Colonización de la península ibérica: España

Arabian rule: worst nightmare

The 9th century was filled with dread even as the Moors built beautiful palaces. Barcinona was once again torn away from his dear brother, stripped naked of his rights, and enslaved; Mantua feared not just for his safety but also for his younger brother as soldiers marched to drag him away, desperate tears in his eyes that he feared would never gaze on the other man again.

The younger man’s arms were twisted as they threw him in the dungeons, his cries of agony piercing the deep darkness of the night. Only then did his jailers come, and the next morning, Barcino was broken and nearly dead on the damp stone floor. Throughout the night, the guards had taken turns using his young, pale body to satisfy their beastly urges; their captain was first, claiming the youth’s virginity. He felt little pain in his body, for they had plied him with drinks laced with drugs to numb and weaken him. He still knew what they were doing, so as soon as they finished he had passed out from crying. The guards, though charges with keeping him as a possession of the emir, openly enjoyed this and passed him along to their comrades. They cruelly indulged in the forbidden delight of his young body, killing him slowly from within as each night wore on.

Meanwhile, Mantua could hardly sleep. His days were filled with study and prayer, his tongue forced to speak as they did, his body, clothed like their masters were, was made to bow in prayer. He would toss and turn in bed, and wince when his eyes closed in prayer before hidden altars. He m had visions of his twin's painful screams that punctuated the men debauching him till he was numb. He could have saved his brother by himself, but he knows both of them would later suffer the same dire fate. As much as he wanted to, he could not, for the grip of the Caliphate was terrifyingly strong.

Centuries of fighting back the occupiers had turned their land into a mess. Madrid could see his brother from afar, gasping and full of scars. He ran up to his shaking brother and helped him up, pulling him to his chest that the other, after being numb for so long, had finally filled with his weeping that sprang from a deep well of pain. Barcino slowly opened his eyes and smiled sadly at his twin as if saying, “The Caliphate is no more. We're finally free, hermano.” He slumped his head as he faded back into limp unconsciousness.

The entire peninsula where Spain once was a colony, slowly yet gradually became stronger as the eldest of the two healed followed by his younger brother, who took more time after his ordeal. The older cradled his brother in his arms and whispered in his ear, “Worry not, hermano. I swear to you that we can rebuild this land once  more, to grow strong and powerful enough to show them that we will always persevere through these trials.” He planted a kiss on his younger brother's forehead, wetting them with hot, angry tears from his eyes.