I'm making up a lot of alternate history – I did a bit of research, into possible ways history could have twisted, but research turns me into a perfectionist – and I'm too easily distracted to be a good one – so I gave it up in favor of actually writing the story. There isn't much of it in this chapter, but it will come into play as we see more of the set-up in the other world.
**
Lithuania shivered, hands twisting nervously around his hair, hating the look of cold amusement that watched him like a predator toying with its prey. Had Poland known that this was what Russia was capable of becoming? Was that why he had worked so hard to break Russia down and keep him frightened and submissive?
Still, looking at the giant, Lithuania's resolve to keep the broken slave safely away strengthened. This Russia, so large and menacing, would surely be able to stand against Poland in a way that the Russia he had failed never had the chance to learn.
The rattle of the doorknob snapped Lithuania from his thoughts, a flash of fear surging through him as he watched the giant man direct his cold gaze to the door.
Poland.
It had to be – no one else would risk Poland's displeasure by entering his bedchambers uninvited.
The plan had been to sneak in, save Russia, and get out. It should have been at least another few hours before Poland finished the talks with Ukraine, and when Poland finally did discover the loss of his toy, he would blame it on Ukraine or one of her allies.
Lithuania hadn't thought to consider that Russia would be replaced. That he wouldn't have time before Poland was back.
Hardly able to breath, instinct drove him backwards, into the shadows and away from Poland, as the door opened. He was the highest ranked of any of the territories, but even that wouldn't save him if Poland thought him a traitor to the Empire.
Poland might even decide he should take Russia's place.
“-nerve of that bitch- Who are you?” Poland's voice was sharp, vicious, as he stood in the doorway, outlined by the light from outside. “What are you doing in here?”
“Zdravstvujte, Pol'sha.” The venom in the cold man's too cheerful voice was clear, even if Lithuania couldn't understand the words, and Lithuania pressed himself against the back wall, not wanting to be caught anywhere near the two frightening men.
**
The slave couldn't breath, his vision growing dim as he struggled for air.
He'd never been without Master before. Always, always, he knelt at Master's feet or beside Master's bed, even if Master didn't find him worthy of attention. To be anywhere but at Master's side was one of the most effective punishments Master wielded, because if he was not at Master's side, he was nothing.
“Breathe, Rus.”
A flash of defiant anger – this man was not the Consort, not Master – was quickly suppressed.
He was still the lowest of the low, and even if the man were a slave, he would still be bound to obey.
Sullenly, the slave drew in a sharp breath of air, shuddering as it filled his aching chest.
“It's okay, Rus.” The man offered, his voice soft and soothing like the Consort's. “You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you.”
The man didn't understand.
This strange man who looked so much like the Consort seemed to think he should be glad that Master would never find him.
“Master...” The slave breathed quietly, eyes closed in fear and uncertainty, trying to draw upon the memory of Master, the feel of slender, calloused hands against his skin and the sound of his voice.
“He won't find you here.”
As if Master would waste his time searching for a disobedient toy. He had other pets, other slaves to occupy his time. Still, the words cut like a knife.
“Please, sir...,” The slave whispered, fighting tears as he bowed his head to the floor. He didn't know what he was asking, what he wanted – he wasn't allowed to want – only that he was more afraid than he could remember ever being before, even when withstanding Master's sharpest rages.
“Rus,” The man began, moving closer, so close he could feel the air moving. “Tell me what you need. Please, let me help you.”
The slave's breath caught, a silent stutter in his throat. What he needed... “Master?”
**
The desperation in Rus' shaking voice was stark and painful, a plea painted with need and hope and despair. For the first time, Lithuania realized that it wasn't relief fueling Rus' actions, but fear. He was afraid, not of his master finding him and punishing him, but of never seeing his master again. Like as not, the Empire was the one constant in Rus' tortured life, and now he was gone.
“Oh, Rus.” Lithuania fought the urge to pull the trembling, scared boy into his arms, his heart aching. “It'll be alright, Rus. You'll see.”
Rus just curled up into himself, obviously not agreeing.
“Poland,” Lithuania whispered under his breath in his own language. “Come back soon.”
He didn't know how to get through to Rus, but Poland, who was the closest thing to the master Rus was missing there was in this universe, might have a chance. If he was willing.
