Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia and, sadly, a whole lot of other things.


For once, no icy winds attack Lukas' form as he walks smoothly down a worn trail. The grass is vivid green and wild, mockingly tangling in his boots. The sky is a periwinkle blue - a nice ice cream color - with sprinkles of floating cloud tufts. Birds fill the air with joyful chirping and the crickets chime in on the percussion. Scowling, Lukas feels the scene only needs dancing magical animals. Not feeling at all cheered by the weather, he lets out a short puff of breath. A tired sigh follows shortly.

Stretching a little to ease his muscles, he reaches a ravine and climbs down carefully, arriving at a careworn door with ivy curling at its hinges. Lukas reaches up, slowly knocking on the small, engraved wooden door. A loud clamor disrupts his inspection of the intricate-maybe magical-carvings. Curious, he tilts his ear closer, hearing a rushed, "go, go, go!"

Letting out a small cough, Lukas knocks again.

"Nova? It's Lukas. Are you home?"

The door creaks open and a cheerful face peaks out.

"Ah, welcome back, Lukas!" Lukas raises an eyebrow questioningly at the man.

"Were you talking to someone?" His expression turning grim and wary, while his thoughts run.

'Twist carefully to the right. Be prepared for anything. The war left a lot of enemies, Lukas.'

Nova lets out a fond chuckle, but it sounds slightly strained. "Just the leaves, my boy! You young people don't appreciate the art of leaf racing. In my day, there was no television or kart racing or computers. No, we had to get by on the small things. Twig boats and leaf racing, my two personal favorites. Why, I've won quite a few pretty pennies on leaf racing. In fact…"

Lukas relaxes, snorting softly. "Nova, remember? Nations are older."

"And that's exactly what I mean! Age doesn't always mean wisdom. Even the wisest can have clouded minds, do rash things, act before thinking, let emotions overcome them...it all has painful, sometimes fatal consequences."

"I didn't come to speak of the war." Lukas requests, expression full of pain.

'Emil…slain by my own hands. His blood is my burden. Berwald…my brother and father all in one. And, Peter, the youngest…gone, taking Tino with him. How did it come to this madness?'

Nova nods quickly and solemnly. "I hear those fairies are quite the handful, how do you tolerate them?" Nova asks smirking, in an obvious subject change, getting a laugh and appreciative smile out of the Norwegian man.

Lukas' mouth opens to reply, but a small clatter emerges from the kitchen. Lukas tenses, eyes scanning the floor. Nova snickers, drawing Lukas' gaze back to him, just missing the tablecloth's slight rustle.

"Hah! As you can plainly see, I'm being quite the hypocrite. The fairies have been playing quite a few pranks on me lately. Misplaced books, clothes changing color, it's infuriating. But, I'll have my revenge!" Nova's face dances with expressive emotions, a little more so than usual.

"Misplacing things is just called getting old, Nova. And pranking fairies? You're just asking for things to fall around here. Those pests are crazy. Hey, I found whatever fell, it's just this." Lukas states, smiling fondly, as he bends down, carefully picking up a small wooden necklace.

"Whoa, this is quite fine crafting. See, the fairies heard you, this is their, 'Bring it, old man.' Now, they're targeting more important objects. I haven't seen detail like this in quite a long time. Look at those wings, it looks a lot like a falcon." Lukas casually extends his arm towards Nova, before pausing briefly. Rolling it around in his palm, Lukas furrows his eyebrows.

"Magic? Wow, this is definitely important. Those fairies are serious. What does this do, if I may ask?"

Nova giggles, causing Lukas' eyes to jerk away from the necklace to give him an incredulous stare. "Are you okay? You don't have to answer, you know. It was just a question."

"I know, good friend, it was just so typical of you to ask that. It caused a bit of nostalgia, I haven't seen you in quite some time, you know."

Lukas smiles sheepishly, as Nova's voice becomes chiding, but his response dies on his lips as Nova continues.

"Hardly anything, I'm afraid-though I have felt luckier with it. It's been around magic once, I think for a long time. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if the aura of magical remnants is embedded in it. Oh! This reminds me of the time when I was a young adventurer-I got into many bold expeditions back then, you know-and there was this one-"

Sensing an impeding novel, Lukas shifts uncomfortably before hearing the whistle of a kettle.

"The tea is ready I believe. Umm…may I come in now?"

"Ah! Of course, I'm sorry! I completely forgot, yes, please come in."

Lukas follows Nova inside, then sits at the kitchen table, before his knee bumps something uncomfortably hard-the table leg?-and he awkwardly moves the chair out, wincing at the inevitable scraping noise.

