The weak hates, the strong forgives.(Italian Proverb)

After that, all he remembers is saving Veneziano from being brought into this mess, coming here, and being aware that he had failed spectacularly. Again.

"Dammit!"

A sob

"Dammit! Dammit!dammit!"

When Lovino finally uncurls from his place on the stone bench, far before he is actually feeling calm enough, he finds the Iberian sitting on the grass and watching him silently. He scowls at him.

"What are you staring at, creep?"

"...Are you okay…?"

"What do you care, idiot?" A small twitch in the kid's brow told Lovino that the Iberian wasn't immune to annoyance. Good "You must be an idiot to stay here. A big idiot"

This time he didn't get what he wanted, much for his confusion. Actually, he got quite the opposite, the Iberian's eyes narrowed slightly in a canny expression, as if he had caught a clue to something. Antonio decided to play it off as nothing, but he was paying more attention to the Italian than before, and that astute twinkle in his eyes didn't disappear. Lovino's nerves go on edge, feeling naked.

"You didn't seem to be okay. It felt wrong to leave you alone."

"Staring doesn't count as keeping company!"

"It's better than not being here at all. Or at least, that's what I think."

"Look at something else!"

"Like what?"

"Shut Up!...Just go away."

"You don't look okay. I can't leave you alone" he repeats patiently, which annoys Lovino even more, and that sharp attention and clever twinkle in the green eyes is starting to make him naked. He almost wishes Antonio went back to looking past him.

"W-w-well, I'm fine! Just...just...just shut up and go away!"

"Hmm… away where? I don't know the house"

"A-awa-"

'Away to the other bench?"

"Just shut up and stop staring at me you bastard!"

The balance of power had just swifted.

Antonio opened his eyes comically wide at the curse word. especially coming from a mouth so small!

He had...Had he...Had he really...?

…

Like, really?

That word?

He blinked a couple of times.

It wasn't just any curse word. It was a big fat one! A very big fat one! Back among his people that insult was a valid reason to kill somebody! He knew he should be extremely mad right now. But he wasn't. He didn't know why. It just didn't sound… real?

Yes. That was it. It didn't even sound like the kid knew what the word meant. It just sounded sad. The tiny kid, eyes red from tears, wearing clothes that probably cost more than anything Antonio had ever seen, barking like a dog, and undeniably lonely. He couldn't feel mad at that.

"Alright" He agrees, with a nod and a smile. He then points at a patch of grass near the fountain " I'll be here, okay? ...In case you change your mind and want to play with me." The Italian looked at him, oddly, then turns his nose up and turns his back obstinately on Antonio.

From the corner of his eye, Lovino observes the foreigner explore his surroundings. After some perfunctory nosing around, Antonio gets himself all set with some branches, some round stones of bright colors, and two pinecones. Lovino twists his neck to look better over his shoulder. What on Earth is that bastard doing?

In no time, the two pinecones became valiant knights on an adventure in Antonio's hands. The Iberian smiles and frowns and does all sorts of theatrical expressions for himself as he mumbles softly, in his language each pinecone 's dialogue, and often those of pink rocks too. The pinecone knights hop in place as they gather stones by the shore of the big round sea and agree on their daring plans to defeat whatever the little sticks on the floor are meant to be.

Lovino doesn't like this kid. Antonio does not allow Lovino to control him. He doesn't dance around with the Italian's moods, he doesn't respond to any of Lovino's tricks. He also treats him weird. He makes Lovino's chest feel empty and strange. He is far too patient and kind, so he is hiding something for sure, good people do not exist, let alone nations.

Still, one must concede that he can pantomime with garden objects like a pro. The Italian finds himself smiling when Sir Pinecone the Second falls down the fountain cliff for the fifth time with a high pitched cry. Poor Sir Pinecone the Second just couldn't catch a break! Sir Pinecone the First runs to his rescue, mumbling something in the slaughtered latin Antonio's people spoke, very distressed and dramatic. After an enthusiastic answer from his friend, who jumps right up and ready to adventure again, both ride back to the heights of the fountain(Lovino knows they are riding because Antonio is clicking his tongue to make the noise of hooves), just to fall again. Lovino chuckles behind closed lips. He was not the only one fond of the cliff falling scenes. Antonio seems to have gradually abandoned whatever epic plot he had been developing initially in favor of just making the knights endlessly fall down the fountain while giving the funniest nasal cries. Each time, Lovino has to bite his lip to keep his chuckles from getting too loud. He follows with expectation each new climb up to the mountain, waiting for the moment of the new , hilarious fall.

