[Fic] On A White Horse
In response to pyrrhiccomedy's reverse-request challenge!
8. Demented, starry-eyed, obsessed Lithuania kidnapped young, innocent Belarus and kept her locked in a room in his house for FOUR HUNDRED YEARS. (This really happened.) Not that he'd ever lay a hand on her! Oh, no. She's his princess! She may be in chains, but he takes such good care of her. Make him hella creepy, and Belarus young, frightened, but dignified and resolute, waiting for the day when her beloved brother will save her. THEN HE DOES (in a partitioning--I'm not making any of this up). And that's why she's fixated on him. IT NEEDS FIC. You can tackle this whole scenario or just a part of it, I'm not picky. Bonus points for creepy Liet washing Bela's hair for her. I'd die.
I've ALWAYS loved this idea, and I've never tackled Liet before, so I thought this would be a good time to try. ♥
Note: I don't really ship Russia/Belarus, because I find it hella creepy and unhealthy on so many levels, but. This is in Belaru's POV, so...creepy fixation it is! Of course, this is more around how it starts...
Honestly? Liet creeped me out in this.
Title: On A White Horse (The one who catches both implications behind this wins internet cookies)
Author: Me~ ♥
Rating: PG-13 for serious creepiness.
Characters: One-sided Lithuania/Belarus main, slight one-sided Belarus/Russia, Poland/Lithuania hinted, other characters mentioned
Summary: After the Mongol Invasion, Belarus finds herself living in a brown-haired child's house.
------
The last she had seen of her dear brother and sister was of them screaming as the Mongols pulled them apart.
Where they had taken her siblings, she did not know. The leader had taken her brother, her sweet older brother, and she knew not where. He had promised to save them both, to save his sisters, but then huge hands had closed over her wrists and she saw him no more.
Her sister had been dragged away by a separate group. Again, where she did not know, but she remembers Ukraine's sweet, pleading face, scared and ever-present tears spilling over to roll down her cheeks, but in her raised voice was a sense of panicked calm, as strange as that was. She had called out to Belarus, to Russia, pleading with them to be quiet, to be good children, we will be together again, don't worry...
And then she had vanished too, as Belarus was taken west as the invaders continued their push into Europe. Her siblings were gone, but their words rang in her ears even now. Her brother would come to save her. Her sister would make sure they were all together again.
With all her young heart, Belarus believed that as she was dragged west.
It seemed nothing would stop the Mongols. They mowed over whoever stood up against them, like the little boy with long hair who rode horses like they did, or the blond one with the green eyes who had complained loudly and bitterly that "this like, totally sucks!"
She is dragged along these various campaigns, watching the Mongols fight and then inexplicably retreat as they run into a river. Then, as they march to invade again, the Mongols are defeated and driven back for the first time, at least since she has been with them.
They are driven back by a boy with long brown hair and green eyes, one she vaguely remembers the Mongols running over before, but he seems to have gotten his feet under him and his people have successfully routed the Mongols this time.
She is dropped during the fight, and she lays there, letting the men and horses trample the ground into mud around her. If she is trampled, then she will be dead and she will not care. If she just lies here, they will think she is dead and leave her. Both situations are an improvement.
She does not want to be under the Mongols. While the regiment she is contained in has some morals and she is not touched, and most likely will not be until she is older and has more of the charms of womanhood, not all do, and she has heard the rumors fly over horseback of what they're doing to her brother. She almost dully surprised that he has lived through it at all, if half the rumors are even close to true. it makes her blood boil, that is her beloved Brother, and she dreams of being strong enough to grind all of their filthy flesh under her boots. She cannot, and so she contents herself with their screams of pain and their running blood from wounds that this new army is giving them.
A hoof clips her arms, leaving a long gash, but she keeps herself silent, forcing the tears of pain down, and eventually the battle dies down and she is not further harmed as the Mongols retreat eastward. They forget her in the rush, and she feels absurdly happy that this plan, at least, has worked.
She sits up when they are gone, and comes almost nose-to-nose with the boy with green eyes.
He stares at her, wide-eyed, eyes almost glassy as he just stares at her. She stares right back, not hiding her glare. This boy is a Westerner, a foreigner, and she has seen what foreigners do to her, her people, her brother. He is foreign, and so she does not like him. The Westerners invade just as much as the Easterners, and so they are all bad, in her opinion. Only her siblings are good. Byzantium was good too, but the Mongols killed him.
He kneels beside her, smiling softly, gently, and she likes him even less. Only one person can be truly gentle, and that is her brother. Someone who just defeated the people who stole her from her family could not be as gentle as he appeared, and she dislikes liars as well.
"Are you hurt?" He murmurs in his own language, but they are Nations so she understands anyway. That does not mean she has to answer, however, so she just glares at him, and she is silently happy when she sees the gentleness falter, the kindness fall into sadness for a moment, before the boy smiles again and it is gone as if it was never there. Such a liar.
He begins touching her, feeling her over, looking for wounds. She does not like it, she does not want to be touched anymore, not after being hauled by filthy hands over thousands of versta on horseback, but when she tries to lash out, to hit his hands away, the gash in her arm flairs up, and she hisses in pain, unable to stop the tears this time. It hurts, and she hates herself for hurting.
The boy's eyes go wide, and he touches the arm immediately, holding it still. It does not hurt, but she growls.
