Keri: One year anniversary! I figured that I needed to post something, no matter the length. Hope you enjoy all the shota!

Lietuva sat on the fur rug that was on the floor before the fire, a bundle of cloth in his lap. He made a frustrated sound as the needle in his hand caught on a previous seem and the thread broke from the loop. Setting the cloth down, Toris stuck the needle between his lips and fumbled around with seeing what could be done with the thread left, and if it weren't better just to tie the end and start a new.

A few feet in front of him and a tad to the left, sat the boy he'd found in the woods, Muscovy, holding his legs to his chest. He was sitting as close to the roaring fire as possible without being in it. "You don't have to," he said quietly, cheeks pink.

"I want to," Toris said with a small laugh. Despite how he tried to speak around the needle, it still fell into his lap and he fished around in the fabric for it.

"They fit well enough." Muscovy rubbed his bare legs. His bum was tickled by the fur and he shifted.

Toris shook his head, an amused smile on his face. "I've seen you fight to keep them up all week. Rolling them up and keeping them at your chest won't mean they won't fall again." He hummed. "Once you're dressed better, you'll feel better."

Since they had met, it had taken Toris a while to get the boy to talk about anything other than his fears and his self-conscious feelings, most of which were centered around his large nose and his weight. There wasn't much he could do for Muscovy's physical appearance, even if he did find the nose extremely cute on that tiny face. But from what he could tell, most of Muscovy's weight concerns stemmed from his ill-fitting clothes.

The thread took a few tries to get back, and Lietuva didn't even bother tying it this time around, as he only had a few arms lengths of thread to go. "Besides," he said, "you let me make you a new shirt without complaint. Why the sudden change of heart?" Toris looked up at the younger boy through his eye lashes.

Muscovy shifted again, pulling his legs closer to himself. Lietuva was so kind. He knew the older boy would never hurt him when he pants were off. Not like master. Muscovy made a sound in the back of his throat. "Lietuva is so nice to me. His shirt keeps me warm and fits me so nice. He did such a good job. I do not want to keep...bothering him...not with my worries" His voice petered off and he could feel the other boy's frown.

"You do not bother me," Toris said quietly. "I enjoy doing this work, I was taught it by my Mama and it..." a sigh rattled through his chest, "it makes me feel close to her again." He had not even been gone for a month, but it felt like a life time since he had been held close to his mother's breast and felt the warm rhythm of her heart. A heart that loved him no matter that he wasn't her's.

His bed here was far more warm, and more soft than he thought possible. But there was no love in this home. He could feel that despite the furs and fires, the cloths and silks, the air was stiff and cold. When he and his master stood in the empty rooms and practiced fighting with his hands and swords and hardened bamboo, when he sat at cold tables and read from scrolls and learned wisdom and tactics that he was told would make him great he could feel that there was no love from the man. Only urgent pushing.

Muscovy sniffed and pulled Toris from his longing. When he looked up he was surprised to see the boy looking at him. "You have a Mama?" he asked. Not waiting for an answer, Muscovy turned back to the fire. "I always wanted one. They seem so nice. My..." his voice hitched and he hid his face in his knees. "M-my sister cared...c-cared for me and the little one." He sniffed wetly. "My Papa said she was like a mother to us. It felt like it."

A second frown tugged at Lietuva's lips as he watched. "You're Papa is...like us, right? I've heard the language you speak...I mean, I know a man who speaks something that sounds the same." Pain pulled at his stomach, but Toris pushed it back down. "N...Novgorod..."

"That's it!" Muscovy said, turning back around. His eyes were glazed with tears. "My Papa Novgorod the Great...he...and my grandpapa Kiev..." Muscovy shuddered. "But he is not around so much. Papa does not like him. Not at all."

Toris' frown deepened, but he returned to his work. "Well," he said, "at least your have your sisters, right?" Ah, but he didn't, not any more. "I-I mean-" he squeezed his eyes. "I mean, you have their love." After a pause Lietuva looked up and saw Muscovy hiding in his knees again.

