Suggested ambient song: Sally's Song by Amy lee.


St. Petersburg, Russia 1781

Breakfast had been easy and all seemed to get along just finely.

"So tell me your given name, Amerika. What did the ever prideful England name you?" Catherine had asked after she wiped her mouth clean of the pastries served that morning. She leaned closer and narrowed her eyes in anticipation. She had thought of many names she assumed the boy to be named but alas it was ever a mystery until stated.

"He named me Alfred Kirkland," America answered. The boy's young eyes glanced toward the tall hosting nation who had sat ever silent next to his ruler, but Russia's eyes held his form all morning as did the Empress's. "I was named after King Alfred, a great rul—"

"I know who the man was," Catherine said as she leaned back and placed her hands in her lap. She smiled at him like as a mother who gazed upon their own child. Before long she let out a sigh and a frown appeared across her rosy lips. "You are just a boy. I cannot imagine what possessed you to outright reject your reigning nation."

"With all due respect, ma'am, but if you lived under his rule you'd try to find a way out as quickly as possible," America said, and Russia and his ruler noticed how his grip upon his knife tightened.

"You have passion even after fighting for so long. You're one of the lucky," Catherine noted before she sighed once more. "Why are you here then? Surely your military forces need you by their side after coming this far."

"I don't intend to stay long," America admitted. "I only came to offer my support to these ambassadors my council has chosen. My commander said it would be good to let the other nations see my face so that they can see for themselves that I am real and that my strife and turmoil rumored and gossiped upon in the high courts is real."

"A sound and intelligent move on your part," Catherine acknowledged. "I can see your mind is sharp and will only develop for the better, especially if you win this war of yours."

"Would you and your country be willing to recognize me?" America asked, and it was then the two understood why he was really there. He was looking for recognition among other sovereign countries. No doubt England refuses to acknowledge him in such a way.

The child was really trying to push everyone off their fences.

"So early for such a major decision," Catherine remarked before getting up. "If you would give me time to speak to my nation on this matter."

After excusing themselves Catherine and Russia retreated to a private room, there she turned to him and noticed his off-gaze.

"You haven't spoken a word since your head arose from your pillow," Catherine noted and it was then her nation looked at her. "Why, I did not think the boy would infatuate you that much."

"I had thought so as well, but the General has shown me otherwise," Russia confessed. He watched his Empress's brow furrow before her bright eyes widened. Her lips parted and she turned to look for a seat to sit herself in before she fainted.

"The General, are you sure?" she asked, quite serious.

All of his leaders knew of the spirit as did the lowly peasant, though the nobles were more inclined to speak often about him than the trembling sacrifices. Russia nodded and he heard Catherine inhale a deep breath.

"What a joke he's wrought," she said with a shake of her head. "He's not even an official nation, Russia. How can he be your destined mate promised to you by General Winter?"

"I don't know," Russia said as he rose his gloved fingers to his dark coat, pulling on the fabric, not caring if the golden seams and gem buttons pulled loose. "But it hurts, my Empress. My heart is within seconds from ripping out of me and falling into that child's arms. "

Raising her fingers to count all of the things wrong with the selection, Catherine begins by saying, "He's only a child." She rose one finger to signify the offense. "He's not even a nation." A second finger rose. "He's England's boy." Another finger was risen. "Mary's virginity, he's not even European!" The Empress had grown tired of using up her fingers and threw her hands in the air.

"I must have him, my Empress. I must." Russia pressed, his body stiff and full of the stress of waiting for General Winter to open his eyes only to show him to a mere child.

"Silence!" Catherine hissed. "You shall refrain yourself from him. The General may have opened your eyes but he did not open young Amerika's. We are in a delicate position right now. He's asked for us to recognize him."

"I will," Russia hastily spoke but the glare from his ruler put him back in place and he stilled himself.

"We'd risk entering a war with England if we take the boy's side," Catherine explained. "Even so, I cannot risk losing him. I very much enjoy the bountiful resources he offers us in trade. I may need time to weigh my options."

Russia was smiling now and as his Empress looked to see the grin, the Russian opened his violet eyes and said, "Take your time. I'm certain he won't leave until he hears your decision."

The woman harkened to her nation and it was because of her slow decision that Russia was able to examine his destined mate more. He observed his interaction with the servants and with the nobles and with his own people. He seemed so out of place there in Europe. He was always on his best behavior around Russia's people but it was only when he was with the Americans that he watched the young colony ease himself and actually laugh and joke around. He had a beautiful laugh and very witty jokes. Russia was liking the boy ever more by the day.

