Maybe you'll leave the light on. {hetalia fanfic}
Urk, it seems like my muse for that long fic I've been attempting to write over vacation had fallen into a hibernation period. OTL I'll get back to it someday, I hope.
On a better note, though, I just finished another fic!
Title: Somebody Leave The Light On
Author: naturethezafara | Me
Characters/Pairings: Heraclies Karpusi (Greece) and Thalia Karpusi (my name for Ancient Greece/Mama Greece), as well as passing mentions of others. No pairing.
Rating: K+?
Summary: A lot of times, he thinks of his mother. Canon-verse.
Disclaimer: Never had owned Hetalia, never will.
Warning: Possible historical inaccuracies, possible OOC, shifting of tenses, Google Translate Greek, fail on Nature's part. Might sound like Wangst which I hope it doesn't.
Somebody Leave The Light On
A lot of times, he thinks of his mother.
She enters his mind a lot more often than he thinks he should let her, especially nowadays in the time of economic problems and rising tensions. It’s not surprising, really. She’s everywhere, he thinks - in the ruins of the Parthenon; in the system his people follows; in the Mediterranean crashing against the rocks; in every ancient statue and pot he comes across, whether in his own home or in the homes of others. Even on the hill he goes to every so often to momentarily escape his problems, she’s there. It seems he cannot escape her, no matter where he goes.
It makes him smile just to think of that. She seemed to be everywhere when he was younger too. He remembers a little boy, physically a child but truly much older, with messy brown hair and sleepy green eyes, nestled in his mother’s arms during a summer’s or winter’s night like a kitten snuggling its mother would. He remembers her gently combing her fingers through his hair as she sings to lull him to sleep - her voice wasn’t the smoothest, but he loved to hear her sing anyway. He remembers accompanying her to all these different cities, stone and wooden houses and markets surrounding them as they walked. He remembers watching her as she spoke to the rulers of each state, agreeing with her even though he hadn’t been old enough to understand any of the things they spoke about.
“One day, you too will know these things,” she would tell him, a bit sadly, every time he asked.
He remembers watching anxiously over the sea every time another one of those wars came about, knowing his mother would be among the ones fighting. He remembers peering towards the horizon, waiting for the old battleships heading for home to break into view. He remembers how happy he felt every time said battleships came back, running to the harbour to greet the fierce warriors fresh from battle as they get off - his mother one of them. He remembers being taken into her arms once she spots him every time, as if she hadn’t just fought an army of nasty enemies from another country.
He remembers watching the mortal boys with his mother as they sat under the olive tree, listening to a wise old man teaching them on various things. He remembers the philosophies, the trigonometries, the poems and the lyre tunes - all of which he too was learning from her. He remembers her discussing the lessons of the boys, with additional secrets and little-known facts only she as a nation would know, while he semi-paid attention in between almost dozing off and Amalthea distracting him with her squeaky mews. He remembers the first time he held a writing tablet, and the pride that shone through his mother’s eyes when he began to learn to write his name and several other words in her language.
He remembers sitting on her lap sometimes, when the day is over and the sun is setting and everyone goes home for the day. He remembers the stories she tells him during the night, the ones sometimes found on the red-tinged pots he’d seen her make. Stories about gods, goddesses, heroes, villains, monsters, prophets, cursed kings, all sorts of other tales she told him. He knows all of them by heart until now - the one about Prometheus’ fire, the one about Eros and Psyche’s love, the one about the three women who controlled everyone’s fates, the one about Orion’s last hunt. He remembers, especially, the stories of the labours of the hero Heracles, his namesake - they were her favourite of her stories.
He remembers the times when, out of the blue, she would talk to him about the future. She was a wise mother, and she would tell him about things he would encounter someday when he was older, all in a way his budding nation-self would understand. She would talk to him about economy, politics, war, colonization, fighting, poverty, betrayal, loneliness. She would always look a little sad talking to him about these things, as if she didn’t really want her son to endure the hardships she had to, yet had no choice at all in the matter.