As Sir Pinecone the First falls for the sixth time, after sliding on a magic plake of ice that the evil Visir Al-Manzur had placed there with his evil arts, his usual:

"aaaaa" got interrupted, and the poor man ended up bouncing on invisible rocks all the way down, a little "Ay! Ay! Ouchy!" sounds each time he bounded in an invisible rock. It was just too unexpected, and you never knew where a new rock was going to be, and it was just too funny and unexpected. Lovino's breathy chuckle makes a break for freedom an echoes all through the garden.

As soon as he hears himself, he freezes.

Antonio heard too. He looks at him, his eyes shine as if that was the best thing he could have heard, his mouth tilted in a lopsided smile, still too clever, but still to warm. Lovino wants to run away. But he can't. He just covers his mouth, caught. Then he realizes that the hands on his mouth were technically a confession, so he took them away quickly, feeling the hated heat go up to his face. He looks sharply away, with the deepest scowl he can manage to pull out. He needs to look angry before Antonio has time to laugh at him for wanting to play, or tell him that he can't. Antonio opens his mouth, but the Italian is faster than him.

" I don't even like you, dammit! And your game is stupid! I was not paying attention to Al-Manzur!" but he has been caught big time, so he is not done "You look like an idiot. I bet you are an idiot. I bet your dad doesn't like you and sent you here to play because you can't do anything right!"

The older kid just waits until he is done, fighting to keep the knowing smile off his face. Then takes his turn.

"Do you want to play with me?"

" What?"He just places his head in his hands."D- do you even understand Latin? Did you understood what I said?".

"Yeah, I did" the Spaniard shrugs "But it doesn't answer my question. Do you want to play with me?"

Lovino has to do a double take on this. He has insulted the kid. Twice. Antonio has offered to play with him. He isn't angry. He is just waiting for an answer and smiling warmly at him as if he means it. This is not how humans work!

It is a lie, of course he doesn't mean it. He is probably just following some order from his father to be friends with Rome's grandson and get closer to the Pope. But he looks very convincing!

Very convincing indeed.

He really does look like he means it.

And Lovino really wants him to mean it. For someone to mean it, at least once.

Why does it have to be a lie? Why never ever means it when they say he is okay? As he thinks about it, the Italian feels a black hole growing inside his chest, making him fight hard for air. It isn't a new sensation, and Lovino still doesn't know what it is supposed to mean, but this bastard makes it happen a lot. He keeps teasing him, offering things he won't give, and making him want them.

"Bastard!"

No reaction.

Damn! No reaction.

He is supposed to snap or push him away! Dammit!

His readiness to take whatever abuse the other wanted to dish out was making him feel soft again. His members melt and the hole keeps hurting but in a less cruel way. He was liking feeling soft, and he liked that smile a little, even if made him drop his alertness. That was unacceptable. He was about to panic again when the Spaniard did something repugnant:

"..Please? Back home I never get to play with other kids. I really want you to play with me…"

He says please. He says please for Lovino to stay with him. Nobody had done that. Ever. In his life, he knows, he would have remembered. He knows because he is going to remember this one. Forever. He knows. His heart's beating so hard it will break out of his chest. That should be illegal. Lovino grumbled a lot of curses and complaints and tried to calm his heart and keep his hopes low and safe, but before he knew it, he was sitting by the fountain as far from Antonio as he could, with Sir Pinecone the Second in his hand.

Antonio looked genuinely glad he had changed his mind. That was confusing, but it made him feel warm. The hole he always felt hurt a little less, so Lovino looked at his pinecone feeling suddenly brave. He placed the improvised toy determinedly on the edge of the fountain basin. He had been given a chance. He was going to get it right. Antonio and him were going to have fun, and Antonio was going to be glad he had invited Lovino to play!

The moment he saw the other pinecone hopping towards him, he realized that he has no clue of what he was supposed to do. He freezes. He always freezes, and then he messes up. It is happening again. His eyes widen in a silent scream for help.

