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Dark!SpainXReader ~You Must Lie~ Part 6

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Looking over at the sailors that had stopped to watch the show, he grimaced.  He didn’t need onlookers to watch him deal with you.  You were truly a difficult creature if there had ever been one!  

“Explain.”  Antonio demanded from you for your statement.  A statement so simple but successful none the less to aim for the quick.   “Answer me now!”

He couldn’t believe that you would dare compare him to that swine of a man!  

The Ottoman Empire?  

He was a thousand times worse than Antonio would have ever dreamed of being.  And how would you even know?  There was no way you could have ever met that certain nation.  It must have been something Arthur had told you.  

“I will not,” you flatly said and crossed your arms even tighter across your chest.  

“Then you may walk back.”  He bit the words off harshly.  His lips curved in a wolfish smile as he contemplated your long walk back home, that would surely make you talk.  Walking half the day to the coast was no doubt tiring, so a jaunt back to his home would be heavy also.  

“Fine.” You said.  You waited for him to move a bit so you could slip from the horse and onto the ground.

“Stubborn woman,” Antonio muttered.  

Your feet hit the ground and you were on the run again.  Like a bullet you shot towards the water.

Antonio sighed and gripped his nose with his forefingers.  Squinting his eyes tightly shut, he cursed you and himself.  He knew better, he knew he needed to have a grip on you before your feet hit the ground.  

He was off the horse again and was chasing you clear across the docks.  This was getting tedious.  

“Are you going to swim back to England?”  Antonio yelled to you as you,  skittered to a stop.  

“If I must!”  You didn’t turn and peered into the dark abyss of the water.  Taking one step, it was the final plunge.  

He dived forward and grabbed you, not caring how his fingers bit into your shoulder.  You gasped as your body smacked into the wooden dock.  Your feet only skimming the top of the water, the wave mocking your freedom.

Dragging you back onto the dock, he pulled his knife from his boot.  

“I thought you wouldn’t want witnesses?”  You asked boldly.  You glanced back at the few men that still looked on.  

“On your feet, (f/n).”  Antonio growled and pulled you up.  

He twirled the weapon in his hands as he walked you back over to the pile of ropes that you earlier had curled up in.  His hand still dug into your shoulder as he lowered himself to the ropes, dragging you down.  Cutting a sizeable chunk of rope he dangled it in front of you.  

“Here,” you said and flung your arms out at him.  “Bond and tie me. It will make it easier when…”

God, what a women you were.  Most female would be caterwauling to the skies by now, but not his little nation.  You sounded as though you attended afternoon tea, not your own abduction for the second time today.  He pulled you closer, smashing his body into yours.  

His body pressed so closely to yours, to hide how he pulled and tightened the ropes around your wrist.

“I think you’ll enjoy being tied up.”  He smiled and pulled tighter on the rope.

“You disgust me.” Of course, the cheap jibe didn’t rattle you in the way he’d hoped.  He hadn’t imagined it would.  You merely settle your rain-clear gaze on him.  “You would like me to consent to those games, Master.”

He let a superior smile curl his lips.  In truth, he felt rather superior.  Having gotten what he wanted, twice, he’d happily fling his head and shout his victory aloud.  “Don’t think I won’t slap you because of a few wondering eyes, my amor.  You’ve caused me great trouble and I’m not in the right mind at the moment.”  

“Have you ever been?”  

“You’ve got no idea,” he said savagely, knowing that nothing, in fact, had been right in a long while.  “Now, follow.”

He turned on his heels and dragged you back to the horse.  

You slumped forward as the ropes weighted down on your hands.  “I suppose if I don’t, you’ll beat me like a dog here.  Or maybe, Master will wait until we are in the comfort of his home to redden my backside.”

He huffed out an annoyed breath as he grabbed a handful of mane.  “I could gag you as well, you know.”

