Recovering Holy Rome

"Bonjour l'Allemagne! (1)" France called out jovially to the youngest German country from the front door of his house.

"Guten Tag, Frankreich (2)," Germany replied indifferently, "What do you want?"

They had come so far from where they had started in the beginning of the 20th century. To think that just a short fifty years ago in 1942, Europe had become embroiled in la Deuxième Guerre Mondiale (3) and he'd been left with nothing but his Vichy government during Nazi Germany's occupation. France wouldn't have believed that he'd ever become, well... friends, he supposed, with the German nations, especially not after he lost his only blood connection to the Germanic nations. And Europe was finally calming down now that the Soviet Union had broken up and the Cold War between Russia and America was now officially over. Ahh, 1991. And France had thought 1989 was a good year to celebrate!

"Moi? Ah, tu me blesses! (4) I just wanted to stop by and greet my favorite Germanic nation, is that too much to ask?" France cried out dramatically.

"Yes, it is," Germany said sternly, "I have too much to do and I still need to figure out how to help Prussia recover from his long-term cold. I haven't been able to do much to improve his condition since our reunion in 1989, and it's bothersome, so I'm not really in the mood for entertaining any guests today."

"Oh, Germany, you're so busy! You need to take a vacation every now and then or else you'll just work yourself ragged! I'm actually surprised that neither Prussia nor Italy seem to be here today," France suddenly noted when he realized that the house was quiet!

"Prussia decided to travel through my land to revisit the places he hasn't seen in forty years and familiarize himself with any changes and all changes that I've sustained since that time," Germany explained patiently as he finished sorting the papers he was holding into three file folders, "And Italy said that he was going to visit his 'sorella' (5) today, so that's where he is."

"His 'sorella'?" France questioned, "Italy, Romano, and San Marino don't have another lost micronation sibling, do they?"

"No, not a blood sibling," Germany corrected, "He was heading south from my house when he left, but I don't know if he was going to start heading west, east, or continue straight south, though I honestly think he meant Hungary since he did live with Austria for a long time and Hungary lived in his house too and I really doubt he would have any reason to call Czechia his sister."

"Ah-ah, l'Allemagne, you're forgetting that Liechtenstein was born while Italy was still living at Austria's house. I always thought he saw Hungary more as a mother than a sister. À mon avis, l'Italie pense que la fille mignonne de l'Autriche et l'Hongrie est sa petite sœur." (6)

"Liechtenstein?" Germany said, having almost entirely forgotten about his niece, his Little Sister, "I didn't realize that she and Italy were that close."

"Oui, she was born as such a tiny principality within the territory of Holy Roman Empire, that it's really a miracle that she survived to full nationhood and is very stable, but Switzerland has always been a solid rock," France said with a wistful sigh as he first remembered the day he arrived to see the result of two impossible concepts: Austria having sexual intercourse, period, and Hungary being first pregnant and then a mother; and then remembered all those years that Switzerland had stood by and protected him, even going so far as to wear the ridiculously-colored uniform of the Swiss Guards.

"Holy Rome..." Germany muttered, "I never met him, or if I did, I was too young to remember. He was my fourth oldest brother. Prussia said you killed him, is that true?"

France flinched at the German's words, but there was no heat or anger in them. It was simply a question, nothing more. "Oui, c'est vrai (7), but I wish it weren't so. I'm the last country alive who saw him and it was during the Napoleonic Era. Comment terrible (8). Holy Rome had been missing for nearly 160 years since the end of the Thirty Years' War and the first thing I did when I found him was stab him."

"I see..." Germany said quietly, looking thoughtful and then suddenly looked alarmed! "Ah! This is distracting me! Get out of my house! I, unlike you, can't afford to have numerous extended vacations or a ridiculous number of strikes for no reason!"

"Oh, but that's not fair!" France protested, "You really are going to work yourself to death with that kind of mentality! Nous sommes des bons amis, non? (9) Let me help you with some of your work and take a load off things! Big Brother France won't leave until you doooo!" he added in sing-song.

Germany gave a heavy sigh. "Fine, so long as it will finally get you out of my house. Sort out through all that trash and debris over there. It's all from Prussia's old house and I sorted them by the state that I found them in so that I could discard what wasn't necessary or reusable based upon the region's needs, but I haven't gotten around to actually sorting through the items yet."

Germany opened up one of the drawers in his desk and produced a clipboard with many papers stapled together. It was written in German. Thankfully, their long friendship, his reacquisition of the Alsace-Lorraine region, and the significant jump in a German-speaking populace in his land made reading German very easy. He had learned it some centuries ago and practiced it off and on with the times. Certainly if it was still the beginning of the century, he'd have been unable (and most unwilling) to speak or read a single word of that throaty language.

