Story: Spellbound

Author: ShrapnelGirl

Exclaimer: All Hetalia characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.

Author's comments: Here's the twentieth chapter of Spellbound. The name of this chapter is slightly relevant, I promise! Other than that, I have nothing to say but: Enjoy!

Chapter 20 – Clutches of Mother Russia – Moscow, winter of 1946

It was the middle of the night and too cloudy for the moonlight to breach through. Not that it would have reached Iceland even if the sky was clear. He was too deep inside the forest: the evergreens rose high all around him and blocked all view of the sky. Their thick branches and stems had grown together, making it impossible to pass between them except at very few places, and even where it was possible, it took energy and patience to push through. Iceland's clothing and hair were already riddled with pine needles and his left jacket sleeve had been ripped almost clean off when he accidentally hooked it on a branch.

He'd been walking for hours. Three, maybe four. The temperature dropped by the minute it seemed; His warm breath formed clouds in front of his face. Iceland didn't like those clouds. They were his body heat, leaving him. Soon there would be none left.

If I was a forest nation, I would be out of here already, Iceland thought. He was convinced that there was some manner of trick to knowing your way through a forest – inwardly he cursed his brother for never teaching it to him. Had Norway thought Iceland would never need the knowledge, since his land was almost completely devoid of trees? Had Norway maybe deliberately kept the trick from him, in case Iceland ever grew hostile and tried to attack?

You are getting paranoid, Iceland told himself. Tune out the imagination; it only plays tricks on you. But no matter how intensely he thought about nothing, the images always returned. Iceland had a very vivid imagination, one infinitely stronger than his mental strength. In the long years of poverty and isolation, imagination had been the only thing keeping him sane. Now it seemed determined to be his enemy as it fabricated predators and faceless pursuers out of the darkness… Iceland began pushing between the trees with more fervour to escape the illusions and tried to tell himself that there was nothing after him but his own fear.

Where was the wind? Was there no wind in a forest? Iceland missed it – it had always accompanied him, whether he sailed across the ocean or walked from his home in Reykjavík to the store to buy milk. The world seemed unnatural without it.

In fact, everything about this forest seemed unnatural to Iceland as he pushed past branches with his elbows and bare hands. The snow sounded pained when it got crushed under his boots and the trees sighed as he touched their frostbitten bark… Iceland stopped dead in his tracks, partially to catch his breath, partially immobilized by a growing sensation of fear. It seemed as if the forest was watching him…

A sudden loud snap rang throughout the forest, causing Iceland to flinch. Was it a gunshot? Or just a branch breaking under the weight of snow? Iceland stood still, listening intensely for an indication that someone was after him, but all he could hear was the loud thumping of his own heart.

Had Russia somehow found out that he was no longer in his room? Iceland forced himself not to think about that.

He looked around. His eyes were used to the darkness and he could make out feint, dark forms among the trees. Some reminded Iceland of the demons and hellspawn of his of native legends, other looked awfully familiar. Was this the same crooked stump he'd walked past half an hour ago? Iceland bent down and felt the snow around it. It was. Those were his mittens, lying there beside the stump. He had forgotten them when he'd stopped to button up his jacket. Iceland wrapped Norway's scarf tighter around his neck and dug his stiff, cold hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket. No use retrieving those mittens. They were frozen solid.

He decided to go left this time. Maybe he'd be lucky and come out of the forest right next to the airport. He'd be able to buy himself a ticket to the other end of the world and thus escape Russia's wrath…

You are such an idiot, Laki said. It was the umpf-teenth time he'd said that since they entered the forest. Iceland was getting slightly irked by it, but he didn't have the energy to reply. Let Laki bash him as he liked. Iceland deserved it.

The moment Russia had left him alone after their little talk that evening, Iceland had panicked. He'd felt trapped in that room and so he had put on his warmest clothes and jumped out the window into darkness and freedom. He knew that fleeing was no solution. But what else could he have done?

Iceland didn't know what prompted him to enter the forest. He knew he was bound to get lost. But somehow – maybe it was the nostalgia he had felt earlier that day when the smell of the trees wafted in through the window – he felt that there was safety in that forest. It was safety of the same kind as the one he had felt when he wrapped his brother's borrowed scarf around his neck. The scarf and the forest were thick and blunt and in Iceland's panicked mind they were perfect as a protective layer between him and Russia.

