Frater
The Roman Empire brings Spain a new brother.
When he enters the capital city, he sits up straighter, small hands holding onto the horse’s mane. He tries to hide himself behind the man’s larger arms but his pride will not let him so instead, he can only sit awkwardly, staring-glaring-at the people on the streets.
They all stopped as the army marched through the streets. They waved and smiled at their precious empire, dressed in fine armor with red cloak falling behind him. When the Roman Empire raised his hand to wave back, their eyes all fell on the boy who rode with him. Curious eyes, all shades of brown and green as they wondered who the child was.
What were they staring at? He thought both angrily and tiredly as the crowds grew thicker and they advanced further to the heard of the city. They come to a stop in front of a building with countless stairs and the lion of a man pulls on the reigns, bringing the horse to a stop. The man gets off of the horse with a groan, stretching and rubbing his lower back before he reaches over to pick up the boy and set him on his feet beside him.
His legs feel weak as he stumbles in place to keep his balance, swatting at the hand that tries to help him. He growls something in a tongue that the man cannot understand and he dismisses it as a defeated language. Taking the boy by the hand, Rome begins to guide the child up the stairs.
One, two, three. . . he’s lost count by the time they reach the middle and he begins to protest. Was it necessary to have so many steps? He thought bitterly and he looks up at the man beside him who only stares straight ahead with a purpose. How many others would this man destroy?
They begin to reach the top of the steps and he can hear chatter. They speak quickly and in clicked tones and use words he is unfamiliar with. It bothers him, normally he can pick out one or two words but what did these words mean? He can see people at the top of the stairs dressed in casual togas and they begin to make their way down the steps to greet the empire. Through the controlled footsteps, he hears light running and before he can find the source, Rome has staggered back for a split moment and knelt down.
“Roma!” A child’s voice exclaims, arms wrapping around the larger empire’s neck. “Roma, Roma!” He repeats happily.
“Hispania!” Rome greets in return, holding the boy in a caring embrace, kissing him on the top of his head and laughing.
The two break from their laughter and smiles when the Latin boy notices the other. He looks up at Rome, speaking quickly. “Who is this?” He asks.
Standing up once more, Rome smiles proudly, “Gallia.” He responds and the the Latin boy’s eyes light up.
“Gallia!” Hispania exclaims and Gallia scowls at the name. Hispania turns back to Rome and begins to speak quickly. Gallia cannot keep up. Soon, the three of them are surrounded by scholars, diplomats, and military men of all sorts who whisk Rome away, into the building with the tall arches and columns but before Rome disappears he manages to kiss Hispania once more, whispering something in which the boy eagerly nods his head yes.
“Hello, Gallia!” Hispania greets cheerfully once the adults are gone.
When it is just the two of them, Gallia can see Hispania. The boy is his size, perhaps the same age as he but they are different. He looks Latin, Gallia thinks, with his tanned skin and short, dark, and curled hair. In fact, he looks much like Rome in the way that the boy not only appears but holds himself.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Hispania continues and he holds out his hand to the other boy to take. He would show Gallia around the building just like Roma had asked. Hispania smiles warmly, waiting patiently for the other to take his hand and Gallia feels himself become overwhelmed with anger.
“You’re a Roman.” Gallia sneers, looking down at the hand and Hispania continues to smile.
He understands the other’s poor Latin and he nods, “Yes, I am.” Hispania replies. “You are too now.” And he has so much more to say but is unable to say it before a pair of hands pushes him back.
Hispania stumbles and turns to prevent himself from falling backwards down the stairs. He lays down on the steps for a second before quickly scrambling up to his feet, bruised but well. He stares up the steps at the foreign boy who had pushed him, green eyes wide and filled with innocent confusion.
“I am not Roman.” Gallia sneers, “I am Gaul.” And he ignores the soreness in his legs as he stomps down the stairs, past the Roman boy.
When he enters the capital city, he sits up straighter, small hands holding onto the horse’s mane. He tries to hide himself behind the man’s larger arms but his pride will not let him so instead, he can only sit awkwardly, staring-glaring-at the people on the streets.
They all stopped as the army marched through the streets. They waved and smiled at their precious empire, dressed in fine armor with red cloak falling behind him. When the Roman Empire raised his hand to wave back, their eyes all fell on the boy who rode with him. Curious eyes, all shades of brown and green as they wondered who the child was.
What were they staring at? He thought both angrily and tiredly as the crowds grew thicker and they advanced further to the heard of the city. They come to a stop in front of a building with countless stairs and the lion of a man pulls on the reigns, bringing the horse to a stop. The man gets off of the horse with a groan, stretching and rubbing his lower back before he reaches over to pick up the boy and set him on his feet beside him.
His legs feel weak as he stumbles in place to keep his balance, swatting at the hand that tries to help him. He growls something in a tongue that the man cannot understand and he dismisses it as a defeated language. Taking the boy by the hand, Rome begins to guide the child up the stairs.
One, two, three. . . he’s lost count by the time they reach the middle and he begins to protest. Was it necessary to have so many steps? He thought bitterly and he looks up at the man beside him who only stares straight ahead with a purpose. How many others would this man destroy?
They begin to reach the top of the steps and he can hear chatter. They speak quickly and in clicked tones and use words he is unfamiliar with. It bothers him, normally he can pick out one or two words but what did these words mean? He can see people at the top of the stairs dressed in casual togas and they begin to make their way down the steps to greet the empire. Through the controlled footsteps, he hears light running and before he can find the source, Rome has staggered back for a split moment and knelt down.
“Roma!” A child’s voice exclaims, arms wrapping around the larger empire’s neck. “Roma, Roma!” He repeats happily.
“Hispania!” Rome greets in return, holding the boy in a caring embrace, kissing him on the top of his head and laughing.
The two break from their laughter and smiles when the Latin boy notices the other. He looks up at Rome, speaking quickly. “Who is this?” He asks.
Standing up once more, Rome smiles proudly, “Gallia.” He responds and the the Latin boy’s eyes light up.
“Gallia!” Hispania exclaims and Gallia scowls at the name. Hispania turns back to Rome and begins to speak quickly. Gallia cannot keep up. Soon, the three of them are surrounded by scholars, diplomats, and military men of all sorts who whisk Rome away, into the building with the tall arches and columns but before Rome disappears he manages to kiss Hispania once more, whispering something in which the boy eagerly nods his head yes.
“Hello, Gallia!” Hispania greets cheerfully once the adults are gone.
When it is just the two of them, Gallia can see Hispania. The boy is his size, perhaps the same age as he but they are different. He looks Latin, Gallia thinks, with his tanned skin and short, dark, and curled hair. In fact, he looks much like Rome in the way that the boy not only appears but holds himself.
“It’s nice to meet you.” Hispania continues and he holds out his hand to the other boy to take. He would show Gallia around the building just like Roma had asked. Hispania smiles warmly, waiting patiently for the other to take his hand and Gallia feels himself become overwhelmed with anger.
“You’re a Roman.” Gallia sneers, looking down at the hand and Hispania continues to smile.
He understands the other’s poor Latin and he nods, “Yes, I am.” Hispania replies. “You are too now.” And he has so much more to say but is unable to say it before a pair of hands pushes him back.
Hispania stumbles and turns to prevent himself from falling backwards down the stairs. He lays down on the steps for a second before quickly scrambling up to his feet, bruised but well. He stares up the steps at the foreign boy who had pushed him, green eyes wide and filled with innocent confusion.
“I am not Roman.” Gallia sneers, “I am Gaul.” And he ignores the soreness in his legs as he stomps down the stairs, past the Roman boy.