Lithuania couldn't imagine Poland refusing to help Rus, but at the same time, Poland had been so freaked out when he ran from the room that he might not be able to help. Lithuania didn't know what exactly had made Poland run, what had put the sharp light of terror in those familiar green eyes, but he knew that the parallels between Russia and the Empire that had done this to Rus hadn't helped.
Russia at least had had insanity as an excuse, his mind twisted by the words and actions of his leaders – and he'd always believed his actions to be just. Every blow, every wound he had inflicted had been for a reason, even if it only made sense in Russia's broken mind, and he'd always tended to the wounds with such gentleness afterward that Lithuania knew he regretted the apparent necessity of his actions.
The Empire couldn't claim that much –if he knew nothing else about the man, Lithuania knew that nothing could justify breaking a child so thoroughly that he grovelled and begged for punishment, to steal away his name, his very humanity, and leave him believing his existence was meant for nothing more than to be a plaything. A toy.
Though Lithuania would never voice those thoughts in front of Poland.
“I swear, Rus,” Lithuania swore with a determination he could hardly believe, “we'll help you. We'll make it better for you here.”
Rus cringed, a sharp keen dying in his throat nearly before it began. He needed comfort, a gentle touch and someone to let him cry into their shoulder, none of which Lithuania could bring himself to offer for fear of making it worse.
Lithuania had never felt so helpless before, hovering over Rus with nothing but useless platitudes to offer, and it wasn't long before his stomach began to ache.
“Come here, Rus,” Lithuania coaxed, moving slowly towards the kitchen where he kept his medicine. It probably wouldn't hurt to get some food into Rus while he was there with the way his bones stuck out from his skin so starkly.
When Rus began to crawl after him, Lithuania stopped. “Can you stand, Rus?”
“Yes, sir.” Rus rose to his feet, head still bowed, and suddenly Lithuania wanted to be sick.
The scars on his back were continued on his chest and legs, but even worse than that were the dark bruises and scars over his groin and around his nipples and the dried blood and semen trailed down the inside of his legs.
Shuddering and fighting the bile that rose up in his throat, Lithuania abandoned the thought of food and began to walk down the hall to the bathroom, forcing a smile and gesturing for Rus to follow when he coudn't get his voice to work, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms with the effort it took to keep from putting a hole in the wall.
And if Lithuania hoped that Russia taught the Empire a much needed lesson, imagining an evil-looking Poland with teeth filed to a point and short spiky hair being torn to a thousand bloody pieces, well, he wasn't hurting anyone.
**
Poland stumbled as he appeared in the pasture just outside his small home, collapsing in the grass as a wave of fatigue overtook him, his vision clouded by unshed tears.
He was emotionally and physically exhausted, the jump having drained the last of his energy, and he could hardly breath for the pain in his heart. He laid in the grass, staring up blankly at the clouds, fingers clenched in the dirt to keep himself grounded.
This was his soil. His grass. His land.
Land that he had suffered for so many times, fighting and cursing even when he should have been dead.
It was no Empire, but for the first time the thought didn't make him wonder for chances long past.
He'd never been the nicest of people – Poland knew that much – always thinking of himself and his own first.
Was it really a surprise that his other self, one that had thrived, was just as selfish? Taking and taking and never knowing when enough was enough without Lithuania there to temper him.
Or maybe the other Lithuania had tried, certainly he hadn't agreed with what had been done to little Russia, maybe he had tried and- Poland stopped that thought before the weary depression of his exhaustion turned back into the sharp, terrified self-loathing he'd felt earlier.
A wet, hairy muzzle brushed his arm, and Poland dragged his gaze from the sky to see Princess' soulful brown eyes looking down at him with worry.
“Hey, sweetie,” Poland smiled shakily, reaching up with one arm to pat the pony's neck, grimacing as she moved to nuzzle his face. “You don't think I could hurt Liet, right?” The words slowed as he really thought about them.”
It wasn't like he'd never hurt Lithuania before. He'd nearly consumed Lithuania back when the Commonwealth had been strong – smiling and laughing as he urged Lithuania to learn Polish and to become his when they were supposed to be equals. And he hadn't cared that his attitude had hurt Lithuania – he hadn't even known until he'd proposed putting the Commonwealth back together and Lithuania had snapped at him.
