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cooltrainererika · 5 years ago

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Alt-talia: Superbia

[Summary: The Kingdom of Poland, the Rzeczpospolita Polska, Bulwark of the Catholic faith, a grand empire whose power knew no parallel. The kingdom had accepted David into his arms, as he would many others, and he watched him grow, his strong will and generosity shining despite the odds against him. However, this man had a fatal flaw... His pride and hubris.]

Sigh… Whelp, it’s the deadline, and It’s late. Also it’s apparently the day the Berlin Wall fell. Maybe I should have released one of my three Germany fics today lol.

Okay, so I came up with this idea and wanted to submit one last story for hetaween; this is 10/29: Tragic. I’m ashamed that I didn’t write it earlier, since this prompt was also absolutely ripe for Alt-talia material, though that’s also what made it hard at first. Because… Really, “tragedy” as a prompt for historical Hetalia is basically an endless fountain of content. I can come up with like 5 different ideas not including this one, all starring different characters, off the top of my head. But I decided to narrow it down to two, one based on Poland, one on China (especially since Alt-China’s only appearances so far have solely been of him being a shouting, ranting jerk), kind of fitting since both of them have made cameos in previous entries. I tend to really like writing those two so it’s actually kind of unusual they’ve only made cameos so far lol. I also wanted to write up multiple versions of Poland’s fic from many perspectives and upload the version I like most, as I wasn’t quite sure who the POV character should be… I was thinking Lithuania as another POV, or Poland himself maybe. The beginnings of those are still in my Docs files.

But then it turned into this MONSTER of a fic.

I swear, you guys, it wasn’t meant to be this long. Because boy this thing is enormous. I’m talking NINE FREAKIN’ PAGES in Google Docs. I guess I like writing about Commonwealth Poland way too much. And I got way too caught up in research. Especially since I almost have two midterms and an overdue project and it’s 10:30 PM on a Saturday and FFFFFFFF-. This is why I occasionally still wonder if I should have put an application for a history major at a higher priority than Social Work…

I wonder if I should be giving out this much detail before I’ve even officially started the series lol… I might have to take these down if I ever formally start it. I hope I’ll be able to write the one about China sometime, but now that seems unrealistic. …And yaaay, a Hetalia Emblem idea is already brewing in my mind as I’m writing this. Shut up, imagination, let me study goddamit!

Once again, I must reiterate, Alt-talia is very, very different from canon. It’s much darker and morally gray for one, but the characters can also be really different. This will ESPECIALLY be seen here; seriously, take your preconceived notions of Feliks as a character and throw it into the fire. We won’t need them where we’re going. Also do it for most of the characters who appear here even more so. Poland at least may slightly resemble himself from canon in some aspects, but others are barely recognizable.

Also there’s going to be a character I need to explain; “David”, the POV character, will become obvious, but “Lipka” is a personification of Lipka Tatars (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lipka_Tatars). She’s female for now, though she fights as a man. Whether I should personify her is… questionable, since if she’s personified I might possibly have to personify every minority group ever, but I’ve come to really enjoy her as a Commonwealth member. Also I want to see the reactions of those bigots who use Poland to justify Islamophobia. Also her human name is Zahira

For more exposition, which I’m going dump here:

I’m still not quite sure how marriage will work, especially ones like the two seen here. And I don’t know if this is how David would view things, or if David is written correctly, and there’s going to be spots in research since I’m on a time limit. Still, I hope this is right. Though I tried to elaborate less on Poland and David’s relationship since it’s not the topic of focus here, I’m definitely going to depict the same events in Alt-talia sometime with emphasis on it (in the meantime the story “God Lives Here” in the Hetalia Kink Meme is kind of close and excellently-written, albeit it’s slash which I tend to dislike, though it wasn’t too in my face, and it glosses over the majority of the events here).

And there’s inconsistent use of names, especially concerning Belarus; I thought she wouldn’t really have a country name, but it seems that the name “Byelorussia” was in use from pretty early on. Also she and Lithuania collectively refer to themselves as Lithuania often, as to why Lithuania is sometimes specifically clarified to be Tolys or called “Tolys”. And The Church is written like that because that’s also a character; i.e. the current Vatican City.

“Union-Brotherhood” is a Real Union (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Real_union), and possibly dynastic union, between two male Realms. Because… come on, an officially sanctioned same-sex marriage? In the middle freakin’ ages/early modern age? And they’re called “Realms”, not “Nations”, because the idea of a “nation-state” as we know it wasn’t really a thing until the Treaty of Westphalia. Countries were basically amorphous blobs at the time. At best. A “common palace” is where everyone in a big multi-ethnic country resides for varying amounts of time; they have their own separate regional residences. How long they spend there is dependent on how much integration there is and how cosmopolitan the country is. Maybe.

Also I change around some of the eye colors, Ukraine has smaller breasts, and other appearance changes may happen. And I use words that may not have been used often in these time periods, but it’s hard to research stuff like that especially for countries that aren’t England.

“National Resolve” (or “National Adrenaline” in more modern stories) is the plot device that enables nations to keep on fighting wars despite being beat up to the point that any human would be immobilized by pain. That should be it for exposition I hope.

And I found the title is probably a bit inaccurate… but oh well. It does kind of fit part of it anyway. I debated between it and “Broken Wings” or something like that though.

Sorry for the long author’s note, let’s finally send off hetaween! And I’m sorry it has to be so depressing! Thanks for everything, @/hetaween!

Let’s go!

Superbia

When David truly came to know him more than as a stop in his trade route, it was as if God had sent him.

