Embrace [APH Fanfic. Russia and China-centric]
Title: Embrace
Author: Lomelindi
Summary: A very young Ivan wanders into ancient China. (Japan, Korea, Hong Kong and Taiwan make cameos.)
Note: I refer to "Ivan" instead of "Russia" just because he's so young in this story that he's not even the Soviet Union yet or anything similar.
Warning: Not historically accurate in any way, shape or form. Technically speaking, I don’t think Hong Kong or Taiwan existed at this time. ^^;
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The laughter of a young girl was the only warning Ivan had before he saw them.
A group of dark-haired children, followed by a taller, lean figure with long hair, emerged from a cluster of willows like wraiths melting out of a forest. The children, three boys and a girl, wore unfamiliar tunics that flowed around their limbs like water and seemed to ripple with every movement. Their faces were pale and rosy-cheeked, and each sported straight, sleek hair as dark as night.
Ivan frowned. Different... from me.
The figure that followed closely behind the other four was taller, but not as tall as the adults Ivan was used to. Instantly, Ivan thought it was a woman. Her jet black hair cascaded down the sides of her face and was tied at the base of the neck so that it fell down her back in a thin, glossy ponytail. Her face was youthful and strikingly pretty, with large eyes, a small, rosy mouth and a short, button-like nose. Like the children, she wore a long, ground-length robe of red and gold that hung from her slim shoulders and billowed out past her hands in lengthy, extravagant sleeves.
Beautiful, Ivan thought instantly, without really knowing why he found the other so attractive. As a child, he cared very little for the looks of others, but then again, most of his people were bundled up in thick fur and were much too focused on survival than about looking pretty.
One of the boys --the one with oversized white sleeves-- suddenly ran ahead of the group with his arms outstretched, making squawking sounds as he went.
Ivan watched with amazement. Bird, he realized suddenly.
A boy in red and black followed the first child, crawling smoothly on all fours.
Cat.
The girl, dressed in pink and white, followed the other two with a puffy face and hands flapping against her cheeks like gills. She wriggled her body in a smooth, S-shaped pattern and seemed incredibly pleased with herself when the display was finished.
Fish, Ivan thought with pride. I have a lot of those.
The last boy, dressed in dark blue, hung back with moody silence, his right hand curled carefully around a few of the woman’s fingers. The woman leaned down to say something to him and gestured to the other children, but the boy shook his head and clung to her robe instead. With what seemed to be a sigh, the taller figure leaned down and scooped the child up so that she carried him on her hip.
Mother, Ivan realized with a start. He didn’t know how he knew such a thing, seeing that he never had a mother himself, but such a tender display could point to no other relationship.
Eventually, the dark-haired family settled on a rock beside a small creek. The mother sat on the stone in an elegant pool of red and gold while her children clustered eagerly around her, the three playful ones around her legs, the quiet one still curled in her lap. She spoke too softly to be heard over the sound of running water, but her hand gestures and her bright smile made it evident that she was telling the story.
Ivan unconsciously leaned closer to hear. The first thing he noticed was the voice --it was tenor and clear, though still different from what he expected. Not a woman, he realized with faint surprise. The pretty one is a man. The language was foreign but easy on the ears, and he found himself swept away by the tonal rhythm of every syllable. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before, but it faintly reminded him of music --singing, perhaps.
Then, suddenly, everything fell silent.
The boy in dark blue, whom had stayed silent until now, was tugging on the eldest's robe and pointing urgently into the trees. One by one, five pairs of dark eyes lifted upward and focused on Ivan.
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China blinked in surprise. Is that a... boy? A foreign child with massive violet eyes and shaggy, limestone hair stared at back them from behind the trunk of a large oak. He wore a flat-topped fur hat that seemed far too big for his head and a thick scarf that nearly covered his face from view. The rest of his clothes were equally out of place --he wore thick snow boots and a pale, faded coat made out of thick cotton. The designs on it looked faintly Celtic, but it had been many years since China had seen such symbols around here.
Though obviously surprised that they had spotted him, the foreign boy showed remarkable spirit by staring right back instead of shrinking away. He did not seem afraid of them and was regarding them with equal amounts of curiosity.
“Ge ge*, who is he?” Taiwan whispered, her own eyes never leaving the strange child’s.
