A/N: I had the idea for this fic back when I began Arthur Kirkland, but I couldn't decide which cast of characters to do. Still, I love this book. The next few editions of Classic Hetalia are based on my favourite classic novels.

Emil Steilsson was a quiet child. Everybody said so. He had a little thin face, a little thin body, thin white hair and a neutral expression on his face. But this was not Emil's fault.

He was born in Iceland, where his parents died and he was put in the care of his brother and his husband, who lived in Denmark. His brother was a handsome man, but was often working, and his brother-in-law liked to have parties and socialise with friends when he should have been taking care of Emil. He usually left the servants to look after Emil. Emil grew cold and spoilt, typical of a child who always had their way.

One morning, when Emil was sixteen years old, he woke up feeling rather upset. He was even more upset when his hemsire, or babalik depending on how he was feeling that day, didn't come to see him.

'Something must be going on,' Emil thought.

During the entirety of that day, and the next, everybody seemed to have forgotten Emil. He only knew that people were ill and that the house was full of frightening noises. He hid in his room and nobody came to look after him. Once, he crept into the dining room and found it empty, although there was a half-eaten meal on the table. As he was thirsty, Emil drank a glass of his brother-in-law's beer. He didn't know how strong it was and so he went back to the nursery and slept for the long time.

When Emil woke up, the house was completely silent. Suddenly, he heard the sound of footsteps. A few minutes later, the door of the nursery opened. A man came in and looked very startled to see Emil.

"There's a kid in here!" he called to another man behind him. "Who is he?"

"I'm Emil Steilsson," Emil told him quietly. "Where is everyone?"

The other man came into the room. "He's been forgotten!" he said.

"Why was I forgotten?" Emil said, stamping his foot.

"Poor kid," the man whispered sadly. "There's nobody left. Your hemsire, your brothers, the servants – they've all died."

A week later, Emil was put on a ship sailing to Sweden. He was going to live with his…uncle? That's what everybody referred to him as. In reality he was a friend of his brothers, Berwald Oxenstierna, who lived at Tvillingblomma Manor. Mr Oxenstierna's housekeeper, Eduard von Bock, came to meet Emil in Stockholm. He was a simple-looking man with square glasses and a narrow face. Emil was wary of him – but then he was wary of everyone. Mr von Bock didn't think much of Emil.

"Well, you're a plain boy," he said to himself, "and your brother was so handsome. You probably won't improve much at Tvillingblomma Manor."

Emil was very curious about his new guardian. What was he like? Somebody in Denmark had told him that he was a fearsome man! What did they mean by that? He began to feel lonely. Why did he never seem to belong to anybody, even when his brothers were alive? Why did nobody take any notice of him? Of course, Emil didn't know the reason – that he didn't speak to anyone.

The next day, Mr von Bock and Emil set off by train for the manor. Emil had nothing to read – and he liked reading – so he sat quietly and looked out the window. His dark outfit made his skin look even paler and his silvery hair hid his violet eyes.

"Do you know anything about your uncle?" Mr von Bock asked.

"No," Emil replied.

"I should tell you," Mr von Bock said, "you're going to a…strange place."

Emil didn't respond.

"It's a grand house, in a gloomy sort of way," Mr von Bock carried on. "It's six hundred years old, and it's by a river. There's hundreds of rooms, though most of them are locked. There's gardens and trees, but not much else."

Emil began to listen. It sounded quite unlike his brothers' house in Denmark, which was on the outskirts of a city, and anything new interested him. But he didn't want to look interested. It would entice Mr von Bock into a longer conversation and Emil didn't feel comfortable enough around him.

"Well," Mr von Bock said. "What do you think of it?"

"It sounds fine," he replied.

"Don't you care?" Mr von Bock asked.

"It doesn't matter whether I care or not," Emil said.

"He can't speak verbs, Mr Oxenstierna," Mr von Bock said. "He was a scary man until he married. Mr Vainamoinen was such a sweet and pretty man. When he died… Well, nothing was the same. Mr Oxenstierna refuses to see people now. Most of the time he shuts himself up in his study."

None of this made Emil feel cheerful, though at least it made Mr von Bock stare wistfully into the distance for a while. He stared out of the window, his lips pinched together.

"There's nothing for you to do there," Mr von Bock said, mostly trapped in his memories. "You'll have to entertain yourself."

A carriage met them at the railway station. When they had passed through many villages, the horses began to go more slowly, as if they were climbing uphill. Emil could see nothing except the yellow light of the carriage. The wind whistled past them in the darkness.

'I don't like it," Emil thought. 'I don't like it."

And he wrapped his hands together as tightly as he could.

A/N: Mary Lennox (aka, Emil Steilsson) was nine when her parents (not brother and brother-in-law) died. Iceland's canon age is 16-17, so that's what I'm basing the ages on. Sweden and Estonia are older than in canon, but that's to fit in with the rest of the story. Just image them as being in their early-to-mid thirties.