Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

Warning: Boy love, language, use of Cherokee words, and slight AU? I dunno, but it's kinda my take on America's early life before being a colony.

Pairing: US x UK (It's my OTP for this series, now)

Me: Awesome~! I finally have an excuse to use freakin' CHEROKEE! :dances around and throws confetti:

Arthur: :mutters about bloody American-born Scotsmen:

Me: Oi! Just because I've got Scottish, Irish, English, Cherokee, and a whole bunch of other stuff doesn't make me stupid by being born in America! D:

Arthur: You would have been better off being born in MY country, you bloody, foolish git.

Me: …You're so mean to me. T~T

Alfred: Aw, c'mon, guys! Let's just get this done an over with. :sweat drop:

Me: :mutters: At least Alfred is on my side.

Sometimes at night, Alfred just would not get to sleep. It was on those nights that he would go out to his backyard and sat beneath the dogwood tree. He would then look up to the moon and simply…reminisced about the days before he had met England. It was all so clear to him, as if he had never forgotten what it had been like to live amongst the Native Americans.

America had loved to run through the trees, hunting the deer for him and his people. He loved to sit near a campfire and listened to the wise man tell a story. His favorite had to be the ones that concerned the creation of the world. It was just a fantastic idea to learn that a woman had fallen from the sky and had gotten help from the animals from the sea to shape the land.

He loved to listen to the songs made by the tribesmen. America even loved to help with their artwork, and he still remembered exactly how to create handmade baskets, dream catchers, their elaborate masks, and the beadwork they were so proud of. Yes, he had loved his people to death and when they were driven away, he was very sad that he could do nothing to help them. Alfred shook his head, going away from the memories of when his boss was Andrew Jackson. Instead, he took the path in his memories that led to when he first saw the white men.

The Puritans were the weirdest bunch America had ever seen. Their skin was as white as some of the peaches they grew, and the clothes they wore were so outlandish! They were very strange people, if they could even be called that! Yet, at the same time, America had felt a connection toward those foreigners. It confused him greatly.

His people were confused, too. They also felt very protective of the little boy and always hid him away whenever those white people visited their tribe. The tribes had not wanted the strangers to take him away from them. So, the northern tribes sent him down to the south, where the Algonquian tribes would take care of him. America was confused and sad, but he went without a fuss.

Time past and more of those white people arrived on the shores of the southern tribes. They dressed a little differently from the white men from the north, though. America and a few of the tribe's people had gone to observe them from the cover of the trees. There was one among the white people that kept drawing America's eyes. The man he saw was just so…different from the others.

He had dirty blond hair and wore an elaborate suit of that time period. America tried to figure out what his eye color was until the group decided to go back to the safety of the tribe. He hesitated before following them, the blond stranger always on his mind.

Two days of watching later and America found himself drawn to that tiny village. He was confused about all of that. Weren't the tribesmen his people? Then, why did he feel such a connection to those white strangers? It was time for him to pay a visit to the wise man of the tribe. Alfred remembered that meeting very clearly.

"Kanti! Kanti!" the young boy called as he carefully went inside the log cabin. It smelled of lavender, primrose, and other herbs used in medicine and rituals. The smell was calming, soothing even, and after a while his head would start to clear up enough for him to find his own answers. At that moment, the scent was just not able to help him think.

"Ah? Is that little A-me-li-ga I hear?" an old, wise voice answered as an equally old man stepped away from organizing his shelves of medicinal herbs. His withered face was still kind and gentle as it was when he was a young warrior of his people. Young America smiled brightly, bowed in respect, and then hugged the old man gently. He loved the medicine men of his people, for they were always so helpful in times of uncertainty.

"Kanti…I'm so confused! These white people…I feel like…like…like how I feel about the other tribes! Why do I feel like that, Kanti?" America looked up to old Kanti with blue eyes sparkling with innocence and confusion. The old medicine man smiled and patted the boy's head.

"Oh, A-me-li-ga. It seems like the answer is very simple. If it feels like you are connected to these people just like us, what does that tell you?" the young child scrunched up his face, trying to think about what that meant. Yet, the answer he arrived to was just as confusing.

"That…they're my people, too? But…" Kanti chuckled and hugged the small boy in reassurance. He always knew what little America was thinking and feeling. It was…comforting to know that.

"We will always be your people, A-me-li-ga, but so will those white men. Always remember our songs and stories, and you will find that we will never stop being your people," the old wise man smiled softly and brushed away the tears that America had not known he had shed. He returned the smile, thanked his friend, and went off to play with the other children in the tribe.

