1724
Europe was abuzz about Brittan's new little distraction.
No one could entirely contain their curiosity as to what could enchant the powerful empire so completely. A few nations positioned closer to the island had started to notice his absences around the turn of the century. His government would be vague about whether or not he was in-house, a touch of disapproval in their tone. Soon most of Europe started to notice how, even when present, the bushy-browed empire seemed terribly distracted, sea salt still crusted to his hair.
France and Portugal claimed that it was a colony, but most scoffed at the idea of Britain caring so much for an underling, a resource. Nevertheless, Britain had recently established the South Sea Company, which frequently ran back and forth across the Atlantic, and Netherlands had confirmed the rumor of a new personification, having heard it from Denmark, who'd heard it from Finland.
When asked, France would sigh and offer his pity for the young colony, being under such a strong and tenacious (France had said buté, or pigheaded) hand. Before long, everyone was dying to see this legendary creature, this golden colony that had so captivated the powerful empire.
Including Russia.
However, Ivan had other things at the forefront of his mind. The Ottoman Empire had been… growing recently, so much so that it was making quite a few nations nervous. Concerned for their own wellbeing, as well as the collective Christianity of Europe, the nations had called a tentative truce in order to attempt a sort of "collective meeting" to address the threat the Ottoman Empire posed. Certainly here had been European galas and balls thrown before – very often by either France or Austria, in order to show off their opulence – but holding such a gathering for so many nations in order to discuss strategy was relatively new territory. Everyone was holding their breath to see how badly it would turn out. Hopefully no major wars would result… hopefully.
The meeting/gathering was being held ever so graciously (at the strong behest of England) by Spain, who had recently been thoroughly whipped by said soggy empire. Everyone was now flocking to the sunny land, including Russia.
Rather excited to finally be included in European affairs, the massive, recently dubbed-'Empire' couldn't conceal the sparkle of childish excitement in his violet eyes. He wanted to stand in the vaulted gold and marble ballrooms and make friendly chatter and smile and laugh while drinking absurdly weak 'alcohol.' Probably most of all he wanted to see France, who he maybe very much was starting to idolize. Ivan had recently begun to "modernize," making himself look more and more like Europe, and if anyone embodied the snooty, proud, refined elegance of Europe, it was Francis.
Wouldn't he be excited to see how Ivan had matured!
Ivan's carriage pulled up to the palace and he swung his hefty frame to the ground. His eyes eagerly drank in the grand Palace of La Granja de San Ildefonso, drinking in the intricate baroque architecture as footmen unloaded his luggage and gave directions to his aides.
He had arrived.
Passing through the front doors, he was greeted by warm golden light and the echoing of an irate voice not too far away on his right.
"…bloody inconvenient is what it is! I had to come straight here from the Americas; I didn't even have a chance to return home first."
"Aw, poor Angleterre," a gentle voice cooed sarcastically.
Russia felt his heart jump in recognition. His smile widened and he began walking towards the two men with their backs to him.
"You imbecile. I was called to an audience with my king! There was someone— we had business to discuss. And now it's going to be delayed for however long this farce lasts…"
"Do not fret, mon amour. I can certainly think of something productive to do—Russia!" The elegant blond man started at noticing Ivan's presence, jumping a bit away from his gloomy counterpart that he'd been steadily scooting closer to. A composed smile crossed the lean man's face. "I see you were able to make it…"
"Bonjour, Francis," Ivan replied happily, using the French pronunciation as smoothly as he could. "See? I am learning French!"
"Ah… that is… fantastique…" Francis' smile had grown strange.
"Well, you two certainly seem to have a lot to talk about, so I will leave you to it," Britain spoke up, a mischievous glint in his sharp green eyes. He turned to leave, when Francis suddenly latched onto his arm, growling at him under his breath.
"…no, don't you dare, ANGLETERRE!" Francis shouted after the empire that had successfully freed himself and begun striding away. Francis turned to Russia with a weak smile. "Ah… so…"
"I think your lands are so very lovely," Russia blurted, blushing a bit. "I passed through them on the way here. I wish I could have stayed their longer…"
France hesitated, expression warming at the flattery. He brushed back his golden hair with a confident expression. "Well of course. Big brother France is, after all—"
"I hope someday that your armies are crushed and you will have to ask me for help."
France stopped dead, staring blankly at the slavic Empire.
Russia smiled back. "I have gotten very strong recently."
France blinked. "….ah. Well then… I… just remembered I need to… that there was someone… I… should go." The shorter nation quickly turned and began walking away quickly.
Russia waved after him. "I will see you tonight!"
Ivan thought he heard France mumble something under his breath but he was too far away to hear. He was sure it was something friendly.
Ivan smiled.
xxx
Evening came, and with it, the opening-night gala. Really, it was mainly an attempt to fool everyone into relaxing for the upcoming meetings. No one, save perhaps Russia, was looking forward to them, but at least for the night they could pretend they were here for pleasure.
