My first published story, hurray! (since I'm too lazy to edit some, this'llbe the first) Couldn't get to sleep because of plot bunnies, so wrote this from midnight to 2 am. Proofread by myself several times, so it should be fine, but if you see any mistakes just tell me :) seems to have erased some spaces, and I could have missed some.

Really long, rambly notes at the end. I talk a lot.

Disclaimer: If I owned HetaliaI wouldn't be writing fanficsabout it.

She was big, not quite as big as Russia, but tall and curving. Being the second largest of the world's nations, and famously rich in natural resources, filled out her form in all the right places, making her a wonder for any of her male counterparts to behold. Her breasts – her beloved Rocky Mountains, wrapped in the fourth sea of her seemingly endless prairies – were not as big as Katyusha's, but big enough to be noticed and appreciated, and she kept her hair long – gentle waves coming loose from her tangled ponytail to accentuate her pale unmarked face. The lengthy strands, the prairie gold of wheat, oats, barley, and more wheat, faded into the brown of ancient forests, rustling in a perpetual breeze only she could feel. Her eyes usually appeared a hazy blue, hidden behind her thick lenses, but when she let down her hair, donned one of her trademark simple but elegant evening dresses, and exchanged the brown metal glasses for contacts, one could see the brilliance of violet eyes. More than once, they had been compared to a bright crocus unfolding from the vast emptiness of a snowy winter, usually by her dear papa, who had too little shame to find any guilt in chasing after his former colony.

She was usually being either ogled or approached by the older blond, making circumstances rather strained between them, political closeness be damned. Actually, she was usually being either ogled or approached by someone. However, the predicament had brought her together with one of her closest friends, and so she didn't mind the fact that every adult male nation had been attracted towards both her and Kat at some time during their life. All whom she was on at least speaking basis with had expressed that attraction towards her at one time or another, with the exception of Alfred, who steadfastly believed that it was impossible for him to do something as unheroic as fall for his dear sister. She knew at one time he had felt something deeper for her, but he had buried it so deeply within his brotherly affection that she was not sure if it still existed.

It was her beloved brother who had sneaked into her room one evening and took her out to get her ears pierced, after Arthur had steadfastly refused to allow it. She had been sulking alone, after her loud and angry outburst over that fact that "I am NOT your colony anymore, England, whether you admit it or not, and simply being part of your Commonwealth does not give you permission to dictate MY FASHION! Secrétaire, bâtard Anglais!" That night, she had looked up to the sound of Alfred's hand knocking softly but impatiently on her second-floor window, the other waving a small case in the air. When she realized what he was doing, she had simply laughed and climbed down the ivied walls after him. Arthur had been livid, but the business had been done. She still wore the tiny old maple leaf earrings from the time of her birthday to his every year, before carefully cleaning them and placing them reverently into their original case until the next year or special celebration between the two. Other times one could see tiny metal roses, feathers, leaves and icicles dangling from her earlobes, small pieces of nature in silvery colours.

She always gave off an air of wildness, of unalterable differences between herself and the other industrial nations. Perhaps it was this that made her such an idol towards the third-world countries – even though more than half her population was urban, she still managed to make it to world meetings with an old grass stain on her sleeve, or a scratch from a stray branch on her cheek. And she always wore a flower in her hair or pinned above her heart. In the spring it was crocuses, daffodils, snowdrops, or the most beautiful tulip of the year's batch, saved especially for her by Nikolaus. She knew he liked her as well, but he respected her and so let her be, a simple favour and yet one she could always appreciate.

In summer, she wore daisies and cornflowers and Indian paintbrushes and all sorts of bright wildflowers, and the never-wilted splashes of colour tucked errantly behind one ear brought a smile and nod from everyone she passed, friend or stranger. It was during the warmth of her prairie August when she and Kat met every year, as they had for so many. Even during the Cold War their yearly excursions had continued, if only for the refusal on her part to inform Alfred, and her habit of sending Kat back home when it was over with a bundle of sunflowers as a thank-you gift towards Russia for his permission. When, one year soon after the European girl's visit was over, she declared independence from her larger brother's control, the two had been surprised by the sudden arrival of large yellow bouquets at their doorsteps, accompanied by cheerful notes in bad Russian and only slightly better Ukrainian. The other nations had been shocked at the next gathering, when Russia had gone over and held a long, completely intelligent conversation withhis fellow Arctic nation without a hint of threats, pipes, or 'kol's, and even more surprised by the fact that she had been able to give the frigid man what may just possibly have been a genuine smile.

