Hey again everyone! I'm sure a lot of you are thinking, "What the hell? loveboylove just uploaded a story and now she's uploading ANOTHER one! Why couldn't she have done this with her other ones damn it?" lol...sorry guys. XD

Anyway, here's my first Spamano. I'm warning you though, this does not have a happy ending. I totally planned it to have one but then...well it didn't. :/ I hope you all enjoy it anyway!

Historical prompt: 1072: the Normans conquer Sicily, Calabria and Napoli, and establish a kingdom over southern Italy (the last Byzantine territories in Italy are lost). After finding out that the Norman territory was in what is now today France, this was born.

I (still) don't own Hetalia. boyxboy love here. You've all been warned. Oh, and cussing! :O

Spain sat still on his golden throne, resplendent in the red cloth of a conquistador. Indeed, his collared jacket that fell to just above his knees was a sunset crimson to match the hat placed securely upon not quite shoulder length chocolate locks which were tied back with a scrap of green cloth. A black undershirt and black gloves offset the white handkerchief with an embroidered cross protruding from the neckline of said shirt. Muscular legs were covered by loose fitting brown cotton pants neatly tucked into darker brown shin height boots. Blazing emerald eyes shone out of the tan face that spoke of many a century spent in sunlit countries though the man's physical age appeared to be that of one in his early twenties. The wealth of his clothes and the elegant way the hall was furnished sent a clear message of power and fear for he and his people were vicious and mercy was not a commonly used word.

Lips normally twisted into an attractive smirk that spoke of death were pressed into a soft, almost confused frown. The presence of his crew and countrymen was also conspicuous only in their absence. A soft sleep murmur and small shifting was the only sound that echoed through the vast hall.

His left leg was casually thrown across the right to support the teenager asleep upon the conquistador's lap. The boy looked to be no older then seventeen. His face, while not quite as tan as his companion's, spoke of Mediterranean origins which was accented by the lighter colored short brown hair of an Italian. He was clad in a cream colored field worker's long sleeve shirt that fell slightly past mid thigh. Fair peach colored trousers were tucked into white shin high socks that disappeared into soft flat brown shoes. A strange curl that twisted upward from the right side of the young man's head rose and fell with each heavy inhale and exhale. The left cheek of Romano, Southern Italy, or Lovino Vargas pressed into the chest of Spain or Antonio Fernandez Carriedo; the most feared nation currently to sail to and from the new world.

Two boys clothed in identical plain white long sleeve gowns of the Catholic Church and soft white caps held each other as the city around them was torn apart and ravaged by marauding Spanish and Austro-Hungarian soldiers. They stood over the fallen body of the once great Roman Empire, now dead and looking like he had been dragged through the dirt.

The smaller, auburn haired child cried in great shuddering sobs that was lost in the screams of the once Roman citizens as they were forced out of their homes to whatever horrible fate might await them. The slightly taller boy's earth colored eyes were dry but blank with shock, as though waiting for the nightmare to end. Neither could have been physically older then eight.

Several yards away stood the nations of Hungary, Austria, and Spain, seemingly untouched by the terror surrounding them. The finery of their clothes seemed to repel the grime that choked the air as they stared at the two boys.

Growing impatient, the Spaniard began to walk towards the white figures, calculating which one to take with him. Hearing the footsteps, the younger cowered behind his twin as the elder drew a knife from their grandpa's waist and held it aloft. Spain stopped, rather surprised that he was being opposed by someone. "L-Listen here you bastardo [bastard]; stay the fuck away from me and Felici!"

Antonio noticed how the boy's hand and voice were trembling but he still tried to throw off an air of control. The man stepped towards the twins and they, in turn, took a step backward. "I-I mean it! Stay the f-fuck away from us!" Another step forward. "I'll ki-kill you if you come any closer!"

Spain frowned at the boy's threat, sure that he wasn't serious and took another step. The boy in front of him let out a angry sob of defiance, charged forward and swung the blade. The movement was slow and terribly clumsy, clearly indicating the lack of formal training. Antonio easy knocked the knife out of the boy's hands before picking him up and throwing the now screaming Italian over his shoulder.

