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A Nation's Salvation	By : eternalstarhaven Category: +G to L > Hetalia: Axis Powers Views: 2145 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Hetallia: Axis Powers does not belong to me, but to Hidekaz Himaruya, while the idea behind the story is my own. I do not make a profit or money by writing this. I also have this story posted on fanfiction.net under the same penname.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
The Real Enemy?
Chapter Ten
Still stroking Spain's sweat soaked hair, France had to consider his options. It was one thing to ignore and sit back on idiotic wars, but Britain was forcing everyone into a corner, giving people no choice but to choose a side. The war seemed like it was entirely possible between Britain and the Scandinavian brothers, but the outcome was too unpredictable. On the off chance that Britain should win, the power of the world would shift in his favor, and he'd crave more and more territory with little standing in his way.
If he followed through with his threats to destroy Southern Italy to gain Spain's corporation, then the Holy Roman and Austrian Empires would turn on them and anyone that was unlucky enough to support them, making the Scandinavian brothers even stronger than they already were. And then there was Russia; he had yet to figure out why the unpredictable ice nation would side with them, only that he had no desire to assist Britain's thirst for power.
Britain was still very young, but if there were people still alive in both Denmark and Norway, then it was quite possible both nations hadn't died on the open waters. His belief was that Sweden was out looking for them, leaving everything in the hands of Finland and Prussia. Any extra assistance was in his favor, and quite possibly Russia's in the long run.
If he showed himself now, Britain might throw him in the dungeon, but he had to trust in what little friendship they still had left. If he was to somehow save Spain, Italy, and stop a war, he had to play the game. Would Britain know that he had gone to Finland? He had to take that risk. Spain was also his friend, and the little Italian had no one else to help him. Very gently, he put Spain to bed, he pressed down the wrinkles in his shirt, ensured the tears on it had dried, and stepped into the long hall.
Britain, certain of Spain's compliance, hadn't bothered to set a guard. France had never felt so much fear, strolling towards the banquet hall as if he hadn't a care in the world. Where many use to gather and sit, enjoying company and dinner, Britain sat entirely alone, his pale fingers wrapped around a cross the church had given to him. Studying the blond nation, he realized that the boy was as far from sanity as one could get, and not a single individual had noticed. Was it too late to save him? What could he say? How did he say it? And was there even a point in trying?
Why hadn't he noticed before? He knew, compared to other countries, he was still young. So were a lot of them, and it was almost impossible to recognize the signs of madness before it was far too late to intervene. In a human, they had the possibility of locking him or her away, isolating him from the rest of society before anyone was seriously injured or killed. However, when a nation lost his or her way, it swept across the land like a terrible plague, and it wouldn't just stop with that nation, but spread to anyone connected to him or her, like France, and possibly Spain.
"Francis?" his voice seemed different than usual, child like. Taking a deep breath, France stepped into the dining hall and shut the door, moving to see his friend's face. His eyes were blood shot, his complexion pale, and he seemed confused and frightened. "I had to do it..."
"Do what, mon ami?" he whispered, not wanting to set him off. If he could simply get Britain to talk, he might find the cause of his madness and hopefully fix it. "It was his fault... I didn't want to do it! It's necessary to punish the sinners, even their sons..." dropping the cross, he reached for France's shirt and pressed his face against the familiar texture, a sense of security washing over him. With France he always felt safe, even if they sometimes fought against each other, in the end they were always friends. "I did what I had to... why are my people mad? Why do they hate me?"
France felt helpless, unable to stop himself from wrapping his arms around the trembling nation. "They aren't obeying, Francis... those that break the law... I'm supposed to punish and make an example of them, right? His son would have done the same thing! Why can't anyone understand that?" It wasn't his people that Britain was questioning, but himself. Deep down, he knew he was wrong, but too many of his people were caught inside of the same madness, and he had no possible way to fight against it as young as he was. How old was he when this had first started taking root? The last good memory France had was of Britain running from the pope, desperate to grow out of his hair. It had looked horrible, but after that, he hadn't seen his young friend again until he was the man he now saw before him.