You are an idiot, Laki said again. He was starting to sound like a broken record. His voice had even lost that cocky edge.

"We have established that fact already," Iceland replied. He spoke the words aloud in order to break the intense silence of the woods. He already felt a little better just hearing a human voice, even though it was his own.

You do realize this will only anger him further, right? Laki asked. He sounded pleased now that he'd coached some reaction out of Iceland. Let's try to see this from Russia's point of view. You make a deal with him to find the whereabouts of Prussia and call abnormally soon to make good on that deal. You give him nonsense information and before he can even establish that it's a lie, you disappear. What do you think his reaction will be when he goes to check up on you tomorrow and sees you're gone? Do you think he'll be pleased that his hopes and his precious time have been wasted?

Iceland forced his way between two sturdy trees, giving no answer. He knew that he'd reacted in the worst possible way. He was an idiot, he'd already agreed to that. Thinking about it any further wouldn't help him any.

Iceland yelped as the ground disappeared from under him. He fell through a thick layer of loose snow, up to his chest. Great! Absolutely fantastic! I was just dying to get intimate with the frozen Russian motherland, Iceland thought as he felt around for a grip on the roots of the trees behind him to keep from sinking even further into 'her'. It was only as he struggled to free himself from the clutches of Mother Russia that he realized how tired he was. His muscles could hardly gather enough strength to wriggle his limbs out of the snow.

Once free, Iceland lay panting against the trunk of his saviour, too tired to dust the hardening snow from his clothes. What am I struggling for? he thought. He was most likely headed deeper into the forest rather than any way out of it and since he had no idea how big it was, he had no way of knowing how long it would take him to find his way out. Since traveling through the forest was so difficult, it was a good chance that he wasn't so far away from Russia's house despite four hours of walking. If that tree stump was anything to go by, Iceland had probably been walking in circles.

Iceland cupped his hands in front of his mouth and tried to blow some heat into them. He could hardly move his fingers. The rest of his body was growing rigid and heavy: His legs were heavy, his shoulders were heavy, his eyelids were heavy... If only he could fall asleep until morning. Maybe traversing the forest in daylight would be easier…

Iceland jolted awake. No, no, nonononono. He was not falling asleep. Not in this cold. He knew all too well what would happen. If he fell asleep now, he'd never wake up again. He'd be like Snow White, sleeping solemnly until chance – or fate – sent a rescuer his way. In Iceland's case, it could take decades, centuries, or millennia… In short, it would take too long. There were people depending on him. He needed to get to Romania.

Remembering his goal, Iceland used his remaining power to push himself off the ground. He pulled on the branches of the tree to help him stand up, ignoring the pine needles that stung his palms. Once up, Iceland buried himself in between the branches until his nose touched the trunk of the evergreen and hugged it for support. He needed to stay standing. He needed to stay awake. Until… Until…

Until what? Until morning? Would a dim, woodland sunbeam somehow magically show Iceland the way out of the forest? Would a dandy forester followed by Red Riding Hood and her granny come skipping along and save him? That was ridiculous. Iceland would be in much the same situation then as now.

It's time to swallow our pride, Ice, Laki said. We can't remain here all night. We'll die.

Iceland nodded. He hated it when Laki played the role of his voice of reason. There was something deeply abnormal about it. Maybe, if Iceland stopped behaving like a fool he could regain his role as the smarter one of the two. For now, he needed to make sure he survived the night.

Iceland threw his head back and screamed for help at the top of his lungs.

He was frozen stuck to the tree by the time Russia found him. He thought he was hallucinating when he felt strong hands pry him off the trunk and pick him up princess style. The feeling of absurdity was further intensified by his rescuer's attire. Russia was wearing nothing but flower print pyjamas, a pair of felt boots and a scarf. He gave Iceland a worried look before carrying him back to the house.

When Iceland saw the lit windows he understood why Russia hadn't bothered to put a coat on. Iceland had been screaming like a lunatic a mere five minute distance away from the house. He'd have felt mortified at his foolishness had he not been so relieved to get in from the cold.

Russia kicked off his boots by the back door and carried Iceland into the kitchen where he put him down in a chair. Without a word, Russia fetched Iceland a blanked and started brewing both of them a hot cup of tea. Iceland downed his the second it was put in front of him. He sighed as the heat spread inside his body and pulled the blanket closer around him to better insulate the heat. Russia refilled his cup from the teapot before sitting down.