Alfred smiled at the bittersweet memory. Yes, he missed being amongst the tribes. That was true freedom, being able to run through the forests and learn new things from all the different tribes. Still, one of his fonder memories was when he finally met Arthur face-to-face.

It had been three days since the white men had settled in the south. Luckily, that man stranger than the others was still around. In fact, the man had taken two of his people and went into the forest, possibly to scout around. America had been following them as stealthily as he could, pretending as though they were wolves. Well, they had looked like they were about to kill something, although he couldn't see how they could kill anything with those black sticks of theirs. Still, it was best to err on the side of caution.

The three white men stopped at a river and rested for a few marks. America merely watched them, making sure they never caught on to him. He followed them again on their way back to the village. Unfortunately, America never realized that one of the three was missing until it was too late.

"Oi! Look at what I found!" a gruff voice in some strange language grunted to his companions as he lifted America up, his hands holding the young boy's ribcage in an iron grip. America knew he couldn't struggle, not with the way the man was holding him. So, he opted for glaring at his captor.

"Oh, great. Ye jes' caught yerself a young savage lad, ye did," one of them said sarcastically, his accent just as foreign as the other man's. Yet, the blond man had yet to say a word about it. Instead, he was looking at America with interest. Too bad the young boy was too busy looking at the ground, shameful of being caught.

"Well, we best bring him back to the colony. We might be able to see if we can get him to talk to us there," the blond man decided for the two that were arguing. They merely grunted and took the hapless (and confused) youth with them.

When they got back to the village, America couldn't help but flinch at the looks they shot him. They were…looks of hatred and fear and superiority. America really didn't like it, and wasn't sure if he even liked being there.

Eventually, the trio had stopped in front of a house that looked like all the other houses they had passed by. America was suspicious, but he still couldn't do anything. The man kept a tight hold on his ribcage and it was starting to annoy the boy. They went inside and the interior surprised America.

There were tables and chairs made of the pine trees they had cut down. In fact, the whole house was made of pine, giving the room a very soothing and natural scent. There were some candles here and there, most resting on silver candleholders. It was a very confusing house, but it also felt kind of like…home. He was jarred out of his thoughts when his captor plopped him in one of the chairs. America glared at the man and turned to face the front when he heard the chair scrape across the floor.

Sitting right in front of the boy was the blond man. His eyes immediately drew him in, since they were the weirdest color for eyes he had ever seen. They were…green, but many shades of it. It reminded him of those shiny green gems he sometimes found, but also of the grass blowing in the wind, and maybe the color of what the sea looked like. They seemed kind enough. America figured that he could probably trust this man.

"All right, boy. Let's start with your name," the gruff man asked. America frowned and tilted his head in confusion. What were they talking about? His inability to respond must have angered the man, but before he could say anything, the blond man cut in.

"I believe he doesn't like you very much, my good man. I think it best if you two go see how you can help to better defend Jamestown," his voice was smooth and left no room for argument. The gruff man grunted and stormed out with the funny, short man in tow. America looked at the blond man and tilted his head, though he was grateful that they were gone. He never thought that a voice could sound so soothing and smooth at the same time! The accent was still weird, but it seemed to add to the quality of the blond man's voice.

"How about we start with my name? My name is…England," the blond man's voice cut across America's thoughts and he had to frown. England? What was that? Was it edible? "I am England."

That time he understood because the man had pointed to himself when he said, "England." America smiled, proud that he finally understood what an "England" was. Then the blond asked something else, but pointed to America instead of himself. The boy frowned. Was he trying to find out what America's name was?

"…A-me-li-ga," America replied, trying to keep it simple. It was obvious that these men would not understand his language, just as America could not understand them. England smiled at the boy and it lifted America's spirits for some reason. Tentatively, America smiled back.

Alfred smiled at the memory of their meeting. It had been hectic at first, but once he had started to get the gist of English, he had decided to teach England some of the Cherokee language. The Cherokee tribes had been his favorite, although he had tried very hard not to have favorites.

"You need a name," the young America said one day as he and England took a stroll through Jamestown. England raised a bushy eyebrow in confusion. America merely giggled before trying to elaborate. "A…uh…tsa-la-gi name!"

"A Cherokee name?" England asked, a small smile gracing his lips. The boy nodded vigorously, a wide grin upon his face.

