Notes:

Part I of III

It's not 100% historically accurate, but I tried. (I think France actually took over Italy around 1805-ish, but I didn't want to put that in for reasons I'm sure you can figure out.)

Also, if you look in the right place, you can find a partial strip from Himaruya where France is telling Italy that "the Holy Roman Empire is no more." Unfortunately, the rest of the comic has been completely deleted, and so you really don't get to see very much of Italy's response. Hence, fanfiction.

(I went for the panties thing here instead of the push-broom, too. It really doesn't make a huge difference in the grand scheme of things, but I figured it would be easier to carry panties than a broom, so that's what I went with. The broom makes a cameo later.)

If anyone out there loves music, check out "Hallelujah" and "Sing Me to Heaven." If you look closely enough, there are some not-so-subtle ties to both throughout this, which is why I listed them under the disclaimer. Also, Brahms is one of the most epic composers of all time - his music is amazing, and I guarantee that you've heard his "Wiegenlied" at LEAST once in your life.

Reviews are much appreciated~

Disclaimers:

Hetalia © Himaruya Hidekaz
Sing Me to Heaven © Daniel Gawthrop (composer), Jane Griner (words)
Hallelujah © Leonard Cohen
Ein deutsches Requiem/Wiegenlied © Johannes Brahms

XXX ~ His Flag on the Marble Arch ~ XXX

1 May 1617

The Holy Roman Empire has just left for war.

Italy does his chores at Austria's house with a a strange feeling in his stomach. It's a curious mixture of sorrow and expectation and butterflies; he will not see Holy Rome for a long time, but he knows he will see him again nonetheless, and he is sure that they will have a happily ever after like all love does! It seems so simple to consider, so mundane - yet Italy is sure that he is the luckiest boy in the world!

Twice that day, Austria catches him staring off into space instead of working. But both times, instead of reprimanding his servant, Austria just shakes his head, sighs, and leaves Italy to his dreams.

28 July 1652

Italy is bored, and Hungary is apparently feeling helpful, so the two of them decide to make fake plans for a wedding! Italy pretends that he doesn't know who it is all for, but he's quite aware that Hungary is hoping that he and Holy Rome will use her ideas in the future, and so he's happy to play along! Italy already knows exactly what he wants for some things, and when he doesn't know Hungary gently coaxes him into a decision with a twinkle in her eye.

A cathedral - they're going to get married in a huge church, probably at Holy Rome's place (the Pope would frown upon it, but Italy doesn't care). There's going to be a choir singing of joy and peace and love and everything! Italy can already picture how the light from the stained-glass windows will fall upon them just-so as they exchange vows, and it will be beautiful and grand and perfect!

Early August, he thinks. Early August is when they will get married, because too many weddings take place in June.

But then Austria appears, and he shakes both Italy and Hungary out of their plans; the latter gets a scolding while the former gets a long look and a sigh.

13 June 1703

Italy decides to practice the spare piano in one of Austria's side-rooms. He has heard a rumor that the Holy Roman Empire will be coming home soon, and he cannot wait! So to pass the time, he tries writing a song - and maybe, if he finishes it in time, he will sing it for Holy Rome when he returns!

The thought makes him glow with happiness. After so many years, he finally gets to meet his only love again! (It sounds rather silly when he says it to himself... Love? But there isn't another word he can think of that explains the feeling, so he sticks with "love" and believes in it with all his heart.) While he's practicing, though, something odd happens: his voice suddenly changes registers. Hearing a few gasps, he turns around and sees Austria and Hungary standing there, the latter looking shocked and the former looking absolutely delighted.

And in the excitement that follows (Austria promises him some new clothes!), Italy finds that his thoughts are more about the Holy Roman Empire then they have ever been in the past. He hopes Holy Rome doesn't mind that he's changed physically - after all, isn't love supposed to come from the heart?

And so he waits for him to return.

1 January 1704

Eagerly, Italy continues to wait for news. No news comes, but he still fondly hopes...

4 November 1708

There is still nothing.

Yet he still waits.

16 December 1718

There is still nothing.

Italy feels his smiles slipping.

20 February 1728

Does he even need to say?

