Fate (Chapter 1)
(A/N: I don't know much about Aztec rituals- sorry if something's incorrect!)
*I do not own Hetalia.
A small child sat on the floor, watching the ceremony. The child seemed around nine or ten, with average height. It was a sacred day- or, at least, that's what his father told him. People sang, and everyone was waiting to eat- everyone was fasting that day. It would be a long day, but nevertheless, a fun one. Suddenly, the child felt a hand on his shoulder. Looking up, there was a very tall man staring back at him. He gave him a cheeky smile, before he picked him up and started walking towards a small pyramid. It was here that all of the "royals" were supposed to sit. Instead of participating in the ceremony, the child now had to sit and watch with his father.
"Ah, Mexico, I am glad that they could find you. Now sit and watch." Aztec smiled at the child- otherwise known as Mexico. Sighing, the child sat on the floor next to his father. His skin was tan, just like Aztec's, and he had long, wild hair. This was a common characteristic of the Aztec people, nothing special. Mexico looked up at Aztec. "When can we eat?" "We can eat after we satisfy the gods. Now be quiet and watch, we have to wait until sunset."
It took a long time, but sunset came around. Young Mexico almost fell asleep a few times, only to be scolded by a nearby slave- Aztec ordered the slaves to make sure he was paying attention. Mexico would catch himself looking at his father every once and a while. Aztec looked godlike, with feathers in his long hair and many pieces of gold around his body. He had paint on his face, and a very nice robe. Mexico looked somewhat like his father, but without so much gold. It was too uncomfortable for the boy, so he removed many of the pieces. He also didn't have as many tattoos as his father- Mexico only had one, and that was around his wrist (A tribal tattoo).
Aztec slowly got up, and it took a few seconds for everyone to notice. Everyone was silent, and Aztec nodded. Priests hurried out, and a young man followed them. They set up a peculiar looking stone, and the man laid down on it. Praises to the gods were yelled and cried, and many people chanted with them- including Aztec. A spear was brought down, and pierced the young man's chest. Ripping out the heart, a particularly short priest threw it into a nearby fire. Everyone cheered, including Mexico (but only because it was finally time to eat).
Oh, Mexico stuffed his face with everything and anything. After the ritual was over, food was brought out. Delicious meats and fruits were everywhere- fasting for a whole day could do wonders to one's stomach. It was a glorious night, and eventually the small child fell asleep next to Aztec's chair.
Mexico woke up in his room. He was practically blinded by the light coming into his room- there were no windows, only holes in the wall. He happened to be unlucky and get one where the sun shined in every day. He was on top of a soft cushion, made of leather and stuffed with grass. It was comfortable. There was gold imbedded into his walls, which was very rare, but otherwise the house was made of whitewashed stone. It was a very nice house, compared to others. The thing is, Mexico did not live with his father. He lived with his general caretaker, which was a nice old woman. Her name was Culture, which was a very strange one. She generally cooked and made sure he was safe. He found her, and then said he was going into the forest to play. She smiled, nodded, and said that she was going to make something to eat for later.
Small little Mexico ran, weaving his away around the crowd and running towards a nearby forest. Many children played around there, but never dared to go too deep into it. Mexico, however, knew his way around. The only place he didn't know was by the ocean, where his father told him to never go. Finally getting to the huge trees, he ran inside, dodging roots and branches. He enjoyed scaring the animals and eating berries (that he knew were safe). He carried around a small stone dagger, just in case- but he had no idea how to use it correctly.
He ran around, climbed trees, and was generally being mischievous. Picking berries off one of the plants, he ate them all, leaving a red stain around his mouth. He went deeper and deeper into the forest, but he knew where he was. That only lasted a while, though. He decided to explore even more- that was a very bad idea. He became unfamiliar with the environment. All the landmarks that he knew were gone, but he could hear the ocean. He knew that if he could find the beach, he could look around and determine how to get home. Mexico was happy that he came up with this clever plan- it wouldn't fail! Like his caretaker said, although he was small, he was clever- something he probably inherited from his mother, Mayan. According to Culture, she was a beautiful woman, but something happened to her. Something about white men- Mexico didn't pay much attention. He didn't remember much.
He explored some more, trying to find the beach. The trees became thinner and thinner, and finally, he saw clear white sand only a few feet away. He ran towards the beach, a determined look on his small face. His father told him to never go here- however, it was necessary right now. He finally made it to a clearing, and cautiously put one foot onto the sand. It went in between his toes, warm and grainy. Another step turned into a few more steps. Mexico was soon on his knees, playing with the sand.
