Just a quick note in the beginning: The Spanish king Charles I of the Habsburg family was elected King of the Holy Roman Empire (Charles V) by the seven prince-electors on 28. June 1519. In my opinion, this is also the official date for Austria and Spain's marriage. However, both Charles and Antonio/Spain were on Spanish territory at the time, so I assume Austria and Spain were married by proxy (which was quite common among noble families). A year later, Charles and Spain travelled to Aachen where Charles wanted to be crowned at the throne of Charlemagne. On his way, Charles learned there was an outbreak of the plague in Aachen, so he decided to stay in Brussels until the epidemic ended. This story is set during that time. Eventually, Charles was crowned and Austria and Spain were married in person on 23 October 1520.
It should be obvious that the imperial undertones as well as the views Austria expresses about Muslim Spain/Al Andalus (actually a fascinating advanced civilisation where Muslims, Jews and Christians coexisted relatively peacefully) and about "conquering the New World" (which "new world", anyway? It has always been there) are not my own opinion.
Finding a quiet place in the Palace of Coudenberg proved more difficult than Austria had expected. In the end, he settled for an unused chamber close to his quarters where he could sit and hide behind a floor-length curtain in case his absence was noted. The shortcomings of his chosen hideaway were that it had apparently been neither aired nor dusted in weeks, so the air was a little stale.
With a sigh, he rested his head on his knees. He hated to admit it to himself, but he felt lonely. At first, he had been almost relieved when the prince-electors had informed him that he could stay at his place for the time being because Charles' crowning as Holy Roman Emperor—and Austria and Spain's wedding ceremony—in Aachen were delayed due to an outbreak of the plague. He wondered if this was how the daughters of a nobleman felt when they learned they would marry a person they had never met before. The Kingdom of Spain was no complete stranger to him, of course, but the idea of being wedded to someone he didn't know well scared him nonetheless.
Then, Charles had ordered Austria to join himself and Spain in Brussels where they waited for the plague in Aachen to recede, and Austria's nervousness had come back with renewed force. Spain had grown so much over only a short period of time, and rumours about how ruthlessly he had driven Muslims and Jews from the place that was now his had spread across Europe. Austria had also heard that Spain had already travelled to the recently discovered New World and was prepared to return to it soon. In comparison to this rising star of Europe, Austria, whose world had always been made up of steep mountains and gentle valleys, felt small and insignificant.
Don't be foolish, he heard the voice of his late ruler, Emperor Maximilian, in his head. My father and me haven't made you what you are so that you now sell yourself below value! You are the most important imperial estate of the Holy Roman Empire, a force to be reckoned with, someone even France has to respect…
If only Charles saw it like that, Austria thought.
In this moment, Austria heard someone open the door to his hideaway. The person stepped in, coughed—a young, male voice—and went to the large window. He placed a hollow-sounding object on the floor and struggled to open the window. Austria seized the moment the person was occupied and lifted the curtain a little.
It was his betrothed, Spain. He had positioned a wooden string instrument—curved and less rounded, but otherwise similar to a lute—on the floor and tried to push the window open. It didn't move. He tried again, flexing the muscles on his upper arms. Nothing happened.
In the end, Spain gave up with a frustrated groan. Austria immediately tugged the curtain back to its original position and hoped its movement didn't betray him. He started to understand why the air in the chamber was so stale: If a strong young man like Spain was unable to open the window, a servant probably didn't succeed either.
Judging from the sounds Austria heard, Spain sat down on one of the two benches under the window and tuned his instrument. Then, he proceeded to play some scales.
Austria listened quietly. The sound of this musical instrument was rather nice—not as sharp as the harpsichord he enjoyed to play, or as the clavichord he was wont to use for his musical practice.
When Spain proceeded to play a pleasant tune, the old curtain Austria hid behind took its toll. Dust tickled in Austria's nose, and he covered his nose and mouth with one hand because he didn't want to betray himself by sneezing. The tickling didn't subside. Austria tried to breathe shallowly, even to hold his breath. He still couldn't avoid a muffled sneeze.
