A Gift of the Heart
Characters from Hetalia: Russia; Lithuania (as narrator and main character); Latvia; Estonia; Ukraine; Belarus
Original Characters: Georgia; Chechnya; The "Stans": Uzbek, Turkmen, Tajik, Kirghiz, Kazakh; Azerbaijan; Armenia; Afghanistan; Moldova
My First Fan Fic! I got this idea from the comic in which Russia admits to Lithuania that he dreams of warmth and sunflowers. I thought, well! There are plenty of warm, sunflowery places Russia occupied at one time, so why not tell their story? I've added a new love interest for Russia with the OC Georgia, while also working with Lithuania as Russia's most favored lover and the narrator of this tale.
Just a few notes: I played with the history a bit, but mostly tried to coincide events in the story with actual events. Part of the Bloody Sunday scene is NOT MINE but translated from the original Bloody Sunday strip. Obviously, Russia and Lithuania as characters are not mine. I used country names because I think they sound nicer than the given names of the characters. I T'd for teen for violence and mentions of sexual relations (no actual sex scenes, though).
Finally, this story is now complete! Thank you to all those who have reviewed, and to those who review in the future. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Chapter 1
What can be said of Russia's demeanor that has not been witnessed by all in the world in these modern times? He is terrifying, to be sure. As of late his power has diminished as well as his ability to cast his long, fearful shadow over a less influential country like myself. Still, the effects of his madness lingers. Though beaten back, he is not defeated. And I am a witness of the effects of his psychosis on one whom he still pines for, besides myself: Georgia.
Ah, Georgia. The beauty of the Caucasus, Lady of the Black Sea. Her black curls cascade down her back, and shine in the sun. She holds her head high, a woman of culture and great thought, her knowledge and experience often forgotten by younger nations.
"I remember Rome," she once sighed to me as she gazed out her great windows at a Petersburg winter, needle poised above her embroidery. "He was a cheeky man, Lithuania. Cruel, yes, but honorable." She glanced at Russia across her parlor, his sizable nose stuck in a book of Pushkin's work. "Sometimes I see a glimmer of Rome in that great bulk. But the joy, Lithuania. Where is the joy?"
Russia looked up from his poetry and smiled at us, the bland smile of someone hiding death in his thoughts. I held my breath and looked away, trying not to shake in fear or anger. Georgia merely nodded and smiled back, winking at me.
"You cannot be afraid," she said in a low voice. "We may be captives, but we are still his guests. There is a reason that we are here, darling."
Georgia's captivity came about simply. Russia travelled south; craving the warmth denied him at home. He walked so far south that he ran into the Black sea. Never before had he encountered such pleasant waters, he being used to muddy rivers and the cold, stormy seas of the White and the Baltic. He stood at the shoreline, his eyes closed, letting the warm air flick his hair against his brow.
"Hello!" a light, cheerful voice called to him. He opened his eyes and looked across the beach. There was Georgia, waving and smiling, running with bare feet towards him, shoes in her hand, hair streaming behind her. His heart swelled upon seeing her, thumping against his chest, and he smiled and waved back.
Georgia stopped short in front of him, hand to her breast, breathing hard.
"Goodness, you are a tall one," she said, grinning up at him. "It's been quite a while since another like me has wandered into my boarders with no malicious intentions."
"Like you?" Russia said, cocking his head. "Malicious intentions?"
"No need to play the fool." Georgia shook her head. "Another country, sir. And I have been here long enough to know the difference between an invader and a scout. But how rude of me! You look as if you've been travelling some time now. Come!"
She took his arm and led the bewildered man to a small, white house on a hill above the beach. A lush garden surrounded the house, green against the whitewash. Most prominently, sunflowers jutted up from the greenery, their long stalks shaking in the sea breeze. Though humble in appearance on the outside, within the house the walls were covered in golden tapestry and intricate rugs. Multi-colored pillows were strewn about the floor and on gilded couches. Knickknacks and statuary covered every inch of the decorative tables against the walls and separating the couches. She sat Russia down and poured a glass of chacha (distilled wine) for him. He took a gulp, sputtered, then laughed.
"Why, this is almost as good as vodka," he said with a smile. "But so far it is the only thing here that has not surpassed my own home."
"And where would that home be?" Georgia said, pouring another glass for the great man.
"I am Russia, miss…"
"Georgia," she said, pushing a strand of hair from her eyes. "I am Georgia. And I am pleased to meet you, Russia."
She looked down at her feet.
"Really, it has been a long time since someone so pleasant has visited. Turkey has come to call, but he is very…demanding. Very frightening."
She looked up and returned Russia's smile.
"But I think I could enjoy the company who looks out at the sea with such happiness."
She held out a slender hand. Russia gazed at it a moment, then grasped it between his own thick fingers.
"You are lovely, Georgia, and so is your home," he said. "I would do anything to keep you safe."
Georgia's brow crinkled. She pulled gently to release her hand. Russia increased his grip. His smile widened.
"You will enjoy Petersburg," he said. "Perhaps not Moscow. Moscow is not nearly so cosmopolitan. And by the look of your home, you need more than Moscow can offer! But Petersburg, yes, I have a home there that you may –"
"I do not understand," Georgia said, still pulling at her hand, now frantic. "What do you mean by this?"
She stood up quickly, but Russia was with her, his grip still firm.
"I mean that a lovely person like you cannot help but be invaded by the crude and the wicked. I will protect you, Georgia. I will protect your warm seas and your green forests." He waved a hand toward a window that opened to the garden.
"I will protect your sunflowers, Georgia."
"Your protection is welcome," Georgia said, lifting her chin. She blinked away tears. "But I will not go with you."
Russia closed his eyes and smiled.
"You do not understand," he said, chuckling. "You do not have a choice."