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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
Declaration of War
Chapter Eight
Atlantis sensed his growing frustration with the passing of each day, the nights growing longer, and the days ever colder. As much as he wanted to continue their journey across this unknown land, they were finally forced to take shelter in a large cave. Sweden had grown so impossibly quiet now, and Atlantis didn't know if she liked or hated it. He had this stupid idea that if he showed emotion, his enemies might discover what he truly cared for and exploit it. Even his angry outbursts were few and far between now, leaving her to figure him out through more subtle means. Sweden didn't fool her; he cared deeply for his brothers, and the idea of something happening to Finland or even Prussia while he was searching for Norway or Denmark... it would unleash a maelstrom of violence the world had not seen since the 'Great Wars.' Sweden had been so angry when her brother had decided to pass on, but Atlantis, upon regaining her original size and a portion of her memories, had understood.
In his hand, he twirled his very worn down sword, the weapon needing a lot of attention. It was quite possible he'd need a new one upon his return, but he wasn't overly concerned with that at the moment. "I will go check on them," she finally offered, amused to finally gain a reaction from him. Even though his face revealed nothing, the way he had lowered his sword, the lighting up of his eyes... she knew her offer meant something to him. Sweden had long ago stopped asking her to leave him to this task alone, but at the moment she had no real concern that he'd leave the cave. Even if he did decide to continue on, most of the natives were in the warmer regions and wouldn't return until late spring.
Nodding, he added another log to the fire, trying to figure out what he was going to do. It wasn't until she reached for his hand that he remembered that he wasn't alone, the time without his warriors or his brothers forcing him into silence. It wasn't necessarily a bad thing, and he found it amusing when she tried to generate a conversation and failed. Only when they were training did she see him truly smile... but she had a feeling he'd work on that as well. He didn't want to give the enemy any way to figure him out, and that meant he'd have to make it hard on those that cared for him as well. "I've got this feeling, that when I come back, you won't ever talk again."
There was a slight lift at the corner of his lips, but the way he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, told her everything that she needed to know. "Norway and Denmark won't make that easy on you." Did she truly believe that Denmark had survived? Handing him Denmark's armband, "Hold that, just in case you're crazy enough to venture on without me."
"Stay well," he warned, knowing that her leaving placed her outside of his reach to assist or protect.
"I'll return in the spring," she promised. Not receiving any kind of worded response, she sighed, stood, and started towards the entrance when she felt him crush her from behind. It was in the way he held her, the slight tremble that she finally understood. Sweden, having been forced to take charge, had never had a real chance to grieve or cry for his brothers. That wasn't the way of a warrior; not when everyone had turned to him for guidance. Everything was falling a part around him, he had no way of knowing what he'd return home to, and once again they were relying on Atlantis instead of the other way around. He knew she was the legendary warrior of the South and North Atlantic, but that didn't make this any easier for him.
He knew when she turned into him, letting his scent calm her, it wasn't out of desire, but familiarity. With that in mind, and reminding himself of the vow he had made to her brother, had put everything back into perspective. As the temporary leader of Scandinavia, he had to let her go. What little time he often had, it had to go towards battle preparations... one mistake and he potentially risked the lives of thousands, not to mention, that after she was done finding Norway and Denmark, she had to go back to the Ocean. The longer she stayed away from it, the more they risked at setting off some kind of catastrophe the world might not recover from.
"If you need to take longer... I can simply keep my back to the sun during the day, and rest at night." She hadn't expected him to say anything, but Sweden simply didn't want to waste words on unnecessary chatter. That would make what he had to say all the more important for others to stop and listen. Atlantis was just as afraid of letting him venture this land without her, afraid of losing three of the five brothers, instead of just the one or two.
"Promise you won't start a war with the natives..."
His grip tightened, and they both knew he wouldn't ever promise such a thing; it wasn't in his nature, but he'd avoid one if necessary. His purpose at this point was to find his brothers and go home. "I was thinking, if I could somehow find them, we could return home across the land bridge."
"If you can reach it by summer, it's possible, but what of Russia."
"I'll work a deal with him if necessary."
Britain paced, occasionally picking up a random object and throwing it. Not even watching them shatter calmed his growing rage... Was it too much to ask for a little cooperation? All he wanted was Denmark's land; yet everyone thought he was asking for the world? Well perhaps he wanted that too. Part of the problem these days was that there were far too many chiefs and not enough Indians. One ruler would fix all of that, and he saw no good reason why he couldn't be that individual. Granted, all the other nations would have to die... so he'd have to re-populate the world again... so what?
