I Am Canada (A Hetalia Fanfic)

1783: Turns Out This Colony is Pretty Important

Newfoundland wanders along, enjoying the scent of the ocean in the breeze. He loves it when he can just walk around and play like this, with no one around telling him to act more like an adult.

He turns his gaze to the sky, shielding his eyes as he watches the clouds float by. A grin spreads across his face, a face that's become leaner with age, and he lets out a happy laugh as he flops into the grass. He shuts his eyes, inhaling the warm scent of the earth as the warm air rustles his hair.

All too soon, his stomach twists and he winces, his eyes fluttering open once more. The remnants of America and Britain's power struggle is still causing discomfort to Canada and the rest of his friends, little ripples of remembrance moving through the land.

Newfoundland's blue eyes seem to dull for a moment with sadness, thinking of his brothers fighting. He misses back when it was just France and Britain, the two countries somehow working together to take care of little Newfoundland. Why can't those days just come back?

His thoughts are interrupted as a sudden blow lands against his side, causing a sharp exhalation of both surprise and pain. He rolls over, clutching his side as he tries to recover his breath. Nearby, he hears another unmistakeable grunt of someone falling over.

"H-Hello?" the blond wheezes, wincing again as he slowly pushes himself to his feet.

He looks around, noticing the crushed grass leading down a small hill that was obviously the path of something rolling down said knoll. The young colony moves carefully along the path, keeping an eye out for whatever it was that kicked him. Then, he catches sight of a body.

Upon getting closer, he can see that it's a boy, a teenager by the looks of it. He's physically older than Newfoundland, but the maritime colony can tell that this person is like him. At first glance, he wonders whether the strange boy is actually alive or not.

His eyes stay closed, his pale skin decorated with a spray of freckles across his cheeks. His hair is an untidy mop of red curls the colour of maple leaves in the autumn, and one odd little curl drapes down from the centre of his forehead and almost sticks straight up. His clothing consists of a simple white button up shirt and wrinkled brown pants and feet are bare, stained with remnants of dirt and small stones.

"Um...bud? You okay there?" Newfoundland asks, gently prodding the boy's bicep.

His eyes fly open, startling the blond with the pure blue colour of them. The redhead sits up, shaking his head and making his hair impossibly messier.

"Oi, that was quite a spill," he mumbles, holding his head as a laugh leaves him. He looks at the boy, his thin eyebrows narrowing a little. "Did I trip over you?"

Newfoundland doesn't answer for a moment, amazed by the Scottish twinge in the teen's accent. The newcomer tilts his head a little as he smirks, wondering why he looks so astounded. He chuckles and nudges his shoulder with his fist.

"Quiet one, huh? Don't worry, lad, everyone has shy moments. Well..." He laughs again and brushes off his shirt. "I don't. But that's me and I'm a bit more eccentric than most."

"Oh, I'm not shy, bud," Newfoundland says, finally finding his voice. "I was just surprised by your accent. Never heard anything quite like it, eh?"

"Well yours is nothing to ignore either," he retorts. He sticks his hand out and flashes a smile. "I'm Nova Scotia. Popped up around here in 1713, I'd say, could be off by a couple decades. Until recently, I was a colony."