Iceland decided to warm his hands on the cup before downing his second serving. Russia hadn't touched his tea. The thought occurred to Iceland that Russia was waiting for his tea to cool, but he didn't linger on it. Right now his entire being was focused on the sole task of getting warm.

Neither of them said anything. A clock ticked somewhere, counting down the minutes until Iceland would have to explain his tomfoolery to his host.

When Iceland was warm enough to sip his tea without shaking, Russia cleared his throat. He didn't ask anything but it was obvious that he was waiting for an explanation.

Iceland put his cup down but kept his hands and his eyes on it. He saw was no reason to stall. His only way out of this was being honest and hope for the best. It was better to tell Russia the truth now than to have him find it out on his own later. Iceland drew a deep breath and resigned himself to his fate.

He let go of the cup and faced Russia.

"I was trying to run away," Iceland said. "From you. But then I got lost."

His host showed no reaction. Russia merely sipped his tea, keeping eye contact with Iceland, waiting for a further explanation. When none came, he put down his cup and smiled one of his mysterious smiles.

"That part was obvious," he said. "What I want to know is why."

Iceland forced himself not to look away. What frightened him was the apparent calmness of his host. They both knew that Iceland would not have tried to run away unless he was guilty of something. Right now Russia should be deeply suspicious and trying to find out what it was Iceland had done. Seeing how strung up Russia had been that evening, Iceland had expected him to scream or threaten him to get information. Maybe Russia already knew how Iceland had intended to trick him?

Spill the truth. That was his only way of defence. All of it. Before his host had time to grow suspicious.

"I was lying about Prussia being in America. I haven't received any information about him. I was tricking you so I could get you to do me a favour." Realizing how manipulative and outright evil that sounded, Iceland added: "I really need your help, that's why. I wouldn't have done this otherwise."

Nothing in Russia's facial features changed. He stared right back at Iceland, a Mona Lisa like half-smile on his lips. Iceland couldn't take it anymore. He broke eye contact.

Russia hummed.

"Interesting," he said. He poured Iceland and himself another cup of tea. Russia's cup only filled half way up. The teapot was empty.

Iceland didn't know what to say after that. He'd already explained everything. It was up to Russia now to decide what Iceland's punishment would be. Somehow, the wait was stressing and relaxing at the same time. It was stressing to not get any further reaction from Russia and relaxing to know that whatever was coming, Iceland had already decided to face it rather than continue that little game of lies.

Iceland started picking needles out of his clothes and piling them next to his cup on the table, partially to keep busy, partially because his now warm skin was irritated by their pricking. Russia watched him. Iceland had cleared all the needles from what was left of his ripped sleeve when Russia downed his tea and stood up. It seemed that he had reached a conclusion about the matter.

"Looks like you had it rough," he said. "You can take a bath in your room when you are finished. I recommend you stay out of the forest. Wake me up tomorrow at 7 and we'll have a little chat, yes?"

Iceland quickly nodded. He had no idea what that man was planning, but a hot bath sounded like heaven at that moment.

With Iceland's agreement, Russia put his cup and the teapot in the sink, adjusted his flower print pyjamas and left the kitchen. Iceland couldn't believe it. There had been no screaming, no threats… Somehow, that didn't at all fit the image of Russia Iceland had gotten from America's rants during the war. Was it a trap?

Whatever it was, Iceland's judgement had been put off until morning. Now, all he wanted was warmth and some sleep. Iceland picked all the needles he could find out of his clothes and threw them in the trash. Back in his room, he let only warm water run into the bathtub while he folded his clothes neatly and put them on a chair next to his bed. He almost moaned with pleasure when his frozen toes went into the water. It was steaming. With no cold water added, the bath's temperature was probably around 80°C. Any other nation would have been burned by it.

Iceland immersed himself completely in the water. He should be worried about tomorrow, but he was too sleepy. He splashed some water on the porcelain surface of the tub until it was warm, then laid his chin on it and pulled his legs up to his chest, hugging them. His eyes felt so heavy…

The water was cold by the time Iceland jolted awake. He'd slipped back into the tub and awoken when his face went under the surface of the water. He quickly got out of the tub and dried himself before looking at the clock. It was almost seven. Thank the heavens he had woken up in time! It was almost time to go wake Russia up.

