Author's Note-Hey guys! Just another one-shot series, for everything Hetalia that's not hockey related. XDDD I can't let this stuff accumulate in my mind~ I chose the title "Unknown Muse" because I never know what's gonna make me think up a one-shot, so before I start each one I'll tell you the muse (s).

Encounter

Muse: winter (and it's hitting us hard this week D:)

The wind curled around him, stealing precious heat from his shivering body. The boy didn't know where he was. All that could be seen was a white expanse in each direction, shifted by the endless winds. He soon realized what had brought him here.

Russia looked up to his side, knowing that the man would be there. General Winter. His eyes were lifeless and cold, reflecting a sheet of ice that seemed to go on forever. His breath was Artic winds that tore through any coat, leaving the one inside chilled to the bone. This was the one man Russia feared.

He flinched as the General squatted down, coming to eye level with him. They stood there motionless for moments, an unwavering silence settling over them. The pre-teen couldn't take it anymore, his voice emotionless as he spoke. "Why have to you brought me here?"

What appeared to be a slight smiled appeared on the man's lips for a flash of a second. Russia quickly wrote it off as his imagination. "So you can meet someone like you."

"I already have. You have seen my sisters Ukraine and Belarus before da?" The Russian asks, trying not to show the confusion in his voice.

"Not them, but like them. Someone who could count as your sibling in a different way."

"That makes no sense. How can there be someone like that? I'd have already met them if they existed." He let the confusion show this time, the fear for the man taking away his usual mask of child-like ignorance.

"He is another country under my care, one that shares your pain and gift." To emphasize his point Winter blasted Russia with cold; a stinging feeling engulfing his skin.

The boy shivered violently. He noticed the way the snow danced in circles a couple meters ahead of him, a vortex of shifting white. Soon, he was able to make out a shadowy figure within the flurries. It slowly became more definite. Within it he made out the shape of a person slightly shorter than him, holding some sort of pole. Behind him was a lump of some sort, whatever it was was still unclear to the Northern nation.

Once the mini-tornado of snow dissipated a boy around his age stepped forth. At first all he saw was the spear clenched in the other's hand, its arrowhead gleaming dangerously in the weird lighting of the area.

Next he took note of the boy's outfit. Animal skins covered his body, the beautiful furs giving him a wild look. The only skin left visible was what was on his face, and even then it was currently shadowed by his hood. The fur trims that exploded it on various spots like the rim of the hood only added to the get up, giving it a simple majesty.

Russia subconsciously stepped forward; curiosity ruling his actions. He stopped mid-step at a growl. The lump behind the boy made itself known. The growling polar pair cub padded a couple feet forward, taking a defensive position in front of the unknown boy. Its lips pulled back in a vicious snarl; teeth gleaming.

Before Russia could react a voice snapped throughout the air, "Kumajirou!" The boy's face was now visible, a stern look being directed at the bear. The beast retreated, returning to its master's side. It slumped to the ground with a thump, its teeth still visible from its pink gums.

The boy was the one to step forward this time. He walked with an unearthly grace, the snow not hindering him one bit. He shifted the spear so the head was pointing at the ground then shoved it in through the snow, all the while not breaking his stride. Words spilled from his mouth, possibly an apology, but the Russian could not make anything of it. The language was completely foreign, nothing like the other Nations he'd met.

Russia was soon oblivious to the strange language being thrown at him; the boy's face catching his attention and holding it. His skin was tan, nothing like the pale white he was used to seeing from his own and surrounding countries. His lips were slightly chapped, but that was normal for someone who was close to General Winter; the biting cold wind would do that to you. Bits of raven-black hair fell in front his face, adding to his wild look.

"Who are you?" inquired Russia; he couldn't help but be slightly captivated by how foreign the boy looked. The other Nation (for surely that's what he must have been) looked confused and turned to General Winter, the weird language flowing from his mouth. Amazingly enough, the General responded, having no trouble pronouncing the words. But what was even more shocking was the boy's behavior towards the Spirit. His stance was calm and relaxed; he seemly not noticed the winds that had once again began to whip around the three. After a few moments the boy nodded at the General, who had spoken something in a curt tone. He turned and looked at Russia.

Now it was the tanned one's turn to inspect the other. He looked Ivan up and down, sizing him up. His face remained calm, giving no hints to his thoughts. Russia wished he had kept his composer like that. After a minute the boy smiled, rushing forward and taking the other in a bone-crushing hug.

Needless to say Ivan was shocked as an "oomph!" left his lips, the boy's intimate actions rendering him immobile for a second. No one had the courage to hug him like this. Not even his sisters were so rash. It was over as quickly as it came, the boy retreating with kind words, a smile gracing his face. The snow began to envelope both of them this time, the other waving to the pale boy as he slowly disappeared. The smile remaining on his face the whole time. The last thing the Russian noticed before the world became white were the other's eyes. They're violet. Just like mine.

The alarm clocked blared as Russia opened his eyes. That dream again, da? He slowly got up, blinking as he mused over the dream. No, memory. That was the one day that would worm its way into Russia's mind at the weirdest moments. It was the one thing in this world that truly perplexed him. He'd still yet to figure out who the strange boy was. One who could stand by General Winter and not tremble, one who could come up to the Nation of Russia and hug him effortlessly was not someone to be ignored.

He sighed, pushing those thoughts to the back of his head and began his morning ritual, quickly working his way through it and arriving at the conference building. The Nations already inside were already riled-up, insults being thrown back and forth like balls. Surprisingly enough, America was remembering Canada while in the presence of other for once, the two talking quietly to themselves.

As Russia passed by the North Americian brothers, Canada's voice became above a whisper for once, his words actually carrying across the whole room. Everyone grew silent, the words confusing them as the unrecognized language reached their ears. England was the first to speak afterwards, though France looked like he was going to speak up at the same moment.

"Matthew, you still speak that language?" Russia was slightly surprised that England had appeared to have at least heard that tongue before. He could at least assume that France had too. It was weird to think that the Frenchman would be able to think of something other than the French language, woman, men, and umm… very private acts for once.

"Of course I still speak it. I still remember all my past languages, even those that are of now dead tribes." The Canadian seemed slightly insulted, as if he'd expect his father-figure to know that much about him.

A nagging feeling poked at Russia. Now that he'd thought about it the language sounded familiar to him too. "Comrade Matvey what is that language? It's not your normal one da?"

The blonde smiled, "No, not nowadays anyways. I spoke Inuktitut a lot back in my past though."

"Back when yours and mine hair was like the raven's feathers huh?" The American laughed.

"Yes." Canada chuckled, his mind slipping off to past memories.

Russia himself was doing the same, as pieces slowly fell into place and clicked together, taking him back to a day encased in snow...

So my explanation of my head-canon here. In my head Mattie and Alfred represented the First Nations on their respective lands before they became colonies. Though they did have a mother, who represented North America as a whole. Also, in my head Mattie's also the oldest, just to let you know. X3 If you want more of an explanation about how I came to this PM me.