Ignoring both his captive's angered shouts and the twin's fearful screams, he turned back to face the other two nations who had yet to move. "Oi, Elizaveta, Roderich; alright if I take this one?" The Austrian man inclinded his head in agreement as the Hungarian woman said, "I don't see why not."

Smirking, Spain began to walk off with his prize as the younger attempted to run after them and was caught around the waist by Austria. "Fratello, fratello [Brother, brother]!" the boy screamed as he was dragged away. The one over Spanish shoulders screamed curses in Italian and Latin and beat on the back of the man carrying him away from his younger twin. Though not painful in the least, the hits were also accompanied by a wetness that seemed to seep from the prisoner's eyes, into the red jacket, and coated his skin.

Soon, the boy's throat was so raw that he was reduced to a pained weeping. "What's your name anyway?" the Spaniard asked as they neared his ship. The boy rasped out a soft, "Bastardo," before continuing to cry. Shrugging muscular shoulders, Antonio continued to walk towards his crew, figuring he'd learn his new colony's name at some point. Even though the distance from Rome to the coast was a considerable ways away, distance never meant much to a strong nation like Spain and he easily covered kilometers in a matter of hours rather then days.

Weeks on board the ship, El orgullo del Sol [Pride of the Sun], yielded no kinder temperament from the southern Italian. He had originally struggled so much that the crew had been forced to tie him to a pole in one of the storage rooms near the captain's cabin to prevent the boy from accidently hurting himself. Each man on board had stern orders from their captain that no harm should come to the child and he should be given good food. After a few days of the Italian not eating, Antonio finally visited his captive personally.

Kneeling beside the child, Spain stared into defiant, if slightly scared, eyes. "Why do you refuse to eat?" he asked, frowning. In turn, Romano let out a slew of insults which included, but was not limited to; the stupidity of Antonio's ship, his crew, his clothes, Antonio himself, and him descending from various farm and domestic animals. The frown only got deeper with every accusation.

Picking up the discarded wooden spoon and bowl full of soup, Spain scooped out a bit of the liquid and a stewed tomato and blew to cool the food down. "That doesn't explain why you won't eat," he said calmly, observing the strange likeness the color of the bobbing fruit was to the boy's enraged face.

"I hate you! I hate you, you bastard! You stole me away from my brother before our Nonno Roma's [Grandpa Rome's] body had even cooled!"

Antonio looked into the boy's eyes again and tilted his head to the side, confused. "But you were left unguarded. It's a nation's obligation to capture and claim a dissolved nation's territories as his own." Really, why was the boy so upset? Didn't he understand?

"You asshole! I'm just as much a person and a nation as you are!"

"No, you are just a colony. You're my colony now while before you were Rome's."

Brown eyes widened in shock before narrowing to slits. "I am not just some piece of property," he hissed in anger. "Just because I might not be as tall or as powerful as you doesn't mean I don't have feelings and rights."

Spain looked even more bewildered, especially at the decreased volume at which his colony was speaking. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I'm angry!" the small boy exploded. "I'm so angry that if I was free I would strangle you! I'd gouge out your eyes, rip open your chest, shove one of your ribs through your own still beating heart, and squish your pig ugly shit face into your brain!"

Green eyes blinked in shock at the declaration. His mouth fell open and attempted to form words but his thoughts were so scrambled that he couldn't think of anything to say. So, so his captive wasn't happy like he was. He was mad. And he thought that Antonio himself was ugly. No one had ever said such a thing. Everyone had always agreed with him so whenever he said that he was happy or angry, others would say the same so he thought that they felt the same. He'd never been hated before.

"You mean you feel differently then me?"

"Yes!" The response was roared defiantly. "Did you think the world revolved around you or something? I was just forced away from my home and the last member of my family! Do you think I'd be happy about something like that?"

"I-I don't understand," Antonio confessed. He felt dizzy with the realization that maybe the people around him didn't think like he did at all. Maybe they all lied and had always lied.

