Wow. A year here on FFN. Same day as the birth of king Afonso II of Portugal, (1185) first public in the United States is founded at Boston...
This story was originally written a while back, but I kept expanding it so it nearly doubled in size.
Background info: It's 1940. WWII rages on, and is almost inescapable from Europe. Except for one country: Portugal. Portugal offers people the last stand to get off the European Continent. It's under a fascist regime also, but the dictator shares no sympathy with Hitler or communism.
Germany's POV
Keeping his hat low over his head and hoping that this was the right place, the German hurried up the worn stone stairs. Sitting on a stone block that once protected the archers, Germany looked down to see the city of Lisbon. "Drop any weapon," a shadowy voice commanded. Germany unhooked his shotgun from his belt. "Is that all?" the voice said, almost mockingly. Reluctantly, Germany dropped two other firearms on the ground. In front of him, Portugal stepped out of the shadows. Tilting her head with a smile, she said, "Well let's get down to business, shall we?"
Motioning for him to follow, she continued walking up to reach the top of one of the towers. "This is the castle of Saint Jorge," she rattled out, pronouncing the J like in 'Jacques', similar to how France spoke. "Once housed many of my kings, and now Salazar is renovating it. I gained permission to meet you here, as I thought it would be a good place to meet," Portugal took a seat in one of the chairs someone had moved up there, and lit a lantern. "You have the gold, I presume?" she asked, her expression neutral.
"Yes I have the gold," Germany stated. "In exchange for the wolfram," Portugal rolled her eyes, and just slid a paper to him.
"Either sign it now in in the morning, but at least in 24 hours," she said, her voice rigid yet tired. Taking out a bottle of wine from underneath the table, Portugal poured each of them a glass.
"You are lucky that I am not picky about gold. I am guessing you did not get it from mines," Portugal said turning a timeworn ring in her hand. Germany's mouth went dry, and it wasn't from the wine. "How odd life is, that you are so different in personality and appearance yet you have made the same mistakes my brother made when he was younger."
"What do you mean?" Germany demanded, gripping Portugal's hand. She quickly swatted him away.
"The Spanish Inquisition in 1492," she said bluntly. "One of the original mass murder of the Jews and heretics, it was also one of the main events in which my brother's Conquistador side was unleashed. His humane side shut down, and a monster was let loose."
"Are you calling
I offered refuge of course. Even now, I continue to be beacon for those who are lost." A smile tugged at her face. "A city of light with war in the shadows. Already one of my citizens has acted to help save those who could easily become lost, even when my boss told him directly not to do so." *
"You protect the Jews," he said glaring at her.
"Why should I not? I know what is in store for them. You should be thanking me I just gave God 30 thousand reasons less on why you should go to hell. Amazing. It's barely been a century and you already have more blood on your hands than I spilled in the last millennia," Her scar rippled as she sneered. Germany swallowed, noticing the similarities between her and France again.
"How is it you look so similar to France?" he blurted, silently blaming the wine.
"He is my cousin, not to mention we both were taken in by Rome," Germany, choked, trying not to spit-take onto Portugal.
"How is zhat possible?" Germany stated surprised. Portugal raised an eyebrow.
"France used to have one of the best militaries in the world, until after the Napoleonic wars. While Italy and I are both only sword-masters, France is extremely versatile. While I still have relatively good aim, France, England, and America are expert sharpshooters. Back when we used cannons, France was a master at firing them. China is better with hand-to-hand combat, and I've never seen Russia fight," Portugal swished the port around in the fragile wine glass. "You must be incredibly brave or incredibly stupid to have angered the allies."
"I already have France under my control and England extremely damaged," Germany roared getting up.
"Oh sit down, for Deus's sake. Listen to your elder for once." She commanded, narrowing her eyes. Reluctantly he took a seat once again. "I've known them for centuries before you were even in diapers. Trust me, they will not fall so easily. Oh, and your biggest mistake was angering America, who also happens to be older than you."
"How have I 'pissed' off America?" he asked sarcastically. "If he enters the war it will be his own fault," Portugal snorted.
"Are you kidding? You know he is preparing already. The odds are completely for him. He's a hard worker, because of that "American Dream."
"He just had a financial meltdown," Germany retorted.
"And he brought the whole world down with him. Remember?" Germany faltered.
He's got people from all over the world, which gives him the ability to speak multiple languages. And," she paused for dramatic effect. "And he has super-strength. This isn't your average circus strongman; no, he is much stronger than that. When he was a mere colony and I went to visit him, I nearly had a heart attack. Somehow, he managed to spin a bull in the air as if it was a doll, effortlessly. He was laughing the whole time, too innocent and naïve to realize the damage he could potentially cause."
Germany muttered something under his breath. Portugal gave him a dirty look, like he was a child who said a bad word.
"Out of curiosity, what happened to your hair?" Germany inquired, trying to change topics.
Portugal's hand quickly went to her messy but short hair. It looked as if someone had taken a dagger to it. The woman sighed. "Boss's orders. Out with the old, in with the new I guess," she said bitterly. "I used to have it long, and I would just pull into a bun and deepen my voice during war or when I traveled."
"Suddenly I don't feel so guilty about confusing you for a man that first time," Germany said dryly. Portugal cracked a small smile, barely visible in the night.
"Here's one of the reasons I wanted to speak with you. Why have you stayed neutral in this war," Germany said, his voice becoming businessman-like.
"Neutral is a loose term, not enough detail. I would describe it more as helping both sides for personal gain. Besides, if I support England I risk an invasion. If I support you, I also risk an invasion. I also cannot deny the threat posed by my brother, especially if he supports your side. He did used to control part of Italy after all, I am guessing debt is the only thing holding him back," Portugal muttered scowling into the wine glass. "Last thing I need is a Spanish attack."
"That seems to be quite complicated," Germany commented.
"What do you think the wine is for?" Portugal countered. "Foreign affairs are always messy nowadays."
"True," the light-haired man steadily agreed.
"We better go," Portugal said, looking up. "I need to be in my office in the morning and if I don't get sleep now, coffee is not going to be so effective," she blew the candle out, the wine glass set down on the table. "Adeus, until we meet again." Portugal turned around, walking with her back to the City of Seven Hills.
Note: Much of the information was taken from Neil Lochery's Lisbon. * was actually a variation of the subtitle of the book: War in the Shadows of the City of Light 1939-1945. Much of my research will come from there.
I slightly mentioned Sousa Mendes at one point, and I probably should give at least the basics. He was a Portuguese ambassador to France that wrote visas for thousands of people so they could escape the Nazis. He saved thousands of lives, way more than Oscar Schindler did. Mendes died in exile in 1954. You can find more on wikipedia, though I'll try to expand on this at one point.
This chapter is dedicated to Sousa Mendes, and also the Boston Bombing victims.
As always, Review, favorite, and follow.