Disclaimer: Sadly, I don't own Hetalia. But maybe that's a good thing because it probably would have much darker storylines if I did own it.
My first story under my new penname :)
Warning: Excessive use of the word girl.
000
Mexio's beginning
"Mama?"
The dark haired little girl's face was filled with terror as she knelt beside her mother, whose breathing seemed to be getting more and more difficult as the seconds ticked by.
"Mama," tears began streaming down the girl's face, "Please, get up!"
The woman on the jungle floor turned her face toward the sound of her daughter's voice and, with great difficulty, opened her eyes to see her little girl.
The sight of the young one, however distressed she looked, was enough to bring a smile to the corner of the women's mouth. "Maria," she rasped.
The girl looked confused, "Mama that isn't my name."
The smile slowly faded at her daughter's words and was replaced with a saddened look. "That's…what he…will…want to call you," the words in her answer were sporadic as she struggled to get them out between heavy breathes.
"W-who," the girl questioned as she reached forward to clutch at her mother's hand.
The women looked about to answer but suddenly stiffened and began gasping in pain. The girl looked behind her shoulder fearfully, once again remembering the carnage going on at her mother's capital that very second. Way out here in the jungle she could still faintly hear the screams…
Her mother's pitiful coughing brought the girls attention back and she resumed looking worriedly at the women. Her mother had changed, the girl noted. The beautiful, courageous, strong, yet weary woman from her very first memories was gone. She had been replaced by this…Her outer-beauty had almost completely diminished, the battle wounds, cracked skin, baggy eyes, and (most of all) the horrible smallpox scars stealing it away. Her strength and the small bit of weariness had given way to complete exhaustion, which had been plaguing her for quite awhile now. The only thing that had appeared to remain was her courage and the little girl was afraid that she had seen that slowly slipping away too.
"Maria," the women muttered again, and this time the daughter didn't question the strange name, "Listen…are you listening to me?"
"Yes Mama," the little one laid a quick kiss on the hand she was still clutching to her chest, "Of course."
"You're going…to have to be…brave," the women rattled out, "Very…brave."
"Why," the daughter whispered, "You'll protect me won't you? You've always been the brave one."
The mother's look was truly sorrowful now as she gazed at her daughter. Of course she had been worried when the child showed up in the first place, some intuition warning her of what was going to happen. But she had loved her nonetheless, oh God how she loved her…
"Promise me…," she rasped with as much volume as she could muster, "Promise me you'll be brave. That you'll take care of the people!"
The daughter's eyes widened and she quickly nodded, "I promise Mama."
Relaxing just the slightest bit the mother allowed the corners of her mouth to lift again, "Very good. Thank you child."
"But why," the girl asked fearfully, "Why will I have to be brave? And-and what did you mean take care of the people?"
This time the smile didn't leave, but it did turn sad as she answered, "My daughter…it's my time to go."
It took a long time for the words to register in the little girl's mind and for a moment the women was worried she'd have to repeat herself. She opened her mouth to do just that when the child suddenly flew into frenzy.
"NO," she screamed, "You cant- you can't. You're an Empire! You can't die! No! Y-you're to powerful! What about getting rid of these intruders who harm us? What about the people? Will you leave them?"
The women was forced to use some of her now precious energy to calm the child, when she finally had the girl settled down enough to listen to her again she was dismayed to see the tears coursing down the girl's cheeks.
"Maria," she murmured, wishing she had the strength to wipe those tears away, "What you said…about the people. They'll have you. That's why I need you to be brave."
The girl bowed her head, already feeling the weight of that burden on her small shoulders.
"And me?" her voice was choked by tears, "You will leave me?"
Her words stabbed her mother's heart like none of the conquistador's swords could. She let out her own sob, "My child I will never leave you."
The little girl looked up, the tears still streaming. Her mother shakily pushed forward the hand her daughter was holding to her chest, so that it rested over her heart.
"I'll always be with you," she whispered. Her old fierceness, the type her daughter had never had the chance to see, shone through at this proclamation and the girl beheld it with fascination.
"And I'll always be with the people," the women continued, but her voice softened at her next words, "Through you. Because I know you won't let them forget me."