"You are hurt...here, let me help you..." He murmurs, and she glares at him as he pulls out a skin of water and a cloth, soaking the cloth and gently cleaning the cut.
It hurts, but she cannot move her arm without more pain, and she knows that even though she'd rather get up and run as far as her legs wuld carry her, she would not really get far before falling over. So she can do nothing.
He murmurs comforting noises to her, mindless things meant to soothe her and take the sting away. She ignores him as best she can.
He wraps and binds the cut after he is done cleaning it, and she is loathe to admit it feels better now. He smiles at her, all false sweetness.
"There! All good to travel!" He stands, calling out to his men, and one of them comes over with a horse. Her eyes go wide when the man stoops over to pick her up, and she does kick out this time, trying to lash out in her fear. No, not again, she does not want to be carried off again! Not unless she is being carried back to the east into her brother's waiting arms. She finds her vice, finally.
"No!" She almost yells. She does not want to sound frantic or desperate, because that is weakness, but she must be loud. "No!!"
Those hands are back on her again, trying to soothe her, and she manages to bite one, sinking in her teeth until she feels blood well in her mouth. She ignores the taste and bites harder.
He does not seem to even notice as he smiles at her. She does not understand, and she spits his hand out in disdain, fear beginning to creep into her stomach.
This boy, he is strange.
He pets her hair, and she can't help but cringe away.
"Do not worry, I'll keep you safe." He murmurs, still in that soft, gentle tone, and she feels like throwing up.
---
Belarus thinks, that if she closes her eyes and dreams, concentrating hard on the image of a young boy with the rarest and most beautiful violet eyes she had even seen and a scarf wrapped securely around his neck, concentrating on a girl with a gentle smile and eyes that were as quick to spill tears of joy as well as sadness, that if she concentrates on those images hard enough, she can almost remember of a time when she did not live under Lithuania's roof.
It has been over a hundred years since he first found her, lying on that muddy battlefield. The scar from the horse hoof that day is almost completely faded, and she hasn't had the occasion to gain new ones.
Lithuania would not let something like that happen, after all.
It makes her almost want to hurt, to feel pain, to even drag a knife across her own skin just to remember what it feels like to hurt and bleed. Because Lithuania will not allow these things to happen, and what he says is law, in this house. She was right, the only one with true gentleness was her brother. Everyone else was lying.
She looks down at her arm, lifting it the few diuym--was it diuym, she can't remember well--it has clearance. The chains, painted delicate silver and wrought with jewels with the inside of the cuffs lined with heavy velvet so as to not damage her wrists, appear too decorative to be of any use, but the insides are cold, heavy iron.
He put the chains on her after she tried to run away the third time.
She still remembers his face as he fastened the delicate-seeming restraints around her wrists, pleading with that false gentleness.
"I am sorry, but this is for your own good." He had murmured to her, his tone that tone he always held with her, that soft, murmuring, pleading tone that she hated. She hated him. "You must see this is for your own good. The outside world is scary, and I will protect you from it. Even from yourself. So I am sorry, but these must stay, until you learn that you mustn't run away. It is so much better here, so much safer, why would you ever want to run away? I treat you so well, with everything I have...so you must understand, you must, I cannot take these off of you...I cannot let my jewel get hurt."
She hates him, but she is scared of him too. The strange, feverish light in his eyes whenever he looks at her is enough to make her blood run cold. He even scares his friend, she thinks, that blond boy with the green eyes and funny way of speaking that she vaguely remembers. The Mongols ran over him, too, but she thinks he didn't win, not like Lithuania. He had come across her once, looking for her captor, and had stared at her with wide eyes--"Dude, like, why do you have this little girl totally chained up in here, Liet!?"--and she had watched as Lithuania bubbled and enthused about her. She thinks she saw the blond one's eyes flash hurt.
But she is determined. Her brother will save her. He promised. So she closes her eyes and dreams of her rescue. Her brother will save her, and she will make sure they are never apart again.
---
The tea is sweet, not that she likes it that way, but it is always how he prepares her tea. She wants real tea, hot and bitter and made of fresh leaves, and not this imitation of what Europeans think tea might be. She does not understand why he insists on making it sweet.
Perhaps because she does not tell him she does not like it so, but she is not about to talk to her captor. Besides, she doubts it would change his mind. Sweets for his sweet. It sounds like something he would say, and she fights down the snarl and disgust.
It is useless to resist, she has long learned. So she must be content with acting his statue. He will not see emotion from her. Only her brother will have the privilege of seeing her emotions from now on, she has decided.
The teacup, imported porcelain from China, clinks gently as it is set back on the saucer, and a hand lifts to gently dab her lips with a napkin. Lithuania smiles brightly at her when he lowers the cloth. "All right, it is time for your bath."
He unfastens the chains from their bottom, and he holds the lengths in his hand as he picks her up. She has grown, these three centuries in his care, she cannot deny that, but so has he, and he can pick her up easily. He carries her into the bathroom, where he has already brought in heated water from a fire outside. All of this he does himself, he does not trust even servants or slaves around her. He insists on doing everything for her himself, and she cannot understand why. It is another mystery to her, another frightening puzzle, and she does not care to solve it.
The water is obviously hot, steam rising off the surface, and scented with roses and other flowers, the cloyingly sweet aroma clogging her smell until she feels she will never smell anything else again. He undresses her with reverence, and she has to clench every muscle tightly to stop shuddering, not from cold.
