Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

TempSeb: Guardian

"Are you sure you'll be alright?" Romano asked, looking critically at Seborga.

"I'll be fine," the micronation replied. "Have fun at the meeting."

Romano snorted, as though the idea of having fun at a meeting was the most absurd thing to ever come from someone's mouth. It was a shame that none of the other micronations could come. Kugelmugel caught a cold, Wy broke her leg and Hutt River was watching her, Ladonia and Sealand were grounded for flooding Sweden's house, and Molossia somehow developed chickenpox, much to his annoyance. So, for the first time in a long time, Seborga had nothing to do during a meeting, asides from wandering around.

Well, luckily, they were in Portugal, and Seborga knew his way around. It was still interesting to see everything, and he didn't really get to enjoy the scenery so much when he was with the other micronations.

Also, he could flirt with the ladies. One must never forget something like that.

"Come on, fratello," Italy said. "We need to go. I don't want Germany yelling at me again."

"Fine," Romano said. The prospect of having Germany yelling at him was something else that he didn't like. Romano fixed his gaze on Seborga. "Lunch time is one o'clock. I want you in front of the doors before that, capisci?"

Seborga nodded. And even though he knew that Romano would never admit to it, it was nice to see that his eldest brother was so worried about him. But he could manage.

He watched the older two go, before he turned around. The first order of business was to leave the conference building. Now, where was…?

Before he could find the exit, he saw someone. The person had pale blond hair and blue eyes. There was also a strange texture to his hair, but that wasn't what stood out the most. He wore a tattered cloak with a large cross on it. It was certainly strange to see someone like that just roaming about. The only other people he knew that had a tendency to dress like that were…

With a smile, Seborga approached the young man. He didn't seem to be paying attention to Seborga's approach. He was only staring at the meeting room's doors.

"Ciao!" Seborga greeted. "Are you a nation too? Or a micronation?"

The young man's eyes trailed to him, and he jumped. He looked at Seborga with wide eyes.

"You… you can see me?" the young man asked.

"Oh, are you like Canada?" Seborga asked. "I think there are a few nations like that, and a lot of micronations too. Anyway, I'm Seborga. What's your name?"

"Seborga…" the man repeated, a frown on his face. "I… I'm known as… Templar. You… you sound Italian."

"Si, I am. I'm a micronation. And you?"

"I… I'm not quite like you, but… Well, I've been around for a very long time. Is… Is Vatican still very strict?"

"Romano would use other words to describe Vatican, but I don't want to say those things. So, are you going to the meeting, or do you want to hang out with me?"

Templar mouthed something, before he nodded and smiled.

"That would be nice," he said. "Thank you."

…

The two wandered around the city for a while, just chatting and getting to know each other. Occasionally, Seborga considered buying something for them to eat, but Templar was never interested, and so Seborga decided that he wouldn't be rude towards his new friend.

"…And then Romano glued his fingers together, and… What's wrong?"

Seborga had been recounting a time when Romano tried to fix a sculpture he'd broken, but Templar wasn't paying attention. He kept looking back, and looking around the street.

"I think we're being followed," Templar said. "Don't look!"

Seborga had started to look behind them, but upon Templar's admonishment, he looked ahead again.

"What do they want?" he asked, his voice low.

"I don't know," Templar replied. "But I have a bad feeling about this. We need to get back to the main crowd."

It was only then that Seborga noticed that the street they were on was mostly deserted. He mentally smacked himself. He'd spent enough time in Rome. He should have known to look at the busyness of the streets.

The two entered a side-alley that Seborga hoped would take them back to the main road. But after turning twice, Seborga realised their mistake. He stared at the wall in front of them as he heard the sound of footsteps.

"Nowhere to go now," a voice said.

Seborga turned around to see three men approaching. He could see that one of them held a knife.

"Now, come with us, and don't put up a fuss, and we'll all be happy," one of the men said.

"W-what do you want?" Seborga asked, taking a step back.

The men didn't answer, but they started to close the distance between them. Seborga looked around. Templar was gone. Did they get separated? Seborga was alone with these three men that wanted to do something to him.

"Stay away from him!"

Seborga turned to see that Templar was next to him, and he moved in front of him. But a second ago, Seborga had been alone.

"What?" one of the men said. "Where did you come from?"

"I was here the whole time," Templar said. He drew his sword. "And you are staying away from him."

"What do you think you're going to do with that toy?" one of the men scoffed.

