476 AD – The Fall of Rome

"Antonio!" Opening his bleary eyes, the Spanish Nation blinked back against the darkness of the room he'd been living in for the past month. It was difficult to get used to living anywhere when he always had to keep on the move. Francis had helped him as much as possible without drawing too much attention to himself from Rome, and Antonio was grateful for that.

He still visited his own country though, just to remind the earth and soil that he was still there, and he had no intention of surrendering this land to the Romans. While it was true he could feel himself weakened from the time away from his home, he continued to hold that firm bond, no matter how much of his energy it took.

It did seem like Rome's influence on Europe had called everyone else rather sharply to a halt. Antonio didn't know of a single European Nation outside of Rome and Germania, that had managed to age these pasts few centuries. Everyone seemed to be trapped under their influence or power.

However, they were getting older, there was evidence enough in that, when Francis confessed about a century back that he could no longer visit the dream world anymore. While Antonio did feel sorry for his friend, he knew it hadn't been a particularly useful point of contact for Feliciano or Lovino, as Feliciano had stopped visiting it quite some time ago, Antonio expected the same would have been true of Lovino, not that Francis had ever reported having seen him there.

"Antonio!" That voice again, a voice Antonio was very familiar with by now.

"What is it Francis?" It was still dark outside, the only reason he could think of that the French Nation would wake him so suddenly was if there was some sort of danger. That thought did cause the darker toned Nation to focus a little more sharply.

In the half light cast by the candle Francis was holding, Antonio could make out his wide-eyed expression. The blue eyes that blinked back at him were caught in a flurry of conflicting emotions. He could see excitement, fear and something that could only be described as 'justification'.

"It's happening, I just heard word on the Germanic border. I knew he was losing his grip on things, but he just marched his armies through Germania's land. Antonio I really think this is it."

It? For a moment Antonio remained baffled, and then his eyes shot open.

Rome's influence had been weakening over the past fifty-years or so. He'd lost Britannia in the north, some of Francis' northern kingdoms, and large chunks of Germania's land. However, Antonio hadn't dared to hope this phenomenon might be spreading further south.

Throwing off the covers, Antonio dressed quickly, and stood before Francis ready to go. They were going to go and see it right? After all this time, he had to be there when it happened, even if he couldn't deliver the final blow himself.

For a moment Francis seemed to hesitate, his expression conflicting uncertainly. But, before Antonio had a chance to question him on it, the blonde Nation grinned, grabbing his hand and leading him out to the front of the Inn he was staying in. Several horses and a few men were waiting out there, presumably Francis' escort.

"You know how to ride right?"

Ride? Like, ride a horse?

Antonio studied the large and irritable looking animals apprehensively and shook his head.

Unlike Francis, Antonio had never had the benefit of being educated by his people in anything, not since Marina at least, and there hadn't exactly been that many horses dotted around the small settler village.

Francis collected his answer from the silence, and chuckled, "I'll have to teach you sometime, once all this is over." He pulled himself up onto a white mare near the centre of the crowd and held out his hand to help Antonio on behind him. "Just hold onto me okay."

Antonio did not have to be told twice, once the creature actually started moving, and his stomach flipped uncomfortably when they began to pick up speed. He was going to die, he was going to die on this infernal creature, he was absolutely convinced of it.

However, when they reached their camp for that night, Antonio found that he was still very much alive, much to Francis' amusement.

"It isn't funny!" Antonio grumbled, rolling out his sleeping mat for the night, while Francis howled with laughter.

"Honestly I thought you were going to pull us both off after that jump by the river" he sniggered, clutching at his gut, "And did you actually scream when we rounded that sharp corner?"

"You did it all on purpose!"

Perhaps there had been a few places that were necessary, but Antonio was pretty sure that Francis had started taking more complicated routes, like jumping logs instead of moving around them, or taking corners too fast just to frighten him.

But still, Francis' laughter was rather infectious, so it was difficult to stay angry with him.

Once the blonde had calmed down, and they were settled beneath their blankets for the night, Francis spoke again.

"You know, I was thinking of doing some travelling myself, once my lands are free… I thought I could maybe travel north, take a look at Britannia myself, see if the stories of wild and savage Bretons are as true as the merchants say."