“And someday, I won’t be with you anymore,” she told him once, the day a separate kingdom was formed from Rome’s and she became known as Romania. “You will need to learn to take care of yourself and your people - on your own, without Mama around. Can you do that? Will you do that for Mama?”
And of course he said yes. His answer, he remembers, made her smile. He also remembers her hugging him.
“That’s a good boy.”
The memories come back to him, everything she’s done for him resonating through his head like the waves of the old Sea crashing against the rocks, and the smile on his face becomes a bit sad and wistful, like the smiles she gave him whenever he asked about the futures of nations. At the same time, his burdens are reminded of him by the wind blowing against his face, his brown hair almost getting into his eyes. There is a long-held longing in his chest.
How long had it been since he’d last seen her? He closes his eyes. About six centuries ago - it seems like an eternity and some for him. He remembers the little boy, now physically twelve but truly much older, holding an old but sturdy shield in one hand and a huge metal cross in the other. Amalthea is older now, with her own kittens, skittish and uneasy beside him. His mother stands before him, looking weaker from the loss of Constantinople, but still ready to fight. She feels the same way his cat does.
“Mama?”
“He is getting stronger,” she mutters. She places her hands firmly on his shoulders and looks him straight in the eyes. “We talked about this before, right? Ottoman is coming, he will do everything to take you as one of his own. Are you listening? Look at me, Heracles. You must be able to fight now, for your people’s freedom. Now is time for you to follow your fate.”
“How about you, Mama?”
She looked like she was about to cry when he asked that, he remembers. He hated seeing her like that. “I’ll be okay. What’s more important is that you keep yourself and your people safe . . .” She cupped his face in her hands. “Tha prépei na eínai Elláda tó̱ra. My little boy . . .”
He remembers her embracing him for the last time, and a pit forming in his stomach when she does, as if this was going to be the last time she does so. He remembers a final kiss on the forehead, going out of the door of their crumbling house only for him to separate from her at her urging, a wave of the hand he mistakes for a ‘see you soon’ wave. Soon enough, the Turks catch him.
Soon enough, Thalia Karpusi, Hellas, mother to Heracles Karpusi, is gone forever. Dead. He knew it immediately.
He doesn’t cry remembering all these. He looks up at the blue sky stretching on above him, the fluffy white clouds forming different patterns as they pass him by. Just like time, he thinks to himself. He thinks of all the things that have changed over the years, all of the things that had happened to him and his people and the things happening now and the things that will happen in the future. He thinks of his issues and his current crisis. He thinks of his mother.
He wants to see her again.
Sometimes he finds himself wishing she would somehow come back, and that he could see her if that would ever happen. It’s childish, he knows, but he couldn’t help it - he just misses her so much. If only she were alive now. He’d hug her like he used to all those years ago. Maybe he’d show her around, how much her old lands have progressed. Maybe he’d introduce her to his friends, like Kiku. Maybe he’d introduce her to all his cats. Maybe he’d tell her how much her ancient culture had influenced the world over. Maybe, too, he’d tell her about his current issues, about his shaky economy and piling debt, about how they’re affecting his people. And maybe she could give him advice on what to do during these troubling times - just like she did all those years ago. Maybe they’d just talk on this hill - he wouldn’t mind at all what they did. Just to be able to be with his mother, even for a short while, and to fulfil his promise to her, that is all he wishes for.
A soft meow wakes him from his wishful thinking. Turning his head to his side, he sees Amalthea, old but well, nuzzling his leg in that loving way she always did. Ever since he had her, she’s been living as long as he had. He smiles warmly at seeing her and pets her, a familiar way of greeting for the both of them. The cat mewls happily at the petting - she sounds a lot like her kitten self now, it seems - and afterwards gets herself up onto his lap. He doesn’t stop her. She settles herself on his lap with a content purr, and with a few more pets from her owner soon drifts off to sleep. The sadness in the nation’s smile lessens, and he too begins to feel tired. Maybe it’s all this thinking.
Another gust of wind passes by again, only this time it is much gentler than the last. It passes from behind him and his cat, softly messing his hair. It feels a lot like how a certain someone combed his hair with her hand as she sat him in her lap and told him a story to drift him off to sleep, many centuries ago. It soothes him, and he feels his eyelids drooping even more. He finally closes them. He thinks of this mother.