He had no idea how long Britain would allow this form of comfort; his fear of the church and not obeying their idea of law and order was far too strong in him. "Mon ami, we have know each other since we were babies... you confided in me, despite our many arguments."
Britain went quiet, his eyes glazed and unblinking as he stared at the mirror across the room, trapped in France's sad eyes. Why was he sad? France never looked at him that way, like... like... "Arthur, we are friends, at least we use to be."
He couldn't recall the last time France had used his human name; to do so made them vulnerable, but they were alone, without their guards. France wanted to believe and hope that there was still a sliver of humanity left inside of Britain, desperately trying to latch on to it. It was there, he knew he saw it as his green eyes sparkled for a moment, a flicker of hope before it vanished behind despair and rage. "I don't 'have' any friends..." Britain suddenly hissed, the brief moment of sanity leaving him.
It had been there though; France had seen it in his green eyes, a spark, a flicker of hope and need before it had vanished behind the despair and rage. Pushing France away, he paced back and forth; "I still recall 'your' invasion upon my shores a mere five years ago. Let's face it Francis, since we're willing to use our human names; our only purpose is to conquer or be conquered, to kill or be killed. If the people refuse to comply, you smother their will to disobey. It was great... you should have seen how easy it was to crush Spain's will to fight, to utterly smash any hope he had of finding or rescuing that insufferable brat. No one wanted him anyway; not even Spain! The only reason he came after him was because I took him."
Dancing away from France, he giggled, turning around to pat him on the cheek. It stunned France at how easily he switched from one mind set to another. The real Arthur was the child, buried beneath this mad man and he'd do anything and everything he could to save that child and help him fight back. A nation, regardless of how far gone they were, still had the ability to tap into his subjects, and it was perhaps the ones that were starving and dying that had managed to gain a temporary grip on the human part of him. Unfortunately, the nobility greatly outnumbered them, and the church had far too strong of a grip on Arthur for their voices to matter. Were they even aware of what they were doing to him? The church should never have this kind of control over a nation; it was deadly, and he briefly wondered if someone had told the humans how they could be controlled and manipulated? Only a strong-willed nation had the ability to keep his mind clear of something like this, but Arthur was still far too young. "I was wondering, mon ami, may I attend church with you?"
Britain stopped dancing and gaped at him, his mouth hanging open in utter shock. "Are you wanting to convert?"
"That is what you wanted, non?"
It was back again, that look, the human part of Arthur. Rushing up to him, he grasped at France's arms, his fingers digging into his flesh unknowingly. "Please don't... You can't... You have to stay away from them!" His voice was filled with raw fear, remembering past events that he'd rather forget. "You're not aware of their rules and laws. If you say or do something wrong; I'll have to enforce it and possibly execute you. He'll make me do it!"
France struggled not to burst out his anger, wanting to demand who and what was causing him so much fear, driving him to a war he couldn't and wouldn't win, forcing the hands of other nations to get involved. Very carefully, hoping his expression showed only concern, "I don't understand. I would be a beginner, non?"
"You don't get it!"
"Arthur, we are good friends, like in the beginning. If you believe it is safer for me to not join the church, then I will do as you say."
"Please, you have to promise! Don't go near it; he'll make me kill you!"
"Arthur... did you do something to make them angry?" Was he asking the wrong question? As dangerous as it was, he had to find out the source of this madness; if he didn't, a lot of people and nations would suffer for it.
He jerked away, looking left and right as if they were being watched. Grabbing France's hand, he pulled him into an empty room and locked the door. "Do you remember when I tried to grow my hair out," he whispered, his voice sounding small and frightened. "The pope was so mad... and they told him." Confused, seeing the raw fear in Britain's green eyes, France could only watch as he paced back and forth... His gaze would fly to the door, then the windows... "Do you remember?" he whispered again, sitting down and wrapping his slender arms around his knees.