Iceland opened the window and shook the rest of the needles out of his clothing and into Russia's garden. He then put them in a bag he had in his luggage for dirty clothes and picked out new ones. Norway and the others had lent him enough clothes for a week, just in case his mission would drag out. Freshly dressed, Iceland made his way to the hallway. There he stopped.

He had no idea where Russia's bedroom was. How was he supposed to wake the man up?

Faint sounds from the ground floor alerted Iceland to the fact that others were awake in the household. He followed the sounds down the stairs and into the kitchen where Estonia was washing the teapot Russia had used that night, back turned to the door.

"Good morning, Iceland," Estonia said without turning to see who had just entered the kitchen. "You're up early. Would you like some breakfast?"

"How did you know it was me?" Iceland asked, astonished.

Estonia finished washing the teapot. The grabbed a cloth from a drawer with one hand while shaking water out of the pot with the other, dried it and put it onto a shelf. He then flung the cloth over his shoulder and faced Iceland.

"It's simple," he said and adjusted his glasses. "Your footsteps sound different from the footsteps of any other person in this house."

Iceland shook his head in disbelief.

"You're telling me you know how everyone here sounds when they walk?"

Estonia shrugged.

"Sometimes it's beneficial to know people by the sound of their footsteps. That way you can know who's coming before you see them."

Iceland wondered just what kind of life the Estonian had been living until now. Developing this kind of skill wasn't something normal in his opinion. Estonia offered Iceland a seat at the table, repeating his offer of breakfast.

"Only if you can whip something up quickly," Iceland said, glancing at the kitchen clock. He was starving, but Russia was waiting for him. "Russia told me to wake him up at seven."

Estonia's eyes widened.

"That late?" he said. "That's unusual. And it's almost seven… I'd go get him now and eat breakfast later. He's probably waiting for you."

After getting Estonia's instructions on how to get to Russia's room, Iceland headed over there and, after waiting for the arms on his watch to strike exactly 7, knocked on the door. It opened immediately and Russia stepped out, fully dressed and wide awake.

"Morning," he greeted. For some reason, he seemed surprised. "You didn't decide to go for another walk?" he asked.

Iceland realized that Russia had expected him to run away again during the night. Had that been Russia's plan? To simply get rid of the problem by letting Iceland escape?

"Why would I?" Iceland answered. "I had promised to come wake you up."

Russia seemed pleased by that answer. Iceland had a feeling that he had just been tested. For what reason, he didn't know. Russia patted him on the head and led the way into the kitchen where Estonia was busy putting breakfast on the table. Latvia and Ukraine were already sitting there, waiting for the rest of the household to gather.

When everyone was there, breakfast commenced. Iceland devoured his morning bread with great appetite. The night had taken away much of his energy and his body was practically screaming for food. Iceland gobbled down half the breadbasket without noticing. When most of his hunger was satisfied, Iceland realized how rude he was being.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"It's alright," Ukraine said. She refilled the basket and put it back on the table. "You seem hungry. Would you care for more?"

Iceland took one more bread from the basket and nibbled on it. He'd make sure to have this piece of bread last until everyone else was finished eating. There probably wasn't much bread to go around for everyone. There'd just been a major war, for crying out loud! Iceland hadn't realized. Ever since he arrived, he'd been fed like a prized bull on all kinds of delicacies. Dang it, how stupid was he? There they were, being great hosts and offering him all they had, and he just went ahead and ate everything.

And lied to them to boot.

Iceland made sure to thank them for the breakfast before following Russia to his study. He was feeling guilty now. In his mind, he was already thinking of ways to make up to Russia for his less than perfect behaviour, but Russia interrupted those thoughts.

"To tell the truth," Russia said when both of them had sat down, "your behaviour is most puzzling to me. Why go to all that trouble of fabricating an obvious lie instead of simply asking me for a favour?"

Iceland's cheeks reddened when he realized how stupid he had acted. Russia had a point. Usually, when you wanted something from someone, the first step was to ask them for it. Only after receiving denial would someone resort to trickery.

"I guess I didn't think it through," Iceland said. He himself wondered why simply asking hadn't occurred to him. Had he gotten so scared by the stories America had told him that he'd forgotten about basic international communication? Had the act of kidnapping Prussia from under Russia's eyes convinced Iceland that the latter was his enemy? Whatever it was, Iceland was deeply ashamed of how he had acted. Even though Russia wasn't supposed to know about Titania and the war, that didn't mean Iceland had the right to treat him like the bad guy. "I'm sorry," he said. "I really don't know what got into me. I guess I thought this was the only way to get you to help me."

