Coriander and Feverfew

It had been a full day since, he had eaten, yet still Lithuania was strong. It hurt nonetheless - that raw, biting pain in his stomach - but his strength did not falter him, he was sure of it. He had Poland, and there was no way they were going to loose this war! ...at least, that's what he thought, until they lost.

He didn't really remember how it had happened. His people...they had so much spirit within themselves. Yet still, somewhere whilst he was battling his enemy, Poland was felled. Soon after, he followed. How did it happen? How did this happen? His brain was screaming, but there was nothing he could do - he had lost - and now he lay on the ground, next to Poland, who was nearly unconscious. The little boy from so long ago - the weak and emaciated child in the snow - how did he grow to be so strong?

It was hard to see, and hard to move. Lithuania could hardly feel his limbs, they were numbed from the iciness of the snow, and his eyelashes were frozen. Wisps of white breath drifted out from his lips every time he exhaled, and when he inhaled it was painful to do so. The only warmth he had to comfort him was the sticky blood that ran down the side of his face, and, if he reached out his arm as far as he could, he could touch Poland's hand.

"Feliks..." He whispered; his lungs were paining him so, and now his stomach felt as if insects were fluttering around in it, insects with wings of razors. Vainly, he tried to curl his fingers around Poland's gloved hand, but they were too cold to do so - they wouldn't budge. "Feliks..." He rasped again, but, to his great disdain, his old friend didn't even raise his head.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder - a large, powerful hand - and Lithuania felt himself being pulled upright. He didn't protest at first, his mind was sluggish and he couldn't comprehend what was happening, but then he looked up. Peering back at him with an amused expression and glittering eyes was Russia.

There was no affection in Lithuania's returned gaze. He gritted his teeth, furious. You. He thought. You made me weak. With no fight left, he merely spat, "Damn you..." mouth trembling as he spoke the words. "Damn you, Russia..."

For a moment Russia was silent. His smile dissapeared, and his violet eyes shone like shards of ice. It made Lithuania shiver, and he tried to avert his eyes elsewhere, but when he looked away from Russia's eyes he saw his face, which was covered with blood - Poland and his blood - and so he stared boldly back. This wasn't a time to be weak, this wasn't a time to back down, he would face this wretched country, he would -

Russia smiled, causing Lithuania to pull away sharply. He fell back into the snow, face down, and raised his head with a fearful swiftness, wondering what lay in store of him. But Russia said, "I like you."

"Y-you..." Lithuania found himself inching away from the other nation. "What?" He hissed through his teeth, glancing futivley at Poland, who was still lying about in the snow. Poland's eyes were closed, and he moved not a muscle. Lithuania bit into his lower lip, quivering. Damn it, wake up! Feliks! He was scared now; Russia was coming closer again.

Before Lithuania knew what was happening, Russia unceremoniously lifted him from the snowy ground, pulling him near with glittering eyes, and a wicked grin. "I like you, Lithuania," He chuckled darkly; his voice was so unintentionally evil. "so, you will live with me now." When Lithuania opened his mouth to protest, Russia lay his whole hand over the smaller country's lips. "You will live with me now, Lithuania," He said again. "because I won."

He didn't know what to do, or what to say. In truth, the Baltic nation went into a state of shock, and he held no reaction as Russia imprisoned his small hand in his large one, and began to lead him away - from Poland, from his people, from everything. Russia was talking as he dragged him along, and laughing about something, but Lithuania didn't know what. Frankly, he didn't care. The shock melted away within one small instant, and Lithuania was thrashing wildly. "Poland! Poland wake up!" He was screaming at the top of his lungs. It was stupid, he knew, - Poland was injured more than him, and they had already lost anyways - but he had to cling to some strand of hope. He had to believe in someone. "Poland, help me!" He yelled.

