The day, for Matthew, was actually going quite well, until he had to go and find a recluse nation. The entire continent of Europe, from Arthur to Mathias to Ludwig, were complaining about mounds of paperwork due, and somehow, along the way, someone thought Matthew would be a good candidate for visiting the Netherlands. Though, it was nice to see stretches of land in front of him, the endless sky above, and not hear the nations arguing over his head (they never argued to him, of course, because that would require noticing him long enough to both listen to his point and consider it.) Sure, the wilderness was wild enough at home, and rarer to come by in the west of Europe, but it Matthew supposed it was the best to be made of an errand.
He stopped the cycle he had ridden since he had gotten off the ferry and looked at the map Emma had provided. The red dot was somewhere between the sea and Leeuwarden, but the directions, written in the wrong language as Emma must have forgotten both nations shared French instead of Dutch, were less than useful, to say the least.
A nearby village, though, had a few people who offered to help translate. Once he described the Netherlands, all of them could give him the directions by heart to a man they called Lars. Matthew guessed that might be him. Though he'd spent some time in the country itself, and Arthur had brought him a few times to meet the personification, all of the meetings were quite business like or clipped. Even when it was a warm festival or what was supposed to be a thanks, the man acted almost like a shadow. Sure, he would smile and shake hands, and he seemed polite enough, but he never really loosened his tongue.
Set on the right path, Matthew took to his task again, instructions now written in English and much easier to read. Soon he stopped his cycle again beside a quaint house with a row of tulips, well tended to, on the windowsill. He stepped up the stone stairs and knocked on the door, standing back to wait.
Matthew looked around to see the garden beneath and around the windowsill, and the bunnies that were nibbling on them. He wondered if they should have been shooed away, but he supposed if the house's owner hadn't done anything yet, he wouldn't either.
The door opened with a whoosh of air, a stone-faced man with a scarf standing behind it.
"Hello," Matthew said, "Your sister sent lunch."
"Across a country?" the man asked, looking uninterested, but Matthew had heard enough from Arthur how the Netherlands wouldn't refuse free food.
"Well, also to see if you were okay. Emma said she was worried."
"She wasn't," the Netherlands stepped out, and Matthew walked down the stairs and began to follow him, "She just wanted someone to convince me to come back."
"It could be both," Matthew shrugged, as they both reached the shade of a tree and sat.
The nation opposite didn't answer, so Matthew began to open the basket, taking out an entire feast and a box of chocolates to top it off. The Netherlands began to slice and serve the sausages, cheese, and breads, while Matthew set aside the basket and watched.
He picked up one of the crackers once the Netherlands was done, and bit into it, satisfied at the crunch and taste after hours of biking. He watched the other nation do the same, picking up the foods and eating them in a manner that seemed too delicate for his build and stature.
"Why weren't you there at the meeting?"
The Netherlands paused, chewing slowly before answering, "It's a long journey for nothing. Our governments make most of the decisions, anyways."
"It's supposed to show your goodwill, as a nation," Matthew shrugged, keeping his voice low and soft to not seem accusative. Lars, again, didn't answer.
Although the first meeting, in Matthew's opinion, wasn't successful, nor pleasant, Emma insisted it was good enough, as neither she nor her younger brother received a letter of complaint, or one asking them to never send anyone again. So, armed again with a basket and directions, this time in English, Matthew began again.
He arrived as the sun was in the middle of its zenith and the bottom of the sky; three or four, if he guessed right. He knocked once again on the door, and once more, the Netherlands emerged, now with his Holland Lop- Matthew still refused to call it Goud, as it was only white and brown- nestled in his striped blue and white scarf. He felt the odd need to take a picture, but maybe that could have been chalked up to how Francis would gush on about his own photographers.
"You came again?" The Netherlands asked, although it leaned towards sounding like a statement more than an inquiry.
"Your sister brought you lunch, again," Matthew offered in response, "And I brought maple syrup for the waffles."
"Waffles would get cold. They're probably stroopwafels," the Netherlands stepped out, closing the door, and offered his hand for the basket, "Besides, waffles are eaten coated with sugar."
"The maple syrup adds the flavour, though," Matthew said offhandedly, then glanced at the Netherlands' face: slightly stormy, but hard to tell the difference.
