Crown of Stars

17th century. Russia is ordered by his superiors to win over little America and annex his territory, but he has plenty of competition what with France and England hacking each other to bits over him. Who will ultimately win over the child's heart? AU.

~*oOo*~

Hello, everyone. ^_^ Always wanted to do a story with little America, France, England, and Russia...this story probably won't be very long, but I might try to do a sequel sometime over the summer if I get time. Please review, as reviews make for happy authors, and happy authors lead to quicker updates! If I've left any typos or mistranslated, please don't hesitate to let me know.

The warm wind made him shiver, though certainly not from cold. Dumbfounded, Ivan slowly tugged off his rough leather gloves, shivering as the soft breeze played over his sweaty palms, sweet and serene like bathwater. His entire uniform suddenly felt much too hot, much too constricting, and if he were not surrounded by his men, he would have loved to strip away his stifling uniform and play about in the sunshine, reveling in the warmth that not even the Kremlin Palace could contain with all its furnaces on at full steam.

But the jeweled sword at his belt reminded him that he had a job to do, and with a sigh, Ivan turned to them. He hid a smile; they were staring at the cornflower blue of the sky, completely transfixed. One of them, a new, naïve soldier still in his teens, timidly stepped forward to Ivan.

"Вáше превосходи́тельство….." he murmured timidly, wringing his hands. Ivan gave him a not unkind look.

"Da? What is it?"

The soldier swallowed heavily, his adam's apple bobbing. "Your Excellency…are we…in heaven?"

Ivan smiled back at him, violet eyes glowing. "Nyet. I doubt it. But it is not a bad guess."

If the personification of Russia didn't know better, he'd say it was. The sweet smell of long, lush grass fluttering in the wind, the sun beaming down from an overflowing blue sky, the rumbling sound of a waterfall somewhere in the distance, wildflowers sprouting here and there….

He'd only ever seen the occasional blossom in his homeland, and those were mostly painted in murals, or were shaped from glass into cathedral windows. His now bare hands shook with the idea of touching one that had sprouted from such sweet-smelling, dark soil. Would it be so fragile and delicate that it would shatter in his hands? He dearly hoped not.

Now he knew why Peter had sent him here. He'd thought Peter's rambling description of this place had been little more than fanciful delusions, another cold and wet corner of hell made to look like a lump of pure gold by malicious soldiers. Now Ivan understood why Peter had ached for this place to become an extension of their empire so badly. America, at least in late Spring, was a veritable Garden of Eden.

Clearing his throat, Ivan whistled sharply until he had tugged his entranced men down to Earth, and the chastised men scurried into line. Their leader watched them closely, expression sharp, eyes keen.

"My dear gentlemen," he said in his rumbling voice. His men had come up with the somewhat endearing nickname of "The Bear" for their lord because of it. "Do you know why we are here?"

"Da, to capture America," grunted a middle-aged, stocky man. Ivan frowned at him.

"You misunderstand our mission, soldier. Ours is a diplomatic mission, not one to be solved with muskets."

"Then why are we lugging these around?" complained another soldier, gesturing to the long weapon that was bound to his back. Some chuckled, but the laughter died instantly when Ivan shot him one of his disarming smiles, the smile that was much more deadly than any frown or scowl could ever hope to be.

Once his men had fallen back into a respectful silence, Ivan curtly began again.

"Da, it is true that we may run into the British or the French….though judging by the way they guard their harbor, one would think that neither were here," he said dryly, and this time did not refute his men for chuckling.

Getting into the New World had been shockingly easy. They'd expected to run into a Naval Brigade, a sea of cannon fire, an irate patch of French and English soldiers, who would invariably combine whenever a third party entered into play. Ivan shook his head and smiled inwardly; the two fools fought like an old married couple, a couple too distracted to notice when a fleet of Russian soldiers simply sailed to America without a shot fired. They embarked from their ship just hours ago without a moment's trouble. France and England really were distracted idiots.

