Dark Ice
Title: Dark Ice
Originally posted: Here, for clover_magic.
Length: 1200 words.
Characters/Pairings: child!Russia, child!Prussia (so, the Teutonic Knights).
Premise: The Battle of the Ice: the Teutonic Knights are stuck invading Russia in winter. It goes how that kind of thing usually goes.
Time period: 1242.
Smuttiness: 0/10
Funnyness: 0/10
Wrist slashiness: 6/10
Lolhistoryness: 5/10
Violence: 5/10
Would I like it?: Russia is every bit as much of a creepy jerk as a child as he is as an adult. Also, Prussia still swore a lot even when he was a crusader knight. Also, I just call him Prussia. Leave me alone.
The wide and colorless Russian wasteland whipped and howled in his face, and the Knight-who-would-be-Prussia was sick of winter.
"Fuck you!" he shouted into the wind, and it tore off his lips and sailed away across the snow.
He heard an easy little laugh, a child's laugh, somewhere off to his left, and he lunged after it, sword drawn. "Come out, you coward!"
There, in the trees, behind a flare of white and glittering air--was that the flicker from a pale scarf? He changed course. Yes: something moved in the trees at his notice. "You can't just keep running away from me!"
"Yes I can!" Another sparkle of laughter. Prussia hurried, tripping and dragging as his short legs sank into the mountainous snow drifts.
"No you can't!" he lurched from one white crest to the next.
"I can, too!"
"No you can't, stupid--this place doesn't go on forever."
"Yes it does!" came Russia's happy little sing-song, and why wasn't he flailing around in this shit? Prussia set his jaw and growled as Russia waved from behind one tree, and then the one next to it, and then the one behind that. He danced between them, light-footed as a cat. "It goes on and on and on--and the cold goes on and on--on and on--" it's a little song, he was singing. Prussia stumbled into the tree line and collapsed into a tree. He braced himself on his sword arm, and the tip of his sword scraped and clattered against that crawl of black bark. "I go all the way to the end of the world!"
"That's stupid," Prussia shouted. He gasped to catch his breath out of the thin, frigid air.
"You're stupid," Russia retorted. "I'm not scared of you!"
"I've thrashed you three times, you little twerp," he snarled.
Russia giggled. "So come catch me, and do it again!"
Prussia shoved off the tree and advanced towards that voice. The going was easier, then, under the curled hands of those witch-trees; the snow was only half as deep as it had been before. He soon knew he was hard on Russia's heels, because the wind hadn't yet scoured away his footprints--and then he knew it even more, when he burst into a clearing and caught a swung branch full across the teeth.
Russia pointed at him, and laughed, and then wheeled and scampered away, out over a vast, dark, frozen lake. Prussia struggled back to his senses. He spat red foam into the snow at his feet, then ran out onto the ice after him. "You total bastard!" he bellowed.
Russia whirled in time to see him lunge with his sword, but throwing his weight forward made his legs shoot back, and instead of skewering Russia, he slapped him full across the face with the flat of his blade. They both went down. Prussia caught the ice with his chin. Russia was on his feet again in an instant, blood drops splashing behind him.
"You call that hitting someone?" he taunted. He waggled the twiggy end of his branch in Prussia's face as he wiped away blood on his sleeve. Everything below his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose was dipped in red.
"I almost took your fucking face off!" Prussia scrambled up to one knee, slipped, and struck the ice again.
"The Mongols hit me harder than that all the time," he sneered. He skated off, moving unnatural fast on those scuffed fur boots. He flew across the ice as smooth as a tern.
"Just wait 'till I catch you, you little punk!" Prussia made it to his feet and shuffled after him. He knew he looked ridiculous, and that made him angrier. "I'll cut you to pieces! You're not even wearing armor!"
"Come and get me, then!"
"You're armed with a fucking stick!"
"Why are you so slow?"
Prussia screamed in frustration and charged after him, slipping, falling, clambering up, running forwards again. Russia let him keep up, let him get almost close enough to catch the trailing ends of his scarf before he darted away again. He thought this was a game. But Prussia would catch him, he'd catch him and then he'd beat him so hard--
Russia did a little pirouette and came to a sudden stop, his hands clasped behind him, that branch reversed up his back like a matron's switch. His eyes gleamed. "Of course I don't wear armor."
There was a sudden crack. Prussia looked down.