"Any sweeteners are supposed to compliment the flavour of the waffle, not drown it out," he closed the lid to his basket, and even his bunny seemed more attentive, "I thought you would have known if you had spoke with my sister for any amount of time."
"Oh," Matthew said, surprised by the response. He supposed, in the two or so hours he had held a conversation with the man, most of it from him (Matthew thought he knew his flaws well enough, and he would admit he let his mouth run when there was finally a willing audience), this was probably the most passionately the man had spoken.
"I'll show you when you come next," the Netherlands said, scooping his Holland Lop out of his scarf to let him run around, before serving the meal Matthew had brought.
Minutes passed, then blended into hours under the pleasant weather.
The two split the last stroopwafel, the shadows on the ground much longer than Matthew thought it should be, when he realized the ferries back to England would leave very close to the time it took to bike back.
Matthew waved goodbye as he swung his legs and the basket over the bike, almost falling in the process, before his hurried ride back to the channel.
Matthew collapsed into the bed he used to use on his visits to Arthur as a colony, and more rarely, as a dominion before the wars. With a wince, he noted that the dimensions were two decades too old and that he had definitely grown since then.
"Matthew?" Arthur asked, appearing beside the doorway. Matthew hurried to sit up again, though his legs ached and he wanted to be sprawled out on the down again. "Why are you here?"
"Just visiting a friend," Matthew frowned, "Sorry, I thought I sent you a letter."
"Ah," a blush showed on Arthur's face, "Very sorry, must have been sorted into the paperwork by mistake."
Matthew nodded, although it was confusing how the custom envelopes he sent to Arthur for centuries were sorted with the manila government ones. He supposed the ones before got lost quite a lot, too.
"Anyway," Arthur continued, "There's a room more suited for your size. Alistair isn't visiting, currently, and I suppose you could take his."
"Thank you," Matthew nodded, moving to pack his things.
"No problem, I suppose," Arthur tapped his feet for a couple of seconds, before freezing it when he realised it was the only sound in the room. With a lingering glance, he started to leave.
Matthew sighed, reaching for the handles of his suitcase.
"Er," Arthur reappeared in the doorway, "Do you mind, well, not mind- do you fancy a tea tomorrow?"
Matthew fought a smile. Arthur obviously hadn't picked up picked up people skills over the last decade or so.
Matthew supposed he was getting rather good at navigating the winding path to the Netherland's house, but then again, he had never tried when it was raining. Even in the light drizzle, he decided it would be safer if he walked, only having a few more minutes to go.
He was surprised when, parked half off the road in front of the house, there was a car. He didn't think anyone in the fishing village had one. It was most probably a Dutch or Belgian model because of the inconspicuous little flag peeking out from the window, in recent use, most probably as some sort of decoration or tie. Matthew leaned his bike on the wooden walls of the house and hesitated, looking through the door.
A window beside him opened, and the wet wind blew in.
"Matthew? I almost didn't think you would come in this rain," Emma's face peeked out of the window, "Where's all your stormwear?"
"In a turn of events, it actually wasn't raining that hard in England, so I thought it would dry up in a few minutes. I guess I should have read the reports," Matthew came closer to the window so his voice wouldn't be drowned out by the falling rain.
"Well, there's nothing to do about it now, I suppose. Let me get the door for you," Emma said, before closing the window and heading away. Matthew walked to the front of the house, thankful that he had at least found a raincoat in the basket he had packed.
Emma held the door open at the front of the house, and Matthew thanked her as he walked in. He saw the Netherlands sitting at a wooden table, and waffle batter with surprisingly few splatters around the kitchen.
"I heard Lars was inviting you over for waffles, and you know, I couldn't not come. It's a serious business, and it requires an expert," Emma nodded, taking Matthew's coat and placing it on a rack, gesturing at him to sit down before going back to the stove. Matthew took the chair across from the Netherlands, and saw that he was watching his sister bake. His hand twitched every time she spilled anything, but Matthew supposed the Netherlands was nothing if not a man of constraint.
"I brought the maple syrup," he offered.
"No need, we already have the sugar, and some chocolate if you want," Emma shook her head, pouring the first waffle into the iron and coming back to sit at the table, "Now, brother, we were talking before about how you should come to the meetings."
"I shouldn't," the Netherlands said, "It has no effect on the people, or the council's decisions."