“I’m not sure, aru,” China answered hesitantly. Looking down at his charges, he smiled faintly. “Should we ask him to come play?”
The children shared a look amongst each other, then collectively nodded. Even Japan, whom usually followed whatever everyone else chose, nodded with great enthusiasm. China was inwardly pleased --Japan had always been an introverted child but seemed happiest when exploring or inventing something new.
Looking up, the ancient country made a beckoning gesture with his hands.
The foreign child stared back at him with the intensity of an eagle.
China beckoned again, this time adding an encouraging smile.
Hesitantly, the blond boy edged out of his hiding place and toward them, his steps slow and careful. He alternated his attention between the Asians --as if afraid they’d disappear if he looked away for long enough-- and the ground, where he carefully treaded around clusters of flowers and vegetation with his boots.
Odd, China thought, He treats grass as if it is precious. Making sure never to drop his smile, the old nation gently slid Japan to the ground beside his siblings and knelt, waiting patiently for the blond child to make his way toward them. Hong Kong and Korea pressed against his right side, while Japan and Taiwan pressed against the other. China could almost feel them vibrating with impatient curiosity.
When the foreigner finally stopped a few feet away, China carefully and slowly lifted a hand toward him in welcome. “Who are you, little one?”
A blank stare.
Of course, China realized, He does not understand. He placed a hand upon his chest. “Yao,” he said carefully, choosing to use his human name since that was shorter.
The child stared some more, then shifted his weight from one boot to the other, as if uncertain.
“Yao,” China repeated, even slower this time.
Japan was the first to help him, bowing respectfully like he always did to new playmates. “Ki-ku,” he said slowly, pronouncing his own name with the same deliberate care that his elder brother showed. China beamed with pride as one by one, his other three charges introduced themselves to the foreign boy.
Thankfully, the foreign child caught on quickly. Mimicking the Asians’ gesture, he put a gloved hand on his chest and said shyly, “I-van.”
“Ivan,” China repeated, working his tongue carefully around the strange name. He looked Ivan over from head to toe and reached out slowly to put his hands on the little boy’s shoulders. “You are a long way from home, Ivan,” he said gently, though he knew the boy would not understand.
The boy did not seem alarmed by the touch, though he suddenly seemed fascinating by China’s hands. Taking one of the man’s pale hands into his small, gloved ones, the blond took it and suddenly pressed it against his cheek.
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Warm, Ivan thought as he pressed his face against the other’s smooth palm. His toes wriggled in his little boots from the sheer joy of the sensation. They are so warm. Everything about this place was warm --the sun, the air, the people. He wanted to stay here forever.
The Asians stared at him with confusion and bafflement, but the big one --Yao, as he introduced himself-- gave him a small, hesitant smile. He said something quietly in his musical language and held out his arms in a wide, open gesture.
Ivan stared at him.
Light flashed across his eyes. Instead of seeing a red-clad Asian, he saw an old woman with long hair and peasant clothes instead. She was not his mother, for he knew he had none, but she was one of many that had taken it upon themselves to care for their fledging nation.
Like Yao, she liked to tell stories, and she often did so when she was bathing and feeding Ivan and his sisters. It was she whom told Ivan about an empire to the south where the people wore soft clothes and lived amongst rivers, mountains and beautiful meadows full of flowers. It was she whom told him about the other nations that lived to the west, wonderful places full of culture and singing and beautiful churches that reached toward the sky.
It was also she whom taught them about the simpler parts of life, the necessary traits they needed to learn to become human. She taught him that when he opened his arms, people would know that he wanted hugs and wanted attention. Likewise, she taught him that when she opened her arms, she would want the favor returned. People will love you if you love them, she liked to say, and if to prove it, she hugged him often and bathed him in affection.
Ivan liked her a lot.
But she didn’t live long enough for his liking.
Ivan remembered waking up to the sounds of screaming and a battle outside, to the hands of their caretakers forcefully dragging himself and his sisters from their warm beds. Groggy and confused, they stood obediently as they were dressed, then clung to the adults that carried them outside. To Ivan and his siblings, war was a familiar but ultimately confusing force their young minds could not understand.
That night, however, Ivan finally understood.
His own caretaker all but tossed him at a warrior that was already strapped a horse. His sisters were given a similar treatment. “Take them!” the woman cried, her voice muffled by the shrill howl of the wind that raged around them, “Take them and go! They must be kept safe!”