He does not touch her in any other way besides washing, touch gentle and caring but strictly platonic, and it is the only comfort she receives from him. For however frightening he can be, with this single-minded devotion, she knows he will not touch her.
Yet. And it is that unspoken "yet" that makes her shiver.
After she is undressed, he lowers her in the water, and she must bite her tongue to keep from hissing, it is hot. She hates this time of the day more than anything.
He washes her, gentle and thorough, as an older brother would wash a younger sister, but he is no brother of hers, although she wishes her brother was here to do this instead of this strange, starry-eyed, frightening boy. Her brother would not hold those chains in one hand, stopping her from running or fighting.
He smiles as he rinses off her body, before picking up the liquid soap, the hair wash. It is fragranced with more flowers, more sickeningly sweet flowers, and she thinks that perhaps she hates flowers. He works the soap into her hair, gently, and washes every lock of her long white hair with utmost care. The room is silent aside from the gentle sloshing of water and the sound of his hands working the lather into her hair. After a few minutes, he tilts her back slowly, gently, and her hair is dunked into the water.
She watches the ceiling with detached eyes, watching as the steam rises in curls around the dark wood and cloth, and tries to dream of a time three centuries earlier, when she was free to roam, her brother's hand in hers.
Being rescued by him is a faraway dream. He is still alive, she knows, she has heard as Lithuania chatters to her about what is happening in the outside world, her one, biased window to a life outside of these chambers he keeps her in. He talks, sometimes, of this Grand Duchy of Muscovy, of how it has arisen against the Mongols and claimed its lands back, and is slowly campaigning against the Asian invaders, slowly turning itself from a mere rebellion into an Empire. The name rings true, and she knows it is her brother. It cannot be anyone but her brother.
"Isn't it terrible, how we Nations must fight against others just to survive? This Moscow, this Russia...he has to fight so hard, at least, I heard it's a he. Poland has met him, but I haven't, yet. Poland says he's a little creepy. Ah, but don't worry, you'll never have to fight. You never have to be scared like that. I'll keep you safe, and you'll never see war again...I'll make sure of it."
So he talks to her, as he lifts her out of the water and dries her off with almost religious reverence, and dresses her in a nightgown. He sits her on the vanity by her bed, then, and brushes her out in long, practiced strokes as he continues his chatter about his precious princess. Ten, thirty, fifty-seven. After one hundred strokes he places the brush down and carries her to her bed, and she is tucked in, and he reads her a bedtime story about a knight, riding in to save the princess on a white horse. She has heard it thousands of times before, it is one of his favorites to read to her, and he smiles sweetly every time he reads it. He often laughs at the end of the story, telling her that he has a white horse.
"Ah, but I won't have to ride out to save you, don't worry, I'll never let anyone take you from here."
He fastens her chains to the bed, then pats her hair and kisses her cheek sweetly, before putting out the candles and leaving her for the night. She finally lets out a breath, the only sign or her weakness that she allows herself, daily. He is gone, for the night.
For the rest of the night, she watches the draperies above her bed and dreams of a yung boy with ash-blonde hair and violet eyes, riding on a white horse to come slay a vile sorcerer with brown hair and green eyes, and she goes home riding behind him.
It has been three centuries, and she can barely remember his face, but she is a Nation. She can hope for a long time.
---
She knows things have not been well in Lithuania's house lately, and it is all she can do to not smile happily at the bags under his eyes.
Over the centuries under his roof, that roof has changed names from the Grand Duchy of Lithuania to the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, not that Poland and Lithuania living together had changed anything for her.
She knows Poland hates her, for the complete hold she has over Lithuania's attentions, but she is still land and so he will not give him up. Because of this, she does not tell him that he is perfectly welcome Lithuania's attentions. Because of her pride, she does not beg him to simply take that attention, because she wants none of it.
And so she has not moved from her chambers for four hundred years. Perhaps too much pride is a bad thing.
However, her centuries'long routine is interrupted today. Lithuania does not come alone.
Poland is with him, and for once, Lithuania seems furious. It is not an emotion she has seen on him, and she rather prefers it. It is not his false gentleness.
"You can't do this, Poland!!"
"Look, Liet." Poland snaps, turning to glare at his friend. "We totally have no choice. She belongs to that guy now, and unless you like, want to end up dead or something, we have to give her to him. I can't stand an invasion on three sides, Liet, and corpse-blue totally isn't my color, and it would look pretty bad on you too."
That guy? She belongs to...? Ah. The Commonwealth had fallen on hard times, recently, she knew, pressed on all sides from several different enemies, one of them her beloved brother, who had grown from the Grand Duchy of Moscow into the Russian Empire. She was proud of him. It seems he had gotten better at fighting. He had always been a little soft in that area, asking her to kill spiders for him when they crawled into the house.
She was surprised she could still remember such a detail.
"But...she is..! Poland, please, can't you give him any other territory!? He won't be able to handle her correctly, like she should be handled...!"
"Liet." Poland's voice is tired, but sharp, stubborn. "Unless you want to give him yourself, there is no other territory left to give. And like, you're the only one I refuse to give up, Liet. Face it, you have to let her go."
Lithuania deflates. Poland has won.
---
She stands on her own two feet, for the first time in four hundred years.
Her legs are wobbling, and she must lock her knees from falling right over, but she is standing. There are no chains on her wrists. She will keep standing. She will not show any weakness, either to Lithuania or her new ruler.
