A/N: So, this idea of an emotionally unstable, power-hungry, obsessive Lithuania popped into my head during European history class as I listened to a lecture of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania. With that being said, this is totally an dark, somewhat AU characterization, as canon Lithuania is a total sweetheart and a pushover (that just so happened to kick Prussia's ass into next Friday at some point).

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Implications of non-con and dark themes. Please don't read if these are potentially triggering topics.

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia or the song "Snow White Queen" by Evanescence.

Snow White Queen (Don't Scream Anymore)
A Lily By Any Other Name

It would not be appropriate to say it was cold.

Cold was the chill of an autumn-winter wind, or the first lazy snow of December. Cold to her still carried a meaning of warmth; it had been cold when it was the three of them—outside, in the wilderness—but she had never felt the chill. But now she was alone, wandering through the snows, and there was no one to share that warmth with. The frigid wind whistled through the maze of pine trees, shaking the snow-laden boughs. The sky above her was grey. A grey-white sky meant more to come. There was still nowhere to go. Part of her wanted to find her brother and sister, but another part of her wanted—as if acting out of a primitive instinct—to curl up underneath the snow, and sleep the endless storm away. But she had to keep going. Where, exactly? She knew not. Icy wind cut through her navy cloak like a razor. The trees seemed to go on forever without a clearing inside. She did not know how long she had been wandering the forest, but she was far away from home. Far away from her brother and sister. She did not understand; Katyusha said she would protect them? Why had she not protected her? And then there was Ivan, her big brother, so brave and noble. Where was he? Where were they?

Something wet and cold landed on her nose. She looked up: freezing flakes drifted towards the ground from the clouds above with no hurry to reach their destination. A light snow she could deal with. She was born in theses snows, and the physical cold was not foreign to her. But the cold, barren desperation she felt inside of her was. The snow began to fall harder. Her hands were numb underneath her leather gloves, and her legs ached from walking. A strong burst of wind picked up the falling snow, and threw the flurry towards her. It further tangled her already twisted locks of hair, and loudly snapped her cloak. She shielded her eyes, but it didn't matter. There was nothing to see as the flurry turned into a blizzard. Black shadows lingered in her peripheral vision—whether they were trees or the monsters that had separated her from her family, she did not know. Katyusha told her to run till her legs gave out and her lungs burned. Like an obedient little sister, she did as she was told. She walked forward—or was she walking backwards?—blindly through the storm, not sure of where she was going, or what she would find.

She suddenly halted in her errant tracks. A dark figure loomed before her. Her hand immediately went to the dagger she carried in the garter underneath her dress. No, not a dagger. A knife. A silver, sharpened, deadly, never-used knife. Her hand trembled—was it from the cold or fear?—as she drew it, the sharpened blade barely visible though it was only a few inches away from her. The dark figure grew taller as it drew nearer. She took a few steps back, the wind swirling her silvery hair like snow, only to back up into a tree. With a tremulous hand, she held her accusing weapon before her. Her other hand rested nervously against the frozen bark of the pine tree behind her. In this storm, where would she run? Where would she go? What if the dark, approaching figure carried a quiver full of arrows, and the intention to dissolve families? The shadow only grew nearer, and she even more scared. It was almost as if the adrenaline pumping through her body melted the frigidity that had settled there.

She set her mouth in a firm line as she prepared to face whomever was approaching. Whomever or whatever it was, she would not be helpless—

A gloved hand was extended to her through the storm.

It was her mistake to take it.

Gratitude was never a trait she possessed. Apparently, she did not know what do be grateful for. Should she be grateful for fine clothing? An endless library at her disposal? Gardens to stroll in? The absolute devotion of her captor? She was not in this castle as a prisoner, but as a guest—a guest with an extended stay. And now, as she labored in the garden—her garden so graciously given to her by the person whom had just called her ungrateful—she wondered if being independent would be so bad. This was for her people, her country, but she had not seen any improvement thus far. She pulled a weed out of her roses, tugging on the root till it came up tracking loose soil.

Gratitude was not in her nature.

Big brother was okay.

She heard it from the guards standing outside her door: the Grand Principality of Moscow was slowly advancing on Lithuanian grounds. She smiled at the thought of this. Maybe her big brother would finally get her out of this hellhole. Then, they would find their sister and be a family again.

All she had to do was ask to get the hell out of here.

He wouldn't let her, of course. It was stupid of her to even ask. Those damn mood swings of his. One minute he'd treat her like the prisoner she believed herself to be, and the next he'd be begging for her forgiveness.

There was a soft knock on her bedroom door.

She didn't open it because she knew exactly who it was.

"You can't leave."

"What do you mean?" She scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. "You lost the war. I have no obligation to you. I never had any to begin with."

"Natalya, you don't understand—"

"Don't call me that!" She sneered. "I am leaving. You can't do anything about it.

He sat in front of her, refusing to make eye contact. His silver armor gleaned in the dim candlelight of the dining hall. There were still some spots on it; he probably hadn't had the time to clean it between all the battles. Her food sat untouched in front of her. In her stay, she had never developed a taste for this type of food. It tasted bitter—bitter and bland—as did the water. She eyed it scornfully, and shoved it aside. She was not leaving the room till she got her way.

"Then leave."