It was when he was deep in a forest he thought had heard the wind whisper in his ear, "rest here". Upon following the voice was when he bumped into him.

And he had told him, as he was about to leave, “Hey, you can stay!”, the young boy’s snow-white eagle, Biały, perched on his shoulder.

"Polska" was what he called himself; it indeed almost sounded like “Polyn”, “rest here”. So rest there was what he did, and that was what he called him.

The boy welcomed him with open arms, and there, David found a new real home. Despite not having much to spare himself, he provided him with books, a space to live, a place to study, even a small shed for Achi, his goat; even with all the persecution in other kingdoms, he had at least some confidence that Poland would give him a place to rest, a place to go back to.

Sure, he had many other places he considered home, where there were often at least a few kindhearted human Christians he could trust, but it was a truly miraculous feeling to be welcomed by the kingdom himself. He didn’t make it too apparent for singling himself and his good fortune out for attention would attract the Evil Eye, but he made his gratitude clear.

He was put to work in the mint as an engraver and technical supervisor, even giving the coins his own touch in the form of Hebrew markings.

He watched the boy grow, as he grew as well. Initially, the kingdom was still fragmented, young, and not much to write home about; easy prey for Mongol Empire and her dear old son.

The mother and later her son caused him much grief, looting his villages and stealing his grain. But one day, David came back to a beaten-looking, yet joyful-looking Poland, who, with a grin wide enough to show off his missing teeth, proudly informed him that he had finally beaten the Khanate back.

“He caught us by surprise, but I kicked ‘em in the behind and the skurwiel ran with his tail between his legs! You should’ve seen it!”

Poland even defied The Church in his efforts to convince him that David and his people were somehow evil, that he drank the blood of Christian children and other outrageous rumors.

“Pssh, 'childish rebellion’, really? As if Christ himself wasn’t a Jew!”

Of course, it couldn’t always be sunshine; after all, the plague could twist any Realm’s soul in the worst of ways, and even if it affected Poland less than everyone else - possibly thanks to him copying some of his customs even - it still nonetheless wasn’t kind on him. He suffered the usual accusations of poisoning wells, of black magic, of conspiracy, shrieked at him in a voice cracking with desperation, confusion, and immaturity.

Their relationship was rocky after, until David started spending longer months in Iberia. After all, he was invited there, they wanted him there, and Muslims were generally safer to be around than Christians in his experience.

But when Spain expelled him, as did Portugal, albeit somewhat reluctantly, his old friend was waiting for him.

His true home in Europe, as welcoming as the Italian states could be, was, and remained, Poland.

At this time, he opened an inn in the then almost two century old Warsaw to earn some extra money. Because of course, no one could have too much money, and he still had to pay taxes. He shared his studies in Andalusia with his favorite host country; the man was smarter than he seemed, and they could argue over things ranging from the nature of God to how far an unladen swallow could carry an apple for what were apparently hours.

About half a century later, after fighting alongside each other to defeat their common enemy the Teutonic Order, a long-standing dynastic union with neighboring Lithuania became a real Union-Brotherhood. While the other half was reluctant and defiant at first, they soon became inseparable.

Every time David returned to the land he saw his friend had grown and matured, and after joining with his newfound family he truly blossomed, shedding off the last downy vestiges of adolescence to become a become a real man. The white eagle spread its wings across the heart of Europe, prospering and proud.

In his borders, he welcomed all; Lithuania bought with him, in addition to his Orthodox wife Byelorussia, the former knightly order Livonia, and the small duchy Courland and Semigallia, the loyal, warrior-minded tatar Lipka, and despite her Muslim faith, he accepted her as he did him. The Lutheran Prussia didn’t speak much to them, but not for Poland’s lack of trying; perhaps he was still sour over Grunwald or his pious nature made him see them as overly lavish, but even so at times he did not seem to mind them as much.

He and Lithuania, but Poland especially, were a bit of an anomaly in the continent and quite possibly the wider world; they saw themselves as more than simply the land their king claimed to own, something that, aside from them, only certain city-states in Italy and Poland’s close friend Hungary - whom he was brought closer together with precisely because of this - could also claim. They belonged to their nobility, the szlachta, and unlike other feudal Realms they never claimed otherwise, wearing it as a badge of honor.

David remembered warm, joyful memories of hearty, lavish banquets. After all, as Poland liked to say, “A guest at home is God at home”; it was only fair they pulled out the best for their guests. He remembered how Poland and Lithuania - Tolys specifically - would try to outdrink each other, or how Poland would always inevitably get into loud, drunken brawls at the end of them, and how he or Zahira would drag them both to their beds after they tired themselves. Boorish perhaps, but even David could not help but smile at their jolly festivities.

Their normal meals were quite a treat as well; the aromas of bread, pierogi, roast potatoes, spices, onions, meats, berries, chees, wine, beer, and so many other delectable scents filling the air of the kitchen, one he had spent some time in as well, where he had taught the man how to make gefilte fish, stews and bagels, and shared latke - or draniki as she called them - recipes with Byelorussia. Their penchant for pork and the awful practice of eating meat and dairy together did make him wish to avert his eyes at times, albeit, but at least he had someone to relate with in Lipka regarding their mutual disgust of the dreaded hog as their lords devoured its flesh. They even made the effort to take his needs into account, thinking of ways to make kosher pierogi so he wouldn’t be left out during Pierogi Night.

Their palace was one of wonders, full of priceless art, some commissioned from Florence and Venice, who were all too happy to accept his offers, and their various artists; and especially tapestries, rugs, and silk embroidery imported from Turkey’s Empire and Persia. He found Turkey’s looks of amazement whenever he placed orders to him to be amusing, though he didn’t blame him. They often met directly; in fact, despite their common clashes, Poland was probably one of the few who viewed the Muslim empire with respect instead of as a faceless barbarian.