Ivan cleared his throat and continued. "Our Great King expects us to win over these new territories for Mother Russia by any means necessary…whether by a formal declaration of war against both France and England or by winning over the territory itself."

His men cast each other slightly troubled glances, but they knew what he meant. They were searching for someone like Ivan. Nodding, Ivan went on:

"The King would much rather the territory turn its loyalty to us, so we might better repulse both England and France and prevent both from making settlements. France should be fairly easy to deter, as he is already eyeing a neighboring territory north of this one, but England will not give in quite so easily. If worst comes to worst and we are unable to win over America, this may yet prove to be an arduous war with many lives lost.

Still, it is possible to win this battle with a stroke of a pen and a few diplomacies. If the identity of a country is truly intent on being one with another, it will be so, and no amount of gunfire or new policies will change that."

His men cast him astounded looks. A very brave soldier stepped forward. It was the gangly youth from before.

"So that is why you have brought the council of lords? Our duty is to charm this nation….this…person…so that we can convince him to join our glorious empire?"

"Da, you speak true."

The soldier looked around curiously.

"But where is he?"

Ivan smiled again. "That is our current mission. We will stay on the quiet side and do our best to leave no sign of our presence in the New World, and we must seek out the nation. Our spies have told us that he was last seen in this general area, so we must scout him out before England and France find him once again and try to entice him to join one of their sides. If we run into either opposing nation, we fight, and we drive them away, for none can withstand the will of Mother Russia."

Some of the new foot soldiers looked nervous, though they tried to puff out their chests and look eager. Ivan's heart twitched in sympathy for them.

"But as I have said, this may yet be a war where no shots are fired. You have been fine men throughout your journey, and I would hate to lose any of you. Keep your eyes and ears sharp, like that of a hare's, at all times, even when you sleep. If you see even the slightest sign of the nation, I don't care where you are, what you are doing—you are to send word for me immediately." His words became icy, eyes intense. "It doesn't matter if I am in a meeting, if I am marching, sleeping, if I am taking a bloody constitution by the river—you are to find me and tell me exactly what you have seen. If you can detain the nation, do so, but not forcibly, lest you scare him away. Have him wait until I might see him. Is that understood?"

A sea of assent. But the young soldier still looked unhappy.

"Is this nation much like you?" he squeaked, squirming when all eyes rested on him. "I-I mean, I have heard descriptions of the human France and England with their men, and they do not sound much like you. What does this country look like in human form? Do we look for...another you?"

Ivan slowly shook his head.

"Nyet. I am glad you asked. I have the description of the nation right here." He pulled out an envelope with a broken red stamp, but he didn't bother to open it. He'd read the description of the human America so many times he'd memorized it. A boy with rosy cheeks, despite the fact that he'd been living in an uncivilized wilderness for who knew how many years. Hair like dark gold, eyes like lapis lazuli, the warm American skies. Dressed in a little gown England had managed to squeeze over him when he'd discovered that the nation had no clothes.

"First of all, we look for not a man, but a child."

~*oOo*~

His soldiers had been bewildered by their mission, and many were annoyed by what they thought was a task beneath them (Whoever sang heroic songs about soldiers who went to look for a little boy in the wilderness?), but most were just relieved there was no need for any real action yet. They found a few neglected campfires here and there on their march, which indicated that yes, there were other factions here, but they didn't seem to be in the area. Refusing to ride on his white horse, Russia marched with his men, violet eyes alert and watchful.

As the day went on and no sign of the little boy could be found, Ivan had permitted his men to sling their cloaks over their shoulders as the sun continued to beat down over them. As they marched, Ivan could not help but pick up a stray flower or unusual looking leaf so that he could record them in his journal later on. Peter would expect him to bring a full report of his findings in the New World, and he couldn't deny his fascination. Some of the leaves on the trees grew as large as his hand!

At night came on, an unsatisfied Ivan finally allowed his men to make camp, wishing that they could cover more ground. When his spies had last reported to him, the little nation had bolted away "like lightning" when France and England ran into each other and went for each other's throats. Thankfully Sweden and Finland had already been expelled from America and had their villa torn down, else Ivan would have even more to contend with then he already did.