Nova-an oddly frantic jerk to his normally slow, elegant movements-opens the window and a soft breeze blows the long table cloth.

"Finally, a breeze! I'm so hot in here and it will go well with the tea."

"I suppose so. What type are we having today?" Lukas asks, while stretching his legs slightly and reaching for the kettle, pouring a steady stream of a dark green, watery liquid into his cup. A warm, fruity aroma curls into his nose.

He suddenly stops pouring when he heard a faint noise. He set the kettle back down and turns.


"I can't believe no one will believe me. It's just like Mathias, can't stop reveling in his victory to see that Berwald! Is! Alive! What a baka! It'll serve him right when Berwald comes back and messes up his Revolution!" Tino huffs, hot breath temporarily forming a warm air bubble, before succumbing to the cold.

"I mean, I'm telling the truth! He'll see though. I'm glad it hasn't snowed, maybe Berwald left signs when he dragged his miserable, traitorous body out of the avalanche." Tino mutters, pulling his jacket closer, as he begins climbing up the mountain with quick strides. Scanning the white terrain, he searches for any clues that Berwald might have left. It is oddly peaceful as he climbs, but the calm atmosphere breaks with the pained cry of an animal. Tino runs towards it, hearing only the pain in the sound, memories of the war come flooding back.


"Hah! Tony, we're winning! For the Revolution!" A soldier grins lopsidedly, knocking down Berwald's men like bowling pins.

"Nice one, Emily! Maybe I'll even get back to Amy in time for supper." A man smiles back, pausing to corner more opponents.

"Thanks, this battle could win the war! But I'll get back home before you will, one of Berwie's guys nearly got you there, old man, sure it's not time to retire? You're slowing down, better start watching the master!"

"The master? At what? Getting rescued by me?"

The two soldiers are separated from the main battle, their individual skirmishes – now completed – having drawn them away. Both are rushing back to aid their allies, no doubt in their postures as they run back into danger, playful bantering disguising their fears.

They figures are small. Two dots running to join a coiling, bleeding mass. Then, in the blink of an eye, two becomes one.

"Tony! No! What was it?"

"Arrow." The man grunts, pulling a bloody shaft from his chest, dangerously near the heart. "I'm not going to make it. Another got me, it's tearing a lung. Guess you were right about Berwie's guys."

"No! Herbert can fix this. Or maybe Shelly? Remember, good ol' Florence Nightingale…"

"…The Miracle Bird. Yeah, but I'm serious. Guess you will," he coughs an ugly blob of red blood and spittle before continuing, "make it home before me. Say 'Hi'' your parents for me."

"NO! I didn't mean it! What about your kid? Amy will choose all the names you hate! What can I do? I can do something!"

The words are rushed, choked, filled with despair and mingled with bitter tears.

"Just win the war. Make a better future. That's why I'm here...for them."

The body stills. Another rises from hovering and joins the battle, steps filled not with vengeance, but sadness and determination. A better future would come, or else!

Tino watches, pausing and hidden.

The scene happened in just five minutes, war was quick like that - death even more so – but it played in slow motion. Every detail slowing to an agonizing pace, every word captured. Sometimes the faces or scenery blurred, the words got forgotten. Tino always tries to remember it again, always grows terrified when it blurs. He will not forget. He will not dishonor them like that.


Suddenly, he stumbles over a crevice in the ice, leg twisting sideways, body propelling into a wall of ice.

Pain.

Darkness.

Tino shakes his head, slowly getting up – what was that noise? Following the cry, Tino sees a speckled bundle of fur. It's a small goat. Rushing towards it, Tino realizes the specks are matted fur clumped with dried blood. Shivering in revulsion, he wraps a cloth around the wound.

"I'm going to take you home, little one. What will I name you? No, I know! I'll let Peter name you! He's going to be so happy! Top that, Berwald! Peter will love you. It'll be an early present." Picking it up, he begins walking, but suddenly wonders where he's going.

"That's odd." Tino's voice sounds small among the mountain range, barely even echoing.

'What am I doing? Is this one of Mathias' incompetent pranks? He really needs to get over it, world domination is not a good idea, the sore loser. He probably just wants to make rules that'll help him escape punishment. Well, best continue, maybe he has a party at the end.' Shaking his head in exasperation and amusement – Mathias could be immature, but he threw great parties – Tino's pace slows and he inhales a deep breath. Then, frowns slightly, cocking his ear and concentrating.

A rustle of cloth.

A crunch of boots on snow.

The smooth glide of fingers on metal.

That was the only warning. He was one of the lucky ones.

