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ishimeDisclaimer : Hetalia et ses personnages sont la propriété de Hidekaz Himaruya. Novgorod et Moscou sont des OCs.
Rating : PG-13 pour les souvenirs sanglants de Russie.
Notes :
Fic en anglais, que j'avais commencée il y a un bout de temps, mais dont je n'étais pas satisfaite. J'ai finalement repris mon livre de référence et bouclé la fic hier.
Merci à![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rebecca_kalista pour sa bêta-lecture ~
The first time America officially visits Russia as his own nation, he breaks the protocol in so many ways Russia actually looses count. The man accompanying him - an ambassador of sorts - looks appalled by the conduct of his charge, but neither his jogs nor his frantic whispers can temper America's brimming energy. Fortunately the czar is in a good mood, and takes America's excitement as a compliment. Russia waits for his turn to greet their guests, then he grabs America's arm and asks Aleksandr for permission to leave before the younger nation makes a faux pas.
He turns out to be right: as soon as they are sitting in a small salon, America begins to ramble about democracy of all things. Russia smiles, polite and empty, and does not bother asking before he pours him a cup of tea. He would not put it past America to refuse it.
Russia doesn't mind the shouting and fidgeting. He seldom sees such cheerful, harmless enthusiasm those days, and as long as America remembers to keep his mouth shut while he drinks, Russia's fine with him doing all the talking. He half-listens to the words and enjoys the new accent in America's English along with the pirojki of the czar's favorite cook.
America talks and eats and talks again, until Russia runs out of food and has nothing to do but listen. America speaks at an almost amazing speed today, and it takes a few minutes for Russia to get used to it and catch all the details he missed. Something about assemblies and representing the people.
The oldest dreams are always found in young mouths, Russia muses - maybe only the purest of children have the strength to realize them. America himself does not seem to be aware of this. Now he declaims his beloved declaration with more conviction than he ever had back when England made him recite Shakespeare monologues. His eyes are shining, and he sounds as proud as a child bringing his first doodles to his mother.
Russia finds it all quite endearing - Mother Russia has always had a soft spot for children - yet at the same time feels strangely shaken by his naive lecture. He spends some time wondering why he feels overwhelmed with nostalgia and grief listening to America. He cannot remember any sad event involving him and the former British colony.
America's words remind him of someone, he realizes, much too late, and his smile stretches wider and wider as he grows more and more uncomfortable. Yes, of course he's already known someone who spoke about assemblies and representing the people with that sort of enthusiasm.
"Veche," he whispers, and the word numbs and burns his tongue like the ice of Siberia.
Novgorod.
And Russia remembers, he remembers a time when he was not Russia and parts of him were drifting apart, acting as countries of their own. Silly, ever trustful Novgorod, who welcomed little Vanya-with-no-name-of-his-own after the fall of Kiev, after Mongolia had torn him and his sisters apart. Proud Novgorod, always reasonable and yet the most fiercely independent of all. Russia remembers telling him when he left for the small, ambitious duchy of Moscow - you should not have been born on these lands.
How many years since they have last faced each other? Russia remembers the sounds of the chair Novgorod uses to move around because of his broken legs. Tell me, Novgorod, what felt worse for you: my betrayal, me and Moscow crushing your beloved city institutions or our prince slaughtering your people?
He tries to focus back on America, who does not seem to notice the change in his expression.
"But you do not have a bell, so it is fine."
Suddenly America stops talking to stare at him.
"A bell?" he repeats with a look of utter confusion. "Of course I have bells. But what do they have to do with the election of Madison?"
Only then does Russia understand that he just said it out loud. He blinks, tries to keep his smile from stretching into a creepy, very undiplomatic grin and wonders how he can still embarrass himself in such situations after nearly a thousand years. He catches the handle of his empty cup and starts fiddling with it ; America bends his head with a slightly worried expression - thank God England could not teach the boy subtlety, or he would realize how stupid Russia feels now. But really, he does not know what to answer. How does one explain the remorse of mangling a brilliant child to ensure one's unity, strength and survival - or just because such is the will of the prince?
America's eyes are widened, full of genuine concern and curiosity. Russia feels his heart tighten, and tells himself that there is no need, absolutely no need to tell America about such cruel things. He knows better than anyone the weight of memories - and how easily nations reject their fellows for showing what sort of monsters they all are.
"Your Congress - they do not need a bell to assemble, da?" America nods. "Then nobody can prevent them from assembling by confiscating the bell. It is... good."
America looks like he can't decide wether or not to be insulted. He frowns and leans over the table to examine Russia, and whatever he finds in his face - Russia hopes it is not the truth, for America's own good - it seems to disturb him even more.
"Are you mocking me?"
Russia closes his eyes and shakes his head.
"No."
America ponders over it in silence, letting Russia sink back in his memories.
