(I wanted to use strikethrough, but fanfiction doesn't support it. So when there are brackets those mean strikethrough.)

The Canadian and the American

Prince Matthew is to be "subjugated" by Lord Ivan for several days. He wants a way out and then he discovers the young American peasant, Alfred, who's been impersonating him. Now he has an idea. (Russia x US)

Chapter 1

Oh Canada!

Alfred F. Jones had a list.

Not in words, but in pictures. Indecipherable to anyone who didn't know what his symbols meant. It went like this:

[1.) Learn to find Canada on a map.] (Found it.)

[1.) Become Canada's hero and protector.] (Done.)

1.) Show them the awesome taste of hamburgers. (They have no taste. Just delicious pancakes and syrup.)

1.) Teach them their capitol is "Toronto", not "Ottawa". (They can't get that right.)

[1.) Show them how amazing the US is!] (Pfft! Good one. No need to teach a fact!)

2.) Find clues about real parents.

The last one would be tricky. All they had left him were his glasses - Texas - and his brown bomber jacket with the number 50 sewn in white threading on the back. He wore both items now.

Cresting the top of the grassy hill, he took in the sight of Toronto, the fabled capital of Canada. The dawn set its eggshell-white outer walls and inner buildings ablaze in golden hues. A palace with four turrets and blue-tiled roofing stood proudly at its heart. Alfred planted his fists against his side, chest puffed out, and admired the home of the Prince of Canada.

His expression changed as he noticed the shanties and tents, clustered like patches of mushrooms, around the front gates. They were likely more of the refugees that Alfred had been encountering. People who had fled homelands snatched up by the cruel tyrant, Lord Ivan, whom rumors said could control the Winter. Alfred glared at the eastern mountains. Black clouds broiled beyond them, where the kingdom of Russia lay, and Lord Ivan ruled.

Alfred shook his fist there and said, "One day you'll get yours, Ivan."

If they ever met, Alfred would make the Russian dictator sorry for all the people he had hurt. Alfred was no ordinary man, anyone could see that just by the rucksack he carried - twice what a man should be able to bear. He would make Ivan weep for his sins and beg on his knees. No one was stronger than Alfred. When he was young, a buffalo charged his sister and he saved her, swinging it around.

That had been back in the untamed and wild States with his adopted family.

How he missed his homeland, but he had to continue.

He slammed a fist in his palm as a thought occurred to him. After taking out his charcoal pencil and unrolling his parchment, he drew an image of a bear - Ivan - with Alfred jumping up and down on him.

That translated to:

3.) Kick Ivan's ass.

Stuffing everything back in his jacket's pockets, Alfred strolled down to Toronto with a wide grin, heading toward his destiny.

"I'm no thief!" the young urchin cried flailing about as he was dragged by collar of his woolen shirt. "It's not stolen!"

Drawn by the commotion, Alfred's sensed a need for a hero and pushed his way to the front of the market's gathering crowd of onlookers. The tall guard, decked in a blue suit with bronze buttons down the front, had the boys hands pinned behind his back. He was bulkier and held the kid, nothing but skin and bones, with ease.

"Enough, you brat!" the guard said, angular face snarled in a scowl. His thick black eyebrows knitted together. "You bought that food with stolen money!"

"No sir, I earned it."

"How aboot telling the truth? A wretch like you isn't paid with a crown."

"I worked. Betcha don't know what that is."

The guard sneered, tossing the kid to a shorter and fatter officer. "Let's take him in."

"Let him go," Alfred said, stepping to the front of the crowd.

"Who dares..." the guard fell silent, mouth dropping open when he saw Alfred.

I'm that intimidating? Alfred thought proudly.

"Did you not hear?" Alfred said. "Let him go."

The other soldier let go and the boy glanced between Alfred and him in confusion before taking off into the crowd.

"Sir, would you like us to escort you?" the guard asked, coming up beside him.

"No, thanks," Alfred said, his opinion of the guardsman already changing. What kind fellows they were! Canada really was a generous kingdom. "I'd like to explore alone."