"Now, now, stop that." Russia was chiding, much in the way an adult would speak to a child. Lithuania wasn't listening. He kept on yelling... "Litva, stop that, I hate yelling." The arctic nation threatened, and his grip on Lithuania's hand tightened.

Suddenly, Poland raised his head. Lithuania quieted for a moment, and his eyes met Poland - glittering green emeralds, both pairs - and hope burned so deeply and brightly within him. It'll all be all right... He thought. "Poland-" He started, eyes glistening, moist with his fear.

Poland looked up at him, looking dazed. "Liet..." He murmured, his hands scrabbling against the snow, fighting to push himself to his feet. He could not. Finally, he looked back at Lithuania. He looked back, and smiled. It felt like the world was crumbling - this was the most unforgivable...the worst betrayal Lithuania had ever experienced. "Your face," Poland sneered. "Looks hilarious."

It was then when Lithuania could finally think the words: It is over. It was then that the fight left him and he stopped fighting Russia. The world seemed to grow darker. Every part of his body ached now, he hurt so much. Something terrible happened then: for the first time, an uncontrollable tremor shook Lithuania's body. He trembled nonstop, and everything around him was menacing - from Russia's hand to the snow beneath his feet - everything wanted to hurt him. He trembled, and then, he fainted.

He came back into consciousness only off and on, and when he was conscious he would tremble uncontrollably, and cry. He cried because when he awoke he was in so much pain and he didn't know why. He didn't know where he was either and it was dark - so very dark - and he hated the dark so much. He trembled because he was afraid. He didn't know what it was he was afraid of, exactly, but he kept thinking of Poland. Traitor...betrayal...treason... No, it hurts too much... Where am I? I want to go home. I don't want anyone to leave me anymore... But then his thoughts would fade, and be replaced by an impregnable blackness that was nothing, yet covered everything. Once, he awoke enough to realize he was over someone's shoulder, being carried. He didn't understand, so he closed his eyes again. Everyone I love goes away... He thought, a murmur of a thought, and then the blackness overtook him once more.

When finally Lithuania opened his eyes, and was able to keep them open, his body didn't hurt so bad anymore. The cold was gone, and in return he found himself in a place...quite warm. He didn't know where the strange place was, and his mind was taking a while to remember things, but after a bit he recollected being dragged around by Russia, so he figured he must be at his place.

The room he was in was a rather large one; the bed was big enough for two people, and there was a pretty wooden dresser by the door, with a shiny circular mirror above it. To the left of him towered a huge bookshelf, stuffed with so many books that it seemed to be swelling, and next to the bookshelf was a rocking chair.

Why bother putting me in a room? Lithuania pondered with apparent bitterness. He might as well lock me up in a cell. Still, when he sat up he discovered further kindnesses: all his wounds had been seen to, they were sewed and bandaged up, and there was a cool cloth upon his forehead. It fell off into his lap when he straightened. What is the meaning of this? He thought to himself, eyes darting around. He began to get afraid again - oh so afraid - and his heart was pounding in his chest like a hummingbird's...

Lithuania threw back the covers - the wretched man had even tucked him in! - and leapt from the bed. He started shaking almost automatically, and he didn't know why, but he hated himself for it. Look at this...this weak mess you've become. His subconscious grumbled, and slowly he staggered for the door. He reached his had in front of him - his shaking, quivering fingers outstretched - and clasped them around the door nob. He figured it to be locked, but when he twisted it, then pulled...the door open. He just stood there for a moment, mouth agape, and then he stumbled out into the hallway.

Stairs. He saw them. The way out. Incoherently, he went towards them. His vision blurred, and his steps were uncertain from the trembles, and when he reached the stairs he tripped. He was going to fall; he would tumble down all those awful, horrid stairs and break his neck. He reached out his hands to stop from hitting his face.

Someone caught him around the waist. Lithuania froze. His breath, which had been coming in and out shallow and fast, slowed.

Russia lowered his face to his ear. "Litva," He said, "you've finally woken up."