But there was still the fact that he was still just a child, a British child at that. With such bad-blood running through his veins it was almost a turn-off. Oh, but Russia had fallen in love with his beauty. He was outstandingly more handsome than the nation who sired him. His personality was down common unlike his uptight parent country.

Russia had still yet to interact with him though and it disturbed him to think he, himself, was becoming "shy". Hadn't he outgrown his weak timid self centuries ago? What was stopping him from going out into the gardens to talk to the boy?

The little colony was all alone, idly sitting on the stone bench reading a novel. A scarf was wrapped tightly around his neck and a thick coat engulfed him. The year was now entering the month of March. The snow had stopped but the weather was still chilly, though that did not stop the American possible-nation-to-be from finding solitude in the gardens when the others stayed inside by the fireplace.

Russia smiled and walked up to the boy, finding the opportunity unable to pass up. He stood there for a minute or two and realized the boy didn't even know he was there. With another smile he leaned over and spoke quite close to his cold red ear.

"What are you reading?"

America jumped and pulled himself away a bit before letting his eyes settle on the form of Russia. He looked surprised to see him and Russia could understand why. For the past few months that the colony had stayed there Russia only looked and made his presence discreet. He was mostly by his Empress's side for representation and after business talks were finished Russia would excuse himself.

"Oh, I . . ." America seemed flustered, trying to catch his bearings and organize them together after the hosting nation finally spoke to him. Turning back to pick up the book that had fallen in his lap he smiled sheepishly and held it up for the older nation to view. "Common Sense. I read it every morning; reminds me of home."

Russia looked at the small book for a moment before looking back at America who was rubbing his hands together.

"Why don't you go inside where there is fire? I hear the winters in the American colonies are harsh but the bite here is particularly world-known." Russia offered a smile for speaking of General Winter. The old man should thank him that he hadn't forgotten him.

"It's fine," America admitted. "I have a lot on my mind and I know the gardens are empty. I just want to be alone sometimes, no matter the weather."

"I see," Russia said as he offered a bow. "Then I should leave you to your peace of mind."

"Wait!"

Russia smiled when he heard the boy call out for him to stop. Turning back around he shifted his facade to that of curiosity so not to frighten the boy with his smiles, which he had heard from various nations could frighten even the monsters hidden away under the beds. "Da?" Russia offered and noticed the little boy chewing on his bottom lip.

"I never really get to talk to other . . . nations," America admitted as he glanced up at the tall nation with beautiful and honest eyes.

"It is because you are not a nation yourself," Russia informed. The boy perked up and opened his lips in the shape of an "o". Bowing his head the boy looked slightly depressed.

"Is that it?" he had asked but it sounded as if he were whispering it to himself. He stood,and picked up his book before turning fully to Russia and surprising him with a polite bow and a brilliant smile that about melted Russia's very being. "Well then, I shall have to become a nation as soon as possible. Um, Russia?"

"Da?" Russia felt his breath catch from the boy's smile and when that smile faded he looked into the boy's eyes and saw his earnest heart. He was so young, so very innocent and so full of fire—unlike him. He was nothing but an icy fortress and Russia often wondered if the General had opened his eyes to the wrong person.

"Will you promise me you'll speak to me when I do?" America asked, lifting his eyes to meet Russia's ancient violet ones. He let the boy hold his gaze so he could see how strong Russia was, how old he was, how dark he was. He wanted him to see his fortresses, his history, his struggles as a child, and his triumph over the rest of the nations of powerful Europe.

The boy was overwhelmed and his gaze faltered. Glancing away he dared glance back up into Russia's eyes twice more before leaving his gaze down at his feet. With a small whisper, America parted himself with an, "Excuse me," and stepped away from Russia.

"Stay."

America stopped and turned back toward Russia who stood tall and haunting like some human spirit who had yet to find their light and fade away. America had never seen anyone like him before. He had met France, the Netherlands, as well as Spain and Prussia, but since meeting Russia he had been awed by him and his land and people. He didn't know what is was about him but the nation felt as if he were a familiar friend of some sorts—the sorts possibly dreamt of in dreams.

Russia turned his eyes upon him and held his gaze before saying, "Come, walk with me. I am in need of a companion to converse with."