The boy looked at him with hate before spitting into the conquistador's face. Spain dropped the spoon and bowl, unmindful of the mess it created as he stared into the Italian's eyes. "I-I have to go. I'll be back though," he muttered stupidly before stumbling back to his own quarter's and sprawled on his bed.

He hadn't understood. So he went back to the boy and spent hours on end in the small room with him. Spain would feed him too though it was forced. Some days, the boy would rant and rave like a madman, other days, he was as silent as a moonless night at sea. Still other times, he would just bow his head and cry out for his brother, for his grandpa, and for his home. It was during those days that Antonio wouldn't know what to do.

"Please don't cry!" he said, wringing his hands in anxiety. He bit his lower lip as the boy continued to sob quietly. Tilting the boy's face towards his own, Spain wiped away the tear tracks with his black gloved thumbs. "Por favor, dejen [Please stop]," he begged. "I-I hate it when you cry. I don't know what to do and it makes me want to cry too so please don't cry anymore."

The boy sniffed wetly and more tears simply replaced the ones that the elder had removed. "I can't stop so you might as well just leave. Why are you even in here anyway?"

Antonio frantically wiped away the new tears. "I want to learn about people. About you. You're the only person ever who doesn't agree with me. The only person who doesn't like the way I look or think or act."

Brown eyes blinked tired and tear filled up at the taller man. "I don't know what your problem is but it doesn't take a genius to see that you're really emotionally underdeveloped. That and really freaking spoiled."

"What do you want me to do? What would someone do to help you stop crying?" Spain begged for the answers. He wasn't used to the tears and hated them more then the boy's yelling.

"What can I say that would make you leave me alone?" Romano asked desperately. "I just want to be left alone."

"If I left you alone, would you stop crying?" Antonio asked hopefully.

"No."

"Oh…" a pregnant silence fell. "Teach me about people. About you."

Sighing, a strand of brown hair fluttered away from the Italian's face before falling back into place. "Why would you want to do that? You seem to have made quite an empire for yourself on being a selfish ignorant bastard, why change now?"

"Because I want to help you feel better. I want to know about you."

The answer was so honest and heartfelt. Another sigh escaped chapped lips. "Fine. The first thing you could do is untie me bastard. I hate being stuck sitting down except for when I'm allowed to go to the bathroom."

Spain nodded, eager to comply, and quickly cut the boy free. The youth struggled to stand before his legs folded underneath him and he pitched forward. Awkward red clad arms steadied him. "Are you alright? Why can't you stand? You did so fine before."

"My feet and legs are asleep dumbass, that's what happens when someone sits for days on end," the Italian said scathingly.

"Ah, right right. Do you need me to carry you?" Antonio asked with concern.

"No!" was the vicious reply. In response, he was picked up anyway and cradled semi uncertainly. "W-what the hell bastard? I said I didn't want to be carried!"

"But what if I want to hold you? I just remembered a conversation between some of my servants and they said that their children liked being held when they were sad."

"…" the boy's mouth opened and then shut with a click. "Hn fine. But you'd better not try any funny stuff."

"I won't! I promise!" the Spaniard said, pleased that he was getting something right. A long silence passed. "You never told me your name before."

"You never told me yours either bastard."

"Oh! Well my name is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo or Spain or Boss since you're going to be working for me soon I guess."

"That's a stupid name."

"Hey no it's-!"

"Will you shut up?" the boy grumbled. "If you're always talking, how the hell am I supposed to tell you my own name?"

Antonio instantly clamped his mouth shut.

"It's Lovino Vargas. I don't have a middle name like you. I'm Romano or South Italy."

"Lovino…" Spain said, almost reverently.

"What?"

"That's a really cute name!"

"Shut the hell up bastard!"

"Lovi~ I just told you my name is Antonio! Not bastard!"

"Well it's bastard to me. And hey, who said you could give me a nickname huh? I'm not your pet!"

"But it's so cute like you!"

"Shut up!"

