The Baltics couldn't take it any more, this Soviet oppression. This living in fear of Russia, this permanent frustration, the kind that came only with a tether of chain and harsh retribution, that was all the brothers had known. It was killing them.
Russia was hell to them and hell could only be found in Russia.
But was it possible to escape from under the thumb of this insane man, or would it kill them? Would Ivan kill them?
Edouard could see Raivis' lip quiver as he explained the anti-Soviet feelings in his country, knowing fully well that his brothers could sense the stirrings, the burning in their minds and the strengthening resolve of their once-weak hearts. The unrest of their people was making them itch and burn with the want, the need, for independence.
But before independence, Edouard had decided, the brothers' Baltic needed a plan. A good plan that would not end in pain, death, and torture.
.
.
.
They had nothing.
Ivan had been stripping the Baltics of all dignity, beginning with Toris; he had always been the Russian's favorite, most likely due to his proximity. Then it was delicate little Raivis, second in proximity, which made Edouard's heart burn, an angry smolder that would flare with even the slightest threat against the youngest Baltic nation. Perhaps it was because Ivan just did not care, or had forgotten, about him, but Edouard found that the Russian would ignore him.
He was the only one left with a sense of pride, even a shred of dignity, and that made him the only one who could organize what they were about to do: tell Ivan that they wanted out.
The Baltic nations of Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania wanted their independence from Russia.
But, not really.
And that was the only thing bothering Edouard: the wishy-washy wording. The brothers wanted to show Ivan that they desired their independence, not that they were demanding it or fighting for it.
His undamaged pride took a blow at that.
When he pointed this out, Toris looked like he might faint and Raivis' eyes welled with tears; they were terrified of the repercussions their demands would bring.
Another blow.
This was all too much. He wanted, more than anything, to see both of his brothers safe and happy, independent to boot. But they were frozen in place by the fear of Russia, afraid to take even one step, a slight shuffle, toward the goal of freedom.
Edouard could see it in their eyes; the hungry look of a starving man. But these men starved for what they would never obtain and it was killing him, killing all of them and he would be damned it he could not stop them from dying.
It would break his heart.
.
.
.
And so, it was decided.