Dissolution and Recovery

Author's Note: This fic is going to be five chapters and they all center around my personal details of the generally-accepted HRE = Germany theory in the Hetalia fanbase. The points of view will be specific to a particular time or character and they will go France, Austria, Prussia, France, France. Updating will be infrequent, but the next two chapters have already been hashed out, so those will probably be out before the end of the year.

Warning: This story will feature a great deal of personal headcanon regarding family history (from a LOT of research) and if you've read my "Two States in One Nation" story, then this one will expand upon some aspects that I touched upon in that (mainly regarding Prussia). This particular chapter also contains a lot of French because I can't help myself.

Disclaimer: This is for the most part historically-based with the Hetalia twist and my own headcanons regarding the characters and their relations.

Dissolution of Holy Rome: France

In the center-most portion of what would become the future, modern Germany, France cautiously picked his way through dense, dark undergrowth of one of the most beautiful forests in Central Europe, but once he'd passed beyond it, he would be in completely unfamiliar territory. It had been a long time since he had visited the southern lands, over a millennium even, but his sister's former territory was still familiar to him, even though she'd died so long ago.

With the willful, headstrong Gaul as their mother and the mighty Roman Empire as their father, they had grown up together with the name Francia, and to each other, they were Parisage and Wisabada.

Parisage... Nobody would ever call him that again. Nobody alive even knew that he had once been like Romano and Veneziano for an empire, or if they were alive, they didn't remember or were too young. The other countries had a good deal more of their own affairs to worry about at the time, all being children themselves, than ever paying attention to the condition of one Frankish Kingdom.

With the death of their boss, Louis the Pious, son of the Great Charlemagne, he and Wisabada had found themselves separated by Charlemagne's grandsons in 843.

It was very unusual for a country to be away from his own lands unless he was at war, but then he would have been accompanied by his army and either his boss or his military generals and the like.

Parisage's boss ended up being Louis's third son, Charles the Bald and his new name was West Francia while his little sister took Louis's second son, Louis the German as her boss and became East Francia. They never did figure out between them who Middle Francia was, the piece of the kingdom that was inherited by the eldest son, Lothair I. Perhaps their mother's disciple, Belgica, had some children that represented the northern part of the Middle Kingdom.

But France was on a special mission right now, carrying out his boss's direct orders and no one but him could accomplish it.

Not once, did they let the separation bother them and they fondly called each other Ouest (1) and Est (2) to remind the other how silly it was that something like partible inheritance had physically separated them. Yet physical separation made it very difficult for Parisage to watch out for his sister as well as a big brother should, especially in light of her social interests.

Orders that he absolutely despised and prayed to God that he would fail in fulfilling.

He would never have known that his precious little Wisabada was very much in love Germania, the very representation of their Germanic bosses since their birth, if he had not stumbled upon it. It was nothing obscene, but there was far too much tenderness in her deep blue eyes to be passed off as simple friendship and Germania - that old geezer! - seemed to reciprocate feelings for her, or at least a contentedness in her presence that Parisage couldn't stomach. That was his little sister! Denied was the fact that his sister was physically fourteen and a full-grown woman capable of making her own decisions; why Germania? ? ?

Because he had only one reason for being so far from his land and in one of the forests of Est's former territory.

"Pourquoi, ma petite sœur? !" (3)

"Oh, Parisage..." Wisabada had chuckled when he'd confronted her about it, "You inherited the love of life from our parents. I inherited the love of war. There are very few that I can understand and love, mon cher frère (4); the curse of being our mother's daughter, I suppose. But you Ouest, you were meant to love many and I know you can. You've already proven yourself to be very good at it," she added with a roguish wink, causing Parisage to flush in embarrassment that his little sister knew about his... uh... acts of l'amour.

He had allowed his sister her choice because he loved her and wanted her happy. He would not have allowed it if he had known that her chosen relationship would ultimately kill her.

His boss, Emperor Napoloén Bonaparte, the man who had brought him out of the horrid nightmare of his Reign of Terror, had given him the orders to find Wisabada's long-lost son, Holy Roman Empire...

Parisage had not actually expected Wisabada's relationship to result in a newborn son in 962, christened with the name Roman Empire after their late father. The boy, his nephew, possessed the blond hair of his parents and the blue eyes of infancy; he hoped that beautiful blue wouldn't change to a different color within the first year. He was such an adorable boy!

… and kill him.

But there was something wrong with Wisabada ever since that day in 962 when she gave birth to her adorable son. She wasn't as lively as she used to be like the life had been sucked out of her. She lived, but she looked like she was only a flickering reflection of herself, but she always brushed him off when he asked how she was.

No one had seen the little one since the Thirty Years' War, but he had always entertained the thought that maybe he was alive somewhere.

Roman Empire Jr. grew very quickly (Parisage was happy that Roman Empire Jr.'s eyes had retained that gorgeous blue), like the-growth-of-a-normal-human-infant quickly until he was about five years old (did baby nations normally grow that quickly? He didn't know), past the absolute dependence of infancy, when Wisabada fell dangerously-ill. Then it came clear to him.

