Keri: o/o Hi guys, long time no write anything, hm? Well, here we go!

Pairing: Russia/Lithuania, one-sided Poland/Lithuania

Warnings: There will be lots of beatings, religious battles and bashings, war, etc. Pretty much all you'd expect from a historical-Hetalia story. It will be dark.

Disclaimer: Axis Powers Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya

Exactly how many tears did it take to fill the Nemunas River? The winding, twisting bodies had to come from somewhere: something had to keep them fresh and alive as they cut through the landscape. The limestone and sand ground, the towering forests, the tall trembling grass, and the thousands of farms had their thirsts all quenched by these gurgling flows and tears were the easiest things to come by nowadays, it seemed.

Everyone knew the best way to drown out anything was by adding the sound of flowing water. The Nemunas fighting with his brother Neris at the crossroads, trying to go first upon the one-way road to the Baltic Sea. But upon the grass hidden by the oak trees that the rivers fed lay a boy who knew the brothers best of all. He cried with all his might for their fighting to cease so that someone may hear him. The child, whose will should have bent the Nemunas and the Neris, begging them to stay silent so he could be freed.

Yet the two listened not to their master's plight and the child was left to suffer in hidden agony. Jade eyes searched his attacker for any sort of decency, but were saddened to find that the man he knew too well would not spare him. This man whom the child had grown up with, this quiet man who generally liked to be alone in his thoughts and studies and activities, this man who was a magnificent fighter as well as a persuasive negotiator had suddenly turned on him, his violet eyes locked on the boy.

The child's small hands pulled at his long hair and matted beard, the dull brown starting to streak with gray. The child's small feet kicked uselessly at the armor that the knight wore across his chest and the leather straps did nothing to dull the pain that ran through his legs at each kick. The child's small voice sobbed and pleaded that he be spared, not to hurt him, that he would not tell, if he let him go.

"Novgorod please," he cried, trying to meet the hungry gaze again, "it is me, Lietuva, s-stop this…please." The child pulled his chocolate colored hair out of his eyes, less worried about keeping the locks out of his vision than keeping the man out of him. He screamed and punched again, small palms turning red as he struggled to keep from being invaded, but to no use.

The larger man flipped him over; pushing up the white frock all children of their kind wore, fingering the pantaloons underneath. The child sensed a moment of hesitation from the man before his bottom was exposed. He cried out again and tried to crawl away, a large hand pushing him into the grass. "Novgorod…" he whined, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

His heart was pounding in his throat and he closed his eyes, trying to wish for peace to befall Vilnius. He could feel the soldiers of Novgorod attacking the people of Lietuva. He could feel the buildings being raided and burnt to the ground, his live stock stolen or killed, his children kidnapped and his women raped. The child's stomach flopped as the actions of the man were made to metaphor the actions of his men: large, calloused hands pet at his sides before thick – too thick – fingers began to play at his entrance. The invasion was happening in real life...so why couldn't the man just get it over with?

The child waited, face pressed into the grass as he was stretched, a small grace in the entire thing. He sobbed and closed his eyes, trying to feel the warm sun on his back and the cool grass beneath his fingers. He tried to listen to the sound of the two rivers and the roaring of their argument. He tried to listen for footfalls against the dirt, trying to track the animals he knew hid amongst the trees.

A scream broke the calm morning air and he began again to struggle as he felt the man enter his form. He began to kick and claw at the grass, sobbing and begging him once more to stop. The child tried to focus back on the world around him – his world – but to no avail. Every thrust, every tear, ever grunt of pleasure the man made the child heard and felt and by the time it was over he was laying in a pool of his own tears and vomit.

His hips were released and shuffling was heard as the man stood, cleaning himself on a kerchief and adjusting his bottoms. He muttered a quiet apology, in a language the boy only half knew, before turning back towards Kaunas, shame and guilt filling him to his core. After all, his army would need his guidance and his leader would be pleased to know that the invasion had been a success.

The young boy lay in the grass, not daring to move in fear of irritating his wounds further. After what he was sure was only a short time, even though it felt like centuries, he heard the birds chirping above his head. He could not feel his legs, his entire form was quaking and if he opened his eyes he could see blood sliding down his thighs and pooling onto the grass beneath him.