"I don't wear armor--"
A groan from underfoot, and he edged carefully back. A dimple of water oozed up from where his heel had been, and it spread rapidly after his toes.
"Because armor--"
Another crack, louder and more brittle than before. Prussia threw a panicked look at his adversary.
"Is heavy--"
The ice dropped out from under him, and cold water closed over his head.
Prussia had to make an instant decision: to hold onto his sword, or grab onto the ice that yawned away above him. He was proud, but not that proud. His sword cut away down into darkness, and he pulled a barge of ice into a bear hug. He bobbed to the surface and sucked in a lungful of air. He heard laughter, somewhere close, and he clawed against the ice for better purchase. It spun under his hands, and he crashed underwater again. Stop, grip, grip, hold on, and the light rushed over him again and he took the chance to breathe--
Russia knelt at the far side of the chasm, and smiled through his mask of blood.
"Help me!" Prussia cried.
The little nation released a peel of laughter. "Help me," he mimicked, "Help me!"
The wedge of ice tilted; Prussia's face splashed under the cold, then reemerged. He spluttered. "This isn't funny," he screamed. "Help me up!"
"Who's stupid now?" Russia jumped to his feet and hugged himself. He twirled once around. "You invaded me and you didn't even know about ice, so who's stupid now?"
Prussia inhaled cold water. He coughed convulsively. He felt the strength bleeding out of his arms. He tried to kick, but his legs wouldn't answer him. He couldn't feel his feet, his ankles, fuck, what could he feel? He slipped a few inches, and the water cupped his ears and sloshed over his mouth and nose.
"Maybe you should learn how winter works in my house, huh?" he thought Russia was walking away, but it was hard to tell--everything sounded dimmer against his ragged breathing and the panicked thunder of his heartbeat. "Or maybe--" a giggle; "You should bring a bigger army."
Prussia lost his handhold. His arms skidded one last time across the ice, and then he plunged underwater. He heaved, as hard as he could, clawing for the surface and the fading light.
"If all you're gonna do is fall in a lake, or starve to death, or freeze out in the middle of nowhere, then do everybody a favor, huh? Do me and you and the whole rest of the world a favor, and bring a bigger army!"
Originally posted: Here, for clover_magic.
Length: 1200 words.
Characters/Pairings: child!Russia, child!Prussia (so, the Teutonic Knights).
Premise: The Battle of the Ice: the Teutonic Knights are stuck invading Russia in winter. It goes how that kind of thing usually goes.
Time period: 1242.
Smuttiness: 0/10
Funnyness: 0/10
Wrist slashiness: 6/10
Lolhistoryness: 5/10
Violence: 5/10
Would I like it?: Russia is every bit as much of a creepy jerk as a child as he is as an adult. Also, Prussia still swore a lot even when he was a crusader knight. Also, I just call him Prussia. Leave me alone.
The wide and colorless Russian wasteland whipped and howled in his face, and the Knight-who-would-be-Prussia was sick of winter.
"Fuck you!" he shouted into the wind, and it tore off his lips and sailed away across the snow.
He heard an easy little laugh, a child's laugh, somewhere off to his left, and he lunged after it, sword drawn. "Come out, you coward!"
There, in the trees, behind a flare of white and glittering air--was that the flicker from a pale scarf? He changed course. Yes: something moved in the trees at his notice. "You can't just keep running away from me!"
"Yes I can!" Another sparkle of laughter. Prussia hurried, tripping and dragging as his short legs sank into the mountainous snow drifts.
"No you can't!" he lurched from one white crest to the next.
"I can, too!"
"No you can't, stupid--this place doesn't go on forever."
"Yes it does!" came Russia's happy little sing-song, and why wasn't he flailing around in this shit? Prussia set his jaw and growled as Russia waved from behind one tree, and then the one next to it, and then the one behind that. He danced between them, light-footed as a cat. "It goes on and on and on--and the cold goes on and on--on and on--" it's a little song, he was singing. Prussia stumbled into the tree line and collapsed into a tree. He braced himself on his sword arm, and the tip of his sword scraped and clattered against that crawl of black bark. "I go all the way to the end of the world!"
"That's stupid," Prussia shouted. He gasped to catch his breath out of the thin, frigid air.
"You're stupid," Russia retorted. "I'm not scared of you!"