She does not know who he is, yet. So she stands, straight and proud, in Lithuania's foyer. There can be no one worse than Lithuania, and so she is relieved. But there is no telling...perhaps there are terrors beyond Lithuania. She does not know. But she will not show fear, no matter what. This is her future, and she will take it with pride.
Lithuania slumps by her side in a rare show of bad temper, mouth drawn and tight as he looks at the floor directly in front of his feet. Several times he has made as if to grab her arm, but each time he forces his hand back down. It would not do to appear attached to her, and he knows this, and so he keeps his hands to himself and tries to pretend that he is not affected.
She would laugh at him, if she could remember how.
The doors are opened at a knock, and they swing open to admit an entourage. She straightens, out of apprehension, as she watches the people pour in. She cannot see the Nation yet, the livery is unfamiliar...
Then the crowd of humans parts, and for a moment all she can see is violet.
One deep breath, shuddering and stuttering, before a word forces itself past her lips, involuntary, hoarse, her first in four hundred years.
"Brother..."
Lithuania and Poland snap their heads to stare at her in surprise, but she ignores them. Her Brother is here, her Russia, her Ivan. She takes a step forward, shaking and swaying, but she remains standing. So she takes another. And another.
Until she is running, toddling and slow, but in a few short steps she is in front of him, and she throws her arms around the figure in front of her. He is, of course, older than she remembers, taller, but he always was taller, and so it wasn't so much of a shock. She recognized him. She would always recognize him.
He looked down at her with those eyes, those beautiful eyes that her dreams for centuries could never compare to. He seemed surprised for a moment, before a smile came into his face, his smile. That gentle, wonderful smile that far outshone the false gentleness of Lithuania's, and she buries her face in his chest, hugging him tightly.
He came for her. Like he promised. He came.
A gloved hand rests on her hair, hesitantly, lightly, and she presses into it, not feeling any of the revulsion as when Lithuania did the same thing thousands of times. This was her brother, he could touch her as much as he wanted. She wanted to be touched by him, to prove to herself that he was there, really there, he had come for her.
She squeezes her eyes against the tears. It hurts. She is so happy, she can't do anything else, but she has not cried for centuries. It hurts.
His hand strokes her hair, soft and gentle and welcome, and he murmurs too, but it is soft and gentle and sweet, and not vile and hated. She loves this. She loves him.
"Come...let us go home, Belarus. Ukraine is already home with me. We will be all together again, like we should be, da? You are safe now, you are coming home."
She nods.
Everything else is a blur after that. She does not know how Lithuania or Poland react. All that is clear in her mind is her brother, listening to his soft, high voice, so gentle, so sweet. And, after a short while, they are walking, her arms wrapped firmly around one of his. She does not look back, does not hear Lithuania call her name desperately.
She will not let herself be taken from her brother, never again. She loves him too much to be taken away again. The thought of being separated again leaves her feeling as if she might die.
In fact, as she is led to the horses--her brother is riding a white one, and that makes her smile with absurd pleasure--she almost feels like a bride being led to her honeymoon, instead of a sister being brought to her long-lost home by her brother.
She smiles to herself at the thought.
Perhaps they should get married. No one could separate them again, after all.
------
Historical Notes/Relevancy:
Mongol Invasion - The Mongols invaded the West during the 13th century. They caused a large weakening of the Byzantium Empire, completely razed Kiev, and conquered and controlled all of Russia. The invasion is the cause of many things in Russian history, such as Russia's backwardsness compared to the rest of Europe, as the invasion caused him to miss many things such as the Renaissance and the Protestant Revolution, and prevented the formation of a middle class. The invasion is also blamed for the final blow to Kievan Rus' the and the split of the nation into the three separate ethnicities of Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus.
Grand Duchy of Lithuania - The Mongols invaded into Europe farther west than Russia, flattening a weak Hungary and a fragmented Poland, and even going as far as Austria. However, whether due to a death of the leader of the Mongols or a previous plan to simply make sure their western Russian borders were secure, the Mongols did not go farther than that into the heavier-populated and better-defended areas of the German regions and France. Lithuania was one of the Eastern European nations to be attacked, and while he suffered loss at his first invasion, but the time the second wave came around, he had strengthened and successfully fended off all remaining Mongol attacks. He rose into the country of the grand Duchy of Lithuania, and during this time, most of Belarus's lands fell into his control.
1300s and Poland - Due to a marriage between their rulers, Lithuania and Poland drew closer as nations.
1500s - During this time, Europe was finally starting to pull out of the Dark Ages the fall of Rome had thrown it into. Poland and Lithuania united into the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth during this time. Belarus remained under Lithuania's control.
1700s - While the previous century was a golden time for the Polish-Lithuania Commonwealth, the 1700s saw the country fall onto hard times. The Grand Duchy of Moscow had evolved into the Russian Empire. Austria and Hungary had united into their own Empire. Prussia and Sweden had developed into their own strong regions to the north, and further west, France and England were also gaining power. Beset on all sides by such powerful rivals, the Commonwealth could not hold its own, reforms came too late, and it finally dissolved in 1795. It was partitioned by Russia, Austria, and Prussia, and Belarus came under the Russian Empire's rule, and would stay that way until German invasion in WWI. After the end of the war and after a brief ten-month stint as an independent country, Belarus joined the Soviet Union in 1922, and the rest is history, as they say.