Hungary catches him staring out the window, and she reassures him that Holy Rome is going to come back - apparently political issues in his country are a bit of a mess, and that is why he still has been unable to return. Italy nods quietly, but Hungary must notice the sadness in his eyes because she cheerfully suggests that Italy draws and paints while he waits. After thinking it over for a moment or two, Italy becomes momentarily happy again and follows her suggestion.

He sets up his easel by the window, though. Just in case...

13 October 1795

News of a French conqueror reaches the household, and Italy feels terrified. Hungary and Austria are worried, but they promise him that he will be fine so long as he stays with them.

Yet Italy still worries over every little thing that could go wrong. What if Austria and Hungary are hurt? What if Italy himself is hurt? Who is going to take care of him if something happens? Will they become prisoners of war? Will they be dissolved into French provinces?

Whatever he feels for himself, however, is nothing compared to what he feels for Holy Rome, because while he is safe at home, he knows that his love is fighting on the battlefield.

15 September 1806

The Napoleonic Wars have been going on for such a long time, yet for some reason France takes the time off from conquering Europe to visit Italy at Austria's house.

Italy may not be extremely smart, but he knows that France isn't an idiot - it must be important if his blond relative is risking his own well-being to see him now. Even as he opens the front door and quickly drags a shaken France to a nearby field so they aren't seen (it wouldn't do to have Hungary hitting him with that frying pan of hers), he can tell that his older brother is weary and feeling very down.

"Ve," he says softly, "what is it? You seem very sad."

"I am," France admits sullenly. "I feel like I am going to break your heart."

That makes Italy confused - what does that mean? Why is he so upset? "But France," he reasons innocently, "you can't break something you don't have."

The statement causes France to cringe. "That... that honor belongs to the Holy Roman Empire, doesn't it?"

He blinks. "What...?"

Why would he say...?

Is Holy Rome hurt? Is he in hiding? Is he a prisoner of war? Or - no, he wouldn't be. Holy Rome had made a promise to him all those centuries ago and sealed it with a kiss. It isn't that.

"Ah... sorry." France's gaze shifts downward and he draws a shaky breath before saying the fateful words -

"The Holy Roman Empire is no more."

A pause.

...

Words.

...

That... was all Italy heard. Meaningless sounds coming from France's mouth.

Words.

Words that can't be true.

A soft "Eh...?" slips out.

No. Holy Rome said he would come back.

Does that mean France is... lying...?

France doesn't even offer a smile. "You should forget about him." Softly he turns away. "You've suffered enough already, haven't you?"

No.

No!

NO!

He's lying! He has to be! There's no other explanation!

"France, tell me the truth!" he demands.

France turns back and looks even more hurt at the accusation. "That IS the truth, Italy. He's gone. He's been gone for - "

"NO! I would know! I would feel something if he was dead! You're lying!" A tear falls. "You're lying! You're lying! Why do you say he's gone?"

"Italy," his voice cracks, "I would never lie about something like this. Believe me."

More tears. "I can't. I can't. I can't."

He's shaking so badly that he thinks he will fall apart at the seams. He's about to shatter on the green grass, and nobody will ever be able to find the fragments of his soul lost in the aftermath. His knees crumple and he's surprised his chest hasn't split in two from the sudden pressure he feels.

At that precise moment, for whatever reason, he realizes that this is the same field where Holy Rome had run away from him so many years ago when Italy had refused to join his empire.

This makes him cry harder.

France softly gets on his knees beside him. "Holy Rome... he asked me to bring you these as he was dying."

Another lie. Why did France tell him these things? What did France gain from scaring him like this? A large part of him is still clinging to the hope that this is all a sham, but, with a soft gasp of horror, this too is broken.

France hands him Holy Rome's hat and a small pair of panties.

Hours Later

France has left by now, but Italy still hasn't moved.

He's crying, sobbing, trying to find a reason that this happened, and suddenly - he feels himself enveloped in a hug. For a startled moment, he stops, because he isn't sure who it is, but then he hears Hungary's voice trying to comfort him.

"Shh... It's okay, Italy. Everything is going to be okay..."

For a second time, he breaks, and without resistance he allows her to hold him like a child and tell him lies.

