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"You know I'll always come back to you, love."
"...What if the day comes that you don't? Lord Armenius is growing agitated with your Lord Tiberius' carelessness about their bonuses in protecting your home. If nothing changes, then I..."
"They may make enemies of themselves. But our lands stand next to each other, Germania. No matter what, that will never change. We won't be parted, and I'll always come back to you."
And Germania wondered, back then, if Rome realized how greatly he'd lied to him.
Now, standing in front of him two hundred years later and seeing what he'd become, Germania was tempted to thrash him once more for letting things get as far as they had. This was the present, after all, and they seemed to be picking up right where they left off.
"What was all that? I'll only come home to you?!" His hands were on Rome's blouse, clutching him by the collar. The other's foolish expression beneath the weary face seemed to hide his amusement-- two hundred years, but Germania's attitude had barely changed. His elation at being able to see his old neighbor and love was hidden behind a mask of calm as the other yelled at him, reminding him of promises long broken and memories he still replicated in his art.
Memories that he surrounded himself with, these centuries.
"I couldn't defy my commander, love." He replied softly, his eyes mildly amused as Germania glared at him.
"For two hundred years?! Really, Rome?" He was acting childish, but there was hardly any malice in his tone. Not as there would have been, those years back. And well aware of this, Rome took the opportunity to move his own arms around the other's body, pulling him against his chest as he inhaled the scent of years and battles, of memories, and days that no longer existed.
Germania didn't intend to resist, though these arms now felt so much more alien to him despite the familiarity that enveloped him in that embrace. This wasn't the Rome he remembered, this was barely the rival he constantly went up in arms against.
"Y-You haven't been looking after yourself at all... what have they done to you...?" the blond warrior finally asked in a tight voice, his face in the other's shoulders.
His appearance may have changed very little, but Germania's attitude had certainly softened, regardless of how he might have been trying to hide it. He felt Rome shaking his head above him, and closed his eyes in frustration when he felt the other's old fingers in his hair.
"Nothing that a little rest won't fix. I hope you plan to grant an old empire that much, Germania?" The mirth remained in his tone, even if the words barely held the substance they ought to have. Germania knew he was lying again. He could see the wrinkles, the dark circles under his eyes, the weariness-- the fact that Rome looked so much older. He ended up clutching him tightly, angrily.
He'd let his leaders allow this. He'd let them, and fought Rome off-- that was a battle he never forgot, never stopped hating. The words Germania hissed were right under the other's ear.
"Liar. Lies never suited you, you know. You fool..." Burying his face in the side of his neck, Germania went silent, merely inhaling the scent of the ancient world, that feeling of home and conquest, of hope and knowledge. Then, in a softer voice, he whispered, "...I came to take you back, Rome."
He knew Rome understood why. Things had changed, Holy Roman Empire was beginning to thrive-- he was their heir, it was a new chance for the both of them. Rome, however, had long since learned that hope for the hopeless was a lost cause-- and he was among those who no longer had any progress left in them.
Rome remained silent until Germania had spoken, before gently drawing back while keeping him as near as he dared. "I didn't want to worry you. Things are... not the way they used to be. I can feel myself slowing down. I was afraid that I'd have to go without seeing you once more."
The words were frighteningly chilling, and the finality with which Rome was speaking wasn't doing anything for his rapidly fading hope. Germania found himself tensing. He was beginning to hate that he'd flourished while Rome hadn't. Italia was thriving with his art, and so was Rome, but in those years that had been all he'd heard of them. As much as he hated to admit it, Germania was frightened for them; Italia had no military to speak of and Rome-- looking like this, like an old man, nothing like the proud young soldier that Germania had sworn to protect those many years ago? There was hardly any way he could protect little Italia like this.
"Stop that nonsense... We can go back now. Things aren't the way they could be, but Holy Roman Empire, he's grown! He's securing more land, he's stronger and he can take care of you and Italia!" He tried reasoning again, against his own growing frustration-- pulling back, moving his hands to his face.
He was surprised with the acquiescence he saw in Rome's wizened eyes as he moved a hand in return to Germania's cheek. "I'm glad that Italia will have someone to take care of him. He needs it. He's... never been very good at fighting, he prefers his art." Germania noticed rather clearly that Rome didn't mention anything about himself being taken care of, and without asking he knew it was because Rome realized that he was not long for this world.
Reading between the lines and narrowing his eyes, Germania felt the anger bubble inside him. Where was the nation he had challenged, rivaled and loved? Clutching Rome by the collar, now in slowly building temper, he hissed at him.
