João never particularly believed he'd have his throat slit, but it looked as though that was how he was going to die…with Tim van Rijn's shimmering dagger at his neck. The war with the Frisians had cost him the lives of his parents, who were also the representatives of the Basques and the Iberians. The peninsula back home was in chaos, and things were no better on enemy territory.
Four days now he'd been lying in this dungeon while his wounds festered and the pain spread throughout his entire body. He was dizzy from the blood seeping down his hair and forehead and from the wounds on his back. His hair was matted with the red liquid and his eyes were red and puffy with tears.
Nations weren't supposed to cry.
"He's too young to be at war," Ysabel had protested tearfully.
"He's eighteen by human's years, a man grown now," Henrique argued. "How can he face the challenges of nationhood if he can't even bloody his sword?"
Even three weeks ago his parents were alive, before Frisia's personification had started another fight with the nations of the Iberian Penninsula. Now, João Henrique Lisboa Carriedo's life was a hell that looked like it was just about flicker and die. Maybe he shouldn't be scared, maybe this death would bring him sweet relief and reunite him with his parents. But…what about Antonio?
One hoarse, small word escaped the lips of the personification of Portugal: "Irmão." Brother.
Tim's eyes widened and his grip on the knife relaxed. He looked around at the men behind him; Audulf, a tall, menacing man who by the jeweled band on his forehead was clearly the king of Frisia, glared down as if daring Tim to kill João. "You show the Roman bastard's grandson who rules Europe," Audulf hissed, and Tim began to tighten his grip again, but he looked back and hesitated.
João followed his gaze to a very small girl watching a little way up the stairs that led down to Audulf's dungeons. With her soft, fair skin and green eyes, it was clear she was Tim's sister. Said eyes filled with tears, and a silence so thick fell upon the area that Tim's knife would have a hard time sawing through it.
Tim pushed João roughly away, letting him land hard on the cold stone floor. The girl gasped and ran off, disappearing up the stairs, and Tim looked up at his king and two advisors. "We've defeated his parents, but what threat is this miserable Latin pipsqueak anyway, right? Why waste time on such a pathetic weakling?" He eyed João coldly but seemed reluctant to look King Audulf in the eye.
João got up slowly, his stomach roiling after four days lying wounded in a Germanic prison cell. A guard grabbed him tightly by the arm and dragged him up out of the fortress. The light was almost blinding after so many days below the ground and for some reason it made João sneeze. He felt a dizzying head rush and held his temple with his thumb and forefinger, shuddering. The guard kicked him along and he sniffled, trying to hide the tears that streamed down his face when he felt something hit his stomach… hard.
João looked down and started weeping for the one joy he had in life. Little Hispania, Antonio by human name, was reaching up with chubby child hands and hugging his waist. Instantly João picked him up and looked him over, seeing no sign of the same harsh treatment that he'd been given. Antonio seemed well-fed and fairly healthy, though shivering from the harsh Germanic weather.
João hoped that Germania's young grandson, Gilbert, was under good influence and would grant them safe passage back to Iberia. From what his parents had told him, Romulus, his own grandfather, was killed by Germania. Perhaps Gilbert would be a little less violent toward the Latin people, but he was still really a child. It was up to whoever governed him.
But João forced himself to swallow back his fears and smile for Antonio. The little green-eyed child with the curly brown hair, the one who looked so like him and their mother, was his reason to live on. Maybe caring for this tiny nation was his hope, his future.
"Hermano, they hurt youuu…!" Antonio whimpered and bit his lip, his eyes growing wider as a sign that he was about to cry. He grabbed fistfuls of what remained of his older brother's shirts and started to sob heartbreakingly. Something about the Frisians making his little brother cry made João even angrier than the fact that they captured him and tortured him.
João was shaking so badly he could barely stand, but he still managed to hold his brother close to his chest where he could be soothed by his heartbeat. It was enough for Antonio to know that he was there, that he was alive.
"Shh, you're all right…" He stroked the boy's hair tenderly, getting rid of some of his tangles in the process, and kissed his soft little nose. "We're going home."