The playing stopped.
"Who is there?" Spain said harshly. "Show yourself."
With reluctance, Austria raised the curtain and crawled out of his hiding place.
"You?" Spain said in surprise. "What were you doing behind that curtain?"
"I—um, I …" Austria spluttered. "I needed some time to think. Charles, the marriage … you know…"
"You don't particularly like him, do you?" Spain told him outright.
Austria blinked. Was this a trick—an attempt to make him say something unfavourable about his boss? Spain's face appeared to be open and non-calculating, but everyone was capable of play-acting…
"I don't like him either," Spain admitted. Apparently, he took it for granted that Austria wouldn't use this piece of information against…
"He knows about that anyway", the other country added, interrupting Austria's thoughts. "My people don't like him because he uses my wealth for his imperial ambitions. He also gave land and revenue to the noblemen at my place that actually belonged to my people in the cities. My people don't like the foreigners from Burgundy who now rule over me either. All of us wanted Ferdinand to rule—you know, Charles' brother. I like him a lot."
After a moment of silence, Austria said: "I'm sorry."
"Don't be", Spain said good-naturedly. "Charles is a foreigner to you as well, isn't he?"
"Yes", Austria muttered. "This"—he gestured vaguely to indicate the palace—"is where he grew up."
"I know", Spain replied. "The Burgundian Netherlands told me—you know, Brabant, the green-eyed girl."
"Ah, Emma." Austria nodded. "She's nice."
"Well, she may be nice, but have you met her brother?"
"Yes, Holland can be quite annoying at times." Austria couldn't keep a slight chuckle out of his voice; Spain's indignation was too funny. He added: "But you haven't come here to talk about politics, have you? I suppose you wanted to practise on your instrument."
"You're right," Spain replied. "Meet my vihuela." He held the instrument in front of himself with a flourish. "During the past years, she has been my constant companion," he said in a proud tone.
"It's a good thing you like music."
"Uh?" Spain blinked. "Why is that?"
"Um…" Austria blushed; he had simply said the first thing that had come to his mind. "Well, we actually have to marry now—I mean, in person, not just by proxy—so it's a relief there's at least one thing apart from politics we have in common." He secretly wished he could return to the topic of the siblings they had just left. If they didn't talk about marriage, Austria could pretend for a while Spain was not his soon-to-be husband.
Spain smiled at Austria's reaction. It was a sunny smile that quickly reached the corners of his eyes. "Don't worry", he said. "I feel a bit uneasy about that whole marriage thing as well, but I'm sure there will be plenty of topics we can talk about."
"Well, let's start with the one we have just discovered," Austria suggested. He rose to his feet and climbed on the window bench opposite the one Spain had just sat on. "You could play some music you like in order to tell me something about yourself." …and to make us stop talking about marriage, he added secretly. "How does that sound?"
"Sounds fine", Spain said and repositioned himself on the window bench that was still empty. He played a few notes, then hesitated. "Um, do you happen to know any Spanish?"
"No, I don't, but I know Latin and I'm quite fluent in Italian and French," Austria replied. "I probably won't understand everything, but I think … I hope I'll get the gist of what you're going to sing."
"All right." Spain smiled again, this time apparently out of relief. "Actually, it isn't a song I'd like to sing to you, but rather a poem I'd like to recite and accompany with music. The poem is about a man who was attacked by the nobleman García Ordóñez, a friend of King Alfonso the Brave. The man took revenge and humiliated the nobleman by ripping hairs from his beard. As a consequence, García Ordóñez has accused him of stealing money from King Alfonso, so the king exiles him. In order to restore his honour, the man then fights against the Moors. When he is successful, the king trusts him again and his honour is restored." Rubbing the back of his neck, Spain added: "Um… it goes on after that, but I don't think we'll get any further, so I'll leave those parts of the story out."
"That's fine", Austria said. "Just go ahead."
Spain repositioned himself, held his vihuela closer and started to chant: "De los sos oios tan fuertemientre llorando, / Tornava la cabeça e estávalos catando (From his eyes so sorely weeping, / he turned his head and was looking at them)…"
Austria leaned back against the window bay and closed his eyes, listening.