And he remembers, just before he slips into dreaming - she is everywhere.
She finds him on his favourite hill, sitting on the grass with his back slumped over, head hung low, eyes closed and breathing slowly. His old cat is curled up on his lap, her eyes closed too. She couldn’t help but laugh to herself.
“Asleep again, my child?” She shakes her head, smiling. She walks over to her son, crouches to level with him and plants a motherly kiss on his forehead. “You haven’t changed at all.”
Sighing, she takes a seat beside her boy and looks at him as he dozes off. She takes Amalthea off his lap, puts her by his leg, then as gently and quietly as she could takes his head and lays him down on her lap, as so he feels more comfortable. It amazes her how much he’s grown, yet in her heart she knows he is still her dearest little boy. She begins to comb her fingers gently through her son’s hair, just like she used to all those distant years ago, smiling as he relaxes more into sleep.
“Mama misses you, too.”
Above them, the clouds continue to pass by.
END.
translations - greek:
(note that I used google translate once again, I apologize for any mistakes and would gladly correct them.)
* tha prépei na eínai Elláda tó̱ra - you shall be Greece now
* Hellas - Ancient Greece (in Ancient Greek)
notes + commentary:
* I started writing this one out on New Year's day, after I wasn't feeling particularly happy then and needed something to release the negative emotions I was having. This fic is also partially inspired by the song 'Mother' by Tori Amos again, though the lyrics don't exactly remind me of Heracles and/or his mother at all. XD;; Ah well.
* Urk, I'm not so sure if the information I placed into this fic is satisfactory enough. I did do as much research as I could, but I'm not sure if I used them in the correct context. Also, I may have made things too ambiguous for the information to be shown clearly. x__x
* 'ruins of the Parthenon' - The Parthenon in Athens, considered by many to be the general symbol of the Ancient Greek period. I think these may also be the ruins Heracles is usually seen salvaging? I'm not so sure.
* 'system his people follows' - Democracy holds its roots back in Ancient Greece. Um, I went and checked and saw that Greece follows a parliamentary republic - not sure if that still counts, but I think a lot of the democratic developed by values the ancients still apply here.
* The entire paragraph on education is generally based off what I've read about how the ancient Greeks had classes: There were no classrooms, only boys had school, they used writing tablets for note-taking, certain philosophers among others were the boys' teachers, and so on. The various lessons mentioned were actually taught in ancient Greek schools (most of them even originated from ancient Greece themselves). Also Thalia herself being Heracles' teacher instead of him attending classes is probably historically wrong, but I don't know; a nation attending human school doesn't seem very right, either. And the word 'trigonometries' is intentional.
* I'm sure most everyone is familiar with the stories mentioned in the storytelling paragraph; these are some of the many stories found in the classical Greek mythologies. I'm kinda sad though that I wasn't able to put in more creatures like satyrs and nymphs and centaurs, since it's really meant to generalize what comprised the myths. As for the stories, you can read them here: Prometheus the fire-bringer, Eros and Psyche, the Fates (Moriae), Orion and the original Heracles. The Disney version is a lie!
* 'the day a separate kingdom was formed from Rome’s and she became known as Romania' - Greece was occupied by the Roman Empire at some point, and some time later a half of the Roman Empire became the East Roman Empire, or better known nowadays as the Byzantine Empire, which is more based around Greek culture rather than Roman culture (though they did follow the Roman systems). The reason I didn't call Thalia 'Byzantine' is because the term 'Byzantine' didn't exist yet during the time - instead, it was called either the 'Roman Empire' or 'Romania'. So nope, Ancient Greece has nothing to do with the other Romania, haha. XD
* 'old Sea crashing against the rocks' - The 'Sea' is capitalized on purpose. According to my copy of Edith Hamilton's Mythology, that's what the ancient Greeks used to call the Mediterranean.
