Irina found her mother's behavior after her father left quite strange. She began homeschooling her in French, and if she tried to avoid it, sneaking away as she had before, she got smacked up the head and brought back to the classroom, and not even always by her mother, but Alexandra and Petrov! She also had to learn English, Spanish, and German. It was infuriating.

"I'm never going to use these!" She finally shouted one day after a particularly brutal quiz. "Why should I bother learning them?!"

Mother locked her eyes onto her, seeming annoyed herself with her daughter. "If you want to speak to anyone, you need to know these languages. English is still spoken as a common language here in Canada, and most of the people you meet will know French. If you go to Cuba or any of his territories, you will need to know Spanish. Travel to Central Europe? You need German. Now sit down and listen up."

She began doing morning exercises (by force), and studying strategy (in much the same way), as well as Canadian and American history.

"These nations don't exist anymore!" She complained as she was drilled about the War of 1812.

Her mother shook her head. "Doesn't mean they aren't important."

Irina realized she had touched a nerve when her mother dismissed her right after this little comment and, pulling out a photo, began to cry.

Irina might have preferred her father to her mother, but that didn't mean she didn't love the former nation of Canada very much.

Still, as she fell into bed every night, exhausted and annoyed, Petrov and Alex were just as glad to see the changes in Irina. She started asking more questions, looked healthier, and when she tried to command them and they ignored her, it let her know she wasn't the boss anymore. For years Russia had pampered his little girl. Now Canada was forcing her to grow up.

Canada was teaching her daughter that she couldn't be the ruler of the world by birth. She had to earn it.

***

Maria had seen her mother for the first time in years during a morning run. Canada had her red hoodie pulled up tight, hiding her golden curls. Maria had done the same.

Canada dropped a piece of paper fifty yards ahead of her, and then kept running. Maria, nearing it, pretended to drop her iPod, and knelt down to pick it up, shoving it into her pocket with the musical device. Standing up, she continued running.

Returning to the house, she opened it up and read the note.

Meet me at the park tomorrow morning. Run into me and spill my coffee. Offer to buy me a new one. They will be watching us.

Maria made her plans and prepared for the next morning.

***

"Oh, my gosh, I'm so sorry ma'am! Are you alright?"

Canada nodded, standing up and brushing off her jacket. It had been artfully done. She looked the young woman in the face. "Yes, I'm fine."

"I didn't see you, and I just... I'm so sorry."

"It's okay, no bumps and bruises or burns, just some spilled coffee."

"Let me buy you a new one, just to make up for it." The girl began, looking very remorseful.

"That's not necessary." Canada began, using the excessive politeness she was known for.

"Oh, I insist." Maria added on, and Canada knew that she had to let her resolve slip.

Canada nodded. "Alright then. Thank you."

As they walked towards the coffee stand, Canada spoke under her breath so that the agents she was were tailing her couldn't hear anything. "Excellent job, my darling. That couldn't have been more convincing."

Maria nodded, her hood down tight. "We need to make a plan of action. He has to be brought down. Order has to be restored, and this is not it."

"I know, mon fille. Just stay calm until the time is right."

"But when will the time be right? You're away from him. Isn't now the perfect time to strike?"

They reached the coffee stand and Madeline ordered. "Medium mocha with a shot of espresso, please."

Maria added her own order. "Medium black, nothing added."

Once they had paid and received their orders, they went and sat down at a table. "Now isn't the best time to attack. Irina, despite her human like growth, is a nation. She still sides with her father. I do not wish her to find out about our war with a strike against a people that might be her own."

Maria sipped her coffee silently. Madeline added extra. "She has already begun to learn several more languages. Soon I will tell her about her conception. I hope it will let her know that although he has always been there, he is no saint. That alone could bring her faith in him crumbling down."

Maria nodded. "You plan to turn her to our side."

"Or keep her neutral. Once we are ready to strike, she will either be with us, or kept safe by us. Either way, she is not her father, and deserves to live."

Maria nodded, and then stood up. "I should go before they get suspicious."

