-wailing like North Italy- GAH! I AM SO SORRY, GUYS! I HAD THIS CHAPTER FINISHED WEEKS AGO, BUT THEN I HAD A BUNCH OF STUFF TO DO FOR COLLEGE AND MY OCD COMPLEX FLARED UP AND-(gets smack in the face by a random fish) ...Thanks. I needed that.

Well, now that I have that out of my system, we can get on to the main event. For those of you who still bother to read this chronicle of failure, I send out my deepest apologies for making you wait so long. Also, I hope this chapter is worth the wait. (I've developed quite a thing for the Italy brothers' mom. She's so much fun to write!)

Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. If I had, this story (read: a far better version of it) would be canon. Which, as it only exists here and in my mind, is not the case.

Enjoy!

"I'll start with your mother, Romano. She's what got everything started. I'm sure you're aware of the…odd relationship Germania and I have shared over the years?"

Romanus nodded, beginning to toy with the tassels on the corner of the pillow he was holding. The blonde man was terrifying, but there was something about him that made Romano feel safe, somehow. Something about his face reminded the young boy of the mother he had adored.

"Well, it was during a time when we were a little less friendly towards each other. We fought almost constantly, and it often cost us quite a lot…"

A young warrior let out a mighty battle cry as he led his fellow warriors against Roman soldiers. Swords clashed and clanged against each other and numerous shields. They had forced the Romans to abandon their strong defensive ranks by luring them into the thick forests of their home. Here, the Germanic warriors had the advantage. It was an advantage their young leader fully exploited.

As the bodies became thicker, the Romans began to retreat. Full of excitement and pride, the young warrior doubled his efforts, robbing several more Romans of their disgusting lives until all of the cowards had fled back to their wretched cities. As the last Roman vanished, the Germanic warriors let out wild calls of victory. They had won the battle, and were that much closer to finishing off the Roman bastards for good.

"Come, my men, let us give our dead their honors and return to our families with tales of victory!"

The men shouted their approval of their leader's suggestion, setting to work digging graves for their fallen comrades. There was little sorrow, as each man had died a worthy death. The Germanic warriors took no prisoners, as evidence by the gross overpopulation of Roman dead strewn over the battlefield. Their leader was fearless, as was to be expected of any Germanic prince. However, there was something very different about this particular prince…

"Wilkommen zu Hause, Prinzessin Adala!" ("Welcome home, Princess Adala!")

The leader removed his helmet, allowing a long braid of thick red hair to fall out, trailing down a back that suddenly seemed more feminine. The young warrior's face was narrow, made of lines far too delicate for a man. The leader was no Germanic prince…the leader was a Germanic princess…

"They called your mother the "Demon Witch of Germania". I can't even begin to tell you how many soldiers I lost due to my generals underestimating her. Germania used to lord it over me during our battles, saying how only one of his daughters could destroy thousands of my sons." Rome scowled at the memory. "It seems cruel of me to say this, and I know you'll probably hate me forever, but I was ecstatic when she was finally captured."

Furious screams and the sounds of metal and glass smashing to the ground announced the arrival of his generals and their latest captive. A dark look rested on the Roman Empire's face. Would it really be her? The Germanic Witch? Or would it just be another case of his generals being too stupid to pick out the right woman?

"Lord Rome, we have her. We have finally captured that barbarian witch!" The general shouted as he flung open the doors.

Several soldiers struggled to drag in a woman who was clearly struggling with all of her might. They all but flung her to the ground, keeping a firm grip on her, as they presented their find to their powerful empire. The captive woman glared at Rome, dark green eyes burning with vicious hatred under wild curls of brilliant red hair. She snarled at him, her struggles renewed as she looked upon the face of her enemy.

Kill, her body screamed, Destroy Rome!

Rome was intrigued, hopeful, even. The other women his generals had brought before him had quivered in their prison garb, terrified of the powerful man before them. This woman seemed to want nothing more than the chance to rip out his beating heart and squash it beneath her feet. Her eyes promised a thousand deaths, each more painful and bloody than the last, should she find freedom.