* The entire memory of the fall of the Byzantine Empire - On the year 1453 (15th Century, I think?), the Byzantine Empire, including the majority of the Grecian land areas, was seized by the Ottoman Empire (modern-day Turkey, which is why Thalia referred to Sadik as 'Ottoman'), beginning with the fall of Constantinople, the capital of the Byzantine Empire (which was located in where Istanbul is now, ironically). I forgot to mention in the fic that the Byzantine Empire had many more internal problems before Constantinople finally fell, so Thalia must've be much weaker then. But since she's a battle mama, I think she would've went and fought to the death anyway (though even if she didn't, she still was going to die - but maybe Heracles would've seen). According also to what I've read, it was Sadik himself who killed Thalia, so I'm guessing the eventual fall of the Byzantine Empire and the occupation of Greece by the Turks is the last we see of her for a long time (and the beginning of the history of Modern Greece, Heracles).
* 'Tha prépei na eínai Elláda tó̱ra', 'you shall be Greece now' - Um, I have some explaining to do about this. I took the translation from Google Translate. which uses the modern Greek - pretty strange coming from Ancient Greece (who was Byzantine Greece during the time she says this, which means she should be using medieval Greek). There's a bit of a justification for this - according to what I've read, medieval Greece died out around the time of the Ottoman seizing, and a bit of modern Greek was already being used around the 11th century. I-I'm not sure if it's a legitimate reasoning, though, so you may brick me across the head if you wish. OTL
* 'about his shaky economy and piling debt' - Greek Government Debt Crisis, the one with Greece's current problems with the Euro and such. I'm sure a lot of you have heard about this in the news.
* The ending scene - Hey, if Grandpa Rome can, why can't Ancient Greece? :D
* One of my greatest issues with this fic really is the characterization as always. I've never written Heracles or his mother in full before, and I don't exactly know how his mind works or how his childhood was like and such. I don't think I even put in enough reason in the fic as to why Heracles is like how he is now, grah. ^^; Also, I didn't make him wangsty, did I? I tried basing Heracles' thoughts and memories on how people feel when they lose a person dear to them early in their lives as well as the mood of 'Mother'; I'm afraid it might now have worked. OTL *headdesk* Ah well, I tried.
Please do tell me what you think~! And I apologize for any fails as well. ^^;
On a better note, though, I just finished another fic!
Title: Somebody Leave The Light On
Author: naturethezafara | Me
Characters/Pairings: Heraclies Karpusi (Greece) and Thalia Karpusi (my name for Ancient Greece/Mama Greece), as well as passing mentions of others. No pairing.
Rating: K+?
Summary: A lot of times, he thinks of his mother. Canon-verse.
Disclaimer: Never had owned Hetalia, never will.
Warning: Possible historical inaccuracies, possible OOC, shifting of tenses, Google Translate Greek, fail on Nature's part. Might sound like Wangst which I hope it doesn't.
Somebody Leave The Light On
A lot of times, he thinks of his mother.
She enters his mind a lot more often than he thinks he should let her, especially nowadays in the time of economic problems and rising tensions. It’s not surprising, really. She’s everywhere, he thinks - in the ruins of the Parthenon; in the system his people follows; in the Mediterranean crashing against the rocks; in every ancient statue and pot he comes across, whether in his own home or in the homes of others. Even on the hill he goes to every so often to momentarily escape his problems, she’s there. It seems he cannot escape her, no matter where he goes.
It makes him smile just to think of that. She seemed to be everywhere when he was younger too. He remembers a little boy, physically a child but truly much older, with messy brown hair and sleepy green eyes, nestled in his mother’s arms during a summer’s or winter’s night like a kitten snuggling its mother would. He remembers her gently combing her fingers through his hair as she sings to lull him to sleep - her voice wasn’t the smoothest, but he loved to hear her sing anyway. He remembers accompanying her to all these different cities, stone and wooden houses and markets surrounding them as they walked. He remembers watching her as she spoke to the rulers of each state, agreeing with her even though he hadn’t been old enough to understand any of the things they spoke about.
“One day, you too will know these things,” she would tell him, a bit sadly, every time he asked.