A silence fell as he fought and won against his unruly passions.  He resented this effortless hold you had over him.  But even with your sharp tongue hadn’t broken him of what he felt.  He was addicted to this one nation.  

Broodingly, he stared down at you, as you walked along the side of his stallion.  He took in the shuttered expression and the way you gracefully walked, as if you were making your way to the gallows.  You clearly meant to deny him tears, protests, and tantrums.  Perhaps you saved them for a more telling moment when you got home.  

But when, a long while later, when you did speak, you used the same unruffled voice you had. He figured it was when you remember where you came from.  “Just what do you want of me, Antonio?  You’ve claimed me, it there anything more?”

He let his smile broaden as intoxicating satisfaction flooded through him, headier than the strongest liquor.  “You’ve given me a morning of misery and trouble, madam.  Now it’s only fair your recompense my efforts with pleasure.”  

You stayed quiet.  You were unsure of which pleasure he spoke of.  What it sexual?  Or was it knowledge?  

None of either meant you must admit defeat. You straightened your spine and sent him a glare from down below, one of virulent, but unfortunately impotent, hatred and turned your head away.

“You would never understand what I’d been through.  I’ve had more happen to me then you, Master, could dream of.”

You covered several long miles on foot in increasingly oppressive silence.  You tired to concentrate on your physical woes.  But while the cords constraining you were tight, the ropes didn’t chafe anything except your pride.  It was more uncomfortable trying to balance against the movements of the horse, but even that eventually became automatic.  

Antonio studied you with unwavering intensity.  You endured his inspection as the horse swayed along the path.  With every second, the tension between you and him would grow tighter and tighter.  A tension heavy with your fear and his unrelenting purpose.  And something else you didn’t want to acknowledge.  The sexual awareness that quivered between you and him was almost tangible in the bright Spanish sun.  

And love?

No!  You refused to say that!

You had no illusions about your ultimate punishment.  

Finally you were coming up on his house.  Even though your heart snapped at the sight, your body relaxed to know that you could rest.  The painful taunt feeling in your legs burned.

He wanted you.  He’d taken you last night.  He was angry enough to hurt you.  Nor had you missed the significance of those few moments when he’d tied the knot about your wrist.  The swiftly hidden tremor in those elegant hands as he’d bound you.

He was still in thrall in his lust again!  Of course he was.  Why launch himself on this lunatic path otherwise.  

You watched his strong legs as they quickly dismounted the horse.  His muscles tight under his pants.  You could feel the heat crept up your neck as he dragged you to the barn without a care.  He showed more compassion to the horse.

“My revenge is a purely private concern.”  He said as he tied the rope that still bound your hands to one of the hooks.  He took his sweet time removing the horse's bridle and saddle.  He spoke to himself, even if you stood there.

A weaker nation would have started screaming then.  You clung with difficulty to your self-possession.  He was determined to intimidate you know, that much was obvious.  

He slowly made his way back over to you and showed his knife again.  He undid the ties and the bounds fell to the barn floor.  

You didn’t care at the moment.  Your body ached so badly from the walk you couldn’t summon anything more than dull anger.  

He bent you forward and took your over his shoulder.  It was exactly how a farmhand lifted a sack of wheat.  He gently patted your arse and sighed.

“Let’s get you upstairs.”  His loud exhalation indicated endless masculine irritation.  “Remember, you asked for this.”  

Your unbound hair covered your face as your head drooped.  You fisted your dangling hands and made an ineffectual attempt to pummel him into letting you go.  

“I didn’t ask for this,” you chocked against his fine muscles.  You felt those powerful muscles of his back flexing through the material as he moved.

“Too late,” he said, striding towards the door that Lovnio held open.  

Antonio’s height seemed even taller that the floor loomed a very long way off indeed.  You gulped with combination of terror and outrage.  

“Be still,” he growled and began to take the stairs at what from your viewpoint seemed a reckless pace.  

By the time he placed you in his luxurious bed, you felt disoriented and a little sick.  But that wouldn’t stop you from fighting.

