Hetalia fic: [WIP]
Fandom: Axis Powers: Hetalia
Character: Teutonic Order (Prussia)
Progress: WIP
When the merchants of Lübeck and Bremen founded the field hospital during the siege of Acre, it was certainly not with any intention of beginning something that would eventually become something more. A passageway and a sanctuary to passing Christian pilgrims, making their trek to the Holy Land in the midst of the battles that continued on again and again, was all it was meant for and nothing more. The Holy Order of Brothers who had come to stay at the hospice, who watched over these pilgrims as well as the knights and men who came in injured from the long battles, had only their purpose in mind. So that when a child who seemed to belong neither to the Muslims nor the Christians wandered the grounds, lost and confused--a ghost with skin and hair pale despite the warm climate of the region, they had no way of truly knowing who it was they were taking in.
The boy seemed unable to form a word, scuffed and covered with the filth of the battles that raged from all sides of the peninsula. Blood was caught into his eyes, they often said as he stared at them seemingly unable to understand why the men who took him in would treat his wounds, wash his feet and see him to fresh clothes. The most faithful of Christianity would cross themselves when they set eyes upon him, for they could plainly see that he was unnatural--inhuman. Turn him back out to the battlefields, they would say; God surely had intended him to die.
The Order would hear none of it. If the boy was meant to die upon the battlefield, he would have done so. Instead, here he was before them, a creature that resembled so much a human and yet not as he continue to say nothing, understand nothing. Wide eyes continued to take in everything they saw, just as they had on the battlefield until gore and death had left its impression upon him. For that's what the pilgrims thought of him--Death taken form, since stories of old had always favored the form of death to be a pale and grisly image. Yet, with time, the boy seemed to react to the people around him, peering closely whenever a Brother would tend to the injured or from around doorways as people came and left, seeking the Holy Land.
When the child first spoke, it was in response to a request--an order. Tending to the sick and the injured seemed to bring some life and peace to those blood-colored eyes which narrowed in concentration as a member of the Order had him fetch tools and bandages necessary for treatment. Though small, the boy seemed to manage well for himself. He never complained, never argued against what was asked of him; it was an obedience that, to some, seemed almost backwards. The child obviously had a mind of his own, for when he smiled--which grew to be more and more frequently--it was never to what was being said or shown to him.
A mystery he grew to be for the next two years, he grew no older. He spoke to the Brothers of the Order more frequently but still shied away from the pilgrims and injured knights who sometimes cursed him and were terrified of him. Unholy being and frightful monster who reminded them of the men whose lives they had taken--of their friends taken by the heretics; such were the things the boy often was faced with. More than once a Brother would express similar sentiments and it was during those times that the boy would seem to retreat to himself, speak to no one, eyes watching--always watching.
It was only over the span of a decade that the boy's purpose was revealed. Though he had seemed to find some peace at the hospital, there were always those times when he would look back to the battlefields from which he seemed to have been born. Those eyes flashed with life's blood when orders came for the Order to take arms, and despite his youth and his size, he hurried to take arms. The older Brothers of the Order, those who knew him well by that time, were at once stricken and admiring toward the faithful obedience of the child.
When one Brother had the mind to ask the boy why he took arms when so young, when so many had already cursed him for being a plague and a sin, a creature of faithlessness and the Devil, the boy simply smiled that enigmatic grin and answered with a voice that sounded with the clash of swords in the distance, seeming to mirror it, "I do not wait to tend to the injured--I will send to the ones who hurt those who are mine to their own treatments. God willing, I will send them to their Deaths and thus to Hell for what they have done."
For what they had done after that time, however, the Order was expelled from the region along with the rest of the Christians, and the boy with them. Head bowed in defeat but those bloodied eyes no less fiery, no less promising for the death of those who dared to go against the people he called his own, he gave the impression that he was indeed Death following the Order's steps. The Brothers continued to look after him despite this, accepted him as not only one of their own as they had shared many battles together, but also to protect this mysterious creature that surely was not human and yet not a Devil.
For what Devil would so fiercely protect man from their fellow man?
When the Order received news of the King of Hungary of needing aid to hold the Cumans at bay, they were more than glad to have a purpose for themselves. Even the young boy grew to be more lively, acting less of the quiet nature he had had at the hospital, often running ahead, investigating all the differences in terrain and nature itself. He was fascinated to see the changing lands and seasons--unfamiliar things to him, having been in Acre since he was found. Of people, however, he seemed to have little interest in unless they were of the Order. He gave more of an impression of scoffing whenever peasants would cross themselves upon seeing him, but those of the Order that knew him well knew that the way his eyes dimmed showed a marked impression of how these reactions took to him.