8. Demented, starry-eyed, obsessed Lithuania kidnapped young, innocent Belarus and kept her locked in a room in his house for FOUR HUNDRED YEARS. (This really happened.) Not that he'd ever lay a hand on her! Oh, no. She's his princess! She may be in chains, but he takes such good care of her. Make him hella creepy, and Belarus young, frightened, but dignified and resolute, waiting for the day when her beloved brother will save her. THEN HE DOES (in a partitioning--I'm not making any of this up). And that's why she's fixated on him. IT NEEDS FIC. You can tackle this whole scenario or just a part of it, I'm not picky. Bonus points for creepy Liet washing Bela's hair for her. I'd die.
I've ALWAYS loved this idea, and I've never tackled Liet before, so I thought this would be a good time to try. ♥
Note: I don't really ship Russia/Belarus, because I find it hella creepy and unhealthy on so many levels, but. This is in Belaru's POV, so...creepy fixation it is! Of course, this is more around how it starts...
Honestly? Liet creeped me out in this.
Title: On A White Horse (The one who catches both implications behind this wins internet cookies)
Author: Me~ ♥
Rating: PG-13 for serious creepiness.
Characters: One-sided Lithuania/Belarus main, slight one-sided Belarus/Russia, Poland/Lithuania hinted, other characters mentioned
Summary: After the Mongol Invasion, Belarus finds herself living in a brown-haired child's house.
------
The last she had seen of her dear brother and sister was of them screaming as the Mongols pulled them apart.
Where they had taken her siblings, she did not know. The leader had taken her brother, her sweet older brother, and she knew not where. He had promised to save them both, to save his sisters, but then huge hands had closed over her wrists and she saw him no more.
Her sister had been dragged away by a separate group. Again, where she did not know, but she remembers Ukraine's sweet, pleading face, scared and ever-present tears spilling over to roll down her cheeks, but in her raised voice was a sense of panicked calm, as strange as that was. She had called out to Belarus, to Russia, pleading with them to be quiet, to be good children, we will be together again, don't worry...
And then she had vanished too, as Belarus was taken west as the invaders continued their push into Europe. Her siblings were gone, but their words rang in her ears even now. Her brother would come to save her. Her sister would make sure they were all together again.
With all her young heart, Belarus believed that as she was dragged west.
It seemed nothing would stop the Mongols. They mowed over whoever stood up against them, like the little boy with long hair who rode horses like they did, or the blond one with the green eyes who had complained loudly and bitterly that "this like, totally sucks!"
She is dragged along these various campaigns, watching the Mongols fight and then inexplicably retreat as they run into a river. Then, as they march to invade again, the Mongols are defeated and driven back for the first time, at least since she has been with them.
They are driven back by a boy with long brown hair and green eyes, one she vaguely remembers the Mongols running over before, but he seems to have gotten his feet under him and his people have successfully routed the Mongols this time.
She is dropped during the fight, and she lays there, letting the men and horses trample the ground into mud around her. If she is trampled, then she will be dead and she will not care. If she just lies here, they will think she is dead and leave her. Both situations are an improvement.
She does not want to be under the Mongols. While the regiment she is contained in has some morals and she is not touched, and most likely will not be until she is older and has more of the charms of womanhood, not all do, and she has heard the rumors fly over horseback of what they're doing to her brother. She almost dully surprised that he has lived through it at all, if half the rumors are even close to true. it makes her blood boil, that is her beloved Brother, and she dreams of being strong enough to grind all of their filthy flesh under her boots. She cannot, and so she contents herself with their screams of pain and their running blood from wounds that this new army is giving them.
A hoof clips her arms, leaving a long gash, but she keeps herself silent, forcing the tears of pain down, and eventually the battle dies down and she is not further harmed as the Mongols retreat eastward. They forget her in the rush, and she feels absurdly happy that this plan, at least, has worked.
She sits up when they are gone, and comes almost nose-to-nose with the boy with green eyes.
He stares at her, wide-eyed, eyes almost glassy as he just stares at her. She stares right back, not hiding her glare. This boy is a Westerner, a foreigner, and she has seen what foreigners do to her, her people, her brother. He is foreign, and so she does not like him. The Westerners invade just as much as the Easterners, and so they are all bad, in her opinion. Only her siblings are good. Byzantium was good too, but the Mongols killed him.
He kneels beside her, smiling softly, gently, and she likes him even less. Only one person can be truly gentle, and that is her brother. Someone who just defeated the people who stole her from her family could not be as gentle as he appeared, and she dislikes liars as well.
"Are you hurt?" He murmurs in his own language, but they are Nations so she understands anyway. That does not mean she has to answer, however, so she just glares at him, and she is silently happy when she sees the gentleness falter, the kindness fall into sadness for a moment, before the boy smiles again and it is gone as if it was never there. Such a liar.
He begins touching her, feeling her over, looking for wounds. She does not like it, she does not want to be touched anymore, not after being hauled by filthy hands over thousands of versta on horseback, but when she tries to lash out, to hit his hands away, the gash in her arm flairs up, and she hisses in pain, unable to stop the tears this time. It hurts, and she hates herself for hurting.
The boy's eyes go wide, and he touches the arm immediately, holding it still. It does not hurt, but she growls.
"You are hurt...here, let me help you..." He murmurs, and she glares at him as he pulls out a skin of water and a cloth, soaking the cloth and gently cleaning the cut.