He remembers watching anxiously over the sea every time another one of those wars came about, knowing his mother would be among the ones fighting. He remembers peering towards the horizon, waiting for the old battleships heading for home to break into view. He remembers how happy he felt every time said battleships came back, running to the harbour to greet the fierce warriors fresh from battle as they get off - his mother one of them. He remembers being taken into her arms once she spots him every time, as if she hadn’t just fought an army of nasty enemies from another country.
He remembers watching the mortal boys with his mother as they sat under the olive tree, listening to a wise old man teaching them on various things. He remembers the philosophies, the trigonometries, the poems and the lyre tunes - all of which he too was learning from her. He remembers her discussing the lessons of the boys, with additional secrets and little-known facts only she as a nation would know, while he semi-paid attention in between almost dozing off and Amalthea distracting him with her squeaky mews. He remembers the first time he held a writing tablet, and the pride that shone through his mother’s eyes when he began to learn to write his name and several other words in her language.
He remembers sitting on her lap sometimes, when the day is over and the sun is setting and everyone goes home for the day. He remembers the stories she tells him during the night, the ones sometimes found on the red-tinged pots he’d seen her make. Stories about gods, goddesses, heroes, villains, monsters, prophets, cursed kings, all sorts of other tales she told him. He knows all of them by heart until now - the one about Prometheus’ fire, the one about Eros and Psyche’s love, the one about the three women who controlled everyone’s fates, the one about Orion’s last hunt. He remembers, especially, the stories of the labours of the hero Heracles, his namesake - they were her favourite of her stories.
He remembers the times when, out of the blue, she would talk to him about the future. She was a wise mother, and she would tell him about things he would encounter someday when he was older, all in a way his budding nation-self would understand. She would talk to him about economy, politics, war, colonization, fighting, poverty, betrayal, loneliness. She would always look a little sad talking to him about these things, as if she didn’t really want her son to endure the hardships she had to, yet had no choice at all in the matter.
“And someday, I won’t be with you anymore,” she told him once, the day a separate kingdom was formed from Rome’s and she became known as Romania. “You will need to learn to take care of yourself and your people - on your own, without Mama around. Can you do that? Will you do that for Mama?”
And of course he said yes. His answer, he remembers, made her smile. He also remembers her hugging him.
“That’s a good boy.”
The memories come back to him, everything she’s done for him resonating through his head like the waves of the old Sea crashing against the rocks, and the smile on his face becomes a bit sad and wistful, like the smiles she gave him whenever he asked about the futures of nations. At the same time, his burdens are reminded of him by the wind blowing against his face, his brown hair almost getting into his eyes. There is a long-held longing in his chest.
How long had it been since he’d last seen her? He closes his eyes. About six centuries ago - it seems like an eternity and some for him. He remembers the little boy, now physically twelve but truly much older, holding an old but sturdy shield in one hand and a huge metal cross in the other. Amalthea is older now, with her own kittens, skittish and uneasy beside him. His mother stands before him, looking weaker from the loss of Constantinople, but still ready to fight. She feels the same way his cat does.
“Mama?”
“He is getting stronger,” she mutters. She places her hands firmly on his shoulders and looks him straight in the eyes. “We talked about this before, right? Ottoman is coming, he will do everything to take you as one of his own. Are you listening? Look at me, Heracles. You must be able to fight now, for your people’s freedom. Now is time for you to follow your fate.”
“How about you, Mama?”
She looked like she was about to cry when he asked that, he remembers. He hated seeing her like that. “I’ll be okay. What’s more important is that you keep yourself and your people safe . . .” She cupped his face in her hands. “Tha prépei na eínai Elláda tó̱ra. My little boy . . .”
He remembers her embracing him for the last time, and a pit forming in his stomach when she does, as if this was going to be the last time she does so. He remembers a final kiss on the forehead, going out of the door of their crumbling house only for him to separate from her at her urging, a wave of the hand he mistakes for a ‘see you soon’ wave. Soon enough, the Turks catch him.
Soon enough, Thalia Karpusi, Hellas, mother to Heracles Karpusi, is gone forever. Dead. He knew it immediately.