The warrior did as he was told, and Ivan clung to his shoulder as they rode away. He watched with confusion and hurt as his caretaker’s form shrank in the distance. No, he remembered thinking, I don’t want to leave you.
He opened his arms, just like he had been taught. He hoped that she would come to him and give him a hug, like she promised. I want attention, he wanted to call out. I don’t want to go!
She could see what he was doing, he was sure, but she never got a chance to respond. He saw men --foreign ones with dark hair and strange armor-- descended upon her, pummeling her with swords and sticks. She disappeared under a mound of snow and red, and Ivan remembered screaming as he rode away.
He understood, then, what death meant. He understood that war took away people that you loved and never gave them back.
Yao was still waiting, still looking at him with that ever patient smile on his face. His arms were wide open, just like the old lady’s. It was an offering Ivan had not seen since his caretaker’s death.
It was an offering he had missed terribly.
With movements that seemed almost too fast for a child in thick fur, the boy buried himself into the Asian’s chest and wrapped his small arms around the man’s thin rib cage. His hug was strong and powerful, much more than it should be for a boy of his age. He wanted to blurt out everything, to tell the man about all the horrible things he had seen up North, but he knew instinctively that the Asians would not understand his tongue. Instead, the boy simply buried his face against Yao’s neck and wept softly.
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China was somewhat alarmed when the boy climbed bravely into his lap and all but claimed the hug as his own. He grunted in surprise with the other’s weight. “My my, you are heavier than you look,” he chuckled, leaning back against the rocks.
He quickly realized that something was... wrong. The boy smelt faintly of ice and blood, and while his coat and his clothes seem untouched by any extreme imperfections, Yao could recognize that scent anywhere.
This child has seen death, he realized with a heavy heart.
The growing wetness against his robe alerted him to another problem --Ivan was crying. Somehow, within the span of only a minute or two, the blond nation had gone from a curious, wide-eyed child to a ball of absolute misery.
China had no idea how to fix it.
His four siblings had gathered around in an even tighter circle, their curiosity overwhelming and practically radiating from every pore.
“Is he alright?” Hong Kong asked, his eyes eagle-sharp despite the serenity on his young face.
“I don’t know, aru,” China sighed, rocking Ivan’s body in a slow, gentle motion. Ivan’s response seemed to be to cling to him tighter.
Japan seemed sympathetic to the other’s plight and gently patted Ivan on the head, even though the boy couldn’t feel it through his thick hat.
“He looks so sad,” Taiwan murmured, “Do you think candy will make him feel better?”
China gave her a small smile. “Perhaps. That is very thoughtful, mei mei**.”
It was, as usual, Korea that asked the age-old question that all parents feared from their children. Jumping up to place his palms and chin against China’s knee, he grinned broadly. “Can we keep him??”
China gave him a sharp look. “No, we can’t.” He looked down at the blond boy that seemed to have suddenly turned both mute and dumb to their affections. His weeping was remarkably quiet for a child and consisted of little more than a hiccup or two and a steady stream of tears. Sometimes, China thought, that is the worst type of crying. He almost preferred Korea’s loud, hysterical crying to the silent tears that often wracked more serious children like Japan and Ivan. The sheer amount of misery that hung about Ivan’s small, fur-clad form made China’s heart clench and he absently tightened his hold on the other’s body.
“He is from the North,” the old nation observed quietly, “He belongs there, aru.”
Surprisingly, Hong Kong spoke next. Unlike his overenthusiastic brother, he kept a safe distance, both for Yao’s comfort and for Ivan’s. “It must be lonely up there,” he said quietly. “There aren’t many countries up there, are there, ge ge?”
China gave him a surprised smile. It seemed like his siblings had actually learned something in their geography lessons. “No, there aren’t, aru. He must have traveled a long time to get here.” Something uncomfortable clenched at this throat. What sort of turmoil was enough to push a baby nation this far south?
Japan sat next to China, his dark eyes as grave and serious as ever. “Ge ge, we should keep him here for a while. He must be tired.”
China blinked, then looked down at the foreign child that was curled in his arms. The reasonable part of him told him that Ivan should be returned to the North immediately --surely he had siblings or caretakers that were missing him. He was much too young of a nation to be wandering out by himself.