And in the walls of this palace, apparently his and his host’s arguing and debates could be heard echoing even from many distances away.

David kept Poland’s books, wrote his letters, and managed his economic affairs; between this, studying, and managing his inn, he was busy whenever he stayed in the Commonwealth, but he didn’t care, for it was proof that he was wanted here. This was home.

Over the years, he became more bombastic, his voice more bold, his laughs bigger and louder. Every time he visited the Realms to the west, he would enter the capital city with a flair; letting his crimson delia swoosh behind him or throwing the sleeves of his fur-trimmed kontusz back, with his knee-high boots, loose pants, and the heron plumage in his fur cap, the golden horseshoes he fastened loosely onto the hooves of his prized white Arabian Fortis swinging conspicuously with every step, he turned heads anywhere outside of his borders he went, standing out like a bright red poppy amidst a sea of weeds among the other Realms.

It was all very unusual for a European Papist, especially with how almost Turkish he looked. He was convinced that he was the descendant of Sarmatia after all, even if he didn’t have any memories of them; he had to look the part. At least, what the ancient Sarmatia perhaps looked like.

As did others for that matter. David remembered very well how he had prodded him into dressing as a Janissary and singing for him on multiple occasions. He wished he didn't do that, but argue as he might, Poland got what Poland wanted.

When here, he always wore his black żupan; he almost cried despite himself when Poland gifted it to him one day, a big, proud grin on his face. The message was clear; he was as part of the family as any of the others.

Yet despite his attitude, one which made him fear for him at times, but yet even he could not help but be swept up in, he was also pious; he followed Lent strictly, thanked the Lord everyday for his fortune, and was unwavering in his duty to and servitude to Him. Even if David did not agree with how he chose to show his devotion to the Heavenly Father, it evoked much respect from him.

As he entered battle or trained, imagining his enemies before him, the man would always announce his presence: “Stop right there, intruder! I am the Servant of Heaven! The Defender of Christ! The Bulwark of Catholicism! The White Eagle of the Lord himself! It is I, Rzeczpospolita Polska!”, or variations thereof, in Latin, dramatically posing as he did. Often, he would make Lithuania join him, and once they rehearsed for hours to get a line right. After a military reform, he started putting giant artificial wings on his back. It was very much like him.

Meanwhile, David stayed back, putting his knowledge to work to help heal the soldiers.

As he looked at the proud, valorous man from behind the lines, he seemed so larger than life, so fearless, so powerful, the sun reflecting off of his flaxen blond hair and his lance held high; and while his eyes weren’t the most vibrant of greens, the fire that burned in them made it so they may as well have been the brightest of emerald. In front of his friends, it burned with a bright passion for life, in front of his enemies, with a terrifying, deadly blaze. Despite his lean appearance, he carried himself in a way befitting of a man of much greater girth, his confidence unwavering.

Of course, he had the power to back up his boasts, for his hussars were among the best soldiers in the lands. After all, such geography that left one wide open to invasion was no place for the weak. Unlike those such as France or Austria or the Realms of the British Isles, Poland couldn’t rely on geography to protect him, no mountains nor rivers nor ice nor ocean, only his own strength. And to show for it he could defeat a great many of his peers personally in shows of raw strength, whether it be arm-wrestling or brawls or duels; he would have quite possibly broken poor England’s arm if he were human when the island kingdom had foolishly challenged him, and he even managed to narrowly win against Spain. He even bragged that he could defeat France, though that match-up never materialized.

During the Thirty Years War, while he officially backed Austria and fought on his side for the most part, he had also at at least one point fought for virtually all except for Turkey on both sides, becoming the trump card of the highest bidder; and there were many bidders. The only reason Sweden was knocked out of that war before he could even get involved was that Poland was there to block him and kick him back to his peninsula, and Poland made sure everyone knew it. Lithuania didn’t even need to lift a finger.

They even invaded Russia and captured Moscow, and the boy would have accepted if King Sigismund wasn’t an idiot so fixated on converting him to Catholicism. As while there was something foreboding about the boy, and he had been going through rapid, noticeable growth spurts lately, he was still poor, dirty, and lonely, much unlike the healthy, sturdy Poland.

He seemed so invincible. He could do no wrong.

However, he was prideful.

Extremely prideful, and full of hubris.

A sin, David knew, and one which attracted the Evil Eye; a danger he had warned him of many times over, but one Poland dismissed.

And there was one member of his family he had left in the dust; his very own wife.

They knew her as simply Polish Ruthenia, or Iryna, Natallia’s older sister, an admittedly attractive woman with hair as golden as her endless fields of grain.

They had gotten married immediately after he and Lithuania had become Union-Brothers. At first, they were a happy couple; not clearly in love like Tolys and Natallia, but amicable at least, and with a woman of her looks and resources, he was a happy man.

Indeed, Poland put her land to good use; he told David and his people to open mills and breweries all over the land, and so they did. His people created entire towns from scratch. He was Poland’s magnate, middleman and intermediary with the peasants, carrying the grain to the Baltic Sea ports where they would be shipped out to the rest of Europe. Profits grew exponentially, and their grain found their way to tables across Europe; Iryna was quite impressed with the efficiency of their combined efforts.

However, that soon changed. She grew anxious over her nobles imitating him, especially as they started converting to Catholicism and speaking his language, forgetting hers. She began to feel increasingly used.

Once, David heard the sisters arguing outside Natallia’s room. He could hear her exasperation from outside the heavy wooden door.

