Author's Notes: Yet another de-anonned from the Hetalia Kink Meme. The request for this was Poland/Lithuania; five fairy tales.

Please note, if countries being personified bothers you? DO NOT READ THIS.

Five Tales

I. The Emperor's New Clothes

The parade was today, and the hussars looked splendid in formation, the sunlight gleaming against the burnished metal of armor and blades alike. Lithuania had insisted that everything be polished for the occasion, had seen to it that the horses were groomed, had checked to ensure that the ridiculous decorative wings of which Poland was so enamored were fixed firmly in place. He'd paid as much attention to his own garb, for this battle had been a victory for them, and it was good for their people to see that they had survived, good to show the troops that even after taking some losses they remained strong. He had combed his hair through and tied it back- had mended the holes that the fighting had left in his cloak- had subjected himself for the day to the garish, useless embellishments currently fashionable in clothing.

And now, at the start of the event, he sat astride his horse, sword by his side, wondering with no small amount of worry why Poland hadn't arrived yet and- more troubling still- what precisely the little blonde had meant by the naughty smile and flippant promise he'd offered the last time Lithuania had seen him.

"You have, like, got to see it, Liet," his partner had gushed. "Oh my god, just wait. It's like, totally hot." And he'd refused to speak another word on the matter, refused to allow the conversation to be steered even in the general direction of the outfit that he planned to wear for the day's celebration.

Now, like some terrible omen summoned in response to the thoughts, Poland's voice rang out across the line of assembled troops: "Hey, Liet! Check it out! It's, like, way awesome, right?"

Lithuania turned, expression one more of curiosity than dread- for really, his mind assured him, not even Poland would dare to make the day's event into a farce by showing himself in something too outrageous. He was wrong, of course- and the brunette froze as he caught sight of the other nation, mouth slightly agape, cheeks staining a sudden, violent shade of crimson.

"Poland!" It came as a yelp, and Lithuania's fingers fell immediately to fumbling at the clasp of his own well-tended cloak. A moment later, it was free, and the fabric billowed out like a cloud to swallow up the little blonde completely.

II. The Boy Who Cried Wolf

It was the scream that woke him- shrill and piercing, in a voice that he recognized as Poland's but in a tone like none he'd ever heard before. There was no groggy lingering between awake and asleep; there was no time to adjust, or to think things through. Some part of Lithuania's mind was registering the words behind his partner's cry even as he lunged from the bed in an awkward stagger, the panicked, "Oh my god, Liet- it's Russia! Russia's here, Liet, you've gotta, like, do something!"

He grabbed for the sword on the wall as though the action was driven by instinct, by need, and he did not pause for neither shield nor armor but took the stairs in his bedclothes, two at a time, feeling as though his heart had jumped into his throat and was busily attempting to strangle him. Lithuania barreled into the living room with wild eyes and sleep-mussed hair, the blade half-raised to strike.

Poland was sprawled across the couch, legs dangling indolently over one of the decorative arms, feet kicking idly in the air. When Lithuania turned his way, expression a mixture of terror and stifled rage, still searching for the intruder, it was too much for the little blonde. He exploded into laughter, peels of it echoing off through the house.

"Oh my god," Poland gasped. "Your face. Your face was, like, so hilarious."

III. Hansel and Gretel

In the place where the woods turned into something wild and crooked, the leaves more olive than spring green, there stood a house. It was not a house that the boys had seen before- was not, in truth, at all like anything they had - but it loomed there, larger than life, set back from the path far enough that they had nearly passed it by without noticing. Above the door, strange letters dipped and swirled, making words that neither of them could yet read, and within the window stood high-backed chairs, decorative and gilded, and the walls were hung with portraits of solemn, bearded men in dark uniforms.

It was not the sort of place that inspired confidence- was not a house that radiated welcome in any sense of the word- but the children were tired, and footsore, and hungrier than they could ever remember having been, and before the taller of the two could speak a word of protest, the little blonde by his side was darting forward to knock at the door. Seconds passed in silence; no answer came.

"God," Poland said, and in the word there was more genuine disappointment than he had meant to let creep through. "You could, like, open the door or something." Narrow knuckles rapped again, louder this time.

Lithuania offered him a smile in consolation, a worried expression that betrayed precisely how much thought he'd given to their predicament already. "Maybe if we waited for a little while? Surely someone will come home tonight."

The blonde boy made a noise of annoyance in his throat, ran a careless hand through his hair. "I am, like, so over being stuck outside. If I've gotta sleep on the ground one more night, Liet, I swear I'm gonna-"

The promise that he'd intended to make, however, was never completed, for even as he began to speak it, the door opened, revealing a tall, arched hallway and a man with a pleasant smile and violet eyes. "Good evening, children," he said. "You have become lost, yes?" The door opened wider, and the smell of something cooking drifted to them, providing a sharp reminder of how long it had been since last they'd eaten. "Do come in; you must be hungry."

