Caledoniis Mea is a Roma/Caledonia 'what if' story, written in an RP between myself and TheDawnCatcher. It starts in approx. AD 83 in the late fall/early winter, and is about what might have happened between Rome and Caledonia if the Battle of Mons Graupius had truely been successful, and Rome had gained control over Caledonia. I'm very thankful to TheDawnCatcher for the help she is giving with this story *gives my Roma a cookie and huggles* ^^

Disclaimer: I do not own Hetalia, but Caledonia (the younger version of my OC Scotland) is mine.

Tòmas leaned against a rock, his red curls matted on the back of his head with blood, the braid that hung from just above his right temple stuck to his face with sweat. His side was bleeding and his breathing ragged from the exertion of running to try and hide from the man that had caused this.

That... That fucking Roman bastard! How dare he invade his lands! What had he done to deserve this? He had never even considered doing something so horrible to another country, he was perfectly content and happy in his lands and he didn't need more! And this was how the fates repaid him? By sending this man and his monster of an army to take over his lands and kill his people?

Aristair was safe, though, so that was a plus... But the dog had been left alone... All the way back at his house. The Caledonian almost broke down into tears at the thought of those horrible Roman's getting to his familiar before he could get him. What they might do to his dog, his companion, his friend and familiar, absolutely terrified him. He had left him at home because he didn't want him to get hurt, but he had been so sure that they would win! Or, at least manage to hold them one more time...

The bloodied sword dropped from his grip and he removed his hand from his side, staring at the blood that covered it in mild horror that was heavily masked by an almost blank apathy. They had lost. They had held the Roman's off for as long as they could, they had retreated to the islands, and held them off some more, but in the end, it had all been for nothing. He had lost, and there was nothing to be done about it. There was nothing that could be done even if he rallied the remainder of his people, he could feel in his heart that they had lost faith in their ability to hold the Roman's away. Lost faith in his ability to protect them.

"Oh, Didymus~!" A pleasant sing-song voice floated on the breeze, arrogance and egotism tinging every note. "Come on, parum puer! You can't hide forever~!" Rome strode carelessly through the trees, kicking stones down the hillside, cutting down a branch or two whenever they got in his way. Really, this whole 'invasion' thing had gone on quite long enough. He should have been used to the whole 'beating down the barbarians' routine by now, what with his conquest of Wales, Britannia, the Celts, and the whole of Gaul, but there was something about being an imperial army that made fighting a guerrilla war too damn confusing. Like trying to play tag in a game of hide and seek.

Well, at least threatening to burn their food stocks before winter played more to his advantage, though he could've done without the blasted cold. Rome snapped off the shaft of an arrow that had lodged itself in his arm and the cold wind that blew over the bloody gash in his leg made him shiver. Ah, to be warm and at home again. He'd have to build a new courtyard after this.

A small trail of blood made the going easier, and if the wounds he'd given the boy were as deep as he thought they were, then he'd catch up soon enough.

Tòmas stiffened when he heard the man, leaving the sword where it lay as he got back to his feet and held his side again, staggering down the hill side towards the dip that rolled into yet another large hill. "Watch me" when he voiced the reply that was more to himself than to Rome, his voice sounded foreign, defeated and broken, but stubborn none the less. He had to stop and lean against a tree to catch his breath, and he stayed there longer than he should have. When he started moving again it was only because he could hear the other's footsteps, leaves and twigs crunching under the larger countries feet.

After he started up the hill before him, blood loss made his vision blur and go black for just a moment, but that was enough, and the next thing the boy knew he was rolling backwards back down what progress he had made, landing harshly on his back against a rock and staring up at the clear blue sky through the sparse trees. It was a pretty day, it really was, and something about that just made it so much more wrong that this was actually happening.

He had to hand it to the boy, he moved like a shadow, even with a concussion and a hole in his gut. Even Germania couldn't have done better! Still, he could tell that exhaustion was winning out on him, given the shining streak of blood left on the trunk of a tree where he must have caught his breath. It wasn't too long before he heard the clattering of rocks and crushed underbrush up ahead and picked up the pace.

There, lying stained and smudged in a patch of sunlight, was his prize.

Rome grinned, the thrill of conquest stretching it so far across that his cheeks hurt, as he crouched, leaning over his new possession. "Top of the day to you, parus Didymus. Fine weather, isn't it?" He gently unstuck a lock of hair from the boy's forehead, brushing it aside even as the exhausted red head flinched a little. "Why don't you come back to camp with me? As I think I have an offer you can't really refuse."

Jagged breathes filled the silence for a few moments before Tòmas spoke "I want my dog." He would come with Rome, he didn't have much of a choice, but he would have Aristair with him when he did, and there wasn't a thing that would stop him from leaving the camp as soon as he could to find his way back to his beloved familiar should he be denied the request. "I want my dog, and he had better be safe." His head was swimming, and when he looked at Rome it was with half glazed eyes that somehow managed to come across as defiant.

Rome's grin faltered, just for a second, as he stared down into those determined, glazed over eyes... And then he started laughing. Long and loud, the sound of it reverberating off the mountain sides. The boy looked half-dead! And yet he still had the strength to bargain, and for a dog no less! Lesser men had begged for their own live, or at least those of their compatriots. His chuckles faded into a content sigh. "We'll see boy. We'll see."

Rome grabbed Caledonia around the waist and slung him over his shoulder, seeing as the poor creature couldn't walk on his own, and ignored the weak whimper of protest to the treatment as he retraced his path back down the hill and around the bend, back to the granary where the battle had started, back to camp and a medic.

He'd ask around if anyone had shot or picked up a dog on their way to the site, since that'd make his job a whole lot easier, but if they couldn't he could always get the boy a new dog. Not that hard. Until then, it'd be best to keep him from dying in the near future. Then they could talk about terms.

A/N: Haha, you all only get a little bit~ XD