"You could have encouraged him to learn, Rome! You've seen how everyone is becoming. Britannia and Francia, their fighting never ends and Ostarrichi--" Even Austria had taken on Rome's exuberance for conquest, as well as his talent for the arts. "Italia will not be able to hold his own against them!"
Rome simply watched his neighbor with a sad, silent gaze through his rant-- he knew, though, that Germania was right. He hadn't wanted to corrupt his sweet Italia by making him learn to fight. Italia was Rome's best link to the gentler side of himself, the side that wasn't a bloodthirsty barbarian. In response, he cupped Germania's face in both hands, whispering, "He'll have Holy Roman Empire. He'll be well taken care of." He looked at him steadily, and didn't bother trying to get Germania to release him.
That realization hurt Germania in a way he never knew he could feel pain, and his grip on Rome's clothing slackened. The eyes that had never held any expression besides strength and resistance watched him with a slowly building ache as he whispered the other's name. Of course, Germania hadn't been without change either. He may have had the same appearance as he did when Rome left him, but he'd grown gentler with time now that his days of conquests had completed and the children had taken the lead. He'd never admit, but it was a fact that losing Rome had made him lose his challenging edge. "...You can't mean..."
As though aware of what Germania was aiming to ask, his smile returned and he slid his hand up to pet through Germania's hair, looking at him with longing and regret.
"I'm glad I got to see you again. Now I can go peacefully. Promise me that you'll make sure Italia is taken care of."
In all the time he'd been with Rome, Germania had always been strong, no matter what's happened to him. He didn't move his head away, keeping his gaze locked with Rome's. And for the first time in centuries, his eyes looked glassier than normal.
"Don't say that, you idiot..." Germania frowned, feeling his heart pound against his chest. "You can't go now. Not when we're all uniting again!" His words, however, changed nothing of the resignation on Rome's face as the older Empire chuckled, shaking his head.
In a soft, loving voice that only Rome could attempt and mean thoroughly, he whispered, "You have no idea how good it is to see you again. But there are some things you just can't change, my love. The sunset of my life is here."
With the understanding he saw dawning in the other's eyes, he moved his hands back to Germania's face, and laid their foreheads together. He smiled, wanting to laugh at himself as he thought about all he had loved. His beautiful Grecia, his exotic Aegyptus-- and his loyal Germania. Rome chuckled softly, looking at the blond with a twinkle in his eye as he asked with a hint of his old mirth. "Would you mind giving an old man one last kiss?"
The words again stabbed Germania -- his breathing become heavy and frightened, but he wasn't going to let Rome end this here, not yet. Inhaling deeply, touching his forehead to Rome's, having hoped so desperately to be able to enter the new world with him-- he found that it didn't matter. There was no way out.
Moving his hands to the back of Rome's, he found himself steeling himself. If Rome was ready to fall... then even he, as the remaining memory of the Ancient World would go as well. It was how things were to be.
Lifting his gaze to his before drawing Rome's hands down, he pulled away, and then looked around the room, searching-- and then found what he was looking for. Next to an old set of armor, not used in years, but still deadly-- Rome's sword. Without a word he carried it back, handing it to him, his mouth set in a firm line. He knew the other would understand.
Turning and heading out into the lawn past the veranda, knowing Rome would follow, he found himself surrounded with memories he felt had begun to fade. So much had happened on this land-- meeting, warring, uniting, and conquering... Germania paused; his eyes shadowed and hand on the hilt of his own sword as he spoke over his shoulder, not letting Rome see his face yet.
"Have I ever given you anything without having you earn it? I don't intend to start now."
Germania's words made Rome smile, as he looked upon his sword-- the grip of the hilt familiar, but the urge to handle it almost relegated to memory. Germania was refusing to look at him and without asking Rome knew what the other was planning. He was preparing, and it was nostalgic to watch the air around him take on the change that transformed him from a peaceful entity to one that was curbing the lust for battle.
"Are we about to do what I think we're about to do?" He asked needlessly, as he took up his stance, his eyes filled with warmth as he gazed upon the other. The answer he received made Rome crack a smirk under the graying moustache, and he never faltered as Germania spoke.
"If you're going to think that far ahead, then you should already know what comes next." There was no malice in his tone, simply nostalgia and challenge, though listening closer would reveal the affection beneath it all. When Germania turned around, his eyes were sharp, expression calm and deadly. He drew his sword with one hand, holding it up before him with a hand to the back of the blade. His eyes never left Rome.