He doesn’t cry remembering all these. He looks up at the blue sky stretching on above him, the fluffy white clouds forming different patterns as they pass him by. Just like time, he thinks to himself. He thinks of all the things that have changed over the years, all of the things that had happened to him and his people and the things happening now and the things that will happen in the future. He thinks of his issues and his current crisis. He thinks of his mother.
He wants to see her again.
Sometimes he finds himself wishing she would somehow come back, and that he could see her if that would ever happen. It’s childish, he knows, but he couldn’t help it - he just misses her so much. If only she were alive now. He’d hug her like he used to all those years ago. Maybe he’d show her around, how much her old lands have progressed. Maybe he’d introduce her to his friends, like Kiku. Maybe he’d introduce her to all his cats. Maybe he’d tell her how much her ancient culture had influenced the world over. Maybe, too, he’d tell her about his current issues, about his shaky economy and piling debt, about how they’re affecting his people. And maybe she could give him advice on what to do during these troubling times - just like she did all those years ago. Maybe they’d just talk on this hill - he wouldn’t mind at all what they did. Just to be able to be with his mother, even for a short while, and to fulfil his promise to her, that is all he wishes for.
A soft meow wakes him from his wishful thinking. Turning his head to his side, he sees Amalthea, old but well, nuzzling his leg in that loving way she always did. Ever since he had her, she’s been living as long as he had. He smiles warmly at seeing her and pets her, a familiar way of greeting for the both of them. The cat mewls happily at the petting - she sounds a lot like her kitten self now, it seems - and afterwards gets herself up onto his lap. He doesn’t stop her. She settles herself on his lap with a content purr, and with a few more pets from her owner soon drifts off to sleep. The sadness in the nation’s smile lessens, and he too begins to feel tired. Maybe it’s all this thinking.
Another gust of wind passes by again, only this time it is much gentler than the last. It passes from behind him and his cat, softly messing his hair. It feels a lot like how a certain someone combed his hair with her hand as she sat him in her lap and told him a story to drift him off to sleep, many centuries ago. It soothes him, and he feels his eyelids drooping even more. He finally closes them. He thinks of this mother.
And he remembers, just before he slips into dreaming - she is everywhere.
She finds him on his favourite hill, sitting on the grass with his back slumped over, head hung low, eyes closed and breathing slowly. His old cat is curled up on his lap, her eyes closed too. She couldn’t help but laugh to herself.
“Asleep again, my child?” She shakes her head, smiling. She walks over to her son, crouches to level with him and plants a motherly kiss on his forehead. “You haven’t changed at all.”
Sighing, she takes a seat beside her boy and looks at him as he dozes off. She takes Amalthea off his lap, puts her by his leg, then as gently and quietly as she could takes his head and lays him down on her lap, as so he feels more comfortable. It amazes her how much he’s grown, yet in her heart she knows he is still her dearest little boy. She begins to comb her fingers gently through her son’s hair, just like she used to all those distant years ago, smiling as he relaxes more into sleep.
“Mama misses you, too.”
Above them, the clouds continue to pass by.
END.
translations - greek:
(note that I used google translate once again, I apologize for any mistakes and would gladly correct them.)
* tha prépei na eínai Elláda tó̱ra - you shall be Greece now
* Hellas - Ancient Greece (in Ancient Greek)
notes + commentary:
* I started writing this one out on New Year's day, after I wasn't feeling particularly happy then and needed something to release the negative emotions I was having. This fic is also partially inspired by the song 'Mother' by Tori Amos again, though the lyrics don't exactly remind me of Heracles and/or his mother at all. XD;; Ah well.
* Urk, I'm not so sure if the information I placed into this fic is satisfactory enough. I did do as much research as I could, but I'm not sure if I used them in the correct context. Also, I may have made things too ambiguous for the information to be shown clearly. x__x
* 'ruins of the Parthenon' - The Parthenon in Athens, considered by many to be the general symbol of the Ancient Greek period. I think these may also be the ruins Heracles is usually seen salvaging? I'm not so sure.
* 'system his people follows' - Democracy holds its roots back in Ancient Greece. Um, I went and checked and saw that Greece follows a parliamentary republic - not sure if that still counts, but I think a lot of the democratic developed by values the ancients still apply here.