The girl sobbed.
The mother became still, listening to something under the sounds of the jungle at night and below the distant noise of her capital being attacked. Something the daughter couldn't hear. He was coming.
"Maria," she looked back at her daughter, "You must go."
The girl shook her head vehemently.
"Yes," her mother insisted, "He…he's coming to end it."
"Then I'll protect you," her daughter whispered, a trace of her mother's recent fierceness already showing in her.
"No, you can't child. It's too late. Go," the mother's voice was too firm for even the daughter to ignore, "Go. Be brave, be there for the people."
When the girl hesitated her mother shouted sternly, "Go!"
Laying one last kiss to her mother's palm the girl sprung up and made to dash further into the jungle, but she faltered slightly and turned around to get one more look at her beloved mother.
Seeing her daughter's tears the mother gave a final grin, "Don't be sad my sweet. Remember what I said. Give mama one last smile?"
The little girl could never deny such a thing. Even though the tears were still pouring from her eyes and she was shaking with suppressed sobs, the girl gave her mother the brightest smiles she could possibly muster.
"Ah," the women turned her face towards the heavens and closed her eyes, her face finally smoothing out, "Thank you my sweet. Now, please…go."
"Goodbye Mama," the girl whimpered as she turned to go.
"Goodbye daughter," the women murmured, "…Remember me."
"Always," the girl whispered and then dashed off before she gave into temptation and stayed.
The mother laid there only a minute longer, her eyes still closed with the sight of her lovely child's smile behind them, determined to die with this image being the last she saw.
He came out of a thicket of trees to find her laying there. Green eyes almost glowing in the dark (but with what emotion it was impossible to tell) he gripped his axe and advanced on the women.
Only a few seconds later the jungle heard the thud as the axe was brought down.
The siege of Tenochtitlan was over.
The Aztec Empire had fallen.
000
The little girl surveyed what was once her mother's great capital, Tenochtitlan, with a blank expression.
She didn't know how long she had hidden out in the jungle. Days? Months? A year? She wasn't sure. All she knew was that she was gone enough time for them to destroy the once great capital.
She wandered aimlessly for awhile, trying not to think about where certain buildings had stood or where she had played with her human friends. The same blank expression adorning her face, it felt like a dream.
But it was when she came to some certain ruins that she finally broke down. This was where her mother and she had lived, in the elaborate structure that had been reduced to rubble. Sitting against the last wall standing the girl began to cry softly, giving into the sadness that had just been waiting to consume her.
000
The earth crunched under Spain's feet as he strode throughout the fallen capital, looking over his work. Truthfully not feeling the slightest bit of remorse for what he had destroyed. No, only pride at what he had conquered.
Not bad, he mused to himself, though he'd have to get most of these remains torn down soon, really couldn't they do it right the first time? Sighing heavily, as though he'd have to do the labor himself, he decided to go back to give the order. He was just about to turn around and when he heard the faint noise. Was that someone crying? Brow furrowing, he decided to investigate.
But he wasn't prepared for what he came upon. A tiny, dark-haired girl sat against the remains of a stone wall, weeping. It must be a native, Spain thought dismissively (though he noted the skin was a lighter shade than the others) probably orphaned or lost he reasoned. Normally he would've kept on his way but he felt a strange pull towards the child. He decided to give into this urge and investigate, but he tightened his hold on his axe just in case something should turn out amiss. Advancing slowly and cautiously he drew near to the distraught child, who kept mumbling nonsense words between hiccups and sobs.
When Spain was about fifteen feet away he felt something that stopped him midstep. There was that strange feeling in his stomach. The one he felt whenever he met another country for the first time. This child was someone, someone like him. There was no doubt.
And since he had just finished off the Aztec Empire…that meant she could only be one person.
His heart started pounding as he advanced.
000
The little girl lifted her head slighly in alarm when she finally heard the sound of someone approaching but by then it was too late to run. Her eyes were frozen to the ground in front of her, where she could see two dusty leather boots standing just a few feet from her own curled up form. Breath becoming heavy; she forced herself to remember her promise to her mother. Be brave, be brave, be brave…
"Maria?"
