[Fanfic] Held by the Reins, 1
Title: Held by the Reins
Author: Me
Genre: Drama, Tragedy, Angst
Characters: OCPhilippines, Spain, Historical Characters [plenty of them], OC characters [Pay no heed to these persons, if you may]
Rating: K -> T
Disclaimer: I will never, ever own Hetalia.
Please read the message below, after the fic. It is of great importance. Thank you.
Chapter One
Maria found it fitting to stay indoors that day. But then again, with the soft murmuring and disgruntled faces of some of the helpers she had seen that morning, she couldn't sit still. She wanted to get out right that instant. She peered through doors and windows, trying to see if there were people around that will hinder her from sneaking out the palace. There were three servants, tending to the bed silently in the next room, who greeted her pleasantly but otherwise, very carefully. She could sense it somehow, their guarded tone and tense voice.
Maria had begun to wonder, as she threaded the corridors towards the kitchen, why everyone was on edge, their voices afraid of speaking a secret that could cost them their lives. She was sure, that the three women before, continued their constant chattering about a very delicate matter that Maria wished to know. Could it pertain to Governor General Izquierdo or is it another rumor about the friars? Whatever it is, she wanted to get to the bottom of it.
As she reached the kitchen, her stomach twists and leaves her cringing and holding on to the doorway for support. She stares blankly with wide eyes into space, panicky, trying to comprehend the sudden pain that tackled her insides. It has been going on ever since then. It has been going on for so long. She straightened her body as a few minutes pass, her trembling hand reaching for her pale cheeks. Cold sweat trickled down her temples while her breathing became uneven.
Pacing slowly throughout the kitchen, she would alternately look through the open doorway leading to the sala and at the wooden floors. She needs to get out of the house, but how?
"Maria?" The latter turned eyes wide as the servant, Pacifica, enters the kitchen with baskets of maybe fruits or vegetables. They eyed each other wantonly, as if trying to read each other's thoughts through those dark eyes they both possess. Maria knew how inquisitive this woman is--many times over, she had blurted out things that Maria told her not to. Truly a blabbermouth. Maria cleared her throat and spoke in an even tone.
"What do you want?" Maria asked, eyes hovering over the shorter woman whose eye brows arched discriminately. That very moment, Maria had wanted to slap the servant across the face, but that would never lead to anything good. What's more, she'll be ordered to go and confess again--something she really detests as the friar would only scold her to death. Pacifica placed the baskets beside the mortar and the chopping board before turning towards Maria.
"Don't tell me you plan on sneaking out again?" Maria bit her lips in agitation as she saw the triumphant smile that spread across the servant's face. Now she really wanted to commit a sin, and clearly she's not afraid of the consequences. Maria had trusted this person her secret before about her constant sneaking. The last time she returned from sneaking out, she received heavy scolding and insults from the governor general. She recalled how she pouted back to her room that day, whispering to herself how different it would be if De la Torre was still governor. Yes, how different it would be if Gov. Gen. de la Torre were still here.
"I can help you escape," Maria's eyes fluttered wide once more as she viewed the back of Pacifica chopping down over the strong-smelling garlic with speed and expertise. "But I tell you now; you wouldn't like what is happening. So I suggest you stay." Maria raised a brow, when did this woman ever showed even just a bit of concern for her? Tattle-tales like her should never be trusted, that, Maria knows very well. But the tone in which Pacifica spoke peaked Maria's growing curiosity.
"Tell me, what is happening?" Maria asked with her expression turning pale.
"That, you would have to know for yourself if you really want to. No one else will share this with you--we're forbidden in speaking about it in your presence." Maria scowled at Pacifica's words, clutching her hands tightly, digging her well trimmed fingers on her skin.
She had never understood why people deem her as idiotic, foolish or oblivious. Why should a nation ever receive such demoralizing words from people who only claim to know the right things in this world? I am not the same clueless girl from before--I know things that are essential for me to grow. I am not just a village girl.