Food was laid out, Champaign was poured, and everyone tittered away about whatever minutia was 'threatening their very existence.' Ivan listened rapturously as France complained again about Britain, drinking up every word and mannerism of the man.
France and England had been alternating between avoiding and nearly strangling each other all evening, much to the amusement or annoyance of everyone else. England seemed particularly reluctant to be present, the typically stormy nation upgrading to a downright gale of ill-temperament. Francis was taking the opportunity to flaunt his own refinements and 'maturity.' This evening he had plenty of material to work with for his mud-slinging.
Russia was inclined to agree with France. He'd never been too fond of the green-eyed island empire. He was far too small to be as powerful as he was, and in addition, Russia had learned that he dabbled in dark magic. He wasn't afraid of him by any means, but unfortunately he was powerful and technologically advanced, and Russia was operating under orders to not only avoid antagonizing the British Empire, but to even attempt at befriending him.
Russia was trying to ignore the bad taste in his mouth.
At some point the conversation began to die down a bit, and Austria had begun to perform for the attendees. Everyone had gathered around to listen, either out of curiosity, admiration, or fear of Hungary's rather convincing glare. Ivan let himself be swept up in the moment, enjoying being a part pf the evening immensely, despite the wide berth everyone was giving him.
Austria was in the midst of Vivaldi's Violin Concerto in A Minor when Russia happened to glance up and catch a glimpse of wavy blond locks disappearing out the door of the ballroom. Curious and excited to catch France alone, Russia quickly made after him, unaware of the furious look a certain Hungarian was giving him.
Ivan nearly dashed down the hall, heart racing. If he and France had a moment to speak, then surely he could convince France that they should be friends! Then if France was his friend, then surely all the other European nations would have to be too! Well, except for England, but that was ok, because France didn't like him… either…
Ivan pulled to a stop in front of the door he'd seen Francis disappear behind. There was more than one voice. It seems Francis hadn't been the only one to sneak out…
"It's about bloody time you arse," a terribly familiar voice grumbled quietly. "You're sure no one saw you? I'd never hear the end of it—"
He was cut off by a chuckle. "Please, mon petite chou, you think I have not perfected the art of sneaking off for a little tryst? I am wounded."
"You'll be more than that if someone catches us. I'll flail you alive." His voice was huskier. There were faint gasps between sentences.
"Is that all? Hon, hon, you used to be so much more creative." The Frenchman purred.
"Fine then! If you're so bored of me – ack, you ass! – then why don't you go indulge that massive hound that's been lapping at –ah!– your heals all night?"
"Who, Russie?" France chuckled. "Please, you know he won't last long. He will be standing in the corner, smiling awkwardly and making everyone uncomfortable until it finally occurs to him that he's unwelcome. Besides, Angleterre, you know I only have eyes for you."
"Ha! And every other living organism that crosses your line of sight…"
Ivan couldn't listen anymore. A loud ringing in his ears was drowning out everything. He stared ahead with dead eyes, leaning against the wall for support.
No… No! It wasn't fair!
He'd worked so hard! He was an Empire now!
He was one of them! He was!
And yet he couldn't keep his mind from wandering back to rest of the day, how various nations had quickly dropped conversations with him, or avoided him altogether. Everyone seemed to be eager to get away from him. Even the palace aides.
Even France.
The nation's teeth ground together, a terrible stabbing pain in his chest.
Cowards. Every last one of them.
Russia straightened and began striding briskly down the hall, his smile having turned terribly cold.
Fine. Let them be afraid.
If they weren't yet, they would be… soon…
Ivan's strides slowed a bit as he approached the ballroom, not fully understanding what he was looking at.
It was a boy, of all things, his back to Ivan, peeking through the crack between the two large doors. He was tiny, barely past Ivan's kneecaps, and had a much too large jacket draped over his narrow shoulders, the heavy cloth half-swamping his form, the slightest bit of mud caking the tailcoats. His hair was mussed and sticking up at odd places. It almost looked as though the child had dressed himself.
Ivan felt his anger abate, but his irritation was growing. Whose child was this!? How dare they let him wander around this important event alone? Perhaps it was a child of one of the palace workers? No…
No.
Ivan hesitated, sensing a familiar energy coming off the child. He was a personification.
Of what?! His mind asked him angrily. He hadn't heard of any new European nations recently, which the child would most likely be, judging from his skin tone.
A colony then. Whose?
"Boy!" Ivan snapped, some of his anger seeping into his tone.
The child whirled around, eyes wide. Big, beautiful blue eyes.
"Oh good Lord in heaven! I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I know I'm not supposed to be here but I was so curious I've hardly ever met anyone else I'm so sorry please don't tell England!" the boy blurted all in a rush.
Ivan blinked at the sudden onslaught of words. Somewhere it registered that his question had been answered.
England? Then this must be…
Curiosity quickly overtook the slew of anger and frustration mulling about Ivan's mind. He stared down at the small creature, feeling his expression change to wonderment.