But beneath the tiredness and meaningless bravado, your heart keened in misery.  

“Sore?” he asked softly.  

You dismissed that fatuous tone and sent his fulminating glare.  “You’d love me to admit that, wouldn’t you, Master?”

A faint smile flickered across his face.  “Behave yourself or I won’t do my magic and make you feel better.”

You surveyed him sourly.  In all honestly you’d done this to yourself.  “How are you going to accomplish that?  Shoot me?”

“If all else fails, I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned his head and spoke something in Spanish to Lovino that had walked in.  Lovino nodded and shut the door to the bedroom.

“Lie back,” he said.

“This won’t help,” you said tonelessly, obeying him.

What was the point of fighting? This moment had been inevitable from the beginning, and for all you hard-held defiance, you didn’t want him to hurt you or you to hurt him.

He laughed briefly.  “(f/n), you have a nasty, suspicious mind.”  

He began to unlace your boots.  You couldn’t rouse the will to flinch away.  He’d easily catch you if you’d tried to run on legs stiff after the day’s unaccustomed walk.

His hands were cool on your bare legs.  You tensed.  Perhaps you weren’t quite as inured to your fate as you’d thought.

“Relax,” he murmured.  “Or I might forget my good intentions.”

“As if you have any,” you muttered. “As if your have ever had….Ohhhh!”

Whatever you meant to say faded in along sigh of pleasure as those adept fingers began to mold the muscles in your calves.

“That’s enough,” you said eventually forced yourself to insist, although you thought hat if he stopped touching you, you’d weep.

“In a minute,” he said, and you couldn’t summon further demurrals.

“Roll over,” he said after a blissful internal.

With no thought to protest, you turned onto your stomach and lay still as he pulled on your shirt and tossed it to the floor.  

You floated off into a world of weary pleasure when you felt him reach beneath you and unlace your pants.  As his fingers brushed across your stomach, you instincts prodded you into hazy wariness.

“What are you doing?”  you asked huskily.

He tugged on the pants that sat high and revealed your lower back.  “I’m sure your back is as sore as the rest of you,” he said neutrally.

“You should…”

He began to knead your tight shoulders.  You took a moment to remember what you meant to say.  “You should stop now.  I feel much better.”

Those fingers didn’t pause.  You tired to tell yourself you weren’t glad.

“Sleep, (f/n).  I’ll bring you something to eat later.”  

He removed himself and you heard the door open.  

You turned and watched the door for a moment.  He had been overly kind and generous.  His touched told you alone that he cared in some way for you.  You didn’t know if that was good thing.  

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~***~*~*~*~*~**~~*~*~**~*~*~**~~*~

You opened an eye and scanned the room.  Antonio was no were to be seen.  

You propped yourself up against the pillows in the large bed where you’d only the day before had more pleasure then you could remember.  

Now, and with a heart lighter than you’d ever expected you admitted defeat.  When Antonio came to you tonight, he wouldn’t find you defiant or unwilling.  The woman who had fought his every caress was lost somewhere on the sea.  

Your fingers pleated the sheets over your knees.  Antonio had been concerned over the pain your felt and he knew have must caused.  

But now he’d had time to remember that you’d run away yet again.  

Was his temper seething?  Heaven help you if it was.  

The door opened, saving you from examining this unwelcomed thought too closely.  Antonio stood in the entrance, wearing his customary wardrobe of a white shirt and black breeches.

He paused and studying you.  Trying to contain his rage, you supposed.  You gaze fluttered downward, and then some force stronger than your apprehension made you raise your eyes.

It was as if you’d never really seen him before.

Hungrily, you traced the straight shoulders.  The lean, beautiful body.  The narrow hips. The long, powerful legs.  

He was truly a man to take a woman’s breath away.

Your gaze moved across his chest and up to the strong neck to his face.  Shadows still lingered there.  Your attention sharpened on the strikingly features.