"Here's a clipboard with all the statistics on the individual states and you've been a country and a republic long enough that I don't need to tell you what's trash and what's useful," Germany explained, "My last rule: be thorough or leave. There's no point in trying to help me otherwise because I'd end up doing it all over myself and you'd have wasted precious time and energy."

"Ah... l'Allemagne est très stricte," (10) France said quietly but he headed over to the next room over to carry out his newly-assigned chore.

This wasn't official country business, this was just him and his Bonnefoy self helping out his new ally and sorta friend. He didn't know if he and Germany would ever be able to completely overcome their past grievances, but they could at least tolerate each other and get things done. It was probably the closest they would ever get to being friends. It was nice having a friend in Central Europe. And to think that there was a time when he was terrified at the fact that he was completely surrounded by Habsburg territories and had been forced to form an alliance with the Ottoman Empire as a result. What an embarrassing alliance for his zealously Catholic self back then.

France didn't quite realize what he'd signed himself up for until he flicked the lights on and saw just how deep the storage room was as well as how much stuff was in it! All the items that he was familiar with being present in a well-running country were either barely present or completely non-existent! The economics, politics, government, communal regulations, health-related effects, exportation and importation, infrastructure, population, education, employment, all of it was so much worse off than even what he had believed from his place on the western side of the Iron Curtain! East Germany was in a really bad place for forty straight years! It was no wonder that Germany was working so much and still had so much to do to bring the East German standard of living up to par. He was glad he hadn't asked for more work. He was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work he'd been assigned in this one task alone! Well, might as well start with the closest and smallest pile. That would be Thuringia. A state in southwestern East Germany right in the center of Germany if he remembered correctly. He remembered the Thuringian Forest better than the actual state. He could never forget that forest. He could never forget the site of Holy Rome's demise.

France tackled the pile with much gusto and fervor seemingly much more suited to Germany's character than France's. Other countries may think he was lazy with all his strikes and what-not, but in reality, he worked as hard and as serious as Germany did. It was really amazing how similar they were at their cores, almost like family. France put it down to the German peoples' descendence from the times of the Frankish Empire since Germany, himself, was not a direct blood relative. He was only connected to France by blood (and indirectly at that) through Holy Rome. Even though he had only been focusing on one small state, it still took France several hours to sort everything out into the two piles of useful and non-useful stuff. He had just about reached the bottom when he saw something rather odd near the bottom of the Thuringia pile.

Frowning, France stuck his hand down and withdrew a short, beaten-up, and old push broom! It was really old, like the oldest thing in the entire pile! The bristles were made of horse hair and the handle was only rounded and smooth as a result of extensive use because he could make out the places where the wood grains had been rubbed away. The wood itself was very dry and it was so old, it had no smell that even his sensitive nose could detect and no varnish seemed to coat its exterior. How did Germany get this push broom; this broom was over 500 years old and way before Germany was even born! And why was it taken out of actual Thuringia and put into the Thuringia pile here? Surely a push broom was not that important, even if it was 500 years old? Or did Germany have some secret enjoyment in archaic, nearly-archeological objects? Did Germany even realize just how old this broom was? Bon Dieu (11), he had too many questions and he didn't know what to do with the broom at all? He was just going to ask Germany what he wanted and would be done with it.

"Deutschland!" (12) France called out in Germany's language. He didn't like using it, it was inelegant and involved far too much grating on his throat. It was no wonder Germans always sounded like they were angry when they talked, "I found something odd in Thuringia and I don't know how to classify it!"

"Good grief, is this going to be a regular thing with you, because you can just leave if you're going to interrupt me and call me back here from work every time you-"

"Oh Germany, calmez-vous (13), it's just this one thing," France said patiently and held out the push-broom. "I found this in the Thuringia pile. I personally would have thrown it away except that I'm confused as to why you brought it all the way here to Berlin instead of just leaving it in Thuringia, so I wanted a peak into that clockwork mind of yours to get what you were thinking when you picked up this push broom. Do you even know the age of ce balai-brosse? Il a plus de 500 ans!" (14)

"No way! It's that old?!" Germany exclaimed and stared at the push broom with newfound admiration, "I realized that it was and old artifact, but not that old! Amazing! And it's survived intact all this time..." Germany's guard was down, for a small rare smile slipped onto his ever-stern face.

"Does Germany have some secret interest in old things?" France asked with a sly smile at the young German.