New England. He who had totally enraptured an empire.
Of course he had, look at him. Gold hair, bright face, huge eyes that drew in everything… And his presence! It was strong enough to be a nation's! The child radiated untapped potential, the kind that promised any nation great future dividends. The offspring of an empire at its zenith, without a doubt.
"You're very big!" A bright voice broke him out of his musings.
He looked down at the round, freckled face, a wide, gap-toothed smile lighting it up… And something deep in his chest shifted. This brat, this… spawn of England's was staring up at him with an expression that could only be…
Awe.
Not fear. Not discomfort. Not resentment, or envy, or - God forbid - pity…
This small creature, budding with power and brimming with potential, looked upon him and saw something worthy of respect. Of praise.
And Ivan felt his heart grow terribly tight.
Maybe it showed on his face. The boy suddenly caught himself, red tinting his cheeks as he snapped into a terribly straight posture and dropped his eyes immediately to the floor. "I apologize, sir, I didn't mean anything by it! England said I shouldn't say anything because I tend to speak my mind, but here I've gone and done it anyway…" His little face scrunched into an expression far too serious for it.
Ivan made a noise of dismissal and knelt down, still even then needing to bow a bit to reach the boy's eye-level. "Speaking one's mind requires strength. It is not a flaw."
Ivan felt a strange rush come to him as the words left him. Wisdom that was most certainly not European. A bit of truth that resonated deeply with him, something he'd buried in order to fit in, perhaps? He was surprised to find his own advice liberating.
The boy looked up, his eyes twinkling with a vivacity only an idea could possess. "Do you really think so?" His voice was excited.
Ivan felt a gentle smile on his lips. "Дa… yes. But there is a reason it requires strength, little one. 'Правда глаза колет'… Truth pricks eyes." Ivan reached over and tapped just above the boy's left eye playfully. Instead of cowering, as most creatures did when he invaded their space, the boy just giggled as he dodged the movement, and Ivan felt something inside him soar at the sound.
"You mean the truth hurts," the colony confirmed.
Ivan nodded. "Дa, like a stab," he made a move to poke the boy again. The colony dodged again, this time prepared, giggling freely.
"Russia, what are you doing?!" an unfortunately British voice called from down the hall.
Ivan and the boy both fell still, meeting each other's eyes. The young colony turned terribly pale. Before he could speak, though, Ivan subtly signaled him to remain quiet, then made to stand. As he did so, he parted the bottom of his overcoat and smoothly, seamlessly swallowed the boy into it, turning to coolly address the grumpy, ruffled empire storming towards him.
"What the devil were you doing?!" The shorter empire snapped as he reached Ivan.
Ivan felt small arms hug his leg tightly. Placidly, he pulled his pocket watch from his coat and held it up. "I found this on the floor, and was wondering who would be silly enough to drop it." He smiled innocently.
England's eyes narrowed, but his shorter-than-normal temper came to the rescue. "Fine, I don't have the patience for… whatever it is you're up to," he grumbled, batting his hand. He "accidentally" brushed his shoulder into Russia's arm as he passed, grumbling. "The least you could do is not stand in the doorway…" He entered into the ballroom, leaving Ivan smiling tightly in the hall.
Ivan waited a few moments to be sure England wasn't coming back, then parted his coat to look down at the relieved little face smiling up at him.
"Time for you to go, little one."
"I was thinking the same thing." The boy let go and grinned up at Ivan. "Thank you for not telling England. He would have had my hide!"
"Well, that would not do," Ivan replied with a wry smile. "So you should leave before he comes back."
The boy's eyes widened, and he made to dash off. He'd only gotten a few strides, though, before he slid to a stop and turned back.
"Wait! What is your name?"
Ivan was caught off-guard at the blunt, ignorant request. He was even more surprised to hear his human name leave his lips.
"Ivan."
The boy looked at him in surprise for a moment, then grinned widely. "Splendid! I'm Alfred!"
And then he was gone.
Ivan stood in the silence, slightly dazed. He'd given his human name. Not his nation's. Not his title or rank. His personal, human name.
What was wrong with him? And why…
Why did he not regret it?
In a faint haze of confusion and muted happiness, Ivan smiled and headed into the ball room.
xXx
Note: For the purposes of this story I am ignoring the fact that Russia would most likely not know English at this point.
Note: Any language used against the Ottoman Empire is meant to reflect the opinion and perspective of the character/ characters narrating at the time this is set. It does not reflect my own personal opinion on the Ottoman Empire, Islam, or anything related.
Note: In the 1700s, Christianity, meaning both Catholicism and Protestantism, was the major religion of Europe, and had been a key factor in European politics for several centuries. At this time, the Russian Orthodox Church was alive and well too, and while Eastern Orthodoxy is different from Catholicism and VERY different from Protestantism, they can all be collectively considered part of the Christian Church.
Note: I was able to find enough examples of men's long dress coats to, I think, justify this plot element. If it's an anachronism, forgive me.