[fic] Homeland
Jan. 10th, 2009 05:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonsheenRidiculous crossovers! Round 1! Hetalia/The Magicians of Caprona, by Diana Wynne Jones. Knowledge of the second is not STRICTLY necessary, but helpful. All you really need to know is: crazy adventures in a fictional Italian city, with magic. Two Houses Alike In Dignity... you get the idea. 1,463 words. Tonino Montana comes home after a very long trip.
Like what often happens when one has traveled very far in a very short period, Tonino came home and was immediately ill. He spent his first week home laid up in bed, being fed and fussed over and brought many books. Benvenuto came and informed him that he had been sorely missed, for Paolo could not find that knot behind his neck nearly so well. The boss cat spent the long hours making a heavy indent on Tonino’s bed, while the rest of the Casa cycled in and out of his room with food and tears of sympathy but also gladness that Tonino should be home. Rosa came often, though not as often as she might have once. She and Marco had been very busy dashing between Casa Montana and Casa Petrocchi, but she was so bright and happy about it that Tonino found he did not mind at all. When the fever made his eyes puffy and swollen, Paolo sat beside him and read him his favorite books. All and all, there were worse ways to be horrendously ill, but Tonino was still glad when the fever faded, and he was allowed to go out again. It seemed forever since he’d seen his beautiful Caprona, and as soon as the rest of the Casa stopped bullying him back into his room, Tonino set out to re-familiarize himself as thoroughly as he could.
He had worried, while in England, that he would begin to forget things about his home. He was happy to discover he was completely wrong. The streets were just as golden as he remembered, more so, for repairs had gone on from since he was gone, and the buildings ruined by the forces of Pisa, Florence, and Siena were well on their way to their former splendor. Tonino found he’d drifted towards the Old Bridge, where the waters were low thanks to spring and many mild days. The spells that hung from the sides flapped in a breeze, and the shops were open again. There were maybe less tourists than there usually were, but no doubt there would be more the next year. Tonino got this far before a young man separated himself from the bustle surrounding one of the stalls, spotted him, gave a shout, ducked under the arm of the tall tourist beside him, and rushed him at full speed.
He had dark hair that flew everywhere and merry brown eyes, and while he was neither Montana or Petrocchi or anyone that Tonino had known from school, he recognized him immediately.
“Feliciano!” he cried, and Feliciano swept him up and spun him around. It was harder to do than it used to be. Tonino had grown while he was away, and Feliciano said so, laughing as he put him down.
“Couldn’t help it,” said Tonino.
“It’s all right,” said Feliciano, who had scooped him up like that since he was a baby. He was an old family friend, who came and went as he pleased. “I am just glad you have come back! I had worried. I thought England had taken you away from me for forever. He’s a terrible thief.”
Feliciano always said things in strange ways like this. He was a little like the cats in this respect. His face had gone like Old Niccolo’s, very worried like a small child, until Tonino assured him that while England was very kind to him, he had made many friends and it was very green (though the food…well), he would always come back to Caprona. This took the worry away, Feliciano smiled once more, and sat down beside him on the bridge. He swung his legs over the side like he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Good,” he said, tossing some dark curls out of his eyes. His hair looped over itself in the breeze, though no matter how many times he might smooth it down, it never stayed that way. “I wanted to thank you. I’ve gotten to thank Marco, and Rosa, and Angelica, and Renata, and Paolo. But you left before I could.”
He looked so troubled by the thought of not doing this that Tonino nearly thought he might cry, and stood ready to take his arm, and apologize several times over for being spirited away so quickly, but Feliciano recovered. He swiped his face, and his smile turned strangely wiser, as he looked out across the low, lazy Corso. “I like all of the states. But I like Caprona in its own special way. I would not have another like it in all of the worlds out there.”
“Me neither,” agreed Tonino, and Feliciano looked very touched.
“They might build another, but it would not be the same,” said Feliciano. “You’ve saved it. And I thank you for that. And I thank you for doing it so peacefully. I hate wars!” Tonino looked at him sideways. He had not seen Feliciano when the reserves had been called up (he had not seen anyone when the final reserves had been called up), and it was hard to picture him in uniform. Laughing Feliciano, who had always visited with nothing but smiles and compliments and good food, who sang with perfect pitch, and could remember the name of every baby as well as he could every artist—there seemed no one less suited for war. “And arguing with my brother is so hard!” he continued. “So you’ve done much for me, Tonino.”
“It was mostly by accident,” said Tonino, feeling flushed.
“That’s how I do most things too,” grinned Feliciano. “And it’s good to hear The Angel sung in the old way again.”
“Again?” Tonino stared. He knew that Feliciano was old, older than even Niccolo, who confessed to having played with him as a boy, but he had never imagined him to be that old.
Feliciano’s eyes came out of their boyish squint. “Since the notes were first written.” He brought his fingers to his lips, indicating with a ‘shh’ the great secret of what he was saying. “I have known the Angel, and once I sang it from the domes, with your great great grandfathers. But I forgot the words, too.” He tipped his head, regretfully. “It’s hard sometimes to remember all things. The centuries just get busier as they go, and it is sometimes enough just to keep up. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” This seemed the silent second thing he had wished to say to Tonino, it looked very important to him, for he bent his head to be level with him as he asked.