As he sipped at his soup in his tent, making notes in his journal and pressing in the various herbs he had found that day, Ivan's thoughts went out to the little nation, all alone and very possibly scared in the dark. As far as England and France could tell, the little boy had gotten along quite well before they came along, but what if France decided to waylay America with treats and spirited him away on one of his ships? What if England lured the little child to him using clever wordplay and exploited him horribly? He was just a boy, after all.

Ivan uneasily bit his lip as he listened to his men chatter around the campfires outside. He was no good with children; the little ones back home in Moscow fled at the large man's approach, and even the monarchs were generally afraid of letting him near their little ones, afraid that Russia AS Russia would want to hurt them! Him, the very spirit of the country!

Ivan sighed sadly, and blew out his candle for the night when a few hours had passed by. He didn't feel well.

Fighting battles was something he had done for only too many years. Winning over youngsters was another thing entirely. The child would probably flee at his approach, wither and sob before running behind the less-intimidating England or France.

Children made him unhappy, reminded him of what he could never be. Ivan was a country, unable to marry and have a partner who could stay with him the rest of his days. He was unable to be a father, to be Ivan instead of just Russia, and have the comforts of a precious child that would not see a scary man but a Papa.

'Peter, why me?' thought Ivan sadly. 'This is something your smooth-talking ambassadors should be doing, not I.'

He'd told him as such, but Peter had insisted. "If there is a fight, you are more than prepared for one," the monarch had said in his grand throne room. "And if you will have to charm a child, I am positive you can do so, Ivan. How hard can it be? Give the malchik a few sweets and you will be sailing back to Russia in triumph."

He'd patted the kneeling Russia on the arm, smiling. That was one of the things Russia truly appreciated about his ruler, who treated him as Ivan and not just Russia. The king had sounded so confidant, but Ivan wasn't so sure….

He couldn't bear the idea of the little nation running away from him. His king had ordered that he fetch America and bring him back home to Moscow for a short while, but the idea of trussing up a terrified child like a wild bird and forcing him upon a ship to a strange new land made even the world weary battle veteran quite ill.

Even if he was ordered to, could he in good conscience subject a child to that?

Ivan turned over in his bedding, scowling slightly. Damn it, why was he being fretful over what had to be the easiest of missions ever? His country could perhaps increase their wealth five times over without a drop of blood shed, and here he was fretting about some strange boy! He was being ridiculous, so ridiculous he wanted to run out of his tent with a lantern, and call out for the nation in the dark.

~*oOo*~

In the morning, Ivan rose while most of his men still lay sleeping, having slept fitfully. He clasped the shoulder of a weary soldier on watch duty and relieved him before he headed off into a small patch of trees, feeling the ground rumble beneath his feet. Yes, there was definitely water nearby, which was good. His men could fill up the wineskins and stay hydrated for the day's march.

Soon enough, Ivan approached a beautiful little brook, which had water bubbling over the rocks, making a happy laughing sound. As he splashed his face and filled his wineskin, he thought of how lovely the water would look when the sun came up, and so he waited patiently for a few minutes as the sun slowly crept up. He could not wait very long, considering sunshine was so precious and imperative in their search, but he would be just a moment.

He wasn't disappointed; the water shone like gold as the sun slowly rose, twinkling and sparkling like a thousand stars. He watched a trout with silver and gold scales swimming underwater and Ivan smiled, pleased. This truly was the land of plenty. His men would enjoy fish this morning for breakfast instead of just hard bread.

Ivan reluctantly retreated, only to accidentally take a wrong turn. Annoyed with himself, he was about to return to the discreet trail he had made so he would not lose his way, only to turn and have his breath taken away.

No, this was heaven. It had to be.

There, beyond the woods, was a clearing of a thousand little suns waving in the morning light, greeting the astonished nation. Sunflowers. Knees buckling, Ivan slowly approached the little sea of flowers, mouth dry and open in a soundless gasp.

