AN- Some background before the story.
- At the time of the end of the Holy Roman Empire, the Ottoman Empire (which included Greece!) was allied with France and together they attacked Russia/Russian satellite states (like Dalmatia, Wallachia, etc) in 1806. This is semi-important later.
- HRE was officially dissolved in 1806 when the last Emperor abdicated following a defeat by the French (though it had already been collapsing) and Napoleon later reorganized much of the former territory into the Confederation of the Rhine.
- This was replaced by the German Confederation in 1815 at the end of the Napoleonic wars. It lasted until Prussia founded the forerunner of the German Empire, the North German Confederation.
I apologize for the overuse of foreign words in the beginning – this time was just a great period of Nationalism and I have a difficult time imagining the Nations favouring another language over their own. Then once they go to a Greek underworld, it seemed fitting. Though I think it's easy enough to guess what the words mean given the context. However, as I don't really speak any of the languages used besides French, corrections are, as always, very much appreciated.
Worry not – there shall be updates for my other stories, I'm just working on my two Hallowe'en stories, this being one (GHOST STORY FTW!)
I do not own Hetalia or anything else but my plot.
France stood over the small grave he had erected for his younger cousin, his head bowed in silent prayer. The Holy Roman Empire was no more, having fallen in battle against his people and his emperor abandoning him. While he had been the one to kill him, that didn't mean he didn't mourn the other – it was his nation's politics, these things were never personal. Hell, if he'd had a choice in the matter, he would've let the boy live, it was such a shame when they died so young.
This, however, did not change much. So he was here rather as Francis Bonnefoy than the living, breathing personification of France.
Hearing the crackle of dead leaves behind him, his hand went to his sword as he non-nonchalantly turned his head to see his ally, Ottoman Empire and his charge, "the brat" as Sadiq affectionately (Somewhat? The Mediterranean nations were strange.) called Greece.
"Fransa, how much longer are you going to stand there?"
France snorted. "For the next century, au moins."
Ottoman Empire came forward and placed flowers on the small marker before he also bowed his head in prayer. "That is a very long time. I thought we were going to go see Russia later, do you no longer wish to drop by and have a visit?"
France dropped his hands and shoved them into his pockets as he looked up into the sky which was too blue for his mood. "Perhaps it is all I deserve to go fight that démon. Upon my return, I must go tell little Italy my news which will break his poor heart. I do not think I can face him, look him in the eyes and tell him that I am responsible for the death of his love, that I skewered him through the heart."
Sadiq looked up to him startled out of his prayer. "Really, love? Those two?"
Francis looked at him with a strained smile. "Oui. And I, the master of l'amour, I destroyed it. You know what he said to me as his life's blood spilled around him?"
"What?" The Turkish man asked curiously.
"He said: Please. Please I need to live. I promised her I would! I asked him who it was he spoke of and he just barely managed to whisper out Italien before he realized that there was nothing I could do. You know what he said then? He didn't curse me or shout or beg, he just asked me to tell her "I'm sorry I couldn't come back."
There was quiet as the Ottoman Empire processed this before he drily commented "Well, that's depressing."
France quirked an eyebrow at him as if to say Why thank you for that. That helps so much; when a voice piped up from between them.
"Why don't you just go to άδης? There has yet to be a representative for the Confederation of the Rhine yet, it would be simple enough, yes?"
Sadiq whirled. "What was that, yumurcak?"
France frantically waved him silent with one hand as he bent down to the child's level. "What was that Greece?"
The small boy lazily looked at him square in the eyes and said "άδης. How do you say... Hades? The Underworld? My mother's stories are quite popular in Europe right now, you must know a little at least."
France shook his head, knowing the stories and understanding Heracles point was two different things.
The small boy huffed. "Hades and Persephone are fans of tragic romance stories and H.R.E. left a gap behind with his death meaning, unlike with humans, it is not so difficult to bring him back."
Realization slowly dawned on the two and Sadiq deadpanned "So you're saying we should go to Hell and back (literally!) to get this kid."
"Is that concept too complicated for you?"
"Hey!"
Before the two could start spewing insults at each other France interrupted. "Are...Are you sure? Complètement certain? That we could do this? We could bring the boy back?"
The Greek looked at him blankly before he said "Of course."
An hour later, France and Greece were wandering aimlessly around a forest looking for something that Heracles said he would know what it was when he saw it.
Which France took to mean that they were lost. Why had he trusted the dreaming Greek? Kid was probably looking for a place to nap now, not whatever it was they would be needing to get to the underworld.
