Warnings: Some communist ideology, but I'm surprised of anyone is offended by that... Mentions of blood and violence.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or Russia's character, nor do get any profit out of this. And the poem at the end belongs to Vladimir Mayakovski. I would also like to point out that I do not uphold any of the political views expressed in this fanfiction.
oOoOo
He had heard them.
The women, shouting at the streets, demanding bread and the end of the war. And before they even reached the prestigious palace sitting at the heart of Petrograd, he had heard them in his head.
For many years in fact. The tall Russian man in a Czarist military uniform chuckled and adjusted his long white scarf. The little voices who screamed in grief and misery as they ran out of food, worked long hours in his factories and tried to support the country. For what? For a war that he knew would be lost without drastic actions, for tens of thousands of soldiers dying at the front. He had heard each and every one of them die. Oh, how he, too, wished for the war to stop, wished for peace to his people.
A little insane smile ghosted over his face. Нет. As surely as he felt the suffering of his people, he felt their anger, rage and jealousy towards the Czar and the royal family. He had known, for so long, that it was going to come to this…
Still, it grieved him to see the mass of people in front of his beautiful Winter Palace when he looked through the window now. Because at the same time, he felt the confusion and panic of his ruler, the Czar Nikolay II. Maybe he should go and comfort his old friend, да? With that thought the violet eyed Russian turned away from the window, to start his, probably last, journey to the Czar's room.
oOoOo
"Nikolay?" he entered the room, only to see the man in question slumped to a chair in front of his huge wooden desk, looking old, so old… It stung his heart to see his ruler like this, but he had no power over the events taking place. After all, nations were ruled by their people and it was the people's word that counted now. He dared not to go any closer, because the feelings of the crowd, rage and bloodthirst, were catching up with him.
"Nikolay, you know what is going to happen now, да? There is no stopping it anymore. I can feel the change already, I have felt it for a long time… I tried to warn you, remember?" a cold smile of satisfaction spread to his face. His ruler had been too stubborn, too set to his ways. New era always came, whether humans liked it or not.
"Ivan, I… I am so sorry… I should have listened to you, please, do not leave me now…" the last Czar was driven to a corner, begging for help from the only being he knew would never leave him: his own nation.
"Извините Nikolay. I am only following the will of my people. Because even after you are thrown from power, they will still be my people, no matter what. I cannot help you, old friend…" As much as I would wish to. Ivan could feel the power of the Czar slipping away, leaving behind a hollow filled with turmoil that made him sick. A part of him wanted to cry and beg for it to stop before it got worse, but it was only a small part. A much bigger part was overjoyed of the chance to change, to bring peace to his land. He did enjoy war, conflict and battle but when it hurt his people like this… He shook his head. It is not worth it.
"До свидания Nikolay Alexandrovich Romanov, may we both survive the years to come. I wish you all the best."
With those words the representation of Russia, Ivan Braginsky, let his uniform jacket fall to the floor, turned away from the mourning last Czar and walked out of the room, to the wide halls. Not a soul stopped him, they all knew the man with blonde hair, violet eyes and a long scarf and felt a tremor of fear and excitement flow through them when he walked past. With his beloved metal pipe in his hand, he stepped to the palace yard, filled with yelling people.
Just a smile and they parted in front of him, storming the Winter Palace while Ivan walked to the opposite direction, to his house. I wonder what will become of me now..? Whistling a little tune he arrived to his home and opened the door.
"Финляндия! It has finally started! The revolution..!
oOoOo
A month. It had been a month from the "February Revolution" as people had taken to calling it. A new government had been established quickly, with big promises. But Russia himself had been skeptical of them, he knew that the people weren't really behind them. Yes, they were doing much good, but the most important questions; the lack of food and the war were not answered. For that, he had not shown himself to them, like a nation was required to do when a change of power happened. Yes, he was bending the rules a little, but what others did not know, would not hurt them, да?
And that was why the Bolsheviks, communists if you would call them, were gaining power at a frightening speed. His workers were tired, HE was tired and so, bolshevism sounded very appealing to him. A land for workers, a nation for people? Ivan smiled. That was what he wanted and if this, finally, was the way to attain it, he would not look back. Who knew, maybe he and his people would be powerful enough to spread the bolshevism across the globe, like Marx, the "father" of socialism so to speak, had dreamed of.
And so, he was standing here, waiting for a certain man to return from exile. Oh, he knew a lot about this man. The man had been driven to exile because of his extreme political views, but now, returning, he had a chance to rise again. So Ivan was curious, as he was standing in the crowd of red flags welcoming their long lost товарищ back to his fatherland. Товарищ… He liked the sound of that word on his tongue.