Canada nodded, and added one last thing. "There may be a rogue government in Europe. They tried to kidnap Irina. I believe they are looking for a nation to lead them. Find out what you can."

She nodded before leaving.

***

Rogue government in Europe. Wonder if it's mine.

Maria looked up surveillance photos of the area. Once again, her salvaged technology from her uncle had saved the day. The satellites were still in orbit, and she had rigged up her own viewing station on her laptop.

The majority of Europe was growing restless, tired of the oppressive conditions they were being held under. She knew it from the feeling in her heart, the impatience filling every ounce of her body as she longed to charge into battle. And she knew she was not alone. Most of western and central Europe were on the edge of a knife, waiting for the right moment to strike.

She held the Iron Cross in her fist, missing Gilbird, who was pretending to be a wild hawk. Even Russia would have noticed a hawk that looked exactly like the one which had flown on Prussia's flag years ago.

She was about to turn off the laptop when something beeped. Activity in an area of interest.

Opening up the screen, she looked at the area in question. It was the capital of the former US. Angry civilians were throwing eggs and rocks towards the soldiers guarding the White House.

As she watched, the soldiers opened fire. The soldiers streamed out into the street, beating the people, killing them with indifference, and as some rushed away, others stood there in defiance until their corpses also joined the pile.

Anger filled her every being and she knew that the revolution must begin soon.

***

"Irina, will you come here for a bit?" Canada called out one night.

Irina hurried into her mother's room, opening the door and leaning in."Yes?"

"Close the door and come sit on the bed. I want to show you some photos."

Closing the door, Irina came over to the bed, climbing up onto it. Her mother held an old album in her hands. "This is what is left of my family, besides you and your father." She said with a soft sigh.

She opened it up, and Irina stared at a photo of a young smiling man holding the arm of a woman with her head slightly bowed. They appeared to be wearing clothes from the 1840s. "Your uncle, the former nation of the United States, wanted the first photos he took to be with his family. So this is him and me."

The next photo was from the 20th century, and showed two men, one with a beard, the other clean shaven. "Your grandfathers, England and France."

Picture after picture, Irina watched them go before her eyes. She stared at these men, unknown to her, but her mother spoke of them so fondly she almost felt like she had met them. In fact, the feeling was very strong.

Then she saw a silver haired man kissing her mother, but it wasn't her father.

"Who's that?" She asked, feeling like she should know the name.

Her mother sighed. "His name was Prussia."

She looked at the man, knowing that name from not her mother, but her father. "He was a good fighter, but weak." She said, remembering her father's tales.

Canada shook her head sadly. "He wasn't weak, Irina. He was dying. Had been for years. I was actually going to give him some of my land to keep him alive, but then the war broke out."

She looked at her mother again, pausing before speaking. "You loved him?"

"Yes."

"Why didn't you marry him?"

She shook her head sadly once more. "You know your father and I are not actually married, correct?"

Irina nodded.

"Prussia and I were like that. We didn't need human vows to prove our love."

They sat in silence for a while, looking at the photo, and then Irina spoke again. "Why did France kill himself? Papa said he wouldn't have hurt him."

She looked at her daughter, and sighed. "Your father had already killed a lot of people, Irina. France assumed he would not be allowed to live, and he knew England would not. He would rather die than face torture or death without England."

"That's sad."

"It's true, Irina. So many people died when your father came. Your uncle and grandfathers included. And those who survived wished to die from grief."

She looked at the photos, and reached out to touch the faces of her grandfathers. "Why did he do this?" She asked, wondering how many vibrant lives had been extinguished, how many histories had been lost in the relentless pursuit of power.

"Even I don't know." Canada replied, closing the photo album and tucking it away. "Now let's get you to bed."

Laying in bed that night, Irina felt herself beginning to cry.

So many people...

So many...

***

"Who are you, child? What is the name you bear?"

She stood in an empty wasteland, cold and confused. "Hello?"

The voice spoke again. "She is a child still, father. Must she know what has happened under her father's command?"

