((AN: Oh look! I'm posting something! After... over a year of absolutely nothing. :'D And in a completely different fandom, to boot!
orz I fail, I know it.
Anyway. Yes, I have gotten into Hetalia. And been into it for a while. And gotten almost back out of it, too - I'm currently obsessing over Doctor Who and BBC's Sherlock - but the Halloween event re-sparked my adoration for it.
ANYWAY.
If I ever write any more Hetalia, it will likely NOT be like this one. This one is (loosely) history-based more than canonical. It's supposed to be about the Treaty of Utrecht - I was wandering around Wikipedia one day and stumbled across the page about it, and couldn't get angry/depressed/heartbroken Spain out of my head. But my knowledge of this time period is very limited, and I only really know what I learned through Wikipedia, so please forgive any minor (or major. Gasp!) inaccuracies.
BUT BEFORE I TURN YOU OVER TO THE FIC.
One more thing you should know: the nations in this fic will be calling each other by nation names, in their own language. For example, England would call Spain "Spain", but Spain would (and does) call England "Inglaterra".
...I'm probably too used to foreign languages for my own good - I'll give you guys a cheat-sheet of the names used, down at the bottom.
Also, Spain uses a bit of Spanish here and there, and France uses some French - that would be my language-studying showing through a bit. Translations will also be at the bottom.
Okay, I've rambled on quite enough... Enjoy the fic! And reviews are love! And seriously, if I get something wrong, do NOT be afraid to tell me - I'd be happy to learn something new! :D
"You cannot be serious!" Spain stood from his place next to his for-the-time-being ally, France. He slammed his hands on the table, and his chair, knocked over by his sudden rise, lay abandoned on the floor. There was a raging fire burning in his eyes, a passionate anger that was stronger than anything since the defeat of his "Great and Most Fortunate" Armada. He glared at the countries collected across the room, taking in Savoy, Holy Rome and Austria, his one-time brother Portugal, even his former "lackey", who was now going by "Republic of the Seven United Netherlands", before finally settling his gaze on the man who, once again, seemed to be trying to ruin him. "Inglaterra, you cannot do this! You have no right!"
To be fair, it wasn't all Britain's doing. The Grand Alliance had decided together that it was time to partition Spain - it was just his own personal dislike of the younger nation that shifted the blame to his shoulders. However, it was not the blonde who spoke.
"Spanien, sit down." Austria's stare was cold. "We have every right to demand this of you, to maintain the balance of power. Surely you are old enough to know that - you have seen first hand what happens when one empire grows over-large. We do not want a repeat of Rome."
Spain, in turn, whipped around to fix his glare on his former husband. "You have your maldita balance! Felipe V has renounced his claim to the throne of Francia, and Francia's dukes have renounced their claims to the throne of España! You have their given word! Why do you insist on going this far?"
Netherlands snorted from his seat. "And leave my sister to rot under your failing economy? I don't think so. Better to have her healthy and living safely under Oostenrijk's roof." Just as Spain was about to retort angrily, England spoke up.
"We're doing you a favor, Spain. You've stretched yourself too thin, and you know it. Without the burden of the Southern Netherlands and Naples, among others, your economy should recover, and they will be spared from suffering through it along with you."
"That is a montón de mierda, Inglaterra." He turned to glare at his companion. "Oye! Francia! Why don't you say something?"
The blond sighed, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms slowly across his chest. "I'm afraid I have very little say in any of it, mon ami. As distasteful as all this is, my boss has signed a truce with Angleterre's, so my hands are tied. And not in the way I'd like them to be, if you catch my meaning~." Even in the midst of arguments and debate, France could always be counted on to be himself. Granted, his own losses were rather light in comparison - he would share custody of Canada with Britain, though he still controlled the majority, by far. Spain, on the other hand...