That Night

He doesn't remember being taken to the house, but he does remember the moment when Hungary tries to take the Holy Roman Empire's hat from his hands.

He's lying in bed, and he has no idea how he got there. He's no longer holding onto the panties, and a letter (which he somehow knows is important) is being examined by Austria in the background.

Hungary gently tugs on the edge of the hat. "Italy, please - you're going to damage it if you don't put it down!"

He hiccups, and more tears slide down his face as he shakes his head. It's the only thing he has now in the world, and he refuses to let anyone take it from him.

"Hungary," Austria remarks with raised eyebrows, "this letter is from... France..."

Oh... so France left them a letter explaining? A part of Italy is glad - if he never has to speak the words, he might still be able to rebuild himself.

A part of him is shattered even more - he wishes he didn't remember what needed explaining.

Hungary turns around and gives Austria a glare. "Not NOW," she hisses. "We can deal with France later!"

She tries prying the hat out of Italy's grip once again, with gentle fingers and even gentler words, but Italy only begins crying harder. Eventually Hungary gets the point and finally gives up with sad eyes, and Austria leaves the room with a curt, "Excuse me."

"Why can't you tell us?" she asks softly. She pulls Italy's tear-stained face onto her shoulder. "What could have possibly happened...?"

And just like that, the entire mood is broken when a loud crash comes from downstairs. Hungary jumps with surprise and almost leaves to go and see what is wrong, but Italy pulls her close and begins sobbing again so she'll stay.

Austria's voice rises through the thin floor.

"Gott verdammt!"

Another crash resounds.

"ARSCHLOCH!"

He knows. Italy doesn't have the slightest idea what France wrote to them in the letter, but he is positive about one thing now.

Austria knows, and he is absolutely furious.

Why do people yell? Why do they fight? Why do they kill? If nobody fought, then he wouldn't be dead; he would be there with Italy; he wouldn't have caused Italy's heart to break.

These thoughts make Italy exhausted, and he lies down in bed trying to cry himself to sleep.

Hungary, like the mother she almost is, helps the process along by softly singing him a lullaby.

Dark

Italy awakes with a start when he hears Hungary's shrill voice through the thin floor, in a manner and tone similar to Austria's earlier.

"AUGUST 6? THE EMPIRE WAS DISSOLVED ON AUGUST 6, AND FRANCE WAITS AN ENTIRE GODDAMNED MONTH BEFORE TELLING US THAT THE HOLY ROMAN EMPIRE IS DEAD?"

That much of her tantrum Italy can understand, comprehend, and even accept - August 6.

What was today...? Was it September? Or October? Time seems to have slipped away and it feels as though he's been broken for an eternity instead of less than twenty-four hours.

A summer wedding... early August...

A part of him snaps, and he forces Hungary's voice out of his head.

He can't take it any more.

Moments Later

Love is not supposed to end like this. It never ends in tragedy; it never means sorrow; it never leaves survivors. Romeo and Juliet were lovers, after all, and they were glad to cross that void into eternity.

To die now means to join Holy Rome, yet, as Italy stands with wobbly knees on the railing to his room's balcony, he can't force himself to be glad. He inhales, exhales, and looks down.

Maybe he's thinking too hard, but to die by jumping three stories down onto the hard cobblestone... Alone? Romeo and Juliet ended their lives together. Somehow, feeling suddenly cold and vulnerable and having his toes scrape against the marble railing beneath his feet, this isn't the same.

And so cohesive thoughts return.

He can always do this later. He may change his mind - and besides, there is still the chance that France is just pulling a joke on him and had gotten the hat and panties from foul play. (He's lying to himself through figurative teeth, and he knows it.) Even so, with tears streaming down his face and the sobs beginning anew, he carefully steps back down.

He doesn't believe for an instant that this will be the only time that suicide will cross his mind.

Some Later Date

Italy doesn't smile for years.

The weight in his chest keeps growing, and he honestly believes that he's going to destroy himself from the pressure of it. He still ponders death, and he doesn't quite fear it or care whether he stays or goes. Sometimes, he wonders if he might be able to help these thoughts along with a shot from Austria's pistol, a stab from a kitchen knife, or a rope around the neck. But no, he decides each time - as easy as it may be to kill, to die, he can't leave the nations in shambles like that. So instead he is left to wonder: what would happen if another one of them left the realm of Earth by the whims of another?