"You're supposed to reflect the country's goodwill. What do you think, say, Matthias will think when you don't show up at all?"
"It doesn't matter what he thinks," the Netherlands leaned on his forearms, flat against the table.
"You know we act as advisors to our leaders," Emma's smile wavered in the slightest, and taking her usually cheery temperament into consideration, that was a bad sign.
"Advisors, only. They have the final decision, and they also have multiple other advisors who don't look like they're barely pushing twenty five."
Emma opened her mouth, but Matthew thought it best to intervene, "Should I take out the waffle, now?"
"No," Emma looked away from her brother, "I'll get it."
Emma returned, holding a waffle, and Matthew could see the strain it took on her to not comment as he took out his bottle of maple syrup and poured it on.
"It tastes really good," Matthew nodded after taking a bite. It tasted the same as the ones at home, but Matthew supposed everything tasted that good with the syrup. Emma looked at both the men at the table, and ultimately must have decided that the conversation with her brother was very slightly more important.
"Are you coming to the next meeting, then?" Emma asked.
"No."
"You're such a stubborn-," Emma almost swore, before looking at their company and running a hand through her hair, letting out a sigh.
"We could make a compromise, maybe?" Matthew offered, knowing from experience that it was only the first step in the long and arduous process of ending an argument.
"Yes," Emma agreed, "Can you go back to your houses in the Hague or Amsterdam, at least?"
The Netherlands said nothing.
"Fine. Just meet with a nation. It doesn't even have to be for business."
"If it's not for business, why would I go?"
"To improve your relations," Emma brought her hands to the table, "And I swear to God, Lars, if you don't- I mean, maybe if you don't want to meet them as a nation, even, I wouldn't mind trying to find some time for you. Or Elias- you haven't seen him in a while."
"I'm sure he's doing fine," the Netherlands waved off.
"He's not sure if you're doing fine," Emma countered.
"And what would he do if he saw I wasn't doing fine? Worry?"
"It's," Emma faltered, "It's something family likes to know. You'd want to know if I weren't dealing with things, wouldn't you?"
"It's different. I'm the older of us three; I'm the one who should be helping you two," the Netherlands took his hands off the table and sat up.
"Even if that had some truth in it, we aren't siblings, and we've lived long enough that a few hundred years blurs. You aren't my older brother, Lars. You're a nation, and we're tied together, and you just happen to have a longer history than I do."
"Tied together?" the Netherlands' eyelids fell, and the pause grew longer and longer, the ir becoming heavier.
"Just," even Emma was less energetic, now, "Just visit one nation, okay? For me?"
The Netherlands looked like he was about to argue, but, in the end, nodded.
"I'm currently boarding with Arthur. I could shield you from his cooking," Matthew offered.
"It's set then," Emma nodded, getting up to serve the next waffle, and Matthew noticed she sprinkled the sugar on it with something that resembled aggression, "Matthew can tell Arthur that you can meet in a day or two, unless he's busy?"
"He hasn't said anything," Matthew shrugged, "I think it's just the paperwork for the next week or so."
"Great," Emma smiled, handing the plate to her brother and keeping a watch on the one she was making for herself, "Lars?"
"I'll go," he replied.
"And then," Arthur fought to keep down a giggle, "And then he came back with a dead frog as a peace offering."
"Hey!" Matthew blushed, although it was uncertain whether it was from the indignation or the alcohol, "That was a traumatic experience! I thought Al was actually going to kill Francis!"
Lars laughed, and Matthew thought he liked the sound of it- deep and hearty.
"Hey, Lars," Matthew began, noticing that he had slurred the letters together in his hurry so the a sounded too short. The man would have probably given him the odd stare Matthew received sometimes- as if Lars was too polite to say anything, but in reality he just didn't care enough. After that though, Matthew promptly stopped, leaving his two drinking partners confused.
"Yes?" Lars asked.
"Uh," Matthew stalled, "What d'you, um, why is the Netherlands always so sad?"
"I'm not sad?"
"Because it's in a depression!" Matthew said, and after a brief moment to let the joke sink in, began to guffaw.
"What?" Lars looked confused, but Arthur was laughing enough for the both of them.