“Come on Irunya, it will be fine…”

“Fine?! Why are you so naïve, Natasha?! Can’t you see?! This is why we can’t trust heathens…”

In hindsight, even if he wouldn’t find himself forgiving her anytime soon because if it, she had tried so hard to get her husband’s respect back to the equal status it had been; she tried so hard to convince him of her Sarmatism - even if that did mean that they would become technically related - she tried to tell him about how her peasants were starting to become tired, but he never listened. He merely laughed, telling her “Good one, Irunya.”, dismissing her concerns. And Poland had admittedly been dismissive of some of his reports regarding the peasants as well.

After all, was he ever wrong?

Eventually, she snapped.

Cossacks and peasants rampaged across the land, rioting, looting, pillaging, their long-suppressed rage erupting in a furious frenzy.

Their target; szlachta… and Jews.

For he, to her, was Poland’s pet, his lapdog.

Even with all of Poland’s power, he had underestimated her in his arrogance; they attacked relentlessly, tearing a trail of blood and carnage in their path. Among their victims many of Poland’s best men, and then, their king himself.

He tried to protect David from her wrath. He tried to save as many of his people as he could. He remembered how he had shielded a young girl from the mob with his own body as they slashed at his back.

David could not help but be apologetic, as perhaps this was his fault after all, but brave Poland never relented in his friendship even then.

Yet it was then, when it seemed things could not possibly worsen, three years after the rebellion began, Sweden decided to invade; a war for the throne was in order, and he smelled blood.

They went straight for his heartland, and it also just so happened that Sweden had been unable to pay his mercenaries lately, and they were hungry for anything of any worth.

And all around them, the underpaid, overworked mercenaries saw rich cities, filled with treasures and the fruits of civilization.

The Swedish forces ransacked the cities the Cossacks had not, and they could barely put up a fight, losing ground rapidly by the day. They struck Poznań, Lublin, Kraców, even Warsaw, killing men, women, children, and animal alike, taking everything that they could lay their hands on.

Sweden himself likely did not engage in such barbaric behavior - perhaps his young retainer boy would have - though he surely wasn’t unhappy about all the new loot he could bring home.

Not even a year later, Russia struck from the east on Iryna’s - no, the Hetmanates’ - behalf “as is the duty of a brother and fellow Orthodox”.

As always, their blessed and accursed geography did not help them, funneling the enemy directly to their heartlands as the armies and horses marched across flat lands and fields.

Despite putting up a fight, Lithuania - both of them - was soon captured, leaving Poland screaming after them as soldiers held him down and they were dragged away, leaving only him and Lipka, alone, to fight; now for his very Union-Brotherhood as well, for a certain pair of powerful Hetmen had signed the Lithuanias away to Sweden with Tolys’ alleged consent, scheming to sever their Union for good.

“It’s the only way to be safe from Russia. It’s the only way...” Tolys had repeated in mantra, his teeth clenched, before he and Byelorussia were dragged away. But it was clear that he was trying to convince himself as much as he was Poland or Byelorussia, if not more so.

From the north, south, and east, enemies tore at him, looting, burning, and pillaging wherever they went.

But all was not lost; in order to preserve the balance of power, Russia eventually relented.

It was not much later Sweden started besieging Jasna Góra; it was the greatest mistake he could ever make.

David didn’t think he had ever seen such vengeance, such utter rage in Poland’s eyes after the fact that Sweden had attacked the sacred monastery was able to sink into his mind and he readied Fortis, the reins clenched in his hands.

And across his lands, the people shared his rage.

They reclaimed town by town, city by city.

Finally, by allying with their old enemies the Crimean Khanate, popular uprising, clever strategy, dumb luck, sheer force of will, or perhaps all of those combined, and fueled by pure rage and vengeance, they finally managed to drive the invaders off.

After all, the great Sarmatia was never one to give up.

However, the utter heartbreak David saw on Poland’s face as he stared at what remained of his cities, his fields, and his now barren, ransacked palace was unbearable. That may have been the first time since the plague he saw him cry not out of passion, but out of despair.

“Hey… what can we do, right? Come on, my companions, what is it with the long faces?! Come on, we won! We won… Kurwa, we won...”

It was from then on Poland started walking with a limp.

And from that day on, their palaces seemed to have become much colder, less welcoming. The common palace was much lonelier too; not only was Iryna gone, but Prussia had completely left, though it wasn’t as if he hadn't preferred his larger personal union with Brandenburg over being their vassal duchy for years by now anyway.

He started lashing out at Lutherans and other Protestants, seeing in them possible traitors, as indeed many had collaborated with Sweden, they were too much like Sweden, but yet some of whom were innocent; eventually, he demanded they be removed entirely, many of them scholars and valuable assets to their economy.

The Lutherans cried and grieved as they bade farewell to their lands, forced off their homes of generations by the spears of their country's soldiers, only carrying what they could carry on their backs and load into carriages, leaving for realms who would perhaps welcome them.

It was eerily familiar to David; at least he wasn’t an active collaborator or traitor to anyone, even against the most vile of kingdoms, despite him being accused of it constantly, but the Jew still feared for the fate of his people.

He once stumbled across Byelorussia crying into Tolys’ arms over similar concerns, for despite agreeing to follow Papal authority, she still followed the rites of her siblings. Lipka was much more trusting of him; however, even she showed some anxiety with her standing. They used to be able to rely on him for religious tolerance. Now, that trust had been shattered.

That man they once knew wasn’t completely dead however; his bombastic demeanor never ceased, even as he limped and at times clutched his chest in pain.