"Mais oui," he encouraged, saying nothing more. He wanted Britain to open up to him, to fight past the madness that had such a terrible grip on him. Biting at his lip, Britain gathered the courage to stand, slowly unbuttoning the buttons of his shirt. It was painfully slow, as if each button that he released was a sin against god himself. Beneath the shirt was pale skin, his shoulders shrugging off the heavy coat draped over his slender body. At the last button, he hesitated once again, debating on showing France the horrible truth. Taking a deep breath, he dropped the shirt, turning around, and listening to France's gasp of horror, the way he stumbled backwards and fell over something behind him.
Every inch of Arthur's back was covered in scars, as if the people that had decided to punish him wanted to leave nothing untouched. "After I grew my hair out, they told him that my defiance was a sin against god and my people, that I'd end up in our ultimate destruction. If I couldn't obey my own laws, then they too would think it's okay to disobey them as well. When I refused to listen, they went to 'him.' I knew he didn't really like me; he seldom shows up... and yet he rarely gave a thought to what the church did or how I acted around them. The only thing he cared about was whether or not I obeyed his every command. I'm not sure why he agreed, but he allowed them to punish my disobedience. Perhaps he thought that if I was so willing to defy the church, then I'd defy him."
"Terrified to disobey his will, I had no choice but to allow the church to string me up in the very same court yard that I executed that boy and his father. They hit me again and again, not leaving a single inch of skin unmarked. It hurt..." hugging himself, afraid to look in the mirrors, to see the reminders of his disobedience, unable to see the tears on his friend's face. "Francis, it hurt really bad. After they were done, I was left there, hanging in the cold, my wounds opened to the birds and bugs that fly around a filthy city. As a nation, they knew I wouldn't die, and every time someone broke a rule, I was the one punished. They reasoned that their disobedience was because of that nation that guided and led them. Francis, it's not the church or the pope that you need to fear. It's 'him,' and not you, nor I can possibly hope to stop him. He allows the church because it maintains the balance of law and order in a far better way than a nation can ever possibly hope to achieve."
Francis had no way to stop the torrent of tears that fell to the expensive carpet, weeping for a child that had forgotten how. The church had done this to him... to a child... it was because of them that his people were dying, rotting on the outskirts of his castle, forced to pay taxes, to fight in a war that Britain had never originally wanted. He had no concept of right or wrong any longer, under the power of the church, and the person that sanctioned it. Did that person know... how would he or she figure out that the people and their state of mind was directly influenced through that nation? This individual was so very dangerous, and they had to find and destroy him. Driving Britain mad had a devastating impact on the rest of the nation, and with a determined purpose, France stood and slowly approached the trembling nation before him. Arthur flinched, his eyes filled with shame and fear. "Mon ami... I will not and cannot hurt you. I know we disagree, but that is in our nature. I cannot and will not hate you either... never you."
Francis reached for the tears Arthur hadn't realized were sliding down his cheeks, brushing them aside, showing him a gentleness that he had never given to another soul...
Arthur nuzzled the hand, unable to stop himself, a rare and bright smile forming at the edges of his lips. Francis hadn't a word for it, but the nation before him was breath taking, and he thought he only had eyes for a woman, but there was something... a feeling lurking deep in his heart as he continued to reach for the boy... the nation that had existed before the madness and pain. Pulling away, the moment between them gone, Arthur picked up his shirt and re-clothed himself. "It's okay... So long as I obey my own laws and enforce them, he won't allow them to touch me. That's the only time they're allowed to do that."
France sighed. He was witnessing a split personality in Arthur... one personality had never broken free of his childhood, hiding somewhere deep inside of his mind. It was attached to the small portion of people that struggled to survive, hoping and needing him to save them. The boy had had no choice but to give in, unable to survive what they had done to him. Could he save Arthur if he destroyed the enemy controlling him? Was the church their enemy, or the one controlling the church? Who was the 'he' that Arthur spoke of? "I will protect you, mon ami."
"You will help me take Denmark and Norway?"
"I will fight for 'you', mon ami, nothing more and nothing less." Arthur didn't see or know the difference, already waving as he left, leaving Francis just as broken and confused as Spain.