The next morning, with a pounding in his head, Matthew awoke to find a warm body that was definitely not Kumakichi in his bed, because for one, he had left the bear at home in the care of Alfred as a sort of revenge, and for another, because the body next to him was not covered in fur. And that was all he was willing to figure out, until the body shot up (thankfully, Matthew noticed, still clothed) and started cursing. As in actual curses.
Matthew wondered if he should be worried about his wellbeing, but he decided the foreign language was probably just Arthur speaking to his special friends again.
"Good Lord," Arthur finally said, turning to Matthew, "Please tell me you're still dressed."
Matthew nodded, sitting up too and reaching for a glass of water a kind stranger had left on his side of the bed's table.
Arthur, wobbly, stood up and grimaced at the depressions their bodies had left, which very clearly pointed to the fact that he had curled up to the larger nation for the majority of the night.
Setting down his glass, Matthew realised why; there was a large window on the west side of the room, Emma had probably let the get together slip during one of her meetings with Francis, and Francis had been bragging about his camera for the last few months.
"Fucking hell," Arthur leaned on the bed he had got up from, seeming to realise the dilemma at the same time Matthew did. A few frantic glances later, he settled on, "Where'd Lars go with his hangover and the loss in the war?"
Matthew winced, imagining the headache that would cause, and wondered if they should have stopped him from drinking the last night. Arthur, landing back on the bed without any grace, took a sip of his own water. Matthew turned to put his glass away, when he noticed a note on the table, previously beneath his glass.
"I realised that I left Goud only five days worth of food and that the ferries are far fewer tomorrow. I hope the water helps. Don't tell anyone that this ever happened," Matthew read out, voice as quiet as it could go. Arthur held out his hand for the note, not hearing.
"Didn't he leave his rabbit on a field?" Arthur finally asked.
Matthew held the note, crumpled up in his pocket, with one hand, and the handles to his basket in another. The scenery passing by on the train was a blur of emerald and bluish-grey. Matthew found it boring to look at. It was better than the stares he got on the last few rides, though, both on the train and the ferry, for bringing his cycle. It wasn't much a walk to the village, at least, anyway.
The train stopped, and Matthew stood to get off. As soon as he left the station, he was greeted by the salty sea air. Matthew stood by the docks, staring across the channel as if he could see the land on the other side. His hand tightened on the basket handles as he wondered what he would say to Lars- or should it be the Netherlands?- once he saw the man.
"So, do you have any more plans to go anywhere?" Matthew asked, subtly running his fingers over the wood grain pattern.
"The deal with my sister was only one visit," the Netherlands shook his head.
"Yeah, but she might come again," Matthew replied, "She probably will if you don't visit someone on your own."
The Netherlands didn't answer, choosing to pet his rabbit instead.
"You haven't visited when I got the tulips you sent last year," Matthew began, "I'd like it if you would."
"Maybe," the Netherlands shrugged.
"It's in May, I think two weeks from now. It's a bit of a journey, but I could show you around a bit, if you want. You could maybe stay a week or so?"
"That would be nice," the Netherlands agreed.
Matthew drove to the little cabin in the middle of nowhere that he had left Alfred and Kumapuro in. With any luck, Alfred had stayed in the cabin and not wandered off.
He stepped out onto the gravel pathway and his brother came out of the house, bandage on his cheek and another on his hand.
"Mattie!" he yelled, running up in the way he often did, and Matthew, with dread, waited for the hug that was sure to follow.
In seconds, he was suffocating from the weight of his brother and too strong arms were wrapped around him, lifting him from the ground.
"Thank God you're back! Your bear was trying to eat me!" Matthew, still short of breath and still in the air, understood little of Alfred's voice. He pushed at Alfred's chest, and was promptly let go, heaving.
"I understand why," Matthew steadied himself on his car, "That's the most violent thing you've done to me since York."
"It was a show of my love," Alfred said, then, deflating a little, "And also maybe some fear. Your killer bear is still in the house."
"What did you do to him?" Matthew asked, trying to peek into the room and seeing a hunched over, furry, white figure doing nothing in particular.
"Nothing. I think it just hates me, for some reason."
"Yeah," Matthew looked skeptically at his brother, but decided to let it go. As long as Kumarosi wasn't injured, he supposed it couldn't be that bad. "Are you okay?"
"No," Alfred said.
"Just go home and get some rest, then," Matthew shrugged, walking into the cabin to collect his bear and leave.