Just before the Deluge, he had introduced Liberum Veto; the ability of one noble to call off a decision in the Sejm if he were to deem it unfit, for all nobles were equal. A very Poland idea indeed.

A very Poland idea both in its idealism and its arrogance.

It didn’t take long for his neighbors to smell even more blood in the water.

Sabotage via corruption became frustratingly ubiquitous. Oh, of course no one admitted to it, but why else would it be that as soon as anyone was close to making any decision, some cur had to raise their hand and shout “Sisto activitatem!”? Seemingly every time, without fail?

Or perhaps, they were complacent?

“This is all fine... We are the greatest realm in Europe after all! Change is not needed now! Yes, this is all fine..."

Poland muttered to himself, as another "Sisto activitatem!" rung through the air.

Once, when they were at war against Turkey, they had started recruiting tatars as mercenaries.

However, many of these tatars were brutes, burning and pillaging villages that were not their targets.

Poland of course fired them, and started to distrust tatars…

Including Lipka.

It had started with unusual suspicion and apprehension. However, he was soon throwing abuse at her, accusing her and her men of horrible crimes, questioning her loyalty, and it all escalated until he, using that as reasoning, against the Lithuanias’ begging, slashed her rights and salary.

Lipka could only stand in shock as her employer she had served loyally for centuries lashed out at and tore into her. She had chosen him and Lithuania when the Muslim tatar Crimean Khanate had tried to tempt her into joining with them to fight against her employers, for they were more family to her than the Khanate would ever be, shared blood or no, she had stuck with them through all his wars, highs, and lows, and yet now Poland was treating her as a criminal in her own home.

He gave her a halfhearted apology a year later to quiet her complaints, but when her overdue salary never saw the light of day, she decided she had had enough.

One by one, Lipka Tatar garrisons in the Polish Crown Lands mutinied.

Much like with Iryna, Lithuania was spared; however, unlike with Iryna, David was as well. Their point was clear; the problem was Poland and Poland alone.

Then, they left for Turkey, leaving an apology letter addressed to only Lithuania and Byelorussia. Once again, another face disappeared from the common palace.

However, it was then a respected Hetman by the name of Jan Sobieski, who had worked with Lipka during The Deluge, made Poland reflect on what he had done, and soon, he was filled with embarrassment and shame for failing his friend. So when they had come across the land Turkey had assigned Lipka to, the good Hetman went to convince her to come back in Poland’s place.

It appeared that Lipka had found working for Turkey to be unfavorable; she had been spoiled by Poland and Lithuania’s kindness, and was relieved that she could return home. They embraced, their bond stronger than before.

A few years later, Sobieski was elected as their king, and they all celebrated, in their typical style of lavish banquets and dance. And for the first time in what felt like forever, they were happy. Oh, so happy.

It was not long after they received a cry for help from Holy Rome and Austria; Turkey was attacking Vienna.

Poland and his forces rushed to the rescue, his wings rattling behind him, shouting “I am the Servant of Heaven! The Defender of Christ! The Bulwark of Catholicism! The White Eagle of the Lord himself!”, his lance and banner held high. Beside him, Lipka and her men, a sprig of straw in their hats; no longer would they be mistaken for other tatars.

And with a force a fraction of their size and Lipka’s units’ arrows, they absolutely annihilated the Turkish forces.

David could have only imagined how much of a sight it was to behold when the winged hussars had arrived, coming down the mountainside in an epic stampede.

That day, David once again saw that Poland he had admired all those years; the valorous man who shined brightly in the heart of the continent. Quick, brutal, even rather terrifying it was as well, but it was a testament to the awesome power of the Polish realm.

Once the Lithuanias had arrived, the battle was already finished, and they were greeted by a crushing hug from Poland.

“We won! I’ve still got it! I still got it!”

Not that he wasn’t sympathetic towards Turkey; after all, he was one of the few other than Poland who weren’t absolutely horrid to him on a somewhat consistent basis. But he could confirm upon speaking to him after the fact that he could only respect the winged, horseback warriors who dared to charge straight into a formation of Janissaries and make him feel genuine fear for the first time in centuries, even if he lamented the massive losses and that he could not advance further as he wished.

Poland was praised, he was honored, his name was celebrated; he had saved Christiandom, he had saved Europe, the White Eagle’s wings weren’t clipped just yet. He was still great.

“I am not dead yet! For this is just the beginning!”

After the fact, they even managed to take back much of Iryna’s land, though Iryna herself remained on the other side of the Dneiper, watching them resentfully.

However, it was only a spot of hope that proved to be ultimately meaningless.

Civil wars, petty squabbles between szlachta, efforts to reform his medieval, outdated economy that continued to fail.

For he had never thought to change; and now, it was too little, too late. And even those efforts were lost in the petty bickering of the szlachta; arguments he still engaged in as he usually did, as if ignoring the wider issues and getting lost in the petty bickering like always would make them go away. Or perhaps, the victory was a curse disguised as a blessing; he had an example to point to when he bragged about being the bulwark of Christiandom.

Yet his scars never healed. His limp worsened. And the bribes turned for the worse. The most major “sponsor” being Russia’s court; ironic, considering how they meddled in Russia’s court not even a century ago. The only time they got anything done was because Russia was holding him at swordpoint.

He once again grew afraid of outside forces. Only the Commonwealth mattered any more. Even if a possible “traitor” was one of their own.

Once, on a visit, David heard Poland and the Lithuania couple in the middle of an angry, terrifying argument that sent a shiver up his spine, Zahira and Livonia trying to calm them down with no success.