"Are you the infamous Regina Adela?" (Regina Adela = Princess Adala)

"Ich bin deine Zerstoerin!" She snarled, jerking and twisting from the hands that held her back.("I am your destroyer!)

Rome frowned. While he knew well what she had said—countless skirmishes with Germania left him with a grasp of the language—he refused to let her know he did.

"I'm sorry, but I don't speak barbarian. Shall we try again? Are you Regina Adela?"

She spat a vicious curse at him, slamming a powerful kick into the knee of one of her captors. The man crumpled, and Adela took full advantage of it. She quickly shoved off her suppressors and stole a sword. Without missing a beat, she charged at Rome. He drew his own sword and moved to defend himself. As if expecting it, she jumped away from him and whirled her sword around to make contact with his side. Rome had moved fast enough to prevent the blow from being deadly, but she had still taken a sizable chunk out of his side. Adela lunged forward again, but was stopped by the soldiers who had recovered from her brief escape.

A vicious scream tore from the warrior princess's throat as they dragged her away from her enemy.

"Sir, what should we do with her?"

Rome held his bleeding side. "Lock her away. Let's see if we can't get her to respect her betters."

Romanus clung to his pillow, trembling as Rome told his story. His mother had been a fierce warrior whose sole purpose had been to destroy Rome? Every time the boy tried to picture his mother as a fearless warrior, he could only remember the gentle hands and loving smile. The hands that had held him so gently and lovingly soothed away every hurt he remembered, had once been stained with the lifeblood of countless Romans? He couldn't even picture it in his most horrific nightmares.

"She was your enemy?"

Rome nodded. "Ever since she could fight, she had sworn her life to fighting against me. I don't know how he did it, but somehow your father managed to bring the woman out of that savage shell…"

She was a newcomer to the household. Timæus watched the beautiful woman being escorted by several guards to his father's chambers. Red curls flickered like flawless rubies in the candlelight, her skin pale against the pristine white of her toga. She must be one of his father's new toys, if the style of her dress had any weight in the issue. She was in chains, and smoldering anger radiated in her aura.

The young man made his way back to the apartments he shared with his mother, the woman he had seen still on his mind. Who was she? He knew his father would often take women as prizes won in conquest, but never had he seen one who had such obvious hatred. The other women used sobbed silently as they were led to their fate, but she still continued to fight.

"You have been out late, my son. Is there any reason why?"

Rachel was a beautiful woman, even in her increasing years. Taken from her home years ago as a political prisoner, she had survived decades in the household of the Roman Empire. Dark curls poured out from the plain cloth wrapped loosely around her head. Dressed in shades of blue that matched her eyes, Rachel gave off a calm and dignified aura. Her fingers deftly worked the loom she wove upon as she patiently awaited her only son's answer.

"Forgive me; Leontinus kept me later than I had wanted. The stables have gained several new horses and they needed my help getting them settled."

"Animals always have found a friend in you," she said with a smile as she completed a row. "Is there any reason the stables have gained so many new horses?"

"Haven't you heard? Father's armies have dealt a huge blow against the barbarians. I've been told that they even captured the barbarians' leader."

"Well, that certainly is exciting news, isn't it?" Timæus didn't miss the frown on his mother's face.

"You don't seem very happy to hear it, Mother."

Rachel sighed, setting her work aside for the night. "My son, I am growing old in this gilded prison you call home. The closest I have come to freedom since my childhood has been the walks I take in the gardens. I am no wife and yet I am a mother. Do you know what victory for one side means for the other?"

Timæus didn't answer. He knew, and while Rachel knew that he did, she would still explain it.