The Spaniard smiled at his new playmate and talked to his pinecone with a nasal voice that Lovino found hilarious a minute ago. Now he doesn't like it anymore. There is something expected from him, and he didn't know what it is!

"I just talked to the king!" Antonio exclaimed, making his pinecone hop in place "We need to save the princess from the tower of the evil Visir! We must hurry!"

Lovino didn't move. He can't breathe. He only wanted to play. Why had he even thought he could play? Why had he even though he had the right to have fun? He started to blush.

Antonio gave him all the time he may need, and then some. Antonio was too patient. Antonio was going to regret inviting him. He was regretting it now. He was sure. He was regretting it and he was right because inviting Lovino to play was a stupid idea. But Lovino didn't want it to be a stupid idea! Why did it have to be? Why he always fucked up?Why couldn't he have fun? Why couldn't he have friends? WHy couldn't he do anything?

The Iberian just kept waiting, without pressuring him, Nothing. The Italian just kept blushing more.

"Eh...The tower is at the other side of the big round sea! Which way should we go!?"

Nothing. Lovino was scowling now and squeezing the pinecone so hard in his chubby hand that, if the thing had guts they would have been shot up to the sky a while ago. His blush was getting worse. Antonio got distracted for a moment by how cute he looked, all shy and blushed, but experience told him this wasn't good.

He moved the toy again, giving it one last try, a bit uncomfortable. On his side of things, Lovino had decided it was Antonio's fault for making him want. But the idiot is there still making him want because he is so patient it seems he'd wait forever, and nobody ever waits forever!

"O-Okay! I think I know! Follow me..?" The Iberian tries

The pinecone made his way solo for half a meter. Lovino isn't moving, nor is his pinecone. He looks extremely frustrated now. His eyes look too shiny and red, and he his glaring at Antonio's toy as if it was doing him a personal offense. Antonio abandons the nasal voice.

"Hey, Lovi, you can answer, or you can move the cone. You can also just ask me what to do, that is fine too" Nothing, silence, and deeper scowl, just like a tearless crying face. Antonio let his toy fall into the water and knelt closer, honestly pained by what he sees.

"Hey. Lovi...is everything fine?"

The kid bolted up and gave a couple of angry steps away from him, just to freeze again in complete and utter frustration. He turned his back on the Spaniard. Antonio just sat back up on the edge of the fountain, giving the young kid's back an anguished look. He wants to help. The Italian is visibly distressed; his breathing is far too shallow and far too fast. He just has no idea of how to!

The rest went by just too fast. The Italian turned and gave him the most hateful glare he had seen, and darted towards him like a cannonball. Antonio's reflexes got him out of the way agail, before either their minds could catch up. Lovino ran straight into the fountain, hitting his shin against the stone edge before landing nose first in the shallow basin, his mad dash creating enough force for him to slide on his face for a good distance.

Antonio watched the ridiculous velvet hat floating lonely in the surface. His eyes get stuck there, as if the waving movement of that pointless thing was a metaphor he was failing to catch, during a strange, absurdly ethereal moment of calm. Next he knows, as he turned to ask the italian if he was hurt, a Pinecone flew straight to his face and hit him square in the nose.

He gave a step back, biting back a pained sound as he covered his nose. That was time more than enough for the Italian to jump out of the water and bolt out of the patio like a bat out of hell. When Antonio tilted his head back down, the unpleasant pain nearly subsided, and a couple of red droplets on his finger, he was alone with the cones and the ruined castle of stones and sticks.

Exhausted in every way, Antonio let himself fall on the edge of the fountain again. He didn't even know how to feel about the encounter. All he could pick up disheartenment, and a bitter aftertaste.

He fished his pinecone from the water and picked up Lovino's from the grass. He looked at his former playmates, imagining that they felt as dejected as he did.

The servants announced dinner and the (prospective) Spanish Nation found himself walking towards the door of the Pontifical dining hall, shaking like an Autumn leaf.

As he walks, he tries to figure out how to best explain to the Greatest Empire Ever Seen that his little grandson has disappeared, and may be gathering flowers in the mountains of Poland, for all Antonio knew.

The result of his meditations? There is no good way to say it.

