Early 395 AD. Decline of the Roman Empire

Rome reclined on his chair, with the usual expression of laughter on his face. He held a silver goblet of mulled wine carelessly in one hand, with his other arm wrapped around the waist of a blushing woman; one of many mingling amongst the party. Dignitaries from all over the empire milled around the luxurious marble halls, discussing a thousand and one matters, each apparently more important than all the others. There were Greeks, Germans, lots of Romans, and people from beyond the borders with only a simple grasp on Latin. The party was open to all comers, provided they at least looked wealthy enough.
Greece pushed his way through the crowds, brushing off the drunken advances of a particularly effeminate part of Gaul as he went (This part would later go on to become France). Greece was a young country, grown from the ashes of his mother. He missed her sorely, though it wouldn't do to show weakness during such a time of political instability. As such, his emotions were pushed to the back of his mind. Rome spotted him as he neared, and downed his wine. 'Greece, my amicus! Come, sit!'
Greece perched himself on the edge of a resplendent armchair, and looked into the eyes of the man who was arguably his father, after a very violent fashion. He was aware of the Empire's past with his mother, but Rome was a difficult man to hate. 'Rome… the empire is in a turbulent period. I'll be frank. I'm a bit worried…'
'Don't worry your pretty little head about it, my boy!" Rome laughed the delicacies of his accent slurred by drink. 'There is good wine, the night is young. Beautiful women surround us! You're getting to be a little bit sexy, I think! You'll be sharing your bed tonight, so cheer up!'
Greece persisted, brushing off the "my boy". 'Rome… these are dangerous times. These faces look friendly and loyal enough, but any one of these pats on your back could be a knife. That little beauty with her hands on your balls could just as easily be about to twist. It is time to act.'
'Act, you say?' Rome scratched the layer of perpetual stubble on his chin, thoughtfully.
'Yeah… quickly, drastically…'
At this, Rome leapt to his feet, drawing the spatha sword sheathed at his hip; the empty goblet falling forgotten. 'Sounds EPIC!' Then the alcohol took its toll, and he toppled drunkenly, sending a gorgeously carved table laden with delicacies flying into oblivion.

Late 395 AD

'You should have seen him at the party. He woke up twenty minutes later, and then had an orgy that'd shame you, Manny.' Greece concluded, drowsily.
'I highly doubt zat.' Replied Germania, curtly.
'What really bakes my crumpet is how little of a shit he even gives at this point.' Piped up Britain, in earnest.
'Vhat ze hell are you talking about Britain? Crumpets haven't even been invented yet. You're still prancing around in zat ridiculous blue face paint.'
Britain gave Germania a withering look, with a tinge of humiliation. 'It's… it's not face paint, it's woad. I wear it into battle and it heals my wounds. I'm unbeatable with it!'
'Ya, ya. Vhatever helps you sleep at night; but me and Greece still think it looks stupid, don't ve?' Germania smirked, glancing at Greece. The smug expression turned sour.
'Gott im Himmel, he's asleep again! Vhy is it he acts so earnestly professional around the Roman Empire, but the moment they're not together he's alvays fucking out cold!'
'I keep telling you, he's letting Rome bugger him. Why else do you think he's such a favourite?'
'Oh, shut up, Britain. I'm being serious here. Anyvay, with him napping, I can tell you.'
'Tell me what?'
'I think it's time ve took action. Drastic action.'
Britain frowned thoughtfully. After a pause, he said, 'sounds good. What did you have in mind?'

Late 396 AD

Greece toiled in the wide open sands behind his manor. Each swing of the pickaxe caused sweat to cascade off of his body, hitting the sand and dwelling for a brief moment before evaporating in the scorching afternoon sun. He had been mining the ruins of his mother for hours, now. Soon, he's sit out front in his lush gardens with a cold drink. Then his afternoon nap. Greece had to have his morning lie in, his noon rest and his afternoon nap, or he wouldn't have the energy for his main evening snooze, after all.
A strained cry made him pause mid-swing. 'Greeeeeeece! AMICUS! HELP!' Was that Rome? It couldn't be. Whenever he dropped by, he always tried to creep up on Greece and tackle him… still, there was nobody else with that voice. Embedding the pickaxe in the beige dirt, Greece straightened; his back cracking in relief. He retrieved his shirt from a marble railing as he walked into the cool shade of the house. As he came into the entrance hall, what he saw made him break into a run. It was Rome, hunched over on his knees with both arms buried against his chest. Greece came to a sudden halt, and gripped his friend by the shoulders. 'Rome, what happened?'
'Germania… him and Britain... they tricked me. Germania…' pain contorted his features. Greece pried Rome's hand away from where it was clutched at his breast. It came away bloody. Nestled deep was a small roman pugio, embedded up to the hilt. Rome nodded to his other arm, and Greece saw there was a tiny baby nestled in the crook. 'Yours?' he asked, quietly.
Rome could nodded feebly. Greece set the child down carefully, and hugged the man to him as he slumped to one side, now free of his precious charge. 'We're going to get you help, you hear? You're gonna be fine, man.'
Rome shook his head, 'no… got me in the heart, just… help my kid, buddy? If that's okay…' just like Rome, unpresumptuous in the strangest situations. Greece realized tears were streaming down his face. "Yeah, sure. Of course I will, buddy!' Rome didn't reply, and Greece could only watch as the light went out of his mentor's eyes. Not caring for the blood, he buried his face in Rome's chest and wept openly. His household servants were pouring into the hall. One of them scooped up the baby boy, and they all stood, with their gaze averted, lest they shame their master by watching his weakest moment.

403 AD

Greece yawned as the noon sun poured in through the thin silk drapes of his bedchamber. Shrugging on a finely woven tunic, he walked out into the lush garden at the front of his estate. 'East?'
After a few seconds, the young boy padded into view, clutching the wooden horse Greece had carved for him on his sixth birthday, after telling him the story of the Trojan horse; one of Ancient Greece, his mother's favourite victories. The boy looked much like his father. Though people visiting the estate who didn't know him for his heritage mistook him for Greece's own and claimed they shared resemblance. In retrospect, Greece could see it. While his hair resembled Rome's greatly, even with the signature curls, it was a little shaggier like Greece's, and he had a similar tan; a trait from growing up in Greece's home under the hot sun. The boy peered up at him, 'yes, papa?'
Greece ruffled the boy's hair, 'nothing, just thought I'd check on you. I thought I'd teach you some of my mythology today, if you'd like.'
'What's mythology?'
'It's stories people made up to explain things. There's lots of heroes with swords, fighting monsters and lions, with lots of magic too.'
East's face lit up like a flare. 'Aw, cool!' Greece accompanied the boy to the patio, calling for cold fruit juice. He sighed, somewhere between satisfaction and wistfulness. He'd dreamed of that afternoon again. He couldn't help but feel it was his fault. He should have kept an eye on Germania. Not a day went by when he didn't think of his lost friend, and it pained him greatly. Still… his bond with the kid had given him a lease on life he'd never expected to possess ever again.

He sat down opposite the East Roman Empire, and sipped at the drink placed before him. 'Right, well, there was once a man named Hercules, and he went to see this woman called an Oracle…'