It hurts, but she cannot move her arm without more pain, and she knows that even though she'd rather get up and run as far as her legs wuld carry her, she would not really get far before falling over. So she can do nothing.
He murmurs comforting noises to her, mindless things meant to soothe her and take the sting away. She ignores him as best she can.
He wraps and binds the cut after he is done cleaning it, and she is loathe to admit it feels better now. He smiles at her, all false sweetness.
"There! All good to travel!" He stands, calling out to his men, and one of them comes over with a horse. Her eyes go wide when the man stoops over to pick her up, and she does kick out this time, trying to lash out in her fear. No, not again, she does not want to be carried off again! Not unless she is being carried back to the east into her brother's waiting arms. She finds her vice, finally.
"No!" She almost yells. She does not want to sound frantic or desperate, because that is weakness, but she must be loud. "No!!"
Those hands are back on her again, trying to soothe her, and she manages to bite one, sinking in her teeth until she feels blood well in her mouth. She ignores the taste and bites harder.
He does not seem to even notice as he smiles at her. She does not understand, and she spits his hand out in disdain, fear beginning to creep into her stomach.
This boy, he is strange.
He pets her hair, and she can't help but cringe away.
"Do not worry, I'll keep you safe." He murmurs, still in that soft, gentle tone, and she feels like throwing up.
---
Belarus thinks, that if she closes her eyes and dreams, concentrating hard on the image of a young boy with the rarest and most beautiful violet eyes she had even seen and a scarf wrapped securely around his neck, concentrating on a girl with a gentle smile and eyes that were as quick to spill tears of joy as well as sadness, that if she concentrates on those images hard enough, she can almost remember of a time when she did not live under Lithuania's roof.
It has been over a hundred years since he first found her, lying on that muddy battlefield. The scar from the horse hoof that day is almost completely faded, and she hasn't had the occasion to gain new ones.
Lithuania would not let something like that happen, after all.
It makes her almost want to hurt, to feel pain, to even drag a knife across her own skin just to remember what it feels like to hurt and bleed. Because Lithuania will not allow these things to happen, and what he says is law, in this house. She was right, the only one with true gentleness was her brother. Everyone else was lying.
She looks down at her arm, lifting it the few diuym--was it diuym, she can't remember well--it has clearance. The chains, painted delicate silver and wrought with jewels with the inside of the cuffs lined with heavy velvet so as to not damage her wrists, appear too decorative to be of any use, but the insides are cold, heavy iron.
He put the chains on her after she tried to run away the third time.
She still remembers his face as he fastened the delicate-seeming restraints around her wrists, pleading with that false gentleness.
"I am sorry, but this is for your own good." He had murmured to her, his tone that tone he always held with her, that soft, murmuring, pleading tone that she hated. She hated him. "You must see this is for your own good. The outside world is scary, and I will protect you from it. Even from yourself. So I am sorry, but these must stay, until you learn that you mustn't run away. It is so much better here, so much safer, why would you ever want to run away? I treat you so well, with everything I have...so you must understand, you must, I cannot take these off of you...I cannot let my jewel get hurt."
She hates him, but she is scared of him too. The strange, feverish light in his eyes whenever he looks at her is enough to make her blood run cold. He even scares his friend, she thinks, that blond boy with the green eyes and funny way of speaking that she vaguely remembers. The Mongols ran over him, too, but she thinks he didn't win, not like Lithuania. He had come across her once, looking for her captor, and had stared at her with wide eyes--"Dude, like, why do you have this little girl totally chained up in here, Liet!?"--and she had watched as Lithuania bubbled and enthused about her. She thinks she saw the blond one's eyes flash hurt.
But she is determined. Her brother will save her. He promised. So she closes her eyes and dreams of her rescue. Her brother will save her, and she will make sure they are never apart again.
---
The tea is sweet, not that she likes it that way, but it is always how he prepares her tea. She wants real tea, hot and bitter and made of fresh leaves, and not this imitation of what Europeans think tea might be. She does not understand why he insists on making it sweet.
Perhaps because she does not tell him she does not like it so, but she is not about to talk to her captor. Besides, she doubts it would change his mind. Sweets for his sweet. It sounds like something he would say, and she fights down the snarl and disgust.
It is useless to resist, she has long learned. So she must be content with acting his statue. He will not see emotion from her. Only her brother will have the privilege of seeing her emotions from now on, she has decided.
The teacup, imported porcelain from China, clinks gently as it is set back on the saucer, and a hand lifts to gently dab her lips with a napkin. Lithuania smiles brightly at her when he lowers the cloth. "All right, it is time for your bath."
He unfastens the chains from their bottom, and he holds the lengths in his hand as he picks her up. She has grown, these three centuries in his care, she cannot deny that, but so has he, and he can pick her up easily. He carries her into the bathroom, where he has already brought in heated water from a fire outside. All of this he does himself, he does not trust even servants or slaves around her. He insists on doing everything for her himself, and she cannot understand why. It is another mystery to her, another frightening puzzle, and she does not care to solve it.
The water is obviously hot, steam rising off the surface, and scented with roses and other flowers, the cloyingly sweet aroma clogging her smell until she feels she will never smell anything else again. He undresses her with reverence, and she has to clench every muscle tightly to stop shuddering, not from cold.