Her whole body jerked at the name and she whipped her head up to look to the face of a man. But no he wasn't a human man. A strange clench in her stomach let her know almost immediately that this was someone like her. She didn't question the intuition. Only kept staring at her fellow country in front of her.
The man slowly bent down until he was kneeling in front of her. He stared at her in wonderment while the girl found herself, through her fear, captivated by his bright green eyes.
"Is that you're name? Maria?" he asked softly. Only it was in an unfamiliar tongue, not anything like the language she had known her whole life. But then why could she understand it?
"I don't know," she whimpered, finding that she could also speak it. How strange. "My mother she- she started calling me that. But I had never…" she trailed off uncertainly at the ruthful smile that spread across the other country's face.
"So your mother finally honored my wish," the man murmured, more to himself than her, "Took her long enough."
"You knew my mother?" the girl questioned swiftly.
"Oh yes," the man said, "We met a few years ago, such a shame things had to end so tragically for her, si? It could've been much different for you know."
The girl felt her heart clench at his words. Not just the nonchalant way he spoke of her mother's death but also with the realization this mean must have been the mother referred too, the man who would want to call her Maria.
"Who are you," she asked suspiciously.
The man quirked an eyebrow curiously, "You're saying she didn't tell you?"
"My mother said someone would want to call me that name," the girl said slowly, "So, would that you?"
He stared at her a second longer before giving a deep sigh and answering "Well novio, I'm like you…do you understand what I mean?"
She nodded.
He copied the head movement and stared some more before continuing, "I'm the country of Spain-"
It took a nanosecond for the name to process in her mind, immediately connecting to the fearful whisperings of her mother's people, to the horrible epidemic that had been spreading, and, of course, the destruction of this very city.
She quickly made to flee before the word was even fully out of his mouth. Knowing she had to, she must, get back into the jungle.
But just as quickly as her he thrust an arm out to brace against the wall behind her, blocking her escape.
The girl spun to go the other way only to have the same thing happen. She was caught between his arms, and the wall at her back, trapped. She just put as much distance between him and herself as possible by flattening herself against the wall. The terror on her face and her rapid breathing made the Spaniard frown as he shuffled forward to get closer.
"I'm not going to hurt you novio," he murmured gently.
The disbelief showed on the young ones face gradually changed to anger.
"I don't believe you," she stammered furiously, "You've destroyed the capital. You stole from us. You've harmed my mothe…my people. Why should I not believe you'll do the same to-"
The girl cut herself off suddenly and she became very still as something else occurred to her. This was the person that was to call her Maria, her mother simply referred to them as 'he'…she had also said something about another (the same?) 'he'…
("He…he's coming to end it.")
Some strange instinct made the girl's eyes drift over to the battle axe that Spain had laid down a yard or so away. It was a large, shiny, sharp, deadly looking thing, she had never seen anything quite like it before. But it wasn't the largeness, the shininess, the sharpness, or the deadly look that drew her eyes. It was the dried blood still on the blade.
She knew, she just knew, that least some of it her mother's blood.
All thoughts flew out of her mind except one; hurt Spain. The girl lunged forward blindly and began beating at the nation's chest with her tiny fist. Her attack caused him to fall back as her unsuspected fury caught him off guard.
"It was you," she screamed, madly, "You killed her! You did didn't you? You killed my mama! I hate you! I hate you!"
Quickly becoming annoyed with the girl's rather pitiful attempts at harming him, Spain sat up and caught her wrists as she came at him again. Dragging her closer Spain ignored the sudden tears and put his face close to hers.
"Yes," he said, practically growling, "I did kill you mother-"
The girl screamed in despair, throwing her head back to the sky. Spain would have none of it; he put both her small wrists in one of his large hands and used the other to force her head back to face him.
"She brought it on herself," he continued, "You know she could have cooperated but instead she chose to challenge me. I didn't have a choice, child. She had to go."
"I don't care what you say," the girl cried back, "She didn't deserve to die. She was my mother! My mama…" she trailed off in sorrow.
Spain leveled her with a hard glare, "Well I am your father."
