Requested by an anon on tumblr. A friendship story with Italy and Liechtenstein about the death of Holy Rome. For some reason I had the song "Move Along" by All American Rejects stuck in my head but perhaps is fitting.
Italy's last memory of Holy Rome was the tiny boy waving goodbye. He left on a campaign. Some personifications left with him and many human solders but Italy only saw him. He can recall the way the ground was wet from the early morning rain storm and the smell of soil, the way the sun rose and Holy Rome's hair was bright and the boy had a smile on his face. So sure of his victory. The days went on and Italy thought of many things he wanted to say, should have said, needed to say to Holy Rome, so he waited.
Time is a nasty thing, it runs away, and steals, even from nations. Italy grew older, a bit taller but so much still a child and still he waited. As he mopped the floors and his people talked, Austria's people argued, he waited. When he was told about the end of Holy Rome he felt dizzy. He remembers leaving and going to sleep. Waking up that first morning without his hope was one of the hardest things he had ever done.
…
He disappeared into himself. The first thing Austria noticed was that the food wasn't being taken. Italy barely ate his rations let alone the amount he used to steal as extra. Italy would work, eat, sleep, but it was not the same. Austria no longer saw any light hearted mistakes from the child. Finally getting what he wanted out of Italy, but it was a hollow victory.
Some of the other nations under Austrian control, the second or third tier personifications had started to worry about him. His usual laughter and silly jokes disappeared. They all heard about Holy Rome, unsure of what it meant for the rest of them just yet, but Italy seemed to take it the worst. Not that Italy was making it easy for anyone to pity him. The former clumsy and sweet child had gotten fairly bitter. Some of them even found it all to be overly dramatic. They've all lost someone precious to them but life had to move on. For now, a kind word spared to Italy was wasted. Some even whispered that he was becoming like his older brother.
…
Liechtenstein was playing with the flowers in a vase. The table they sat on was near her room and they had needed changing and arranging. She had a moment between her language lessons and cooking instruction. It was bundle of red and white flowers. She had neglected her floral studies for catching up on some of the other lessons but at least she found some calmness with the flowers.
Behind her she heard a loud clang of a broom falling to the marble floor. She turned her head to the sound. Far down the hall Italy was talking to Hungary but the smaller nation seemed agitated.
"No! No! Get away I don't wear that anymore!" He's trying to push on Hungary's legs; the taller woman has a garment in her arms. She's confused and hurt. Italy wasn't very tall yet, still more child than teen and looked a picture of a child in hysterics.
"Ah, Ita-"
"No, Go! I have work to do!" The child picks up his broom and gets back to work. A frown on his face and Hungary comes her way. Liechtenstein turns back to the flowers and keeps busy.
"Liechtenstein!" She gets a pat on the head; Hungary gives her a sad smile. The garment is easier to see, it's a type of Hungarian dress.
"Is something wrong?"
"Ah, well…" Hungary looks sad, "Italy hasn't been the same lately. I had hoped that maybe…" Hungary looks down and pats the dress. Something there that Liechtenstein didn't know about but the look of disappointment said that the plan didn't work.
Liechtenstein looks back at the small nation; the frown was evident even at a distance.
"I know that…." Hungary sighs, "Perhaps it's just the way of things. Ta-ta Liechtenstein, do be a good girl alright?" Hungary leaves and Liechtenstein is left with her thoughts.
She finishes working on the flowers and walks down the hall to Italy.
…
"Italy…?" He hears a tiny voice, not one he's very used to hearing. This alone makes him turn and see the blonde haired personification looking at him. She's very quiet, always had been.
"Ah!" He jumps and shuffles away from her.
"Italy, are you…"
"I'm fine!" He says before she can even finish her question. He takes his broom and pan and walks away without a good bye. He didn't want to talk to her, or anyone. But he knew especially not the blond Germanic personifications. They all looked too much like Holy Rome to him. Austria was easier, darker features but even then there were shared facial expressions. The whole family of them…
He gets to his supply closet and puts his broom and pan in side. In the corner, next to some blankets and other cleaning things are his painting supplies. He hasn't painted since he found out about Holy Rome. Every time he picks up a brush he just sees Holy Rome asking to learn how to paint. Bunnies and a sun shine filled meadow. Each memory is preserved, in Italy's head, the sounds, smells and feelings. Now that he knows he has nothing to replace them with he wants them perfect and forever at the front of his mind. He doesn't want to make new memories to push them away. He closes the closet and goes to the kitchen.
…
Liechtenstein follows him for a bit, when Italy leaves for the kitchen she opens the supply closet. She spies the painting things. Canvas, stand, a box of paints and brushes.
She has a memory, of a camp fire and Holy Rome.
The way she paints is amazing! I want to paint like her, make her something beautiful. I know it'll never be as good as what she can make but…ah, well it's something I think she'd like? What do you think Liechtenstein…?
She had thought she had pushed aside the memories from that campaign. Not many expected her to have gone on that last fateful trek but she had been trained for medical aide and offered. She, by the end of it all, had saved ten humans from death but she had lost the one she had wanted to save most.