Princess whinnied, her mane falling down over her muzzle to tickle his face, and Poland felt the tears escape. He sobbed quietly, curling in on himself as he wept, until his head ached. He fell asleep with the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks,
When he woke, the sun had set. Princess stood over him like a watch pony, nickering happily when Poland pushed himself up into a seated position, wincing as his body protested.
“I'm fine, Princess.” Poland pushed the pony away when she moved in to nuzzle away the tear tracks. “I'll be fine.”
His head still ached, and he really didn't want to go back and face what his other self had done to Russia, but he would survive. It was for the best that one Poland try to fix what another had broken, right? Plus, Lithuania would probably never forgive him if Poland didn't go back to help.
“Wish me luck, Princess.” Poland stood, hugging Princess as though it would be the last time he ever saw her, trying not to talk himself out of going back.
He had to do this.
Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, Poland exhaled sharply and made his way inside to arrange for a ride to Lithuania's home.
**
Zdravstvujte, Pol'sha [Russian] – Hello, Poland
This is mostly filler, getting everyone where they need to be. I don't really like what I did with Poland, but I figure he just needed to wrap his mind around the situation. He hasn't really dealt with his emotions yet, but he's sort of shoved them out of the way so he can work around them.
Um... Alternate history!
So Ukraine broke away from Poland and his empire and forged her own country. She's strong enough that it would cost too much to drag her back, so Poland grudgingly puts up with her.
Also, I swear I'm not making Alter!Liet into a wimp just for fun! There is a reason behind it.
i don't normally like this kind of au at all but i'm loving the research you've put into this (it shows!). especially the language details and polonisation.
the characterisation is lovely and complex too. they're some of my favs and i'm so happy you're doing them justice!! :)
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
A Broken Mirror - Part 4
(Anonymous) 2013-08-28 07:58 am (UTC)(link)I'm making up a lot of alternate history – I did a bit of research, into possible ways history could have twisted, but research turns me into a perfectionist – and I'm too easily distracted to be a good one – so I gave it up in favor of actually writing the story. There isn't much of it in this chapter, but it will come into play as we see more of the set-up in the other world.
**
Lithuania shivered, hands twisting nervously around his hair, hating the look of cold amusement that watched him like a predator toying with its prey. Had Poland known that this was what Russia was capable of becoming? Was that why he had worked so hard to break Russia down and keep him frightened and submissive?
Still, looking at the giant, Lithuania's resolve to keep the broken slave safely away strengthened. This Russia, so large and menacing, would surely be able to stand against Poland in a way that the Russia he had failed never had the chance to learn.
The rattle of the doorknob snapped Lithuania from his thoughts, a flash of fear surging through him as he watched the giant man direct his cold gaze to the door.
Poland.
It had to be – no one else would risk Poland's displeasure by entering his bedchambers uninvited.
The plan had been to sneak in, save Russia, and get out. It should have been at least another few hours before Poland finished the talks with Ukraine, and when Poland finally did discover the loss of his toy, he would blame it on Ukraine or one of her allies.
Lithuania hadn't thought to consider that Russia would be replaced. That he wouldn't have time before Poland was back.
Hardly able to breath, instinct drove him backwards, into the shadows and away from Poland, as the door opened. He was the highest ranked of any of the territories, but even that wouldn't save him if Poland thought him a traitor to the Empire.
Poland might even decide he should take Russia's place.
“-nerve of that bitch- Who are you?” Poland's voice was sharp, vicious, as he stood in the doorway, outlined by the light from outside. “What are you doing in here?”
“Zdravstvujte, Pol'sha.” The venom in the cold man's too cheerful voice was clear, even if Lithuania couldn't understand the words, and Lithuania pressed himself against the back wall, not wanting to be caught anywhere near the two frightening men.
**
The slave couldn't breath, his vision growing dim as he struggled for air.
He'd never been without Master before. Always, always, he knelt at Master's feet or beside Master's bed, even if Master didn't find him worthy of attention. To be anywhere but at Master's side was one of the most effective punishments Master wielded, because if he was not at Master's side, he was nothing.
“Breathe, Rus.”