The silence that fell was almost deafening, and he let it remain that way. The intent clear in his gaze, he watched his opponent once more with the eyes of a warrior-- and with the understanding of a lover. If Rome had to fall, then Germania would not let him fall without dignity.
Rome found himself smiling as he read the gaze. Germania had indeed remained his most loyal even when things went as bad as they did, and with a salute of his sword he allowed the atmosphere around him to change as well. At this point he had nothing to lose, so he didn't wait long before initiating an attack, going at Germania with as much as he had left within him. It was hardly the power he used to have, but it was everything he currently had. It would do. And that much, even Germania could not refuse.
As the other looked on at him, and he returned his gaze, Rome let his blade shift and catch the glow of the sunlight, letting the silence grow, and the words he whispered next -- words he knew he wouldn't be able to say in a few minutes -- left his lips as the signal to the beginning of their final battle.
"I never stopped loving you, Germania."
And Germania heard it, loud and clear. Letting them sink in, he waited-- before a battle cry left his throat, the pain from the confession stinging in as he charged at Rome, bringing forth a barrage of attacks that would have an otherwise inexperienced nation falling five times over. Rome's counterattacks were swift, preparatory-- but deadly as ever. Had Rome not been as strong as he was, he would have been taken down in seconds. The words had made his heart ache, and he let their blades meet over and over, drawing as much out of Rome as he could take.
He was Rome's equal and he planned to keep it that way, refusing to let Rome be any weaker. He could hear the battles from their youth, their bantering, their rage and passion-- he could smell blood in the air even though none has been drawn and none would be drawn.
Not yet, at least.
And he had to admit, he was still a challenge, still Rome. His Rome. And that was enough for him.
Preparing himself from a strong, warning strike, he leapt back, watching, waiting, and then…. Meeting Rome's eyes with his own, he let him look beyond the barriers he always had. There was no hatred, no fear, no anger. He'd always been one for few words, and he let Rome see everything his gaze had ever held, before raising his sword again.
Then much to Rome's own shock, he smiled.
It was his answer. He loved him so much that he'd accompany him to the afterlife with the smile he'd never quite managed in his prior existence.
It was time now, and both ancients found their heartbeats reaching their pulsing crescendo. Germania took the lead. Racing forward and letting his sword fly, striking and clashing with Rome's, he began to back him up; shoving him back with each blow and then-- there. Rome gave him his opening, the blade being thrown back, his body unguarded. With it, Germania struck his final blow, piercing the blade right through his chest, drawing himself closer with the act-- his own heart feeling like it was being stabbed through instead.
Rome found his breath coming out in a heavy choke, and his eyes widened-- but then his gaze softened as he realized how this was. Germania's face was close to his and he heard the other whisper against his mouth, smiling still. To die seeing that smile would be -- as he would cheesily say -- a death he would take a hundred times over. It amused him even now, even as his life ebbed away, as he heard Germania's words, softly spoken.
"And now we can be free to love each other forever until the end of all time, Roma..."
It was worth it to hear at least one of his loves admit that. He coughed, falling to his knees. Germania moved with him until they were leaning on the grass, panting heavily and touching his forehead to the other's, closing his eyes. The next words were like a reward, and Rome felt his heart fill with a sweet pain.
"Kiss me. You've earned it."
It was the smile that made it so much easier, a smile he'd seen so infrequently that it was a treasure of its own-- and he'd gained it where no one else had. Rome brought a hand to Germania's shoulder, gripping it as he lifted his sword with the last amount of strength that he had-- without even needing to think on it, he understood.
Germania was going to go with him-- and they would win this together.
Without the help of inertia it would be difficult to get the blade through, but he managed to whisper, "Don't mind if I do," as he prepared. His eyes never left Germania's, even as tears now begin to trickle down his cheeks, making seeing clearly an impossibility.
He was not crying from pain, or regret, but from happiness at having fallen at the hands of the one person he cherished above all, among the ones he cherished at all. At having gone down fighting, rather than in his sleep like a feeble old man.
His grip on his sword almost weakened, but then-- with a flash of strength, he inhaled sharply, droplets of blood beading on his lips as he pushed himself harshly against Germania for the promised kiss-- and drove the blade through his heart, feeling the darkness settle over his vision-- his last image, of Germania's eyes, glazed and beautiful as he whispered his goodbye against his mouth.
The only regret he had was not saying goodbye to Italia, and not seeing Holy Roman Empire all grown up. But they could watch them together now, couldn't they? His arm went around Germania, as the other's followed suit; and they fell against each other as the world claimed them back into it.
It had been worth every moment of existence and given the chance -- he knew they'd do it all over again.