Just above the crackle of the fire he could hear the boy's gentle sobbing.

How could he have said that? Toris felt his stomach clench again. Muscovy constantly babbled and sobbed for his sisters. That Mongolia had lied to him that they were here. That he knew they were out in the cold somewhere, starving and freezing. That someone was hurting them. Lietuva shuddered, the most he could do for the boy was try to sooth him with promises that they were safe. Toris couldn't prove it, of course, but Muscovy needed to hear it and accepted the words, and Toris could feel in his heart that they were true.

Sighing, Toris returned to his work. He could empathize with Muscovy's pain, the thought of losing one's family and the fear of not knowing if or when they would be seen again. Toris didn't know if his pain was better or worse because his family had been human. They were his children, but the strings that tied them were different from those that tied Muscovy.

Muscovy's was a family of nations. The oldest of which was Kieven Rus, who Lietuva knew to be dead at the hands of his new master because he could recall Novgorod's anger that he hadn't been able to kill the man himself. But he couldn't tell the boy that. He had too much pain inside of him already.

Then there was of course Novgorod, who from what Lietuva could gather from Muscovy's blubbering had sold him into slavery to Mongolia not by contract but by apathy. He had been, to Novgorod, a trading post and nothing more. Better as a servant than as a child. This fact only furthered the anger Lietuva felt for the man. Despite his best efforts to swallow it down and forgive like he'd been taught.

Lastly were Muscovy's older and younger sisters, the names of which Lietuva didn't know for Muscovy would launch into his father's tongue whenever it came to them. Lietuva didn't know why, but the more the boy spoke the more he was able to understand. He would have to ask Mongolia, at their next session, how languages worked with their kind.

Toris tied the end of the thread and stuck the needle between his lips again. He held up the pants to check that he hadn't left a seem open or forgotten any pins before sticking the needle back in its cushion. "All finished," he said, a shudder running through him as his voice bounced around the silent room. "All finished," he tried again, this time in a whisper.

A few whimpers and sniffles were given in response as Muscovy rubbed at his eyes. "Th-thank you," he said, turning to face the older nation. With another wet sniff, he crawled next to Lietuva and took the pants with one hand, using the other to tug his shirt down to cover himself. He blushed and held the pants to his chest, waiting to Toris to cover his eyes.

But Toris was used to nudity, having spent just as much time with his family clothed as he did not. They had bathed, slept, and even occasionally prayed and played naked. "To be naked before nature is to be considered holy," his mother had said. So Toris sat next to the boy, smiling warmly, if not a bit shyly, at him. Waiting to see if he had measured right.

As the minutes ticked by Muscovy's brows furrowed and he covered his mouth and nose with his scarf, as he often did, his face becoming more red as a whine scraped his throat. "S-stop looking!" he whimpered, closing his eyes and curling on himself again. "I-I can't change with you looking! Y-you'll...you'll see...me...d-down there," again his voice trailed away so Toris had to strain to hear it.

"Eh?" Toris blinked at the boy, his smile flattening out to a curious look. "So? We're both boys. I've seen you go pee too, and you've taken a bath with me," not that their master knew, for the child was still in hiding. "How come you're scared now?"

"Because-" Muscovy whined. "It's different!" This was how it had started the first time Mongolia had touched him there and he didn't want it – he didn't want to – not with this nice boy – no no nononono. Another pained sound escaped him and Muscovy covered his ears, whining to himself once more in his father's tongue.

Thankfully Toris knew that pain, that look, those sounds. "Okay," he said quietly, gently brushing the ashen hair. "It's okay, I'll leave, I'll take the napkin to the kitchen and then I'll knock before I come in to make sure you're dressed, okay? Please don't cry, Muscovy."

Once the tears had subsided and the sniffles were all but gone, Toris crawled to where Muscovy had previously been sitting and collect the soiled napkin he used to sneak Muscovy bits of his own dinner. With another gentle pat on the head and a reassuring smile Toris hurried from the room. He had known that Mongolia beat his servants, but he didn't know he molested them as well. Or was it just Muscovy? Either way, Toris was not going to stand for it.