He does not touch her in any other way besides washing, touch gentle and caring but strictly platonic, and it is the only comfort she receives from him. For however frightening he can be, with this single-minded devotion, she knows he will not touch her.
Yet. And it is that unspoken "yet" that makes her shiver.
After she is undressed, he lowers her in the water, and she must bite her tongue to keep from hissing, it is hot. She hates this time of the day more than anything.
He washes her, gentle and thorough, as an older brother would wash a younger sister, but he is no brother of hers, although she wishes her brother was here to do this instead of this strange, starry-eyed, frightening boy. Her brother would not hold those chains in one hand, stopping her from running or fighting.
He smiles as he rinses off her body, before picking up the liquid soap, the hair wash. It is fragranced with more flowers, more sickeningly sweet flowers, and she thinks that perhaps she hates flowers. He works the soap into her hair, gently, and washes every lock of her long white hair with utmost care. The room is silent aside from the gentle sloshing of water and the sound of his hands working the lather into her hair. After a few minutes, he tilts her back slowly, gently, and her hair is dunked into the water.
She watches the ceiling with detached eyes, watching as the steam rises in curls around the dark wood and cloth, and tries to dream of a time three centuries earlier, when she was free to roam, her brother's hand in hers.
Being rescued by him is a faraway dream. He is still alive, she knows, she has heard as Lithuania chatters to her about what is happening in the outside world, her one, biased window to a life outside of these chambers he keeps her in. He talks, sometimes, of this Grand Duchy of Muscovy, of how it has arisen against the Mongols and claimed its lands back, and is slowly campaigning against the Asian invaders, slowly turning itself from a mere rebellion into an Empire. The name rings true, and she knows it is her brother. It cannot be anyone but her brother.
"Isn't it terrible, how we Nations must fight against others just to survive? This Moscow, this Russia...he has to fight so hard, at least, I heard it's a he. Poland has met him, but I haven't, yet. Poland says he's a little creepy. Ah, but don't worry, you'll never have to fight. You never have to be scared like that. I'll keep you safe, and you'll never see war again...I'll make sure of it."
So he talks to her, as he lifts her out of the water and dries her off with almost religious reverence, and dresses her in a nightgown. He sits her on the vanity by her bed, then, and brushes her out in long, practiced strokes as he continues his chatter about his precious princess. Ten, thirty, fifty-seven. After one hundred strokes he places the brush down and carries her to her bed, and she is tucked in, and he reads her a bedtime story about a knight, riding in to save the princess on a white horse. She has heard it thousands of times before, it is one of his favorites to read to her, and he smiles sweetly every time he reads it. He often laughs at the end of the story, telling her that he has a white horse.
"Ah, but I won't have to ride out to save you, don't worry, I'll never let anyone take you from here."
He fastens her chains to the bed, then pats her hair and kisses her cheek sweetly, before putting out the candles and leaving her for the night. She finally lets out a breath, the only sign or her weakness that she allows herself, daily. He is gone, for the night.
For the rest of the night, she watches the draperies above her bed and dreams of a yung boy with ash-blonde hair and violet eyes, riding on a white horse to come slay a vile sorcerer with brown hair and green eyes, and she goes home riding behind him.
It has been three centuries, and she can barely remember his face, but she is a Nation. She can hope for a long time.
---
She knows things have not been well in Lithuania's house lately, and it is all she can do to not smile happily at the bags under his eyes.
Over the centuries under his roof, that roof has changed names from the Grand Duchy of Lithuania to the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, not that Poland and Lithuania living together had changed anything for her.
She knows Poland hates her, for the complete hold she has over Lithuania's attentions, but she is still land and so he will not give him up. Because of this, she does not tell him that he is perfectly welcome Lithuania's attentions. Because of her pride, she does not beg him to simply take that attention, because she wants none of it.
And so she has not moved from her chambers for four hundred years. Perhaps too much pride is a bad thing.
However, her centuries'long routine is interrupted today. Lithuania does not come alone.
Poland is with him, and for once, Lithuania seems furious. It is not an emotion she has seen on him, and she rather prefers it. It is not his false gentleness.
"You can't do this, Poland!!"
"Look, Liet." Poland snaps, turning to glare at his friend. "We totally have no choice. She belongs to that guy now, and unless you like, want to end up dead or something, we have to give her to him. I can't stand an invasion on three sides, Liet, and corpse-blue totally isn't my color, and it would look pretty bad on you too."
That guy? She belongs to...? Ah. The Commonwealth had fallen on hard times, recently, she knew, pressed on all sides from several different enemies, one of them her beloved brother, who had grown from the Grand Duchy of Moscow into the Russian Empire. She was proud of him. It seems he had gotten better at fighting. He had always been a little soft in that area, asking her to kill spiders for him when they crawled into the house.
She was surprised she could still remember such a detail.
"But...she is..! Poland, please, can't you give him any other territory!? He won't be able to handle her correctly, like she should be handled...!"
"Liet." Poland's voice is tired, but sharp, stubborn. "Unless you want to give him yourself, there is no other territory left to give. And like, you're the only one I refuse to give up, Liet. Face it, you have to let her go."
Lithuania deflates. Poland has won.
---
She stands on her own two feet, for the first time in four hundred years.
Her legs are wobbling, and she must lock her knees from falling right over, but she is standing. There are no chains on her wrists. She will keep standing. She will not show any weakness, either to Lithuania or her new ruler.