He made faces in the sand and lumped the sand together to form small hills. He wasn't paying attention to anything else- just the sand. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. The sound of cracking leaves could be heard. Mexico whipped his head around, thinking that he might have accidentally walked onto another tribe's land. It wasn't that at all. Three very pale men were walking around in the forest behind him, oblivious to his presence. Mexico's eyes widened, and he quickly got up. He ran to a particularly thick tree, and hid. He could faintly hear voices.
"Sh. Someone's here." "Eh, don't be so paranoid. The savages don't come this far down here- we specifically marked this place for our own." "I said, someone's here! Bet you can find footprints somewhere on the beach or something- I head running." Two of the men were arguing, until a third interrupted. "Be quiet, you two! If you really want to go down to the beach, go. I will stay here." Mexico's heart was racing- he couldn't climb the tree, the third man would see him. He couldn't run
either- the third man was still there. He couldn't run back to the beach, either. He heard a yell. "You owe me gold, I was right!" He slowly took out his stone dagger, his mind racing. He did not know there people, and he knew they were probably dangerous. He wanted to cry.
He could hear footsteps, the crunching of sand, get closer and closer. His hands grew sweaty, and he had a death grip on the small dagger. Eventually, they stopped. He suddenly felt a large pair of hands on his shoulders, and he was thrown into the sand. "Found you." He was dragged by his shirt to the third man. He was practically choking, struggling. He didn't even get the chance to defend himself. It felt like forever, but the man stopped walking. Mexico was thrown to his feet, and was suddenly facing a very pale man. The man was very tall (In Mexico's eyes) and has short, curly hair. The man had a strange choice of clothing- he had a red and gold top with a black bottom. He had never seen anything like that before. Mexico, however, had a red and green bottom piece (Kind of like shorts), feathers in his hair, and golden bracelets.
"Oh~. Who are you, little boy?" Mexico glared at the man, not giving an answer. After a while, the man frowned. "My name is España. Or Spain, same thing. Give me your gold." After a while, he scowled. He looked at the two other men, who were both restraining the boy. "Get his gold." Yelping, the golden bracelets were taken off and thrown to the ground, revealing his small tribal tattoo. Spain picked up the bracelets, and shoved them in his pocket.
"Mijo, are you going to give me your name?" The man-or, as he called himself, Spain- was slowly getting angrier and angrier. Seeing that, Mexico finally spoke. "Mexico. Now let me go." "Ah, Mexico… do you happen to know where Aztec is?" Spain purred. "No." "Liar!" Slapped across the face, the small child's eyes were tearing up. "I see your tattoo, child. Tell me where he is." Mexico looked up. "You need to follow me, then. But you have to let me go." Spain looked at him suspiciously, but then looked at the other two men. "Let him go." Before they could react, Mexico turned around, and promptly stabbed one of the men in the crotch. Crying out, the man fell to the floor. Before he could run, however, Spain grabbed his arm. The other man picked up the injured, and quietly made a comment about finding a doctor. It was only Spain and Mexico.
"You will tell me where he is- Your tribe has relocated, and it's been very troublesome for us." Cheeks blazing, he nodded. "Yes… follow me…" He led Spain, still restrained, in circles. He went very close to his city, but didn't get very close. "Stop walking." Mexico stopped, and his heart sank. A boy, maybe about 12 years old, was eating fruit off of a tree. He was about 20 feet away. In his head, he was yelling at the boy to run away. Dragging Mexico, Spain walked over to the boy. "Ey! Boy!" The boy looked up, and his eyes widened. He looked very frightened. "Tell me where the city is." Nodding, the boy slowly started walking towards the city, leading Spain. The city started to come into sight. Walking faster, Spain caught up to the boy, and grabbed his hand, forcing him to stop. The boy looked up, and his neck was promptly broken. Crying out, Mexico tried to reach the boy, but Spain stopped him. "It was the will of Jesus Christ. He was a savage anyway- a fate I will save you from, my little Mexico…" Tears streamed down Mexico's face, he had just witnessed a murder.