Another source of confusion had come from her, when she and Sören had been seen spending a lot of time together. Many nations had madethe assumption that the two were dating, prompting a rapid spread of jealousy, panic, frustration and familial protectiveness – and, of course, several bets by the other Nordic countries on the exact nature of their relationship, usually involving large amounts of alcohol. The whole affair was only resolved when Nik had thought of the excellent idea of actually asking one of the parties involved. She had just laughed and explained that they were making plans to visit Gimli that August, since they hadn't really spoken together for several years. She then promptly ran off, leaving the rest of the world wondering when exactly they had first met and what Gimli was, and Alfred confused as to who exactly was the older of the two North Americans.

In fall, she wore small sprigs of red and yellow flowers, crisp and clear in her autumn air, or bunches of tiny berries and freshly-turned leaves not brown enough to fall. And as winter approached, she could often be found outside, crunching through the leaf-strewn forests or helping with the harvests, picking wild strawberries, feeding chokecherries to unsuspecting visitors, digging up potatoes, carrots and onions from the large vegetable patch hidden amongst the overgrown gardens of her home just outside Ottawa. If there was ever a meeting or gathering, one could expect some sort of culinary delight waiting in the banquet hall, created by the beautiful lady with French skill and an unrivalled understanding of how to make it taste just so, so that you could taste the freshness of every hand-picked ingredient, right down to the carefully milled flour from that year's harvest. Apple, pumpkin, or something she called fungy pie, butterscotch squares, Nanaimo bars, and of course her prized maple cookies. Fall gatherings of any kind were welcomed, as her treats were considered one of the world's greatest treasures. And, every year unfailingly, all her closest friends and family were invited to her Thanksgiving celebrations, modest compared to Alfred's later in the year.

With winter came hockey. She didn't wear fresh flowers, but had dried ones clipped into her hair, small but sturdy enough to survive being rubbed and cracked against the inside of her helmet. When she wasn't watching hockey or involved in official business, she was playing it – with her teams, in pickup games, against her friends and family, on the Rideau Canal ice with any excited children who came near. Sometimes she took a break to go snowmobiling, skiing, ice fishing or curling, but she eventually returned to the ice, hockey bag in tow.

In the first half of November she always wore poppies. She never failed to disappear from world meetings on the eleventh, and nobody seemed to know why. Finally, one year, Germany grew exasperated by her absence and demanded a reason. Nik asked him if he remembered what happened at eleven o'clock. Nobody ever questioned her disappearance again, or her unusually quiet demeanour afterwards.

On December 6th, she stayed home. Somebody asked why, and Alfred answered with a simple "Halifax." From the tone in his voice, everyone knew not to press the matter. It held the same pain that broke through when he was asked about September 11th, or Japan about Hiroshima. If one looked, they would always find the two North American nations in Boston for a few days before Christmas.

Every year, Alfred held an enormous Christmas party late in the day. The morning was for his sister, who, contrary to popular belief, didn't enjoy the huge party. She, her family, and any friends able to come spent the first part of Christmas together. Alfred would never admit how much more he enjoyed Christmas morning. And she always liked spending what little time she could get amongst nobody but those closest to her – not her Prime Minister or her Governor-General, not the small friendly congregations in the small-town churches she visited, not the kind members of all the other religions whose celebrations she took part in. Later would be the explosive noise of the annual American party, after that would be the cleaning, and then preparations for New Years', but it was these times she enjoyed the most.

Madeline Williams supposed she was really just a country girl at heart.

Notes: On basically everything that references Canadian stuff probably obscure to anyone foreign who doesn't have some creepy obsession over us (cause we're awesome). And even some of the more well-known stuff, for good measure. If you can't find it here, go Google it. Some of it's from memory, but I think it's all correct. Correct me if I'm wrong and I'll fix it.

