Work Text:
Fox in the Wintergold
The song:
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fspctU_FW4A&pp=ygUVRm94IGluIHRoZSB3aW50ZXJnb2xk0gcJCUwLAYcqIYzv&ra=m
Based on the writings of Varesa.
———————————————————————————
Once there was a girl who was told it's folly to desire
To be a fox in the wintergold and feed her youthful fire
Wealth and fame, the narrow eye sees, but wide are the eyes of a child
That child, she knew the life for me was always free and wild
————————————————————————————
It was a cold winter, and a very dark night, clouds in the sky as heavy snow fell.
The perfect night for an escape, which Russia knew America had done.
Currently Russia was pursuing the younger man in the forest, not running, never running.
Just following.
He knew America couldn't run forever.
The wind whipped around Russia’s face, snow fell in heavy flakes that clung to his face and melted into the cold of his skin.
“Where are you, лисёнок?”
He mutters, following the shallow prints that belonged to the fancy shoes of the British Colony, patient, but disappointed the boy had chosen a day with snow to run, he had thought the colony was smarter than that.
Too easy to be followed.
Russia supposed he thought wrong.
———————————————————
Hours passed, the late night had faded into early morning, still dark, around 3am Russia thought.
The footsteps had started to get… different. Wobbly, some of them kicking the snow as if stumbling.
The boy was tired. Good. Easy to contain.
Russia chose then to pull out his flashlight, he didn’t need it to navigate but it would alert the boy to his presence so he scared him less.
Russia didn’t know why he cared so damn bad about not scaring a bratty teenager.
“Ah, Ну вот ты и здесь, беглец.“
The corner of his mouth twitches into a smile seeing the boy leaning against a tree, obviously exhausted.
“Time to go home.”
“Fuck that!”
The voice of the teen cracks as he turns, face full of spunk and exhaustion that didn’t match the fancy attire of a British colony.
“I’m runnin’ away! Making m’ own country! ‘M old enough now it just ain’t fair!”
“Talk about fairness with your father, little fox, Im just messenger.”
Russia reaches for the boys arm, and he yanks it away, staggering back into the snow on his back.
“Don’t touch me! I thought we were on the same team!”
“This isn’t about teams. You need to go home or you will freeze to death.”
“I would RATHER freeze to death!”
In an instant America is on his back in the snow, the larger man on top of him with a knife to America’s throat.
“Calm yourself. You don’t think rationally tonight. Come.”
He stands, knife still out, his other hand pocketing the flashlight.
“You don’t go home tonight then, come with me.”
America glares, knowing Russia would never kill him if he wanted America returned home.
“You aren’t scary!”
He calls after Russia as the older man begins to walk away.
“Hey! Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you!”
He grumbles to himself as he walks through the snow after Russia.
The little fox following the bear.