Warnings:
-Pseudo-AU: I'll change various things from canon to make Historical events fit: Character's birth time is one
-Big warning for Islamophobia, antisemitism, and long etc. The characters have medieval mindsets. I do not endorse a thing they say.
-I'm not a historian, (but I'm a bit of a geek). Sources are at the bottom
Thanks to Circus and RuenRose, they are the best Betas ever!

X Century 962 AD (Character intro)

Romano: Romulo and Remo

The she-wolf of Rome raised two twin children. One of them was destined to greatness and became the founder and first king of the great empire of Rome, the other was destined to die by his brother's hand and be forgotten.

"Rome's eyes were glassy, his chalice empty. His lips were red and wine sunk. The door was askew where it should have been straight. He did not want to open it.

Someone knocks on the door, slamming both fists against it. Rome ignores them.

"Papal-States! I'm sorry about your daughter, but you can't avoid this forever!"

"Like hell I can't!"

"Papal-States, I'm the representative of Saint Peter and I swear to fucking God I'll knock the damned door down if you don't open!"

"Go to bloody hell! You, and Saint Peter, for all I care!"

He downs another glass. He doesn't want to face this, and by hell he won't! They had raided him, they had taken the south from him, turning Egypt and the others into more green-eyed, sand tongued strangers, and now they were playing the ultimate joke on him.

More furious knocks on the door.

"For all fucking hell! Rome! Just finish with this! Just see them and then do whatever you want with them!"

" No!"

"Why the hell not?"

"Because, as soon as I see them, I'll know!"

"Christ! Know what?"

"Know if I will die! Know if my legacy has been lost forever! Know if I'll have to live with a bastard culture by my side!"

Almost twocenturies wasn´t enought togrieve the deathof hisdaughter, and the lost of the land of Sicily to the Islamic Empire that rose from the East and took everything in his wake. A green-eyed, wild empire, with a horde of green-eyed masked nations as offsprings, who had taken all North Africa from Rome, Hispania, Sicily...They took Sicily from him, and what is worse, from there they corrupted everything else, corrupted his daughter until her soul bursted, unwillingly pregnant with so muchforeign influence she coudn´t hold herself together anymore. A new nation was born from her death-killed her to be born- he could feel them.

There was more furious knocking. The door cracked. Rome threw his winecup against the door in frustration, but there was nothing he could do. Deep down he knew he couldn't' avoid this forever. The door broke open finally, thanks to the combined efforts of the pope and various soldiers. The servants were scared stiff right behind them, white like ghosts and shuttering. At that moment, Rome hated them all. The, and his boss, and the Islamic empire, and his children, and the entire creation who had put him in the position to see...this!

"Nonno?"

A little head peeked through the left side of the door's frame. His mouth, initially an interrogative frown, changed into a happy smile, eyes widening with delight as he recognized the person that he knew, somehow, he should be looking for.

"Nonno!"The child exclaimed happily and tried to advance. Something pulled him back from behind the wall. The kid turned to wrestle with the unknown force. Rome just turned his back to the door, hands fisted behind his back. Nation's appearance shows their cultural lineage, and he just had to look into those dirty colored eyes to know that he was looking at a bastard culture. One that looked at him with the green mark of the Muslim nations and spoke the language of his daughter with the mouth of an Arab.

"Take that bastard away." He stated. His attempt at a neutral voice could freeze hell over. He had seen just what he feared the most, what would break him the most. His true heir was gone and in her place, the Sand empire had left a cuckoo chick.

"Nonno?" He could feel the eyes of the kid on his back, big, and sad. He could hear the laughter of Sadik, and of all his siblings, laughing at him, bright green eyes sparkling joyfully as they sacked him, laughing at him and spitting on his face as he was down. Why couldn't everyone else hear it too? It was loud. It was right here!

"Didn't you hear me? Take that bastard away from me!"

"N-nonno…?"

"It is disgusting and an affront!" He roared.

"But Sir! T-there are two of them!" cried a servant, overpowering the child's whining, which had melted into tears at the sound of Rome's commanding voice. His eyes never left his grandpa though. They were always hopeful.

"What?"