Antonio gets to the gate of the dining hall and stops, waiting up against the wall. A voice in his head tries to convince him that picking flowers in Poland is, in fact, what he should run to do himself while he still has time.

He breathes deep and stands at attention, back straight and head high. Rome and his father appear soon after, deep in conversation and with the usual flock of old men in rings and dresses chatting all around them. The time has come. The end is near. He braces himself for what might come.

As the adults approach, Aragon catches a glimpse of his son. Standing there, on time, and polite…

Wait.

Antonio looks suspiciously rigid.

Nervous.

Guilt painted all over his face.

Alone.

The look in the old Nation's eyes could have set a forest on fire. Antonio squeezed his eyes tight for a second, heart racing, panic growing.

Change of mind! He was no longer worried about the Greatest Empire Ever Seen! It was his dad he was terrified about now! He was totally fine with explaining to Lord Rome that he had lost his grandkid, if that saved him from explaining it to Aragon. He would do it right now and with a toga on if he has to! Wasn't Rome really into lions? May he please be chained up and fed to the lions in a circus before Aragon gets his hands on him? Please? Or crocodiles! He is not picky!

The small group reaches him. Antonio couldn't breathe. It is mostly guilt, but there is a big part of fear squeezing his lungs too.

"Lord Rome," he bows, his voice a bit more strained than it should be.

"Such a polite young man, Aragon. Let me congratulate you."

"Well, one has to be firm with kids, if one wants good results. Don't you think, Tonio?"

Antonio gulped.

"In general, I don't take kindly to being disappointed. My boy knows that..."

Oh, God.

He was dead.

Worse than dead, he was in trouble with his father.

"...He would never disappoint me lightly. "

Oh dear God and every Saint in heaven or around! Why was he not death? Would not someone be kind enough to strike him down? Please?

" He knows what happens if he does. Right, Tonio?"
"Y-yeah"

He knew he wasn't supposed to use the Lord's name when in trouble with his parents. Father Torres said it was taking the name of God in vain. But to be fair, Father Torres had never seen Aragon on a bad day!

"Well, certainly it has worked, you got a fine young man here. I hope you two, kids, had fun." Rome smiles warmly. Silence "Where is Lovino?"

...Oh, God…

"I'm here."

All the air in the room rushes into Antonio's lungs at once. South Italy's tiny figure appears from behind a column. His clothes are still wet, and some of the unnecessary ornaments in them were probably ruined. Antonio feels so relieved with what he sees that he could hug the guts out of the kid, but he is the only one. The grown-up population of the palace looks extremely displeased with the state of the kid's clothes. Lovino knows it and tries to hide his shame under cockiness, unconvincingly.

'Why on Earth was he still wet though?' Antonio wonders ' It is July. Even velvet should have dried out in the sun. Where has he been hiding?'

The little child drags his feet near the group, frowning. He pouts, glared down. For a moment it seems he is going to bite back at any adult who dares to say a word about him. When he meets his Grandfather's eyes, and he deflates immediately. His angry scowl poorly hides that he is quickly approaching the verge of tears.

"So. It seems someone has some explaining to do."

Silence.

Lovino opens his mouth, but can't talk. He tenses like Antonio has seen before and fails to speak again. Whether he was a nation of an incarnation of the devil, Antonio couldn't tell for sure, but he could tell the kid was extremely shy. Probably the cohort of strangers listening to what he had done wrong and about to watch him get scolded was not precisely helping.

"You can start with how you ended up in water, and pick it up from there" His grandfather suggests.

The kid blushes and starts blinking suspiciously fast.

"I…" He gets even redder than before, his little nose all wrinkled and his blinking faster.

The poor kid looks terribly embarrassed and… sad? He looks furious, but the miserable type of rage, the aimless one you can't even fight. Just look at that guilty expression. He looks beyond shy, he looks agonized.

Antonio looks at the grown-ups, hoping to take someone's eye and glare some reason into them, with no luck. The adults should not be making a little kid go through this. They must know he is shy. They should ask him in private. This is not okay. He is so red it can't be he also going to get punished, in addition to going through this?

"I…"

The kid's voice tries to pitch up proud and instead does a little squeak.

