Prompt: Fem!Canada dancing with a Northern nation in an ice palace.
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It was 1956, in Montreal, and Canada was surprised that France still had it in him to whine about the cold.
"It is just as horrible now as it was back when you were a colony, ma chérie," he said, but with a smile that clear said it wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. "I do not understand how you can possibly wear that dress."
"It's not really that bad, Papa, and if you talk like that any more someone will throw you in the dungeon again," Canada replied, tugging a little self-consciously at her long white sleeves. The dress was as white as the snow they were celebrating, and long-sleeved for the weather.
"You wouldn't let that happen to me, would you, mon petit chou?"
"No promises," Canada said dryly, although her lips quirked up and her eyes glittered impishly. France chuckled.
"You look lovely, Marie. I envy the man that will one day win your heart," he said, his voice suddenly softening.
"I wouldn't worry about that now, Papa," Canada laughed. The sound of a throat clearing caught her attention. England was standing there, offering his hand to her. Placing a quick kiss on her Papa's cheek, Canada took her father's hand and let him lead her into an easy dance.
Canada bit her lip and stayed silent as England tried to get used to dancing on the snow floor. At least it wasn't ice.
As they dodged a stationary couple England said, "Thank you for inviting me. It's bloody freezing, but it's been a fairly enjoyable time."
"No, I should be thanking you for coming," Canada replied. "I wasn't sure you'd want to, being in Quebec and all." She flushed at the surprised expression that crossed her father's face.
"I'd come even if you held this in those godforsaken Arctic islands you bought from me, Marie. What sort of father would I be otherwise?" He released one of her hands he was holding and guided her into a twirl. Before he could catch her hand again, however, someone else had caught it and pressed a kiss to the back.
"Hey, old man, it's my turn," America said with a devious smile. His grin turned charming when he faced Canada. "Care to dance, Cousin Marie?" he asked.
"If I must," she replied with a weary sigh. England took the chance to kiss the back of her other hand and let her go, frowning at America the whole time. Canada set her freed hand on America's shoulder.
"Your lack of enthusiasm is weird," America said. "You should be happy to be dancing with a hero."
"When I find myself dancing with one, I will remember that," Canada replied with a smile. America winced.
"You're so mean," he complained, pulling his cousin closer and winding her arm further around her waist.
"And you, Cousin Alfred, are a charming, handsome lech," she replied with a blithe smile. America couldn't let Canada and her passive-aggressive tactics win, though, so he laughed at the accusation.
"I wouldn't be thinking of annexation as much as I do if you weren't so pretty."
"Well, when you decide to become Canadian territory, let me know. Your privatized health care will be the first thing to go." Canada took control of their dance and swung them towards the table where England and France were bickering.
"Cousin Marie, I would never allow myself to be annexed, let alone by a socialist, no matter how pretty she might be," America replied. He took control of their direction again and swept them elsewhere. He laughed at Canada's frown and yearning glance towards the table where her fathers were eating, still quarrelling.
"I don't know," she added a moment after, "you seem pretty willing to get close to supposed 'socialists'." A look of alarm crossed her face, followed by a dark frown. "If your hand goes any lower than that, so help me I will take New York again." America's hand stopped its descent and went back up to an appropriate height. Canada could swear she heard a bark of laughter from England. No doubt her father approved of her tactics for keeping America's hands to himself. Two hundred plus years of keeping him and his harassment (and occasional marriage proposals) away had given her plenty of practice.
When the song ended Canada escaped her cousin by threatening to cut off all softwood lumber trade (she never would do it, but America rarely, if ever, called her bluffs) she went to try and find England and France and food. Yes, food sounded especially good.
At the table loaded down with food Canada found Norway, watching the dancing with a particularly bored expression. Canada found herself a snack and stood next to Norway. Soon enough the pair was doing a snarky running commentary of the dancing.
"You're almost as fun as Romano!" Canada laughed good-naturedly. "Next time I'll invite him, too." Norway smirked into his drink.
At which point, Denmark burst into the scene.
"Norge, no keeping the lady to yourself," he scolded. "I would like to dance with Miss Canada."
"Won't you be keeping her to yourself then?" Norway asked in a low voice. Canada hid her chuckle and Denmark ignored him as he exuberantly brought Canada back onto the dance floor.
