A/N: Angsty and kind of heartbreaking. But that's what I get for writing historical fic about an anthropomorphized child nation affected by war. This takes place during the Great Northern War at the beginning of the 18th century. There are further historical notes at the bottom, by which I mean way too many. I think you can understand what's going on without them, but if you're a nerd like me then you'll like to know where I got all this from.

Hopefully, this is the first part of a series of vignettes about Latvia's childhood. I have several vague ideas for things that I want to say, but I say "hopefully" because they're not solid, and I'm not at all sure how long it will take me to get around to writing them.

Heart

Latvia sat in the middle of the street. His legs were crossed up underneath him, and he had been sitting on them for so long that he could hardly feel them at all anymore. A crusty, itchy feeling remained, like heat rash in the dead of summer. He did not uncross his legs and try to shake feeling back into them. Even the slightest movement would fan the memory of burns back into reality.

When the fire first started across his skin, he had cried for a long time in his room before Lithuania had come to check on him. Latvia couldn't know for sure if Lithuania, too, was hiding raw red burns underneath his clothes, but from the expression on the older country's face and the bloody bandage wrapped from his upper arm to the end of his fingers, Latvia was sure that he knew the answer.

Lithuania gave that tight, sad smile of his, and sat down on the bed. Even sitting, he was much taller than Latvia, his human body that of a teenager. Latvia, a very young child still, looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes, trembling, and without a sound. Lithuania placed his hand softly on top of Latvia's head and smoothed his ragged hair away from his eyes.

"It'll be over soon, broliukas," he said. He looked at Latvia briefly, looked away. "Soon."

Latvia nodded, reaching a hand out. Lithuania took it for a moment, squeezed it gently, and then let go at the sound of a knock on the door.

"Liet?" Poland opened the door. He had a bandage around his head and looked just as tired as his partner.

But still, all three remained relatively composed in their anguish. Only Latvia flinched and let out a whimper when deep gashes were torn out of his torso where his people had been. Poland and Lithuania knew, and felt the swords in their own lands, but had grown into their teens and grown used to war.

"It's like, time to go now," said Poland. He smirked a little bit. "Liet, like, who knew your baby brother'd get more popular than you?"

Lithuania smiled thinly, and Latvia imitated him. There was nothing else to do. But still, as he stood on shaky legs and winced at the sting as he walked, pulling at his new burns, he turned pleading eyes between Poland and Lithuania one last time.

"Do I really have to go?" he asked. He tried not to sound like he was begging. If he was ever going to grow up to be a big nation, he would have to learn to talk like one. But he was scared…

"You know what we agreed on, kiddo," chided Lithuania, but without any real heart in it. "Odd years at our house, even years at Sweden's house."

One big shudder went through Latvia. And then it stayed around as a bunch of little trembles. It wasn't that Sweden was scary…well, okay. Sweden was scary, but he wasn't all bad. He taught Latvia how to read and changed up the law code that Germany had left him. But this year was different.

Latvia knew that the war was getting worse. He just didn't know anymore whether either side, Lithuania and Poland or Sweden, could protect him.

Lithuania took Latvia's hand again. "C'mon. It won't be so bad. Your other brother will be there too."

Latvia smiled. It was a little smile, but it was real. It would be nice to see his other brother again.

But now, there was no one. And so he sat in the middle of the street, one among many. His heart fluttered madly, irregularly, slowly leaking. Trying to control his trembling, trying not to make a sound, Latvia waited for the city to burst open in the summer sun, waited for the siege to break Riga like a butterfly upon a wheel.

And then there was a hand on top of his head, smoothing his ragged hair away from his eyes.

He looked up, far, far up, and regarded the face smiling down at him with a fresh outbreak of shivers.

"Hello, little one," the stranger said, kneeling down in the street, wrapping his long white scarf around his neck several more times to keep it from dragging in the bloody dirt.

Latvia looked down at his lap, overcome by shyness, returning a whispered hello.