Much later, Francis sat before his window, gaze locked on the stars. If he could make a wish, he'd wish to return to the days when Arthur wanted to grow out his hair and never suggest such an idea. Hearing the door softly open and close, he turned his head and gasped, already jumping to his feet, yanking close the curtains and yanking her as far into the room as he could. He knew so little about her, only that Finland and Prussia seemed to have an active interest in her.
He wasn't quite certain, but should something happen to her, he had a feeling the entire wrath of Scandinavia would descend upon Europe, none being spared. "Ma cherie! Zut alors! You should not be here!" he lectured. After everything else he had had to deal with, he couldn't take anything more.
"I'm fully capable of handling a few humans," she assured.
"You don't understand," he hissed, struggling to keep his voice down. "What we're dealing with, is far from human."
"Britain is nothing more than a child."
France normally wouldn't mind such a beautiful creature in a room with him, watching her move to his bed, sit, and tuck her tiny feet beneath her. Tilting her head, hair cascading around her tiny shoulders, she waited for him to say or do something beyond looking like a young lad that didn't seem to know how to act when in the presence of perfection.
"He is far from being a child, one, and he is not the threat. The one controlling him is, and if we don't find and destroy the real enemy, we'll lose far more than an entire empire." He knew he had her... the flash of fear in her unique colored eyes. What was she? He had never seen anything like them before. Certainly someone would have remembered something like her, but no one had ever made mention of her.
She played a tough game, but she was far from it, her gaze moving towards the window he had closed moments before. "I don't understand this place. Traveling from village to village, the villagers are suffering, starving, persecuted, and practically slaves to the crown and church."
France prided himself on his control, never allowing a woman to have the affect she was having. Sitting as far away from her as possible, didn't ease the intense desire he had, and it bothered him. He wanted to maintain his honor, and not make enemies of all the Scandinavian brothers. It was those eyes of hers... or was it the long hair that cascaded to her ankles... god he loved a woman with hair like hers.
Gritting his teeth, he curled his fingers into two tight fists, and did the only sane thing possible; turned around and closing his eyes. Her soft laughter made him question himself as a man... He shouldn't have even felt guilt or shame at wanting her, the temptation... He was the damn nation of love, had taken more lovers, men and women alike, and yet if he took this one he feared for far more than just his life.
"Land nations are quite different than what little I remember," she taunted, her voice so dangerously close. If she didn't stop messing with him... "Do men not have desire for a beautiful woman?"
"You're best left alone, to keep at a distance, and never touched."
Suddenly he felt like he can breathe, and when he risked a glance at her, he didn't feel so intent on jumping across the room and pinning her down, and sating himself. "Perhaps you are not as weak as I first assumed," she admitted. Was there a hint of regret in her voice? She confused him, but at least he could think clearly again... somewhat. There was just something about her that even masking her allure could only do so much.
"I am still a man... why are you here, anyway?" He knew she had made his desire for her less painful; and until now, he had never thought a nation that alluring or tempting, at least not to other nations. But an affair with her was a deadly risk, one that he wasn't willing to attempt.
"Something is off in this country, but I can't quite figure it out. Most of my memories are still locked away, and I feel it might have a great deal of importance."
"It's a lot worse than you think," France agreed. Turning back around, he took a deep breath and met her gaze. It was still hard, but if he concentrated on the recent discoveries he had made, he'd force himself to endure however long it took to tell her what she needed to know, and make her get the hell out of his room. This was beyond painful for him, and after tonight, one should put him on the list for saint hood. No one should have those beautiful eyes, long hair... "Zut alors!" he swore, clearly agitated that a woman had the ability to make him feel like a young lad again. He was a grown man... supposedly in control of his more basic urges.
As if amused, she took the hood of her cloak and pulled it over her head, and suddenly he felt as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on him. "Better?" she asked, laughter in her voice.
Scowling, he crossed his arms, wondering why the gods were taunting him. "I need you to ask Finland something... I'd go... but there's no guarantee that I'm not being watched." There was a clear reprimand in his voice, as if to tell her that coming here was stupid and reckless.