What if he kills himself?

What if he kills someone else?

That's what he really feels like doing. It scares him, it scares him a lot, to catch himself wondering if he's capable of killing his friends, his brothers, and his enemies. Nobody else knows or understands or feels the pain he's carrying around - he's lost his grip on reality and thinks that someone else is going to die if he doesn't have something to hold onto. But every single time he reaches for that pistol, that knife, that rope... he stops.

If he holds it in, it will get better. If he holds it in, he can fool all of them, and then things will get better.

It's a flimsy theory, without a shred of proof behind it, but it's enough.

He hears through the floor beneath him when Hungary and Austria argue over trivial things - how Hungary's government won't let their countrymen fight in any of the wars, how the Austrian monarchy wants to help France, how France's empire keeps growing, and eventually how his expansions collapse. Napoleon is sent into exile on some island, and Italy hears Hungary fuming that the French commander should have been handed over to her. Then, moments later, she will appear upstairs wearing a completely different expression and speaking serene words of comfort and doting to Italy. There isn't a single crack in the façade, and he finds himself admiring her for it.

(How can he recreate that carefree face like she does? Because if the distraction of the challenge it poses is what holds him together, then he can and he will show them the person he used to be instead of the hollow thing he's become.)

But... Italy still can't force himself to care about the Frenchman Napoleon or the fate of Europe.

After all: no matter the victor, it is still impossible for him to reattain what he has lost.

Often

The only way any of them allow themselves to show what they're really feeling is, strangely, through music. Austria lets his countenance slip when he plays the piano in the evening, and only then can Italy read how upset he really is by Holy Rome's passing. Sometimes, when he's playing, both Italy and Hungary will quietly sit beside him on the piano bench, and they all silently mourn the same person.

Softly, yet with great talent and passion, Austria plays them both a love song.

Sometime Mid-Century

The next time Italy sees his brother, France has a huge bruise on his forehead, no doubt courtesy of Hungary. She may be satisfied with her revenge, but Italy can't force himself to feel even a bit of smug satisfaction.

France still seems to think that Italy is upset with him, and so he begins to apologize once more for the horrid thing he did. Before he can get the words out, though, Italy has already begun smiling and rambling on about pasta. France seems stunned, for just a moment, but then he shrugs to himself and falls for the deception. Italy appears to be the same, young soul he used to be, and it looks as though he has gotten over the pain.

And for a moment, Italy almost believes his own act.

Years Later

It seems all too soon that Hungary and Austria begin to genuinely smile once more. Italy forces his lips to curl up, and for a small "ve~!" to slip out; it fools them instantly, like it did France. And even though he loves the both of them very much (but not as much, or in the same manner, as he loved - loves? - the Holy Roman Empire), he eventually leaves their house. He discovers that he actually likes living by himself; without anyone else around, he doesn't have to pretend.

As soon as he is alone and their backs are turned, his mask cracks.

He Does Not Know What Day It Is

Italy pretends to be happy that he and Romano are now one country, but secretly he mourns. With any luck, he had hoped that the nation would need only one representative and that one of them - himself - would fade away from existence before the day is over. But as night falls, no such thing happens.

On his bed, he holds Holy Rome's enduring hat and gently strokes the felt edges. He's kept it with him all these years, and when the nightmares come (which they often do), it offers him a little bit of comfort.

Softly, to himself, he sings his own requiem, should he vanish during the night, and silently prays that his wish will come true.

One Sunday

There is a new interest for him in the church, as though, by asking God, he will eventually find answers to the questions he so desperately asks. His hope is still hollow - if he did not receive the answers years ago, then he certainly will not learn the truth now.

But he still clasps his rosary. He still murmurs his thanks. He still asks forgiveness.

Sancta Maria, Mater Dei, ora pro nobis peccatoribus,
Sancta Maria, ora pro nobis, nunc et in hora mortis nostrae.

He still prays for the soul of the Holy Roman Empire.

...

Amen, he whispers.