The smile disappeared from Germany's face and he looked abashed, "Oh no, not me! I have no such hobby. I was just interested in it because I saw the broom was my older brother's."

France's face contorted into one of confusion. One of his brothers had owned a broom and labeled it as such? "Which one? Prussia?"

"No, Holy Rome."

Instantly, France's blue eyes widened in shock and horror. "H-Holy Rome! How do you know that? ! !"

"His initials are written right here at the base of the push broom," Germany explained as he pointed to a small carving where the handle met the base.

France ripped the broom out of Germany's hands and peered intently at the place that Germany had pointed to. There on the handle, carved out in straight rigid marks, likely from the work of an inexperienced hand using a knife for something so small, was a heart depicted in straight lines with the initials "IRS + NI" carved within the boundary. It was so tiny and rough and hard to read that he had missed it the first time he had examined the broom. Saint Rome. Pauvre, pauvre Saint Rome! Son neveu mignon! Il l'avait tué! (15) France dissembled, bringing the cross-section of the broom to his eyes and he cried, not caring that he was standing right in front of Germany. The grief and the guilt had never completely gone away. He didn't even realize how impressive it was that Germany had recognized Holy Rome's initials in their Latin form.

"Où?" France finally asked when he'd calmed down enough to talk and he looked Germany (who stood awkwardly before him) in the eyes, "Ce balai-brosse... Où l'avez-vous trouvé?" (16) He couldn't speak German at the moment. He couldn't understand anything beyond his own borders.

"I found it in the Thuringian Forest," Germany explained, still looking uncomfortable (having France of all people break down into tears in front of him was definitely not something he wanted to experience again). "It's actually kind of interesting, because I found it very close to the spot where Prussia found me when I started my life under my new name as the German Confederation."

France froze. Everything froze. Even time stopped. The Thuringian Forest was where he had killed Holy Rome. Prussia had supposedly found Germany in that exact same forest. This broom that was so clearly and unmistakably Holy Rome's had also been in the same approximate location as young Germany. There was almost... too much found in that forest to have been coincidence. There was a seven year time difference between the death of Holy Rome and the birth of the German Confederation, but... from the way Germany told it, he wasn't born in 1813, he was found already somewhat grown by Prussia.

France turned his blue eyes on Germany and stared at him. He stared at him with intense scrutiny like he'd never seen him before in his life or this clearly until now. He had never considered the idea before. It had never even crossed his mind to compare Germany to his Little Brother. Their hair was two different shades of blond, Holy Rome's being darker like his mother's and grandmother's, but puberty could have lightened his hair to match his father's hair color. Their eyes were the same color, but Holy Rome's eyes had never looked so strict, solid, and serious. That was all France had seen during that January of 1871 when he got his first look at the new Germanic nation. That was all he had wanted to see. But since then, he had seen other expressions in those pale blue eyes. He'd seen Germany exhausted, embarrassed, and awkward in his shyness towards Italy, none of which Germania had ever shown from what he remembered of the père des Allemands (17).

And that smile. Germany didn't smile often in his company, but he had been lucky enough to catch him at it a few more times before today. Germania couldn't ever smile. Not without looking scary anyway, but Germany didn't have that problem. When he did smile, it was natural, smooth, and always genuine. He did not get that from his stone-faced father, much as he looked like him. He had gotten it from Wisabada. It was his mother's smile, the la Bonne Foi blood in his veins, that shone on his face when he graced someone with his sweet smile.

"Holy Rome..." he breathed as he smiled at his little sister's grown-up son and tears began to well up in his eyes. Now that he saw it, he couldn't believe that he didn't realize it before and yet, at the same time, he knew why. Bon Dieu, he was so blind!

"Er, yes? What about Holy Rome?" Germany asked. France was crying again. He was really starting to freak out, this was too weird for him!

All this time, after all that pain and grief that he'd suffered through, and the boy had been hiding in plain sight the entire time for nearly 200 years. And after all that they had put each other through in the current century. He had regretted the heavy war reparations at the end of World War I for so many decades now (though it had seemed like a good idea at the time) and now he had yet another reason to regret it. He had partially-caused Germany's fall to fascist rulers that had resulted in World War II and the worst genocide any of them could remember in a long time (if not the only time). His sister's son had gone through so much and part of it was his fault.

"Rien (18) ... It's nothing, really," France said as he looked away, still smiling with the knowledge of this important secret, "I just had this thought that he would probably look a lot like you if I- … if he'd grown up."