Tonight, perhaps because of your own barriers were so perilously low, you saw more than just the endless drive to dominate and possess.

Strangely, you couldn’t find any anger in his face.  You wondered why.  
He sighed heavily and came into the room, carrying a tray with food on it.  “Are you all right?”  His dark green eyes searched your face.  

“I’m fine.” You said as your eyes sharpened on man that sat the tray down on the oak nightstand.  He looked strained and unhappy.  “H-how are you?”

“Me?”  He was clearly surprised at your inquiry.

It struck you he was a man who never expected anything as commonplace as kindness.  

“Fine, here is your dinner. Why don’t you eat and go back to sleep.”

You nodded and looked over the tray of food.  “Thank you….Antonio.”

“Good night.”  He turned and left you.

“Antonio.”  You whispered as the door shut.  

Clumsily, you scrambled out the bed, ignoring the screaming protest of your aching muscles.  You stepped into the hallway, were the moon casted a glow.  You watched his door close.  

Quietly, you slid on the wall near his door and waited.  
*~*~~**~~**~**~***~**~~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~~*
Antonio crawled into the dark hollow in the bushes where he’d always been safe.  Outside, the monster rampaged closer and closer, then it began tearing at the protective wall of branches and brambles.

When it found him, it would kill him.

He shrank into the darkness, trying not to breathe.  The monster already knew where he was, but maybe in the blackness, he could disappear.  

Antonio whimpered with horror.  Thorns at his back dug at his flesh, preventing escape, even if the impossible happened and the monster let him go.  He whimpered again, despising his weakness, despising his stupidity in getting caught.  

The monster gave its mad laugh and tugged him forward.

More pain awaited, he knew.  The monster would cut him into pieces and feed him to the dogs, just as it had promised so many times before.  Before, when he’d managed to escape.  

But this time, he hadn’t been so lucky.

“No! No! Please!  Please let me go!  You’ve already taken most of my land, my precious España…what else is there?”

But the long white hands that were larger, crueler versions of his own dragged him onward.

“No!” he sobbed. “Please!”

The long white hands shook him.

But they no longer bit like talons into his flesh.  Instead they were cool and gentle.  He opened his eyes to find you leaning over him in the darkness.  For a moment, he was too disoriented to be ashamed of his trembling and his tears.  

“Antonio, wake up.  You’re having another nightmare,” a soothing voice said.

No monster then.  He was safe.

This particular monster had tormented him over a hundred years ago.  But it would be back.  Coming back to reality, he blinked and took a deep breath.  His chest hurt, as if he’d been running for hours.

“A n-nightmare,” he repeated and abominated the croak in his voice.

His body was slick with sweat, and he shivered.  He felt so alone that he thought he’d die.

With a wordless groan, he wrapped his arms around you who hated him and buried his head in the softness of your breast.  Immediately, your haunting scent filled his senses, and his racing heart calmed.

You had come to him when you ached more yourself.  

How did you imagine he could ever let you go?  You were the only being in creation who gave him this peace that he’d looked for years.  You were all that stood between him and true madness.  It was the intolerable and eternal burden fate placed on both of you.

For a long moment, you both laid entwined in silence.  He anticipated your rejection.  What a pathetic admittance that in his whole life no one had given him kindness of comfort he hadn’t bought or stolen.  Until you’d come to his room a few days ago.  When you offered up your strength and warmth as light against the dark.

He didn’t deserve your generosity.  Even in his overwhelming need, he recognized that.  He tightened his grip on your body, braced for mockery and rejection.

“Shh, Antonio,” you murmured as he rested in your arms.   “You’re safe here.”  You shifted up toward the headboard so he lay more comfortably against you.

Astonishment clawed at him, banished his ability to speak.  You detested him, wished him dead.

He’d only bought you back here a few hours ago.  But here you were, acting as if you waited for his screams to call you.  

Why was your voice so soft?  Why was your touch so gentle?