The little girl went very still, tearful eyes widening in absolute shock at his words. Using this to his advantage Spain gently pushed her back and stood up, dusting himself off while keeping his eyes on her face go gauge her reaction.
After a good full minute the girl finally replied numbly, "That's not true."
"No?" Spain asked with another quirked eyebrow, "I met your mother a few years ago. And how long have you been around?"
It was easy to see by the expression on her face that this answer made sense to the girl. At that whatever fight was left in her fled and she sagged her shoulders in defeat. She looked away from the country and off towards the jungle. "You still killed her," she murmured.
Spain chuckled darkly at his daughter's words. He leant down and scooped her up into his arms to hold her small body against him. "Oh Maria," he cooed fondly, "I've waited so long to see you."
Uncomfortable with his sudden change in attitude the girl wriggled to be put down. But Spain simply tightened his hold on her body and went to sit on some leftover ruins, still holding the girl. As he sat there he marveled at the small thing in his arms. The resemblance to her mother was there, yes, but he was also represented in this little thing. The same unruly hair, the eyes (though dark brown instead of his green) were big and wide like his. Her nose, chin, and cheekbones also resembled his own. He lifted a hand and lightly brushed her hair back from her face, causing the girl to flush hotly and began pushing against him.
Tutting, Spain gently trapped her arms behind her back and went back to stroking her blushing cheek.
"When I first heard about you I wanted to meet you so badly," he spoke up almost breathlessly, "But your mother- she always had to be difficult-forbade me to ever even see you. After hearing that I told her you'd be mine one day, that I'd call you Maria," his thumb wiped away her leftover tears, "It means bitter, you know. It was in honor of my relationship with you mother," he laughed lowly again.
Inhaling sharply at the story the girl looked up into his eyes once again. "You're horrible," she suddenly declared.
At this Spain threw back his head and laughed maniacally. Frankly, it frightened the girl and she started twisting her body violently to escape his grasp.
"Ah, ah, ah Maria," Spain chided cockily as he crushed her tightly to his chest, "I'm sorry novio but you won't be getting away that easily."
In her fear she began crying out for her mama.
"She's not coming," Spain said in a calm tone, "She's gone Maria. And you're mine now."
The girl shook her head in denial.
"Aw don't worry Maria; I'll take good care of you. Whatever your mother or her people said about me wasn't all true. I'm really not a bad person, you'll see. You'll see in time hija."
Spain was gentle with his daughter as his fingers continued to explore her face. Running along her forehead and cheeks before lightly tapping her nose then sliding softly over her plump lips, memorizing her face. He then cradled her head in one hand while the other allowed his fingertips to glide against her thin neck, all the while smiling down at her adoringly.
To the girl's surprise the affectionate gestures began to calm her. She gradually stopped trembling and took to staring up at the man curiously.
"You're really my…my father," she asked in a whisper.
Spain nodded, not stopping his caresses.
"Yes," he murmured, "You're going to have a good life novio. I'll make sure of it. We'll build you up to something great, I promise."
The offer sounded strangely tempting. For, though she was very young, the girl was smart and knew how good life could be fore her people if the man's words were true. But he was the man who had been slaughtering those very people just days before. What could this all mean?
Spain watched the inner-dilemma on her face, interested to see how she was going to react to all this.
"You're mine, Maria," he repeated what he said earlier, "Nothing will change that now. Just know that everything, and I mean everything, will go much easier with your cooperation and acceptance. Can you do that?"
At his question his caresses on her neck changed to his fingers carding through her jet black hair, working through the tangles and idly twirling the slight curls when he came to them. The little girl found that she rather liked this gesture and laid, still and quiet, in his arms for some time.
Eventually though she turned her head away, trying to evade his question as long as possible.
"No," Spain cupped her chin and forced her to meet his eyes, "Don't avoid me hija. I want an answer."
The girl found herself unable to tear her eyes away his.
"Will you be my Maria," he asked breathily.
Their locked gazes burned brightly at the question and the girl seriously thought about the his request. Would it really be for the best? Could she honestly trust this country with her people?
For some reason, she found herself wanting to. Wanting to be able to trust her father.
"Maria," she said simple.
A grin spread across Spain's face at her single word. He knew this was her answer.