He couldn't tell him. Holy Rome was not dead, the proof was standing both in front of him and in his own hands, but the Holy Roman Empire had ceased to exist. Germany would never accept a familial blood connection with him anyway and only the impossible restoration of the Holy Roman Empire would bring back Germany's memories of that part of his life. It was enough for him that Est's (19) son hadn't had his life cut short and that he'd been able to grow up and continue living.

"Merci. Merci ma chère sœur," France thought in loving gratitude, "Continue à proteger ton fils, Wisabada." (20)

Wisabada had wanted him to watch over her son and help take care of him before she died in the year 966 A.D. and he had failed – there was no other word for it – for nearly 1000 years. He was not taking care of Germany – he didn't need it at this point – but finally... finally they were getting along after centuries of animosity between them. Finally, he was fulfilling Wisabada's dying wish as she had hoped and though over a millennium separated them, the Treaty of Verdun that had separated him and Est in 844 A.D. was finally revoked in the form of her son and embodied in their friendlier relationship as the core of Europe. France hoped to be able to keep it that way as long as possible.

And of course, I immediately start off this fic with translation stuff! I apologize (no, I don't) for all the French (I couldn't help myself, so deal). Many of the French translations will not be literal translations.

(1) Bonjour l'Allemagne (French) - Hello Germany

(2) Guten Tag Frankreich (German) - Good day France

(3) la Deuxième Guerre Mondiale (French) - World War II

(4) Moi? Ah, tu me blesses! (French) - Me? Ah, you wound me!

(5) sorella (Italian) - sister

(6) À mon avis, l'Italie pense que la fille mignonne de l'Autriche et l'Hongrie est sa petite sœur (French) - In my opinion, Italy thinks that Austria's and Hungary's cute daughter is his little sister.

(7) Oui, c'est vrai (French) - Yes, that's true.

(8) Comment terrible (French) - How terrible.

(9) Nous sommes des bons amis, non? (French) - We are good friends, no?

(10) l'Allemagne est très stricte (French) - Germany is very strict.

(11) Bon Dieu (French) - Good God

(12) Deutschland (German) - Germany

(13) calmez-vous (French) - calm yourself

(14) ce balai-brosse? Il a plus de 500 ans! (French) - this stiff (push) broom? It's over 500 years old!

(15) Saint Rome. Pauvre, pauvre Saint Rome! Son neveu mignon! Il l'avait tué! (French) - Holy rome. Poor, poor Holy Rome! His cute nephew! He had killed him!

(16) Où? Ce balai-brosse... Où l'avez-vous trouvé? (French) - Where? This stiff broom... Where did you find it?

(17) père des Allemands (French) - Father of the Germans.

(18) Rien (French) - Nothing

(19) Est (French) - East

(20) Merci. Merci ma chère sœur. Continue à proteger ton fils, Wisabada (French) - Thank you. Thank you my dear sister. Continue to protect your son, Wisabada.

Alright, this was the last installment of this fic and it is now done. This chapter takes place around February of 1992, so just shortly after the break-up of the Soviet Union (which happened in December of the previous year) and East Germany (Prussia) broke through the Berlin Wall in the fall of 1989, so he's been reunited with Germany for a couple years now. I actually make a direct reference to a previous fic I wrote, "Two Nations in One State", which focuses on Prussia upon his dissolution to his reunion with Germany, and then a little bit afterwards explaining how he's still not dead yet.

I hope I did okay here because in real life, Germany and France are now pretty good friends and those countries were essentially the ones who wanted to create a core Europe and I think they proposed the idea in 1994. As far as these characters are concerned, I don't think they'll ever become close friends, but I wanted to show that both of them were trying to move on from their past differences (and bloodshed) for a better, brighter future (which means that Germany needs a WHOLE lot of patience!).

Vernacular (everyday language) used in governmental affairs was not a common practice by Thirty Years' War timeframe when (in my headcanon) HRE disappeared. The language of the educated was Latin, so that's why I believe that Holy Rome would have referred to himself in the Latin form of his name, which was Imperium Romanum Sancrum, rather than its German form, Heiliges Römisches Reich.

The Treaty of Verdun was signed in 884 between the three successors of Louis the Pious after he died in which the Carolignian Empire was split up into West Francia, the Middle Kingdom (which fell apart), and East Francia via partible inheritance instead of the oldest child (usually son) inheriting everything.

So yeah, in my headcanons, present-day France knows that Germany is really a grown-up Holy Rome, but unless the Holy Roman Empire is restored (I read a piece of fiction where this HRE restoration actually happened in a kind of sorta-alternate Earth, and it stuck with me so much, that I just had to mention it), he won't say a word (and he won't have to because Germany would remember everything).