“Shh.”  You smoothed the hair away from his damp brow with a tenderness that cut him to the bone.  “It was only a dream.”

Such consolation was sweet indeed from the woman he wanted above all others.  But for once, his craving for simple human warmth exceeded his craving for sex and dominance.

He couldn’t remember his mother or whatever you called her, holding him like this.  Mother Britain had no doubt comforted those damn bastard she called her children; Scotland, Wales, England, and Ireland.  Mother Gaul for France and Mother Egypt for Egypt.  But did Mother Iberia ever hold him like this?

He lay motionless while your cool hand brushed across his thick chocolate locks.  Each slow stroke drew out a little more of the dream’s lingering dread.

You smelled like everything good in the world.  Baking bread and mown grass and the countryside after rain and the clean air above the waterfall at top of a glen.  

Yet you smelled like none of these, but purely yourself.

If you sent him away now, he thought he’d scream like the terrified boy who had fled in fear of his life from his own people and Arthur.  But you didn’t send him away.  Instead, you curved around him to shield him from house’s dark shadows.  

You crooned soft nonsense in his ear.  It was the most enchanting sound he’d ever heard.  He pressed up against you, his fingers tangling in the nightdress you’d put on before sleeping.  Gradually the nightmare receded.  

Still he didn’t move away.  He listened to the even tenor of your breathing, while your warmth slowly seeped through his cold, cold soul.

You had come to him.  You had ignored your own pain and came to him.  

What were you thinking?  He sensed no blame or scorn, although he deserved both after the wild, destructive passion he’d conjured between you and him the day before.  

“I left because I wanted to go to America with Alfred,” you began quietly after a long silence.  “My Father didn’t want me to go.  He must have been worried that I would leave him like Alfred had.”

You paused, as if waiting for some reaction, but Antonio didn’t speak, afraid that if he did, you might stop.

Astounding to think that you finally offered him a clue to your mystery.  Astounding you offered you secrets when he lest deserved such a gift.  

“My brother, Alfred is my best friend and so is Matthew.  I helped them when they were wounded by each other.  I listen to them tell me how they wished they didn’t have to fight against the other.”

You would have been good at that, he thought.  At your most basic level was a nurturing instinct.  Witness how you succored him now, even after everything he’d done to you.  

Your voice was calm and level, as if you read a fairy tale to a child.  The night crowded in, inviting confidence.  

“My father would leave for years at a time.  He fought with Alfred, Yao, and Francis.  I was only ever allowed to go and see him once a year, on my birthday.  He would write to me and tell me lies.  I knew they were lies.  He never told me about the bloodshed he saw and caused.  But he wanted me to be a lady, not a fighting state.”

And it had been unending drudgery, Antonio knew.

“I wasn’t happy, but I was determined to endure.”  Another hesitation, one fraught with emotion.  She stopped stroking him.  “Until…”

Antonio raised his head from where it rested on your breast.  In the gloom, he just discerned the perfect line of your cheek and jaw above him.  The candles had long ago burned down to unlit stubs.  The lack of light emphasized other senses.  Touch, smell, hearing.

“What is it, (f/n)?” he coaxed.  “Until what?”  He shifted up so you lay in his embrace now.  You hardly seemed to notice.

Your body tensed, where before there had only been supple ease.  You shook your head.

“This is stupid,” you said in a voice that grated.  “I don’t know why I’m telling you.  I just sound like more a brat then before.  What interest can a man like you have in a life of someone like me? I’m nothing more than a simple whore now.”

Why would you call yourself that? “Don’t call yourself that!”  he snapped, then forced himself to speak more temperately before he aroused the self-protective caution you usually hid behind.  “Tell me what happened, (f/n).”  He no longer clung to you as his only refuge but held you fast to give you the strength to go on.  

“They wanted to sell me off.  They wanted to sell me off and did.” You sniffed. “Arthur was broke after the war against France.  So they made a trade for me to go live with him.”