Still... Something about Ivan was different from other children. He had already seen too much violence, too much death. The weight that was on his shoulders was already much heavier than one of the Asian nations with the same age. His very existence was a miracle, since China had seen countries older than him succumb to war.
“Yes,” he sighed finally, “He should rest here. We will send him North when he is ready, aru.” And hope for the best. He turned to look at Japan. “Kiku, go find the servants, aru. Tell them to prepare a warm bath and a large dinner.”
Japan nodded briskly with the seriousness of a boy twice his age and carefully slid off the rock. He made his way back to the house as fast as his little legs could carry him.
Korea nudged his big brothers’ leg again, his chubby cheeks resting against Yao’s leg. “Then what happens after?” he demanded.
“Then we wait,” China responded patiently. “Ivan is a young country right now. He has a lot of growing to do. Just like the rest of you.”
Taiwan looked between her brothers and Ivan for a few moments, then asked quietly, “Do you think he’ll remember us after he grows up?”
China’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise.
Looking down at the boy in his lap, he found Ivan sleeping with his fists clenched tightly in the Asian nation’s clothes. Apparently, all the crying and the unfamiliar language that floated above his head had put him to sleep. China gently stroked one pale, chubby cheek.
Amazing. A few minutes with this child and he already felt a connection beginning to grow. That could be disastrous for a powerful, old nation like himself, but instinct honed over thousands of years of watching other nations rise and fall told him that this boy was strong. He had to be a fighter to have survived so far. Chances were good that he would survive for at least a few hundred more years.
The old nation looked up at his siblings with a mysterious and pleased smile. The expression told others that, despite having a face that looked barely twenty years old, China was ancient, experienced and very wise. There were some things he knew that no one else could know.
“I think he will.”
FIN
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*Ge ge - 'big brother' in Mandarin.
** Mei mei - 'little sister' in Mandarin
Not sure WHAT I was doing with that ending. << >>; Ah well. This story is unbetaed and pretty much written in one go. XD You can tell it was done in a kind of ‘stream of thought’ style.
Hope you guys like it! I relish the idea of little!Ivan so I was just playing around with the idea. ^^
Author: Lomelindi
Summary: A very young Ivan wanders into ancient China. (Japan, Korea, Hong Kong and Taiwan make cameos.)
Note: I refer to "Ivan" instead of "Russia" just because he's so young in this story that he's not even the Soviet Union yet or anything similar.
Warning: Not historically accurate in any way, shape or form. Technically speaking, I don’t think Hong Kong or Taiwan existed at this time. ^^;
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
The laughter of a young girl was the only warning Ivan had before he saw them.
A group of dark-haired children, followed by a taller, lean figure with long hair, emerged from a cluster of willows like wraiths melting out of a forest. The children, three boys and a girl, wore unfamiliar tunics that flowed around their limbs like water and seemed to ripple with every movement. Their faces were pale and rosy-cheeked, and each sported straight, sleek hair as dark as night.
Ivan frowned. Different... from me.
The figure that followed closely behind the other four was taller, but not as tall as the adults Ivan was used to. Instantly, Ivan thought it was a woman. Her jet black hair cascaded down the sides of her face and was tied at the base of the neck so that it fell down her back in a thin, glossy ponytail. Her face was youthful and strikingly pretty, with large eyes, a small, rosy mouth and a short, button-like nose. Like the children, she wore a long, ground-length robe of red and gold that hung from her slim shoulders and billowed out past her hands in lengthy, extravagant sleeves.
Beautiful, Ivan thought instantly, without really knowing why he found the other so attractive. As a child, he cared very little for the looks of others, but then again, most of his people were bundled up in thick fur and were much too focused on survival than about looking pretty.
One of the boys --the one with oversized white sleeves-- suddenly ran ahead of the group with his arms outstretched, making squawking sounds as he went.
Ivan watched with amazement. Bird, he realized suddenly.
A boy in red and black followed the first child, crawling smoothly on all fours.
Cat.
The girl, dressed in pink and white, followed the other two with a puffy face and hands flapping against her cheeks like gills. She wriggled her body in a smooth, S-shaped pattern and seemed incredibly pleased with herself when the display was finished.
Fish, Ivan thought with pride. I have a lot of those.