Dragging Mexico by the arm, Spain slowly walked through the people. Many gasped and fled, but some simply stared. The way Spain walked, it was as if he was about to kill someone- but he already did that. He looked around, and looked down at Mexico. "Where is Aztec?" Mexico said nothing, only to get slapped. "Mijo. Where is Aztec? Your father?" Shakily, he pointed to a very big house in the distance. Spain walked very quickly, dragging Mexico along. Mexico could not escape his death grip- he wondered if he would get bruises. They eventually stood in front of the house. It was nicely done, with whitewashed, polished stone. It had carvings in the side, and there were golden decorations. Spain walked right inside, and wandered throughout the hallways. He eventually found very big room, and smiled. It was not a kind smile; it was a smile that was full of poison and bloodlust. A smile that could kill. It was more of a smirk than a smile, in fact. He walked into the room, and, just like predicted, Aztec was there. Turning around, Aztec looked extremely surprised. Anger soon followed. "What do you need, Spain?" "I am here to ask for your son." Spain narrowed his eyes, still "smiling". "I will not let you have my son. Never." Aztec growled.
Sighing, Spain dropped Mexico. Feeling the blood rush back to his arm, he yelped. He sniffled, tears running down his face. "Fine. Have it your way, amigo. I will have your son, eventually… Or it might not even take long! Who knows?" He chuckled to himself, and gave Aztec a piercing glare. "I will be back, though." He walked out of the room swiftly; his footsteps could be heard throughout the entire house. As soon as they could not be heard, Aztec rushed to his son. "Mexico. What happened?" Sniffling, Mexico explained what had happened. He cringed when he came to the part about the boy in the woods. Aztec grimly nodded. "Go back to your caretaker. I will take care of this."
Protesting slightly, the child pouted. Getting a stern look from Aztec, he scurried back to "his house". People stared as he walked past, their eyes holding something terrible: fear. All because he decided to goof off and go close to the beach. Mexico sighed, shamed. He wasn't exactly sure if Spain was going to do something horrible, but he had a very bad feeling. Running inside the house, he bumped into Culture. When she asked where he had been, he told her everything, tears streaming down his face. She comforted him, but never once said, "It's going to be okay." He fell asleep, even though it was still very early.
When he woke up, he wasn't in his home- He was in his fathers. Confused, he realized that he was being carried in someone's arms. Blood was splattered on his clothes. Looking up, vision still foggy, he tried to identify the man holding him for about a minute or two. Once he did, he immediately felt cold. Spain. He was talking to his father, on the other side of the room. He dared not to move; to pretend that he was asleep. He listened to his father and Spain- it was strangely silent outside.
"We can work out a compromise, Aztec. I destroyed your army-all of you are savages. I might have done your son a favor; he won't be one of them." With a velvety tone, the older man shifted his feet. He hadn't noticed before, but Spain had a strange accent. Biting his tongue, Mexico still pretended to be asleep. "I… Depends on the compromise you have come up with." The voice sounded broken. Was this his father? "Yes… I take the boy, and then I kill you. If you want to keep the boy, I kill you and take the boy." A dark laugh. "Very well. Maybe we can switch the roles, instead?" "I never said anything about that." Mexico was gently set on the ground by the door. Opening his eyes, he sat up. Spain had a silver sword out, and his father had two long daggers. Getting up, Mexico ran out of the room. He ran back to his home. He had to get Culture. They had to leave. His father could handle him, right?
It was strangely quiet in the village. There was a strange rusty, metallic smell that was spread about. He had only smelled it once- after his mother, Maya, was said to be… gone. He smelled that smell. He wasn't sure what happened, though. He heard a yell behind him, and footsteps, but that only drove him to run faster. He ran into his small house, only to see the whitewashed wall stained with red. Gasping, he stood in the doorway. Culture was below him, face down. He clothes were ripped, and the blood was coming from her. Tears fell from his eyes. Out of breath, he patted his pockets. His dagger was still there. Pulling it out, he cried harder. He still heard footsteps behind him.
Turning around slowly, he saw a tall man. The man had strange clothes, just as Spain had. With a cocky smile, the man got closer. "Get closer, boy… Spain would be angry if you ran off." He clenched his teeth. Tears were freefalling- he couldn't control himself. Letting out a bloodcurdling scream, he ran towards the man, and sunk the knife in his jugular.
He hadn't even realized what he had done. It was all on impulse. His heart sank, but this man was not a part of him. This man was not one of his people. This man tried to capture him. He had done what his father told him to do if someone tried to grab him- why did he feel so bad? Mexico sat on top of the man, ignoring the gurgling and choking beneath him. He hid his face in his hands. Another man came by, but this time, he didn't put up a fight.