Sighing he stopped paying attention to where he was going, much to his chagrin as he walked straight into a low lying tree branch. Well, this was it. He couldn't sink any lower now, he should just stay here, staring at the mockingly blue sky.
"Ah! You found it."
Come again?
France turned his bruised head over to where the Greek was standing and followed where his hand was pointing to see... a very golden tree branch.
The Hell? He thought as he glared balefully at the branch that was glinting in the sun.
"Grab that." Heracles said. "It's proof of divine permission to go to Hades, if it comes free easily then we can proceed, if not...well you best start thinking how best to approach Italy."
Reminded of his dreadful predicament, France struggled back up to his feet and placed both hands on the branch. Closing his eyes for a moment and hoping for the best, he yanked it and was delighted when it came off easily.
Heracles smiled at him. "That was the harder thing to get, now all we need is some tranquilized meat and then make an offering to Hecate and we're good to go!"
At last, they found themselves in Greece near Sparta at Cape Taenaron in Laconia (thank goodness for the Path, else this would've taken weeks and Italy would've already found out) and according to his Greek guide, this was the closest entrance to underworld.
France found himself staring down at the back of the cave dubiously, how exactly was this supposed to lead to the afterlife. However, when Heracles lit some incense and placed an offering to Hecate on the ground, before offering a quick prayer, his concerns were dispelled. With the end of the lad's prayer, the back of the cave had shimmered and disappeared; where before was solid rock face had been, there was now a long snaking path downward.
France shifted his burden (why did he have to carry the meat and solid gold stick?), before following the boy downward into darkness.
It felt like they had been walking for days, a month even, before Francis at last heard the sound of rushing water. A few more steps and the stairs opened up into a great cavern with an enormous river running through it.
Greece stepped forward a little as he said "This is Αχέρων (Acheron), the river of woe or sorrow, it will feed into the much larger Κοκυτυς (Cocytus), the river of wailing. It is here we begin, have you coin?"
France nodded and produced from his pocket a few germinal francs. "Good. Sadiq never lets me carry around more than a few measly para." (AN- 1/100th of a Turkish lira, haven't really been used since Ottoman Empire's collapse)
He then moved forward, muscling his way through the crowd of ethereal forms, France hurrying to catch up.
"Um... Heracles, I do not think it would be best to cut in line, not here."
"We're not." The Greek answered bluntly. "These people are those that have been refused passage – either because their corpses have not received proper burial or because they have no payment – they cannot cross. Not until at least one hundred years have passed, why did you think that the Αχέρων (Acheron) is called the river of sorrow? Can you not hear their cries?"
Upon the boy saying that, Francis could hear eerie high-pitched wails, cries, moans and sighs from all around him. Freaking creepy.
They managed to push past all the ghosts, none of whom really acknowledged their presence anyway, to the banks of the river where a small coracle bobbed in the waves. In the boat stood a tall man, hooded in a black cloak and stooped against his oar. (Greece whispered "He's Charon, the ferryman. He ferries people across the Αχέρων and Κοκυτυς.") He seemed to sense them and put out a skeletal hand to stop them.
"Κανένας θνητός μπορεί να περάσει."
Greece just grabbed the golden bough from Francis's hand and answered in rapid Greek. The man pushed back his cloak to reveal a filthy, skeletal old man with long, unkempt white hair and his eyes staring wide with flame. He rapidly shook his head as though refusing, prompting another stream of Greek from Heracles with which Charon answered. At last after a very long argument, the figure lowered his hand and with one boney finger gestured them onto the boat, other hand held out for their coin.
Francis gulped before stepping out into the rickety boat, no turning back now.
Whistling, the boatman pushed his craft into the swampy waters and progress was slow going as the waters seemed choked with mud and plants. Maybe an hour later, however, their progress began to speed as there seemed to be less hindering their progress and when they came around the bend, they saw why – a murky whirlpool lay there which then flowed into the fast moving Κοκυτυς., its waters more wild, unpredictable.
As they began to pass through that passage, Francis was astonished by the crowds of people at the mouth, each clamouring for the boatman's attention, begging in Greek to be taken across. Francis pitied them, knowing that they were those that had been doomed to wander Αχέρων 's banks until a last their body was buried or a hundred years had passed giving them the ability to fly across.
"We've now entered the Κοκυτυς. (Cocytus)" muttered Greece, small hands clutching his seat. "We're nearly there."
Just as he said that, land once more came into view and once again, cries and wails could be heard.
"I thought you said the Acheron was the river of sorrow!" France said, wanting to put his hands over his ears.