"Maria," he repeated lovingly.
With that he leant down to press his lips against her own for a fatherly kiss.
And she let him.
000
Maria pondered her new name that very night in the tent. She had awoken to the sounds of the drunken soldiers laughter and hadn't been able to go back to sleep since.
Maria- she supposed it was rather nice sounding. Even if it wasn't she would've had to accept it anyways. She had agreed to.
She was going to have to accept a lot of new things, she realized. Her father seemed determined that she would give up her old way of life as quickly as possible. As soon as they had got back to the camp, him carrying her all the way, he had ordered her to take off her old dress, jewelry, sandals, and elaborate headband. She had complied without much thought, mind still whirling with all the new sights she had seen at the camp.
Spain had encountered a problem when he realized that he wouldn't have any Spanish clothes for such a little girl. He had rectified the problem by giving her one of this own shirts to wear for the time being until they could have someone make her something acceptable.
Maria didn't mind the shirt. It was much too big of course and the material was different than what she was used to but overall it wasn't too bad.
What she wasn't sure about quite yet was the object hanging around her neck.
Her father had handed it to her as soon as she had put the shirt on. He had called it a cross and said that she must wear it at all time from now on, that it was extremely important to remember God in everything she did.
At her confusion he had declared she would meet with a priest as soon as possible, to begin the saving of her soul. Or something along those lines.
By then it was very late and Spain had taken her to bed. He had placed her between the tent wall and his own body before wrapping his arms around her and falling asleep. She knew he was doing this to make any escape difficult. He didn't have to, she wasn't planning on leaving.
She now knew what her mother meant when she made her promise to be brave. She was going to have to be if she was going to get through this next part of her life. She had trusted this country with her whole future.
Sadly, she wondered if she was betraying her mother and if this is what she had wanted. Did she want her daughter to cooperate with her murderer, even if he was her father?
Maria supposed she never know.
The one thing she did know her mother wanted was to be remembered and Maria had every intention on upholding that. No matter if Spain wanted her to give up most of her old culture; she'd find some way to make sure the people never forgot her mother.
"Always," she repeated what her parting word to her mama had been.
"Hmm," Spain awoke groggily and his hold on her tightened, "Maria? Did you need something?"
"It was nothing," Maria replied, slightly embarrassed and surprised he had waken, "You can go back to sleep."
"Oh, all right," Spain mumbled, eyes closing, "Buenas noches."
"Buenas noches," she whispered back.
A soft smile came across Spain's face and he leant forward and pecked her forehead before lying back down and falling back asleep.
At the affectionate gesture Maria couldn't help but give a small smile.
Once again she wondered how it was that she was already starting to become fond of her mother's murder.
Maria cast the thought away though, no use wondering about things she'd probably never figure out.
With that she looked out through the small hole in the tents roof, where the night sky was just barely visible and she could see the stars.
"Buenas noches mama," she whispered under her breath. She hoped that, wherever her mother was, she understood that Maria was going to do the best she could to uphold her promises. Even if it meant things were going to have to change.
With that last thought she snuggled closer to Spain's warm chest and drifted off to sleep.
A/N: So this story was mostly inspired by this random video .com/watch?v=s-iiCCsTIGc I love this girl's (or guy's) vids for some reason and after watching it I had the urge to write a story about Spain. The plot bunny attacked the next day in my AP American class when my teacher was talking about the Aztecs. So yeah, that's it.
I really hope they introduce Mexico to Hetalia sometimes, I think he or she will be a pretty interesting character.
I know I really need to update my other stories but I like how this story turned out and hope whoever's reading this enjoyed it too. I tried to keep it as historically accurate as possible but I'm sure some errors creeped in. Oh well, hope you don't mind.
Historical Facts-
-Cortés first met the Aztecs in the spring of 1591, eventually the Aztecs became suspicious and kicked them out after La Noche Triste- The sad night. Cortés returned in 1921 with an army and started the Siege of Tenochtitlan. By the end of it the Aztec Empire had fallen.
-The mentions of the smallpox scars was symbolic of the spread of the disease that exposure to the Europeans gave the Aztecs. It's suspected to have wiped out 10%-50% of their population.