"I've thrashed you three times, you little twerp," he snarled.
Russia giggled. "So come catch me, and do it again!"
Prussia shoved off the tree and advanced towards that voice. The going was easier, then, under the curled hands of those witch-trees; the snow was only half as deep as it had been before. He soon knew he was hard on Russia's heels, because the wind hadn't yet scoured away his footprints--and then he knew it even more, when he burst into a clearing and caught a swung branch full across the teeth.
Russia pointed at him, and laughed, and then wheeled and scampered away, out over a vast, dark, frozen lake. Prussia struggled back to his senses. He spat red foam into the snow at his feet, then ran out onto the ice after him. "You total bastard!" he bellowed.
Russia whirled in time to see him lunge with his sword, but throwing his weight forward made his legs shoot back, and instead of skewering Russia, he slapped him full across the face with the flat of his blade. They both went down. Prussia caught the ice with his chin. Russia was on his feet again in an instant, blood drops splashing behind him.
"You call that hitting someone?" he taunted. He waggled the twiggy end of his branch in Prussia's face as he wiped away blood on his sleeve. Everything below his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose was dipped in red.
"I almost took your fucking face off!" Prussia scrambled up to one knee, slipped, and struck the ice again.
"The Mongols hit me harder than that all the time," he sneered. He skated off, moving unnatural fast on those scuffed fur boots. He flew across the ice as smooth as a tern.
"Just wait 'till I catch you, you little punk!" Prussia made it to his feet and shuffled after him. He knew he looked ridiculous, and that made him angrier. "I'll cut you to pieces! You're not even wearing armor!"
"Come and get me, then!"
"You're armed with a fucking stick!"
"Why are you so slow?"
Prussia screamed in frustration and charged after him, slipping, falling, clambering up, running forwards again. Russia let him keep up, let him get almost close enough to catch the trailing ends of his scarf before he darted away again. He thought this was a game. But Prussia would catch him, he'd catch him and then he'd beat him so hard--
Russia did a little pirouette and came to a sudden stop, his hands clasped behind him, that branch reversed up his back like a matron's switch. His eyes gleamed. "Of course I don't wear armor."
There was a sudden crack. Prussia looked down.
"I don't wear armor--"
A groan from underfoot, and he edged carefully back. A dimple of water oozed up from where his heel had been, and it spread rapidly after his toes.
"Because armor--"
Another crack, louder and more brittle than before. Prussia threw a panicked look at his adversary.
"Is heavy--"
The ice dropped out from under him, and cold water closed over his head.
Prussia had to make an instant decision: to hold onto his sword, or grab onto the ice that yawned away above him. He was proud, but not that proud. His sword cut away down into darkness, and he pulled a barge of ice into a bear hug. He bobbed to the surface and sucked in a lungful of air. He heard laughter, somewhere close, and he clawed against the ice for better purchase. It spun under his hands, and he crashed underwater again. Stop, grip, grip, hold on, and the light rushed over him again and he took the chance to breathe--
Russia knelt at the far side of the chasm, and smiled through his mask of blood.
"Help me!" Prussia cried.
The little nation released a peel of laughter. "Help me," he mimicked, "Help me!"
The wedge of ice tilted; Prussia's face splashed under the cold, then reemerged. He spluttered. "This isn't funny," he screamed. "Help me up!"
"Who's stupid now?" Russia jumped to his feet and hugged himself. He twirled once around. "You invaded me and you didn't even know about ice, so who's stupid now?"
Prussia inhaled cold water. He coughed convulsively. He felt the strength bleeding out of his arms. He tried to kick, but his legs wouldn't answer him. He couldn't feel his feet, his ankles, fuck, what could he feel? He slipped a few inches, and the water cupped his ears and sloshed over his mouth and nose.
"Maybe you should learn how winter works in my house, huh?" he thought Russia was walking away, but it was hard to tell--everything sounded dimmer against his ragged breathing and the panicked thunder of his heartbeat. "Or maybe--" a giggle; "You should bring a bigger army."
Prussia lost his handhold. His arms skidded one last time across the ice, and then he plunged underwater. He heaved, as hard as he could, clawing for the surface and the fading light.
"If all you're gonna do is fall in a lake, or starve to death, or freeze out in the middle of nowhere, then do everybody a favor, huh? Do me and you and the whole rest of the world a favor, and bring a bigger army!"