The End of the Caliphate

In Cordoba...
Spain leaned forward. "Papa... can you hear me?"

As Omayyah mumbled again, Spain leaned even further, trying desperately to hear what his 'father' was saying. He didn't want to believe it, but Hermanito has called him here and told him that Papa was very sick and will probably leave them forever soon, and no he didn't want to believe that because Mama got sick too and left him, and his hermano left him too, and if Papa left him too then him and Hermanito would be alone....

"---or..."

It was not clear at first, but after a few, he managed to catch some syllables.

"Por... tu---"

Portu... Portucale? His hermano? "Papa, it's okay, it's going to be fine. Hermano will come back to us, and everything's gonna be okay, okay?"

"Por... tuca... le---"

Papa's right hand moved weakly. It moved blindly, as if trying to grab something in the air. Spain caught the hand and cradled it in his own. "Papa, I'll bring Hermano to us, okay? So we can live together again, okay?"

"Portu..." His father's eyes weren't seeing, and Spain had a distinct feeling that he couldn't hear him. "Portucale..."

"Papa... Papa, it's going to be alright," Spain said, not knowing if he said it toward his father or himself. "It's gonna be fine."

"---cale," his father mumbled again. "If only---"

"...Papa?"

"---love---"

Suddenly, Spain had a feeling that Papa was not exactly calling out for his hermano. "...Papa?"

Papa inhaled deeply and exhaled again, Portucale's name on his lips. Then he never inhaled, ever again.