Sunflowers. He had seen the enormous, cheery heads in a story book before, but he'd dismissed them as a mere fanciful scribble, something incredibly pretty but not truly real. They grew on enormous green stems, yellow petals perfect and beautiful against the rich blue sky.

Shaking his head and wondering how he would ever tell Peter of this, longing to eternalize this image so that it bled into his eyes, Russia slowly approached the sea of flowers, daring to unwrap his light purple scarf from his neck and unbuttoned his military overcoat. He tentatively reached out and touched a petal, marveling at its softness, delighting in its fuzzy little center, running a fingertip over its tough stalk. So many, and all so beautiful and hopeful.

For a moment, he stood there, transfixed, until one of the sunflowers sneezed, yellow petals shuddering.

"Aa-choo!"

Startled, Ivan's hand flew to his sword, and the man immediately dove into the stalks, ready to tear apart the enemy soldier he was certain was waiting for him. For a moment, he panicked. Were his men surrounded?

But he found nothing for a moment. Scowling furiously, he detected a hint of movement and whipped through several stalks, finding a little clearing and the source of the sneeze.

There, sitting on a stone, was a little boy dressed in a light blue gown with a small ribbon at the throat. His hair looked like spun gold, and his eyes were the precise shade of the sky overhead. His back was to the astonished Ivan, and he didn't seem to notice that the man behind him. With his free hand, the child was poking at something—at what, Ivan had no clue. It looked like a worm with fuzz, arching up to move and then arching down again, wriggling on a stalk. The child giggled at it, and Ivan couldn't help but smile at the sound of his laughter.

The descriptions had done him ill justice. He looked like a cherubim!

The boy sneezed again, turned after a moment of scrubbing his nose, and his eyes widened when he saw the strange man in uniform, who had forgotten that his sword was still raised. With a startled squawk, the child scrambled to his feet, looking terrified. Stomach pooling with cold dread, Russia immediately sheathed his weapon and held his hands up, worried.

"Nyet, nyet, I will not hurt you," he said anxiously, taking a cautious step forward. "I am a friend, I—w-wait! Перерыв!"

But the little boy had already turned and dashed into the field of gold and Ivan chased after him, blinking in dismay and confusion. He had to keep searching for a little blur of blue, because the child looked right at home with these flowers with which he blended in so well—

"Wait!" cried out Ivan again, winding around several stalks. Gracious, this child was fast! No wonder he was perfectly capable of outrunning not one but two armies! "Stop, pajalasta! I only want to talk to you! Please don't be afraid of me! WAIT!"

Whimpering with fear, the boy only sprinted faster, and Ivan had to run with all his might just so that he could keep up. After awhile, Ivan sprinted out of the sea of sunflowers, chest rising and falling with exertion.

The child was gone.

With a strangled shout and a stream of swearwords, Ivan had thrown his cap on the ground, face buried in his hands, feeling more frustrated and hopeless than he had for years.

~*oOo*~

His men tore the sunflower fields apart, much to his consternation, but the nation could not be found. His advisers tried to cheer the despondent Russia up; at least they knew the boy was in the area now and could soon pick up a trail, but that failed to bring any vigor to Russia's eyes or a spring to his step. He refused to sup after another long day's search, and unhappily stared at the ceiling of his tent, wondering how he could possibly approach a child that seemed scared to death of him.

Perhaps it couldn't be helped, but it seemed likely he would have to kidnap the nation in the end.

Ivan didn't sleep a wink that quiet night, which was only permeated by the ominous hoots of owls in the wilderness, and the gale's sorrowful lullaby.

Poor Russia. :-( Not an ideal first meeting, huh? But what do you think is gonna happen when everyone and their grandmother is out for a piece of the American pie? The kid's scared to death by you.

Вáше превосходи́тельство=Your excellency

Da=Yes

Nyet=No

Malchik=Little boy

Перерыв!=Wait!

Pajalasta=Please