"…Mío Çid Ruy Díaz por Burgos entrava (My Cid Ruy Díaz entered Burgos)…"
Suddenly, Spain paused, and Austria opened his eyes again.
"Perhaps I should mention at this point that 'el Cid' actually means 'the Lord'. It's a name the Moors have given to Rodrigo Díaz, the knight after whom that poem is modelled. I knew him quite well and the real story of his life differs from the poem, but it's true that he was a hero." Again, Spain rubbed the back of his neck. "You know … Ruy is short for Rodrigo, and that's actually your name … I mean your human name in my language. When he signed documents in Latin, Ruy even wrote his name as Ruderico."
"Oh." Austria tilted his head to the side, a tiny smile forming on his lips. "So I happen to share my human name with one of your heroes? That's nice!" He meant it; this was just the amount of self-affirmation he needed after his gloomy thoughts from before.
Spain nodded, looking anywhere but at Austria's eyes. "Do you … um, do you like that name? Ruy, I mean?"
Austria thought about that. "I wouldn't mind it", he said at last. "If I'm completely honest, I'd prefer my name not to be shortened, though." Spain looked devastated, so Austria quickly added: "Really, it's all right. If you want to call me either Ruy or Rodrigo, just do it."
"Rodrigo?" Spain darted a quizzical glance at him.
"Rodrigo it is", Austria affirmed.
"What about me?" Spain asked quickly. "How would you pronounce my name in your language?"
"Anton," Austria said without hesitation. Spain winced at the sound of his name in German, and Austria chuckled. "Don't worry, I think Antonio is nicer, too."
"Isn't there any short form that sounds better?" Spain asked, a little frustrated.
"Toni," Austria supplied helpfully. When Spain winced again, a grin slowly crept up on Austria's face.
"Toño?" Spain suggested.
"Tonio?" Austria tried to pronounce the word correctly and failed.
"Tonio," Spain confirmed Austria's choice, even if it wasn't exactly what he had aimed for.
"…Hido es el conde, tornos el de Bivar (The count is gone, he of Vivar turned back)…"
At some point during the narration, Austria's head had sunken against the junction of window and bay. The music was delightful and Spain had a pleasant voice, Austria thought drowsily. He could have sat in that dusty room all night.
"…juntos con sus mesnadas, conpeçolas de legar / de la ganançia que an fecha maravillosa e grand (he joined his men, he began to distribute to them, / from the booty they have won, marvelous and bountiful)."
The music faded.
"Austria," Spain said softly. "Are you asleep?"
"No," Austria muttered. "Not yet."
"I think we should stop nonetheless. We'll be dead tired tomorrow if we don't go to sleep now."
"If you say so." Austria stretched himself reluctantly.
"You were right, we could have fared worse," Spain suddenly suggested.
"Hm?" Austria was too tired to dignify these words with a proper reply.
"I mean…" Spain fiddled with his vihuela. "We both enjoy music and poetry."
"Yeah, I already said so." Austria knew he wasn't making things easier for Spain, but he was very tired indeed.
"What I want to say is…" Spain trailed off, then pulled himself together. "You don't hold a grudge against me, do you? I got the impression that you don't exactly like the idea of marrying me."
Austria shook off his sleepiness because it was an important question—the one he had been brooding about all this while in the first place.
"The main reason why I don't like the idea of marrying you is that we aren't equal," he said. Spain blinked; he didn't seem to understand.
"But we're both countries!" he objected. Austria almost laughed at this naïveté, but he didn't want to burden Spain with his bitterness—at least not yet. Spain hadn't done anything wrong, after all.
"You," Austria said calmly. "You're the one who conquered the country that is now yours; you're the one who now sets out to conquer new worlds in the west. I, however… I'm just a country in the middle of this continent… and I'll probably never see that world in the West to which you'll soon be returning."
"Don't belittle yourself," Spain replied. "I could give you a short account of how you have become a rising star in the centre of Europe in just a short amount of time, but you know that a lot better than I do. And who knows what the future will hold."