"So this is your city." The man glanced around him with a vaguely curious expression. A frightened looking woman ran by with a piece of cloth covering her nose and mouth as a cart piled high with plague-ridden dead rolled in the opposite direction. Latvia, watching him through his bangs, looked quickly back down when the man turned back to him. "This is your heart."

Without thinking, Latvia pressed his hand against his chest. A much larger hand settled on top of his. And his voice became suddenly unstuck as he blurted out, "Why did you burn everything?"

He knew by the coldness of the touch, recognized it as the feeling left behind when the fires in his countryside had burned themselves out and left only emptiness. He knew who had finally penetrated his city itself.

Russia smiled with a childish light that belonged to the madness of dreams. "Because I wanted to meet you." He threaded his free hand through Latvia's hair, tucking it behind his ear, and the shivers that never stopped could be felt at the ends of every strand.

"…Why?"

With a gentle tug, Russia pulled Latvia's hand out from underneath his own so his cold palm rested within the warm blood of Riga.

"Why are you so small, little one?"

Latvia did not answer.

"Why do you fight so hard with nothing at all?"

Someone in the depths of the city, on a far away street, was screaming, wailing grief mingled with helpless love. Latvia tried not to cry.

"Shh." Russia brushed his thumbs under Latvia's eyes to catch the tears, leaving a bloody streak on one cheek. "You will come with me now, da? I will take care of you."

As Russia picked him up to carry him away to a house that was not his own, Latvia felt guilty; guilty because he was relieved. His part in the war was over. He had not been able to fight, did not want to fight, and somehow he knew that that made him less than a nation.

He didn't know that he would not set foot in Riga again as a free country for over two hundred years. He didn't know that by claiming his heart, Russia meant to take every piece of him.

Not yet. He was very young still.

He cried, and did not know what he was longing for.

Not yet.

A/N: I think there was some symbolism in that story. Maybe. But either way, you could review? Just if you want to. ;) Oh, and I stole "like a butterfly upon a wheel" from a famous quote by Alexander Pope, "Who breaks a butterfly upon a wheel?" because I thought it was pretty and it fits. I first heard a modified version of this quote in the song "Falling Down" by Oasis (I like the Prodigy remix version): "Catch the wheel that breaks the butterfly."

Historical Notes

Latvia/Livonia: During the Great Northern War of 1700-1721 there was no unified country of Latvia. Northern Latvia and parts of southern Estonia formed Swedish Livonia, eastern Latvia was a territory under the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, and western Latvia was technically part of the commonwealth but largely independent. By the end of the century all of the parts that make up modern Latvia were under Russian control, but even then there wouldn't be a country called Latvia until 1918. So why call him Latvia, not Livonia, in this story? Because over the past few hundred years, several of the old Baltic tribes had formed a common language group, the group that in the future would make up Latvia. I've decided that my Latvia represents these people, and the region he and they will become.

Latvia's burns: As Russia's Peter the Great was trying to carve a path to the Baltic Sea through the Swedish Empire, his policy was pretty much burn everything, which resulted in famine and plague. 40% of the Latvian population was killed.

Lithuania and Poland's injuries: They were part of the coalition against Sweden, and, to make a long story short, were beaten.

Broliukas: Lithuanian for "little brother". At least, as far as I know. If any Lithuanian knows better, please tell me so. =)

Sweden and Germany: Latvia has a long history with Germany which I won't go into here, except to say that since the Teutonic Knights invaded in the 12th century the ruling classes of the Latvian territories were Germans, thus the comment about laws. As for Sweden, after they won Latvia in the Polish-Swedish war they established schools for the peasantry and eased serfdom, thus Sweden teaching Latvia how to read. =)

Latvia's other brother: By which I mean Estonia, which at that time was divided between Swedish Estonia and the northern part of Swedish Livonia.

Riga: The capital of modern Latvia, at the time the most populous city in the Swedish Empire. Half of Riga died of plague during the siege by Russia. The Livonian nobility and the city of Riga capitulated to Russia on 4 July 1710 (Estonia did so later that year). This did not end the war, as Sweden wouldn't recognize the loss until they were so soundly beaten that they couldn't refute it.