“It’s not your fault, Feliciano,” promised Tonino. “There is no one in all of Caprona who would think so.” This was true. In the entire city, he could not imagine one person who might hold anything against Feliciano. “And just because someone has to work hard to keep up doesn’t mean that they can’t do something for what really matters to them.” This was what Tonino had learned, in England and also before that. It brightened Feliciano considerably. He swung his boots back over the side of the bridge and stood in the street with a happy spread of his arms.
“And I have another thing to thank you for, now.” He might have said more, but at that point a loud sound came from the booth he’d emerged from. A tall tourist, with slick pale hair, was at present attempting to negotiate something with its owner. He was growing increasingly flustered, and in doing so was lapsing increasingly back into his own language. Since this language was German, as his volume raised the booth’s owner was looking increasingly alarmed, this alarm was transferred back into the tourist, whose brows knit together in desperation. Feliciano saw this and he whistled, very softly.
“Is that your friend?” asked Tonino.
Feliciano looked amused. “You might call him Ludwig. Oh, poor Ludwig. He is trying to be polite.”
“He’s not used to travel is he?” Tonino could understand this very well. On his trip with Chrestomanci and his family, he’d been in similar situations several times.
“He’s not used to vacations,” corrected Feliciano, fondly. “He travels for business. Ah, Tonino. I must go help him. He’s hopeless without me, you know.” With how red this Ludwig was turning, it seemed very true. Feliciano promised Tonino to speak with him more in the near future, for how wonderful it was that he was home again. As he made to go rescue his tall friend, Tonino had one last question:
“Are things okay with your brother?”
Feliciano looked over his shoulder. “He calls me useless, and says I’ve cheated him. But that is how it always is. Go see Angelica. She’s missed you!”
Tonino found this to be very good advice.
Like what often happens when one has traveled very far in a very short period, Tonino came home and was immediately ill. He spent his first week home laid up in bed, being fed and fussed over and brought many books. Benvenuto came and informed him that he had been sorely missed, for Paolo could not find that knot behind his neck nearly so well. The boss cat spent the long hours making a heavy indent on Tonino’s bed, while the rest of the Casa cycled in and out of his room with food and tears of sympathy but also gladness that Tonino should be home. Rosa came often, though not as often as she might have once. She and Marco had been very busy dashing between Casa Montana and Casa Petrocchi, but she was so bright and happy about it that Tonino found he did not mind at all. When the fever made his eyes puffy and swollen, Paolo sat beside him and read him his favorite books. All and all, there were worse ways to be horrendously ill, but Tonino was still glad when the fever faded, and he was allowed to go out again. It seemed forever since he’d seen his beautiful Caprona, and as soon as the rest of the Casa stopped bullying him back into his room, Tonino set out to re-familiarize himself as thoroughly as he could.
He had worried, while in England, that he would begin to forget things about his home. He was happy to discover he was completely wrong. The streets were just as golden as he remembered, more so, for repairs had gone on from since he was gone, and the buildings ruined by the forces of Pisa, Florence, and Siena were well on their way to their former splendor. Tonino found he’d drifted towards the Old Bridge, where the waters were low thanks to spring and many mild days. The spells that hung from the sides flapped in a breeze, and the shops were open again. There were maybe less tourists than there usually were, but no doubt there would be more the next year. Tonino got this far before a young man separated himself from the bustle surrounding one of the stalls, spotted him, gave a shout, ducked under the arm of the tall tourist beside him, and rushed him at full speed.
He had dark hair that flew everywhere and merry brown eyes, and while he was neither Montana or Petrocchi or anyone that Tonino had known from school, he recognized him immediately.
“Feliciano!” he cried, and Feliciano swept him up and spun him around. It was harder to do than it used to be. Tonino had grown while he was away, and Feliciano said so, laughing as he put him down.
“Couldn’t help it,” said Tonino.
“It’s all right,” said Feliciano, who had scooped him up like that since he was a baby. He was an old family friend, who came and went as he pleased. “I am just glad you have come back! I had worried. I thought England had taken you away from me for forever. He’s a terrible thief.”
Feliciano always said things in strange ways like this. He was a little like the cats in this respect. His face had gone like Old Niccolo’s, very worried like a small child, until Tonino assured him that while England was very kind to him, he had made many friends and it was very green (though the food…well), he would always come back to Caprona. This took the worry away, Feliciano smiled once more, and sat down beside him on the bridge. He swung his legs over the side like he hadn’t a care in the world.
“Good,” he said, tossing some dark curls out of his eyes. His hair looped over itself in the breeze, though no matter how many times he might smooth it down, it never stayed that way. “I wanted to thank you. I’ve gotten to thank Marco, and Rosa, and Angelica, and Renata, and Paolo. But you left before I could.”