Dark cloth leaps down from above and a fist comes hurtling at his face.

Tino ducks.

'Whoa! How did I react that quickly?!'

"Give up your money now and you'll escape alive!" A sneer spreads on one bandit's grimy face.

'What are robbers doing out here?! It's the middle of a mountain!' Sensing his hesitation, another blow comes from a burlier figure on his right. Adrenaline kicks in quickly and – with instincts he has no idea how he got – he dodges swiftly, twisting to the side.

'This will be easy.' His thought is interrupted by a forceful hit to the stomach.

'Never mind.'

The blow knocks his slight frame backwards, but he regains his composure and tenses, planning for the next attack.

"This is hardly fair. Hmm, five against one? I see how you're going to play." Tino says nonchalantly, before striking his arm out, quickly landing a hit on the burly guy.


"Mama! Help me defeat the evil Viking king!" Peter ran up to him.

Glancing up with a bemused smile crowning his face, Tino raised his head. Berwald chased Peter around the room, yelling funny threats in an exaggerated accent and panting dramatically for breath every five seconds. He was even wearing a crudely cut cardboard Viking helmet. Tino's laughter bubbled heartily out, as he picked up a nearby pillow.

"We'll team up and defeat him together! Vikings will not defeat us!" Tino said, puffing out his chest exaggeratedly, and grinning even more when Peter laughed. Suddenly, Berwald was assaulted with pillows and tackled. Laughter – pure, real laughter - vibrated through the small house and everything was perfect.


Tino clenches his teeth, while drawing his sword.

'Why that memory? Maybe Peter wants to play Vikings with me? Is that why Mathias wants me? Did Peter drag him into this?'

Roughly shaking his head – stay in the fight – Tino twists and whirls, blocking the incoming attacks. Something's changed about his fighting. It's sharper, more precise. His movements are no longer splattered with wasted movements that made Lukas' typically blank face shift into a pained grimace. A flash of khaki speeds towards his face catching his chin in a painful blow and sending him staggering to the ground where he's met with pounding kicks and jeers.

Blood filling his mouth, he swiftly twists away, sweeping his rifle to knock them off balance. Now, a flurry of blurring kicks and punches. He finally subdues two of them and begins tying up the third.

"Tsk, tsk, how disappointing… Do I really look like the old, wheel-chaired grannies you obviously target normally? I mean, how else are you guys that bad? Want me to teach you how to punch?"

"You mean how you taught Berwald? Yeah, no thanks, I don't feel like dying and getting buried by an avalanche!" The third man raises his bloody head, mouth fixed in a terrible grin.

"What do you mean?" Tino asks, confusion overtaking his voice. 'Was this man crazy?'

"I would never do that to Berwald!" He yells, irrational anger burning his veins.

"Right, and I suppose now you're going to deny driving Peter to suicide. Take some responsibility!'

"Peter...suicide…I didn't…I wouldn't… What do you mean?" Tino staggers back, head pounding.

"Why don't you figure it out yourself?" The man grins slyly. The grin is sharp, edges whetted by knowledge – too much knowledge.

Tino's head begins to burn, images flash through his eyes.

Pounding fists…

Crushing snow…

Bleeding throat…

He remembers. A horrible scream invades the mountains. He doesn't want to remember.

Finally, he looks up for the mysterious man. The mountainside is clean. Devoid of signs of struggle and devoid of signs of the three men.

A small bleat brings his eyes to the goat. It's fairly happy, as if a fight never occurred.

'Who were those men?'


Florescent light momentarily blinds Mathias' eye as he makes his way into the lobby. Spying a chair, he sits, then grimaces at the stiff cushion.

'I'm far too used to living in a camp. It was surprisingly pleasant. Everything here is…nice, but it feels distant. Just like me… No! I can't think like that. I haven't come this far - sacrificed so many - to back out in cowardice now because of a little discomfort!'

Straightening out his ruffled uniform, Mathias stands up as an employee enters.

"Dude, Alfred says it's cool to come in now."

Mathias grins at the bright Hawaii print of the employee's shirt. The man is tall and thin, face bearing an impressive, meticulously groomed goatee. His posture stiff and proper, he looks distinctly out of place and the words had tumbled out his mouth tinged with hesitance and distaste.

"Thank you, Mr.?" Mathias pauses, waiting for a name.

"Yo, man, I'm Reginald Archaeon Woodworth the Third."

Mathias coughs a snicker out and immediately dubs the man 'Reggie.' Reggie had experienced an amusing facial change as the original distain after saying something so low born as 'Yo, man,' melted into pride at introducing himself and his face gained a slightly arrogant tilt.

