This story is dedicated to francisbonnefoi/Froggy Hero. I still look back on our roleplays with fondness.

Ding… Ding…. Ding…

Three rings of the church bell. Now was the perfect moment to sneak out while the boring bishop lead the others into prayer. A sly smile crossed the small chubby face of the nation as he crept across the stone floor and pushed open the large wooden door with a plenty of force behind. Instantly, a gust of icy cold wind swept into the corridor but England pulled his cloak tighter around him and slipped through the gap he had made.

The usual green blades of grass were hidden beneath the blanket of snow. There was white as far as he could see yet it would not put the tyke off his mission. His first step onto the snow sent him stumbling as he underestimated the depth. His trouser leg dampened with the snow reaching as far as his thigh. He squeaked and steadied himself before taking the second step. Five steps later and his legs were completely numbed by the cold. He tried vainly to do a small jiggle in hopes of getting the warmth back into them.

England could hear the sounds of song coming from one of the church rooms. He was wasting time by lingering here and quickly took off as fast as his feet and the snow would let him. He stumbled once or twice before he arrived into the forest he knew and loved so much.

He disliked this time of year greatly because of what it did to the forest. The trees looked naked and dead around him and most of the wildlife he played with where tucked away in their homes to sleep away this horrid season. He remembered when he tried to sleep it away too but got told off by the Bishop for suffering the sin of sloth.

The thorns on the bare bushes scraped and tugged at his cloak as he wandered through in search of colour. A simple red or a light blue here and there would cheer him up greatly. The white was boring and the sky was a constantly grey. The only colour he saw was the gold back at the church and he scorned that. He preferred the more natural colours: the red of a robin's chest or the periwinkle of the fairies.

He sneezed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve. He always felt sick around this time too. He always kept that quiet though for the closest doctor always had the most horrible of remedies. He sneezed a second time and then glanced up. Through the trees he could make out the most purest of white shining through the snowy background.

His little face broke into smiles as he ran over and clung to the leg of the unicorn that had appeared. The creature nuzzled its nose fondly against his head before nibbling hold of the boy's cloak and lifted him up onto its back. England sniffed and held onto the silvery mane. His feet felt even colder now they were out of the snow and in the breeze but the unicorn felt very warm to the touch. He pressed his feet against the fur.

"Find flower…" England ordered as he looked around the scenery. "Need flower… The most prettiest of flowers!"

The unicorn raised its head up and looked around. With England clinging on, it trotted through the forest. The concept of time was lost to them as they searched on and on for that little flower he longed for. Until, there at last, a carpet of white flowers were spread out before them. They were called snowdrops and were one of few flowers that bloomed. It was a shame they came out during the snow where they blended in instead of standing out. They were truly a very pretty type of flower.

Unicorn lowered its head and gently plucked one of the flowers. It turned its head and opened its mouth so the flower fell into England's hand. England lifted it to his nose and smelt. Not a strong fragrance but it was one of the best ones. He beamed and held it close to his chest. "Back home!"

His friend nodded and they changed direction and headed back to the church. England could see the steeple through the bare branches of the trees when the wind made him shiver again and, before he could stop himself, he sneezed. The petals shook and a few dropped off leaving only the bud and one other petal left.

He looked down at the ruined flower with tears pricking the corners of his eyes. Maybe a flower had not been the best idea. They were too frail and he didn't want to risk picking another one. If not beauty, what else could the young nation pick? Cuisine? That sounded like a good idea! He could find the remaining berries and make a small meal out of them. He knew the best berries and where to find them!

And so the two set off again in search of the berries that wouldn't have been devoured by the animals prior to their hibernation. England was becoming worn out from the freezing temperature by the time they managed to find a small handful of them. He leant over the unicorn, the creature bite down on his cloak so he didn't fall off, and picked them one by one. The thorns stabbed his fingers. He sucked on the tip of one when he was pulled back up.

"Now we make pie!" England said proudly. Unicorn nodded and carried him out of the forest for the second time. England held the berries carefully in his hand and tried very hard not to sneeze over these ones. However, by the time they got to the edge of the forest, England looked down to find that he had been holding too tightly to the berries. Their juices stained his fingers and their squashed remained fall down onto the unicorn's white coat.

His bottom lip trembled. He wouldn't be able to make a meal out of them now. He shook his head, causing the loose tears to fall to the wind, and then whipped his hands over the front of his shirt. Time was running out and he needed to find something extra special! Beauty and cuisine were now out of the question and he was out of ideas.

He slipped down off the unicorn and pulled his cloak over himself as he began to cry. He barely even noticed the unicorn nuzzle against him. The warm tears slid down his cheeks and he rubbed his dirty hands against his eyes.

"Angleterre! There you are! Do you have any idea how long I have been waiting for you? You shouldn't wander off into the snow on your own! You're so pathetically small that you'll instantly -"

England raised his head up from his hands and glared darkly at the Frenchman who came running over to him. "Get lost, you tart eating fanny!"

France smirked and flicked back his golden locks. He held a basket in his hands and looked just as feminine as any girl his human age would have looked. But that arrogant smirk was soon lost when he noticed England sniffing. The little nation was crying? That was strange. France could not recall a moment when England had cried. He would swear when he was upset but never cried. It worried him.

"Angleterre, what happened?" France knelt down in front of England and lowered down the boy's hand. "You're a terrible mess!"

England sniffed again and burst out into tears as he told France the whole story about trying to find a pretty flower and berries. France listened, not completely understanding why they would be the cause of England crying. He laughed lightly when England finished and opened the basket. "Here," he said in his strong accent, "This will cheer you up."

He pulled out a large woolly shirt. It looked remarkable like a dress in its length and style. Before England could protest however, France forced it over his head and pulled out his hands from the sleeves. It drowned him but England felt a lot warmer than he had in a long while.

"There!" France said, clearly pleased with his present. "That will hide those ugly clothes of yours!"

"SHUT UP, YOU WANKER!"

France laughed again and picked up the half frozen child. "Let's get you back inside before you freeze!"

England glared at him again until France took the hint and moved England around so the younger nation could hold onto the Frenchman's back. He wasn't that heavy, thankfully, so France locked his arms around the boy's legs and carried him back to the church. "What were you doing out here looking for flowers?" he asked curiously.

England mumbled. He didn't want to tell France the reason why in fear the that the other would laugh. He was a lot more sensitive than he appeared to be. But he couldn't go back without getting something. Did it really have to be an item though? He looked at the back of France's head. No. It didn't, he decided.

Gathering up his courage, for if the other laughed at this then he really would pull out every single strand of hair from his head, he pushed himself up and kissed France on the cheek. "Merry Christmas, frog."

France smiled. Ignoring the fact his cheeks were flushed pink, France replied with a light chuckle, "Joyuex Noel, rosbif."

The End

"DON'T LAUGH, SLIMY BASTARD!"

"OW OW OW OW OW!"