And so the days went until they finally sailed into the Spanish port.

Lovino was trembling violently. Antonio didn't understand why. He couldn't be cold. The day was warm and the docks were full of moving people so there was no shortage of excess heat. Not a cloud marred the blue of the sky and the sun seemed to be smiling at the return of the red conquistador and his crew.

Crouching down to the boy's height, Spain placed his hand on the brown locks to grab the child's attention. "Lovi, what's wrong? Are you feeling sick?"

The Italian opened his mouth then shut it again quickly. His earth colored eyes darted to and fro through the crowd of people that were gathering to look at and talk to the crew and hear news from the fallen Rome. They were closing in on the two nations from all sides.

Antonio saw Romano's shoulders shuddering with rapid inhales and exhales and worried that the boy was going to start crying again. Peering into his eyes, the older man noticed that the shorter male's pupils were extremely dilated and he seemed to be sweating.

"B-Bastard. Pick m-me up."

Spain blinked in surprise. Lovino was stuttering just as badly as when they first met. What did it mean? "Lovi? Tienes miedo [Are you scared]?"

Not giving a verbal reply, the boy curled himself closer to the Spaniard and buried his face into the white handkerchief around the man's neck. Frowning, Antonio quickly lifted his colony into his arms and strode away from the crowds, calling back for his crew to unload the items they had gathered with care.

Antonio ran gloved hands through Lovino's brown hair as he remembered those events of centuries past. The shorter southern Italian resting on him nuzzled his cheek over the Spaniard's heart and the other nation couldn't help but find the act very, very adorable. The teen was just far too cute for his own good. Undoubtedly he swore quite more then even one of Spain's crewmen when drunk and agitated but he looked so much like a tomato that the action was still cute even though his words were meant to be poisonous.

The Spaniard reflected on the many years that it had been since Romano had come to be his colony. But their relationship was more then simply nation and colony, master and servant.

The teenager had taught him that everyone was equal in terms of emotions and the right to life. That war wasn't something to be glorified or bragged over. Lovino had actually slapped him across the face when Antonio had begun to brag about how many people he had killed.

"Lovi~!" Spain exclaimed, joyfully hugging his little colony.

"Bastard let me go! H-Hey, you're covered in blood…"

"Yeah! But don't worry, it's not mine."

"W-What?"

"It was amazing Lovi, I've never killed that many men in one go!" Antonio said laughing. "You should have seen the surprise in their fac-"

A resonating crack shattered the happy atmosphere as an enraged Italian shoved his boss away from him. Shock was written over the Spaniard's face as his gloved hand came up to touch the reddening handprint on his cheek. It had hurt.

"You fucking…I thought you had changed. But you're still the bloodthirsty murderer you were when you invaded my city!" Lovino looked to be about ten and his child's hands were suddenly dwarfed by Antonio's larger ones.

The boy had screamed to be let go off and tried to fight off the older man though all Spain did was hold the younger's hands in one of his own while the other pressed into his throbbing cheek. "That really hurt Lovi…" he said softly. But the pain wasn't just in his face; he felt his heart throb at the boy's harsh words. Why?

A rasping cough echoed out through the hall and Antonio's right hand immediately dipped to rub the teenager's back in a gesture meant to sooth. More coughs rebounded off the stone walls as the conquistador gathered up Lovino closer to his chest. "Shh amado [beloved], shh. It'll be over soon I promise."

Brown lashes fluttered open hazily. "An...tonio..." Romano whispered painfully. His heart clenched violently and he grasped onto his lover's coat with a muffled cry.

The sounds of people shouting and rapid footsteps drifted through the wooden door separating the two nations from the rest of the house. Men's voices yelling, the clang of steel upon steel, and the death cries of those falling to the ground oozed closer and closer.

Lovino started shaking in fear and pain as Antonio lifted the smaller man into his arms before resting him upon the throne in the Spaniard's place. A trembling hand grasped onto the gloved one as dilated pupils met calm green orbs. Romano's mouth opened and worked uselessly for several seconds but Spain understood even though no words could be heard.