He bit his lip, twisting the napkin in his hands. But how would he confront his master without giving away that he had found the little run away? Mongolia still seemed very angered by the fact the boy was gone and had sent out a dozen search parties to try and find him. With each day he seemed to become more aggravated.

Toris peeked his head through the yurt flap that led to the kitchen, looking to make sure that no one was around. Unfortunately there was two girls talking and laughing with each other, bent over buckets of warm and soapy water. The laundry had already been started. Toris cursed his luck and snuck in anyway, hiding behind the barrels and crates that littered the wood floor. He wondered if he could throw the napkin into one of the piles, but they seemed too far and they were far too far to reach. Gritting his teeth, the boy tried anyway, the napkin dropping a little over half the distance.

One of the women looked up and he tried to lay on the ground in order to hide better, but he was caught. She came up to him, shouting in Mongolia's tongue, grabbing him roughly by the arm. Pulling him through the flap again and back out into the main rooms, Toris could feel her long nails digging into his skin and he hissed.

"H-hey, let me go!" he demanded. "You're hurting me!" Toris tried to wiggle his arm, pulling at her digits but she wouldn't budge. He tried to plant his feet or dig his heels into the ground, but the solid floors caused his feet to slip and him to tumble and trip, the woman not pausing until she had found Mongolia.

The man was sitting at a table with a handful of men Toris recognized as being nobles, playing a game Toris recognized as mahjong, one of his master's favorite ways to pass the time. Women, in qui pao's that were longer and more colorful than his own with their long hair in buns or else down with flower or bird clips, stood around the edges of the room. Some of the women were carrying trays with tea and others with snacks. Some were sitting on cushions, their conversations dying as the two entered the room.

Mongolia didn't look from his game as he addressed the servant and she explained the situation. He dismissed her and Toris rubbed his arm. "Sit," he commanded the boy, and Toris did, finding a small pillow on the ground.

He rubbed at his arm and kept his eyes on his feet, brows furrowed in agitation and his teeth worrying his lower lip. Toris hoped that the man's game was almost finished so the scolding would be soon and Muscovy would not have to worry. It pained him that he knew the terrible things this man did to Muscovy, but even now that he knew a long talk was ahead of him, he couldn't say anything, and he had to control himself from doing so.

Muscovy was a sweet boy. He was scared and he, like Lietuva, was a new nation, lost and confused in this world. Maybe it was Toris' human values talking again, but he was certain that it was the duty of older nations to guide the young. To explain what they were and tell them what about their kind they knew. It was hard being young no matter what, but with so much responsibility, and then on top of it they weren't even sure what they were.

All Toris knew was that he was different, that was it. When he got hurt, he healed faster than humans, from what he could gather. And from his stint with his family he learned he aged differently too. With his siblings it had been slow, almost unnoticeable, according to the household, but Toris' growth was sporadic, and he had always known it to be as such.

He had been alive for twenty or so years, but here he sat, seven or eight maybe, and he had gone from Muscovy's age to what he was now over the course of a few nights. From his father's praise he seemed to learn faster than his siblings did and was able to memorize things with ease. And from whispered conversations in the dead of night with Petras, when they had held each other close and kissed, Toris had unloaded his fears and worries and let the boy know some of what he heard and felt and saw around him, and he learned that that wasn't normal.

As Toris grew more and more idle, his thoughts petering away into nothing, the boy busied himself with watching the candles sink lower and lower. He rest his head in his hands and rest his elbows on his knees, his back aching with the wait. It was late, Toris knew, he should have been preparing for bed right about now.

His eyes were drooped low and he barely registered the sounds of joy and agitation as the game ended, the winner collecting his winnings and dropping them coin by coin into his pouch. It wasn't until Lietuva heard foots steps approaching him that he opening his eyes, looking up at his master through blurred vision.

