He looked beside him, at the base of the tree him also at, leaning against its bark. The flowers were lovely there—even if autumn was soon to take their beauty away. They grew just fine where he had planted them in the spring. He had watched them grow over the years, grow and return… Each year there were more of them, and they became even lovelier to the sight. It was all he could do now, all he had left. That and the sword implanted in the middle of the little garden. A frown crossed his lips, a vine flower having already wrapped itself completely around the precious thing, flowers littering what was supposed to be a dangerous tool.

The leaves had started to fall and change colors, the reminder that winter was coming only dampened his mood. He had found himself coming here more often since that day so many years ago. This was a place where he thought—where he remembered. It was a beautiful place… A sad place.

Germania cast his gaze upwards, but found that he staring at the make-shift altar. It was all he could have done for the other back then. Though, that was all he did here, almost. He'd sit, think, and stare at the makeshift grave he had made all of those years ago…

Sometimes he'd cry.

He'd even talk to Rome like he was sitting there, like they used to back then. It was different, considering the other was the one that talked the most out of the pair, and he himself did not like to speak. The tribesman found himself now to be the one that chattered and prattled on instead—sometimes more than just painfully aware that he was talking to a corpse buried in the ground below those flowers, and that sword.

As the years passed, he seemed to come by more and more, though, some years of war, he would be there less and less. At those times the flowers would not be as brilliant, as beautiful. When he had noticed this, it was almost as if Rome was there—showing how he felt through the blossoms. It made him happy, and his efforts to visit were met with the happiness of those buds that burst to such brilliant beauty.

Though, as these years passed, the loneliness grew. The guilt continued to gnaw and tear at him. It had been easier as he was on conquest—taking over this and that, taking care of those that were under his concern. Yet, the younger nations were starting to care all for themselves, and the elder ones were fading away. Not many were left in the world; it seemed their time of reign was passing. The idle time he now had let his mind wander to horrible, terrible thoughts of what he had done.

Those thoughts then leaked into his dreams. The horrors, the face he had seen and could not forget. It continued to leak into his sleep. A once pleasant route of escape had turned into a nightmare he wanted to claw from.

The nightmares only persisted the more time he spent away from that secret place—to the point where he was forced to return. His body weary, as was his mind. Sanity barely gripped his being; his life seemed to be fading away, almost. Guilt-ridden eyes once more gazed upon the blooms that had guarded the grave.

All but one was gone. One small little white flower stood there against the rusting sword. It was limp, life fading fast from the little bloom.

Tears spilled down pale cheeks of the northern man, seeing at how it had all died away—how the blade had rusted to disguise and even hide the beauty that was once there. His own neglect had turned this place of honor to ruin. The reason it was there was because of him—it was his fault! Nothing more than his fault.

Germania was upon his knees, face buried in his hands as he wept for the ages. Baring his soul once more to the one buried there, to his precious Rome.

A blade was pulled from his belt, a dagger that would serve its purpose… He eyed it, letting it glint in the starlight of those cool, spring night.

"Rome… Could you ever forgive me for what I did?"

There didn't seem to be an answer, not a word at all. The blade's pressure was felt against his chest, a tear rolled to the ground.

Hesitation, regret; it was all cast aside when he plunged it into his heart. Eyes widened as crimson fed the earth the life he gave it, soaking down to the body that was beneath the soil. His form collapsed upon the grave just as the last little flower gave up hope, and too died.

"Rome… Rome I miss you…" He fooled himself as life faded from his eyes, that the saddened face of his Rome was there, tears down his cheek. Germania's last thoughts fooled himself into hearing this image speak; speak to him as he finally let himself be taken away.

In those last seconds, the rough face of a battle-weary empire—of one that he had seen the life drain from was gazing down upon him. Tears running out of those pained, but loving eyes. Lips were in what was supposed to be a smile, but too sullen for the man he had known years ago. Rome would try his best to be upbeat if the other was sad, it was just the kind of man he was.

"I forgave you."

Germania faded from the world that day, rejoining the man he both loved and betrayed.

Charan-Amaya: I cried when I wrote this, I would like all of you to leave me your thoughts, please.

And if any of you rp Germania-do tell me.