Rome turned at this. By the crying bastard, that now sobbed with his eyes behind his fists, was a tiny, tender nation that looked just like his daughter. This new child had his arms wrapped around his brother. Twins? It made sense, in a way. The North had been shielded from the Saracens. He walked towards them and kneeled down.

It was fitting, was it not? New twins to build a new Rome. Carefully, he extended his hand and pulled the boy's chin up and towards him. The kid allowed the man to move his face and looked at him with clean brown eyes, just like Rome's own. The former empire examined the second kid's features, and couldn't find a single trait he did not consider under his control. When the kid attempted to speak, he sounded almost like his mom. The broken heart of the old nation twisted with hope for an instant.

"Hello little one" he whispered, addressing the second child with a warm smile. The child looked back at him and giggled. The old empire felt himself smile honestly for the first time in decades. He would not have to raise a cuckoo. His culture wouldn't fade. He would not die. He had a little kid here, all made of himself and of those he had adopted. Sun was rising back up. "Such an adorable thing you are"

Twins, in a way it made nothing but sense. He would have his little Romulus here, the one who would build a second Rome.
The former Empire took the little kid in his arms. He felt two extra hands cling to him at the same time, but he pushed them away. Something dropped to the ground with a hollow sound. He didn't care much. He was already imagining all the places he'd take his heir and all the things he'd teach him. However, as soon as Rome stretched his knees, the little nation in his arms whined and threw his head down as if he was about to jump down of his Grandpa's arms head first. From the floor, his twin cried too, trying to stand on tiptoes and failing to do. A silver ray of light reflected the edge of that single lock of hair that connected the brothers like a sick joke.

With a quasi-animalistic growl, Rome pulled out his dagger from under the Cardinal clothes. The servants cried out and covered their eyes; the bastard tried to pull away, terrified. The lock of hair made a metallic sound as the blade sliced through it and curled back on itself at each end. Romano and Veneziano looked at each other, confused. They blinked twice and began to cry at the same time. Rome hugged Veneziano in his arms and shushed him warmly while Romano was ignored.

"Someone take care of that thing. Don't let those Eastern animals say that the Roman Empire kills children"

Rome instructed right before disappearing behind a corner, happily lost in his heir's lovely smile and his daydreaming about the perfect room for the little kid. It was a well-intentioned order, but, 'Someone" did not designate anyone in particular, and everyone was far too busy to handle an extra task. One by one, all the humans left. Romano found himself alone in a dark corridor of a gigantic house, still sobbing, eyes closed, hoping that someone would come to him. By the time his crying died out, and he opened his eyes he was alone in the dark hallway and had been for a very long time. It took several hours and the stink of urine for someone to finally stop by and take him to a room.

Veneciano grew up happy and secluded in the high part of Rome's boss house. The Pope rarely went up there, old as he was, so Feliciano had the whole floor for himself. He lived surrounded by the best that Rome's culture and the cultures of his domesticated barbarians had to offer and was shielded by all their vices. Beautiful paintings and carefully selected books filled with gorgeous illustrations filled the shelves, and whenever his Grandpa was not on diplomatic missions he would take him in long voyages across Christian Europe, where everyone adored them and bowed in devotion to the former Emperor of the world.

Romano grew up kicking and screaming for attention on the kitchen floor. He had no assigned room, no assigned place to be, and no assigned person to look after him. It was a floating task that was passed from one servant to another and nobody ever checked for completion. Feeding him, washing him, or giving him clothes was one of those things that got done when someone stumbled into the task and couldn't dodge it, and it was Lovino learned to chase people, hitting, screaming and threatening them to feed him, cook for him, or wash his clothes. He was honestly terrified that if he didn't they would forget about feeding him and he had plenty of experience and starving nights to back his fear up. He had no schedule. He saw people only as objects one needs to beat to get what you need out of them, much like apple trees in harvest time. He didn't respect his schedules or had the slightest idea of what that meant, he could bang on doors at any time of the day or night, and if he was ignored he'd find a way to break the lock or make even more noise. By the time he had four human years he already knew that he could get anyone to give him anything if he threw a tantrum wild enough or threatened to break something expensive enough. Anything except their company, but what was that anyway? He was always mad at people, he didn't know what else to use them for.