"Did the governor...?" But Pacifica was quiet. Maria's brows furrowed in frustration--then and there, she turned towards the doorway but a hand stopped her from her tracks. She turns and ends up surprised by the broken expression scattered throughout Pacifica's small, heart-shaped face. Maria froze and studied the way Pacifica's eyes suddenly turned beady, water rising from the rims, lips pursing into an unspoken reality.
The next thing Maria knew was that she needed to get through the crowd that was slowly solidifying in front of her. Her heart, thumping out of rhythm as her breathing came irregular. Everything around her seemed like huge blocks of walls that were only there to obstruct her way. Some would relentlessly block her path, sealing the way so as not to allow her passage. But she pushed past them, bearing in her mind that sweet memory that had thrust its way in the recesses of her mind.
Maria recalled that gentle smile that usually draped over his youthful face. But despite the cheerful demeanor he greeted her, what he relates to Maria afterwards always sends the atmosphere of the room spiraling down into oblivion. Disbelief would always wrap Maria around the stories and so-called facts that he presented to her--he, however, would always carefully choose his words so as not so tempt Maria to walk out on him, which the former usually does when she doesn't like what she's hearing. No one would like to hear someone's hero being desecrated and insulted. No one would, especially Maria. But then again, Maria wasn't sure as to why she would always awkwardly come back to his office and the latter would still greet her with that same honest and gentle smile. She missed that smile, that ever so warm--
"Maria, hurry," They were near, and Maria could already hear the continuous bashing and cheering accompanied by almost inaudible streaks of sobbing. Her heart wrenches, she almost fell on the hard, solid ground that trembles at the very movement of the people gathered to witness such debauchery that any sane person would throw up in repulse.
Fear, anguish and desperation--when these three combine, it could send the person into madness. But Maria stayed firm, hoping that everything was a mistake; hoping that someone would come to stop this ugly setup; hoping that everything was a dream.
She pushes through the crowd, thankful that it parted easily for her to pass. She could already hear the sobbing getting louder and louder as she got near.
Finally, reaching the front row of spectators, what Maria saw almost stopped her heart.
All the sounds that had earlier penetrated her ears soon ceased. There was silence in her own world. Even her other senses seem to disappear, except that of her sight. She wished, in herself, that her sight alone would disappear. She'd rather hear the screaming, the sobbing, and the cheering; feel the silent anger seething through the solemn crowd. She was numb--cold and frozen to her core.
Three priests stood at the wooden platform with their eyes closed shut and hands tied together. Someone spoke, a man in his fifties or sixties, wearing a flowing tanned robe, head balding with slight remnants of hair, face displaying eternal mockery.
"Those who are against this speak now and face the wrath of Spain."
Why does it feel so painful hearing that? Maria thought.
Maria was finally able to move, she suddenly felt a hand wrapped around her waist and the other resting over her shoulders, as if she was being supported. She had just realized how heavy her body seemed, yet she paid no heed. She slowly looked towards a certain person, standing on top of the platform--eyes closed, hands tangled in a silent prayer. Suddenly, he lifts his eyes at the crowd and almost immediately locked his eyes with Maria’s. Maria gasped slightly, her whole body tense with unexplainable nervousness.
Almost in an instant, everything came rushing back. All those conversations and small series of laughter exchanged between them; those unnerving and almost blasphemous opinions they have argued and analyzed intently; those deep understanding that they have reached with their words and actions.
Suddenly, as if everything was a little game, he smiled--that gentle, warm smile that had greeted Maria during those lazy afternoons. That did it.
Her knees gave way, her whole body falling on the ground with all her sorrow pushing down on her. She clutched her hands, tears streaming out of her eyes. She could not speak, not even a sob could escape her lips. Questions wrung out of her mind, screaming and asking why this had to happen to him when he did nothing wrong.