A flash of defiant anger – this man was not the Consort, not Master – was quickly suppressed.
He was still the lowest of the low, and even if the man were a slave, he would still be bound to obey.
Sullenly, the slave drew in a sharp breath of air, shuddering as it filled his aching chest.
“It's okay, Rus.” The man offered, his voice soft and soothing like the Consort's. “You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you.”
The man didn't understand.
This strange man who looked so much like the Consort seemed to think he should be glad that Master would never find him.
“Master...” The slave breathed quietly, eyes closed in fear and uncertainty, trying to draw upon the memory of Master, the feel of slender, calloused hands against his skin and the sound of his voice.
“He won't find you here.”
As if Master would waste his time searching for a disobedient toy. He had other pets, other slaves to occupy his time. Still, the words cut like a knife.
“Please, sir...,” The slave whispered, fighting tears as he bowed his head to the floor. He didn't know what he was asking, what he wanted – he wasn't allowed to want – only that he was more afraid than he could remember ever being before, even when withstanding Master's sharpest rages.
“Rus,” The man began, moving closer, so close he could feel the air moving. “Tell me what you need. Please, let me help you.”
The slave's breath caught, a silent stutter in his throat. What he needed... “Master?”
**
The desperation in Rus' shaking voice was stark and painful, a plea painted with need and hope and despair. For the first time, Lithuania realized that it wasn't relief fueling Rus' actions, but fear. He was afraid, not of his master finding him and punishing him, but of never seeing his master again. Like as not, the Empire was the one constant in Rus' tortured life, and now he was gone.
“Oh, Rus.” Lithuania fought the urge to pull the trembling, scared boy into his arms, his heart aching. “It'll be alright, Rus. You'll see.”
Rus just curled up into himself, obviously not agreeing.
“Poland,” Lithuania whispered under his breath in his own language. “Come back soon.”
He didn't know how to get through to Rus, but Poland, who was the closest thing to the master Rus was missing there was in this universe, might have a chance. If he was willing.
Lithuania couldn't imagine Poland refusing to help Rus, but at the same time, Poland had been so freaked out when he ran from the room that he might not be able to help. Lithuania didn't know what exactly had made Poland run, what had put the sharp light of terror in those familiar green eyes, but he knew that the parallels between Russia and the Empire that had done this to Rus hadn't helped.
Russia at least had had insanity as an excuse, his mind twisted by the words and actions of his leaders – and he'd always believed his actions to be just. Every blow, every wound he had inflicted had been for a reason, even if it only made sense in Russia's broken mind, and he'd always tended to the wounds with such gentleness afterward that Lithuania knew he regretted the apparent necessity of his actions.
The Empire couldn't claim that much –if he knew nothing else about the man, Lithuania knew that nothing could justify breaking a child so thoroughly that he grovelled and begged for punishment, to steal away his name, his very humanity, and leave him believing his existence was meant for nothing more than to be a plaything. A toy.
Though Lithuania would never voice those thoughts in front of Poland.
“I swear, Rus,” Lithuania swore with a determination he could hardly believe, “we'll help you. We'll make it better for you here.”
Rus cringed, a sharp keen dying in his throat nearly before it began. He needed comfort, a gentle touch and someone to let him cry into their shoulder, none of which Lithuania could bring himself to offer for fear of making it worse.
Lithuania had never felt so helpless before, hovering over Rus with nothing but useless platitudes to offer, and it wasn't long before his stomach began to ache.
“Come here, Rus,” Lithuania coaxed, moving slowly towards the kitchen where he kept his medicine. It probably wouldn't hurt to get some food into Rus while he was there with the way his bones stuck out from his skin so starkly.
When Rus began to crawl after him, Lithuania stopped. “Can you stand, Rus?”
“Yes, sir.” Rus rose to his feet, head still bowed, and suddenly Lithuania wanted to be sick.
The scars on his back were continued on his chest and legs, but even worse than that were the dark bruises and scars over his groin and around his nipples and the dried blood and semen trailed down the inside of his legs.
Shuddering and fighting the bile that rose up in his throat, Lithuania abandoned the thought of food and began to walk down the hall to the bathroom, forcing a smile and gesturing for Rus to follow when he coudn't get his voice to work, his fists clenched so tightly that his nails bit into his palms with the effort it took to keep from putting a hole in the wall.