"The Κοκυτυς is the river of wailing, the one that brings the soul to judgement by the Three Judges – Rhadamanthys, Aeacus and Minos. There is just as much such lamentation as many here are doomed to suffer. There are those sentenced to Tartarus rather than the Elysium Fields, or slightly less unluckily, sentenced to wander the fields of mourning which we must first cross after the gate."
After disembarking from the boat, they followed the path once more which led them to a great iron wrought gate with a monstrous three-headed dog guarding it, bones surrounded the entrance.
"Cerebreus." France breathed. "The meat?"
"The meat." Heracles as Francis reached into his pack and pulled out the drugged meat. "It will allow us safe passage, while Charon can be made to understand the Gods wishes, Cerebreus obedience to his master's command is absolute. He will allow no living being safe passage into this realm."
After the dog's eyes dropped and began to doze, they moved on, clambering up the path over a hill, went past the great line of people going into the Court to be judged to where a strange mist rolled in and soon all around them was covered in a blanket of fog.
As they walked, Heracles began to explain where they were. "These are the fields of mourning, for souls deemed not yet fit for judgement or not deserving of either fate offered by the court. Here there are infants who died prematurely, those falsely condemned to death, suicides, victims of unrequited love and renowned warriors who died in battle. In tales you hear of Odysseus and Aeneas meet old friends and lovers on the fields."
Francis looked around, eyes wide taking in the shadowy figures until he spotted a familiar mop of blonde hair.
"Jeanne! JEANNE D'ARC!" He shouted, about to run to her when Heracles stopped him.
"It is rare that the Gods will allow the dead to hear any calls, not unless it serves their purpose through the delivery of some pro..phecy." He trailed off as the Maid of Orléans turned and walked towards them.
France, in his delight, made to hug his daughter (of a sorts) but faltered when his hands passed through her, his arms folding about nothing.
"Bienvenue mon cher France, it has been a while."
A bit disconcerted, Francis nevertheless replied. "So it has been, Jeanne mon amour."
"Are you sure you wish still to do this?" She asked, seemingly out of the blue. "It is not to your benefit my nation."
"Of course I do. I could not break the heart of one so pure as Veneziano when there is something I could do prevent it. He is mon p'tit frère, as such it is my job to protect his happiness, even at the cost of my own."
Jeanne smiled, though it was an empty one, sending shivers up his spine. "Then keep this is mind, my nation, his survival will bring no joy to you, in fact he will come to threaten your own more than once in the foreseeable future. I ask you to ask yourself one more time, is it worth it?"
With that, she turned and faded into the mist.
Heracles turned to Francis. "Are you still wishing to continue?"
France seemed to be deep in thought before he straightened his shoulders. "Of course."
So they carried on, following the path through the silent misty fields.
After what seemed to be an eternity, they emerged from the fog to where a great river again separated them from their road, though France could see that on the other side, the Path divided into three.
France stared in wonder at the differences between the three options.
Heracles piped up "To the left is Tartarus, where those, such as the Titans, who have committed great crimes against the Gods and their fellow man are sent to atone. The Great Φλεγεθων (Phlegethon), the river of fire guards their prison along with triple walls, innumerable hydra and the Hecatonchires, the fifty-headed giants. It is comparable to your peoples' Hell."
France stared, unable to tear his eyes away from the horrific prison.
Heracles interrupted his thinking, pointing to right and saying "Over there is the Elysium fields, the land of Paradise. Our path lies that way once we cross, though first we must go to Hade's Palace which is in the centre to affix the Golden Bough."
"We do not need to go have an audience with him?" France asked, surprised.
"Όχι." Greece answered. "By placing the bough on Earth, he had heard of your and Italy's plight and has approved, else we would have never gotten Charon to ferry us across. Now we must go find Phlegyas, he is the ferryman for this river."
France looked up the river and saw that the Κοκυτυς (Cocytus) from where they had been, met with the Φλεγεθων (Phlegethon) and another small river to form this one, then he spotted another coracle and figure. So after pointing it out to Heracles, they hurried upriver.
"Alors, which river is this?" France asked curious.
"This is the great river upon which all Gods swear their oaths, the Στυξ (Styx), the river of hate."
France froze in his tracks, he knew that one. "I thought that was supposed to be the river in the beginning that Charon ferries people across?"
"Common misconception, bad translations and simplification (*cough* Disney *cough*) of the old stories."
"...Ah. I see."
They gave Phlegyas the other two coins (this was why you buried people in Ancient Greece with two coins, one to pay Charon and the other for Phlegyas) and were soon standing on the opposite bank.