"Yeah," Austria said dubiously, too tired to argue. "Who knows what the future will hold."
Notes
A quick note on the title: A minor is the relative minor of C major, one of the most common key signatures in western music. Johann Joachim Quantz (1697-1773), the flute teacher of Frederick II of Prussia, writes in his pedagogical work for the transverse flute Versuch einer Anweisung die Flöte traversiere zu spielen (1752) that A minor, C minor, E-flat major and F minor expressed "the sad affect a lot more than other minor keys" („A moll, C moll, Dis dur, und F moll, drücken den traurigen Affect viel mehr aus, als andere Molltöne"; XIV. Hauptstück, § 6, p. 138).
The Palace of Coudenberg is the ancient seat of the counts, dukes, archdukes, kings, emperors, and governors who lived in Brussels. A fire destroyed its buildings in 1731, but the ruins of the cellars have been excavated and can be visited.
The rivalry between the Habsburg family and the kings of France dates back to Emperor Maximilian I (1459-1519, King of the Romans since 1486, Holy Roman Emperor since 1486) who fought against France in the War of the Burgundian Succession (1477-1482). Charles V (1500-1558) and King Francis I of France (1494-1547, king since 1515) were also rivals: Both wanted to become Holy Roman Emperor, but Charles was elected in 1519 thanks to the money the wealthy Fugger family lent him. Charles and Francis fought against each other in southern France, Italy, and Burgundy/the Low Countries.
My headcanon is that the Duchy of Brabant and the Burgundian Netherlands are both represented by Emma/today's Belgium and that the Duchy of Holland is the nucleus of Lars/today's Netherlands.
The vihuela (pronounced: biwela) de mano is a predecessor of the Spanish guitar.
The irony behind Spain's words that the Spanish actually wanted Ferdinand (1503-1564, Emperor Ferdinand I 1558-1564) instead of Charles and his Burgundian foreigners as their ruler is that the Austrians rebelled against Ferdinand and his Spanish foreigners when he became their ruler in 1521. (Charles gave the duchies of Austria, Styria, Carniola, and Carinthia to his brother, but kept the richer parts of the Austrian lands, Upper Austria and Tyrol, for himself.) The Austrians didn't understand the mannerisms of the culture at the Spanish court and coined the proverb „Das kommt mir spanisch vor" ("That's Spanish to me", the equivalent of the English proverb "That's Greek to me"). Sternenschwester, an Austrian who writes for the German-language Hetalia fandom, once penned a story called „Blutgericht" ("Blood Court") about the trial against representatives of the estates of Vienna that were in opposition to Ferdinand. Her story influenced my point of view on Austria and Spain at the time a lot.
It is also ironic that Austria wants Spain to play something on the vihuela because he doesn't want to talk about marriage and Spain then chooses El Cantar de Mio Cid (c. 1201-1207/1235): A large part of the Song (or Poem) of the Cid (from Arabic sidi/sayyid, i.e. "Lord") narrates the story of the marriages of El Cid's daughters … but Spain is apparently uncomfortable with the topic of marriage as well, so he stops at what is today considered as the end of the first of three cantos. The poem survives as an incomplete manuscript. It is written in a (perhaps intentionally) archaic form of the Castilian language and narrates the life of the Castilian nobleman Rodrigo Díaz de Vivar (c. 1041/47-1099). The poem depicts Díaz as an idealised medieval knight and as an advocate of the Reconquista, the conquest of the Moorish kingdoms in Al Andalus, notwithstanding that he actually served Moorish rulers for a long time. These overtones of the Reconquista/this history-falsifying is also why I chose El Cantar de Mio Cid as a song/poem for Spain; his rapid growth due to the Reconquista is a major topic of my story, after all. I tried to avoid the dispute if the poem was performed in public by minstrels or if it is a form of learned poetry when I simply stated it was a poem Spain will accompany with music. (In my opinion, the latter is more likely, though.) The original verses are taken from Wikisource and the English translation is taken from the website of the Washington & Lee University in Lexington, Virginia.