The last boy, dressed in dark blue, hung back with moody silence, his right hand curled carefully around a few of the woman’s fingers. The woman leaned down to say something to him and gestured to the other children, but the boy shook his head and clung to her robe instead. With what seemed to be a sigh, the taller figure leaned down and scooped the child up so that she carried him on her hip.
Mother, Ivan realized with a start. He didn’t know how he knew such a thing, seeing that he never had a mother himself, but such a tender display could point to no other relationship.
Eventually, the dark-haired family settled on a rock beside a small creek. The mother sat on the stone in an elegant pool of red and gold while her children clustered eagerly around her, the three playful ones around her legs, the quiet one still curled in her lap. She spoke too softly to be heard over the sound of running water, but her hand gestures and her bright smile made it evident that she was telling the story.
Ivan unconsciously leaned closer to hear. The first thing he noticed was the voice --it was tenor and clear, though still different from what he expected. Not a woman, he realized with faint surprise. The pretty one is a man. The language was foreign but easy on the ears, and he found himself swept away by the tonal rhythm of every syllable. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before, but it faintly reminded him of music --singing, perhaps.
Then, suddenly, everything fell silent.
The boy in dark blue, whom had stayed silent until now, was tugging on the eldest's robe and pointing urgently into the trees. One by one, five pairs of dark eyes lifted upward and focused on Ivan.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
China blinked in surprise. Is that a... boy? A foreign child with massive violet eyes and shaggy, limestone hair stared at back them from behind the trunk of a large oak. He wore a flat-topped fur hat that seemed far too big for his head and a thick scarf that nearly covered his face from view. The rest of his clothes were equally out of place --he wore thick snow boots and a pale, faded coat made out of thick cotton. The designs on it looked faintly Celtic, but it had been many years since China had seen such symbols around here.
Though obviously surprised that they had spotted him, the foreign boy showed remarkable spirit by staring right back instead of shrinking away. He did not seem afraid of them and was regarding them with equal amounts of curiosity.
“Ge ge*, who is he?” Taiwan whispered, her own eyes never leaving the strange child’s.
“I’m not sure, aru,” China answered hesitantly. Looking down at his charges, he smiled faintly. “Should we ask him to come play?”
The children shared a look amongst each other, then collectively nodded. Even Japan, whom usually followed whatever everyone else chose, nodded with great enthusiasm. China was inwardly pleased --Japan had always been an introverted child but seemed happiest when exploring or inventing something new.
Looking up, the ancient country made a beckoning gesture with his hands.
The foreign child stared back at him with the intensity of an eagle.
China beckoned again, this time adding an encouraging smile.
Hesitantly, the blond boy edged out of his hiding place and toward them, his steps slow and careful. He alternated his attention between the Asians --as if afraid they’d disappear if he looked away for long enough-- and the ground, where he carefully treaded around clusters of flowers and vegetation with his boots.
Odd, China thought, He treats grass as if it is precious. Making sure never to drop his smile, the old nation gently slid Japan to the ground beside his siblings and knelt, waiting patiently for the blond child to make his way toward them. Hong Kong and Korea pressed against his right side, while Japan and Taiwan pressed against the other. China could almost feel them vibrating with impatient curiosity.
When the foreigner finally stopped a few feet away, China carefully and slowly lifted a hand toward him in welcome. “Who are you, little one?”
A blank stare.
Of course, China realized, He does not understand. He placed a hand upon his chest. “Yao,” he said carefully, choosing to use his human name since that was shorter.
The child stared some more, then shifted his weight from one boot to the other, as if uncertain.
“Yao,” China repeated, even slower this time.
Japan was the first to help him, bowing respectfully like he always did to new playmates. “Ki-ku,” he said slowly, pronouncing his own name with the same deliberate care that his elder brother showed. China beamed with pride as one by one, his other three charges introduced themselves to the foreign boy.
Thankfully, the foreign child caught on quickly. Mimicking the Asians’ gesture, he put a gloved hand on his chest and said shyly, “I-van.”
“Ivan,” China repeated, working his tongue carefully around the strange name. He looked Ivan over from head to toe and reached out slowly to put his hands on the little boy’s shoulders. “You are a long way from home, Ivan,” he said gently, though he knew the boy would not understand.