It was fast. Templar stepped forward and sliced the nearest man's shirt. The man jumped, and Templar placed the tip of the sword against the man's throat. The man tensed, and his friends looked nervously between the slashed shirt, the sword, and Templar.

"This is the last warning," Templar said. "Leave us, or you'll have to do more than replace a shirt."

The men seemed to get the hint. Seborga saw them back up and run away. Templar sighed before he turned towards Seborga.

"Perhaps it would be best if we return to the conference building," Templar said.

Seborga nodded, and he fell into step beside Templar. He glanced at the sword by Templar's side, which had been safely sheathed and was mostly hidden from view.

"How did you do all of that?" Seborga asked.

"I was born to protect people," Templar explained. "So, that's what I did. It helps that you're someone I want to protect."

"But, why?"

Templar turned to him and smiled.

"I enjoy your company," Templar said. "For the first time in a long time, I found someone that I want to protect, and not someone that I feel duty-bound to protect."

Seborga stared at Templar before nodding. He smiled at him and took Templar's hand.

"I enjoy your company too," Seborga said. "Come on. It's almost time for lunch, anyway. I'm sure my brothers wouldn't mind if you joined us."

They took a few wrong turns, but eventually managed to find the conference building again. And as Seborga predicted, it was almost time for the nations to be released for lunch. They only ended up waiting for five minutes before the doors opened, and the nations streamed out. Seborga looked around before he found the two that he was looking for. He calmly walked over to them as Romano bickered with Italy.

"For the last time, we are not renovating the house!" Romano snapped. "It's fine as it is!"

"But fratello, it's been twenty years since we did anything!" Italy argued. "Ve, the rooms need new paint, the ceilings are peeling, the tiles are falling from the walls…"

"Ciao!" Seborga called out before the argument could escalate. "Do you mind if my new friend comes with us?"

"Oh, you have a new friend?" Italy, at least, was easy to distract.

"Si." Seborga turned around, thinking that Templar was right behind him, but he was nowhere to be seen. "Huh? Where'd Templar go?"

If Seborga had been looking at his brothers, he would have seen them freeze, their eyes widening.

"What did you just say?" Romano asked.

Seborga turned back to his brother. Something about Romano's voice bothered him. He was worried about the expressions on their faces.

"What's wrong?" Seborga asked. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"What did you say your friend's name was?" Italy asked.

"Templar. Why?"

Italy and Romano exchanged a look. Seborga can see a few other European nations behind them, also staring. Prussia came closer, and Seborga took a nervous step back.

"What did he look like?" Prussia demanded.

"Blond hair, blue eyes," Seborga started, raising his hands. What was going on? "The hair in front looked weird. It kind of looked like a wing or something. And he wore this white cloak with a huge cross on it."

Prussia hissed, running his hand through his hair.

"Knights Templar," Prussia said. "But that's impossible. He died hundreds of years ago."

Seborga froze. But… That was impossible. He'd been with Templar the whole morning. He'd touched his hand…

But now, Seborga started to think about their interactions. Templar had first expressed surprise that Seborga could see him. There was also the way he disappeared and reappeared when they were confronted by those men. And the way he used his sword…

He felt something cold against his hand, and he heard a voice whisper in his ear.

"I hope you see me again. I had fun."

Seborga looked behind him, but there was no one. He jumped when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Let's get some food in you," Romano said. "Maybe the hunger made you hallucinate."

Seborga looked down at his hand. He didn't think so. But what could he do? And why, out of everyone, was Seborga the one that could see him?

I was born to protect people. Did Fate have a role to play in it? Because, without Templar, he didn't want to know what those men would have done to him.

I had a bit of trouble trying to decide where the meeting would take place. So, the Knights Templar's headquarters were in Israel. The first and last grandmasters were French, and the last grandmaster was executed in France. But after the Templars' dissolution, probably the only country that didn't persecute the remaining members was Portugal, and the king offered protection to the knights. So, Portugal would be the place where Templar went to die, and where he would haunt.

TV Tropes has an entry on 'Mugging the Monster', regarding a story of someone returning from an event of the Society of Creative Anachronism being mugged by a bunch of men, with a six-inch knife involved. She drew her sword in response, saying 'I'll see your six, and raise you thirty-five'. Another example on that page is the infamous scene in Crocodile Dundee. My mind kept flashing between those two when I wrote the scene in the alley. By the way, that is one of my favourite tropes, and I've been itching to properly use it for a while. I especially enjoy the real-life section.