Denmark was dead; so why was everyone acting like he was committing some grave sin in wanting to claim it before everyone else? What did he care if Denmark was Sweden's brother? The way he looked at it, the Scandinavia's had far too much as it was... too much influence over the rest of the other nations. One word from Sweden and everyone was scrambling in chaotic fear. Taking Denmark's land from him would weaken him, enabling other nations to sweep in and destroy him entirely. It was unheard of for so many nations to join under a common cause, helping to defend rather than take, and it seemed that common cause was to enrage Britain and prevent him from obtaining his main objective. Damn Prussia and Russia; the two of them weren't even friends, so why the hell were they forming an alliance together with Finland?
That alone convinced Britain that Denmark had died. Unlike his younger brother, Finland was a push-over, easily dealt with, forgetting the fact that he was over 125,000 years old. And then there was Spain... he'd make that romantic bastard regret making an alliance with Prussia. Until recently, he had never really had an issue with the albino... but his involvement with Scandinavia baffled and angered him. Britain knew how to deal with that though... all he needed was a bit of forceful persuasion, to drive a dagger right through Prussia's soul as he turned his allies into enemies. The doors to his chambers opened, and he turned, a hint of smile starting to form. "Did you get him?" he demanded. For the sake of the guard's and his family's lives, the answer had better be a yes, and the human seemed to realize this as he glanced away and knelt, hand over his chest in a sign of loyalty and respect.
"He's in the church, my lord." Britain frowned; why did they bring him over there? Unless... There wasn't much that Britain feared, but if the boy was in the church, then that meant... Damn it! This was his campaign, he didn't need 'his' help! "I was ordered to deliver a message, my lord." The guard was visibly trembling now. He feared disobeying the one that had given the order, and he was afraid of Britain executing him when he did. "He's instructed that you set up the courtyard for a double execution."
"Why would I have it there? Besides, executions are done in the town square." Britain waved his hand, dismissing the petrified guard. Not that he couldn't have killed the idiot, but if he kept doing that, he'd have no one left that was willing to deliver unwanted messages. Leaving the castle, he quickly and quietly made his way to the cathedral, truly hating it with his entire being. He feared it just as much as the man that was at the top of the tower, already aware that Britain was on his way. The man knew everything, those eyes of his just as demonic as Prussia's. Those were the eyes of the devil, but the church didn't agree with him, and instantly made him regret ever comparing them to one another.
Their was only one way to the tower, and that was to climb a series of stairs that seemingly took forever. With each step, Britain lost more and more of his confidence, his hand trembling when he reached the door and pushed it open. He was just as he remembered, tall, powerful, black hair with flecks of green and purple in it. As he turned, it was those green-purple eyes that froze him in place, as if he knew every thought in his head before Britain had a chance to say them. In the corner was a familiar looking cage, one they often used for hauling individuals accused of witchcraft or demonic possessions. It wasn't empty, and despite himself, he inched closer. Inside was a young boy, one of his hazel eyes swollen shut, while the other regarded him with terrified anger. Around his neck was a spiked collar, his wrists and ankles secured and tied together behind his back. Britain thought it was a bit extreme, but he wisely kept his mouth shut.
"Will Spain actually come for him?"
"Perhaps, but if not... I'm sure sending him back in pieces will serve as great entertainment." Britain visibly flinched, something the Italian didn't miss. Hearing no response, the man moved towards Britain and paused directly in front of him. "Look at me..." he commanded. Britain couldn't refuse, green eyes lifting and meeting green-purple orbs. "I've been a bit lax with you this past century." Britain didn't dare move, the man before him reaching for his blond hair, taking a strand and twisting it around his finger. "The sins of the father..."
"...become the sins of the son," Britain repeated without thinking.
"A display is in order, a reminder not only to your subjects, but to the other nations as well. The actions of a single individual have a profound affect on everyone around him or her... therefore, Spain needs a strong push to obey your every command without hesitation, and to do that, we need an example of what will happen to his little Italian should he refuse or hesitate. I don't have to re-iterate lessons from your childhood?"
"No, sir."
A cruel smile formed at the corner of the man's mouth, one that promised pain and death. "Oh... and your battle plans for Denmark... hold them off until the spring."
"May I ask why?"
"No." Releasing Britain from his grasp, he went back to the window and looked at the ocean. It was calm... and it angered him. "I've given Spain a week to respond. If he doesn't... well... I suppose the double execution will acquire an additional person."
"Won't that make Italy inhabitable?" Britain asked, ducking when a large vase went flying past his head.