"Hey, wait up!" Alfred caught up to Matthew, "You promised me pancakes for sitting your killing machine."
"I promised you I would rearrange Arthur's gardening drawer, nothing about food."
"Yeah," Alfred whined, "But look at all of this." He motioned to his cheek and hand, and Matthew saw a few scratches on his forearm.
"It's not my fault you did something to Kumasuri."
"Why do you always think I'm to blame, when you're clearly hosting a killing machine?" Alfred whined, "Don't you trust your older brother?"
"Not really," Matthew muttered, "But I suppose you're not going to leave until you get food?"
"I love you, lil bro!" Alfred moved to hug Matthew again, and Matthew took a moment to prepare himself before the bone crushing came.
"Hey, I'm the older of the two of us!" Matthew complained, legs desperately trying to reach the ground.
"So, where were you, anyways? No one visits the Brows for no reason," Alfred sat at the table, bandages redone, a stack of pancakes and syrup in front of him, and Kumagiri set in a time out in the corner.
"Emma wanted me to visit her brother and check up on him," Matthew shrugged, stabbing his fork into his own stack, "He's going to come over for the Tulip Festival."
"The flower thing you hold every year?" Alfred asked.
"Yeah," Matthew nodded, beckoning Kumaroma over so that he could have some of the syrup.
"Hey!" Alfred glared at Kumaratu, "I thought he was in time out!"
"Don't worry," Matthew smirked, "Kuma doesn't go after weakened prey."
"Not weakened prey," Alfred muttered, stuffing another bite of the pancakes into his mouth, "Anyway, who's coming over?"
"The Netherlands," Matthew pet Kumasoju as the bear licked syrup off of his paws, "Or Holland, I suppose."
"The tall guy with the windmills?"
"Yeah."
"I don't know, man, he kept looking at me weirdly that one time we went out shopping together," Alfred frowned.
"You two went shopping together?" Matthew asked.
"Yeah, a couple of years back, when he said he wanted to see how New York was doing. The guy looked like he was about to faint when I brought him to one of the fancier restaurants."
"Maybe that was because of everything you were eating?" Matthew smiled.
"Hey! Eventually he's going to get weirded out by your maple habits, too," Alfred shot back.
"For the last time, it's not a habit, it's a way of life!"
"I'm sorry," Lars said as Matthew brought him water to drink, "It usually doesn't get this bad."
"It's okay," Matthew insisted, "Were there any large battles, or…?"
"No, just the war," Lars accepted the water and took long, cooling draughts. Matthew frowned. He knew the effects of wars, especially when nations were already in a bad state, but the reaction seemed excess if there were no battles to cause it.
"Are you sure?" Matthew asked, perching on the chair and gripping the wooden seat with his hands. Lars stayed silent. "Nations can become sick because they're disconnected from their people, you know."
Lars swished around the water in his glass.
"Do you want to visit Ottawa some other time? I mean, I'd love to see Amsterdam or the Hague." Matthew looked at Lars for an answer. His face was striped, sunlight coming through in intervals through the blinds. He had always worried for people, but he didn't know when exactly he started to care enough about Lars to be attending him bedside, or to leave his own country so often to see him.
"It's hard," Lars began, his voice quiet, "It's hard seeing them work hard rebuilding when I'm not even fully there."
"It's hard, but it feels better when you're with your people, helping them rebuild their country and themselves," Matthew leaned his elbows on his knees, "You should go back the city, at least."
"I don't want to face them, though," Lars sat up on the bed, "Their country has failed them. I've failed my citizens. Germany came through and I fell so easily. I couldn't even put up a fight for more than a week, and I couldn't even help Emma or Elias." Lars' voice crescendoed, before slowly petering out.
"Hey," Matthew smiled, "You can't fail your citizens if you are your citizens."
"Where is he?" Emma came to Matthew after the meeting was adjourned, and Matthew was sure it was the first time her ire had been directed at him, "He visited you last, and now no one can find him. I went to check his residences in the countryside, and Elias looked into all of his houses in the large city, but he isn't anywhere in his country, or, at least, in any of his houses."
"He went back to his country after the tulip festival," Matthew gripped the handle of his suitcase a little tighter and smiled, "I haven't heard from him since."