Russia wiped a strand of hair out of his face and gave Iceland a curious look.

"You really are mysterious," he said. "First you trick me, then you try to run away through a forest rather than taking the direct road from the house into Moscow…" Iceland mentally facepalmed at the realization. "Then, when I give you a second chance at escaping, you decide to stay, claiming to do so because you had given your promise. To tell the truth, I have no idea what your motivations are for all that. But I'm curious to know." Russia smiled. "I'd like to give you a second chance to ask this favour you need of me. I would simply listen to your request, but I feel you need some disciplining for your actions. You are new to this whole… diplomacy thing, after all. A consequence is necessary for you to learn."

Iceland's shame intensified when he realized that Russia regarded him as nothing but a child who hadn't known any better. Despite Iceland being 12 years older than Russia, his inexperience in world affairs made Russia think that Iceland needed his guidance and parental disciplining. He had not only made an utter fool of himself – he had behaved like a fledgling nation less than one fifth of his age.

Denmark would have laughed his ass off had he witnessed this. He'd claim this was the reason he hadn't allowed Iceland to become independent, that he wasn't ready. Norway would probably have thought the same.

"I'll comply with your demands," he said, hanging his head in shame. "Speak your terms."

Russia's whole face came to life. He clapped his hands and stood up, excitement evident in his every move.

"Actually, I had been thinking of doing this before, but only now do I have the proper excuse for it. You see, everyone has been acting bleak since the war and despite us having won it, everyone seems out of energy. They forget that there is a wonderful future to prepare for!" Russia danced across the room, strangely agile for someone his size. "We need something to reenergize everyone! Like a competition!" Russia raised one leg in the air and pirouetted happily in the middle of the room.

Iceland's eyes widened. Is he on drugs? he thought. His brain had a hard time making sense of what was happening in front of him.

Drunk on victory, Laki explained. He is also the nation that made ballet popular. From that perspective, his behaviour is perfectly rational.

That's a matter of personal opinion, Iceland thought.

"What do you have in mind?" he asked.

Russia broke out of his pirouette and came down on one knee with both hands on his hips, shouting a loud HEY! that made Iceland jump.

"Sports make people happy," Russia explained. "But more than that, winning sports makes people happy. And so," Russia stood up and dusted his pants. A wide smile adorned his face. "I challenge you to a competition. If you can win any member of my household in their favourite sport, I'll do what I can to help you. Simple as that."

Iceland stared, dumbfounded. Russia wanted Iceland to compete with his entire household in god-knows-what sport? Iceland wasn't really good at sport. His people knew some sports, but the nation himself only had proper training in horseback riding and Icelandic glíma – and he severely doubted that yanking at other people's leather straps while avoiding eye contact and dancing slowly in circles was the favourite sport of anyone in Russia's household.

But what choice did he have?

"Agreed," Iceland said.

Author's comments: As I promised, Russia's maternal instincts play a role in this story. Why else do you think he decided to give Iceland a second chance after hearing the small nation truly needed his help?

Also, to those of you shaking your heads in disbelief over Russia's apparent major OOC-ness in this chapter, bear this in mind: The Russian peoples were extremely optimistic at the end of WWII. The autocratic tendencies in their new government had always been excused as a wartime necessity – now that the war was over, surely it would mean a better future with more freedom and experimentation, right? Well, regardless of how that turned out, the next two years after the end of the war people focused on staying alive and trying to pick up the broken pieces of their homeland to prepare for the fantastic future they had been promised. It would make sense for Russia to try to cheer his housemates up and help reenergize them for the long struggle ahead. No one bounces back from that level of destruction without superhuman effort…

Also, Russia's character in Hetalia is childish and loves playing pranks on people, according to official sources. Why wouldn't he use the chance to show off his athletic abilities to the new kid in town, when he can be sure to completely crush said nation in a sport they are too small to be any good at? Anyways, we'll have some awkward depictions of sport events next chapter – written by a devout anti-sportist and world renowned klutz!

Lastly, I dare you guys to look up Icelandic glíma. Find some videos, photos, anything. Then imagine Iceland and Norway competing in it. It will make your day a good day – or at least put a smile on your face.

Cya next chapter!