"Isn't it supposed to be freezing and wet up there all the time?" Antonio could think of nothing more unappealing than a country like that, no wonder the people were driven half mad.

Francis chuckled at this, "I'll have to find out for myself. Hey, you know Feliciano told me this story, he was told by the Greek Nation. According to the Greeks, the people of Britannia came about when a king of Greece sent seven of his wicked deviant daughters adrift in a boat. They sailed around Europe and came to the coast of Britannia where they proceeded to mate with the monsters and create the first Bretons."

Antonio winced with disgust. There was no way that story was true, but it did paint rather a vivid image of the people to the north and how barbaric they must be. He could only imagine what a Nation of such a country would look like.

When he turned to Francis however, the younger Nation's eyes were sparkling with anticipation.

"Have you… have you already met their Nation?"

Francis grinned to himself, "Sort of, we met a couple of times in the dream world before my time there came to an end. Really grumpy kid threw a stone at me the first time we met and spat in my face… come to think of it there was this other guy there as well… Jap… something, haven't seen him since though."

Well it sounded like the Britannic Nation was exactly how Antonio had imagined he'd be, so why on earth did Francis look so happy about it.

"You have to meet him to understand," Francis answered the questioning look on his friend's face. "It's just really amusing, he does all these crazy things, then goes bright red when you laugh at him, sure he kicks and bites a little, but then other times he just clings onto your arm like a little limpet."

Antonio clicked his tongue, he certainly would never put up with spoiled childish behaviour like that.

"So, you understand him?"

Francis nodded, "Yeah, like most of us around here, he speaks Latin… well, very poor Latin, but enough for us to communicate, he hates speaking it though and often reverts back into this tongue-twister language his native people must speak."

The Spanish Nation was beginning to get the impression that if he let him, Francis would go on about this weird kid all night, so instead he rolled over, so he was facing away from the other Nation. "I'm going to get some sleep, recover from my horse-riding trauma for tomorrow." He grimaced slightly at the idea of having to get back on a horse, but it was the only way to get to the frontline fast enough, before they missed the whole thing.

The next day they crossed into Germania's land. Antonio watched as each man in Francis' guard attached a white scrap of material to their horses.

"Truce flag" Francis explained, "It means that we aren't here to do any damage or attack, so hopefully Germania's soldiers will leave us alone."

It didn't however, look like there were any soldiers on their route, they must all be where Rome and Germania were fighting, which would certainly make sense.

As they past through villages and towns, Antonio couldn't help but feel that these people were just as savage and wild as the Bretons to the north that Francis had been describing.

Honestly, he wasn't sure whether it was better to be ruled under Germania's uncivilised but loose rule, or Rome's suffocating strict but advanced one. Well the true answer was neither, why couldn't they both just leave everyone else to it.

On the fifth day they caught the first signs of the battle. Bloodied bodies, fallen swords and horses, the metallic stench of blood was rife in the air, causing the boys to gag each time they breathed in too deeply.

Because of this, they rode in slow and quiet silence, Francis' guards alert for any sign of danger.

"There!" One of the guards had time to shout his alert, before a flurry of leather and hair dropped from a tree on top of him, drawing a blade across his throat, before kicking off the horse with a vicious sound. More Germanic soldiers dropped down after him, surrounding the small travelling party.

"Oh god… umm…" Francis waved his hands uncertainly, "Wini… umm… Stilli?"

They sounded like made up words to Antonio, but he could only assume that Francis was trying to speak to them in their own language. His knowledge of the language seemed limited to single words spoken loudly though, rather than actually being able to hold a conversation.

Seeing this rather sophisticated looking little boy yelling at them in German did seem to give the soldiers pause though. However, once one had cracked a smirk of amusement, they advanced once more, blades held high.

"Lant!" Francis tried again, "Nation!"

But this didn't seem to dissuade the men.

Instinctively Antonio reached down to his waist, where the knife he carried was concealed, and he was aware that Francis was reaching for his own blade as well. Even if they were not under any threat, the French Nation seemed determined to protect his men.

However, just before Antonio could launch himself off the horse that the nearest soldier, a boy appeared from the bushes, waving his hands at the Germanic soldiers and shouting German at them.

