Work Text:
They found his body in a small dell-like area with a few other dead soldiers.
There was a tussle among the royal guard ("You're supposed to make sure things like this don't happen!" "I'm not the only damn person here!"), but Lithuania was the first person to actually go to the body, eyes wide with brisk steps. He knelt next to it, examining the damage.
It looked like the soldier had sliced Poland clean through, lower to his abdomen than usual. Normally, there were stabbings through the chest area, around the neck. This man obviously caught the country by surprise on his horse.
Lithuania touched the wound tenderly, but repelled his hand back immediately. The sword had gotten jarred in a way that when he fell off his horse, it was onto it further, cutting deeper and causing more tearing. The area was a mess; there wasn't a clean slice through but the wound's area was wide and the flesh softer than it should have been. He hadn't imagined it would look so bad. He thought it would have been as simple as an arrow that shot him off his horse, the one they found drinking from a nearby stream with saddle and banner colours still attached.
"Poland..." He hadn't known him very long. Not long at all; even for a normal person it was a short span.
Several of the guard had taken their hoods and helmets off, honoring a fallen soldier. Lithuania brushed the bloody hair away from his face. He still wasn't completely aware of all of Poland's eccentricities. But he was aware that he was very protective of his hair. He'd been going to a gathering when he saw Poland and Jadwiga in one of the courtyards, Jadwiga brushing his hair very elegantly. Lithuania had also heard him complain to her before that someone had taken one of the best sable brushes from his room and his hair didn't look or feel the same that day. What would he say if he saw his hair streaked with dried blood and dirt. How could someone so delicate make a good soldier? Poland was too spoiled by royalty for this kind of thing, he thought. But he still knelt, waiting for something.
"Sir..." one of the head guardsman started. "We need to go count more bodies. We may have won, but we don't know how diminished our numbers are."
"It's alright," Lithuania mumbled calmly, continuing to fuss over Poland's hair, brushing it one way then another, with his fingers. "It shouldn't be much longer..."
"What is there to wait for?" He asked.
"What else? Lithuania looked over his shoulder, at him. "Poland."
At the mention of his name, his eyes suddenly shot open, taking a huge deep breath inward. It caused many soldiers to gasp loudly and step back in fright, not used to seeing a dead man live again.
For a second his eyes were out of focus and he looked around wildly, his hand grabbing Lithuania's knee and squeezing. Even though he had hide gloves on, he could feel his nail grating into him, causing him to grit his teeth.
He continued to look around for a moment, still breathing erratically but locked his eyes onto Lithuania's finally. Poland stared at him for a moment, eyes wild. Just as suddenly, he stopped clawing into Lithuania's knee and took in a large breath.
Peals of laughter suddenly erupted from him, causing even more confusion among the guard.
"Oh my gosh, what the heck is that?" He grimaced while still laughing, feeling down to the place where his leg and half his abdomen was almost separated from his body. Somehow, it already looked better than it had a minute ago. "Ew, ugh, that feels horrible...Gosh, do you even know what you look like right now?"
Lithuania had stared, but shook himself alert once he registered Poland was asking him a question. He instinctively felt his face, feeling dried blood and skin damp from sweat with his ungloved hand. He also felt a fresh stream of water, though a small one. He'd cried.
Poland laughed some more as Lithuania wiped his face with his hand.
"Are you dumb or something? You look dumb." Poland rose to his elbows, although his face began to look pained as he tried to rise up more. "Tch. Ow."
"Don't get up...just stay still. Bartosz! Get a cart for him! He's not healed yet!" He shouted over his shoulder, still rubbing his face. There was suddenly action behind him; the men had been stunned by the sudden display of supposed necromancy.
Before long, Poland was flat on a cart, wound somehow looking better but not good enough to be walked on. Lithuania was back on his horse, riding slowly beside the cart. Poland had stayed quiet most of the ride. He seemed to be happy and content with being doted on, not having to walk and he'd been washed off before they left.
"Hey, Liet?" He finally called softly, loud enough for the person he wanted to hear him but not loud enough for others to here.
"Y-yes?" He said, caught off guard.
"I don't get why you got so scared, dude." He laughed, using anachronistic speech. "We don't really die, remember."
Lithuania stayed quiet but nodded after a short while. "I...I know."
"Then don't look all uncool. I mean how does a guy look uncool on such a cool horse and wearing cool Polish armor and everything? You've got to try really ha--ahhh." He suddenly squealed, feeling pain in his abdomen again. His wound was healing quickly, but it was still mangled looking.
"Well." Lithuania swallowed, looking down at his hands, clutching the reins hard. "I'd never seen you dead before. And I have to admit it was..."
There was a long pause before he answered. "It terrified me."
After that, they rode back to the castle in silence. Poland was as good as new by the time the caravan arrived. When Lithuania saw him that night in preparation for a victory dinner, his hair was tied up, all traces of blood and grime gone.