“You’re Papist! PAPIST! We are God’s gift to this continent, we CANNOT have one of the defenders of God and the Pope being a heretic! We only have each other, Białoruska! Why must you have the same faith as your savage brother?! I WILL NOT STAND FOR IT!”

“I still do! I haven’t done anything! I accepted the Pope’s authority long ago, I have not done anything to betray you!”

For the first time, he bypassed Poland and went straight to Turkey.

“That poor bastard. This is why we have one emperor, imprison all his brothers, and don’t use feudalism. It might seem cruel, but it works. Or that bizarre neo-Roman Senate… whatever thing he’s doing. It can only lead to trouble.”

He had told him, laughing cynically.

Among the many that fled were the educated; as a result, his intellect also started to decline. He could no longer understand concepts he used to be able to recite by memory to impress guests with, nor engage in half of the intellectual discussions David tried to strike.

They had elected a king in 1697; the Elector of Saxony. Much like the Hohenzollerns with Prussia and Brandenburg, he desperately wished to force them to become more like real Union-Brothers.

They resented it; the king’s tyrannical tendencies made all of them miserable. Saxony could never quite fit in, remaining Lutheran despite the king converting to gain Poland’s favor. Being one of Martin Luther’s first supporters, his principles wouldn’t allow it. Which Poland especially, of course, could not stand. Their shouting matches could be heard all over their castles.

In another dynastic conflict, Sweden once again blitzed through him, and to make it worse, he was torn apart by conflicts over his own king; he had little to do with the ultimate destruction of his formal rival’s empire. That was Russia, the growing titan at their doorstep.

But even with his fall, Sweden, as much as he lamented the loss of Estonia and his other Baltic lands and would continue to pathetically and desperately attempt to take them back for years, still managed to land somewhat gracefully. For Sweden was an introspective man; at least he had some reforms come of it.

Yet, Poland still had some generousness to spare; when Hungarian leaders seeking to free their nation from Austria had come to him for help in 1701, during the war, he, despite his condition, despite the war, was willing to pay heed to their pleas and shelter them for his dear friend, for even when others had turned against her for, in her desperation, choosing Turkey's side during the Siege of Vienna, he did not. When uprising broke out, he again answered to her need, secretly giving weapons he needed himself to her cause and letting his soldiers leave the war and fight alongside Hungary if they so wished, Lipka offering her services as well.

They continued to meet over wine, her discussing the progress of the rebellion, and him the Civil and Swedish War. He poured his heart out to her, and she in turn promised to aid him when she finally became independent.

However, one day the Hungarians alongside Lipka returned, defeated, to his lands. While Hungary had managed to secure some rights for herself, Poland was left devastated. He was lucky enough to be somehow spared Austria's ire.

By the time the Swedish war was over, his army had shrank. His influence shrank. His economic relevance was laughable at best. He became nothing more than a joke.

“Hmmm… speaking of, I have not seen Polanie or Lituanie much lately. Though when we do they seem to be in such bad health…”

He heard France muse, speaking to Russia as David studied in his designated quarters, nestled above the roof.

Indeed, the diplomatic staff had been cut into a shadow of what it once had been.

“Never mind that. …It’s your turn, Monsieur le Professeur.”

“Ah… Sacré bleu, how did you capture that rook?!”

David returned to studying, keeping his head down.

“The Lord would never do this to his most loyal servant! But those barbarians laugh at us, Tolys! David, you’re the closest to the Lord, right?! You should know! I am the grandson of Sarmatia! I AM THE GRANDSON OF SARMATIA! The Lord is in my favor!"

Succession conflicts, more civil war.

Old scars re-opened, new scars formed, his health deteriorated rapidly. His appetite decreased, yet his love of alcohol turned from one of leisure to a disease. David searched far and wide for ways to alleviate the symptoms at least, but without addressing the reasons they weren’t going to heal.

Order broke down. That witch of a queen… or Tsar, whatever, used him like a puppet on a string.

David once let him stay in his inn, as he had quite a storage of herbs and medicines - free of charge, to everyone’s shock. However, the planned hunting trip later in the week was canceled as he became further ill and bedridden for the span of it.

One day, as David attended to him, pouring his fourth shot of vodka, the man started laughing, much to his shock. It was a drunken, yet bitter, oh so bitter laugh.

“Behold, the fate of the ‘Bulwark of Catholicism!’. Kurwa, what a joke! Isn’t that a joke?!”

“...”

“I’m not Sarmatia’s grandson! I’m just a Slav! A miserable Slav who can’t do damn anything!”

It was then David realized how thin Poland truly was.

Everyone outside moved forward, while he remained the same. England would easily be able to throw him around like a rag doll with a hand tied behind his back by now; that rascal had entered a Union-Brotherhood with Scotland and had started several overseas colonies by now after all, had several children of his own, and was now fighting over control of India. India.

Even some 2nd-rate German duchy like Bavaria could quite possibly easily defeat him in a fistfight or duel by now.

The Enlightenment, however, did come, if decades late; and to David’s relief, he still displayed quite a bit of intellect despite his decline. But there was much to catch up with; and unlike other nations, his search was not only of curiosity for a better life or how one should live, but one his very existence hinged on. While other nations had been questioning if it was in a king’s right to rule absolutely, his problem was one of balance, as there were too many who ruled. He, often joined by Lithuania, spent late nights, sometimes early into the morning, against the worries of other Commonwealth members, flipping through the pages of works by the era’s best philosophers and writers, searching for some answer, some solution to their situation. To somehow make up for lost time, for his arrogance, his stubbornness.