There was a small smile, Russia had seen it. It tilted the corner of America's mouth and put a small skip into the colony's step as he made his way back to his side quicker than expected. Russia kept his smiles to himself and enjoyed the boy's company as they walked throughout the large expanse of the garden. He often wondered if the child knew he was the one speaking mostly. Russia had not said a word since he had suggested the walk and it amused him so.

The Thirteen American Colonies' vocals were so young he still sounded like a child, but Russia could hear the deepening pitch. It was a sign of maturity and it was odd being that the colony was so young. It was a little frightening to think what would become of him once he becomes inducted into nationhood–should that happen.

He was so full of energy, as any young one would be, but the fact that he was only over a century old disturbed Russia. He shouldn't be this grown; he should still be just a babe.

"Who's this?"

Russia came out of his thoughts as their walk brought them to the center of the vast garden where a fountain was positioned and in the center of the dried fountain was the high statue of his old ruler.

Russia smiled and said, "That is Ivan the Great. He was the first man to unite my people and I respected him greatly."

"Wow, so he's like George," America whispered as he hopped into the empty fountain and walked up to the granite statue to take a better look at the sculpted man. "I wonder if he'll be that to me."

Reaching out he touched the statue and marveled at its age. Russia flinched mentally and figured he should warn him of the hazard.

"I wouldn't be so close to that statue. It's quite old and ready brea—!"

Russia acted quick as the old thing finally toppled over like the gardeners predicted. America had just stood there not knowing what to do and instead of jump out of the way he was shielded by the large country who wrapped one arm around his waist and the other arm he held up and halted the statue's descent.

"Break," Russia finished, shaking his head at the boy who looked quite surprised and awed by his strength. The statue was huge and Russia was merely holding it up with one arm.

"Sorry," America offered as Russia pushed it back onto its stand and dusted the colony off.

"Unlike your buildings mine are much older than yourself," Russia explained after dusting his own hands off of the dirt collected from the statue. He was trying to explain to the boy to not touch but the colony's eyes were fixed on the statue behind him and Russia was about to snap his attention away with a clap of his palms had not the boy jumped behind him and pushed the statue back correctly before it wobbled over again.

With wide eyes Russia turned and watched America back away from the statue before deeming it safe and offering a big smile to Russia. "Mr. Ivan the Terrible was still wobbling after you pushed it back and it about nearly fell on you. So I pushed it back to where it won't fall now. Not any time soon at least."

Again, that statue was huge. How could such a small young boy push it back like it was made out of parchment? It had taken years upon centuries for Russia to build up his strength but this boy seemed to have been blessed with it since birth. Strength meant might, particularly military might and that was something America didn't have.

All of the other countries eventually broke under Russia. In his race to become recognized as a high European power he had become—dare he say—too strong. Because of this the others would not look at him for long. They would not stay and chat with him in the meeting rooms. They would not compete with him even in simple games of sport. So he became a recluse and was only sought out for alliances for his might—as England had done some years back.

But now, here was this boy who moved stone like he had. Here was this boy who stood actually amazed at his might, nor frightened away from his presence. General Winter had known what he was doing when he had chosen America for him.

He's perfect, General Winter, Russia inwardly praised and in that a cold gust of air whooshed past the two, making America curl in on himself for warmth in his coat but Russia welcomed the refreshment that let him know the General was watching and overseeing everything.

"Come, Amerika, let's return back inside to the fires of the hall," Russia said, offering his hand. He could see the boy trembling and the sound of his chattering teeth only grew louder. He was surprised once again as the boy reached out and took his hand. No other nation had dared touch him like this in centuries.

Taking the chance to test something for himself, Russia squeezed the boy's hand tighter than polite. In fact this grip would have popped a few fingers out of place but the boy seemed to notice this and so defended his own bones by returning the pressure to make the grasp more stiff. Nothing broke; no one said a thing and Russia pulled the boy out of the waterless fountain.

Russia didn't want to let go of the hand as he eased his grip but he did not want to frighten the child and so released and settled for having the American walk close next to him. It did his soul good to find someone so similar to him, at heart and strength.

From their first walk in the garden sprouted more. Now every morning the two would each sit side-by-side on a designated bench and begin their day with a chapter or two of a selected book. After which they'd walk in the garden and talk about nothing in general. Russia could see America pleased that he knew so much about agriculture, a subject America seemed most interested in.

"I thought you would be like most noble countries," America admitted as he gazed at the small buds on the otherwise barren branches of the bushes surrounding the garden. "You know, talk about commerce and royalty and wars and such."