Maria lifts her body, hugging herself as she watched the first of the three to descend upon the doomed device. Maria wanted to vomit--she could not grasp how this came to be. Her nails dug deep in her shoulders while the rest of her body was frail from the unimaginable feat that was yet to be witnessed.
Maria bends down as she succumbed to her ill-stricken mind, not wanting to witness such brutal treatment. Her whole body trembled as she listened to disgruntled yelps and groans--her tears streaming down more rapidly than before. Then again, for the second time, the struggling ceased, and slowly, Maria lifted her head to see the last of the three priests, obediently accepting his fate.
Where is this God we seek out when we’re in suffering? Where is he when our enemy strikes us? Where--when they bear false witness against us?
"Maria," She heard Pacifica's gentle voice hovering over her. She does not reply--all her tears dried out. Nothing could be done at this moment.
It is done.
The bag covered his youthful face; a nod; the rope twists; the painful anguish arising from his constricted throat; a few minutes, it disperses in the wind.
The marching band plays its tune, Spain's anthem "Marcha Real" hummed, sung and glorified by the voices of the peninsulares and the insulares present in the execution. The women crowded in the front added volume to their sobbing. The mestizo's and the indio's gathered behind and removed their hats in respect to the fallen secular priests.
Maria stares blankly at the body being taken off from the horrendous device. She shifts her gaze beside her and finds a young man staring at her with questioning and searching eyes. She ignores him and went on to stand. Her whole body staggers back, her mind picturing the very last time she and Fr. Burgos had spoken to each other. As she fell, she catches a glimpse of Pacifica and another man before her mind turned completely black.
-------------------
PLEASE READ:
Bago ang lahat, tanong lang: Paano mo ba gagawin na, kunwari, yung link ng fanfiction kapag binuksan mo mapupunta ka sa Journal page nung author tapos doon mo na mababasa yung fic? Pakisagot naman, desperado na ako. Salamat sa makapagbibigay ng sagot saakin. Salamat! :D
Bazinga. ;D
Author: Me
Genre: Drama, Tragedy, Angst
Characters: OCPhilippines, Spain, Historical Characters [plenty of them], OC characters [Pay no heed to these persons, if you may]
Rating: K -> T
Disclaimer: I will never, ever own Hetalia.
Please read the message below, after the fic. It is of great importance. Thank you.
Chapter One
Maria found it fitting to stay indoors that day. But then again, with the soft murmuring and disgruntled faces of some of the helpers she had seen that morning, she couldn't sit still. She wanted to get out right that instant. She peered through doors and windows, trying to see if there were people around that will hinder her from sneaking out the palace. There were three servants, tending to the bed silently in the next room, who greeted her pleasantly but otherwise, very carefully. She could sense it somehow, their guarded tone and tense voice.
Maria had begun to wonder, as she threaded the corridors towards the kitchen, why everyone was on edge, their voices afraid of speaking a secret that could cost them their lives. She was sure, that the three women before, continued their constant chattering about a very delicate matter that Maria wished to know. Could it pertain to Governor General Izquierdo or is it another rumor about the friars? Whatever it is, she wanted to get to the bottom of it.
As she reached the kitchen, her stomach twists and leaves her cringing and holding on to the doorway for support. She stares blankly with wide eyes into space, panicky, trying to comprehend the sudden pain that tackled her insides. It has been going on ever since then. It has been going on for so long. She straightened her body as a few minutes pass, her trembling hand reaching for her pale cheeks. Cold sweat trickled down her temples while her breathing became uneven.
Pacing slowly throughout the kitchen, she would alternately look through the open doorway leading to the sala and at the wooden floors. She needs to get out of the house, but how?
"Maria?" The latter turned eyes wide as the servant, Pacifica, enters the kitchen with baskets of maybe fruits or vegetables. They eyed each other wantonly, as if trying to read each other's thoughts through those dark eyes they both possess. Maria knew how inquisitive this woman is--many times over, she had blurted out things that Maria told her not to. Truly a blabbermouth. Maria cleared her throat and spoke in an even tone.