"She must. In order to survive, she must."

Snow rose up as if a blizzard had come from nowhere, and she fought it off. "Who are you?" She yelled, trying to open her eyes and seeing nothing.

Suddenly an old man appeared before her. "You know me, daughter of my soil." General Winter stood before her, watching her carefully, and despite the fact she had never seen him before, she knew he was who he said to be. "You must learn about what your father has done." He continued. "Come with me."

She did.

***

Four figures sat in a room, drawing maps.

She recognized them. China, Cuba, Vietnam, and her father.

"Russia, America should belong to me. He owes me trillions." China stated, angry.

Cuba stood up, angry. "What, the majority of Asia and the entirety of Africa not enough for you?!"

"Gentleman, calm yourselves." Vietnam said, turning to Russia, who nodded.

"I understand your concern, but I have claim on him. He is my enemy as well as yours. But I desire Canada, and I must have America to conquer her."

Cuba shook his head. "She won't be willing to surrender. She's nice on the surface, but underneath, she's tougher than him." It would be best if we left her alone."

Russia laughed. "Don't worry, Carlos. I have the General on my side, and she does not. She will surrender soon enough after that."

***

Two men sat at the end of the table opposite of her father, both nervous and terrified.

Her father smiled. "I am so glad you have decided to be peaceful in your surrender. You will not regret it, Italy."

Feliciano nodded, nervously smiling, but Romano scowled, stabbing his fork into a grape. He seemed to be waiting for something.

A glass of wine was poured, and her father sipped at it, and then set it down. "Interesting flavor."

"Big brother made it himself, didn't you?" Italy prompted with a soft and hopeful smile. Romano nodded, watching Russia in silence.

"Italy, may I speak to your brother alone for a moment?"

Italy, a look of fear passing over his face as he realized something horribly wrong had happened, nodded. "Uh, yes. I'll be right outside..."

Once he was gone, Russia lifted the glass. "Did you honestly think I wouldn't taste it?"

Romano shrugged. "Enough arsenic in that glass to kill you permanently. I was hoping you'd be too drunk on vodka when you got the glass for you to notice it."

Russia laughed. "I just must know why you did this?"

"You killed both the potato bastards. Feliciano will never recover. First Holy Rome, now Germany and Prussia. I wanted to save him from any more pain."

"Too bad it failed. Now he will have to suffer the pain of your death."

Romano leapt to his feet, but he was stopped by the guards, who grabbed him.

"You fucking bastard, keep your hands off of him!" Romano screamed, trying to tug himself free if only to snarl in Russia's face one last time.

"Goodbye, Romano. I will see you again at your execution." He said, motioning for the guards to take the southern nation away.

They could hear the screams of both brothers long after the door had closed.

***

The door was barricaded. Russia kicked it in to see a body lying on the floor, a thin and haggard figure leaning over him, sobbing.

England turned, eyes wild with rage as he spotted the Russian. "You bloody rat faced bastard! You're the reason France is dead!" He screamed.

"I doubt it. I do not poison people's wine." Russia replied, seeing the wine glass which had spilled it's contents across the floor.

England pulled the body into his arms, sobbing over his beloved. Russia pulled out a gun, aiming it at the back of his head.

"I might have even let him live. Such a shame."

England turned to see the barrel pointed at him, and he laughed. "You know what, shoot me! I fucking dare you to do it!"

Russia grinned, and England stood up. He reached up and grabbed a sword off the wall, running forward towards him to battle. He knew he had no chance, but his antics amused Russia.

A bang, and England fell. Using his last few breaths, he grabbed France's hand. "Goodbye." He whispered.

Two bodies lay, hands just touching, together in death as they had been in life.

Russia turned and left. His job here was done.

***

The man looked at him with hate fueling the fire in his eyes. "Always thought you'd be the end of me." He growled.

Russia laughed at that attempt to strike fear in his heart. "It will be so much fun to display your head on a spike, as though we were back in the days of castles and knights."

America spat at him, and Russia laughed once more. "Oh, foolish little America, do you even know why I did this?"

