AN: sooo this is my first try with a fanfiction in English, it's not my first language so don't go too hard on me if there are any mistakes (actually, I'd be very pleased if you were to kindly notificate them to me). It's also my first Hetalia fanfiction, I hope it turns out well.

I own neither Hetalia nor the cover pic.

And that's it, hope you enjoy the story


CHAPTER 1:

MEMORIES HIT: THE CATHOLIC MONARCHS

Spain walks around Madrid with no destination at all. He's just wandering around, letting time pass by. The summer sun hits the streets mercilessly and the heat is way too strong; however, he doesn't mind at all. He is used to it, anyway, and he has always loved his summer weather– well, he loves his weather throughout the whole year: the soft rains of autumn, the quiet coolness of winter, the colourfulness of spring; but there is just something about summer that thrills him. Perhaps the sun that shines in an endless blue sky, perhaps the long days that seem that will last forever, perhaps all those tourists that come to visit… Maybe that's it: the tourists. All those different people from all those different countries, all those different faces and all those different accents. He loves them all. He loves the Germans that come with their skin white and leave with it red, courtesy of his beloved sun; he loves the Japanese, who come in such large groups and take pictures of everything; he loves the Italian, he loves the English, he loves the French –though perhaps the last are his least favourite, he and France have quite a complicated relationship-.

Suddenly, he realises he's standing in front of the Prado Museum. He hasn't even noticed him walking there, so lost has he been in his thoughts. He throws a quick glance at the old building and shivers because of all the memories, good and bad, it brings back. It has been a long while since he has last stepped inside, and he doubts he's brave enough to do it again. How is he supposed to look at all those paintings from the past and not feel touched? How could he?

He is brought back to the present when two young girls walk right by him, chattering loudly and happily about all the paintings they want to see. Spain smiles when the heavy Spanish accent caresses his ears and he feels happy to see that there still are young Spaniards who care about culture –truth is, he's growing more and more worried about his youth nowadays-. It takes him some time and the girls are long gone when he finally makes a decision.

The museum isn't as crowded as he thought it would be, which is both good and bad. Still, there are plenty of people and he has to make an effort to not be noticed; some centuries ago, that would have been almost impossible, but as he no longer has the presence, the importance he had back then, he manages to walk around being barely spotted. It's not long until he hears the voices again -which seems almost like a miracle in such a big building- and he follows them until he sees the girls again: they are standing in front of a big painting and they talk excitedly about it.

"I'm a hundred per cent sure we saw this in our History class a few weeks ago" says one of them.

"Watching paintings and talking about them is almost all we do" replies the other one with a short laugh. "I bet we've seen half of this museum."

"Quite possibly" the first one laughs too.

Spain can't help it and walks closer. He is curious about what the painting might be about –he couldn't see it from where he was standing-, and when he finally gets to see it, he feels a wave of nostalgia all over him. Isabel. Fernando. God, it has been such a long time, such a long time…

"Tanto monta, monta tanto…"

"Isabel como Fernando."

The girls laugh once again and discretely high-five.

"It's been a while since I had last heard that…" Spain muttered.

"What?"

"What?"

The two teens are now looking at him with the eyes open wide and an expression of incredulity and excitement, and it's only then when Spain realises he has said that out-loud. He smiles a bit awkwardly.

"Eh… Hola" he manages to say.

"Are you…?"

"Oh. My. God."

"But are you really…?"

"This can't… Oh, fuck."

The girls babble and fail to make proper sentences. It makes him feel uncomfortable, but it's also kind of amusing, as reflected by the smile that slowly appears on his face.

"Yup, I'm Spain. You can call me Antonio, though. Or Toni, if you like."

One of the girls looks like she's about to faint before such honour, the other seems to be processing all that's happening.

"I would really appreciate if you could keep calm and… not make a scene" he says with a bit of a hurry. "I'm trying to go unnoticed here."

"Well, you're doing a great job there" whispers one of them.

"I was until that tiny slip before" he replies, his smile growing bigger.

"Speaking of which…"

All three glance towards the painting.

"Isabel I de Castilla. Fernando II de Aragon."

He whispers the names as if they were sacred. And they are for him, the girls understand. His former monarchs all mean a lot to him, and especially those two. Those two, who set the basis of what would later become the Spanish Empire. Those two, Isabel and Fernando, the Catholic Monarchs.


Seven centuries. He had been marching forward for seven centuries. It's not like he had been moving non-stop, of course. He just waited for those moments when the Muslims were weak, divided or even fighting between them and it was then when he attacked. It was slow, yes, but efficient: it had taken him seven centuries, but he was regaining all the territory –and the fact that he had lost it in practically ten years didn't matter, or so he told himself-.

It was tough. Not only because his enemies would sometimes strike back with unexpected strength and stop him for some time, but also because he was divided too. It had been hell at first: he was so many little kingdoms that he thought he was going to go insane. However, time chose which ones were the ones to prevail: Castile, Aragon, Navarre. The first two were the ones who marched forward, and it was Castile the one who managed to control most of the territory.