"I have no care about what happens with the land nations; only that they know their place!" he whispered dangerously. "Question me again and you'll remember why it's in your best interest to keep your mouth shut!"
The following day, he was once again interrupted, France storming down the long length of his ball room. These days, it was empty, but that suited him just fine. "How dare you?" the blue eyed blond snarled, half tempted to draw his sword. "He is but a baby... You know damn well that I am friends with Spain, and you dare to..."
"You forget yourself, France," watching his former friend stop ranting, unaccustomed to Britain's calm interruption. "I am simply reminding everyone that we had an agreement, an alliance, and this petty defiance is not acceptable. We have a saying, my friend... spare the rod, spoil the child... Only in this case, Spain isn't a child. However, the sins of the father, often become the sins of the son. Therefore, I've decided to provide an example. In one week's time, if Spain refuses to assist in my campaign, Italy will join in the double execution I have planned."
"He's just a child!" France roared.
"Better to teach them early..."
"That's the damn church talking!" he spat. "What happened to the little boy that wanted to sail the open seas and look for treasure and new lands?"
There was a brief flicker of sadness in his green eyes, and he had to look away. He had to do this... if he didn't... no! His sins carried over to his people, and he had to remain resolute. "Tell Spain that he has a week," and Britain was gone, leaving France alone with a heavy heart.
France hadn't wanted to get involved, but he couldn't allow Britain to execute Italy. Perhaps he had enough time to form a rescue, hoping to prevent Spain from having to answer the summons. It was on the outskirts of Denmark's lands that a cloaked figure stepped out of the shadows and intercepted him, as if he had known all along he'd come here. "Antonio?"
A sad smile appeared on the Spaniard's face, slender fingers pushing back his hood. "It's been awhile since I've heard that name... I have a request, mi amigo..."
"Mais oui... anything," France agreed. Spain looked suddenly very tired, his eyes filled with regret and sadness.
"If something were to happen... I mean, I'll try my best not to die, but... well, just let him know that I'm sorry and that it was always him that I wanted. I know I've joked and teased about wanting the younger Italian, but South Italy... he's special. He tries so hard to put on a brave face, but deep down he's vulnerable, lonely, and always compared to his younger brother. I love that boy, and he shouldn't have to die for my foolishness."
"How do we help him? If we say anything other than yes to Britain's demands, he will kill him."
"I'll do what I can to stall, but I doubt seriously he'll let me see or get near him. Please, see if Prussia or Finland have any ideas; if it means saving that boy's life and avoiding a war with the Austrian, Hugarian, and Holy Rome Empires, I will fight for Britain."
"What are you talking about?"
"Austria made it quite clear that if I fail to get back South Italy, he'd decimate my entire country."
"And Holy Rome would side with him?"
"It seems that Holy Rome has a fondness for North Italy; they all do. Take care, Francis." The mere fact that Spain had used his human name at all, made France all the more desperate to ask his enemies for help.
Briefly embracing him, his arms trembling slightly, Spain took a deep breath and left, making his way directly towards Britain. The stakes had never been so high, and France moved as fast as he dared. If it were just himself and his nation, he would have just hunkered down and stubbornly refused any involvement for as long as possible. And yet, when faced with such hopeless despair from a young nation that very few had wanted... how could he simply refuse to offer his assistance? He hadn't expected Spain to throw away his pride, or risk his most recent alliance with Prussia, but... at some point, Spain must have become attached. When had that happened?
The moment he crossed into Denmark, he felt the cold bite of Prussia's sword against his back, but instead of anger, he felt relief wash over him. He had to admit it, the nation was proving one of the best fighters in the world, and very few challenged him any longer. His empire had grown at an alarming rate, and he was no longer a little boy. It seemed all of them were growing, but that didn't mean they had to lose some of their more civilized behaviors. "I warned Britain..."
"I'm not with that imbecile!" France hissed, his eyes dancing with barely suppressed rage, turning his head so Prussia could see it for himself. "I bring a warning, and it is best said in front of who ever is leading this fiasco of yours."
"I have no idea what you're talking about," Prussia snapped, the bite of his sword drawing blood from his beautiful skin.
"Idiot!" France roared, smacking Prussia's sword aside, and punching Prussia's jaw with all his strength. "I said I am not your enemy, but do that again and I may clearly change my thoughts on the matter!" Taking a deep breathe, he started to count, knowing that it wasn't his life on the line, but a little boy that more than likely thought no one cared to save him. "Look, I don't care if Denmark is dead or not... if you want to avoid a war with Spain, and possibly the other Empires as well, then I need to speak with Sweden."