"What do you want?" Maria asked, eyes hovering over the shorter woman whose eye brows arched discriminately. That very moment, Maria had wanted to slap the servant across the face, but that would never lead to anything good. What's more, she'll be ordered to go and confess again--something she really detests as the friar would only scold her to death. Pacifica placed the baskets beside the mortar and the chopping board before turning towards Maria.
"Don't tell me you plan on sneaking out again?" Maria bit her lips in agitation as she saw the triumphant smile that spread across the servant's face. Now she really wanted to commit a sin, and clearly she's not afraid of the consequences. Maria had trusted this person her secret before about her constant sneaking. The last time she returned from sneaking out, she received heavy scolding and insults from the governor general. She recalled how she pouted back to her room that day, whispering to herself how different it would be if De la Torre was still governor. Yes, how different it would be if Gov. Gen. de la Torre were still here.
"I can help you escape," Maria's eyes fluttered wide once more as she viewed the back of Pacifica chopping down over the strong-smelling garlic with speed and expertise. "But I tell you now; you wouldn't like what is happening. So I suggest you stay." Maria raised a brow, when did this woman ever showed even just a bit of concern for her? Tattle-tales like her should never be trusted, that, Maria knows very well. But the tone in which Pacifica spoke peaked Maria's growing curiosity.
"Tell me, what is happening?" Maria asked with her expression turning pale.
"That, you would have to know for yourself if you really want to. No one else will share this with you--we're forbidden in speaking about it in your presence." Maria scowled at Pacifica's words, clutching her hands tightly, digging her well trimmed fingers on her skin.
She had never understood why people deem her as idiotic, foolish or oblivious. Why should a nation ever receive such demoralizing words from people who only claim to know the right things in this world? I am not the same clueless girl from before--I know things that are essential for me to grow. I am not just a village girl.
"Did the governor...?" But Pacifica was quiet. Maria's brows furrowed in frustration--then and there, she turned towards the doorway but a hand stopped her from her tracks. She turns and ends up surprised by the broken expression scattered throughout Pacifica's small, heart-shaped face. Maria froze and studied the way Pacifica's eyes suddenly turned beady, water rising from the rims, lips pursing into an unspoken reality.
The next thing Maria knew was that she needed to get through the crowd that was slowly solidifying in front of her. Her heart, thumping out of rhythm as her breathing came irregular. Everything around her seemed like huge blocks of walls that were only there to obstruct her way. Some would relentlessly block her path, sealing the way so as not to allow her passage. But she pushed past them, bearing in her mind that sweet memory that had thrust its way in the recesses of her mind.
Maria recalled that gentle smile that usually draped over his youthful face. But despite the cheerful demeanor he greeted her, what he relates to Maria afterwards always sends the atmosphere of the room spiraling down into oblivion. Disbelief would always wrap Maria around the stories and so-called facts that he presented to her--he, however, would always carefully choose his words so as not so tempt Maria to walk out on him, which the former usually does when she doesn't like what she's hearing. No one would like to hear someone's hero being desecrated and insulted. No one would, especially Maria. But then again, Maria wasn't sure as to why she would always awkwardly come back to his office and the latter would still greet her with that same honest and gentle smile. She missed that smile, that ever so warm--
"Maria, hurry," They were near, and Maria could already hear the continuous bashing and cheering accompanied by almost inaudible streaks of sobbing. Her heart wrenches, she almost fell on the hard, solid ground that trembles at the very movement of the people gathered to witness such debauchery that any sane person would throw up in repulse.
Fear, anguish and desperation--when these three combine, it could send the person into madness. But Maria stayed firm, hoping that everything was a mistake; hoping that someone would come to stop this ugly setup; hoping that everything was a dream.
