bit his lip. "And…you know, hiding from you. But don't get mad at Ivan! I totally talked him into it, honest! I-"

"America." England's voice held a forced calm."Come here."

Staring at his feet, Alfred muttered, "Yes, sir." Glancing back one last time at Ivan, he trudged towards the island nation, who had turned his gaze back to Russia.

"You are grounded," he said lowly, without looking at him, "for the rest of the week. " Alfred tensed, as though he were about to protest, but seemed to think better of it and instead said again, "Yes, sir."

"Good lad," England murmured, one hand reaching down to touch the other's cheek. "Now come, supper's waiting in your room, and I'll have to find a new nanny for you…" England straightened.

Smoothing down the front of his jacket, the island nation turned back to Ivan, who stiffened at the look in the other man's eyes. Again, they were trying to tell him something…

"Mr. Braginski, I thank you for keeping my Alfred company today, but you'll have to excuse us. A servant will arrive shortly to show you to your rooms. You may join me for dinner afterwards, if you'd like. Until then, goodbye."

They turned and walked away, England's steps brisk, Alfred's shoulders slumped. Russia felt his fists clench. He was angry, but he wasn't sure why.

And then he saw it.

Arthur's hand reached down to rest on Alfred's shoulder, and there was something about the way he did it Russia found he didn't like. As if sensing his thoughts, England looked back over his shoulder, those eyes flashing again with a message. A smirk curled his lips.

Ivan's eyes widened, then narrowed. He grit his teeth. The pair disappeared inside the house, but Ivan stood there, his thoughts filled with burning green that screamed a word that made his blood boil.

Mine.

Message received.