Later, they would wonder how he had known; later, the brunette would wish that he'd voiced the suspicion that tried to drift to the front of his mind. But when the man disappeared into the dim corridor, their eyes met and exchanged a brief glance- and then two small figures stepped forward, timidly, to follow him.

IV. Cinderella

It was not at all what he had become accustomed to- the golden lights that dangled from the ceiling, the long tables arrayed with opulent food, the music that made him more homesick than anything had in a long, long while. And of course, Poland was there as well, weaving his way through the other guests in his ridiculous hat and brightly-colored clothing, so reminiscent of days long-gone. He moved like a bird, flighty but graceful, and chattered like one, too, talking of everything and nothing; his laughter carried across the room.

And when at last he approached Lithuania from behind, laying a hand on the brunette's shoulder and causing him to startle at the unexpected touch, it was already later than he'd have liked it to be, later than he ought to have stayed at all. "So the party's way awesome, right?" said Poland, and he offered up a grin, casually proud.

When Lithuania smiled in return, it was a tentative thing, a worried thing. "It's… very nice." In his mind, however, he was already counting the seconds- already anxiously wondering how much of a safety cushion he ought to leave himself, just to be sure.

Suddenly, however, there was a hand in his own, impossibly warm and stronger than it looked, and Poland was dragging him toward the throng of people that had become taken by the music and begun to dance. "Poland-" began the intended protest- but they had arrived already, and the other hand was threading its fingers through his own, and more importantly, he wasn't sure whether he wanted the little blonde to stop.

"You've so gotta come over more," Poland said, and guided them into a whirl that brought their feet in sync with those of the other dancers. "Otherwise I, like, won't wanna let you go home."

The music swelled, and in Lithuania's mind he was aware of time slipping by- aware that midnight was approaching slow and inexorable- aware that, if he was not home by then, Russia would know he'd been gone.

"You'll totally stay the night, right, Liet?"

Lithuania closed his eyes; the words caught in his throat. And midnight drew slowly nearer.

V. Sleeping Beauty

He had not called, though it was the most natural thing in the world to reach for the phone. His fingers had learned the number by heart, but now, for the first time in years, he did not need it.

With any luck, he would never need it again.

The walls at Poland's house, when he arrived, were steeped in climbing vines- vibrant green things, layered with thorns but also kissed with brilliant red flowers. They were a new addition, but Lithuania knew the stones beneath them. He knew the little chip missing where two overzealous boys had swung their swords too near during practice, and he knew that if one searched for the proper footholds in the older segments of the rock, it was not impossible to climb to the roof from here. They had done it before; they had spent nights atop it, watching the stars.

Lithuania did not knock. Knocking was a thing they'd dispensed with long ago. He simply let himself inside, standing frozen in the doorway as the smells of his childhood washed over him: rye, and dried flowers, and something sharper and more familiar- the particular scent of Poland's hair, just after he'd washed it.

He could have walked the stairs with his eyes closed; he did not need to count to know that there were fifteen steps, and that the last one creaked slightly when too much weight was put upon it. He ascended them as though moving through water, each footfall deliberate and painfully slow, scarcely daring to believe that this was real. Some portion of him that had been too long taught to expect the worst was waiting for it to end, suspended in a half-cringe of anticipation that he would awaken at any moment from a particularly vivid dream.

But the stairs remained, and when Lithuania reached the top of them, so too did the room at the end of the hall- and the bed- and the little blonde that lay upon it, sleeping soundly.

The sight was enough to remind him why he was here- why, when for the first time in decades he had a house of his own, he had come to Poland's instead. Because in that moment, it was easy to forget everything that had gone before. It was easy to forget the long centuries he had gone without seeing Poland's face and recall instead a young blonde boy, tousled and napping in the rye fields when he was meant to be helping with the harvest.

Lithuania smiled at the sight and at the memories, and carefully he began to move, picking his way to the bed as though the floor were made of spun glass. When at last he stood beside his partner of old, a hand that trembled just a little reached to brush a strand of hair away from the sleeping nation's face.

And then, with a tenderness that he'd never truly forgotten, even after all this time, he leaned down to kiss Poland awake.

Historical note: Part 1 takes place during the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The hussars were the cavalry of the era, and featured decorative wings on their armor, as pictured in several Hetalia strips. Part 2 is also during the Commonwealth, and foreshadows the Partitions of Poland in 1795. Part 3 is very, very loosely representative of the Partitions (because I couldn't make another fairy tale work, shh). Part 4 is set during the time when Lithuania was under Russian imperial rule, so at some point between 1795 and 1914. And part 5 is set in 1991, just after Lithuania declared independence from Soviet Russia.