Who was him?

“I was young.”  You said. “I looked like I was around fifteen, it was only 1812.  The Ottoman.”

“He wanted you?”  The old story. Antonio thought bitterly, but that didn’t make it any more palatable.  

You nodded, your unbound hair sliding against the bare skin of his arms.  “Yes.” You took a shuddering breath.  “I tried to stay out of the Ottoman’s way.  I really did.  That was once I understood what he wanted.  I begged him to leave me alone.  But -…”

“But once a powerful nation like that gets his hands on you.”

Antonio wished the known Ottoman was here right now, so he could have claimed the privilege of beating him senseless again.  That bastard had taken Romano too and to find he had you.  Ironic, considering his own behavior toward you.

“Yes.  I was such a quiet thing then.  Arthur was strict but kind.  I didn’t know how the world really worked.  I was as naïve as a country mushroom as you could meet.”  You gave a humorless laugh.  “I had a foolish trust in the goodness of humanity I can’t believe possible now.”  

“The bastard tricked you,” Antonio said flatly.  What you said hurt him, cast cruel reflection on his own behavior.  

“He….he had taken me into his home.  I thought he wasn’t as cruel as I knew.  But if that cod-faced ninny ever lowered himself to such a thing.  I was so stupid, I asked for what happened.  If I could have just been stronger, Arthur wouldn’t have had to lose me.”  

Antonio’s hold tightened around you.  “No,” he said hollowly.  “You didn’t ask for it.”

No wonder you had put up such a wall and fight.

He meant every evil that had befallen you, not just that from a thoughtless nation like the Ottoman.  Shame flowed black and acrid in his veins, and his belly churned with contrition and regret.  

“He had me cook for him.  He told me to bring him tea…just like I make for my father.  And he…and he…”

You buried your head against him as if to hide from the old memories.  Did you even realize the man who tormented you in the present held you safe against old ghosts?  Did you guess how his heart contracted with pity and wonder when you turned to him in her extremity?

“He attacked you,” Antonio said, sickened.

“Yes.  I couldn’t fight him off.”  Your husky voice was muffled in his chest. “I screamed for help, but no one came.  He ripped at my clothes and he hit me.  I fought, but he was bigger and stronger.  He knocked me to the floor.  As I fell, I hit my head.  When I could see again, he was..he was top of me and he was trying…he was trying…”

Antonio stayed silent as you took in another deeper breath.  

“Once he found that my land has nothing to offer he gave me up.  That was after he got what he could from me.” you said unsteadily, raising your head and looking up at him.  “As you know, once a country has no more to offer, another trade is needed.”

He knew that all too well.  How many countries would be bought and sold in pieces?  You’d been lucky to that not to have happen to you.  But how in the world did you end up back with Arthur?  

“Then I was given to the Netherlands.”  

How did Antonio never hear about this?  He would have thought that the other nations would have been a buzz when this happened.  But this was the first time he’d ever heard of it.  Did Arthur even know of these torments?  

And what had that country done to you?  Had you been used by him, like by the Ottoman Empire?  

“So the Netherlands rescued you only to debauch you himself,” Antonio said sternly.  

Why the hell was he so angry?  He hadn’t behaved any better when faced with the temptation this one woman presented.  The brutal reality was that he and the Ottoman were the same.  

“No, you misunderstand.  Tim helped me,” you said vehemently.  “He was kind.  He told his bosses about how the Ottoman was treating me and they told him to offer a trade.  It wasn’t his fault that I couldn’t go back to Arthur right away. Arthur was the one full on in the Opium War.  It wasn’t his fault I was used in the way I was.  A smaller country needs to be so the bigger ones can be a survivor.”

Is that what you really believed?  No wonder you stayed so close to Arthur threw everything.  No wonder Arthur didn’t want you to leave his side.  It must have been a shock to Arthur to have to give you up and now that you were missing, no wonder Arthur slipped into depression.  