"Ask your question."
"Is it possible to manipulate one of us?"
She went very still, tossing back her hood, and moving so close that he thought he'd die from lack of oxygen to his brain instantly. Her eyes were a storm of anger, fear, sorrow... so many emotions, and he couldn't look away. Very gently, she reached for his chin, turning his head from side to side, as if she were searching for something. With a sigh of relief, she released him and pulled back, ensuring to pull her hood back into place.
"Yes, it's possible. I have a feeling you wouldn't have asked such a question, or have the knowledge to ask it, if you hadn't stumbled across someone in such a predicament."
France remembered the scars... a child trapped in madness and fear. He had promised, and he'd gladly give his life to keep it. "How is it done?"
"There's a couple of ways, both forbidden. My memories are still locked away, slowly returning, and I'm afraid I cannot give you all the answers that are needed. I can tell you this... a nation that's under the control of another is extremely dangerous."
"I think I've already figured that out."
"Nations like Finland, Iceland, Norway, Denmark, Sweden... they've had ancients like Scandinavia helping them to mature and develop. Some nations are not so fortunate... They are vulnerable, easily invaded and destroyed without ever realizing what they are, or who they are. It was before your time, and Finland despite being old enough, would not have the answers you are wanting. A nation is born to the land itself, a child, innocent, and with no real need or desire other than that he or she is connected to it. If the land itself dies, so does the child. There is a misconception that if the people die, the nation will die. That is not entirely true, but it does greatly influence that decision. A nation can still exist without a people."
She spoke as if she had endured such a thing... and France wasn't sure if he should pity or respect her for it. How does a nation find the will to live without its people? "A young nation, to truly thrive, relies on the older ones."
"So nations like South and North Italy... the older nations, instead of destroying and taking their lands, choose to take them in until they're able to rule their nations without assistance?"
"Exactly. It's not saying that the older nations will not retain some measure of control over them, but for the most part, the decisions made are their own. That is how alliances are made; at times they weaken and break, but can also reform and strengthen."
"What happens to a nation that is terrorized, tortured, and badly abused?"
"The entire nation will suffer."
"Britain... He's who I speak of." Atlantis stood, moving to the window, and swept aside the curtains to stare at the full moon. It was breath taking, shining peacefully on the water below. She had brief memories of her time before the Great War, but not how her city fell, or why she was suddenly so afraid, very much like she is now. "There are scars on his back, and he flips back and forth between a frightened little boy, to a nation that sounds too much like the church."
"And you do not think it is the church controlling him?"
"Yes... and no... Britain never said his name, but he made it quite clear that he wasn't afraid of the church, but the man giving them their orders."
"A human is not capable of controlling your kind; however, if enough of them become violent or corrupted; the nation can turn as well." Atlantis knew it wasn't the latter... not enough of the people were consumed with a mad lust for power, only a small portion. "I'm afraid we're dealing with an extremely powerful ancient; one that none of us remember or know of."
"Are you an ancient?"
"I was..." Turning around, she gave him an apologetic smile... "I'm afraid I'm not exactly what my brother had hoped... I will inform Finland and the others."
"Thank you."
Making her way to the door, she hesitated, her fingers brushing against the brass handle... "France... this situation is very dangerous... please take care. I will do my best to find Italy, but... there's a possibility we might have to destroy Britain in order to save the rest of Europe."
"Won't this ancient just find another target?" He was right and they both knew it, and she felt helpless, as if everything was starting all over again... and her mind was too broken for her to help them in the way that they needed. She had been an ancient... one of the strongest... and yet she could do nothing except stare back at France with regret and shame. This was her fault...
Finland immediately sensed her; it was like a sixth sense to them. Even though she wasn't of their blood, she had this presence about her that one couldn't ignore, especially of those that were not of the water. Sliding back her hood, she entered, taking a seat in a small corner. If someone came in, they wouldn't notice her, not unless she wished it.