He looked so troubled by the thought of not doing this that Tonino nearly thought he might cry, and stood ready to take his arm, and apologize several times over for being spirited away so quickly, but Feliciano recovered. He swiped his face, and his smile turned strangely wiser, as he looked out across the low, lazy Corso. “I like all of the states. But I like Caprona in its own special way. I would not have another like it in all of the worlds out there.”
“Me neither,” agreed Tonino, and Feliciano looked very touched.
“They might build another, but it would not be the same,” said Feliciano. “You’ve saved it. And I thank you for that. And I thank you for doing it so peacefully. I hate wars!” Tonino looked at him sideways. He had not seen Feliciano when the reserves had been called up (he had not seen anyone when the final reserves had been called up), and it was hard to picture him in uniform. Laughing Feliciano, who had always visited with nothing but smiles and compliments and good food, who sang with perfect pitch, and could remember the name of every baby as well as he could every artist—there seemed no one less suited for war. “And arguing with my brother is so hard!” he continued. “So you’ve done much for me, Tonino.”
“It was mostly by accident,” said Tonino, feeling flushed.
“That’s how I do most things too,” grinned Feliciano. “And it’s good to hear The Angel sung in the old way again.”
“Again?” Tonino stared. He knew that Feliciano was old, older than even Niccolo, who confessed to having played with him as a boy, but he had never imagined him to be that old.
Feliciano’s eyes came out of their boyish squint. “Since the notes were first written.” He brought his fingers to his lips, indicating with a ‘shh’ the great secret of what he was saying. “I have known the Angel, and once I sang it from the domes, with your great great grandfathers. But I forgot the words, too.” He tipped his head, regretfully. “It’s hard sometimes to remember all things. The centuries just get busier as they go, and it is sometimes enough just to keep up. You’ll forgive me, won’t you?” This seemed the silent second thing he had wished to say to Tonino, it looked very important to him, for he bent his head to be level with him as he asked.
“It’s not your fault, Feliciano,” promised Tonino. “There is no one in all of Caprona who would think so.” This was true. In the entire city, he could not imagine one person who might hold anything against Feliciano. “And just because someone has to work hard to keep up doesn’t mean that they can’t do something for what really matters to them.” This was what Tonino had learned, in England and also before that. It brightened Feliciano considerably. He swung his boots back over the side of the bridge and stood in the street with a happy spread of his arms.
“And I have another thing to thank you for, now.” He might have said more, but at that point a loud sound came from the booth he’d emerged from. A tall tourist, with slick pale hair, was at present attempting to negotiate something with its owner. He was growing increasingly flustered, and in doing so was lapsing increasingly back into his own language. Since this language was German, as his volume raised the booth’s owner was looking increasingly alarmed, this alarm was transferred back into the tourist, whose brows knit together in desperation. Feliciano saw this and he whistled, very softly.
“Is that your friend?” asked Tonino.
Feliciano looked amused. “You might call him Ludwig. Oh, poor Ludwig. He is trying to be polite.”
“He’s not used to travel is he?” Tonino could understand this very well. On his trip with Chrestomanci and his family, he’d been in similar situations several times.
“He’s not used to vacations,” corrected Feliciano, fondly. “He travels for business. Ah, Tonino. I must go help him. He’s hopeless without me, you know.” With how red this Ludwig was turning, it seemed very true. Feliciano promised Tonino to speak with him more in the near future, for how wonderful it was that he was home again. As he made to go rescue his tall friend, Tonino had one last question:
“Are things okay with your brother?”
Feliciano looked over his shoulder. “He calls me useless, and says I’ve cheated him. But that is how it always is. Go see Angelica. She’s missed you!”
Tonino found this to be very good advice.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 10:49 pm (UTC)Of course Feliciano would be in and out to visit the most powerful spell houses of Caprona.
The writing style is DWJ to a tee--and yet somehow manages to work in Hetalia's characters in such a wonderfully natural way. I adore the way you've shown Feliciano's relationship to his city-states and citizens, and in Chrestomanci-verse too, and the little nods to Ludwig and S. Italy and UK...and I really liked the way you described Feliciano's hair. :3 Which might sound like an odd comment, but I've never seen anyone describe his hair in the way you've done it, and I love those naturalistic details. It really gives Feliciano a sense of a being a real, tangible person.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 10:54 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:17 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:27 pm (UTC)Hah! I was thinking along the same lines XD...but yeah, Chrestomanci has been pretty much UK all the way hasn't it? Except for that smattering of Italy with The Magicians of Caprona.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:36 pm (UTC)*dies* XD
(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:19 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:31 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:22 pm (UTC)I feel like a little bit of my childhood that was gone forever has just come back to me. Thank you.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:28 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-10 11:40 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-11 12:54 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-15 04:35 pm (UTC)In short: <3's x infinity
(no subject)
Date: 2009-01-25 01:32 am (UTC)HOW DOES THIS WORK SO WELL I LOVE YOU.
(no subject)
Date: 2009-03-08 10:59 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-04 08:09 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-05 11:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-08-21 02:23 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2011-05-11 10:01 am (UTC)