"Can't even wait, you lazy child," Mongolia grunted. "You need more training, if your back cannot even hold you for an hour." He grabbed the child by his afflicted arm and hoisted him to his feet. "Sneaking about and stealing. You're lucky you do not belong to me. But mark me your training will be severe tomorrow," he continued to chide. "No breakfast."

Toris kept his mouth shut tight and his head bowed. There was no way he could convince his master of his innocence when his mind was made up. Not that he was truly innocent. "Yes sir," he simply said.

The walking began his heart again and as his mind became more clear, he realized Mongolia was taking him back to his room. Panic set in and he tried to slow his walking, needing to buy time, but a harsh tug at his arm sent pain spiraling through his shoulder and chest and he continued on. Muscovy was expecting him, he would be worried and waiting and then Mongolia would find him! Toris needed to talk, to make noise, something, to let the boy know they were coming. "S-so Meistras," he tried. "Did you enjoy your game?"

Mongolia looked over his shoulder and shot the boy a look. "Children do not speak unless they are spoken to." And that was that.

As they drew closer and closer to the door that led to Toris' room, the boy began to sweat. He could feel the color leave him and his hands grew cold and clammy. What would happen when Muscovy was found? What would Mongolia say? do? What would he say that Toris had been keeping him for all this time? Toris could honestly say he feared for both their lives.

Mongolia pushed open the door and all but threw Lietuva inside. "I do not want to see you out of this area again. Do you hear me, boy? This is twice now, and the third time you will not be happy." He shut the door and locked it.

Toris stood, dumbfounded. Mongolia had left; Muscovy was safe. The brunette took in a breath he didn't know he had been holding, dropping to his hands and knees as he coughed and sobbed. He was safe. Muscovy was safe. Where was he?

Lifting his head proved a great feat and his arms began to shake as he did so. "M...Muscovy?" he called out.

"You were taking too long," a muffled voice said, "so I figured you got into trouble." The little boy poked his head out from under Toris' bed. "Hey," he said, brows knitting together with a frown, "why do you get to cry but not me?"

Toris let out a relieved laugh, allowing himself to fall to the ground. He was sobbing and laughing, both so hard that his sides hurt and his throat burned but he couldn't stop. They'd avoided certain doom because Muscovy was not as big of a cry baby idiot as Toris had thought! He didn't stop his fit even as Muscovy crawled over to him, pants and all, and lay down at his side, just watching.

"You're strange," he commented, still frowning at Toris.

After another moment, his laughed died down and Toris rubbed at his eyes, panting hard. Once his composure had been regained he rolled onto his side, just smiling at Muscovy. "I'm glad you're okay," he said.

That only caused Muscovy to frown deeper. "You act weird when you're scared."

Toris hummed gently, closing his eyes. He allowed himself this moment of peace before he knew he would have to get up and start getting ready for bed. Gabija was still crackling in her hearth, but she had died down some in Toris' absence. The room was dark and warm and Lietuva was content to fall asleep right here.

But Muscovy was soon shaking him from sleep. "We should go to bed," he said quietly, trying to lift Toris up. "You're light," he commented, "even for being bigger than me."

"Mmm, I'm not that-" Toris yawned, "not that much bigger." With the help of the blonde Toris went over the bed. "'M too tired to change," he said, snuggling down into the mattress. He was drained, emotionally and physically.

Muscovy crawled onto the bed without hesitation, he and Toris had been cuddling together every night for the past week anyway. "At least take your slippers off," he said, moving to do so for the boy who had done everything in the world for him. He took off his own shoes and slid under the blankets, wrapping them around Toris. Muscovy continued to watch the sleeping boy, petting his face gently. "You don't have to worry about me," he said. "I'll be okay."

"Don't have to," Toris grunted, "want to." He held his arms open for the smaller boy and let out a content sound when the gesture was accepted, tucking Muscovy's head underneath his own chin. Toris kissed the top of the boy's head lightly, finally allowing sleep to over come him.

That night Toris dreamt he and Muscovy were drowning in blood.