A/N: For the vast majority of people who may be surprised, Macedonia really is a Slavic country. And the Greek Saints Cyril and Methodius developed a variation of the Greek alphabet for the Slavic languages; this language is now called Cyrillic.
Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia in any way, shape, or form. I only own Babushka Slava, the Czech Republic (Libushe), Slovakia (Zdenko), and Serbia (Slobodanka). Everything else belongs to the awesome people who created the Hetalia manga/web comic and the anime.
The runners of the elegant troika slid smoothly over the early December snows as Natalia happily drove the troika bearing herself, Ivan, and a copy of Babushka's letter for each member of the family, which Yekaterina had made while her siblings were packing. Ivan was inevitably morosely pondering whether he could die by jumping off a moving troika into a snow bank. Determining that the snow would break his fall, he curled up into the fetal position and rooted around in his pack for the bottle of vodka he'd concealed, lest Yekaterina and Natalia find it and confiscate it on the basis that drinking was bad for him.
No such luck. Apparently, the girls had found it and confiscated it quietly. On the driver's seat, Natalia was muttering to herself.
"It's like a pre-honeymoon holiday, just the two of us, we'll introduce ourselves to everyone as fiancés, so everyone will know we're going to be married, married, MARRIED!" She gave a chuckle that sounded distinctly evil to poor Ivan. "I think we shall tell Feliks first," she added, in what was most definitely, to the portion of the world that was not Natalia, positively evil. Ivan, for once, actually felt sorry for Poland. It didn't last long.
Feliks was coming in from a ride on his pony when they arrived at Poland's house…which it looked like he'd been clumsily fortifying. He took one look at the pair in the troika and turned his pony to gallop for the hills between his house and Libushe's house. Not Ivan, not Ivan, not Ivan! I am, like, so not staying in the neighborhood of Ivan!
Unfortunately, Natalia whipped up the horses into a canter-gallop to pursue Feliks, not a difficult task…not when she made sure to grab the harness of the pony as they approached, haul on the reins to stop her team, and haul all three horses and the pony to a skidding halt. Feliks went flying into a snow bank, but when he got up to try to run, Natalia had already gotten aboard his pony.
As he was hauled back to the troika, Natalia pulled an exquisite letter from her coat pocket and handed it to Feliks. Anxiously, he read it, and, to Ivan's deep chagrin, Feliks smiled broadly. "Babushka's coming for Christmas? I'll, like, so be there, for sure." He paused for a moment while he and Natalia got off his pony. "Ummm…do you want me to take the news to Libushe and Zdenko? They're, like, my siblings, and, well, Libushe doesn't like Ivan a lot, you know, and Zdenko listens to what she says…" he trailed off, nervous in the presence of Ivan and Natalia, Eastern Slava's psychotic children.
"Very well, you shall do so," Natalia replied regally, handing two extra copies to him. "Oh, and tell Libushe and Zdenko that Ivan and I are getting married when Babushka comes. Yekaterina didn't add that to the letter, but she was being a good girl, making such good copies." Ivan winced as Feliks nervously smiled his congratulations, remounted his pony, and started riding hard for the mountains to Libushe's house.
The troika slid over the snow through the lands around the former Yugoslavian house, silent except for the bells jingling merrily in contrast to the mood of the two humanoid figures bundled up in furs in the troika.
Ivan had moved onto the driver's seat with his lead pipe and, for once, Natalia wasn't in the mood to enjoy it.
"We're not going to Serbia, not until we're married, married, MARRIED!" Belarus snapped. "Even if Babushka says she has to come."
Ivan drew himself up and the air seemed like a winter night in Siberia. "We're going to invite Slobodanka, Natalia, and I will take the reins," he said serenely, brandishing the lead pipe and taking the reins with this other hand.
"You were DATING a century ago," Natalia sulked, trying to retrieve the reins as Ivan took the turnoff that would take them directly to Slobodanka's house in short order.
"We're just friends," Ivan replied, standing up in the driver's seat as steadily as a cossack.
"Well, even if that's so, she's not getting MY Ivan. You broke up, so she can't have you back," Natalia said, sitting back, crossing her arms, and putting her booted feet against the top of the footboard.
Ivan sighed, and until they reached Serbia's rather utilitarian house, there was only the sound of the troika bells.
Slobodanka was inspecting her barn when the troika arrived. Like most of Babushka Slava's adult granddaughters, Slobodanka was a short and curvaceous woman with a bit of a forceful personality. Serbia had short hair, a heavy Soviet style coat belted around her slim waist, long trousers, old Russian peasant boots, gloves, a scarf tied and pinned neatly under the coat and around her neck, and a military officer's cap on her head. True to her style, the scarf pin was in the form of the Serbian flag, and her only visible concession to luxury and femininity was a pair of gold art nouveau hoop earrings Libushe had made for her years ago.
At the sound of troika bells, she turned around and grinned when she saw Ivan standing in the driver's seat. "Well, Comrade Ivan, that's quite an entrance, since your last visit was...hmmm, let's see...after the Second World War, when you came to bring all of us into your house." Her grin stayed, but her hazel eyes sparked with sarcasm. "So, what's the occasion?"
Ivan stepped out of the troika, bearing an invitation and handed it to her, having stopped the troika beside Slobodanka and smiled a smile touched by a kind of misery she hadn't seen in about a century, since...oh...
Serbia carefully opened the letter, recognizing all the hallmarks of Babushka Slava. When she finished reading the letter, she cheered and started laughing and dancing. "Baba is coming! Of course you're inviting all of us against your will," she cackled, as Babushka sometimes did when she saw something particularly funny, but not particularly nice.
"Are you coming?" Natalia growled from where she was sulking in the driver's seat.
"Are you kidding or diseased? Of course I'm coming to visit Babushka," Serbia said with a smile. "I was notified last, right? Great. You've got about half a week to get that plague-hole of yours cleaned up. I'd give you a hand, but you reap what you sow, and if I know Yekaterina, she's so busy cleaning up that I'd get in the way," Serbia said with a rather evil grin.
"Actually, we were going to tell Macedonia next, since we haven't found him yet," Natalia replied grouchily.
"Aleksander? He's off visiting Greece again. I swear, he only comes out of Greece's house if he's dragged kicking and screaming." Serbia sighed. "At least Baba will forgive him, since she LIKES the Greek family."