He was young, around the same age as Francis, with hair that was so blonde, Antonio could almost have called it white. But perhaps the most alarming were the burning crimson red eyes that the boy was studying them with.

Now, Antonio was perfectly willing to accept by now that blue was an eye colour, but he was not ready to accept that this was in any way something that could be described as natural. However, he also knew that his own eye colour could be considered, a little odd.

To have such a small boy giving orders to big and fierce men like this. Antonio narrowed his eyes, this had to be a Nation. The hold on his knife tightened, but Francis turned to place a reassuring hand over his.

"It's fine, trust me."

And, just as Francis had implied, the soldiers grunted and disappeared back into the forest, presumably in the direction of the battle, leaving the small white-haired boy behind.

"Francis" the boy greeted, his expression breaking into a toothy grin, "Thought I might be seeing you around here, come to watch as my old man takes down yours?"

"He's not my old man" Francis sighed with annoyance, "Trust me, I'm as keen as anyone to see that guy knocked down a peg or two."

It seemed like this white-haired boy spoke Latin, which was a small relief to Antonio. However, he took note of the use of the name 'Francis'. The French Nation was very particular about who called him by his human name, in fact that was limited strictly to friends only, so that meant he and this other Nation had to know each other quite well.

"Anto… Spain," Francis corrected himself quickly, aware that Antonio was very particular about who he gave his name out to as well, "This is Prussia, you know the kid I told you about before. He helps to keep me informed about what's happening out there in the rest of Europe."

"Spain? Well nice to meet you, heard you're one of the poor suckers that got taken over by Rome, sucks to be you."

Antonio frowned, narrowing his eyes.

Their mutual friend laughed nervously, jumping down from the horse. "Come on Gil… Prussia, don't be like that. He's had a really rough time out of it that last few centuries."

"Just call me Gilbert," the other Nation waved his hand, "Prussia is for my subjects," he let out a sharp and energetic cackle. "You on the horse, you're a Nation, so you can call me that to. To you lot however," he pointed at Francis' men, "It is the Great and Awesome Prussia to you!"

Slipping off the horse after Francis, Antonio approached his friend, still eyeing the other boy uncertainly. "Are you sure he's safe?"

Francis laughed and nodded, "Oh don't worry he's fine, just a little eccentric."

It seemed like Francis gravitated towards these 'eccentric' and 'wild' Nations far more than Antonio would have previously assumed.

"I assume you guys want a good view of the battle. You're not the first to get here, Rome brought a whole party with him, plus I'm pretty sure that Ottoman Empire bastard is around here somewhere, keep an eye out for him, he's a fucking weirdo." Gilbert let out another cackle as he turned towards the trees, motioning for the group to follow him.

"My kid brother is around here somewhere as well, he won't be able to do much more than stab your ankles though." He pointed to Antonio, "You look more like Rome, so he's likely to see you as an enemy, Francis should probably be able to get away with it though."

Even though Antonio knew this wasn't an insult, and was just helpful advice, he couldn't help but feel offended by it all the same.

"Wait…" His mind reeling back a little, Antonio caught up with Gilbert, "You said you had a younger brother?"

That was rare, blood related Nations were so uncommon in fact, that Antonio had been under the impression that only a few existed, and, with the exception of Lovino and Feliciano, they were parent and descendent sets.

"Yeah, the bloodline gets kind of complicated. Basically, Fater had me ages ago with some random girl he liked, and then like four centuries ago he got this other girl pregnant, and hey along came my little brother. He's got a human name… I think, but his actual name is stupid, so don't ask him for it."

Honestly, Antonio had no idea how it worked when Nations slept with humans, he'd never really had the inclination to do so himself. He'd sort of assumed that typically they just didn't have children, but maybe they did and most of them were only human? Really, he didn't understand how any of their origins worked. There were Nations like Feliciano, Lovino, and apparently Gilbert and his brother, who were born, and then there were Nations like himself and Francis, who simply seemed to come into existence by themselves.

"Here we are."

Gilbert had led them up onto a small hill face, looking down on the battle below amongst the speckled clearings of the forest.