After going and pinning the bough to Hade's palace (that was a relief, Francis felt much lighter), the two took the right path and went to the Elysium fields.
As soon as they passed through the gates, they were surprised to see all sorts of familiar faces from their own histories and stories, though none seemed to notice them until...
"Υιός μου!"
"Gallia!"
Simultaneously, the two were engulfed in bear hugs, though France would've preferred to be in the tight embrace of Mama Greece then suffocated by sweaty Roman Empire.
"Aghhhhhh! Lâche moi! Lâche moiiiiiiii!"
"What brings one of my cute sons all the way down here?" Romulus exclaimed, ignoring France's struggles.
However, luckily for him, he heard another voice, this one sounding exasperated and exhausted. "Rome, let the boy go, he'll suffocate at this rate." France's eyes widened.
It was Germania, Holy Roman Empire's grandfather.
Not someone he especially wanted to meet right now. Though on second thought, he didn't want to meet Rome either, he would be furious if he knew he just caused his grandson heartbreak.
However, he wasn't given anymore time to think as with Germania's command, Rome's arms released him and France fell to the ground only to be pinned by the weight of the German man's stare.
Eep.
"So this is the child who killed my son." Germania said, inspecting France very closely. "Pity we are unable to hurt the living or I would kill you where you stand, boy."
"I-I was just doing what my nation wished. I've come here to bring him back! He'll represent the Confederation of the Rhine and after that, who knows?" France shrugged, trying to meet the other's analytical and imposing stare. "I-I do not want to cause my little brother heart ache and it is a shame when they die so young, I've come to give him a second chance. So tell me, where is Holy Roman Empire?"
The Ancients exchanged glances before Ancient Greece took pity on him, and with a sad look, she said "He came here and exclaimed that True Love could not be stopped by Death and that he would be willing to do anything to go back to his little love. He moved on, on the Λήθη (Lethe)."
Heracles drew in a sharp breath, and France turned to him, panicked.
"What is the Lethe? Qu'est-ce que c'est?"
"The Λήθη (Lethe) is where souls to go to be reincarnated. It is the river of forgetfulness or oblivion, those who drink the water will be reborn in 1000 years."
"What?" France said, wide eyed, before he sank to the ground. "We- We failed?" Heracles began patting his back sympathetically.
Ancient Greece, Rome and Germania stared at them, before Mama Greece haltingly said. "Not...yet. You can still bring him back, he just won't remember a thing. Not you, not Austria, not even his love for Italy – he might not even become the same person you knew. He will be a clean slate, an undisturbed field of snow, would you condemn him to such a life? To be unable to remember his past?"
France looked up, and hope was in his eyes. "He may not remember, but myself and the others, we will help him regain what he has lost, even if he won't remember a thing."
Seemingly satisfied, she gave a nod and pointed to the side. "The Λήθη (Lethe) lies that way. Good luck."
They walked through the lush grass and comfortable cushions until the ground began to slope down and became a beach, the sand disappearing under still waters. There were many people here too, all in different states of transparency.
Heracles whispered "The more water drunk, the less attached the soul becomes to who it was before and the clearer they become, and the sooner they shall be reborn."
"Holy Roman Empire won't be too clear, right?" France whispered back, nervous and was relieved when the Greek shook his head.
They then set off, each looking for the familiar short figure in his black cape and tricorn hat.
Heracles gave off a shot beside him after five minutes of searching and pointed to where the small boy had bent over the waters to drink. France felt his feet had grown wings as he ran over there and grabbed him.
However, his greatest fears were confirmed when the boy looked blankly back at him – he had drunk at least once and his memories were gone.
"Heracles. Are you sure this is alright?"
The Greek nodded. "While the mind may not remember, the heart never forgets."
Somewhat reassured, they turned around and began the long journey back.
"So Fransa, were you and the brat successful?" Asked the Ottoman Empire as they at last emerged from the cave, weary – turns out it is a lot harder to leave the afterlife them it was to enter it.
France wordlessly nodded, lifting his precious bundle with one arm.
"Ah, good...Now what?"
France, having caught his breath answered. "First I need to go pay a visit to a group of people who are likely going to kill me then, if I survive, I'm going to buy Heracles all the Baklava he wants. Will you come with me? I'm going to need some help preventing them from murdering me before I can get a word in edgewise."
Sadiq nodded as he got up, his hand resting on his favoured kilij (traditional curved blade). "Of course my ally."
"Good. Better now than never."
So they turned and opened the Path, jumping to Austria's house.