And if Lithuania hoped that Russia taught the Empire a much needed lesson, imagining an evil-looking Poland with teeth filed to a point and short spiky hair being torn to a thousand bloody pieces, well, he wasn't hurting anyone.
**
Poland stumbled as he appeared in the pasture just outside his small home, collapsing in the grass as a wave of fatigue overtook him, his vision clouded by unshed tears.
He was emotionally and physically exhausted, the jump having drained the last of his energy, and he could hardly breath for the pain in his heart. He laid in the grass, staring up blankly at the clouds, fingers clenched in the dirt to keep himself grounded.
This was his soil. His grass. His land.
Land that he had suffered for so many times, fighting and cursing even when he should have been dead.
It was no Empire, but for the first time the thought didn't make him wonder for chances long past.
He'd never been the nicest of people – Poland knew that much – always thinking of himself and his own first.
Was it really a surprise that his other self, one that had thrived, was just as selfish? Taking and taking and never knowing when enough was enough without Lithuania there to temper him.
Or maybe the other Lithuania had tried, certainly he hadn't agreed with what had been done to little Russia, maybe he had tried and- Poland stopped that thought before the weary depression of his exhaustion turned back into the sharp, terrified self-loathing he'd felt earlier.
A wet, hairy muzzle brushed his arm, and Poland dragged his gaze from the sky to see Princess' soulful brown eyes looking down at him with worry.
“Hey, sweetie,” Poland smiled shakily, reaching up with one arm to pat the pony's neck, grimacing as she moved to nuzzle his face. “You don't think I could hurt Liet, right?” The words slowed as he really thought about them.”
It wasn't like he'd never hurt Lithuania before. He'd nearly consumed Lithuania back when the Commonwealth had been strong – smiling and laughing as he urged Lithuania to learn Polish and to become his when they were supposed to be equals. And he hadn't cared that his attitude had hurt Lithuania – he hadn't even known until he'd proposed putting the Commonwealth back together and Lithuania had snapped at him.
Princess whinnied, her mane falling down over her muzzle to tickle his face, and Poland felt the tears escape. He sobbed quietly, curling in on himself as he wept, until his head ached. He fell asleep with the tear tracks still drying on his cheeks,
When he woke, the sun had set. Princess stood over him like a watch pony, nickering happily when Poland pushed himself up into a seated position, wincing as his body protested.
“I'm fine, Princess.” Poland pushed the pony away when she moved in to nuzzle away the tear tracks. “I'll be fine.”
His head still ached, and he really didn't want to go back and face what his other self had done to Russia, but he would survive. It was for the best that one Poland try to fix what another had broken, right? Plus, Lithuania would probably never forgive him if Poland didn't go back to help.
“Wish me luck, Princess.” Poland stood, hugging Princess as though it would be the last time he ever saw her, trying not to talk himself out of going back.
He had to do this.
Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, Poland exhaled sharply and made his way inside to arrange for a ride to Lithuania's home.
**
Zdravstvujte, Pol'sha [Russian] – Hello, Poland
This is mostly filler, getting everyone where they need to be. I don't really like what I did with Poland, but I figure he just needed to wrap his mind around the situation. He hasn't really dealt with his emotions yet, but he's sort of shoved them out of the way so he can work around them.
Um... Alternate history!
So Ukraine broke away from Poland and his empire and forged her own country. She's strong enough that it would cost too much to drag her back, so Poland grudgingly puts up with her.
Also, I swear I'm not making Alter!Liet into a wimp just for fun! There is a reason behind it.
Thanks so much to everyone enjoying this.
Re: A Broken Mirror - Part 4
(Anonymous) 2013-08-29 03:36 am (UTC)(link)Re: A Broken Mirror - Part 4
(Anonymous) 2013-08-29 08:46 am (UTC)(link)Re: A Broken Mirror - Part 4
(Anonymous) 2013-08-29 09:41 am (UTC)(link)the characterisation is lovely and complex too. they're some of my favs and i'm so happy you're doing them justice!! :)
Re: A Broken Mirror - Part 4
(Anonymous) 2013-10-01 05:00 pm (UTC)(link)