Holy Rome.
She closes the door and runs off for her lesson.
…
The issue of Italy and his continued solemn and sad mood only continued to bother Liechtenstein. The two of them had a warm relationship before the passing of Holy Rome but Italy was burning bridges.
She's so happy! She seems to not care about little things, just smiles and enjoys what she enjoys in life. I wish I was more like that. I always seem to get caught up on the details.
Holy Rome's voice and those final months spent together with him on the campaign echoed in her head.
Liechtenstein watched as Italy walked around the kitchen. The personification was cleaning, scrubbing the tables and clearing out the fire pit.
Maybe she isn't that good at cleaning; she day dreams all the time but at least she enjoys life!
Ash falls to the floor and Italy grumbles.
Liechtenstein is torn. Italy isn't doing well and Hungary seemed to be the only one that tried anything. Everyone else either decided it wasn't worth the effort or was in no position to talk intimately with him.
The more Liechtenstein was able to watch Italy the more often she could hear Holy Rome's voice in her memory. The more that Italy's behavior hurt the more she worried and the more she worried the more she began to get anxious.
…
Liechtenstein wasn't sure how it happened exactly. She had been sitting at the community table with other personifications and Italy had been silent for a long time. Then he started to complain about something. She looked at the table and saw the spices and sugar bowel were knocked over. Some of the personifications were laughing and she looked up at Italy. Italy was red faced.
"I hate this so much, just annoying, all of you just-"
She heard Holy Rome in her mind.
She loves everyone, I think. I mean, cares about people. Even if they scare her…like me, but still she'll worry or ask after people and I think I like that most. That she always wants to see the best in people. She'll get sad or mad about people but then, well…she just needs to care about people I think. It's her nature above all else.
And then she slapped Italy. She was fully aware of what happened when she realized Italy was crying and everyone was looking at her. They were more shocked she had lashed out than angry at Italy's tirade. She covers her mouth, shocked by her own actions. Italy has drips of tears rolling down his face and trying to catch his breath. They have to get out of the kitchen, so she grabs his arm and pulls. Luckily both are rather shocked and leave like a breeze through the door.
They stumble outside, disoriented and confused. The night air is cold and jarring to their senses and the confused fog that is on their minds.
She can hear Holy Rome. She knew him well enough to know that everything was so wrong. He would have never liked or wanted to see his beloved Italy like this. Or her.
"Italy!" she grabs his shoulders, "I'm sorry I didn't mean to do that I don't know what-"
"Why…" Italy's face is strained and it's obvious he's hurt and confused. He clutches and wrings his apron in frustration.
She's confused, about why herself.
"I don't-"
"Why is he gone?"
"I…" she doesn't know what to say. She could explain the why of Holy Rome's death, as far as she knew it. The political and social motivations but that isn't enough. That doesn't fill the hole when someone is taken from you. She bites her bottom lip and looks at the ground. Italy will know the reasons eventually, not so passive in his own life that he is incapable of asking or finding out if he presses the right people. He wasn't asking her why, he was asking God.
"Did…"
She looks at him, brushing aside some stray hair from his face. The mothering instincts in her just wanting his suffering to stop and to see him smile again. His pain so obvious and it hurt her heart to see it.
"Did he know that I loved him?" He whispers.
She can't stand the look of heart break on Italy's face. She brings him close and hugs him.
"Yes. Oh, I know he did."
It wasn't a lie, in her talks with Holy Rome she knew this much. The three of them more children than adult and yet Holy Rome was wiser than people gave him credit for. People, he loved to watch people, read people, and understand people. He loved the light of people and he knew the thing that Italy hadn't been able to admit to himself, that they loved each other. That time away from Italy had only brought this all into understanding. The late night talks between them at the camps said as much. Holy Rome had changed out there, something Italy never got to see.
Italy starts to sob, finally letting out the crying and sorrow that he had been unable to let out before, first from being numb and then being angry. The block was finally gone and now he could grieve. Holy Rome wouldn't want to Italy to be so sad, so horribly upset and unable to process this sorrow that Italy isn't Italy. The ending for the two of them, Holy Rome and Italy, has been written but Holy Rome would want Italy to find a new story. To grow and live and paint and smile. To mess up and eat too much and be Italy. That's the greatest memorial Italy could offer and Italy would have to learn to live without Holy Rome but to live with the spirit of his love to give him strength…not to drive him to weakness and sorrow.
She comforts Italy, in the backyard. A chill stars to set in but they won't leave yet. The crying and pain leaking and oozing like a bloody wound. But like she did for the soldiers, she would treat this. With her words and comfort and soon enough she would nurse him back to health, his wound was far too large and deep for him to heal alone. But he doesn't have to be alone. Like a good nurse, a good personification and above all else, a good friend, she would help him.
…
Liechtenstein, do you think when we get back you could help me? I'm…not so good with talking to her but I think if you help I can do it.