"All of us still have to farm," Russia explained. "Even if they don't speak about it they do know about it."

"Tell that to France," America said with a chuckle. "All he cared about was war or fashionable clothing."

"Maybe you should have found pleasure conversations with the Netherlands then," Russia informed. "He is quite fond of farming."

"Really?" America asked. "But the man seemed so immersed in talks of trade that I didn't see any such thing similar to a farmer in him."

Russia merely rolled his shoulders as he observed America touch each young bug that he could see. A thought had come to his mind. He had known he had sought out other nations before him. The one that concerned him the most was France and by looking at the young beautiful boy he knew that not even that molester could hold himself back.

"Amerika," Russia spoke up. America turned toward him with a, "Hm?" and Russia spoke again. "What did you speak to the other nations about while you visited them?"

Something seemed to click inside the boy's mind and it was as if he went into official presentation mode. He straightened and said, "Mostly about my recognition. I would leave representatives in each country in hopes to sway them to my cause. So far I have France, Spain, the Netherlands, and Mysore. It's a start."

"If I do not recognize you, then what?" Russia inquired.

America pondered his thoughts for a while before looking sadly at him. "I'll have to leave. I'm sorry but I'm not allowed to wait any unnecessary time that could be used for my recognition into nationhood."

"I see," Russia said with a nod. "Do you realize what will happen if I do acknowledge you?"

America nodded with a smile. "I'll be one step closer to nationhood and you'll offer support and encouragement to my men back in the states."

"I'd have to throw myself into war," Russia explained. "Know you this that my Empress doesn't want to do that."

He saw America's face depress. His shoulders slumped rather quickly and his body stood still. He then looked at him curiously before the blond opened his mouth and asked, "Do you want to help me, Russia?"

America was addressing him as a person with his own conflictions and thoughts. Normally he was addressed as the whole entire country as he should be. This boy still had so much to learn.

Russia smiled before he shook his head.

"Nyet, Amerika. That is not how you converse with a nation."

America cocked his head to the side in confusion before he watched the nation move closer to him. "I am a whole, not one, as are you, as is France, as is Spain, as are the others. We are not human and are not to be addressed like such. Our thoughts are our leader's thoughts; our decisions are what they choose them to be."

"I don't believe that."

Silly boy.

"Why is that, Amerika?" Russia asked curiously.

"Because it is me who wants to break my ties with my fa—with the British Empire. Many of my people didn't want to and so they left me to defend myself," America admitted.

"You see, then that means those who are left make up your thoughts for you, those thoughts being to break away," Russia explained. "You are young, a babe in nation years and yet you are not a nation. It takes time to understand how one works and sometimes you'll wish you were so simple as the humans that dwell in your land."

"What do you mean?" America asked.

Russia peered down at him and then raised his hand and let the knuckle of his index finger brush against America's high cheekbone. The boy seemed taken aback, his eyes full of confusion.

"What are you feeling when I touch you like this?" Russia asked.

"I . . . I don't . . . why are you doing this?" America asked and it was then Russia watched another emotion besides confusion settle in the child's gaze.

When Russia pressed further by trailing his finger down the line of the boy's jaw partly for testing his reaction but mostly because he had wanted to touch him so intimately, the boy hit his hand away rather harshly. He had perhaps expected this but not the trembling fear threatening to leak out of the colony's eyes.

Instead of dwelling on it Russia straightened his form and took the role of informing mentor in a sense before the colony. "Nations may share the same mindset of their people but how they interact with other nations differ from normal human relationships. Perhaps I am in the same room as my enemy; we will eventually break out into a fight. Say I am in a crowd and a nation has hidden himself amongst the populace; I will find him because nations emit auras both powerful and weak, but national in the sense that it is an aura to be recognized. Say that I touch a nation I am infatuated with," Russia then glanced at America who looked to be having a hard time keeping up with Russia's explanation of the concept of Countries/Nations. "They will be able to tell if my touch is innocent, friendly, passionate, or lustful. Did you feel anything in my touch, Amerika?"

America seemed to go back to it but he shook his head and looked rather nervous. He didn't say anything, simply continued to stand there with his hands gripping the edges of his jacket.

"Were you ever touched by the others?" America looked up at Russia with surprisingly understanding eyes. He looked slightly offended when Russia asked him that, but it didn't matter, Russia's question did not falter under America's tense stare. He remained quiet and Russia continued to press him for an answer. "Are you untainted, Amerika?"

