Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I also don't own Warsaw (Viktoria), she is owned by Bohemian Otaku, who is still letting me borrow her even though I'm proably not going to be very nice to Warsaw here. Sorry! I do own Vilnius (Gabriella).

Okay, I lied. I said this wouldn't be up for a while... and here it is. Oh well.

In case you didn't know, this is based very loosely on the Warsaw Uprisings in the early 1830's. However, somewhere in the middle of chapter two, I start pretty much ignoring the specifics in favor of the plot, but humor me anyway and it'll be fun! And Viktoria's acting a little weird in this chapter, but there is a method to my madness (sometimes...).

The Art of Rebellion

Chapter 1

November, 1830

She closed her eyes, feeling the fabric of her dress against her skin- soft yet a little scratchy; clearly not the best quality but sturdy enough for work- and her long blonde hair as it fell into her face. She felt the cold winter air, frigid and stagnant, like ice in her veins, even though she was safely indoors. She pulled her thin legs out from under her, planting her toes on the floor because that was the only part that could reach as she sat on the plush futon in a house that was not her own. She put her forehead to her knees, and she felt that too. She felt it, yet she could not comprehend it.

Warsaw found herself very out of sorts nowadays. She was unable to focus on even the simplest of tasks for long, and she had taken to staring at nothing- which was odd, because the only person she knew of who ever did that was El-

Where am I?

Warsaw's head snapped up, frenzied emerald eyes searching the room frantically. The red velvet curtains. The fur rugs that could have only come from Siberia. The deep brown polish of the floorboards that made them glint in the sunlight. There was a window too, with real glass. And the walls were coated in paint. White paint. It was blinding to look at.

It's big. Why is it so big? I don't remember coming here. Where am I? Where am I? Where am I?

"God Russia, what the hell are you, like, doing? I have a constitution in case you haven't noticed!"

Warsaw jumped up a little too quickly and fell into a stumble. Her hand grazed the floor, barely keeping her balance as she managed to break into a run. Her legs gave out halfway to the door. She fell to her knees, scared, with chest and shoulders heaving.

What's wrong with me?

"What constitution, Poland? It means nothing. Less than nothing."

She shook her head. With a look of determination, she pushed herself onto her knees. She couldn't bring herself to walk, so she crawled to the door, using the shiny copper handle to pull herself up, still shaking like a newborn foal.

"Like, that's not what you said before! What happened? You used to just butt out of my business, now it's like you're suffocating me with all this control. I am my own country, this is my constitution whether you like it or not, and you can't do this!"

"I can, and I am."

She opened the door then and gasped at the sight, unremarkable as it was. Poland was sitting at a couch just like the one she had been on in the other room, and Russia was opposite him in a chair covered with golden brown fabric, with large armrests and an even larger back which was taller than Russia himself. There was a square wooden table between them with papers and ink wells and feather pens sprawled all over it. Poland was wearing work clothes like Warsaw, although his were a plaid orange shirt rolled up at the sleeves and brown corduroy pants, while hers was a knee-length dress made of the same material as his shirt, and she wore a white apron with pockets and a bonnet was tied around her neck. Their heavy winter coats and hats were hanging on the rack by the door.

Warsaw raced over to Poland as fast as she could. "Mama!" This time she was able to get all the way over before collapsing. She fell right into him, and he caught her trembling body. "Mama, I'm scared! What is this place? I want to go home."

Recovering from the initial shock of having a ten year old launch herself onto him, he pulled her into his lap. She buried her face into his shoulder and as he felt his shirt become slightly wet, he realized in surprise that Warsaw was crying- actually crying. Warsaw never cried. "Hey, Viktoria, it's alright. Don't cry, like, we can leave soon. I just have some stuff to finish up here. We're in Russia's house to meet with him, remember?" He spoke softly, his thumb making slow circles on her shoulder. "Like, why don't you say hello?" She stopped crying almost immediately.

Viktoria looked at Russia as if becoming aware for the first time that someone else was in the room with them. "Hello," she said blankly.

"Hello Warsaw. Why were you crying? It is not very nice to cry when you are in someone else's house, da?" Despite the words, he had a sweet smile on his face as if he was talking to a pre-school aged child instead of someone as old as she. "If you were mine, I would punish you."

Poland held Viktoria closer though she didn't seem to comprehend the danger of the situation. "Like, you touch her and bad things will happen Russia." Shifting Warsaw carefully, he began picking papers up off the table. "Clearly we're not going to agree on anything, so I gotta go. Work and stuff, you know. Call me when you're ready to negotiate."

Papers in order and then promptly stuffed into his bag, he picked up his child and started for the door. Russia made no move to stop him. When he got there, Viktoria turned the knob for him since his hands were full, and he pushed the door open with his hip. "I'd say it was nice talking to you, but that'd be a total lie." He slammed the door shut behind him. In the back of his mind Poland was partially hoping to break something by closing it so hard, but the door was of a much better quality than his own so the force did nothing.

"Mama?" Warsaw asked from his arms. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger.

"Yeah?" He set her down in the carriage then went to the other side and hopped in himself.

She frowned, tilting her head to one side, "I don't think I like that Russia guy very much. What does he want from us Mama?"

Poland's heart skipped a beat. He was really starting to worry about her, but he wasn't going to say anything about it at the moment. He just sighed and answered, "Nothing good, sweetie. That's for sure."