He had no idea how she had suddenly grown, but the affect she had on the human males was devastating. Finland, on the other hand, didn't seem interested in her. She hadn't quite figured this part out, but she welcomed it and waited for him to set aside the maps of Britain. "You've known my kind, from before..."
"How much of your memories do you have?" he questioned, pulling up a chair to speak with her. Reaching over, he tugged off her hood entirely, not wanting her to feel as if she had to hide.
"Images... mostly from before the war. I know I had a brother, that he's gone, but not the reason of how or why. Prussia is like him... he's of his blood." It was more of a statement than a question, but Finland nodded his head in agreement. There wasn't any point in lying to her, not when she'd eventually remember everything regardless. That didn't mean he'd offer information that she wasn't ready for. "I have yet to come across any one else that is completely of the water... and yet... I know there is at least one that still exists."
Finland tensed. They were all aware that her enemy was still very much alive; had she run into him? Did she remember who he was? "Is there a reason you believe this?" He finally asked.
"France recently discovered that someone has complete control over Britain. A part of him is aware of it, but more and more of his people are sinking beneath the madness that has a grip on him. Finland, I need to know how and why I ended up on the Sweden shoreline, why none of you speak of my past or my brother? What happened to the city of Atlantis and why did my brother choose the four of you as my protectors? I don't understand and I feel that if I don't figure out the answers and soon, we're all going to pay for it."
"Your brother didn't tell us everything, only that someone wanted your powers. In order to keep you alive, he gave you to us... Atlantis, you are not yet ready for this. All I'm willing to say is that a water nation is the only nation type capable of controlling us; however, the stronger the nation the harder it is to control him or her. A child is preferable, meaning that Britain has been under the control of this individual for an extremely long time, almost a century." He didn't mention that the time frame fell around the same time that she was brought to them. If he was right, because the ancient didn't have her, he had started focusing on the land nations, beginning with the ones closest to the water.
He had to commend her efforts, how she tried to hide her fear. Finland had no idea what it was like not to know who he was, or where he had come from, the friends and family taken from him. She was still fighting, even if it was with the gathering of lost information. "Was he the one that started the war? Did he destroy Atlantis and the other water nations?"
"Atlantis..."
"Staying with the four of you... if he finds out..." Atlantis couldn't recall the kind of selfless sacrifices they were making for her... She had tried over and over again, and the memories simply didn't exist, not even the emotions that they were generating. They didn't seem afraid that they may die protecting her, and it broke her heart. Denmark and Norway were possibly dead, Sweden looking for them, and here she was caught up in a war that could and would take all of Europe with it. How did she stop it? How did she save them?
"You crazy fools," she whimpered, struggling to hold back the broken sob. "I don't understand why you're doing this! I know that the four of you would sacrifice all of Scandinavia if you thought it would spare my life."
"Atlantis... you're one of us."
"No... no I'm not," she hissed, tears in her eyes as she met his startled and hurt gaze. "The five of you are very precious to me, and I'm extremely grateful for the comfort and love that you've provided, but I have been and always will be of the water. My life is no more precious than yours, or that of your brothers. What gives the five of you the right to make decisions that would once again leave me in ruin and isolation. I would rather spend the rest of eternity alone than feel this kind of stabbing pain over and over again.
"Atlantis..." He reached for her, but she slapped his hand away, turning to leave when he suddenly jumped up and crushed her to himself, very similar to the way Sweden had done prior to her departure. "Not a single one of us regret taking you in."
"This war... is it my fault?"
"Oceanonis believes the war will happen regardless if you're alive or not. In fact, you're the only hope we have..."
"No... he's wrong," she spoke, briefly touching his arm and allowing the comfort it provided. "How did I end up on the shores of Scandinavia?"
"I really don't want to tell that story," he whispered.
"As much as I don't want to know, I don't have a choice."