She pushes through the crowd, thankful that it parted easily for her to pass. She could already hear the sobbing getting louder and louder as she got near.
Finally, reaching the front row of spectators, what Maria saw almost stopped her heart.
All the sounds that had earlier penetrated her ears soon ceased. There was silence in her own world. Even her other senses seem to disappear, except that of her sight. She wished, in herself, that her sight alone would disappear. She'd rather hear the screaming, the sobbing, and the cheering; feel the silent anger seething through the solemn crowd. She was numb--cold and frozen to her core.
Three priests stood at the wooden platform with their eyes closed shut and hands tied together. Someone spoke, a man in his fifties or sixties, wearing a flowing tanned robe, head balding with slight remnants of hair, face displaying eternal mockery.
"Those who are against this speak now and face the wrath of Spain."
Why does it feel so painful hearing that? Maria thought.
Maria was finally able to move, she suddenly felt a hand wrapped around her waist and the other resting over her shoulders, as if she was being supported. She had just realized how heavy her body seemed, yet she paid no heed. She slowly looked towards a certain person, standing on top of the platform--eyes closed, hands tangled in a silent prayer. Suddenly, he lifts his eyes at the crowd and almost immediately locked his eyes with Maria’s. Maria gasped slightly, her whole body tense with unexplainable nervousness.
Almost in an instant, everything came rushing back. All those conversations and small series of laughter exchanged between them; those unnerving and almost blasphemous opinions they have argued and analyzed intently; those deep understanding that they have reached with their words and actions.
Suddenly, as if everything was a little game, he smiled--that gentle, warm smile that had greeted Maria during those lazy afternoons. That did it.
Her knees gave way, her whole body falling on the ground with all her sorrow pushing down on her. She clutched her hands, tears streaming out of her eyes. She could not speak, not even a sob could escape her lips. Questions wrung out of her mind, screaming and asking why this had to happen to him when he did nothing wrong.
Maria lifts her body, hugging herself as she watched the first of the three to descend upon the doomed device. Maria wanted to vomit--she could not grasp how this came to be. Her nails dug deep in her shoulders while the rest of her body was frail from the unimaginable feat that was yet to be witnessed.
Maria bends down as she succumbed to her ill-stricken mind, not wanting to witness such brutal treatment. Her whole body trembled as she listened to disgruntled yelps and groans--her tears streaming down more rapidly than before. Then again, for the second time, the struggling ceased, and slowly, Maria lifted her head to see the last of the three priests, obediently accepting his fate.
Where is this God we seek out when we’re in suffering? Where is he when our enemy strikes us? Where--when they bear false witness against us?
"Maria," She heard Pacifica's gentle voice hovering over her. She does not reply--all her tears dried out. Nothing could be done at this moment.
It is done.
The bag covered his youthful face; a nod; the rope twists; the painful anguish arising from his constricted throat; a few minutes, it disperses in the wind.
The marching band plays its tune, Spain's anthem "Marcha Real" hummed, sung and glorified by the voices of the peninsulares and the insulares present in the execution. The women crowded in the front added volume to their sobbing. The mestizo's and the indio's gathered behind and removed their hats in respect to the fallen secular priests.
Maria stares blankly at the body being taken off from the horrendous device. She shifts her gaze beside her and finds a young man staring at her with questioning and searching eyes. She ignores him and went on to stand. Her whole body staggers back, her mind picturing the very last time she and Fr. Burgos had spoken to each other. As she fell, she catches a glimpse of Pacifica and another man before her mind turned completely black.
-------------------
PLEASE READ:
Bago ang lahat, tanong lang: Paano mo ba gagawin na, kunwari, yung link ng fanfiction kapag binuksan mo mapupunta ka sa Journal page nung author tapos doon mo na mababasa yung fic? Pakisagot naman, desperado na ako. Salamat sa makapagbibigay ng sagot saakin. Salamat! :D
Bazinga. ;D