He suddenly stood. She blinked, not expecting it to come so easily. With no one to stop her, she triumphantly turned on heel, the skirt of her dress swishing around her legs. She didn't even bother to thank him as there was nothing to thank him for.

"But you won't make it on your own."

She stopped in her tracks, but she should have kept walking. Of course he wasn't letting her go that easily.

"That's not for you to say." She didn't even turn around to face him. "I will manage just fine when I find my brother."

"The way you managed when I found you?" The metallic rustle of armor bounced off the stone walls of the dining hall as he drew close to her. His shadow—cast tall and dark on the wall—looked just as it had all those years ago. "You would have died if it weren't for me, Belarus."

"I was doing fine." She gritted her teeth, but still didn't turn around. "I have no favor to grant you for your so-called protection."

"My protection?" He hissed. "My protection is what has kept you alive for so long. Had I not taken you in, your fate would have been much worse. Think of the people that took you away from your family. Imagine your situation if it had been them and not me. There were plenty of other countries looking for a pretty territory like you. You need me, Belarus, I—"

"I need you?" She retorted, finally whipping around. "You have done nothing for me except keep me prisoner here! I need you no more than you need me!"

"But that's where you're wrong, Natalya." There was something dark—menacing—in his blue eyes; something that hadn't been there before. She backed up as he continued advancing towards her. A cry left her lips as he took her arm in what was probably supposed to be a loving gesture, and jerked her towards him. "You do need me. And I need you."

"Let me go!" She screamed, attempting to wriggle out of his grip. But he was stronger than her—always had been, always would be—and refused to release her. The leather of his gloves felt sticky against her gooseflesh skin. "Don't touch me, you bastard-!"

"You looked so scared when I found you." He gripped her other arm roughly, squeezing her tight. She scowled, and continued her useless attempts to escape. But he was just too strong. "Lost. Alone. I can only imagine what it feels like to lose your family. You needed someone, Natalya, you wanted someone. And I could be that someone. I mean it when I say that I want you here, but that's not the point. And even though you've met me with ingratitude and cold, what I really want is quite simple."

His low voice cut through her like a hot, sharpened knife. She would have reached for her own—hidden beneath her skirt—if only her hands and arms were free. The odds were stacked against her. At the moment, she was at his mercy and nothing more. But she was not helpless. She was not weak. She would not let him.

"Lithuania." Her voice wavered as she looked up at him—steely blue eyes meeting his—but she refused to compromise her dignity. "Let me go. Now."

"You think it's all about you, don't you?" His lips curled up in a cruel smirk. "That it's only about what you want? You're so inconsiderate, even after all I've given you. But it doesn't matter."

"Let go of me—"

Her heart pounded so hard against her ribcage, she thought it was going to burst out of her chest. A bead of cold, nervous sweat broke out on her forehead, and her mouth felt as though it were stuffed with cotton. If she hadn't thought him insane before, she certainly did now.

"…Toris…" Her plea took a massive dig at her pride. But she would do anything to get herself out of this situation. "Please…"

"And you know why it doesn't matter?" He ignored her even though his eyes were on hers. "Because you belong to me."

No one seemed to hear her scream.

The rattle of chains echoed heavily in the small room. Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked in, a lantern in hand. Her shadow—tall and dark—blended with the darkness of the cold, stone wall. She locked the door behind her, and shone the lantern towards the far side of the cellar. Splatters of bright red blood dotted the floor, the coppery scent threatening to make her sick. The heavy iron chains dragged along the same ground. They cuffs were around a pair of wrists she knew in the past to be strong, but she wasn't so sure about that anymore. Deep lash marks—some open and red—marred the pale skin. A whip—big brother's whip—sat ready to be used next to the door. She couldn't help but smirk. The memories of rough hands pinning her down against cold wood, a low voice in her ear, dull pain between her legs, and self-loathing came flooding back to her.

But it was all worth it.

It was all worth it to see him like this.

To see the tables turned, to see the lion become the next lamb up for slaughter. He looked up at her, and she recognized the fear—the brokenness, the terror—in his blue eyes. They were a mirror of her own, a while back, but she felt absolutely no pity for him. After all, had anybody felt any pity for her?

No.

They hadn't.

And she had not turned out weak.

She wasn't sure, however, if she could say the same for him.

History Lesson: After the fall of the Kievan Rus- modern day Belarus, Russia, and the Ukraine- Belarus was annexed by the Grand Duchy of Lithuania in the 13th century through military conquest and political alliances (Ukraine was annexed by Poland, and Russia remained the personal sacking grounds of the Mongols- the monsters Natalya refers to- and other groups from Central Asia). The duchy- during this time period- was the biggest power in Eastern Europe. Belarus later became incorporated into the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth in the 16th century after a series of marriages between the two bigger powers (have you guys seen the episode in World Series s. 2 about the Commonwealth? If not, you should watch it). During this same century and onwards, the Commonwealth was the target of Tartar- the Golden Hoard- and s Russian- attacks from the east. Under the rule of Ivan IV, the Tsardom of Muscovy- Russia- expanded west and involved itself in a 25 year war with the Commonwealth, Sweden, and Denmark in an effort to gain Baltic/Nordic territory. Russia's Baltic plan failed for the most part, and Ukraine and Belarus weren't back under Soviet rule till the mid-nineteenth century.