* The entire paragraph on education is generally based off what I've read about how the ancient Greeks had classes: There were no classrooms, only boys had school, they used writing tablets for note-taking, certain philosophers among others were the boys' teachers, and so on. The various lessons mentioned were actually taught in ancient Greek schools (most of them even originated from ancient Greece themselves). Also Thalia herself being Heracles' teacher instead of him attending classes is probably historically wrong, but I don't know; a nation attending human school doesn't seem very right, either. And the word 'trigonometries' is intentional.
* I'm sure most everyone is familiar with the stories mentioned in the storytelling paragraph; these are some of the many stories found in the classical Greek mythologies. I'm kinda sad though that I wasn't able to put in more creatures like satyrs and nymphs and centaurs, since it's really meant to generalize what comprised the myths. As for the stories, you can read them here: Prometheus the fire-bringer, Eros and Psyche, the Fates (Moriae), Orion and the original Heracles. The Disney version is a lie!
* 'the day a separate kingdom was formed from Rome’s and she became known as Romania' - Greece was occupied by the Roman Empire at some point, and some time later a half of the Roman Empire became the East Roman Empire, or better known nowadays as the Byzantine Empire, which is more based around Greek culture rather than Roman culture (though they did follow the Roman systems). The reason I didn't call Thalia 'Byzantine' is because the term 'Byzantine' didn't exist yet during the time - instead, it was called either the 'Roman Empire' or 'Romania'. So nope, Ancient Greece has nothing to do with the other Romania, haha. XD
* 'old Sea crashing against the rocks' - The 'Sea' is capitalized on purpose. According to my copy of Edith Hamilton's Mythology, that's what the ancient Greeks used to call the Mediterranean.
* The entire memory of the fall of the Byzantine Empire - On the year 1453 (15th Century, I think?), the Byzantine Empire, including the majority of the Grecian land areas, was seized by the Ottoman Empire (modern-day Turkey, which is why Thalia referred to Sadik as 'Ottoman'), beginning with the fall of Constantinople, the capital of the Byzantine Empire (which was located in where Istanbul is now, ironically). I forgot to mention in the fic that the Byzantine Empire had many more internal problems before Constantinople finally fell, so Thalia must've be much weaker then. But since she's a battle mama, I think she would've went and fought to the death anyway (though even if she didn't, she still was going to die - but maybe Heracles would've seen). According also to what I've read, it was Sadik himself who killed Thalia, so I'm guessing the eventual fall of the Byzantine Empire and the occupation of Greece by the Turks is the last we see of her for a long time (and the beginning of the history of Modern Greece, Heracles).
* 'Tha prépei na eínai Elláda tó̱ra', 'you shall be Greece now' - Um, I have some explaining to do about this. I took the translation from Google Translate. which uses the modern Greek - pretty strange coming from Ancient Greece (who was Byzantine Greece during the time she says this, which means she should be using medieval Greek). There's a bit of a justification for this - according to what I've read, medieval Greece died out around the time of the Ottoman seizing, and a bit of modern Greek was already being used around the 11th century. I-I'm not sure if it's a legitimate reasoning, though, so you may brick me across the head if you wish. OTL
* 'about his shaky economy and piling debt' - Greek Government Debt Crisis, the one with Greece's current problems with the Euro and such. I'm sure a lot of you have heard about this in the news.
* The ending scene - Hey, if Grandpa Rome can, why can't Ancient Greece? :D
* One of my greatest issues with this fic really is the characterization as always. I've never written Heracles or his mother in full before, and I don't exactly know how his mind works or how his childhood was like and such. I don't think I even put in enough reason in the fic as to why Heracles is like how he is now, grah. ^^; Also, I didn't make him wangsty, did I? I tried basing Heracles' thoughts and memories on how people feel when they lose a person dear to them early in their lives as well as the mood of 'Mother'; I'm afraid it might now have worked. OTL *headdesk* Ah well, I tried.
Please do tell me what you think~! And I apologize for any fails as well. ^^;