"As you wish my lord," the man said, bowing, but continued watching Alfred.

Alfred ducked down an alley and out of sight wondering what that had been all about. As he was about to discover, it was not only the guards who were very kind-hearted towards him, but the banks, government offices, and many places were as well. Sometimes they even called him, "Your majesty." Those Canadians! Such a swell people.

As he chowed down on a plate of free pancakes, the staff racing around to give him the best seating and maple syrup in the place, he said, "What a great place this Toronto is! Everything here really is free!"

"I can't do it!" Matthew whined, sinking into the silk-padded sofa besides King Francis as he puts his face in his palms. His polar bear, Kumjaro, nuzzled his right side with his cold, wet nose. "I'm doomed."

"There, there, Mon cheri, it won't be so bad," the visiting Lord of the Kingdom of France assured him. "If you refuse, you know what he'll do. Canada's winter is long enough without General Winter's magic."

"But Subjugation?" Matthew said, shuddering at the thought. "What if I end up like Lithuania's lord afterwards and have to be locked up for my own safety?"

"Well, monsieur, Lithuania was an exception. Lord Ivan gets tired of most after a week."

"I hear he can be sadistic and enjoys showering pain and pleasure on his...," Prince Matthew trailed off, shivering at the thought.

"Oh does he ever!" Francis said cheerfully. Matthew paled further. "Don't fret, mon cheri! You might end up like me. Freed after only two days and then he went back to Russia." Francis sounded almost sad about this.

"But how did you do it?"

"Ah," the French man said, sighing like he was remembering something lovely as he chuckled, "That man is so dirty, but I'm dirtier. A pity even he was unwillingly to do all the things I suggested," Francis said with another disappointed sigh.

Prince Matthew stared at him in horror.

King Francis took no noticed as he continued, "I hear the German Lord, Ludwig, though only had to do half a day with Lord Ivan before it was over."

"And why is that?" Matthew squeaked, sure he didn't want to know the answer.

"Well, Mon Cheri," Francis said, leaning into Matthew with a devilish gleam, "Ludwig isn't so much dirty like me, but he loves being tortured. Those kinky Germans and their love of sadism," he chuckled.

"I'm doomed," The Canadian Lord repeated, slumping in his seat; placing a hand on Kumajora's soft head. "He'll know I'm not into those things and have no experience. I hear he likes innocence."

"But Mon Cheri we both know you aren't that innocent," Francis grinned, "Though I'd happily make you less innocent if you like."

"N-No thank you," Matthew said, but he hesitated , his cheeks pinking.

"What do you think of aphrodisiac?" Francis said.

"If only there was a way out of this," Matthew said, gazing up at the ceiling. A knock interrupted them and they stood up as he told the person to enter.

It was a messenger boy who said, "My lord, the Captain of the Guard, Gilbert, wishes to inform you that his awesome men and even more incredibly awesome self have captured a man who's been impersonating you."

"Impersonating me?" Matthew said and then an idea appeared in his head. "Bring him here at once, please," he said.

"Um, of course, your majesty," he said with a bow.

"You shouldn't say 'please' to the subjects," King Francis said, adding, "It confuses them."

"But it seems so rude not to," Prince Matthew said.

"So what're you planning?"

"The solution to everything. Let's see how good this impersonator really is."

Icy water pouring down his head woke Alfred. He spluttered and struggled, only to find his wrists and ankles bound together by iron shackles. He felt weak and woozy, his energy sapped to nothing. His mind scrambled to understand what had happened and what was going on. The last he remembered was drinking some awful Canadian beer.

"Up you scum," said a voice as a gloved hand slapped him across the face.

Alfred jerked against his bonds, reaching to grab his assailant, but found his reach limited by a chain attached to a metal belt as his stomach. The room was shadowy and he lay on a marble-stone floor. His vision was blurry, but things quickly took shape. The room was well-furbished. There was an oak desk at the back with two tall windows on either side, heavy curtains keeping light out.