Once, David had walked into Poland’s study, returning from Prussia’s place, to papers, books, and broken quill pens scattered all over as Biały tried to fetch more for his owner, the man hunched over his desk with a blanket over his shoulders, scribbling furiously, muttering to and hitting himself.

“Think of something, Polska, damn it... You can think of something... Kurwa, focus, focus!”

He discussed with and preached to other szlachta of these new ideas, especially about the state of his peasants he was increasingly aware of. It appeared Iryna had been right in that regard, all those years ago. His ideas were shared by many, but many refused to budge as well.

Prussia and Brandenburg only grew in power, having formed a single kingdom; Holy Rome didn’t even bother to object, as even if he did his impotence by then was enough to make even Poland pity him. And while David had found that Prussia also did not mind his presence lately, he feared for his friend, as the way the German kingdom spoke of Poland sent fear through his nerves.

All the while, Russia only became bigger and more powerful, growing into an absolute monster, towering over them all.

And there Poland and Lithuania were, stuck between two growing titans, hungry for more territory as their instincts as Realms - now Nations - dictated. His time was running out.

David felt himself cringe as Poland was forced to beg at Prussia’s feet for his assistance to maybe, just maybe, keep Russia at bay. At the feet of his former little fief, who Poland had thought to be harmless after Grunwald.

But it was no use.

Over a century earlier, Poland had been warned by his king that Russia, Austria, and Brandenburg would be his demise.

It took over a century, but by the Lord, was that true.

In order to settle disputes among themselves, they looked to the impotent blob of land that separated them.

Today, as the first birds of spring sang cheerfully, David once again found himself at the front of Poland’s palace.

His inn had been barely profitable lately; and it was even looted while he was gone. Thank goodness he always kept his money in safer places than his own body. He should probably close it and sell the land if he could.

A tired-looking Zahira greeted him, waiting with Fortis, letting him in.

As he entered, he thought he felt a chill. The fact he was indoors wasn’t enough to explain it; it was hollow, dark, barren, cold, quiet.

He, Achi, and Zahira made his way through the once welcoming halls, their footsteps echoing in the dead environment where the aroma of delicious meals and wines used to linger in the air. Achi bleated nervously, her hooves clicking against the floor. Natallia didn’t run to greet David, asking him about events in the rest of Europe and the Near East and offering him snacks; unlike with the Deluge, they were unable to save her. Or anyone.

Livonia, Courland and Semigallia... Everyone was gone.

Shattered glass laid scattered under windows, walls bare where priceless art once hung.

Finally, they reached the main quarters. Zahira knocked.

“David is here again.”

“...Come on in.”

Tolys' voice.

The now sole representative of Lithuania met them at the door, gaunt, dark circles under his greyish-blue eyes. Of course, his wife was nowhere to be seen. He was never a possessive husband, but yet he looked so incomplete without her, as if there was an intangible open void next to him. For the first time in centuries, they were separated.

And behind him, staring at the fire and partially crumpled on the ground, was Feliks, the personification of the once proud Kingdom of Poland, heart of the Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth, the undefeatable Rzeczpospolita that stretched from Crimea to the Baltic Sea, the one who once impressed Western Europe with invincible winged cavalry and horseshoes of gold that clattered on cobblestone… his eyes sunken, his skin pale, his hair dull, once rich, beautiful clothing frayed, faded, and in places torn, all but one bent, broken feather missing from his hat.

Biały noticed them, eagerly squawking at them, welcoming David and Achi home.

Lithuania moved to make room, and David rushed to the kingdom’s side.

“Polyn?”

Silence.

“Polyn? Talk to me, you-“

He spoke.

“...The constitution fell through. It fell through two years ago. We worked so hard on it. It wasn’t even effective for 19 months. ...Those traitors. They invited Rosja in."

He had heard Poland speak about it; how he had finally done it, how he had finally found the solution to correct all his mistakes of the past. Equality between the townspeople and nobility, the revoking of liberum veto, a proper balance of power, rights and protections to his overworked and abused peasants; so all would have the right to "life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness", as apparently a certain boy across the seas had said. He would become a constitutional monarchy, just like England and Scotland.

It sounded too good to be true then, when Poland had proudly informed him about this all with a smile wide enough to show off his missing teeth, as all was falling apart around them.

A break from tradition, but a still very Poland idea indeed in its idealism.

“I wasn’t hoping in the first place.”

“Ha. I’m not even dead yet. And you lie, don't you?"

He sighed.

"...I’ve failed Białoruska too. And Iruyna. All of them.”

“They’re gone, Polyn.”

“...I know."

He said it, defeated. But it was soon that his tone changed.

"...You know, it’s a shame you had to join us now.”

“...Why?”

"You have much to catch up with, my friend..."

"What do you-"

The kingdom grasped his rusted saber by his side, with less of a flair than he would have a century before from a rebellion against Sarmatism and simple fatigue, but looked at him after doing so with his signature determined look in his eye; a look now tainted with desperation.

And using his sword, and the spear that stood propped up against the wall, he attempted to stand.

“Polyn! Please!”

“Kościuszko said we were discussing final plans today.”

“What are you-“

“We’re having a rebellion.”

Lithuania cut in.

“We’re going to fight, David.”

David was aghast.

“Oy vey! Why?! You’ve fought every partition until now too! It’s pointless!”

“You’re still alive, right?”

Silence.

David opened his mouth, his mind scrambling for a response.

“Well… Well, you and I are different! Besides, I know to keep my head down! I’d be gone from this continent centuries ago if I was as idiotically stubborn as you!”

“...”

