Author's Note: Hello again, readers! I have returned from my unexpected hiatus to give you a rather late chapter on Italy in 1915, which was probably influenced by Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms.

I do apologise for the delay, a lot of things have been happening in my life- exams, debate competitions, expeditions and seemingly everything else. It doesn't help that I get really quite worried about deadlines and so writing this became a bit of a chore for a while, hence me avoiding it. But now that I have a newer outlook on this project, I think we'll be fine.

Thank you for reading!

~Anonymous Lily

Chapter Twelve: From Ancient Grudge comes New Mutiny

The Isonzo Valley, 1915.

The first thing that Feliciano heard was not the bellowing of an irate officer, or the shriek of artillery. It was the impatient knocking on the door by his brother, Romano.

"Hey, brother! Wake up, I need to go soon!" the other Italian Nation called from outside.

At this, Feliciano snapped into action, clumsily sliding out of the bed onto the cold, bare floorboards. He hissed as his body stung and burned with the pain a recently received wound often has- this one being a piece of shrapnel that had somehow embed itself into his lower back, accompanied by varied cuts and bruises.

Ach, did I tear the bandage again? I hope it's not infected.

"I'm coming, just a minute!" he called, haphazardly throwing on the various itchy and frayed layers of his uniform. He opened the door.

"Took you long enough." Romano huffed, before noting his brother's unusual posture, "Anyway, I just wanted to say, well, I'll be under General Frugoni for the next battle, so..."

"Be careful and don't get captured while I'm gone!" Feliciano mimicked, "I know- you say that every time. You be careful too, please."

Romano scoffed, "Ha! Me, I am always careful! It's you that manages to get himself in all the scrapes." Feliciano raised an eyebrow, "Just last time, you got crushed by falling rocks. It's a wonder no one saw you heal yourself."

"Yes, but still..." Romano stopped, alert to the irregular footsteps that came from behind. Hazel eyes flickered to meet glassy-grey eyes, belonging to a well- groomed man, who looked to be In his thirties. Despite his well-kept attire, he leaned heavily on a pair of rusty ski poles, mainly due to his right leg- or rather, the lack of one.

"How are you feeling, young man?" he asked, "Are you ready to take on the Austrians again?"

Feliciano hesitated, biting his lip in thought.

On the one hand, he could tell that some things were not prepared enough. Though his men tried to hide it, the personification could practically smell the uncertainty in them. Quite a lot of them did not seem to be trained as well as some of the others. Only some had the proper equipment.

Despite all of this, Feliciano could not help feeling excited about the oncoming battle. It had been the first time in years that he had participated in an actual war, not just colonial warfare.

There was also a certain sense of satisfaction that he and his brother may be able to claim back some of the land taken from them in the Treaty of Vienna. He had been promised this and more by Britain and France.

He smiled brightly, "Yes, we just need to keep trying and we'll be fine."

"That's the spirit!" the man beamed.

The man pivoted himself to address Romano, whilst creating an unpleasant screech with the crude crutches.

"Your transport has arrived to take you to the general. This way, dear fellow." he explained, leading him slowly outside to where a car was parked, Feliciano not far behind him.

When they exited the dishevelled building that had doubled as a base, he was dazzled by the force of the light that bleached his surroundings. The mountains seemed to tower over the settlement like guards against the enemy on the other side. The sky was speckled with clouds, the occasional peek of sky or sunshine emerging from the mass of white and grey. The air, usually hinted with mountain flowers, was now mingled with the pungent aroma of sweat and metal.

First the equipment, then the human passengers were squeezed into the car. Romano got on last, helping the one-legged man up with an almighty shove before clambering in himself.

"You there, red head!" someone called, "The Duke wants to see you!"

Hurriedly, Feliciano waved the car off and dashed through the camp, weaving past crates and sandbags like a greyhound.

Around him, the fatigued men of the Italian Third Army went about their work, chatting amicably despite their conditions.

"Things will be better next time, the Duke will make sure of that."

"Like Cadorna says, we must be willing to try in order to win this war- we have a numerical advantage!"

"Will anyone make it back alive?"

%&%

Soon, Feliciano had made it into the officers' barracks. They were all gathered around a table, discussing something.

At once, Feliciano recognised the person with his back facing as the Duke. Neat blond hair peaked at the top of his head he wore a well-kept green uniform, without a speck of dust on it. The Italian personification could only stare in envy at the contrast between the man in front of him and his own, dishevelled auburn hair and torn uniform.

One of the other officers noticed Feliciano and politely tapped the Duke's shoulder.

"Your Grace." Feliciano said, bowing his head. The Duke frowned, examining him with piercing pale blue eyes.

"Ah, North Italy," he said, "There you are."

Perking up at the name, the officers surround the Duke sat up, nodding cordially to him and making the occasional comment referring to his less-than-typical appearance.

"With all due respect your Grace, you should not refer to me so freely." Feliciano cautioned, glancing around.

"Nonsense," the Duke replied, "It is with good spirit that I introduce you formally, for it will be greater encouragement for the officers that the entire nation is by their side."

Frowning, the Duke added in a lower voice, "I thought that you, as our Nation, would recall our protocol on your identity in war-times."

"It has been a long time since we had a proper war, sir." Feliciano explained, a tad sheepishly, "The years in secretive peace has made me forget."

"Well," the Duke concluded, with a soft laugh, "Let us hope that if you have forgotten anything else, you will remember it for the next battle."

"Do not worry, sir. I haven't forgotten anything important." Feliciano reassured.

"I say, you're a little different than I expected," one officer noted, examining Feliciano sceptically, "Aren't you a little young-looking to be the representation of a thousand year old culture?"

"Yes, I will admit that I appear too young for seemingly no reason, officer." Feliciano replied, "Before you ask, I don't know why I am this young or much else about my appearance for that matter. All of that is irrelevant." "Ah, so there are things about your existence that even you do not know about?" the officer inquired. "That is correct." Feliciano started, "Now..."

Suddenly, the earth shook as an explosion erupted from a nearby mountain. All turned to the source, panicked. The Duke looked to Feliciano, trying to hide his nervousness.

Understandingly, Feliciano nodded.

Author's Note: So, here is another historical figure- Duke Emmanuel Philibert Aosta. I could not find much on his personality, but from what I can see, he was a very competent general. The blue eyes were from the portrait on the Wikipedia page- though I can say that that I the only thing I really used Wikipedia for. I am not sure what will be the focus of the next chapter- it is likely to be either based on espionage, South Africa, naval battles or Japan- perhaps all four if there was such an incident.

Until next time,

~Anonymous Lily