Roughly, he tore himself from your arms and left the bed.  The violence in his soul threatened to erupt.  He needed to regain control before he shattered under the storm of emotions buffering him.  Guilt. Sorrow. Anger.  Unwilling empathy for someone who had a past as tortured as his own.  

Continuing to swear, he strode across the room and flung the curtains wide with a loud rattle.  It was still dark outside.  But not nearly so dark as the raging tumult within him.

“Antonio?”  you asked in bewilderment from the bed.  

“So the Netherlands saved you for a life of vice and degradation,” he said with difficulty, scowling thought the bars at the large moon outlined in the night sky.  

“It was better at the time than going out on my own.  I was given the option to fight,” you returned with equal heat.  “If I had fought who know where I would have ended up.  And what would have happened to Arthur then?  At least he knew where I was.”

There you went again.  More worried about Arthur then yourself.

God help him.  God help you.  His hands crushed the rich brocade of the drapes.    You’d begun your story to divert him from his nightmare.  Little did you know that what you described created its own nightmares.

This was a confession, but a confession made to a priest cast into hell for his own vile sins.

“The Netherlands saw me he felt pain for my situation.”

And the fact he like younger women helps too. Antonio scornful thought.

“He took me in.  Arthur was to far gone at that time to take me back.  But he promised once he could get me back he would.  Tim offered me the only thing he could.  Since I had nothing else to offer, he asked me to be his mistress of sorts.”

“And you said yes,” Antonio said bitterly.

Mixed in with his other corrosive reactions, jealousy gnawed like acid in his gut.  If he had been offered you back then, he could have been taking care of you all this time.  And maybe these feelings wouldn’t be what they were.  Jealousy over the elder nation physical possession of you, but even more over the affection in your voice when you spoke of him.  You still admired, respected, like the Netherlands.

Had he been the one that had really thought you what you knew?  That might explain some of the answers he had about that didn’t line up with Arthur.  

Had you loved him?

Why did the question ever arise?  Love wasn’t part of any bargain he’d ever made with you.  It didn’t matter who you loved.  

“It wasn’t what I wanted,” you retorted, clearly stung, although he hadn’t implied you’d sold yourself gladly.  “He said that he’d support Arthur.  He told me I could use my advantages.  Or else allow myself to become their victim.”

“He told you that other nations would always want you?” He heard the cynicism in his voice.  

“That’s a crude approximation,” you snapped.  “He offered me shelter and security.  In turn he’d support my Father and Uncles.  This was a chance to learn an experience and develop.”

“In return for which he took your innocence.”

You bestowed a worldly smile upon him that was a brief reminder that you’d once had nothing.  That you might have never gone into physical battle, but you had done plenty of emotional battling.  

“Antonio, you more than anyone knows nations don’t take care of another without asking something in return.”

He wished he could deny it.  He wished he could claim he was different, but you both would recognize the lie.  It was too late for him to become your white knight even if a vile miscreant like him could play that role with any conviction.

With piercing sadness, he mourned all the lost innocence, his own as much as yours.  Unlucky circumstances and human evil had forced you both into adulthood long before you’d been ready.    But only he had become a powerful nation, while you stayed a bargaining chip among nations.  There had been only one that had every truly cared about your well being – Arthur.  

He didn’t understand how all these country could keep you hidden all these years.  The Netherlands were close with Belgium, but she never spoke of you.   It seemed that you were some kind of silent prize for these other nations.  

When he didn’t speak, you shrugged and went on.  The gesture was so much the notorious queen that would come out in a breath caught in your throat.  “At least the Netherlands kept his side of the arrangement faithfully.  With exceptional generosity, in fact.  He took me to other countries, he hired tutors, he taught me the ways that Arthur wouldn’t.  Trust me, the great España wouldn’t have given me a second look if I hadn’t learned everything I know now.  You would have passed me up and went right to kill Arthur that night.  But I know what you all see.”  