Secretaire: My French teacher liked to tell us stories of his childhood in Quebec. One involved how his friends would get punished by the church for swearing using sacred words, so they replaced sacre terre (sacred ground) with secretaire (secretary).

Tulips: The Tulip Festival grew out of the annual gift to Canada from the Netherlands of 10 000 tulips, in return for their liberation of the country during WWII and other favours involving the sheltering of their Royal Family during their occupation. This is really probably the basis for the Canada/Netherlands pairing.

The city of Gimli, Manitoba contains the largest population of Icelanders outside of the country. Originally called New Iceland, it once had special status inside Canada as an area withits own laws and such (a.k.a. a reserve but nicer). Alfred is thinking of L'Anse aux Meadows, Newfoundland, the site of an abandoned Norse settlement. However, it is my opinion that Maddie is really referring to the emigration of over 20% of Iceland's population during the 19thcentury, mainly to Gimli, as Iceland's climate – and consequently living conditions – worsened. It is also my opinion that we should see more interaction between them - though they may not be close, they are definitely friendly. And the Icelandic Festival - come on.

Canada's cooking: Fungy pie: deep dish blueberry pie from Nova Scotia. Never had it, but it sounds delicious. Butterscotch squares: mainly sugar and butter. Reference to my grandmother's and brother's amazing cooking skills, and the squares they sent to me from the other side of the world. Family's great. Nanaimo bars: From Nanaimo, BC. Wafer crumbs on the bottom, followed by butter icing (usually vanilla/custard, but can be other flavours as well), and then chocolate. Amazing. Canadian Thanksgiving is in October, not November. Chokecherries are small berries with large pits which look like cherries but are extremely sour, causing one to choke on them if they are not prepared.

The Rideau Canal, running from Lake Ontario to Ottawa, was built after the War of 1812 in case of future invasions by the US, and then never used for that purpose. In winter, the Ottawa section becomes the world's largest skating rink, not to be confused with Winnipeg's newly extended Red River skateway, which is the world's longest skating rink (hey local knowledge). Snowmobiles were invented in Canada, and skiing, ice fishing, and curling are all popular (while children do a lot of sledding/tobogganing, whatever you like to call it).

November 11th: On the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month, the Treaty of Versailles was signed, ending the First World War. At this time every year, Canadians observe two minutes of silence in honour of all veterans, active soldiers, and casualties as part of Remembrance Day services. Poppies were adopted as a symbol of remembrance after the poem In Flanders Fields by John McCrae, which is also recited during the services.

Halifax: The Halifax Explosion was about one-fifth the size of the atomic bombs dropped in Japan. It is still the third largest man-made explosion, and the largest accidental man-made explosion. The response from the US, especially Boston, was incredible. In thanks, Nova Scotia sends the city of Boston a hand-picked tree every year to become the centrepiece of Christmas decorating.

Governor-General: the Queen's representative in our national Parliament. Largely symbolic – he/she usually doesn't do much except keep the Prime Minister from getting too radical. (hey, Stephen Harper)

Family parties: The biggest Christmas parties I have ever been to were an elementary school dance/party and an annual family party. Maybe it's different for people who actually live in cities, but that's how I grew up. And I have never been to a party on Christmas Day, or even in those few weeks.

Names I used (and their meanings): I don't really like the name Matilda/Mathilde (no offence to anyone with that name, I used to hate the name Simon until my brother was named that), so I gave Canada the name Madeline/Madeleine, which can be shortened to Maddie.

Ruben Nikolaus de Groot– Netherlands (Nikolaus:victor of the people, de Groot:the great) - the story behind Dutch surnames is amazing, at least on Wikipedia. Go look it up.

Sören Fylkir Ólafursson – Iceland (Sören = stern, Fylkir = people, tribe, Ólafur = heir of the ancestors + surname suffix 'son')

And I came across this while looking for Dutch names I liked:

FREDERIK, peace ruler. FRITS, peace ruler. Oh Prussia, suddenly you're even more awesome.