He was a victor, my brother. His ragged robes, still stained with the detritus of war, brushed his knees. His thick leather mail bulked his lanky, growing frame. He brushed a hand over the hilt of his worn sword, which so recently clashed with Sweden's. A smile touched his lips as he soaked in the scene before him; my robes disheveled, my kokoshnik askew, my wrists bound to my waist.
"It seems," my brother said, his voice light, "that you have captured my sister."
Mongolia was sprawled amongst a pile of pillows and rugs within his tent, purposefully ignoring my brother. I sat at Mongolia's feet, my teeth clenched as he casually consumed the fat goat my people had prepared for him.
"Of course, I knew that you both fought viciously," my brother continued with his mild tone. His cheeks tinged red. "I apologize, sister. My business in the north kept me from your side."
"I find no fault with you, little brother," I said coolly. "You fought Germany and Sweden well. I was less successful."
"I gave her a choice," Mongolia cut in, looking up from his masticated goat. "But would she die like Persia? Ukraine? Never." He flashed Little Brother a grin. "She is a survivor."
My brother's eyes bore into Mongolia. His mouth became a thin red line.
"And what was the second choice then?" he murmured.
"To live!" Mongolia said shortly. "As mine."
"I am sorry, brother." I stared at Russia's feet, unable to face my brother's flashing eyes. "Do not think me weak."
Silence filled the tent, but for the sound of Mongolia's gnawing. Russia sighed deeply and slowly drew his sword. Immediately Mongolia leapt to his feet, quickly pulling his short sword from his scabbard. Before Mongolia had time to strike, my brother threw his sword at the nomad's feet. Mongolia paused, his sword raised.
"And what do you mean by this?" he said, narrowing his eyes.
"Free my sister," Russia replied with a smile. "I shall be your vassal."
I gasped.
"Russia, this is not wise," I said sternly. "You are still young. Still growing –"
"Hush, woman." Mongolia sheathed his sword and removed his knife from his belt. "I like the trade."
He cut my bonds, lifted me to my feet, and pushed me towards the door. I shook him off and caught hold of Russia's arm.
"Please. Brother. This is my occupation to endure!"
Russia shook his head, smiled and righted my kokoshnik.
"I shall visit, sister."
"Enough, enough," Mongolia said, his voice tinged with irritation. He pushed me from the tent. I stumbled, caught myself, and straightened my spine. I walked through the tent city of the Horde, never looking back at Mongolia's tent, never belittling my brother's sacrifice.
Little Brother, the victor.