Except he would have noticed you.  

“You must think less of me then?”

“No,” he shook his head and laid next to you again.  “You gave up everything you believed in for the sake of the people you love.  Then you were brave enough to seize the opportunities your new life would offer.”

You eyes lifted to his that were bleak with self-hatred.

“Hell, (f/n), I wanted you and you ran away.  Now I realize your true quality.”

You flinched and tried to withdraw.  “Stop it.”

He kept hold of you.  “I never despised you – I tired.  You sacrificed yourself to keep your family safe, yet you can’t forgive yourself for what you did.”

This time when you pulled free, he let go.
*~*~*~*~~*~***~**~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*

“Can I help you?”  Alfred asked the man that stood at Arthur’s door.  The American carried a basket full of food and looked crossed to see someone he didn’t know pounding on Arthur’s door.  

“A Yankee?”  The man raised an eyebrow.  “Are ye Arthur Kirkland?”  

“No,” Alfred shook his head.  “But what can I help you with?”

“I got a letter here fer him.  It’s from a wee lassie.”    The man held the letter out towards him.  “Can you make sure he gets this?”

“Where did you get it from?”  Alfred asked.

“Spain. A right pretty lassie gimme it.”  

Alfred nodded as his breath hitched in his throat.  He hit the door full force once he saw the handwriting.  He hadn’t dared to look down in fear that it won’t be what he hoped for.  

He dropped the basket in the hallway and ran up the stairs to Arthur’s room.

“Arthur! Arthur!”  Alfred yelled and threw his door open.  

The blond looked up from his chair that sat in front of the window gazing upon the London streets.  He turned and his green eyes dull and lifeless. Heavy black bags encircled them.

Alfred hadn’t seen him this bad since the Opium War.

“It’s a letter.”  Alfred said and kneeled in front of Arthur. “It’s (f/n)’s handwriting.”

Arthur snatched the letter away

He looked over the fine handwriting on the envelop.  

Pulling open the top he pulled out the tri-folded letter.  

“Bloody hell, who gave you this?”  

“Some man, he said he got it from her in Spain.”  Alfred scanned over the letter, as Arthur held it away.  “What does it say?  Is she okay?  Where is (f/n)?”

“It says she can’t come home.  But if you say he saw her in Spain. Then that’s where we’re going.”  Arthur stood on shaking legs.  “We’ll leave tonight.  I’ll find my (f/n), if it’s the last thing I do.  No one is going to keep her caged up again.”  

“But we don’t know where she is.”  Alfred sighed.  

“Then we’ll look for her.  She might say she isn’t scared or worried in this.”  He held the letter up that crumpled in his fist.  “But we’ll find her.”
HOLY LONG-NESS!

Jeez! I hope this makes sense! If not, somebody tell me!

This is what I couldn't put in there. Not 100%, but molded to fit the story. It's kinda like a mini history lesson that only makes sense in my head...but oh well.....

The part with the Ottoman refers to when the Serbian revolution was happening (the dates would be a little off, I know. If I remember there is a like a five year gap…but it still works...kinda. But since the certain parts of the Ottoman were going threw independence that's why the Netherlands took over. Arthur never got you back and by the time he could they had signed the Anglo-Dutch Treaty of 1824. So that’s how the ‘support Arthur’ comes into play and you were given to the Netherlands as an add bonus for signing. By the time Arthur had gained something he started in on the first Opium War, so the Netherlands kept you until the mid 1840's. Then during the Dutch Intervention in Northern Bali, Arthur got you back. Basically you were passed around as a pawn.

I don't own hetalia
sorry for grammar or spelling

part seven [link]
© 2013 - 2024 GizmoJax
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fizzyfruit's avatar
Please excuse me while I explode from the feels.
No words to express the emotions and depth.
3...2...1... KABOOOOM!!!
That is such a terrible childhood! No wonder! It makes sense!