"Stay low" he instructed, "and whatever you do, do not come out from here. Even me and my brother are keeping out of the way of our dad right now. I reckon he and Rome will kill anyone that comes within a sword's reach of them."

Sensible advice, so Antonio decided to take it, lying flat on his stomach, so he could peer over the hill, while at the same time, keeping a close eye on the battle below.

"Well you idiots are welcome to stay and watch, but I'm getting back to it" Gilbert smirked, seizing Francis in an affectionate headlock, thoroughly messing up his hair, before darting off again.

At the very least, this gesture seemed to annoy the French Nation, who spent a good half hour fixing his hair after Gilbert was gone.

It did not take long to spot Germania and Rome though, it was hard to miss them, they seemed to tower above the other soldiers on the field and were locked in a battle of such intensity that the fury and anger seemed to be visibly radiating off them into the drizzly sky.

Antonio let out a small sneeze. He really hated this sort of weather, and the blanket Francis had draped over them, while initially helpful, now seemed to be making things worse.

But it wasn't over yet, he couldn't go back.

"We need to move," that was a whispered order from one of Francis' guards, who nudged the two boys gently, "Reports of Roman soldiers heading this way."

Well that really didn't give them much of a choice.

Moving with the others, Antonio edged quietly and stealthily around the hill face, scouting out a safer location.

"Another hill" Francis pointed out, casting out his finger to one that seemed to be fairly deserted.

The group were part way there, when Francis suddenly let out a sharp yelp of alarm, shoving Antonio to the ground as out of nowhere Rome and Germania appeared out of the bushes, slamming into the men with them, swords slashing so chaotically, that two of Francis' men were caught by the blow.

It didn't look like the two of them were aware of anything else around them. But they paused, locked in their battle, as Francis and Antonio crouched behind a tree, far too close for comfort. If Germania waved that large sword of his too close to the ground, there was every chance they'd be hit, and considering his weakened state, Antonio knew that was particularly risky for him.

Although it was an odd time to realise it, only now did Antonio realise that he'd never actually seen Germania before. He'd heard so many stories about this giant of man that he'd just assumed somehow that he must have seen him somewhere, but the truth was, all he had to go on were stories.

The man was tall and powerful, far more so than any other Nation Antonio had ever met. However, Rome was faster and lighter, and was clearly trying to use that to his advantage as he dodged a blow dealt by Germania which cut neatly through one of the nearby trees instead.

"Merde!" Francis cursed through clenched teeth, wincing at the sword cut through the tree like it was nothing, and it was so easy to think they were going to be next.

Rome seemed to be moving far more desperately now, his eyes occasionally flicking over to the hillside where Antonio and Francis ha been heading, and whenever Germania advanced towards it, Rome would throw all his weight against him, forcing the other Nation back.

Beside him, Francis let out a small gasp of realisation, before seizing his lips shut again when Antonio turned to look at him.

"What?"

Francis shook his head firmly, lips still locked together fearfully.

"What?" Antonio pressed more firmly.

But it turned out Francis didn't need to answer that question, as Rome suddenly kicked Germania back, his heavy form stumbling over the roots, buying the Roman Nation just enough time to call over his shoulder. "Feli get out of here!"

Antonio wasn't aware that he'd moved, until he felt Francis' arms wrap tightly around his waist, pulling him back to their hiding spot.

That was why Rome was so desperate to keep Germania away from that hill, it must be where Feliciano was. Gilbert had said Rome had brought a procession with him, Antonio just hadn't imagined at the time that Feliciano would be included amongst that number.

"No!" Francis hissed at him, "He'll kill you!"

But Antonio was now consciously fighting back. He hadn't had a chance like this in… well since he'd lost the twins over a thousand years ago. If he passed up this chance now, then he may have to wait another thousand years for another.

Rome had been right that day he'd called Antonio a coward that was always running, it was true. But not today, he wasn't going to let that fear and sense of self-preservation stop him now.

His two extra physical years on Francis, made him stronger than the other boy, and he had no difficulty forcing himself free of the shorter Nation's grip.

Rome's eyes were temporarily distracted from Germania, as they fell on Antonio, horror and fury overtaking the initial surprise.