In what little grey light there was he saw the man who had hit him had ruby-eyes and platinum hair sticking out from under the sides of his silver and gold helm. He crouched over Alfred.

"Sir Gilbert, was that necessary?" asked a soft voice from the left.

Alfred looked toward the source, squinting. He saw a sofa with a figure sitting there, hidden by deep shadows. No, wait, he realized. There were two figures. One was just really hard to see.

"What did you do?" Alfred asked, throat hurting. "Did you drug me?"

"Shut it, cur," the Captain said, standing up. A guard stood behind Alfred, grabbing the back of Alfred's collar and forced him onto his knees. Another guard, booted feet clacking on the marble, walked to the sofa, carrying something. "He was found with that."

"With what?" Alfred asked, wondering what they had done with his rucksack. It wasn't here.

The smaller of the two figures on the sofa, unrolled a long parchment and Alfred's eyes widened. "My list!" he said, trying to stand, but was forced back to his knees. "It's mine."

"Its his majesty's now," Gilbert said, raising his hand to hit Alfred who glared at him defiantly.

"Enough, Sir Gilbert," that soft voice said. "You may go. You and all your men."

"Majesty," Gilbert said, "Is that wise? He's an im-"

"Sir Gilbert, did you not hear me?"

Gilbert went to attention and bowed curtly. "My apologies, your majesty."

Alfred glanced around as the two guards also went to attention, bowing low, and then exiting the room through two doubled doors behind Alfred. They shut it with a loud thud. When they were gone, the two figures on the couch rose. The taller one strode into the bar of light, the only stretching from the window that fell on Alfred, and examined Alfred.

"Amazing, mon cheri. A perfect match." The blonde-haired man had a french accent. His deep blue eyes studied Alfred. His ridiculous blue coat and large feather hat matched their color.

"Who the hell are you?" Alfred growled. "And where am I?"

The man's nose turned up and he sniffed. "That accent. You're a US barbarian."

"And damn proud of it!"

"How is this possible?" that timid voice from before said. He stepped into the light. He wore a plain dark red-coat and thin-rimmed glasses of his own.

Alfred gaped, eyes widening, he thought he was looking in a mirror. His head cleared in an instant. Words tumbled out of his mouth. "It's me!"

They only differed in eye color and the shade of their hair. Also Alfred was better-looking.

"He's not you, idiot," the French man said haughtily. "You are a peasant. He is your liege, the Prince of Canada."

"I have no liege," Alfred said. "My country doesn't respect royalty."

"You res-" The French man began until Prince Matthew placed a hand on his shoulder and he fell silent.

"Enough, Francis," Matthew said, looking over Alfred. "Yes, you'll do. A spell can adjust those eyes."

Alfred lifted an eyebrow. "What are you talking about? Why would I change my God-given eyes?"

Matthew held up the unfurled parchment and asked, "What is this, wildman?"

"Alfred," Alfred said, testing his bonds. His strength was slowly returning. "That's my list and I'd like it back, thank you very much."

"How dare you order his majesty," Francis hissed, but Matthew squeezed his shoulder.

"It's all right, Francis. Alfred, what do you mean list? List of doodles?"

"Doodles?" Alfred gasped. "That's my list of heroic deeds to do!"

Matthew and Francis both frowned.

"Heroic deeds?" Francis snickered. "Of stick figures?"

"So you want to put a cape on a stick?" Matthew asked, eyebrows knitting together. He flipped the list around and pointed at where Alfred had drawn a cape blowing in the breeze on himself.

"Stick? That's me being the hero," Alfred said.

"You want to become a hero?" Matthew said, tilting his head in interest.

"Want to? No, I am the hero," Alfred said proudly.

After the Frog and Prince exchanged a look, Matthew handed the Frog the list and approached Alfred.

"You're a hero, are you?" Matthew asked.

"I am."

Matthew smiled softly. "Then how about saving me?"

(That's the end of chapter 1. More will come later as we build toward the meeting of Lord Ivan and Alfred.)