It was around that time when Portugal was born, and Spain was way too busy with his Reconquista for submitting him, so he just let him be. He didn't care so much for the western shore, the Atlantic wasn't worth it- but the Mediterranean was. Oh, he loved that sea and all it promised. So as soon as Aragon could no longer march south, because that would mean attack Castile and not the Muslims, and north meant facing France, against whom a few bitter defeats had been suffered, he looked away from the land and marched onto the sea. It had been then when Romano came into his life.

"¡Hola! My name's Spain and from now on I'm your-"

"I'm hungry!"

"Hello, hungry, I'm Spain!"

"Shut up, asshole! Give me lunch! Bastard!"

If taking control over South Italy had been a good idea, he never was quite sure.

It had always been that way: Castile and Aragon, one went south and the other went east. They were the same –they were him, for God's sake-, but at the same time they were so different that he sometimes believed he was going to go mad. Until the 15th century was reaching its end.

Isabel, sister of the king of Castile, married Fernando, heir to the throne of Aragon; and when both of them became the monarchs of their respective kingdoms, Spain felt complete. Though the differences weren't gone, the king and queen worked together and always aimed for common goals.

"Portugal is exploring the Atlantic."

"Well, he won't be the only one, will he?"

And the Canarias Isles were added to his domains.

"France seems to be rather interested in Italy."

"Oh, is he? We'll have to do something about it."

And suddenly he was always keeping an eye on the Italian-French border and making sure Romano was always close to him.

He had fun. Those had been good times indeed.


"Toni? You there?"

Spain snapped out of his memories and looked at the girls, only to be met with worried glances.

"Sorry" he muttered. "I was just daydreaming."

"About them?" asked one of them, politely pointing towards the painting of the Catholic Monarchs.

"Yes. I really loved them, you know? They were amazing" he explained.

"We know. We studied them at school."

"No, but what you study is just what they did. I'm not saying that wasn't amazing, either- I mean, they finally expelled the Muslims and were the only European rulers who decided to buy Columbus' project, and all that is great, but… They were just more than that" he ended with a sigh.

"Then you tell us about them."

"Oh, yes! Please!"

He laughs.

"They were absolutely awesome as rulers and some may have found them even terrifying; however, they were also really kind and… childish, even. Of course, that was only in private."


"So how was your mission, Toni?"

"Don't even ask, Isa. I'm exhausted."

"Next time you should just follow my advice."

"I'm not going to drug Romano so he goes to sleep! What kind of father are you, Fer?!"

"A brilliant one. Aren't I, Isa?"

"Superb."

The sarcasm was palpable. Laughs. Wine. Someone brought up politics, the others threw pillows at him. More laughs. More wine. Spain was happy.

"Oh, dear God, I almost forgot!"

"You have the head in the clouds, woman."

"Well, I didn't see you remember either, man."

Remember what? Spain looked at his queen leave, slightly reeling, and return with a pack in her hands.

"Happy birthday, sweetheart."

He was old. He was centuries old. But he had never been given a birthday present. Ever. He was stunned.

"Well, don't just stand there! Take it and open it!"

A long, elegant, red coat with golden buttons. A suiting hat with a large feather. He didn't know what to say. He put them on. He loved them.

"You look gorgeous!"

"And you're a married woman!"

A laugh, a snort, a pillow in the face.

"I-I really like it. Thank you so very much."

A lonely tear of happiness, a soft, warm kiss on his cheek.

"Anything for our big boy."

A pat on his back, an arm around his shoulder.

"Anything for the hero that makes Romano go to bed."

Laughs. Hugs. Happiness.


"I was really sad when Isa passed away, and so was Fer. He followed her a few years later and I was left all by myself."

"Not really. The following century you totally rocked!"

"Indeed" he laughs, though he's still a bit sad over the memory of his beloved friends. "Charlie was quite a king."

The girls open their eyes wide and look at each other in disbelief.

"We're talking about Carlos I of Spain and V of Germany, King of the Spanish Empire and Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire- and you just called him Charlie?"

"He was raised in Germany, but he was still the Catholic Monarchs' grandson" Spain laughed cheerfully and winked at them. "It was actually him who asked me to just call him Charlie. Much simpler."

"There's a painting of him in this museum! He's on a horse and wields a spear."

"Indeed. Titian, 1548. Want to go and check it out?"

There's no way either of the girls can say no to that offer.

They are already walking down the corridor when Spain turns to them and asks:

"By the way, how should I address you?"

"I'm Inés."

"And I'm Alicia."


AN: how's that for a start? Hope it wasn't just a boring History lesson :/ I don't promise anything, but I'll try to update as soon as possible (even faster if I get any reviews hehe).

*Tanto monta, monta tanto, Isabel como Fernando: 'Tanto monta' was the Catholic Monarchs' motto; the rest is added to represent that both Isabel and Fernando ruled as equals.