"There he is!"
"Finally, I have waited so long for this!"
A crowd erupted into huge cheers when a man walked out from the train. To an untrained eye, there was nothing special about him. But to Ivan, who had seen czars and other rulers fall and rise one after another, there was something… The way he carried himself, with such confidence, like the world was his for the taking, impressed the Russian quickly, as did his gaze. He could see that this man had a vision, a grand idea for the future. Interest piqued, Ivan leaned forward to see the man better, who had now risen to stand on top of car to give a speech.
And then the man with the vision started speaking.
After first few sentences Ivan was taken aback by his speaker skills. He wove words together, raised spirits just as he wanted and somehow managed to harness the huge amount of energy accumulated to the crowd. And the things he spoke…
He spoke of revolution, the one gone and the other one to come. New order, peace, prosperity and the rise of Russia back to its glory, the ability to surpass the Western nations who had mocked him for so long. Without his notice, Russia himself was starting to smile, the words getting to him. Of course he wanted power, what nation didn't? There might be his chance to get to his feet after so many years of defeat and backwardness, after that humiliating loss to Япония and this war raging around them now.
When the people gathered to the train station started to chant "Peace, Land, Bread!" Ivan, and from that, Russia himself, were convinced by the vision.
oOoOo
His whole world was tumbling down and fast. His little, sweet, beloved Финляндия had…
Нет… HET! It had not happened, because no one could do that to him, no one!
Eyes swimming with rage and head clouded by it Ivan walked down the empty streets of Petrograd. It was early in the morning, or late at night, so people were few and far between. And he could feel the air brimming, something was gathering strength, something else besides his rage. It had been there since the man returned but tonight it had reached its peak. Something was… Breaking. But without gunfire, without bloodshed. It all made him even more furious. Where were the rebels when you needed something to slaughter? He needed to be told about pride, about glory, now, oh, how he needed, because HE was leaving Ivan, and how hewantedtocry…
All around him Ivan could see the change. Small groups of people were occupying the buildings, without making a sound. The change was also in him, a new power and purpose washed over him in an instant, filling the churning abyss left behind by the fall of the czar. A wide, insane grin split his face, all the emotion, the hatred and frustration and need focusing to that feeling.
He had a new leader. The vision was starting to take shape.
Quick steps brought him to Winter Palace, its grand door ajar and men and women with red armbands bustling around. Some of them carried weapons, but not a single one stood in his way.
Ivan glanced at them, offering warm smiles which were answered by horrified stares that made him chuckle. What? Was he not allowed to be happy for his new leader? Though he knew that establishing this power was going to be a long and a hard road, the voices in his head were screaming to him again. But it did not matter, not a bit. Because this all would end to power and glory. And maybe, to death. That was excitement of it, да?
He flung the giant door open to step in to the old throne room, where the man with the vision was walking and marveling all the decorations and portraits. From the sound of Ivan's movement he turned, only to see the violet eyed Russian standing in front of him.
"Добрый вечер Vladimir Ilyich Lenin. What a pleasure to finally meet you in person."
"Who are you and how did you get in?"
Ivan laughed.
"I see you have much to learn, товарищ. Shall we start with my identity? My name is Ivan Braginsky, also known as… Россия."
oOoOo
Гремит и гремит войны барабан.
Зовет железо в живых втыкать.
Из каждой страны
за рабом раба
бросают на сталь штыка.
За что? – –
Vladimir Mayakovsky (1917)
AN: What can I say? I'm back at Hetalia fanfiction. And yes, it isn't a good thing. I've returned to cosplaying Russia and Soviet Russia to be precise so I have been very fascinated with the revolutions. I made this as historical as possible, you should easily be able to track what is happening in here if you have basics of Russian history down. The poem, or a fragment of it, is written by the "official poet of the revolution". This fic actually started from my need to put one of Mayakovsky's poems to one of my fics. And let me provide you some translations:
The poem, title is the same as the title of the story.
Call To Account!The drum of war thunders and thunders.
It calls: thrust iron into the living.
From every country
slave after slave
are thrown onto bayonet steel.
For the sake of what? -
Нет=no
да=yes
Извините= I am sorry
До свидания= Good bye
Финляндия= Finland
товарищ= comrade
Япония= Japan
Добрый вечер= Good evening
Россия= Russia
That's it for this time, see you around people.