Once again America stayed quiet and instead of just standing there he actually turned and stormed off in an upset mood. Russia's fears began to settle in. Had the others touched him? He had thought about France the more. The thought upset him and he cursed the General.

No, he is supposed to be mine alone. I am the one to taint him with my love. The others should not touch him. If they have, General, you had better pay me penance! Russia inwardly swore as he took off after the colony.

Russia had caught up with the boy even though America had been walking rather fast. The younger had entered into the palace without letting the servants dust him off and took his cloak and scarf with him through the halls, not caring to let the servants put the articles of clothing away. The moment America crossed the main hall Russia watched the boy run toward the other wall and throw himself against a pillar. His eyes caught his and he saw fear in them. Ever so curiously Russia walked slowly toward him with questioning glances before something caught his sight to his right.

Turning Russia watched his servants greeting a nation—the nation being none other than England himself.

"England, what a pleasant surprise you are here," Russia said, putting on his greeting smile, now realizing why America had jumped so quickly into the next hallway.

"Sorry to come so unannounced," England apologized as he took off his hat. "I was just in the vicinity and thought I'd come by to see how you were fairing."

"I'm glad you took the time to concern yourself for my wellbeing," Russia said with a smile that honestly hid no true feelings from the empire. "Just take a look at yourself. You seem to be the one not fairing well at all."

The bags under England's eyes, the dull color of hue in his irises, his slumped shoulders; all seemed to point toward his all-too-known struggle with his colony and from the current gossip, all wasn't going well for the British Empire's part. Already six years into that little rebellion and it's taking its toll. Russia smirked. It's hard wasn't it? When you were fighting all by yourself.

"Well, that's life, old chap," England said and Russia noticed that even his voice was drawn out and soft—weary.

There was a short silence before Russia let out a smile and grinned once more. "Well, we've said hello and I am fine and you are not. You can leave now."

Russia turned and waved his hand to issue the servants to escort England back outside. He didn't care for politeness at that moment. He didn't care about England, especially after how he had mistreated his young colony.

"W-Wait, Russia!" England called out.

Russia turned to him, looking rather uninterested and slightly annoyed but he thought he'd humor himself and see what the pathetic nation had to say—seeing how he's come such a long way and all.

England glanced down and then back up to Russia. The man used to be the one looking down on everyone no matter their stature, now he's remembered his place as the small maggot that he was.

"All is not well in the war," England finally admitted with a heavy sigh. "At first I was having to deal with him but then he . . . he . . . he goes out abroad and bloody whores himself to the others, enticing them to join in the battle." Russia could see England's gloved fists shaking. His bared teeth were grinding together and Russia could see the shade of his face turning a slight red. He was angry. So very angry with America. Either with him asking the others for help or the others trooping up against him.

With a shake of his head Russia crossed his arms. "That is not my problem to deal with, Britain. He is yours—well, not for long if the war continues in his favor."

"What do you want, Russia? !" England barked out, his dull eyes now sparking with frustration beyond count. "Do you want a piece of my empire? Fine! You can have Minorca. I'm not asking for your damned army this time. I just want someone on my side. I need someone to help me convince the others to stay out of this; to let me handle it alone, and to leave my colony's rebellion to me."

"Nothing but gossip and rumors reach my ears," Russia said. "I do not know entirely why the Thirteen are so upset with you. But even so, this is your fault. Whether it was a lack of parenting presence or an act of obsessive overprotection you have forced him away and into the arms of others. Why does it matter anyways? Why can't you colonize somewhere where you're wanted?"

"Because he's the first to survive!" England said and then inhaled a deep breath to steady himself as his outbursts revealed deep emotional ties that didn't need to be shared publically, especially with a nation he was trying to get to become his ally but always insulted him.

Russia decided not to make any rhetoric remark this time. It wouldn't be fair, not for England. He remembered that; it wasn't easy colonizing and England seemed to have one of the worst luck for it. His first child died quite young and it wasn't until some 23 years later that England tried for another, this resulted in Alfred.

Russia took a quick glance to his left where America still presided. He had wondered why he hadn't just left but he found the boy to be frozen. Was he that afraid of his parent country? If only he could see England's state then he'd realize that he was winning, he was beating an empire. That was quite a feat for something like a colony.

"He's growing fast, England," Russia spoke after the silence. England looked at him and then nodded.