The boy did not seem alarmed by the touch, though he suddenly seemed fascinating by China’s hands. Taking one of the man’s pale hands into his small, gloved ones, the blond took it and suddenly pressed it against his cheek.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
Warm, Ivan thought as he pressed his face against the other’s smooth palm. His toes wriggled in his little boots from the sheer joy of the sensation. They are so warm. Everything about this place was warm --the sun, the air, the people. He wanted to stay here forever.
The Asians stared at him with confusion and bafflement, but the big one --Yao, as he introduced himself-- gave him a small, hesitant smile. He said something quietly in his musical language and held out his arms in a wide, open gesture.
Ivan stared at him.
Light flashed across his eyes. Instead of seeing a red-clad Asian, he saw an old woman with long hair and peasant clothes instead. She was not his mother, for he knew he had none, but she was one of many that had taken it upon themselves to care for their fledging nation.
Like Yao, she liked to tell stories, and she often did so when she was bathing and feeding Ivan and his sisters. It was she whom told Ivan about an empire to the south where the people wore soft clothes and lived amongst rivers, mountains and beautiful meadows full of flowers. It was she whom told him about the other nations that lived to the west, wonderful places full of culture and singing and beautiful churches that reached toward the sky.
It was also she whom taught them about the simpler parts of life, the necessary traits they needed to learn to become human. She taught him that when he opened his arms, people would know that he wanted hugs and wanted attention. Likewise, she taught him that when she opened her arms, she would want the favor returned. People will love you if you love them, she liked to say, and if to prove it, she hugged him often and bathed him in affection.
Ivan liked her a lot.
But she didn’t live long enough for his liking.
Ivan remembered waking up to the sounds of screaming and a battle outside, to the hands of their caretakers forcefully dragging himself and his sisters from their warm beds. Groggy and confused, they stood obediently as they were dressed, then clung to the adults that carried them outside. To Ivan and his siblings, war was a familiar but ultimately confusing force their young minds could not understand.
That night, however, Ivan finally understood.
His own caretaker all but tossed him at a warrior that was already strapped a horse. His sisters were given a similar treatment. “Take them!” the woman cried, her voice muffled by the shrill howl of the wind that raged around them, “Take them and go! They must be kept safe!”
The warrior did as he was told, and Ivan clung to his shoulder as they rode away. He watched with confusion and hurt as his caretaker’s form shrank in the distance. No, he remembered thinking, I don’t want to leave you.
He opened his arms, just like he had been taught. He hoped that she would come to him and give him a hug, like she promised. I want attention, he wanted to call out. I don’t want to go!
She could see what he was doing, he was sure, but she never got a chance to respond. He saw men --foreign ones with dark hair and strange armor-- descended upon her, pummeling her with swords and sticks. She disappeared under a mound of snow and red, and Ivan remembered screaming as he rode away.
He understood, then, what death meant. He understood that war took away people that you loved and never gave them back.
Yao was still waiting, still looking at him with that ever patient smile on his face. His arms were wide open, just like the old lady’s. It was an offering Ivan had not seen since his caretaker’s death.
It was an offering he had missed terribly.
With movements that seemed almost too fast for a child in thick fur, the boy buried himself into the Asian’s chest and wrapped his small arms around the man’s thin rib cage. His hug was strong and powerful, much more than it should be for a boy of his age. He wanted to blurt out everything, to tell the man about all the horrible things he had seen up North, but he knew instinctively that the Asians would not understand his tongue. Instead, the boy simply buried his face against Yao’s neck and wept softly.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
China was somewhat alarmed when the boy climbed bravely into his lap and all but claimed the hug as his own. He grunted in surprise with the other’s weight. “My my, you are heavier than you look,” he chuckled, leaning back against the rocks.
He quickly realized that something was... wrong. The boy smelt faintly of ice and blood, and while his coat and his clothes seem untouched by any extreme imperfections, Yao could recognize that scent anywhere.
This child has seen death, he realized with a heavy heart.
The growing wetness against his robe alerted him to another problem --Ivan was crying. Somehow, within the span of only a minute or two, the blond nation had gone from a curious, wide-eyed child to a ball of absolute misery.
China had no idea how to fix it.
His four siblings had gathered around in an even tighter circle, their curiosity overwhelming and practically radiating from every pore.