A tear rolls down his cheek. He sniffed hard and tries to hold the rest, but all he gets is even more water falling from his lashes. Oh, Lord! Antonio can't watch this.

"It was my fault!" He intercedes. Every head in the room turns towards him. Even he feels shy under that scrutiny, but he is bigger and can take it. There is no point in turning back now.

"We were playing in the garden, by the fountain, and I got upset about...something, I don't really know what, and I ...made him fall into the water." Antonio took a breath. The silence in the room was the silence of a grave. His grave. Oh well! Since he was taking the blame, no point in being half-assed about it, middle grounds were never for him. " It was not long ago, so he has not had time to let his clothes dry. That is why he is late too. I think I scared him a little, so he ran until you showed up." At this, Aragon moves from looking at his son to glaring, composed expression but eyes on fire. Lovino looks at the young nation in complete astonishment. His mouth drops open.

"You did what?" Aragon growled, glaring.

Rome glares. The seven cardinals glare. The two bishops glare. The entire room glares. Antonio bites his lips discreetly, his eyes are forced lower, the burn of all the disapproval getting under even his thick skin. As the scolding starts (and boy, how it starts!) his tanned cheeks start accumulating shades of pink.

Lovino's own heart is beating fast just by watching it; he doesn't want to imagine being at the centre of it. He observes as the kid being scolded by, and in front of, every single adult in the room, most of whom he had never seen. All through it, Lovino's little heart was twisting in his chest and doing awfully painful things, pleading him to step up and tell the truth. He didn't though. He just keeps quiet, watching without blinking until only Aragon is left to speak.

Antonio's breath catches so bad when his father puts a hand on his shoulder, it hurts Lovino just to see it. The Italian sees Antonio bite both his lips, eyes falling all the way to the floor for the first time.

"We will talk about this later." The man says in his barely comprehensible language. Antonio shivers and closes his eyes for a moment as his father walks away.

The Italian was too ashamed of himself to even move and follow the adults, even though the last thing he wanted was to be left alone with Antonio now. But he doesn't manage to move on time. Aragon leaves. Lovino finds himself alone with the other and looks at his shoes in intense hope that will make him invisible. His heart is doing more painful things of a different variety, pushing his ribs out and trying to swell with… warmth? Guilt? His sense of justice is nagging at him, telling him how much of a pile of garbage he was, and his common sense was screaming how furious the Iberian should be now, and how much he needed to run. He would probably be furious! He would sell him as a slave! Ship him off to an island full of cannibals! Before he notices it, Antonio is close to him and closing in. It's too late to run from his gross stilt-legs, so he just cowers and covers his head, hoping whatever he will be dished out will end soon.

The blow does not come through. Nor the yelling.

After minutes of waiting, he dares to crack an eye open and see what is going on. Antonio is by him, waiting, with Lovino's lost hat extended towards him.

"You forgot it. I put it in the sun. It is almost dry."

He took the hat, at a loss of words. They followed the adults in awkward silence.

Lovino did not get a single dirty look from the Spaniard all through dinner and afterwards, Aragon and his son retired early while Lovino's conscience tried to kill him.A little past midnight, the tiny Italian sneaked out of his room and walked the silent corridors in darkness. It was easy. He knew the place by heart, and the building was deep in sleep. Not like anyone would be anywhere near his room anyway. Not usually, but certainly not tonight.

He may or may not have had an epic tantrum in the kitchens that evening. It might have been related to feeling too confused, and too guilty, and in general too much! It might have been just because the day had been too long and he felt worthless and made fun of by everyone. The yelling should probably have been aimed at the Spaniard for some reason he couldn't place, but a servant may have set him off before that. There might have been a lot of yelling, hitting and crying. A spyglass might or might not have been thrown and shattered against a wall and stepped on rapidly until it was nothing left of it. Not an important detail.

The important part is that he felt completely drained afterwards, but the questions had not left him. 'Why had the stranger taken the blame?''Why had he brought his hat back?''Why hadn't him reproached Lovino a thing?' 'What type of nation does that?' Unbothered, like big stones in the fireplace of his mind, the question stayed heavy and inert both among the raging fire of anger or in his grey and ashy exhaustion. They just kept on being there, existing, not planning to go anywhere or do anything but be heavy and be visible every time he closed his eyes. Lovino had tried to carbonize them with rage all through the evening, but it didn't work. Now he has almost no fire left, just sparks. He can't sleep, he can't stop noticing them, and he feels drained enough to be bold. Maybe, if he asks them, the heavy questions will go away once he asks them, and he will feel oriented again.