Prussia hadn't wanted to believe that the man was serious, but no sane individual would openly seek out Sweden. "Why would he help Britain? I thought he had his hands full with Southern Italy still?"
"That is exactly why he would and will fight for Britain," France quietly answered. Mouth hanging open, Prussia tried to rationalize what France was telling him. He hadn't had a lot of time with the Southern Italian, but he had always felt bad for him. It wasn't easy growing up with every one wanting your twin, some even wishing to simply kill him off just so Northern Italy was the only Italian Nation.
"He actually cares enough to fight for him?"
"Yes, but even if he didn't, Austria didn't give him a choice; he said if South Italy dies, he'll level Spain to the ground."
Prussia truly felt sorry for the boy, and briefly considered taking him away from Spain. Lowering his sword, he quietly guided him through a heavily guarded, fishing village. France had no idea why Britain wanted this place... it was filthy, and... well other than the ports, he saw no true value in it. What the hell was Britain thinking? Just as they arrived at their headquarters, Prussia froze, eyes settling on the dark haired woman speaking with Finland. France, unable to stop himself, started to inch forward when he felt the sharp edge of Prussia's sword against his throat.
"Touch her, and I'll not waste my time with your explanations or warnings."
"Mon ami... What is the harm in a simple greeting?" His protest had alerted them to their presence, and Finland eyed the French nation with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.
"We have a problem," Prussia told them. He hadn't wanted to say anything in front of Atlantis, but he couldn't very well tell her to leave, not with Russia and France watching the situation with growing interest. "Britain has found a way to force Spain to fight for him." Prussia almost thought he had imagined it, but the flash of fury in the water nation's eyes had him almost backing away, but she had yet to move from Finland's side, and it was quite apparent that she had no intentions of doing so at this point.
"He's your ally, da?" Russia asked, having no sympathy for traitors.
"Yes, and normally I'd say he deserves what he gets; however, I'm not the one that has to decide between a newly formed ally, or a nation that's too young to fight back or defend himself." If he didn't know better, he'd say Finland's gaze had sharpened, his eyes going cold with rage. Russia had had that same look before he had shattered the ice that had temporarily imprisoned him. "Britain kidnapped and threatened to execute South Italy if Spain fails to comply with his demands."
A crack of lightning slammed into the ground, the waves suddenly rising up to form a wall that threatened to smash the very beach they stood upon, black hair whipping wildly back and forth as Atlantis trembled with a fury that left every man standing completely terrified. It was Finland that reached for her arm, his eyes just as cold and angry, so much like Russia's that it surprised the albino that he hadn't seen the similarities before. Spain and the great Roman Empire had special meaning to Atlantis, and hearing that Britain was not only threatening Spain, but abusing her friend's grandson... Another bolt of lightning landed mere inches away from where they stood, "Can you find and get him out," Finland asked her.
France suddenly didn't see Finland as a push over; but a deadly force of reckoning. Everyone, to include himself, had forgotten that he was the oldest of the Scandinavian brothers, and right now he was extremely angry. She nodded, her rage showing no signs of diminishing. Glancing at France, "How long do we have? I don't need an exact date, just a rough time frame?"
"The early spring; he'll probably want most of Spain's fleet near the harbor before he attacks with his land forces."
"How dare he exploit a baby nation? Does he not know that he will destroy all the lives connected to him?" Finland growled dangerously, the ground beneath their feet shifting and shaking. France's eyes widened. How old was Finland? Very few nations had this kind of power, and all the ancients had supposedly died. It wasn't just Finland or the woman, but Prussia and Russia were extremely angry as well. It was bad enough that everyone used South Italy to control the younger brother, but to threaten something so barbaric as execution... The entire southern half of Italy would rip and fall apart with him, making it completely useless and inhabitable.
Finland had known anger before, but never hate, and he was every bit as dangerous as his younger brother if not more. He didn't often declare war, rather he tried to avoid it or allowed Sweden to make those decisions. Ever since Denmark had fallen and disappeared near the Bering Strait, Britain had tried again and again to exploit their misfortune, and now he was involving other innocent and defenseless nations. He had had enough. If Britain wanted a war, he wasn't going to wait for it... that's not what Sweden would have done, and neither would he. "My brother would disagree with what I'm about to ask, but he hasn't known you the way I have..."
"He doesn't have a say in this..." Watching her walk away, the ocean and air around them reverting back to normal, he knew that she'd never stop until the boy was safely in her arms and out of Britain's reach to hurt.
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A Nation's Salvation