He hung his head, staring at the tabletop and his clenched fists, and taking a series of deep breaths. He could understand why Britain would take Minorca and Gibraltar, why Savoy would want Sicily, and Austria, Sardinia. He knew that Austria would also take care of Southern Netherlands, and perhaps sharing a house with Hungary would do the young woman some good - she was growing up, after all... but...
"Inglaterra... you cannot do this, por favor." Spain raised his head to stare into eyes as green as his own. His enemies (at the moment, at least) were startled to see tears on his cheeks. "Dios mío... Por favor, not him. Not Romano."
Portugal was probably the least impressed. "Espanha, enough blubbering. Do not expect crocodile tears to fool us into allowing you to keep Nápoles."
"What is your interest in him, anyway? You already have clear access to the Mediterranean-" Savoy was interrupted by Spain.
"You don't understand! This isn't about strategy! It's..." He paused, biting his lip and thinking about what to say. "Listen, anyone in the south knows what Romano acts like. But..." He swallowed hard against the knot in his throat, then smiled faintly. "He's starting to trust me... after centuries, he's started believing me, letting me help him..." His smile fades into sheer distress. "And now, you want me to tell him that he has to go back to Austria? That he can't stay with me anymore? He'll think I'm getting rid of him! He'll think I've been lying the entire time, or that I've given up on him! This is not about the war, or the land, or power or access to the Mediterranean. This is about Romano, about a niño, a child who has been abandoned and shoved around all his life and is now, finally starting to grow past it! Can't you see that?"
There was a long, long silence, before the smallest of them, little Holy Roman Empire, stood up on his chair to speak. "And what about Miss Nord Italien? Shouldn't she get to meet her big brother, after being apart almost since the fall of Rome? Shouldn't Neapel be able to meet his little sister? If he's opening up, like you said... m-maybe she can help him?" His cheeks were faintly pink by the time he'd finished, probably from talking so much about North Italy - it was clear to anyone with eyes that he was infatuated with the little maid-country living in his house.
England nodded, seeming to take that as the end of the matter. "I'm sorry, Spain, but Romano will go to live with Austria and Holy Rome, and there is nothing more to be said."
Spain went rather limp with shock, defeat, and despair, and France was quick to set his chair right, just a moment before he slumped into it and buried his face in his hands. As the Grand Alliance filed out of the room, discussing other things, Spain trembled in his seat, struggling not to cry.
"R-Romano... niño... qué haré...?"
France patted his shoulder, but waited until they were the last two left in the room before speaking. "There, there, Espagne... It will be alright, things will get better, you'll see~."
"How? How could this possibly get better?"
The blonde chuckled, making Spain raise his head to stare at him. "Romano has been taken away from you for the time being, oui. But remember, mon ami. What has been taken should always be reclaimed, non~?" At his friend's confused stare, he smiled, and patted his head. "Do not worry, Espagne. We'll fix everything soon enough~."
((Nation names cheat sheet:
Spain: Spanien, Espagne, Espanha, España
England: Inglaterra, Angleterre
Romano: Naples, Nápoles
Belgium: Southern Netherlands (yes, it's a bit confusing, but that's what Belgium was called back then. :'D)
France: Francia
Austria: Oostenrijk
Spanish/French translations:
maldita = damned (Also, Felipe V is also known as Phillip V)
montón de mierda = load of crap (technically, "mountain of shit/crap", but it's a fairly close equivalent, as idioms go)
Oye = Hey
Por favor = Please (honestly, though, is there anyone who actually doesn't know this?
Dios Mío = Dear God (My God)
Niño = child
qué haré? = What will I do?
mon ami = my friend
oiu = yes
non = no
Resources: (Dear god, I actually did a buttload of research. For a oneshot-drabble. orz)
All resources are on Wikipedia. :'D If you're curious, just enter any of these after Wikipedia's (dot)org:
/wiki/Historical_powers#Early_modern_powers
/wiki/Peace_of_Utrecht
/wiki/War_of_the_Spanish_Succession
/wiki/Southern_Netherlands ))