After almost an hour standing in front of the door of his guest's room, his barely smouldering fire crackling weakly in embarrassment and in the anger that came from feeling that way, he dared touch the door handle. He pushed the door open. The little sparks of bitterness he had managed to spur to life carefully treasured in his heart. He would need them to be capable of waking the sleeping kid just to antagonize him. But when he steps into the room, he finds the bed empty, untouched. Antonio is standing in front of the window, showered in the moonlight, eyes on the sky.

He is still wearing his day pants and white shirt. Lovino looks at his nightgown and frowns, pulling it a bit as if it was the clothing's fault that he found himself nearly indecent while Antonio had the advantage of pants. The Iberian looked peaceful, happy in the summer breeze, a little-lopsided smile illuminated his face like a personal half moon. Why was he happy? he had no right to be happy! What the hell had he had that day to be happy about? He had gotten in trouble with the adults, and been yelled at, and bene hit with a pinecone and-

Suddenly, the Italian managed to identify one of the emotions that had been torturing him all day. Envy. He was jealous of the bastard's peace of heart. He was jealous to the core of that permanent smile, of all the attention, of that way in which he just seemed to enjoy being alive, in the love he received from his father and from-

M-Maybe coming here had not been such a good idea. Maybe he wasn't that interested in getting any answers after all. A stone in the fireplace never killed anyone nor was it ever nearly this started a tactical retreat, eyes on the Hispanic just in case he had been saving his revenge for the cover of night. But as he took his first step backwards, he found his foot tangled in idiot's stupid boots! They snaked around his ankles causing him to stumble around like a drunk chicken and squeak mortifyingly as he tumbled to the ground like a sack of, particularly ungraceful garbanzo beans.

"Damnit!"

Antonio turned to look, his reverent trance not strong enough to hold against such a display of stealth. Lovino was confronted with those clean eyes heads on, not a trace of resentment or anger, just a bit of melancholy. His world turned upside down again because that level of kindness made no bloody sense. And still, it was right in front of him, written in full color.

He gets dizzy. He forgets how to speak. He even forgets how to breathe.

"Oh. Hi Lovi... What are you doing here?"

"W-w-w-w-w-wh"

"Are you okay?"

"Why aren't you mad?!" He blurted, suddenly terrified. A question, an insult, a plea. Lovino knew that it was all three. This made no sense! Nothing about that day did!

Meanwhile, international politics…

From: The Papal States

To the Christian Nations of Europe.

Brothers:

Through the Authority granted to Him by God, we must inform you that, after deep deliberation and assistance of the wisest and holiest men in the empire, as well as of the Lord above and his Holy Spirit, we have determined that only the Roman rite of mass and corpus of tradition is consistent with his teachings and his will.

Therefore, all other heretic rites must be abandoned. This is specially addressed to Byzantine of the East.

As much as it pains me, those nations practising heretic rites who refuse to mend their ways are declared heretic and treated as such by the sons of the Church. Their claims of land are invalid, pacts with them and oaths to their kings may be freely broken, and attack on them becomes justified as it is on infidels.

Blessings,

The Papal State.

...

From: The Byzantine Empire

To The Papal States

So, it has come to this;

I won't lie, it is a step I was about to give myself. Let me tell you, old man, I tried to be patient with your obstinate refusal about handing me South Italy and your petty commercial war, in honour to the mentor you once were to me, but getting France and HRE to send me those northern thugs crossed the line. Now that our war is no longer covert get ready.

You are over, Rome. You have only survived this long because you were subordinated to me. Do you even think you can survive without my protection? You don't even have an army worth that name, and Austria and France aren't stupid enough to let you ever gather enough soldiers to create one. They will play your game only until they are done sizing each other. The moment one gets the upper hand you will be over. And let me tell you, France is pretty close of doing so. Actually, I think I will help him.

Regards,

The Byzantine Empire, the only true Roman Empire of this day.

A candle loses nothing by lighting another candle.(Italian Proverb)