She does not know who he is, yet. So she stands, straight and proud, in Lithuania's foyer. There can be no one worse than Lithuania, and so she is relieved. But there is no telling...perhaps there are terrors beyond Lithuania. She does not know. But she will not show fear, no matter what. This is her future, and she will take it with pride.
Lithuania slumps by her side in a rare show of bad temper, mouth drawn and tight as he looks at the floor directly in front of his feet. Several times he has made as if to grab her arm, but each time he forces his hand back down. It would not do to appear attached to her, and he knows this, and so he keeps his hands to himself and tries to pretend that he is not affected.
She would laugh at him, if she could remember how.
The doors are opened at a knock, and they swing open to admit an entourage. She straightens, out of apprehension, as she watches the people pour in. She cannot see the Nation yet, the livery is unfamiliar...
Then the crowd of humans parts, and for a moment all she can see is violet.
One deep breath, shuddering and stuttering, before a word forces itself past her lips, involuntary, hoarse, her first in four hundred years.
"Brother..."
Lithuania and Poland snap their heads to stare at her in surprise, but she ignores them. Her Brother is here, her Russia, her Ivan. She takes a step forward, shaking and swaying, but she remains standing. So she takes another. And another.
Until she is running, toddling and slow, but in a few short steps she is in front of him, and she throws her arms around the figure in front of her. He is, of course, older than she remembers, taller, but he always was taller, and so it wasn't so much of a shock. She recognized him. She would always recognize him.
He looked down at her with those eyes, those beautiful eyes that her dreams for centuries could never compare to. He seemed surprised for a moment, before a smile came into his face, his smile. That gentle, wonderful smile that far outshone the false gentleness of Lithuania's, and she buries her face in his chest, hugging him tightly.
He came for her. Like he promised. He came.
A gloved hand rests on her hair, hesitantly, lightly, and she presses into it, not feeling any of the revulsion as when Lithuania did the same thing thousands of times. This was her brother, he could touch her as much as he wanted. She wanted to be touched by him, to prove to herself that he was there, really there, he had come for her.
She squeezes her eyes against the tears. It hurts. She is so happy, she can't do anything else, but she has not cried for centuries. It hurts.
His hand strokes her hair, soft and gentle and welcome, and he murmurs too, but it is soft and gentle and sweet, and not vile and hated. She loves this. She loves him.
"Come...let us go home, Belarus. Ukraine is already home with me. We will be all together again, like we should be, da? You are safe now, you are coming home."
She nods.
Everything else is a blur after that. She does not know how Lithuania or Poland react. All that is clear in her mind is her brother, listening to his soft, high voice, so gentle, so sweet. And, after a short while, they are walking, her arms wrapped firmly around one of his. She does not look back, does not hear Lithuania call her name desperately.
She will not let herself be taken from her brother, never again. She loves him too much to be taken away again. The thought of being separated again leaves her feeling as if she might die.
In fact, as she is led to the horses--her brother is riding a white one, and that makes her smile with absurd pleasure--she almost feels like a bride being led to her honeymoon, instead of a sister being brought to her long-lost home by her brother.
She smiles to herself at the thought.
Perhaps they should get married. No one could separate them again, after all.
------
Historical Notes/Relevancy:
Mongol Invasion - The Mongols invaded the West during the 13th century. They caused a large weakening of the Byzantium Empire, completely razed Kiev, and conquered and controlled all of Russia. The invasion is the cause of many things in Russian history, such as Russia's backwardsness compared to the rest of Europe, as the invasion caused him to miss many things such as the Renaissance and the Protestant Revolution, and prevented the formation of a middle class. The invasion is also blamed for the final blow to Kievan Rus' the and the split of the nation into the three separate ethnicities of Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus.
Grand Duchy of Lithuania - The Mongols invaded into Europe farther west than Russia, flattening a weak Hungary and a fragmented Poland, and even going as far as Austria. However, whether due to a death of the leader of the Mongols or a previous plan to simply make sure their western Russian borders were secure, the Mongols did not go farther than that into the heavier-populated and better-defended areas of the German regions and France. Lithuania was one of the Eastern European nations to be attacked, and while he suffered loss at his first invasion, but the time the second wave came around, he had strengthened and successfully fended off all remaining Mongol attacks. He rose into the country of the grand Duchy of Lithuania, and during this time, most of Belarus's lands fell into his control.
1300s and Poland - Due to a marriage between their rulers, Lithuania and Poland drew closer as nations.
1500s - During this time, Europe was finally starting to pull out of the Dark Ages the fall of Rome had thrown it into. Poland and Lithuania united into the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth during this time. Belarus remained under Lithuania's control.
1700s - While the previous century was a golden time for the Polish-Lithuania Commonwealth, the 1700s saw the country fall onto hard times. The Grand Duchy of Moscow had evolved into the Russian Empire. Austria and Hungary had united into their own Empire. Prussia and Sweden had developed into their own strong regions to the north, and further west, France and England were also gaining power. Beset on all sides by such powerful rivals, the Commonwealth could not hold its own, reforms came too late, and it finally dissolved in 1795. It was partitioned by Russia, Austria, and Prussia, and Belarus came under the Russian Empire's rule, and would stay that way until German invasion in WWI. After the end of the war and after a brief ten-month stint as an independent country, Belarus joined the Soviet Union in 1922, and the rest is history, as they say.