Alfred has been taught by many nations - usually in person. Despite Arthur and Francis [and Matthew's] worry about him privately interacting with others, unsupervised, most have been very mundane.
Especially Ivan, who likes to stargaze and lounge around his house, full of Russian tea and thick, lovely, heavy food, and books like a giant, sleepy tiger. It's all practically boring, coming from what Alfred had been expecting after all the warnings.
And yet... there are a few that are more than they seem. Roderich, who Alfred calls 'Mr. R', has always lectured him about power, when not lecturing him about his finger placement during scales on the piano keys. There is something about Roderich that is a little worrying, a little unrestrained but in control. There's this underlying hum, this drone white noise unheard in the background, and it speaks of power alone. Of control.
And what is power, Alfred thinks, but leading to the ultimate corruption?
Tino, on the other hand, is unrestrained. Period. He seems to live in a world without the modern monotheisms, without ideas like good and bad, at all. Even beyond the ancient faiths, he seems to have an undertone of sybarite glee. Like nothing matters, so do whatever you want - whatever.
No matter how terrifying.
Ivan has that same feeling of nothing mattering, but it just seems to make him more obsessed with going on calmly no matter what. And doing what little good he can. Kind of like how Arthur does. They refuse to acknowledge any pain, fear, or disaster, for better or worse. They refuse to give up, stubbornly carrying on kindly to all in the face of horror.
Tino isn't like that. He seems to Alfred like a panther, dark as night. Endlessly dangerous, at any time. Roderich would hardly bestir himself to hurt someone, instead he'd orchestrate a slow destruction.
But Tino would destroy your faith in reality, somehow. You'd go willingly just to end the panic and confusion.
The third person is simply Romano. All three of them are a bit too otherworldly compared to their fellows. Alfred has always had to meet with him on the down low, seeing as Arthur is intense about keeping his little boy away from the terrible, corrupt papists.
If Romano felt he was a problem, crazy, or a danger to others, he'd just creep into his emotions, his mind, and tell him to end it himself. He told him this himself. Alfred has a new appreciation for what other nation people call 'casual conversation' after that.
Alfred would never say he believes in magic, never. But if you'd seen the things he saw as a boy, out in that vast wilderness, often alone for miles upon miles, you might wonder why it's a 'never'. When he decided to personally embrace the Puritan talk, as a tiny little sweetling, he felt he had to reject all things not good. Even in words. To deny anything not made by holy work. [And that in some way it would preserve his internal goodness; he felt sure of it, and never spoke of it to anyone.]
Even if he saw something that couldn't be explained. Or lots of things.
.
Alfred has the feeling of 'parents', something Ivan cannot totally grasp. Few nations had any feelings of connection with others, even older ones. But Arthur and Francis tried something new, and strange-almost confining the boy to their residences in his lands.
They brought over experts in different fields to tutor him, wrote him letters constantly, and even lived with him. He went on trips overseas with them, and loved them with childish innocence.
It's hard to imagine, when Ivan thinks on it. He and the rest of them never had anyone or anything, other than knowing there were some distant people out there close to them, like his sister in the Ukraine. But even then, it was only random that they saw each other. They simply knew they were alike. It was an instinctive sense of similarity. He's almost jealous, but at the same time, can't imagine his poor little boy suffering like he did. Like everyone else did. Alfred's hope and optimism and lovely smile would have drained away into nothingness, and he would have become cold and without emotion. He cannot wish it upon him.
But damn if he doesn't wish he'd had that too. Someone picking him, choosing to care for him. He's only had Alfred do that, and he's only been alive for five seconds. It's only a matter of time-he'll get tired of Ivan and his boring life ... and personality... and go off with someone else. Half the time Ivan expects his calls to start with, "So, me and Kiku decided to start -" fill in the blank. But he hasn't yet, somehow. Ivan's continually surprised.
Alfred on the other hand has different baggage. Instead of fearing he'll be alone or crushed by enemies, he feels safe on his lands, buffered by enormous oceans on both sides. Instead of being confined to a few climates, he has them all.
And instead of feeling the desolation of loneliness, he has parents. Even more-so than Matthew, they are his kin. The three of them turn to each other for support, guidance, help, emotional unwinding and love.
Alfred is held to a different standard, though. Nothing is ever good enough. Ivan has often felt proud that his people survived-that any of them did. At all.
Alfred's work, however, is never done. Nothing is fast enough, strong enough, successful enough. It's a severe set of expectations those two Europeans set for him, time and time again. His best is never acceptable. He always has something to strive for.
Sometimes Ivan thinks the boy feels that way about his actual self, though-that he is never enough. That he has to do more and more to even be baseline okay.
Ivan also wants to say: I don't care what you're doing, what you accomplish, or what you fail. It has nothing to do with you personally. It is just history, which inexorably marches on. All you have to do is keep living, for me at least.
Ivan does miss one thing-the stress of it all. He thinks Alfred is naturally his bubbly self, and has never seen him relax. That's not something he feels comfortable doing in front of other nations. The rest of them, including Ivan, feel fine getting crazy drunk while others are there, but not Alfred.
He needs to be alone, up in New England or down by the border in the south, and just fall apart for a weekend. It's his time to do everything 'bad' that he's not supposed to, and wear raggedy clothes and not bother to get up or do anything productive. While Alfred knows the terrible things Ivan dreams about at night, he's never had the occasion to tell him anything personal like that.
It just seems to personal. His demons are his own, and no one knows what they are.