"You're a power hungry motherfucker, that's why!" He shouted, struggling against the restraints. Once, he would have been able to break free, but like Fenrir, these bonds were inescapable for the once strong and independent nation of the United States.

"Yes, but why did I chose you?" Russia taunted.

America glared. "Because you hate me." He responded, venom in his voice.

Russia laughed, pulling out a photo. "No, because I want her."

America fell silent as he saw the photo, fear suddenly flooding his eyes.

"Eventually a new German nation will rise, and she will do anything to find it. I could kill her, drug her, break her, or bargain with her. Either way, I will make her life mine. She was always more beautiful than you, more...Willing to make sacrifices, including her own freedoms."

America yanked at the restraints again, harder this time, the fire returning to his eyes. "You touch her and I'll kill you myself, you fucking piece of shit!"

Russia laughed. "Oh America, your torture has only just begun..."

***

"Isabella Joan."

A baby was at a woman's breast, eating.

"He keeps telling me that you're Irina Sonya. But he doesn't know who you are. You are my daughter, born of rape and love for another. You will never be Irina. You are my precious Isabella." She said, holding the child, tears dripping down her face. "You will always be my Isabella."

***

Germany lay on the floor, panting at he tried to ignore the pain. Russia stood over him, laughing. "Take your time. Perhaps it will make your death more entertaining."

Coughing up blood, he reached for his gun, crawling towards it. "Oh, you will fight even in death? Then I guess I have no choice." Russia said, suddenly sounding bored. He was playing with him like a cat with a mouse.

West saw the shadow of a pipe raised, and closed his eyes, wanting to see Italy's face one last time before he died.

A sudden shout, and a clang of metal. His eyes shot open, and there was East, holding his old broadsword, Gilbird flying overhead.

"You want him, you'll have to kill me first." Prussia stated, glaring the frozen nation in the eyes.

Russia laughed. "Your blood will look so pretty on the floor, Prussia. I accept."

***

Irina snapped awake, screaming. Feet dashing from all directions, her mother bursting in right before Alexandra and Petrov. "Irina!"

She clung to her mother, and suddenly began to cry. "I hate him, I hate him, I hate him!" She shrieked, kicking the bed.

Alexandra and Petrov cleared the room and then mother spoke. "Nightmare, Irina?"

She nodded.

"Alexandra, Petrov, return to your rooms. All is well." She said, sighing as she sat on the mattress to comfort Irina better.

Finally they left, and Madeline sat next to her daughter. "What is wrong, Irina?" She asked after a few minutes of the girl sobbing into her shirt.

She took a deep breath before speaking. She needed to know if it was real. "What did you want to name me?"

Mother looked confused, but answered truthfully. "If I could have named you, you would have been Isabella Joan."

She started crying. Madeline held her daughter close, confused. What had happened to her daughter suddenly?

She closed her eyes. "I saw it all. I saw him kill them. The General showed it to me. Mother, I'm so sorry!"

"What are you talking about?" Madeline said in confusion, wondering what her child had seen in her dreams.

"I saw them divide up the world. Execute Romano, kill England, battle with Prussia, and tell America what he was going to do to you! Why did he do that?!"

Canada stared at her daughter and then spoke, a sob coming to her own voice. "Oh, my little Isabella Joan, I am sorry!"

***

Maria found herself sneaking past a border guard out of Switzerland and Liechtenstein into the land that had once been Germany. She felt at home, knowing this was the land of her ancestors, and of her people.

The rogue government was real, she was sure of it. They were also located somewhere here, in Germany. During the Cold War, this country had been the hotspot of conflict. They knew what it was like, to hate and fear the Russians, and grow restless underneath them.

As she walked, she came across many people, and spoke with them. She was able to find out that if she walked about ten more miles, she'd find a bus stop that still operated. From the central station, she could plot a course for Berlin.

She wasted no time, and watched Gilbird fly above, guiding her path.

Aide me, father. Help me find them.

Translations

French
Mon fille-my daughter