Nobody dared to scold or hit him. It was not worth the hassle. Nobody would thank them for trying to discipline the wild beast and no servant wanted to bring Rome's attention on themselves and the poor job they were doing of looking after the brat by giving him a red cheek, during the scarce time the former Empire was in town. It was easier to just walk away, or even run away. The brat couldn't run that fast anyway, he was little, it was easy to lose him in the maze-like always and make the little fucker someone else's problem. If Rome assigned tutors to the kid, nobody had the guts to make him go to the lessons, and if the kid chooses to do so nobody would dare to make him work. Lovino just roamed around free like a stray cat around the Pontifical Palace, the streets, the ports, or wherever the heck he pleased to go. It was the dream life of any child! He could extort as much money as he wanted and get away with murder if he threatened to break enough expensive windows! And still, he was miserable.

It was probably because he was an ungrateful brat who never has enough. That is, at least, what Lovino thought. It made sense, and what other explanation could there be? The servants all said that when they thought he is not looking. That, or that he is a punishment sent by heaven, or that he is a bastard and what can you even expect. He didn't know what a "bastard" was, but certainly, it wasn't good. He got a general idea that it meant someone you wish wasn't there.

They were right. Lovino knew that he always got his way and still he was always angry! He wasn't stupid! He knew that he had no reason to be mad! His stupid brother may have grown in a bubble of fantasy but he had run through the dirty ports. He had chatted with the prostitutes and the sailors who at least didn't turn away from him, visited the slave markets of Naples, and the dark corners of Rome in his solitary wandering through his realm. He knew how the world looked like. He had seen children beaten and starved by their parents, and kids as young as himself worked to the bone. He has bragged all in front of them with his flashy clothes and his sweets and bathed in the looks of desperate envy they gave him. He knows they would all die to have his life and that he is lucky. Still, he feels more miserable than anyone on Earth. He is always furious for nothing he can pinpoint and that anger felt so rooted within him that it might consume him to the very bone. It feels as if he was missing something. Something he absolutely needed before he lost his mind completely but he couldn't say what it was. When he looked around his room all covered in shiny things like a magpie's nest he couldn't find a single thing missing. But still, that hole in his chest kept growing darker and wider each day, making him scream louder, and hit harder, and scream in his pillow tore apart by a pain he couldn't even name.

Church is one of the few things that can calm the pain somehow. There is something in the idea of a big, loving person in the heavens staring directly at him that makes the hurt subside. Or not loving. He doesn't even care about it, just the idea of someone minding what he does, thinking about him, is enough. He has never cared about heaven or hell all that much. He had hell inside anyway. But recently, since his Muslim Churches and his Roman churches and his Geek Churches that were like the Romans but did rites different and spoke funny, all talk against each other more and more and he just can't pick, even religion can't soothe him anymore. Screaming at people, hitting them, yelling makes the pain both go away and get worse, but it is something at least so he does that a lot. There is an expression in his land for people like him. "Having a devil inside"He has a devil inside. Sometimes he has nightmares and dreams that the hole grows so big that it gets out of his chest and swallows him whole. When he wakes up panting he sometimes wonders if it may have already happened. He spends all the time he can away from home, materializing across his land to try and distract himself from that goddamned hole in his soul. In Naples, in Sicily, in Bari, always among the cries of merchants advertising their products. He loves markets. They are overwhelming and numb the anger away for some time, but never enough. He can never be normal. He knows that. It may be the bastard thing, whatever it means. It probably means that he is crazy.

Based on:
-The Emirate of Sicily(831-1091 AD), and the Islamic influence in South italy.
Source: "Arabs and Normans in Sicily and South of Italy" by Adele Cilento ( Italian version) , and "The Corrupting Sea" by Horden and Purcell.
"Inaccuracy" : The "Islamic Empire" was not a thing. I will use this term for simplicity's sake to refer to Islamic Nations as seen from Christian Europe, but it is not accurate. It makes a blob out of nations that were not one by any standard:)
Accurate: the Pope this year wasn't the most pious or god-fearing man around :p.