It was when they reached Hungary that their small knight seemed to come alive, especially when he met a child near his age. Excited by meeting someone he claimed to "have the same presence" as himself, the boy would continue to talk and play with the other child. Each day, however, a member of the Order would ask him why he came home covered in bruises and sometimes even bloodied--alarmed at first before settling into a tolerating smile as the boy pursed his lips and looked away, bloodied eyes wet with tears that were at once surprising and not at all a surprise.
Hungary, it seemed, was a more fierce warrior than he, he would mutter before vowing that he would become stronger--for the Order, for their purpose!
The older knights would smile at this and pat the boy on the head--some of the younger ones would offer sparring with him, small though he was. This, of course, would liven the child up as he would dart to get his sword, laughing even while tears continued to stream down his face, mixing with the bloodied nose Hungary had left him with. For this child, there was nothing better than to better himself--for his people, for their purpose. Of course, there would always be the satisfaction he would feel whenever he found himself growing stronger, now able to fend off some of Hungary's attacks before the other child managed to take him down.
This satisfaction and growing strength, however, made the King nervous. Unwilling to allow another power to thrive within Hungary's territory--his rule, he gave the Order the ultimatum of either following his will or leaving the kingdom. Only able to obey the Pope as well as the Holy Roman Emperor, the Order was forced to leave. Once again, they were wanderers. Once again, those red eyes dimmed to garnet as he left behind the closest person he had to a friend, who seemed to have also taken on the impression of wanting him to leave. None could really know if little Hungary felt how the King had, but then, the Order's small knight did not seem to want to know, pressing onward since they had received word from Poland's King.
Pagans, their young knight would say with a sharp grin that seemed much more suiting than any tears would; what a simple job they have given us this time!
Members of the Order had come and gone by this time but those who could remember their young knight years before now wondered if he had not grown in some way. Height had been gained to where he was now to most of the men's shoulders, but he still had the ungainly and energetic attitude and demeanor of a child--though that quickly shed as they reached the Baltic, sword in hand and ready for the battle he was pointed toward.
Surely this way the way his kind grew, with each movement and each change they took, power they gained and loss. It was in the Baltic that he would flourish, battles continuously fought against the pagans, territory gained in the process as well as recognition from his sovereign state. Their Order seem to come into his own, though he remained youthful while the rest of his knights grew old and passed on. People, their Order would say with a twisted smirk, matter most but they all die in the end. Would he do the same, he wondered? Surely not, since he was only just beginning, because he was as strong as he believed himself to be.
Character: Teutonic Order (Prussia)
Progress: WIP
When the merchants of Lübeck and Bremen founded the field hospital during the siege of Acre, it was certainly not with any intention of beginning something that would eventually become something more. A passageway and a sanctuary to passing Christian pilgrims, making their trek to the Holy Land in the midst of the battles that continued on again and again, was all it was meant for and nothing more. The Holy Order of Brothers who had come to stay at the hospice, who watched over these pilgrims as well as the knights and men who came in injured from the long battles, had only their purpose in mind. So that when a child who seemed to belong neither to the Muslims nor the Christians wandered the grounds, lost and confused--a ghost with skin and hair pale despite the warm climate of the region, they had no way of truly knowing who it was they were taking in.
The boy seemed unable to form a word, scuffed and covered with the filth of the battles that raged from all sides of the peninsula. Blood was caught into his eyes, they often said as he stared at them seemingly unable to understand why the men who took him in would treat his wounds, wash his feet and see him to fresh clothes. The most faithful of Christianity would cross themselves when they set eyes upon him, for they could plainly see that he was unnatural--inhuman. Turn him back out to the battlefields, they would say; God surely had intended him to die.
The Order would hear none of it. If the boy was meant to die upon the battlefield, he would have done so. Instead, here he was before them, a creature that resembled so much a human and yet not as he continue to say nothing, understand nothing. Wide eyes continued to take in everything they saw, just as they had on the battlefield until gore and death had left its impression upon him. For that's what the pilgrims thought of him--Death taken form, since stories of old had always favored the form of death to be a pale and grisly image. Yet, with time, the boy seemed to react to the people around him, peering closely whenever a Brother would tend to the injured or from around doorways as people came and left, seeking the Holy Land.
When the child first spoke, it was in response to a request--an order. Tending to the sick and the injured seemed to bring some life and peace to those blood-colored eyes which narrowed in concentration as a member of the Order had him fetch tools and bandages necessary for treatment. Though small, the boy seemed to manage well for himself. He never complained, never argued against what was asked of him; it was an obedience that, to some, seemed almost backwards. The child obviously had a mind of his own, for when he smiled--which grew to be more and more frequently--it was never to what was being said or shown to him.
