He can only remember gold when he reminisces.

The gold of the rye fields, the gold of the sun shining off armour, the gold of the medals they were given for effort in battle, the gold of Poland's sun-streaked blond hair, floating gently in the summer breeze...

He is always overwhelmed by the colour when he remembers those days. It has been a long time past that those summers have disappeared into the recesses of memory, and yet, it seems clear as day when he does pull it out from the abyss that is his mind.

Even now that he is independent, he can't stop thinking of it. Is he living in the past? Perhaps. He doesn't mind it. The gold is a nice change from the cold whites and greys he has been forced to grow accustomed to. Gold is warm. He welcomes it.

Gold is the rye in the fields where he stands now, where he used to lie for hours on end, in silence, Poland on his back beside him. He used to work first - he was always working for the both of them. Poland was an ass to make him do it by himself, but he put up with it because it was Poland and it may just have been worth it for the hours they spent after they'd finished harvesting and were looking up at the sky together. It was always a comfortable silence - even Poland managed to keep quiet for more than two seconds. He hasn't been to his fields in a very long while, and he is only half-surprised to find that they have been meticulously kept. No one could say he didn't know his best friend.

The rye blows gently against his legs as he stares across the fields, knowing exactly who lives on the other side of them. He hasn't seen Poland in awhile - it's hard to admit to himself that he misses the blond. He wonders why the Pole hasn't visited him since he won his independence - is he just not interested in what isn't forbidden anymore? No, that's not like Poland - it would seem like that's exactly the sort of thing he would do, but Poland is a lot deeper than he seems like on the outside. He knows that the Pole would never do anything like that...the illogical insecurity is always there, though.

Another illogical thought; does Poland understand how much he means to the brown-haired, green-eyed man standing in the rye fields now? He hopes that he does. In another way, he hopes that he doesn't. He doesn't fully understand it himself, really. Poland is frivolous, materialistic, never serious - and yet, somehow, they work together perfectly, two halves of a whole.

Poland always says he rises like a phoenix. He's never understood why - a phoenix isn't even a real animal, anyway, and who on earth would want to burn to death on a regular basis? He's always been more rational-minded than Poland has, though, so he chalks it up to that and doesn't pay much attention to it, except when Poland brings it up in his offhand tone that makes even the most serious of things sound nonchalant. "You know phoenixes, Liet?" the blond would ask, and when he'd roll his eyes, the Pole would answer with a simple, "They're totally my favourite animal - after my ponies."

He's never seen any resemblance between Poland and the firebird - Poland, so delicate, so fragile; Poland, who's always looked just a little like a girl with his shoulder-length blond hair that he nearly always clipped with barrettes, even when they were heading off to battle; Poland, who couldn't find it in himself to call him his full name and so shortened it arbitrarily to 'Liet' without even asking. He has to admit, it was annoying at first to hear the constant cry of "Liet, it's time for harvesting, and I'm, like, too tired to do anything today," but he grew used to the shortening of his name. So used to it that now, he misses it. It's a part of him that isn't here anymore, not right now.

Where is Poland now?

Poland always knew and knows him best, despite the way they irritate each other almost constantly. The blond was always able to tell what he was thinking, even when he tried to hide it - he'd search him with those green eyes...

Those eyes. It's like looking into the most luminous emeralds you could find anywhere in the world. He's asked around and taken a look at the other nation's jewelry, and not once could he find one shade that even remotely looked like Poland's eyes. He wishes he could, sometimes, just so that he can convince himself that Poland's not that special, but he knows that he never will and that Poland is special, more special than even the blond's arrogance gives him credit for. Will he ever know that he thinks this way?

Will he ever see Poland again?

He is a worrier. He always has been. He compares himself to Poland, the careless of the two, and knows this is partly why they can work together. It's balance - they cancel each other out and create harmony. If only the entire world could be harmonious.

He worries, but he knows it is unfounded, especially as he looks up from the gently swaying rye stalks and sees a familiar shadow silhouetted against the flaming sunset that lights up the blue skies above him with oranges and pinks and blood-reds.

The blood-red hue is not only reflected in the clear skies above them, but in splatters and gashes on Poland's military uniform, and he knows exactly, immediately why Poland has been away. In some ways it would be better suited if the sky was raging and they were at the mercy of the gods behind it, and this is when he remembers his pagan ancestry and wonders if there's any merit in praying to more gods than just one, because how could one god, however omniscient, answer so many prayers?

How could one god take care of Poland every time he prayed for it?

Not only does he know where Poland's been, he also knows who did this to him. Having experienced it so many times before, himself, he recognizes the manner in which Poland has been torn, broken. He's only just broken free of those same binds after nearly a hundred and thirty years. A rush of anger overtakes him for a moment, and there is a tightening in his muscles that makes him want to run back to the damned bastard's house and stand up to him again, while he's just been weakened (because he knows Poland can put up a fight and he's only just defeated the pitiable asshole himself), but he knows he has to stay, and he knows that if he'd go he'd only regret it later. So he stays, and they stare at each other in silence.

Those green eyes are defiant, and now he can see the striking similarities between Poland and the phoenix. The fire in the bright, catlike eyes burns him where he stands, and the challenge in his stance is impossible to deny. It doesn't matter how bruised and battered he is - Poland exudes confidence and the pride of the victor.

And this is why, he realizes, he has always looked up to Poland and counted on him in his darkest days, his times of despair and his worst nightmares. This is why he knows that he can always count on the Pole; this is why his worries are illogical. Because Poland is always climbing higher, always challenging himself, always rising like the great phoenix. Because no matter how many times a phoenix dies, it never disappears.

The setting sun shines gold on Poland's hair.

Epilogue

"Liet," he says, and it is so good to hear the annoying nickname again. "So, you're, like, independent now."

"Yeah," he answers, because there's nothing else to say.

Poland smiles confidently, and the mischievous spark returns to his eyes.

"You up for being, like, independent together?"

A/N: The Lithuanian Act of Independence was signed on February 16th, 1918, after the Russian Empire's occupation of the territory since 1795. This declared Lithuania to be a sovereign state, but that's pretty much obvious from the whole 'Independence' thing. ^^ Around the same time, Poland also gained its independence as the Second Polish Republic, although it had a lot more time getting back on its feet. In February of 1919, the first armed battle of the Polish-Soviet War took place - coincidentally, it was on February 14th.

That's when this fic takes place - when Poland comes back from the first battle with Russia, to see Lithuania. Which is why I like that it's on Valentine's Day. ::beams:: I really ship these two, which is why you can see some romance in this if you squint, but it's mostly friendship. Because, whether they're lovers or not, Poland will always be Lithuania's best friend. :D

Sadly enough, though, history gets in the way sometimes. In April of 1919, Poland decided it wanted to take some of Lithuania's land and reinstate something like the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth again so that it had help against the Soviets, but the newly independent Lithuania didn't want to be dependent again so soon after regaining sovereignty, so the Polish-Lithuanian War broke out. So this is one of poor Feliks and Toris' few moments of peace before war.

I hope you enjoyed it~!