“Is he alright?” Hong Kong asked, his eyes eagle-sharp despite the serenity on his young face.
“I don’t know, aru,” China sighed, rocking Ivan’s body in a slow, gentle motion. Ivan’s response seemed to be to cling to him tighter.
Japan seemed sympathetic to the other’s plight and gently patted Ivan on the head, even though the boy couldn’t feel it through his thick hat.
“He looks so sad,” Taiwan murmured, “Do you think candy will make him feel better?”
China gave her a small smile. “Perhaps. That is very thoughtful, mei mei**.”
It was, as usual, Korea that asked the age-old question that all parents feared from their children. Jumping up to place his palms and chin against China’s knee, he grinned broadly. “Can we keep him??”
China gave him a sharp look. “No, we can’t.” He looked down at the blond boy that seemed to have suddenly turned both mute and dumb to their affections. His weeping was remarkably quiet for a child and consisted of little more than a hiccup or two and a steady stream of tears. Sometimes, China thought, that is the worst type of crying. He almost preferred Korea’s loud, hysterical crying to the silent tears that often wracked more serious children like Japan and Ivan. The sheer amount of misery that hung about Ivan’s small, fur-clad form made China’s heart clench and he absently tightened his hold on the other’s body.
“He is from the North,” the old nation observed quietly, “He belongs there, aru.”
Surprisingly, Hong Kong spoke next. Unlike his overenthusiastic brother, he kept a safe distance, both for Yao’s comfort and for Ivan’s. “It must be lonely up there,” he said quietly. “There aren’t many countries up there, are there, ge ge?”
China gave him a surprised smile. It seemed like his siblings had actually learned something in their geography lessons. “No, there aren’t, aru. He must have traveled a long time to get here.” Something uncomfortable clenched at this throat. What sort of turmoil was enough to push a baby nation this far south?
Japan sat next to China, his dark eyes as grave and serious as ever. “Ge ge, we should keep him here for a while. He must be tired.”
China blinked, then looked down at the foreign child that was curled in his arms. The reasonable part of him told him that Ivan should be returned to the North immediately --surely he had siblings or caretakers that were missing him. He was much too young of a nation to be wandering out by himself.
Still... Something about Ivan was different from other children. He had already seen too much violence, too much death. The weight that was on his shoulders was already much heavier than one of the Asian nations with the same age. His very existence was a miracle, since China had seen countries older than him succumb to war.
“Yes,” he sighed finally, “He should rest here. We will send him North when he is ready, aru.” And hope for the best. He turned to look at Japan. “Kiku, go find the servants, aru. Tell them to prepare a warm bath and a large dinner.”
Japan nodded briskly with the seriousness of a boy twice his age and carefully slid off the rock. He made his way back to the house as fast as his little legs could carry him.
Korea nudged his big brothers’ leg again, his chubby cheeks resting against Yao’s leg. “Then what happens after?” he demanded.
“Then we wait,” China responded patiently. “Ivan is a young country right now. He has a lot of growing to do. Just like the rest of you.”
Taiwan looked between her brothers and Ivan for a few moments, then asked quietly, “Do you think he’ll remember us after he grows up?”
China’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline in surprise.
Looking down at the boy in his lap, he found Ivan sleeping with his fists clenched tightly in the Asian nation’s clothes. Apparently, all the crying and the unfamiliar language that floated above his head had put him to sleep. China gently stroked one pale, chubby cheek.
Amazing. A few minutes with this child and he already felt a connection beginning to grow. That could be disastrous for a powerful, old nation like himself, but instinct honed over thousands of years of watching other nations rise and fall told him that this boy was strong. He had to be a fighter to have survived so far. Chances were good that he would survive for at least a few hundred more years.
The old nation looked up at his siblings with a mysterious and pleased smile. The expression told others that, despite having a face that looked barely twenty years old, China was ancient, experienced and very wise. There were some things he knew that no one else could know.
“I think he will.”
FIN
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*Ge ge - 'big brother' in Mandarin.
** Mei mei - 'little sister' in Mandarin
Not sure WHAT I was doing with that ending. << >>; Ah well. This story is unbetaed and pretty much written in one go. XD You can tell it was done in a kind of ‘stream of thought’ style.
Hope you guys like it! I relish the idea of little!Ivan so I was just playing around with the idea. ^^