Time passes, excruciatingly slow.
Finally, a valet opens the door and informs them that dinner will start in ten minutes. They glance at the clock, and Russia waves the valet away. He stands and straightens his clothes, then walks around the table to take care of America's. He ignores the whining of the boy - no, he is not trying to replace England, even though America is an adorable child and Russia loves children - and makes sure that he is presentable for the czar's diner. Then he nods his approval before turning away from him and hurrying toward the dining room.
As they go through the door, America grips Russia's sleeve and offers him a wide smile of his own - a grin that feels childish and mischievous instead of creepy and threatening.
"I suppose you were right about the bell. I will warn them about it - but you must tell me where you got the idea someday."
America sounds sincere and warm, warm enough to dispel the lingering images of a torn apart Novgorod in a pool of blood. Warm enough for forgiveness. Maybe, Russia thinks, and his smile becomes a little less empty.
"Someday, yes," he sighs.
America lets go of his sleeve and scurries along the corridor, the whole incident nearly forgotten by the time he seats besides his ambassador.
Notes :
(those are probably confused and inaccurate, because I'm not really good at history, so please click the shiny wiki links, and feel free to point out any mistake.)
The story takes place when the United States sent their first American diplomatic representative to Russia (John Quincy Adams, presented his credentials to the Emperor on November 5, 1809), under the presidency of Madison in the US and the rule of Alexander I in Russia. (See the establishment of U.S.-Russian diplomatic relations.)
Novgorod = currently the city of Great Novgorod, referred to in the fic as His Majesty Lord Novgorod the Great, also known as the Novgorod Republic, the former second most important city in Kievan Rus, who became independent and reached its peak during the apanage period (between the 12th and 15th centuries).
Basically, the city was (mostly) ruled by an assembly of both boyars, the members of its wealthiest families, and poorer citizens - that assembly was called the veche. Theoretically, Novgorod's veche could be summoned by anyone who rung the veche bell. This bell was an important symbol, as its removal from Novgorod by Ivan III (in 1478, after he destroyed the veche) marked the end of the Novgorod Republic and of its independence from the Grand Prince of Moscow.
In 1570, Novgorod remained the third largest Russian city. Grand Prince Ivan the Terrible came to Novgorod with his troops and murdered and tortured numerous citizen (2,500 to 12,000 according to modern researchers) because he thought the elite of the city was about to defect to the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The city's merchant elite and nobility were deported, and Novgorod never regained its former prosperity. This was called the Massacre of Novgorod.
Rating : PG-13 pour les souvenirs sanglants de Russie.
Notes :
Fic en anglais, que j'avais commencée il y a un bout de temps, mais dont je n'étais pas satisfaite. J'ai finalement repris mon livre de référence et bouclé la fic hier.
Merci à
rebecca_kalista pour sa bêta-lecture ~The first time America officially visits Russia as his own nation, he breaks the protocol in so many ways Russia actually looses count. The man accompanying him - an ambassador of sorts - looks appalled by the conduct of his charge, but neither his jogs nor his frantic whispers can temper America's brimming energy. Fortunately the czar is in a good mood, and takes America's excitement as a compliment. Russia waits for his turn to greet their guests, then he grabs America's arm and asks Aleksandr for permission to leave before the younger nation makes a faux pas.
He turns out to be right: as soon as they are sitting in a small salon, America begins to ramble about democracy of all things. Russia smiles, polite and empty, and does not bother asking before he pours him a cup of tea. He would not put it past America to refuse it.
Russia doesn't mind the shouting and fidgeting. He seldom sees such cheerful, harmless enthusiasm those days, and as long as America remembers to keep his mouth shut while he drinks, Russia's fine with him doing all the talking. He half-listens to the words and enjoys the new accent in America's English along with the pirojki of the czar's favorite cook.
America talks and eats and talks again, until Russia runs out of food and has nothing to do but listen. America speaks at an almost amazing speed today, and it takes a few minutes for Russia to get used to it and catch all the details he missed. Something about assemblies and representing the people.
The oldest dreams are always found in young mouths, Russia muses - maybe only the purest of children have the strength to realize them. America himself does not seem to be aware of this. Now he declaims his beloved declaration with more conviction than he ever had back when England made him recite Shakespeare monologues. His eyes are shining, and he sounds as proud as a child bringing his first doodles to his mother.
Russia finds it all quite endearing - Mother Russia has always had a soft spot for children - yet at the same time feels strangely shaken by his naive lecture. He spends some time wondering why he feels overwhelmed with nostalgia and grief listening to America. He cannot remember any sad event involving him and the former British colony.
America's words remind him of someone, he realizes, much too late, and his smile stretches wider and wider as he grows more and more uncomfortable. Yes, of course he's already known someone who spoke about assemblies and representing the people with that sort of enthusiasm.
