Axis Powers Hetalia : The Prayer
Type: Fanfic
Title: The Prayer
Pairing/Characters: Romano, Spain
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: G
Summary: In an empty church he sits and contemplates on his past while praying for the present.
Author's Notes: This is the result of not being able to sleep, and listening to Gospel songs at 3.30 in the bloody morning. Why Gospel songs? Ask iTunes. And now I feel stupid seeing as how much brainpower this piece took. Which is ridiculous for something only a handful of paragraphs long.
... I think the humidity is making me stupid.
Anyway before you start reading, I highly suggest listening to this as a tag along. I seem to be too many of this song accompaniment fics. GAH.
* * * * *
He padded into the empty hall, hazel eyes fixed on the tiled ground as he made his way down the center aisle. Rows upon rows of pews lay on either side of him, empty and deserted. Slowly he lifted his head, tracing the line up the steps to the altar before finally resting his sight on the crucifix hanging behind it. Stained glass depicting the various saints in prayer lay on either side on the circular walls. A dome shaped ceiling completed the picture, and the Italian found himself going down on one knee.
It was a familiar action, one he had done so often throughout his years. Instinctively he reached around his neck, tugging gently on the chain and pulling out a crucifix of his own. It was a gift, one he held close to his heart. Gently grasping the cross between his fingers, the Italian pressed it against his forehead gently before bringing it down, gently pressing the spot over his heart. His left shoulder and right shoulder followed, and the brunette finished with a kiss to the cross.
So many times he had done this gesture before. It was a secret of his, known to no one else who lived in the same house during his younger days. He recalled how frequent wars had broken out in those days, and how slowly but surely he had grown to fear the sight of his colonial master leaving the house with that accursed axe in hand. And he remembered the anxiety he felt, kneeling in the small chapel in the back of the castle as he prayed with all he could offer. Not as a country, not as a colony, but as himself - a simple human.
How he had hated those emotions. How he despised the way it made his tummy churn and the nauseating feeling of worry that never seemed to disappear until the other returned. Oh how he had loathed himself for seeming so weak, depending so much on the Spaniard to such an extent. And yet he couldn't help the tears he cried whenever the other returned with even more scars carved onto his body.
The Italian closed his eyes, taking in slow deep breaths as he slid into one of the pews. His heart was pounding, his emotions threatening to spill as he reflected on his past. He lifted his head up, eyes falling on the mournful face of his God who had sought forgiveness for his tormentors even as they were calling for his death. He had wondered so many times before of why he wasn't capable of more compassion, of being more than just a burden on the older man.
His eyes slid shut slowly, the voices and emotions of his people, his land reverberating through his entire being. Rarely had he the chance to do so, to feel so in the rush of the day. But in the silence the voices were unmistakable.
He leaned back against his seat, lifting his right hand to rest against the crucifix now hidden away under his shirt once more. That had been centuries ago though. Now they were no longer master and colony, but stood equals as countries. And as his body had changed from that of a boy into a man, so too did the Italian find his prayers changing. No longer were they ones of fear and anxiety, no longer were they a frantic plea of safety. The time of war was over, the reign of bloodthirsty monarchs and ambitious conquerors were nothing more than a mere footnote in the turbulent history of the world.
Now, he found himself praying instead for happiness.
Credits:
Hetalia was created by and belongs to Himaruya Hidekazu. I own neither characters nor the song that accompanies the fic. I do however own the plot and this little piece here so don't be a bastard and take it chigiiiii!!!
I need more icon space damn it.
[Edit 15/10/10]:
Yes and edit on the same fucking day. Why? Cause I forgot to put in the summary. Go me.
Title: The Prayer
Pairing/Characters: Romano, Spain
Series: Axis Powers Hetalia
Rating: G
Summary: In an empty church he sits and contemplates on his past while praying for the present.
Author's Notes: This is the result of not being able to sleep, and listening to Gospel songs at 3.30 in the bloody morning. Why Gospel songs? Ask iTunes. And now I feel stupid seeing as how much brainpower this piece took. Which is ridiculous for something only a handful of paragraphs long.
... I think the humidity is making me stupid.
Anyway before you start reading, I highly suggest listening to this as a tag along. I seem to be too many of this song accompaniment fics. GAH.
* * * * *
He padded into the empty hall, hazel eyes fixed on the tiled ground as he made his way down the center aisle. Rows upon rows of pews lay on either side of him, empty and deserted. Slowly he lifted his head, tracing the line up the steps to the altar before finally resting his sight on the crucifix hanging behind it. Stained glass depicting the various saints in prayer lay on either side on the circular walls. A dome shaped ceiling completed the picture, and the Italian found himself going down on one knee.
It was a familiar action, one he had done so often throughout his years. Instinctively he reached around his neck, tugging gently on the chain and pulling out a crucifix of his own. It was a gift, one he held close to his heart. Gently grasping the cross between his fingers, the Italian pressed it against his forehead gently before bringing it down, gently pressing the spot over his heart. His left shoulder and right shoulder followed, and the brunette finished with a kiss to the cross.
So many times he had done this gesture before. It was a secret of his, known to no one else who lived in the same house during his younger days. He recalled how frequent wars had broken out in those days, and how slowly but surely he had grown to fear the sight of his colonial master leaving the house with that accursed axe in hand. And he remembered the anxiety he felt, kneeling in the small chapel in the back of the castle as he prayed with all he could offer. Not as a country, not as a colony, but as himself - a simple human.
How he had hated those emotions. How he despised the way it made his tummy churn and the nauseating feeling of worry that never seemed to disappear until the other returned. Oh how he had loathed himself for seeming so weak, depending so much on the Spaniard to such an extent. And yet he couldn't help the tears he cried whenever the other returned with even more scars carved onto his body.
The Italian closed his eyes, taking in slow deep breaths as he slid into one of the pews. His heart was pounding, his emotions threatening to spill as he reflected on his past. He lifted his head up, eyes falling on the mournful face of his God who had sought forgiveness for his tormentors even as they were calling for his death. He had wondered so many times before of why he wasn't capable of more compassion, of being more than just a burden on the older man.
His eyes slid shut slowly, the voices and emotions of his people, his land reverberating through his entire being. Rarely had he the chance to do so, to feel so in the rush of the day. But in the silence the voices were unmistakable.
He leaned back against his seat, lifting his right hand to rest against the crucifix now hidden away under his shirt once more. That had been centuries ago though. Now they were no longer master and colony, but stood equals as countries. And as his body had changed from that of a boy into a man, so too did the Italian find his prayers changing. No longer were they ones of fear and anxiety, no longer were they a frantic plea of safety. The time of war was over, the reign of bloodthirsty monarchs and ambitious conquerors were nothing more than a mere footnote in the turbulent history of the world.
Now, he found himself praying instead for happiness.
Credits:
Hetalia was created by and belongs to Himaruya Hidekazu. I own neither characters nor the song that accompanies the fic. I do however own the plot and this little piece here so don't be a bastard and take it chigiiiii!!!
I need more icon space damn it.
[Edit 15/10/10]:
Yes and edit on the same fucking day. Why? Cause I forgot to put in the summary. Go me.