Now, he desperately hoped that he was already dead.

East Francia had ceased to exist when the Roman Empire was declared and she'd only lived as long as she had in order to get her son through his infancy. Only another nation/kingdom/empire could nurse an infant of the same. He was sure a human wouldn't be able to handle it. The woman couldn't even handle his love-making the first time they experienced it. His little sister was dying because Roman Empire Jr. was born...

Nothing could convince Napoleon that he already was.

"Parisage, don't hate my son."

He didn't know how she'd known that he'd begun to resent the boy's existence. Was she really younger than him? She seemed so much wiser. Did it have something to do with being a mother?

"This isn't Roman Empire's fault and it's going to be hard enough on him as it is when I'm gone. I don't think Germania's going to hang on much longer after me."

Germania? ! ! This was news! How could she tell? ?

"He's tired Parisage. One of these days, he'll just disappear and all of them will be upset. Dear brother, I know that what I'm asking is impossible, but please... do your best to look after my son? Take care of him as best you can when I go, s'il vous plaît, mon frère (5)?"

He did try and look out for him.

Wisabada died within three days of telling him so. Roman Empire had completely absorbed his mother's reasons for existing in terms of both people and territory.

But little Roman Empire Jr.'s bosses and his German brothers, when they were old enough, could and did take up the responsibility more-easily than he could, and so often his own goals conflicted with Austria's, the older brother who became Jr.'s guardian, that he was against his Little Brother more often than he liked. And now his current boss... The conversation they'd had before France had been given this grisly assignment.

"The Holy Roman Empire has weakened considerably since that time, c'est vrai (6), but it still exists and so the being must exist as well to represent it, even in this debilitating state. He has never been dissolved and his continued existence in such a deplorable condition threatens the Confederation of the Rhine that I plan to be the protector. It'll have the added effect of further weakening the Holy Roman Empire's authority over the German kingdom. After the Battle of Austerlitz, Austria's Archduke will have no choice, but to capitulate to my demands."

Il avait promis (7)! He had promised Wisabada that he would look after her son as best he could, as much as he could get away with, and he had, but now he was here searching for that same son to kill him. Dear God, he hoped he wouldn't find him!

God was not on his side it seemed.

Or perhaps, Satan was being particularly active and malicious today.

France found him. Little Holy Roman Empire.

But he was not the same 7-year-old boy he had last seen him as.

He looked like he was ten now (probably as a result of his government's existence and influence even if it lacked the absolute authority it once possessed) and the fanciful black clothes were replaced with more traditional German peasant attire and his German-inherited bangs were long down his forehead, but he still recognized him instantly. Holy Rome had inherited the exact shade of blue of his father's eyes, but the softness in them could only be from the la Bonnefoi blood in his veins (he didn't know when his last name had been slurred and modified to Bonnefoy) and his golden-colored hair was his mother's color, not like Germania's pale, bleached blond. He would have been overjoyed to see his nephew under far more different circumstances.

"Oh, Holy Rome," he half-moaned, half-wailed.

He hadn't meant to be heard.

Holy Rome looked towards him and when there was no expression of recognition in his blue eyes, France felt a throwback of déjà vu strike him. Those unfocused eyes were just like Wisabada's during her last four years of life when she was dying. Dying, but unable to die. Just like his mother back then, Holy Rome was missing something, but he had been missing it for a long time.

"Yes," Holy Rome said, "That's my name. Who are you? I don't suppose it matters though. I don't even remember how I got here."

That's what it was. For the past 160 years since he disappeared, the loss of his absolute authority, the lack of unity, and the rise of the more powerful German rulers within his land had slowly caused him to lose his memories until he'd forgotten everything but his name, it seemed. He was quite literally the Holy Roman Empire in name only. Did he even remember little Italy anymore? He wasn't about to ask.

"I guess you could call me 'mal chance' (8)," France said with a dry laugh, though he felt far from humorous or happy, "This just isn't my half-century."

His gruesome Revolution...

His Reign of Terror...

His failed Republic...

And now Holy Rome...

France drew his sword – guns were still very difficult for him to use for a number of reasons – and tried not to stare at that innocent, young face that was completely defenseless and unaware of what he was going to do. He couldn't decide, as he nervously twisted the sword in his hand, if it was a blessing or a curse that Holy Rome couldn't remember anything apart from his name.

This was hardly a fair fight- no, it wasn't a fight at all, but an execution.

But on the other hand, he wouldn't know that it was his own uncle, Big Brother France, that was trying to kill him.

He charged forward, sword poised on the ready.

It didn't justify his actions in the slightest or make this grisly business any easier, but at least Holy Rome wouldn't suffer any sense of familial betrayal.