"Veche," he whispers, and the word numbs and burns his tongue like the ice of Siberia.
Novgorod.
And Russia remembers, he remembers a time when he was not Russia and parts of him were drifting apart, acting as countries of their own. Silly, ever trustful Novgorod, who welcomed little Vanya-with-no-name-of-his-own after the fall of Kiev, after Mongolia had torn him and his sisters apart. Proud Novgorod, always reasonable and yet the most fiercely independent of all. Russia remembers telling him when he left for the small, ambitious duchy of Moscow - you should not have been born on these lands.
How many years since they have last faced each other? Russia remembers the sounds of the chair Novgorod uses to move around because of his broken legs. Tell me, Novgorod, what felt worse for you: my betrayal, me and Moscow crushing your beloved city institutions or our prince slaughtering your people?
He tries to focus back on America, who does not seem to notice the change in his expression.
"But you do not have a bell, so it is fine."
Suddenly America stops talking to stare at him.
"A bell?" he repeats with a look of utter confusion. "Of course I have bells. But what do they have to do with the election of Madison?"
Only then does Russia understand that he just said it out loud. He blinks, tries to keep his smile from stretching into a creepy, very undiplomatic grin and wonders how he can still embarrass himself in such situations after nearly a thousand years. He catches the handle of his empty cup and starts fiddling with it ; America bends his head with a slightly worried expression - thank God England could not teach the boy subtlety, or he would realize how stupid Russia feels now. But really, he does not know what to answer. How does one explain the remorse of mangling a brilliant child to ensure one's unity, strength and survival - or just because such is the will of the prince?
America's eyes are widened, full of genuine concern and curiosity. Russia feels his heart tighten, and tells himself that there is no need, absolutely no need to tell America about such cruel things. He knows better than anyone the weight of memories - and how easily nations reject their fellows for showing what sort of monsters they all are.
"Your Congress - they do not need a bell to assemble, da?" America nods. "Then nobody can prevent them from assembling by confiscating the bell. It is... good."
America looks like he can't decide wether or not to be insulted. He frowns and leans over the table to examine Russia, and whatever he finds in his face - Russia hopes it is not the truth, for America's own good - it seems to disturb him even more.
"Are you mocking me?"
Russia closes his eyes and shakes his head.
"No."
America ponders over it in silence, letting Russia sink back in his memories.
Time passes, excruciatingly slow.
Finally, a valet opens the door and informs them that dinner will start in ten minutes. They glance at the clock, and Russia waves the valet away. He stands and straightens his clothes, then walks around the table to take care of America's. He ignores the whining of the boy - no, he is not trying to replace England, even though America is an adorable child and Russia loves children - and makes sure that he is presentable for the czar's diner. Then he nods his approval before turning away from him and hurrying toward the dining room.
As they go through the door, America grips Russia's sleeve and offers him a wide smile of his own - a grin that feels childish and mischievous instead of creepy and threatening.
"I suppose you were right about the bell. I will warn them about it - but you must tell me where you got the idea someday."
America sounds sincere and warm, warm enough to dispel the lingering images of a torn apart Novgorod in a pool of blood. Warm enough for forgiveness. Maybe, Russia thinks, and his smile becomes a little less empty.
"Someday, yes," he sighs.
America lets go of his sleeve and scurries along the corridor, the whole incident nearly forgotten by the time he seats besides his ambassador.
Notes :
(those are probably confused and inaccurate, because I'm not really good at history, so please click the shiny wiki links, and feel free to point out any mistake.)
The story takes place when the United States sent their first American diplomatic representative to Russia (John Quincy Adams, presented his credentials to the Emperor on November 5, 1809), under the presidency of Madison in the US and the rule of Alexander I in Russia. (See the establishment of U.S.-Russian diplomatic relations.)
Novgorod = currently the city of Great Novgorod, referred to in the fic as His Majesty Lord Novgorod the Great, also known as the Novgorod Republic, the former second most important city in Kievan Rus, who became independent and reached its peak during the apanage period (between the 12th and 15th centuries).
Basically, the city was (mostly) ruled by an assembly of both boyars, the members of its wealthiest families, and poorer citizens - that assembly was called the veche. Theoretically, Novgorod's veche could be summoned by anyone who rung the veche bell. This bell was an important symbol, as its removal from Novgorod by Ivan III (in 1478, after he destroyed the veche) marked the end of the Novgorod Republic and of its independence from the Grand Prince of Moscow.
In 1570, Novgorod remained the third largest Russian city. Grand Prince Ivan the Terrible came to Novgorod with his troops and murdered and tortured numerous citizen (2,500 to 12,000 according to modern researchers) because he thought the elite of the city was about to defect to the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth. The city's merchant elite and nobility were deported, and Novgorod never regained its former prosperity. This was called the Massacre of Novgorod.