A mystery he grew to be for the next two years, he grew no older. He spoke to the Brothers of the Order more frequently but still shied away from the pilgrims and injured knights who sometimes cursed him and were terrified of him. Unholy being and frightful monster who reminded them of the men whose lives they had taken--of their friends taken by the heretics; such were the things the boy often was faced with. More than once a Brother would express similar sentiments and it was during those times that the boy would seem to retreat to himself, speak to no one, eyes watching--always watching.
It was only over the span of a decade that the boy's purpose was revealed. Though he had seemed to find some peace at the hospital, there were always those times when he would look back to the battlefields from which he seemed to have been born. Those eyes flashed with life's blood when orders came for the Order to take arms, and despite his youth and his size, he hurried to take arms. The older Brothers of the Order, those who knew him well by that time, were at once stricken and admiring toward the faithful obedience of the child.
When one Brother had the mind to ask the boy why he took arms when so young, when so many had already cursed him for being a plague and a sin, a creature of faithlessness and the Devil, the boy simply smiled that enigmatic grin and answered with a voice that sounded with the clash of swords in the distance, seeming to mirror it, "I do not wait to tend to the injured--I will send to the ones who hurt those who are mine to their own treatments. God willing, I will send them to their Deaths and thus to Hell for what they have done."
For what they had done after that time, however, the Order was expelled from the region along with the rest of the Christians, and the boy with them. Head bowed in defeat but those bloodied eyes no less fiery, no less promising for the death of those who dared to go against the people he called his own, he gave the impression that he was indeed Death following the Order's steps. The Brothers continued to look after him despite this, accepted him as not only one of their own as they had shared many battles together, but also to protect this mysterious creature that surely was not human and yet not a Devil.
For what Devil would so fiercely protect man from their fellow man?
When the Order received news of the King of Hungary of needing aid to hold the Cumans at bay, they were more than glad to have a purpose for themselves. Even the young boy grew to be more lively, acting less of the quiet nature he had had at the hospital, often running ahead, investigating all the differences in terrain and nature itself. He was fascinated to see the changing lands and seasons--unfamiliar things to him, having been in Acre since he was found. Of people, however, he seemed to have little interest in unless they were of the Order. He gave more of an impression of scoffing whenever peasants would cross themselves upon seeing him, but those of the Order that knew him well knew that the way his eyes dimmed showed a marked impression of how these reactions took to him.
It was when they reached Hungary that their small knight seemed to come alive, especially when he met a child near his age. Excited by meeting someone he claimed to "have the same presence" as himself, the boy would continue to talk and play with the other child. Each day, however, a member of the Order would ask him why he came home covered in bruises and sometimes even bloodied--alarmed at first before settling into a tolerating smile as the boy pursed his lips and looked away, bloodied eyes wet with tears that were at once surprising and not at all a surprise.
Hungary, it seemed, was a more fierce warrior than he, he would mutter before vowing that he would become stronger--for the Order, for their purpose!
The older knights would smile at this and pat the boy on the head--some of the younger ones would offer sparring with him, small though he was. This, of course, would liven the child up as he would dart to get his sword, laughing even while tears continued to stream down his face, mixing with the bloodied nose Hungary had left him with. For this child, there was nothing better than to better himself--for his people, for their purpose. Of course, there would always be the satisfaction he would feel whenever he found himself growing stronger, now able to fend off some of Hungary's attacks before the other child managed to take him down.
This satisfaction and growing strength, however, made the King nervous. Unwilling to allow another power to thrive within Hungary's territory--his rule, he gave the Order the ultimatum of either following his will or leaving the kingdom. Only able to obey the Pope as well as the Holy Roman Emperor, the Order was forced to leave. Once again, they were wanderers. Once again, those red eyes dimmed to garnet as he left behind the closest person he had to a friend, who seemed to have also taken on the impression of wanting him to leave. None could really know if little Hungary felt how the King had, but then, the Order's small knight did not seem to want to know, pressing onward since they had received word from Poland's King.
Pagans, their young knight would say with a sharp grin that seemed much more suiting than any tears would; what a simple job they have given us this time!
Members of the Order had come and gone by this time but those who could remember their young knight years before now wondered if he had not grown in some way. Height had been gained to where he was now to most of the men's shoulders, but he still had the ungainly and energetic attitude and demeanor of a child--though that quickly shed as they reached the Baltic, sword in hand and ready for the battle he was pointed toward.
Surely this way the way his kind grew, with each movement and each change they took, power they gained and loss. It was in the Baltic that he would flourish, battles continuously fought against the pagans, territory gained in the process as well as recognition from his sovereign state. Their Order seem to come into his own, though he remained youthful while the rest of his knights grew old and passed on. People, their Order would say with a twisted smirk, matter most but they all die in the end. Would he do the same, he wondered? Surely not, since he was only just beginning, because he was as strong as he believed himself to be.