"I know," the Brit said with a sad smile. "But he's still so young."

"Perhaps it is destiny," Russia suggested. "Even the Norwegians had to let go of their colonies."

Suddenly Russia watched a quick shift in England's mood just by mentioning the country.

"Well I'm not Norway," He spat, that arrogant prick returning in full force. Russia watched the man straighten his form and narrow his eyes. "The war isn't over yet and if I have to fight tooth and nail for him just to prove to him how important he is to me then I shall."

"Him or his resources?" Russia asked with a knowing smile. "You seem to forget the colony has a personification. He's not just a territory marked on a map."

"You seem to slide more toward his side," England said with a frown. "Have I lost my only ally to his wretched rebellion as well?"

"I was never your ally, England," Russia informed. "You're not a friendly nation, nor are you reliable."

England bit back a snarl while Russia looked down on him with condemning eyes.

"I ask so little of you!" England spat. "You're the unreliable one! If you're not for me then you're my enemy."

England turned on his heel and made to leave.

"We'll see about that when you'll need my trade after losing your colony," Russia remarked and reveled in watching England's shoulders stiffen. It was true, if he lost America then he'd have to trade with him, ally or not. With a pleased smile he watched England storm out in an anger, nearly plowing through the servants as they tried to open the door for him.

"Heh, I'll have to tell Catherine about this. She does so love to gossip," Russia said before turning back toward America and noticing the boy had slunk down to the floor. With concern in his features Russia approached the colony. "Amerika?" he questioned but the boy would not look at him.

"I knew he'd hate me," America said as he fiddled with his stockings.

"Relationships between countries are never meant to be eternal," Russia admitted.

America let out a sigh and leaned his forehead against his knees. "He just . . . I did it because . . . because he wouldn't listen. Because I wanted him to know how much I hated him."

"You're still so young. You do not really know the hard chains of hate yet. It's best you forget that word entirely," Russia suggested, standing tall before him like a role model with which the younger should dress himself after.

When America looked at him Russia could see his blue eyes hard as if battle-worn and centuries tortured. He didn't know why he had that look or how it came to be but there was a definite hate in his those gems. The boy had not lied about feeling hate. He knows the feeling.

Feeling the need to kneel Russia does so and then leans closer toward the colony. America did not pull himself away this time. He simply stared Russia down like some power confronted before him. He was a curious child and Russia felt that if he could have him then and there then he could shape him into a powerful ally—something England could use.

His loss; Russia's gain.

"What horrors have you seen to make you think you can stare me down like that?" Russia asked, his own eyes boring down on the boy, trying to push him into submission but there was a blue fire in America's eyes and he almost seemed in some sort of trance. He held his ground good.

"I will win, Russia," America swore and if Russia wasn't such a realist then he'd come to hope for the future in expectation for victory, but until he saw it played out in real time then he'd hold his own opinion to himself. "I will."

Russia leaned back as America pressed himself upward and stood, leaving his presence. His walk was full of determination and Russia loved him more for his spirit.

That's it, keep fighting, Amerika, Russia thought. Once you're free, you're free to come right back into my arms.


Historical Notes:

Empress Catherine the Great never officially came out for either side, partly because she didn't want to get involved in the war. But her want of trade with the Americans suggested she favored the Americans winning the Revolutionary War with Great Britain.

When America spoke about some of his people not wanting to fight against the British and just left instead, he was referring to the Loyalists: American people loyal to the crown (aka. Tories to the American populace). So, most of them either went with the British or just moved up to Canada to stay loyal.

Also, when America refers to Russia's Ivan the Great as Ivan the Terrible, yes it was a pun at what he's sometimes rerferred to seeing how a lot of people don't see him so "great".

Now England did indeed make a third attempt at friendship with Russia back in 1781. This time they didn't even ask for military support. They just flat out offered them a part of their empire, that part being the island of Minorca. All they wanted was for Russia to convince the other countries to stay out of the fight since England was being ganged up on. Russia did decline the bribery and what they did next was quite funny, but not so funny on the British Emprire's part.

Lastly, but not least,

When it was mentioned that England lost a "child" that is a reference to the colony of Roanoke in North Carolina, also known as The Lost Colony. It was established in the late 1500's but was then lost some time later. No one knows what became of it except all of the people were gone. Still an unsolved mystery and in this story it is England's very first child that died (or vanished mysteriously, whatever you wish).