Emma looked Matthew up and down, but Matthew was certain she couldn't see his lies- after centuries with the sharpest and most paranoid and most meticulous, he had at least hoped something good would come out of it. Perhaps Emma was worried, but that worked to Matthew's advantage; as soon as she was sure he hasn't done anything, she moved on to the next target, whoever that may be.
Matthew,
I have bought a residence under my rabbit's name in Rotterdam. The city is being rebuilt after the bombings, and though it is painful to have the reminder, the city has decided to go a more modern route in rebuilding, rather than to recapture the past.
I've taken your advice to live with my people. Please don't disturb me unless necessary; in the case that my my siblings become too caught up in finding me, or in the case that the world meetings have something important to say about me, or my country. Please don't tell my Emma or Elias, or anyone that might tell them (your brother or Francis in particular.)
Lars
Five months later, fed up with his government worrying over whether Newfoundland and Labrador would become a province, tired of listening about Alfred worrying about the USSR, and slightly guilty for Emma and Elias, Matthew decided that Lars had spent too much time away from his government and other nations.
A quick search around Rotterdam for someone by the name of Goud van Rijn, an uncommon name to begin with, about this tall and with gelled blond hair, and Matthew was directed somewhere downtown to a third story flat, with the same arrangement of flowers on the windowsill than that of Lars' countryside house.
Although the outside was shabby and left much to be desired, the inside was surprisingly clean. Matthew found himself with a cup of coffee on a slightly ripped chair that smelled of lemon cleaning detergent, Lars directly across from him, edges of his blue and white striped scarf barely touching the coffee table.
"What happened?"
"Nothing in particular," Matthew began, "But you've been away for five months after the move to Rotterdam, and I don't remember how many before the move. Nations are beginning to worry about you."
"They know I'm not dead if my country's still thriving."
"They can't gauge your opinion before they put things in action, though. Plus, your government's getting flak for not knowing where you are, and Emma and Elias are worried sick."
Lars swirled the coffee around in his cup before answering, "How much longer do you think I could stay?"
"You've already stayed too long," Matthew said, "And now there's the nightmare of how you're going to explain, well, this."
Lars stayed silent, the only sound Matthew sipping his coffee. Matthew looked outside, and the entire sky was a single shade of incredibly bright grey. He supposed some people would take their leave now, but after five months of having to deal with Lars' disappearing act, Matthew wasn't going to settle for a ten-minute meeting.
"Why did you buy your flat under the name of your rabbit?" he finally asked.
"Under the name of my rabbit that you know," Lars corrected, "It comes in handy sometimes, and it never comes into conflict. People rarely talk about someone else's pet rabbit."
"Really?" Matthew asked, "What other names do you have?"
"That would defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?" Lars smiled, thin and closed, but a smile nonetheless.
"I'm hurt by your lack of trust," Matthew joked, putting down his cup of coffee and leaning his elbows on his knees.
"Would you like a bandage?" Lars asked.
"Your information is my only bandage."
"Are you more eloquent in french than in english?"
"Je ne sais pas ton lapin's nom, et c'est mal."
"I don't know French."
"Oh, come on, what about Napoleon's Europe?"
"I've willfully forgotten."
"That's not good for business," Matthew pointed out.
"We have people who speak french somewhere in the country," Lars shrugged.
A/N: Thanks for reading, and reviews are really appreciated! Now, for the explanations!
Lars would be the Netherlands, of course, and Emma would be Belgium. Elias would be Luxembourg.
Translations
Goud- Gold (Dutch)
Je ne sais pas ton lapin's nom, et c'est mal.- I don't know your rabbit's name, and that's bad. (French)
Notes
Stroopwafles, if I understand them correctly, are two thin waffles with some sort of caramel or chocolate in them.
There are a couple of references in this chapter to the Indonesian war of Independance, in which they tried to push out the Dutch (and, eventually, succeeded), but, because the main focus of this story is the lull between the Second World War and the Cold War, I tried to keep it vague. Sorry if you were looking forward to it :(
References here, and probably in later chapters, to the Tulip Festival in Canada, where the King or Queen of the Netherlands sends over a million tulips in thanks for Canada housing the royal family, and just general help, during the Second World War.
York: American troops burned down parts Toronto, then known as York, in the War of 1812.
Again, thanks for reading, and have a nice day!