Cupping the younger's cheek, the conquistador gently brushed his lips over the slightly chapped mouth of his lover. Lovino arched closer and deepened the kiss as his free hand tangled itself into the older man's jacket and tightened his grip on their clasped hands.

Antonio pulled back softly and kissed the young man's forehead, his eyes, cheeks, and lips softly. "Te amo [I love you]," he breathed against Romano's mouth before kissing it one last time.

"I-If we get out of this okay…"

"When it's all over Lovi."

"Right. W-When it's done, we should-I mean I want to…"

Massaging the younger's face with his thumb, Antonio smiled. He understood perfectly. "How about we go harvest some tomatoes tomorrow after we wake up. Does that sound good mi único [my only]?"

Lovino bit his lip nervously as someone started to try and break down the door. "Y-Yeah. This is a promise now j-jerk so you'd better remember it." Be safe his eyes leaked out with worry.

Chuckling gently, Antonio nodded. "Of course I will. I'd never forget something I promised you Lovi." I will protect you, I swear it.

Loosening the younger's grip on his clothing and hand, Spain walked away from the throne until his back rested upon the same wall the door was located on. With a soft hiss, he unsheathed the sword resting upon his hip and held it, point facing down.

Glancing towards his lover, Antonio sighed gently. "You can't be looking at me Lovi; that will ruin the plan."

Romano's lips trembled as another heavy blow was dealt to the door. "Antonio!" he called out desperately. The Spaniard so wanted to comfort his love but he knew that, in doing so, the teenager would be lost to him forever. "Antonio…" the Italian said, quieter now but his words still filled the hall. "T-Ti amo [I-I love you]."

Closing his eyes, Lovino crumpled upon the throne mere seconds before the door finally splintered open. A lone man stood in the wreckage, seemingly unaffected by the violence behind him. He squinted, for light was spilling from the corridor behind him and the hall he now looked into was only dimly lit by a blue stained glass window on the opposite wall.

His eyes scanned the room before locking on the lone chair in the very center. Taking one step forward, the man hesitated and glanced around him again but the gloom pressing down on him prevented the wandering eyes from seeing anything on the wall where the door was positioned.

Turning his gaze back onto the throne, the man padded forward and the darkness was slowly peeled away to reveal his figure. A light blue hat captain's hat with an elegant white plume protruding from the top lay upon golden curls pulled into a ponytail with a darker blue cloth. Golden bangs hanging cheekbone length framed a pale face and accented the man's cold blue eyes. His collared jacket of the same blue color as his hat fell to mid thigh and was opened to reveal a white buttoned undershirt and white handkerchief placed similarly as Spain's was except this man's did not have a cross. A dark blue sash wrapped around the man's lower stomach and covered the top part of his light red pants which were tucked neatly into a pair of black shin high boots. Dropping his hand from the hilt of the sword strapped to his hip, the form of France or Francis Bonnefoy swaggered forward.

Going down on one knee before the throne, he raised his right white gloved hand and pressed it to his heart before bowing from the waist up. Keeping his face upturned, Francis smiles lightly. "How I've missed you ma colombe [my dove]."

Lovino half opened his eyes to glare at the Frenchman kneeling in front of him. "Vaffanculo [Fuck off]," he mumbled hatefully.

Still smiling, France removed the hand pressing to his heart and reached out to take Romano's. Weakly attempting to bat away the approaching appendage, the Italian's body racked with pain as more screams echoed through to the hall. Taking this as his chance, the blond clasped the teenager's hand between both of his. "Still as charming as ever I notice," he said sweetly.

Struggling in vain to try and pull his hand away, Lovino let out a small snarl. "What the hell do you want ranaamante [frog lover]?" he spat out.

"What do I want?" France tilted his head to the left and adopted a mockingly thoughtful gaze. "Hm I wonder what I could possibly want with ma petite [my little] Lovnio...?" Chuckling softly, he returned his eyes to stare into Romano's brown ones. "Do you happen to know Espagne [Spain]?"