"Young girls are ripped away from their families and friends, taken away as spoils of war and given to soldiers to do with them what they will. In my life I have been extremely fortunate. Rome is not a cruel master, and I praise God every day for that blessing. Other girls, however, have no such fortune. They are turned into slaves meant to satisfy the darkest pleasures of men. They face cruel masters and even crueler slaves. The cycle of pain continues until all within it are miserable."

Rising from her seat, Rachel stretched her stifle muscles. In her ever-increasing age, her body was becoming less and less able to handle things she once did without thought as a young woman.

"Sometimes, my son, the animals have better fortune than the humans. That is the nature of war, and the nature of the masters of this palace. I shall pray tonight for the souls of all of the children whose fates have been so drastically and horrifically changed this day. You best do the same."

Romanus mulled over everything Rome was telling him. He was still shocked from the revelation that his mother had been a bloodthirsty Germanic warrior hell-bent on the destruction of Rome. What had changed her so much that she fell in love with a Roman man? What had changed in less than a year that would lead to his mother's willingness to marry his father and have him and his brothers?

"Your father had taken a strong interest in her, so I decided to place her in his service…"

Adala glared bitterly at the floor, as though it were to blame for all of her woes. After only a few days of attempts to "train" her, she was pleased that the mighty Rome had apparently given up on her. Well, perhaps "given up" wasn't the correct term…

The man before her was practically the spitting image of her captor. Though, something about him seemed more…tolerable than Rome. This glorified boy was to be her master? Adala snorted a little at the thought; as if any wealthy Roman boy could possibly hope to claim lordship over a proud warrior of her bloodline. A Germanic warrior, bowing to a Roman bastard so easily? Ha! The concept was laughable even at its most serious.

"So, are you really the infamous Adela? The Demon Witch of Germania?"

Adala gave him the driest expression she could must, questioning his mental state. Demon Witch? Really? Was that as creative as the Roman mongrels got? She was neither a demon nor a witch! Couldn't the Romans accept that women could fight just as well as any man? She was a strong warrior, powerful and highly respected among the members of her tribe. To be called a demon and a witch? Now that was just insulting.

"Ich bin nicht eine Hexe oder ein Dämon. Ich bin eine Kriegerin."("I am neither a witch nor a demon. I am a warrior.")

Timæus blinked, not understanding a word she had said. "Can you speak Latin? I can't speak your language, so I don't really know what you said."

Adala sighed and rolled her eyes. Romans. If the world didn't live to serve them they would make it serve them. Such arrogant buffoons. They couldn't even capture her honorably, on a proper field of battle; no, they ambushed her while she bathed and her weapons lay neatly set aside.

"You Romans are all same. You never bother to learn words of others."

"So you can speak Latin. And well!"

"First rule of battle: know opponent."

"Could you teach me your language? I know Father says that it is the language of heathens, but I think I'd like to talk to you in your language, especially since you can talk to me in mine."

Adala blinked. She had never encountered a Roman who actually wanted to learn her language…unless they wanted to use it against her people. Her warrior's instincts flared, and she immediately shoved him to the ground. Straddling him, her hands at his throat, she glared at him.

"You want learn my speak? Why? You hurt my friends? Meine Familie? Nein!" ("My family? Never!")

"No! I just want to know more about you. If we're going to be living together, I want to know all I can about you. Not just your language. I'm not much of a soldier."

Adala could feel her body trembling slightly. This man—a Roman bastard—wanted to learn about her? Her culture and ways and home? There had to be some ulterior motive; Romans were not known for their undying curiosity. Leave the pursuit of knowledge and reason to the Greeks. Against her better judgment, something possessed her to let go of the man. She backed away from him as if she had suddenly learned he was carrying some horrific disease.

This man…he terrified her as much as he infuriated her. But, there was something else there…what kind of man was he, to show genuine interest in her past?

Fail!chapter is extremely fail. (headdesk) I think Ancient Greece will be next chapter's flashback narrator. Oh, and for those of you who like my Vatican City idea, Vatican should be showing up in the next couple of chapters.

Please read and review.