"That way, you're part of both of my people!" America replied, still grinning. England chuckled and patted his head, reminding him of Kanti. They were silent for a while when the blond man broke the silence.

"So…what do you think my name would be?" he inquired as they passed by the smithy. America was quiet as he thought of the perfect name for his friend. A few minutes past before his face lit up.

"Sv-no-yi-e-hi-nv-do shall be your name!" the youngster exclaimed, surprising his companion. England tilted his head.

"That's quite a mouthful. What does it mean?" America giggled and poked England's arm.

"Aw, you have to find out, Iggy!" the blond sighed, but smiled. He was accepting the challenge, which was more than what America could ask for.

The two lapsed into a companionable silence. It was nice to hear the birds and the people working as they walked through the settlement. Eventually, America just couldn't help but give his friend another challenge.

"Iggy?" the child shyly waited until he had England's full attention, "You have u-wo-du-hi eyes!"

Alfred chuckled to himself. Arthur probably still had no idea what those words meant. Good thing he was visiting tomorrow. That meant he should get to bed soon. Still, he wanted to dwell on his memories a little longer. After a few minutes, the American stood up and went back inside the house. Yet, before he could completely go back inside, he took one last look toward the moon.

Kanti…I still remember the songs and stories. More than that, I also remember…the language of my people.

***

The next morning brought sunshine and birdsong through Alfred's window. He yawned, stretched, groaned, and finally got out of bed. The young man threw on his usual clothing and went down the stairs to get something for breakfast.

When breakfast was done and cleaned up after, he heard the doorbell ring. Alfred rolled his eyes. Arthur just couldn't help but be a gentleman, even though he was more than welcome to barge through his door if he wanted to.

"Coming!" Alfred called in a singsong voice as he bolted for the door. He threw it open with his trademark, goofy grin and stood out of the way to let the Englishman inside. Arthur muttered something in thanks and the two went to sit in the American's spacious living room.

At first, they spent their time talking about the state of affairs with their countrymen and then just moved on to small talk, with some arguments here and there, of course. After a while, Alfred decided to completely switch gears on his friend.

"Soooooo…have you figured out what those words meant?" Arthur gave him a stupid look and Alfred had to resist the urge to laugh outright, "You know, sv-no-yi-e-hi-nv-do and u-wo-du-hi."

Arthur faltered, trying to remember where he had heard those words. Alfred was patient with him, though. After a while, the Briton sighed in frustration and crossed his arms, a faint blush rising on his cheeks.

"No. I have no idea. Care to enlighten me?" the American ignored his companion's sarcasm, as he always had.

"Sure!" Alfred replied cheerfully, "Your Cherokee name, sv-no-yi-e-hi-nv-do, means moon. And every time I said 'You have u-wo-du-hi eyes…' Well, why don't you guess on that?"

Arthur looked like he had really liked his Cherokee name, although he tried very hard not to show it. Still, when Alfred had asked for him to guess, his mood had turned a bit sour. He hadn't cared, though. The American really wanted to see if the Brit could figure it out for himself. Arthur sighed in frustration.

"Green. I don't know, I wasn't raised with the Native Americans!" Alfred laughed at his companion's peeved expression. Arthur was just way too cute for his own good. Although, the young American would never say that aloud, unless he wanted to be beaten to a pulp.

"Well, when I was younger I had u-wo-du-hi mean pretty, until I got older and found out that it had another meaning. So, after I found that other meaning out, I used that connotation instead. When I said, "You had u-wo-du-hi eyes," I meant that you had beautiful eyes," Arthur was blushing mighty heavily by that point. Alfred grinned, always getting a kick out of making the older nation blush.

Abruptly, the young man had an idea. He got up from his couch, went around to the back of Arthur's, and wrapped his arms around the Brit's neck (gently, of course). Alfred could feel the blood rushing up to Arthur's cheeks and it made him smile again.

"One more thing. I promise that that's it," Alfred said as he put his cheek against the Englishman's, "You've always had my a-da-nv-do, you know."

It was obvious that Arthur was confused, which was fine. The American smiled and kissed the blond man's cheek softly.

"What I meant was, "You've always had my heart, or spirit, you know.'"

End

A/N: All righty! I used the Cherokee phonetic way of spelling those words, just so you know. ;3 I don't think that everybody can read the Cherokee font or anything, so…yay for phonetic spelling. XD

Wow. This has to be my longest one-shot yet. O_o I've never gone seven pages before~!

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. :)