He only just managed to side-step Germania's next blow, before throwing the weight of his sword down on the spot where Antonio was standing.

Dodging around him, Antonio ran in the direction of the hill.

A large hand snapped around his arm, holding him back, if Antonio moved now, his arm would snap for sure, but he continued to pull, even when he felt the joints attaching his arm and shoulder together beginning to break.

Rome had hold of him with one hand and was desperately trying to fend off Germania's attacks with the other.

He was distracted enough for Antonio to pull the knife from his belt with his free hand and plunge it deeply into the one holding him.

Rome let out a gasp of pain, his grip weakening, but not quite enough for Antonio to slip free.

"Grandpa!"

Antonio's eyes swivelled in the direction of a small boy standing by the hillside, so close that in only a few strides the Spanish Nation would be able to reach out and touch him.

"Feliciano, I told you to run! You need to run!" The desperation in Rome's voice was clear, and had Antonio been in a position to care, then he would have observed the fear and distress in the militaristic dictator's voice.

"I can't leave you… I can't…" Feliciano drew a small knife from his own belt, as if he were going to join the fight with it.

"Feliciano I've been…" Antonio tried to speak, but he was prevented from doing so, as Rome slammed him forcibly into the ground.

"There's a letter for you on my bed!" Rome snapped, "Feliciano, run!"

The young-looking Nation sniffed and nodded. Before Antonio had a chance to recover, Feliciano was already running.

"No!" He snarled out with a growl of frustration, seizing the knife from the back of Rome's hand, as he plunged it once more into the Roman Nation, this time neatly burying it amongst his ribs.

"You impudent rat!" Rome slammed the butt of his sword against Antonio's head, leaving the younger Nation dazed, as he turned back towards Germania, the blade coming faster and harder than it ever had done before.

Although his vision was blurred, Antonio felt the warm thick texture of blood dripping against his face, the metallic taste stinging his tongue as he gasped for air as a heavy weight straddled his chest.

Germania was dead, and Rome, bleeding heavily, his eyes bloodshot was pressing down on him from above, sword raised, just as it had been when Antonio had managed to escape from him the last time. Perhaps this was just as he was intended to die…

Just as Antonio closed his eyes, ready for the final blow, he felt the wind above him part as something sharp and sudden cut above him, plummeting deep into Rome's already wounded torso, piercing the heart within.

The sword in Rome's hands dropped, falling uselessly on the grass somewhere beside Germania's still form.

"You…"

Opening his eyes and looking up, Antonio saw Francis. The boy was shaking, his hands still pristinely clean as he tugged at his golden hair in distress, breaths coming in short and helpless gasps. Blue eyes locked with Rome's brown ones. He couldn't believe what he'd done, the panic and terror was clear on his face, as he fell backwards away from the sword.

"I… I should have killed you when…" Rome coughed, spraying Antonio's face with blood. The older Nation's eyes then revolved down to Antonio, contorting with more emotions than Antonio was capable of reading.

A rough dry hand found the side of his face and tightened painfully against his hair. "You all think I'm a monster?" He laughed humorously, "I've already seen it. Europe will be painted in blood, and the two of you will be some of its finest artists." He released Antonio's hair, but the hand remained closely placed against his cheek.

Anger and fury gave way to panic and fear, until finally, the light in the Roman Nation's eyes faded away, leaving him to collapse lifelessly onto the ground. The only reason Antonio wasn't crushed under his weight, was due to the hilt of Francis' blade that stopped Rome's progression towards the earth just before he reached it, leaving Antonio just enough space to pull himself free.

He was covered in blood, despite being the only one there who had delivered no final blow.

Francis however, was perfectly clean, despite his paling face and sheer terror.

Unsure if he had the energy left to do much more, Antonio crawled towards his friend and hugged him tightly. While he knew Francis needed someone to hold onto, Antonio had to admit that was not his only motivation. He needed the other Nation to be just as soiled by all this as he was, he wanted that naïve civilised properness to be distorted by the bloody redness of battle. All these years he'd suffered, everything he'd lost, while Francis talked of new friends and fashions. This was a baptism of blood, a welcoming embrace to the violent and gruesome truth of life.