"A pleasure to meet you, Reggie."

"Reggie?" The man's mouth begins twitching downwards again. Mathias discreetly snicker-coughs again, before feigning an expression of surprise.

"Oh, I do apologize, sir! That's what Alfred told me to call you, see? He said you had quite the resume."

"Mister Alfred…of course…" Reggie's face fleetingly gains a savage look as he discovers his target. Mathias makes a mental note to tell Alfred to check his soda until…possibly forever.

"I'm afraid I must confess something, dear Reginald. You see, I asked Alfred – he's such a dear friend, you know – and he showed me your credentials. They're extremely impressive. You must be very proud. Such accomplishments!" Mathias says with an overly enthusiastic grin.

"I'm extremely happy that some people understand and appreciate my talents." Reggie's face lights up and a shrewd look enters his eyes as he assesses Mathias.

"On the contrary my fine sir, I can't believe anyone wouldn't!"

"I can think of a few people." Reggie says dryly, before glancing at his watch and gasping. "My apologies sir – I mean – dude, sorry for ruining your meeting!"

"No worries, it was nice to meet you." Mathias' smiles brightly, waving a farewell, before entering Alfred's office.


Walking into the room, silently chuckling at the random and sloppily hung artwork, he grins at Alfred.

"Yo, Alfie! Long time, no see!" Mathias extends his hand upwards and Alfred's meets his in a high five. The cheerful slapping sound rings through the room.

"Mathias! What's up? I heard you need something?" Alfred asks, smiling joyfully at the easy, gracefully relaxed Danish nation.

"What's up with me? Hah! What's up with you?! That thing with your employees is killer! Are all of them like that?" Mathias laughs, skillfully ignoring the last query. Small talk is often first for a reason.

"Dude, you like that? I thought it was pretty hilarious too. Most of them are cool with it 'cause they're used to me, ya know? But, Reggie's new! Normally, I don't hire his type.

"The snooties and you never did get along well."

"Hey, they don't appreciate me. Anyways, I interviewed ol' Reginald Achearon Woodworth and got this beautiful idea."

"Hah, well you better watch your Coke from now on, I told him that you told me to call him Reggie."

"Thanks a lot! Anything else? Only one hardly seems like you."

"You know it, bro. He'll probably be handing in his resignation to you and his application to me in, say, twenty minutes. Tops."

"Ooh, nice one! Okay, this is a meeting. What do you want to 'meet' about, dude?"

"Updates, I guess. Well, we'd better sit down, this'll be a while." Mathias' grimaces, before quirking his lips into a smirk and adding, "But not longer than twenty minutes."

"Ouch."

"Listen, I know you and I are the jokers. We have fun and we're good at it. But, don't hate it when people think that being fun and funny means being stupid!"

"I mean, yeah, but, what brought this one?"

"It's been there for a while, you know, but then, someone said that we didn't care about people's lives! That we would risk them in favor of entertainment!"

"What!" Alfred stood, looking uncharacteristically angry. People and countries depended on each other in the end. Sure, some countries weren't overly involved with their people, but implying that they wouldn't care if humans died! That was too far.

"I know, but…I was thinking…and, well, they have a point!"

"Mathias, don't listen to those arrogant, jealous, lame…"

"Alfred, stop." The command was quiet, but it was powerful. Mathias' typical easy charm morphs into a dark charisma with a dangerous edge. He continues, voice softer, smoother, and more articulate.

"They're right. Look at us! We're literally personified counties! Maybe we don't show it, but we're powerful. Strength flows through our veins and we've lived for centuries! Every one of us has so much knowledge, so many talents, and a crazy amount of opportunities. We've seen what works and what doesn't. We know the problems in this world - in us - and…We. Can. Fix. Them. We can show we do care. We can stop the pain and suffering. You've heard the cries, Alfie. I know you have. All of have, no matter how we act in the mornings, they creep into our nightmares. We can solve problems and show people how to have fun along the way too, obviously." The last sentence changes and the easy charm once again takes over. Alfred sits quietly, face uncharacteristically blank and pensive, before uttering one word.

"Davie."

Mathias nods in silent understanding, then whispers, "His family – his legacy – will inherit the perfect world. We can fix this. I'm going to fix this, no matter what! You're not the only one who…you know."

"I'm in. How are we going to do this?"

Mathias scratches the back of his head sheepishly.

"Well, I've kinda already started…"


Breath slowing in anticipation, Lukas cautiously leans towards the table, then swiftly lifts the tablecloth. That moment, icy purple eyes meet teal blue.