"Great party," he said brightly, spinning Canada around once, twice, three times.
"Thank you," Canada replied, trying to catch her balance again.
"And this is a nice ice palace," he said absently, looking up to admire what must have been a lot of work. His hold on Canada was loose and surprisingly gentle. He sighed wistfully and looked down at the young woman. "You could've been our baby girl instead." He brought Canada into another spin, and when she was finished she gripped Denmark's shoulder tightly, trying to get the room to stop spinning.
"Oh well." Denmark brightened visibly. "You should dance with Island." He stopped moving and scanned the room for the young nation. Iceland was actually sitting nearby, sipping absently at a flute of champagne.
"C'mover here, Island!" he shouted. Iceland obediently stopped sipping and went over to Denmark and Canada, unamused. "Your turn," Denmark said, letting go of Canada and pushing Iceland to take her hand and waist instead.
"Okay," Iceland said blandly, taking Canada uncertainly and letting her lead him into a dance. She disliked the feeling of being handed off like that.
"Do you actually want to dance?" she asked dryly, watching Iceland stare at his feet.
"Not really."
"Can I go sit with my family instead?"
"Sure." Iceland let go of Canada, something like relief crossing his features, and made a beeline for Norway and the snacks. Canada went in the opposite direction, where America and England were debating loudly, France sitting and watching in amusement.
Canada was so intent on reaching that table she tripped over someone's foot as they also walked distractedly. With a yelp she and the stranger who had tripped her went down.
"I'm sorry," Canada said, wincing as she took stock of what exactly hurt. "I wasn't looking where I was going." The stranger she had landed on was actually Finland, who smiled lightly from under her.
"I should be the one who's sorry," he replied, helping Canada got off him. "I was just looking for Berwald and…" Canada cut him off with a sharp wince.
"Damn it," she muttered, "I think I hurt my ankle."
"O-Oh dear!" Finland knelt next to her and looked at the injured foot. "Do you think you can stand?"
"Don't think so. Not without a lot of pain, at least." The irony was not lost on Canada. One of the most ferocious female soldiers to come out of two world wars could not handle a twisted ankle.
Someone came in front of the two of them, his back turned to them and his hands outstretched behind him. Sweden was offering Canada a piggyback. She took it gratefully, resting her cheek on Sweden's broad back.
"H're y'go," Sweden mumbled as he set Canada down on the table.
"Thank you very much," Canada replied, shuffling to get off the table before America made a lewd comment and a war erupted around her.
Sweden managed something as close to a smile as he could get and went off to find his wife.
"Do you need anything?" England asked, looking down at Canada's foot.
"I'll go get some ice," America added cheerfully.
"I think Baffin Island has enough ice on its own, thank you," Canada said dryly. America looked appropriately baffled.
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A/N: Clearly, I enjoy gender-bending Canada far too much.
Skippable if you don't need to know about my historical references/things I did that may need explainations.
-1956 was the second official Carnival de Québec, and it took place between January 29 to February 14.
-Canada's winters in the colonial days sucked. A lot.
-If you didn't have the right spirit for a Carnival (like France while he's whining) you were thrown into the ice palace dungeon. This started in 1956.
-I use the name Marie for fem!Canada because it is a very French name, was immensely popular in Canada's colonial days, and is perfectly pronouncable in English, too.
-Canada purchased the islands in the Arctic Ocean from Great Britain, I believe. They added a lot to the coastline.
-A lot of old propaganda with fem!Canada featured her lecherous cousin Johnathan (a precursor to Uncle Sam). I carry that sort of relationship over into this. For the lulz.
-Back in the War of 1812, Canada/Great Britain actually captured a lot of what is now the New York state. Had the maps been redrawn after the war (which they weren't), New Yorkers would actually be Canadian.
-I want to see a fill in which Canada, Romano, and Norway snark the hell out of everyone.
-Norge = Norway in Danish
-Island = Iceland in Danish
-The first Europeans in Canadian were vikings, actually. They even had a colony, but were chased out by the natives.
-Baffin Island being Canada's left ankle is something I made up on the spot. It is a very cold island in the north, so it would not need ice. Hahaha.
-Thanks for reading~