"Why? Tell me why and I might consider it," he shouted, startling her at the ferocity of his rage. Whirling her around, his arms tunneled into her hair and he lowered his chin on the top of her head. "You have no idea how long it took for just your minor burns to heal... the gaping wounds took even longer... that was a century! Even though you're an adult now, your memories are fragmented, and we had to take turns, helping you to fall sleep. You woke... every damn night, screaming and clawing at your flesh... begging for us to kill you. You couldn't remember who we were, who you were... As I said... your past belongs exactly where it's at; in the past! Even now, you still have the scars from that war."
"I don't have a choice, Finland! I need to remember. That war, it never ended; did it?"
"We all have a choice!" he roared back. "I'm choosing not to tell you!" Opening the door, he stormed out. She had been with them for a long time now, and until that moment, she had never seen Finland lose it. Behind that anger, however, there was fear. He had answers to some of her questions, but unless she forced him, she'd have to find another way to get them. An hour later, Prussia found her on the docks, her gaze stuck on the moon's reflection in the water.
"I'm not even sure if I want to know how you set him off... he's tearing through Sweden's stronger warriors as if they were little boys." Atlantis closed her eyes... trying to remember... trying to understand. Why was Finland so angry? "France believes that our real enemy isn't Britain, but the one manipulating and controlling him."
"Is that possible?"
"Yes."
"How?"
"I..." She didn't want to admit that her memories kept the answers locked away; were they so bad that even Finland didn't want to give her the key to unlocking them?
"It's okay... if you feel that we should investigate further, we will."
"Can we afford to wait?"
"For now we need to focus on finding Italy and getting him out of there."
"I know, but..." Atlantis couldn't explain the terrible fear that she had, but was she going to be the ultimate reason for the Scandinavian brothers' demise? Glancing at him from the side of her vision, she couldn't help but see him in comparison to her brother. Why couldn't she remember anything about him other than that? Keeping her thoughts and pain carefully hidden from Prussia, she continued to stare out at the open sea.
"I never had a chance to say it before, but I will now... thank you."
Startled, she couldn't help but look over at him, their eyes clashing. Unlike other humans and land nations, he was immune to her completely. He wouldn't struggle to meet her gaze, to talk or interact with her, and it was a relief to not have to worry about masking her power and influence. "I made a lot of silly decisions and mistakes prior to our encounter... and it almost cost not only my life, but my entire nation."
"You've matured since we last met," she noted.
"I believe when I realized what I was fighting and what I needed to protect, yeah... a little." She smiled... he wasn't so different from her after all. "I've got a feeling you don't do that very often; don't you think Sweden or Denmark might be a tad on the jealous side if they realized I managed it somehow?" Suddenly she couldn't help herself and laughed, a sound that carried through the encampment, and caused Finland to pause and look at her in startled amazement.
"Prussia... do you remember anything of your father?" she asked.
"The only thing my mother mentioned was that he was one of the strongest nations in existence."
She hadn't the heart to tell him that he would never know his father, not even through her. Suddenly he tapped her on the nose, her hand flying to touch where it had been. "I hate that look you get, the one that always seems sad and confused. So what if I don't know my father... there's a good possibility that he's dead, but that doesn't matter. I'm here now, and one day I might make sense of what my purpose is and what I'm to do with it."
"Your purpose?"
"We all have one; whether we like it or not, and until we've achieved it, we're just stuck running around, making a place for ourselves, and simply surviving it all." Standing to his feet, he offered his hand and helped her up, the contact warm and strong. "I'm not Sweden or Denmark, but the awesome Prussia is still yours to command," he gently offered. "Give me an enemy and a location... the rest is easy."
Atlantis felt the loneliness of her fate, that she couldn't and wouldn't risk him any more than the others. If she found Italy, she would more than likely try to rescue him on her own. She had lost so much; she knew this deep down, and losing any of them would destroy what little resolve she had left. It didn't matter who or what she was before; she'd start over with what she did have and protect them with her life, and that protection now extended to Italy and Spain.
Unable to stop herself, she touched one of his pale locks and brushed it aside, amazed at how much he looked like her brother. And yet, she saw the differences as well... he thrived on war in a way that her brother had avoided it. "I should go," she whispered, and before he could reach for and stop her, she was gone.
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A Nation's Salvation