“...I learned my lesson long, long ago, long before you were even a concept, when Rome finally beat it into me. Three times, I thought I somehow had a chance. Three times, I thought He was on my side, that this time it would be different. And look at what I have to show for it; still alive only by technicality and who knows why, doomed to wander the land, my people scattered, no single home, not even having a real name. ...The Lord punished me for my arrogance and pride. I learned my lesson. Maybe you should learn it too, before your third attempt leads you down a path like mine or worse.”

Poland stumbled, but finally stood.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways, David.”

“Polyn!”

“I’m not going down without a fight! You know me. I’ll make Litwa bludgeon them with my corpse before I kowtow to the likes of them! I’ll show them to never mess with a Hussaria!” Poland roared; it was so pained, almost growling, but David knew that tone of voice buried within.

“Damn it… I’ll drag them down to Hell with me! They’ll regret doing this to us… I’ll make them regret it!”

David’s heart clenched. He didn’t remember the last time he had wept for another Realm, or even himself or his own people for that matter, as he thought his tears had dried out long ago; but he felt the closest he had in centuries to doing so now.

Poland slumped again, his saber clattering on the now bare floor, but one again he took it and regained his posture.

“Polyn!”

“Nothing else to say, huh... So that makes us even.”

“...”

“As the good man Rousseau once told me... even if I’m swallowed up by those skurwiele in the end, I'll sure as hell make sure they won’t be able to digest me.”

Poland walked past David, dragging his bad foot behind him, his posture improving ever so gradually as his National Resolve finally started taking effect.

“Lipka. Biały, you too.”

Lipka looked to David as she walked to her masters’ sides.

As Poland, along with the remnants of the Commonwealth, made his way to the door, their eyes met.

“...David, are you coming?”

“...?!”

“Kościuszko... he has something special in mind for you.”

For a final time, silence.

“...Yes.”

David stepped forward, letting Poland support himself with his shoulder. Poland was light; but very much still there.

And thus, the remaining four made their way to the door.

“After we win… I hope you’ll make us stew to celebrate.”

“...”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So there you go, my first magnum opus. Man I crammed literally like 700 years of history in here. Though it mostly covers the 16th to 18th centuries.

I'm writing this long after the fact, after performing some edits. David, in case you can't tell, represents the Jewish diaspora. He will later become Israel (well geez David, you sure learned your lesson on Pride, huh?/s) and retire his status as representing the diaspora then. While personifying the diaspora is a questionable idea, like with Zahira I liked their potential dynamic with the Polish Commonwealth crew too much, as it's something that I feel many don't know about. Now reconciling this Diaspora!David with Israel!David will be... Difficult, to say the least, but whatever.

Alt-Belarus is not a yandere whatsoever. In fact, from researching Belarusian history and culture, it seemed more accurate for her to be this relatively normal woman for a nation who just wants to live a peaceful life. She's in fact one of the more tame Alt-talia characters.

Who is the combative sister, however, is Ukraine. She's passionate, she doesn't take sh!t, but because she's a nation that means she's capable of doing terrible things. I heard Ukrainians described as like Italians (in the sense they are passionate and more emotional) while Belarusians are like Germans (as in they're hard-working and organized).

Lithuania isn't characterized much here admittedly, but wimp he isn't. At this point he basically acts like a less brash Poland, and does the manly stuff like drinking and partying as much as him.

And Poland... Hoo boy Poland. This fic shows why I love writing you. He's got the "it's always Poland rules!" thing in common, if that isn't basically the central thing of this story, at least in this era, but he is very different from canon. He is not a crossdresser (not that that’s wrong). He is not feminine in the slightest. In fact he's the type of guy who is all "A real MAN does X!" in the modern day. The type of guy who wears non-fashionable clothes and socks with sandals because looking after your looks is "gay". But in the Early Modern age he was indeed this partying Giga Chad. According to TV Tropes (albeit no citations) the culture was big and dramatic and I love it. Yes, the golden horseshoes were a thing. Yes it's super extra. Yes I love it. Combine it with the religious tolerance and you've got my favorite character of this era. He's like the anime archetype of the big cool generous manly guy with a huge plate, to use a Japanese expression. But like with any nation or realm he had deep flaws even at this time. Hence this fic. I actually genuinely feel sorry for him though, more so than other realms who can be a bit unsympathetic because everyone in this version of Hetalia is awful lol.

I only mention Livonia and Courland and Semigallia, because quite honestly I have absolutely no idea how to write them. Or West Prussia for that matter, because it just sort of fades out of existence eventually. I also have literally no idea how to write him. Latvia may materialize as some weirdly immortal peasant kid around this time if not earlier, randomly bouncing between Livonia and Courland (who are German) to work their fields or whatever. Oh Latvia, your existence is so confusing. How you got a unified identity I have no idea.

Also yes I quoted that one Sabaton song. I love that Sabaton highlights Poland so often, its history is genuinely fascinating. I also referenced Monty Python, yes your eyes were not deceived.

Yes, the Yiddish word for Poland sounds like "rest here". The opening is based on a legend; the story goes that Jews were going through a forest, and heard "polyn", "rest here". The place they came to was Poland. Dawwwww.

The Evil Eye is a belief superstitious Jews have about envy from others bringing bad stuff. And this is confirmed for him several times over his history with others coming after him, so I'd think he would believe strongly in this, until he becomes Israel and he maybe just stops caring. I'd imagine David looks upon Poland with a bit of fear because Poland is so extra with the cool stuff he has, if I didn't convey that well enough.

(cont)

#hetaween #hetaween 19/20 #alt-talia #historical hetalia #hws poland #oc #hws lithuania #hws belarus #hws ukraine #bringbackhetalia2k19 #polukr #lietbel #long fic

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