Lovino's eyes widened in a shock that mirrored the Spaniard's look as he stood behind the invading nation. But he had been so quiet! Trying to shake off the unwanted emotion, Antonio pushed his blade through Francis's ponytail and rested its tip against the other's neck. "I know a great deal of things Francia [France], but perhaps the biggest one is the fact that, if you do not let go of my amado, I will be forced to slit your thin white throat."

Francis sighed theatrically. "Really Spain, you and your threats. Can't the two of us just be civilized?" At his words, a particularly loud scream cut through the air and a muffled moan chocked out of Lovino's lips. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hunched over them as his body shook with pain. Releasing one of the hands holding the Italian's, the blond reached upward and ran his fingers through sweaty brown locks.

Antonio let out a growl of anger and pressed the sword harder against the Frenchman's flesh. "Release him," he said with his rage barely in check.

"You cannot win Espagne," France murmured. "Even now, while your men are occupied here, mine have already infiltrated and are taking over Sicile, la Calabreet Naples [Sicily, Calabria and Naples]. You know I do not lie. Just one look at your lover is enough to understand."

Red clad shoulders began to shake with a combination of anger and fear. Emerald eyes flicked to the weak Italian teenager who was biting his lips to prevent his own screams of agony.

"Roderich said you'd come to Rome. And so you did."

"He is a fool blinded by his own conquers. I only came here because I knew this is where you both would be."

A strip of blood dripped slowly down a trembling chin as Lovino finally bit too hard through his lip. As the drops started to fall, the last of the screams died away.

Blue eyes closed as their owner took a deep breath.

"It's over Espagne."

Footsteps echoed throughout the stone hall as French soldiers poured in. None of them spoke a word. And Antonio knew. He knew before the French had grabbed his arms. Before his own blade clattered to the ground with a defeated ring. Before Lovino's tearstained brown eyes met his own broken green ones. He had lost. It was as Francis said. It was over.

"No!"

Lovino struggled against France, even as the blond restrained his movements. "No, no, no! Damn it no! It's not supposed to end like this!"

The Italian bit and tried to lash out as more soldiers closed around the three nations. His hand shot out and clipped Francis on the chin and reached desperately for Antonio's even as the Spaniard was slowly being dragged away from him.

"Let him go you bastards! Dioti maledicatutti [God damn you all]! Antonio!" Tears spilled out of earth colored eyes. "Antonio!"

Spain was fighting. He couldn't go peacefully, not when his lover was screaming for him so horribly. Yanking his arms free, he ran towards the throne, even as more hands came forward to grasp at him and swords were raised. Lovi, Lovi, Lovi; that was all that mattered.

Four men jumped on his back and pinned his appendages to the ground as a fifth and sixth tied up his arms and legs.

"Don't hurt him!" France called out in an order as Romano screamed the words in a plea for mercy.

"Lovi! Lovino!" Antonio screamed as he was hauled away. "Lovino!" Something hard smashed into the back of his head. Darkness slowly ate away at the strangely slowed down sights before his eyes and sound slowly dissolved. Unfamiliar faces with blank eyes, Francis's back as he lifted up the struggling Italian teenager, Lovino's mouth opening and closing around words the Spaniard could no longer hear, tears streaming down his horrified face. The scene in front of him was moving further away from him, or perhaps, it was he that was being taken away. He didn't know.

"Lo…vi…"

Then, the darkness swallowed him whole.

Sadness...T.T Anyway, there was so much I wanted to add for this but it didn't work out! D: Like how the reason the cloth Spain used to tie back his was green was because Romano gave it to him or a scene where Lovi terrorizes the Holy Roman Emperor and Austria and Spain are talking about trading Italies but Spain basically says "Fuck you specks I like my Lovi!" XD Ahh...maybe someday...T.T

Again, only edited by me! Please review. I noticed on my last story that almost 40 people had looked at it but only my best buddy Yami had reviewed (of which I love you for by the way! ^^). :( So please!

Thanks again for reading!

Later!

loveboylove