For Better Or for Worse [LietPolLiet] [2/3+Notes]
anonymous
August 10 2009, 02:36:39 UTC
III. 1830
Lithuania knew better, he thought. He knew better than to fight against Russia, better than to send his young men to die for nothing. It was hopeless, a waste of life when his people already had too little to spare.
But there was a time not so long ago, when he'd never have taken this treatment. When he'd been proud, unbroken, strong...
And it was so easy, when Poland crept into his bed, to lose himself in those memories. To think that they had once been something great, could be something great again...!
"I love you," Poland had whispered, curled against Lithuania and enveloped in his arms. Those words were more than they seemed. They reminded him that, in Poland, there were things Russia couldn't take away. Lithuania might break, but Poland never lost the fire in his eyes. He never once stopped saying aloud the things Lithuania was too afraid to say anymore.
Lithuania wanted to trust in those things. So when Poland--ragged, tired, still-proud Poland--lay with him and whispered, "I love you. Come with me. We can like, fight them together..."
They led Poland away in chains, not a year later, as the little blond kept his head held high in defiance. Russia beat Lithuania within an inch of his life, but even so, Lithuania couldn't bring himself to regret the decision to fight.
IV. 1920
"Piłsudski like, wants us to get back together," Poland said. "So like, why not, right? Come on, Liet...."
His eyes were pleading, like he was trying to get Lithuania to do the laundry or get up to stoke the fire, like all he was asking was some trifling little favor.
Part of Lithuania wanted to give in to him. They'd been strong together, long ago. They'd been happy together, and happiness was something that Lithuania had come to look on as a rare and precious thing, indeed. He hated the gunsmoke that thickened the air around Vilnius, hated sending his people to die, hated knowing he was the one hurting Poland and making him look like he was going to cry...
But he couldn't do it. He couldn't go on as another nation's minion, even if that nation was Poland. It had been so long since he had been just Lithuania, not a slave to Russia or lost in Poland's shadow, and his children wanted to be free...
He wouldn't give up this time.
Shaking his head, he turned to leave.
"Liet!" Poland's voice shook, and Lithuania winced; even with his back turned, he could hear the tears in his once-partner's voice, could see them in his mind's eye. "Like, don't go! I... I love you!"
I've loved you for all these years, went the unsaid part. You said you loved me. Don't you?
Lithuania stood still, his fingernails digging little crescents into his palms.
"That has nothing to do with this," he said finally, and walked away, pretending he couldn't hear Poland falling to his knees behind him.
Lithuania knew better, he thought. He knew better than to fight against Russia, better than to send his young men to die for nothing. It was hopeless, a waste of life when his people already had too little to spare.
But there was a time not so long ago, when he'd never have taken this treatment. When he'd been proud, unbroken, strong...
And it was so easy, when Poland crept into his bed, to lose himself in those memories. To think that they had once been something great, could be something great again...!
"I love you," Poland had whispered, curled against Lithuania and enveloped in his arms. Those words were more than they seemed. They reminded him that, in Poland, there were things Russia couldn't take away. Lithuania might break, but Poland never lost the fire in his eyes. He never once stopped saying aloud the things Lithuania was too afraid to say anymore.
Lithuania wanted to trust in those things. So when Poland--ragged, tired, still-proud Poland--lay with him and whispered, "I love you. Come with me. We can like, fight them together..."
They led Poland away in chains, not a year later, as the little blond kept his head held high in defiance. Russia beat Lithuania within an inch of his life, but even so, Lithuania couldn't bring himself to regret the decision to fight.
IV. 1920
"Piłsudski like, wants us to get back together," Poland said. "So like, why not, right? Come on, Liet...."
His eyes were pleading, like he was trying to get Lithuania to do the laundry or get up to stoke the fire, like all he was asking was some trifling little favor.
Part of Lithuania wanted to give in to him. They'd been strong together, long ago. They'd been happy together, and happiness was something that Lithuania had come to look on as a rare and precious thing, indeed. He hated the gunsmoke that thickened the air around Vilnius, hated sending his people to die, hated knowing he was the one hurting Poland and making him look like he was going to cry...
But he couldn't do it. He couldn't go on as another nation's minion, even if that nation was Poland. It had been so long since he had been just Lithuania, not a slave to Russia or lost in Poland's shadow, and his children wanted to be free...
He wouldn't give up this time.
Shaking his head, he turned to leave.
"Liet!" Poland's voice shook, and Lithuania winced; even with his back turned, he could hear the tears in his once-partner's voice, could see them in his mind's eye. "Like, don't go! I... I love you!"
I've loved you for all these years, went the unsaid part. You said you loved me. Don't you?
Lithuania stood still, his fingernails digging little crescents into his palms.
"That has nothing to do with this," he said finally, and walked away, pretending he couldn't hear Poland falling to his knees behind him.
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