Nothing went well.
Due to being forced to pay ridiculous taxes, the Dutchman became angrier with Spain with each passing day. His citizens were dissatisfied and poverty began to reign his country. All Willem was good for was money, and it got on his nerves. It was not helping that his sister did enjoy that idiot Spain's company along with those other obnoxious colonies of his, such as that brat Romano. They were all favored above Holland; and for what reason?
"Niet zolang Spanje in de buurt is."
The Netherlands himself had been expanding territory. He felt that the time was right; it was time to make his stand. No longer would be he controlled by someone as irresponsible and idiotic as that Spaniard. His hands had been aching for a fight for so long that he was certain he would win. It was like a dream becoming reality - independency was so close he could taste it.
"Onafhankelijkheid zal de mijne zijn, Spanjaard."
The Eighty Years' War began. Willem never expected his sister to pick sides against him. They never did get along too well, but to backstab a sibling was something the Dutchman would never do. He asked her to live with him and she had refused. She refused her own flesh and blood in favor of staying with Spain. Her friend.
"..We zijn familie. We horen bij elkaar te blijven."
The Netherlands won his war, but victory was not as sweet as he had hoped for. It tasted bitterer than he ever could have imagined. A battle that had been won at such a great cost. He lost his sister and Spain was to blame. The bastard was to blame for everything that went wrong in his life.
A pyrrhic victory.
Willem returned home - the home he had not been to for decades. He cared not for lighting up the dark living room - he did not even care to light his pipe. Quietly he sat in his chair, slumped and his arms resting on the props. Unmoving as he stared at the painting hanging on the wall across of him. Analyzing it as good as possible in the darkness filled room. But of course he knew what it showed him. It was Belgium, still just a child. Her blonde hair decorated with a bright red ribbon as she sat proudly in her older brother's lap. A genuine smile tugging even at Willem's lips.
Complete silence was broken as a dry sob - one that would never be acknowledged by anyone but him - escaped the Dutchman. What will become of him now?
"Zusje.."
Fin. This is the first story I'm publishing and it'll probably be the only one for a while.
Lemme know what you think?
Translations Dutch - English:
"Niet zolang Spanje in de buurt is." - "Not while Spain's around."
"Onafhankelijkheid zal de mijne zijn, Spanjaard." - "Independence will be mine, Spaniard."
"..We zijn familie. We horen bij elkaar te blijven." - "..We are family. We are supposed to stay together."
"Zusje.." - "Sis.."