Shifting the sleeping boy to his left arm, France shakily raised his fist before quickly knocking on the door before he could lose his nerve.
He then heard, footsteps and one of the servants opened the door. "May I help you?"
"Ah, yes. I would like to speak to the Master of the hou..." Had he been a second later dodging, Prussia's sword would be embedded in his head rather than in the door frame.
"You. You DARE to show your face around here after what you just did?"
"Gilbert! Please let me explain!"
"That's Prussia to you arschloch!" The Prussian shouted as he darted forward only to have his blade blocked by the Ottoman Empire.
Those two began to fight as Prussia kept trying to get around the Turk's guard to kill France then things got considerably worse when Austria and Hungary came to the door, tear stains apparent on their faces and saw what all the commotion was. Then Sadiq found his hands full trying to fend off three very pissed off, highly trained military nations.
"Pour l'amour de Dieu..." France muttered as his each verbal interjection was overridden with the clang of metal. He then took a deep breath and shouted "HE IS ALIVE YOU IMBECILES!"
Immediately, all combatants froze as France hoisted the young child (who was still sleeping!) up in the air in a way reminiscent of a future child's movie involving a lion and a baboon. "He is alive!"
Hungary choked out. "How?" Before she went to go rush to the boy only to be stopped by Sadiq who pried the longsword out of her hands before allowing her to pass.
The other two waited suspiciously until Hungary proclaimed. "It is him! But how?"
Now that his oldest friend and others weren't trying to kill him, France sank to the ground exhausted. "Myself and Heracles descended into the underworld to get him back...though," he said with a groan, "it was not without a price. The boy doesn't have any of his memories."
"Why are you here then?" Prussia growled. "You could raise him to be your own little clone."
France looked at his friend and sighed. "You really think so little of me? Yes, he lives now as part of my Empire, as the Confederation of the Rhine, but he is not mine. I could not raise him. I came here to let him be brought up by his family – while he may not remember, the heart always does. He will hate me, though he will not remember why, just as he will love you as his own. I came here to give him to you Prussia to raise him. Perhaps with a bit of luck, he will once again become the Ludwig that we all knew and that Italy loved."
Slowly a pair of blue eyes opened and focused on the ceiling above him. Where was...? His question was semi-answered when a mop of silver hair popped into view and a pair of red eyes bore into his own, appraisingly.
"Hallo, Kleiner! Wurde auch Zeit, dass du aufwachst. Ich bin dein älterer Bruder, Preußen!"
Hecate: Goddess of witchcraft, seems to have large role in Greek heroes trips to the afterlife.
I nearly wrote fluff in the description before I realized this really wasn't. At all.
All of what was written is from what I've come to understand by my own research, my copy of the Aeneid and a few brief explanations from my Classical Studies Professor last year. I welcome corrections, though I'd appreciate sources.
There is one more great river mentioned in Greek mythology that I wasn't really able to include here in case any of you were curious called the Εριαδνος (Eriadnos) which is supposed to flow in the opposite direction as the Acheron and flows in a circle around the world. :D
Translations
Fransa (Tur- France)
Au Moins (Fr- At least)
Démon (Fr- Fiend/demon)
Oui (Fr- Yes)
L'amour (Fr- Love)
Italien (Ger- Italy)
άδης (Gre- Hades/Underworld/World of the Dead)
yumurcak (Tur- Brat/Spoiled Child)
Complètement certain? (Fr- 100% sure/ Completely certain)
Κοκυτυς (Gre- The Cocytus – the river of wailing)
Αχέρων (Gre- The Acheron – the river of woe/sorrow)
Κανένας θνητός μπορεί να περάσει. (Gre- No mortal may pass)
Bienvenue mon cher France (Fr- Welcome/Hello my dear France)
Φλεγεθων (Gre- The Phlegethon – the river of fire)
Όχι. (Gre- No)
Στυξ (Gre- The Styx – the river of hate)
Υιός μου! (Gre- My Son!)
Gallia (Latin- Gaul/France)
Lâche moi (Fre- Let me go!/Release me)
Λήθη (Gre- the Lethe – the river of forgetfulness/ river of oblivion)
Qu'est-ce que c'est? (Fr- What is it)
arschloch (Ger- asshole)
Pour l'amour de Dieu... (Fr- For the love of God)
Hallo, Kleiner! Wurde auch Zeit, dass du aufwachst. Ich bin dein älterer Bruder, Preußen! (Ger- Hello Kiddo! About time you woke up. I'm your older brother, Prussia!)
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