It wasn't clean at all. In fact, it was horribly messy. At the last second, he'd faltered, but he'd been too close, too fast, and the force continued to carry him forward. What should have been a quick, clean kill turned into a messy, altered stab further downwards than originally-intended. He'd missed the heart and he hadn't even stabbed Holy Rome mid-gut. He'd caught him just under the last left rib and the blade sunk through his left side to his lower back. France was horrified. That much difference between the final blow and the intended blow! If he'd just moved a second sooner, he wouldn't have hit him at all! If he hadn't faltered at all, then Holy Rome wouldn't be writhing in pain and spewing blood! He didn't know what to do! He couldn't leave him, but he couldn't finish him either! France gulped. It wasn't the right thing, but it was better than nothing. He broke his sword in half (it wasn't easy, but he wasn't a normal human and he was very strong thanks to Napoleon) and set his half down to attend to Holy Rome as best he could.

"Mon Dieu, Wisabada, tue-moi maintenant (9)," France murmured to himself as he removed his military coat and tore off the sleeves of his white undershirt. "Prends ma vie, ma petite sœur. Je ne dois pas vivre si je tuerai ces jeunes pays (10). No Holy Rome, don't pull it out! You'll bleed faster!" he cried out in Latin and quickly knelt beside him with his now-detached shirt sleeves.

As he wrapped his sleeves around the sword and pressed them against the wound, the full calamity of what he had done began to sink in.

"Je suis le monstre le plus mal du monde! Personne ne peux me sauver- non, personne ne doit vouloir me sauver (11)," he said quietly in his meticulous intensity upon the wrapping.

Holy Rome was looking at him blankly and his eyes were less focused than before. It seemed he had forgotten his French too. That was probably a good thing. He also looked like he was going to lose consciousness soon; there was only so much France could do to slow the bleeding.

"Désolé," France said as he stood up, knowing that Holy Rome couldn't understand him, "Oublie-moi quand tu dors (12)."

He slipped his now-bare arms through the discarded military coat, picked up his piece of the broken sword (it was standard issue, he'd get another one before he returned and Napoleon questioned him about it), and left the bleeding Holy Rome without looking back. He hadn't killed him outright, he couldn't do that, but even with his poor medical treatment, it was unlikely that somebody would find him before he bled to death. As he headed toward Vienna, where his boss was currently in-meeting with Austria's, he wondered how his precipitous sword-play adjustment had affected the content of that meeting if not the results.

Now for all of my French translations because I love this language! ! ! XD:

(1) Ouest - West

(2) Est - East

(3) Pourquoi, ma petite sœur?! - Why, my little sister?!

(4) mon cher frère - my dear brother

(5) s'il vous plaît, mon frère - please, my brother

(6) c'est vrai - it's true

(7) Il avait promis! - He had promised!

(8) mal chance - bad luck

(9) Mon Dieu, Wisabada, tue-moi maintenant - My God, Wisabada, kill me now

(10) Prends ma vie, ma petite sœur. Je ne dois pas vivre si je tuerai ces jeunes pays - Take my life, little sister. I should not live if I will kill these young countries.

(11) Je suis le monstre le plus mal du monde! Personne ne peux me sauver- non, personne ne doit vouloir me sauver - I am the worst monster of the world! Nobody can save me- no, nobody should want to save me.

(12) Désolé. Oublie-moi quand tu dors - Sorry. Forget me when you sleep.

Now for some extra notes. Part of this (the part about Holy Rome's parentage) was started when I saw the season 4 English dub Hetalia bloopers and Germany said "That was my mother's cup, you fool!". The second part (me deciding who Germany's mother was) came from a map of Europe when I saw the Frankish Kingdom, Francia, split up into first West and East Francia, and THEN saw just how easily East Francia's territory fit as Holy Roman Empire's. The reason I decided that East Francia would be Holy Rome's mother and not what Holy Rome was called before he became first Roman Empire and then Holy Roman Empire (he didn't become 'Holy' until 1254) is because I swear that I read somewhere something about drawing East Francia away from West Francia and closer to the Germans living in the region. I did not really state this in the fic, but another reason why East Francia died and didn't become the Kingdom of Germany, for example, is because East Francia was then further divided into three parts: Bavaria, Saxony, and Swabia, and the ruler of the throne was electionally-chosen between them and the other stem duchies that slowly came into being over the decades. So in the end, there was no room for East Francia even though there was a title for the general ruler of her territories before they took the next step and became crowned Emperor.

Italy's name is also Veneziano and I noticed that only Romano calls him that, otherwise he's referred to as either Italy or North Italy. So I did something sorta similar here and I based their names off of important cities/capitals just like the Italy brothers. Obviously, France's other name is based on 'Paris', his capital and heart, and I chose '-age' to go on the end because most French adjectives that have that ending are masculine. Now for East Francia's other name, I chose the town (it is now a city) of Wiesbaden for many reasons. It had a great deal of Roman influence (hence supporting being a daughter of Roman Empire), Wiesbaden was the site of a Frankish royal palace, and the town was part of "the heartland" of East Francia when the Frankish Empire split. I actually didn't do anything to adjust the name. The town of Wiesbaden was already recorded as 'Wisabada' by Charlemagne's biographer sometime around 830 A.D.