-/-

When he opened his eyes again, the sun was late in the sky. It shone against the nearby water, the reflection forcing him to close his eyes again. He groaned quietly and moved his hands to cover his face, letting out a small sobbing sound at each and every motion. His legs had slipped from under him while he'd slept, and he was laying flat on the ground; although, now that he was waking, his nerves began to rouse and pain began to bolt through his veins.

The boy heard the branches snapping, bushes whispering around him and the rustling of the leaves. Fear mixed with the pain and he wanted nothing more than to run as fast as he could away. 'Oh why, oh why, why...' he thought miserably. Novgorod and his relations had never been the best, but it wasn't as though the two Nations were unfriendly. They fought, their kings met often, they even used the same trading routes. Lietuva felt ashamed and betrayed: The only other one like him he had known had back-stabbed him in the most brutal way.

"Leave me be," he whined, squeezing his eyes shut, as he heard the heavy foot steps nearing him. "D-don't you need to-to-" he hiccupped, "-c-collect your or-orders?" His heart clenched miserably. Here Novgorod was for a second attack and Lietuva wasn't sure that his small body and still childlike mind would survive anymore.

But instead of being heaved up or flipped over, instead of monstrous hands prying apart his rear, he felt one gently run through his hair. He heard a stranger speak in his native tongue, whispering something quietly to him. Lietuva turned his head, causing a sharp pain to run through his spine and up the back of his neck as he did so, his gaze meeting someone he knew as his own, but knew not.

But instead of being heaved up or flipped over, instead of monstrous hands prying apart his rear, he felt one gently run through his hair. He heard a stranger speak in his native tongue, whispering something quietly to him. Lietuva turned his head, causing a sharp pain to run through his spine and up the back of his neck as he did so, his gaze meeting someone he knew as his own, but knew not.

The man, an older man, who looked to be a farmer, smiled gently at him, sadly at him. He spoke again, muttering that it would be alright, that he would take him home. Lietuva blinked and sniffed, the boy had no home, everywhere was his home, and knew the man would be faced with a bit of trouble at finding his parents as their kind were born from the grass and the lakes and the wind. But Lietuva allowed the man to pry the pantaloons from where they were hooked around one ankle and he watched as he stuffed them in his pocket, and he allowed himself to be brought into the man's arm and carried from the wood.

He had stayed awake only long enough to know that the man carried him to a horse and held him as the rode away, drifting in and out of consciousness as they rode. When he woke again they were dismounting the horse and Lietuva saw a few dead animals hanging off the back of the horse; he supposed that was why the man had been so far out of the way.

Lietuva could tell without a sign or any sort of landmark that they were outside Kaunas; he had run away as far as he could when he had heard that the Novgorod soldiers were invading, but the man had caught up to him easily, even if he had managed to flee the attacked area. The two brother rivers were so far off now that Lietuva could no longer hear them. How long had he been asleep?

He man carried him into his house, it was a tiny cottage made of wood and straw and held together with a mud-based plaster. He pushed the creaking door open and muttered for his wife to fetch a bucket of water and a rag, that the boy was hurt. The farmer lay him down on one of the benches by his fireplace and removed his frock, quietly letting the child know that he would not be harmed.

Lietuva noted that the man was in deed Lithuanian and was rather old; he was balding and lines were forming on his face. His skin was tan from working in the sun and his palms were white and calloused. He wore a pair of brown pants and a dusty white shirt under a leather vest. Lietuva managed to quirk his head to get a look around, noticing five children - ranging from marriage age to two - watching him from around a corner. He closed his eyes, panting hard at the effort used just to hold his head up, and curled around himself again.

The farmer's wife returned, ushering her husband away so she could hp the child. She wet the rag in the bucket and began to wipe at his legs and buttocks, gently hushing his pitiful whimpers. When she was finally finished, she picked him up gently and wrapped him in a blanket that Lietuva did not see her bring in before laying him back down. Petting the knots out of his hair she asked: "What is your name child?"

And he quietly replied: "Lietuvos."