There was a time he loved being alive, a time each new day was met with wonder and energy, bright eyes looking towards the horizon.
There was time when emotions felt neon, sharp and blinding, pain, happiness, victory, sorrow, betrayal. There never really was a betrayal though, he knew that. A friend who wasn't a friend, an enemy who wasn't an enemy. An outstretched hand to help him up and a fire in amber eyes peering back down.
"I'll try my best to conquer you, so do your best to survive, Germania."
From the start, Rome had clearly laid out the terms of their relationship and what they were to eachother. Rome, who would conquer. Germania, who would not be conquered. And he knew he wasn't the only one, either. Not just Germania, not just Egypt, but many, many others received the same warning from Rome. And one by one, they fell. Even Egypt fell, not as a country, but as a person, promising something she should have treasured to someone who would not treasure it. And in the end, Egypt took her heart back and separated from Rome. Germania could never tell if her heart truly had been broken or not, since she was a strong woman who didn't show emotions.
No, there had never been a betrayal, only Germania forgetting his place. He couldn't even blame Rome, for misleading him, because he knew it had never been done on purpose, and only himself who saw it as such. Rome had promised to try and conquer him, and he had. Germania had taken the challenge to survive, and he had. And over the years, Rome, The Great Roman Empire, started to talk differently to Germania. Not as hunter and prey, but as equals. Friends. He spoke to Germania in a way that Germania thought was different, affectionate, almost. But, even then, Germania hadn't forgotten his place, his role.
"Survive."
And Rome, ever ambiguous, hadn't forgotten his role either.
"Conquer."
From the first brush of lips against his lips, from the first touch of Rome's calloused hand sliding under Germania's toga, Germania hadn't faltered, knowing it was a part of their game. Cat and mouse. Hunter and prey. Rome and Germania. Even at the first time he was pulled into Rome's bed, sheets wrapping around their twisting forms, panting and writhing and the smell of sweat, Germania had known it was just a part of their games. Rome, trying to conquer, and Germania refusing to be conquered. Germania couldn't allow himself to fall. From every touch from Rome, every sweet word, the change in expression and tone, from Rome's lopsided smile to the fierce eyes that chased after Germania's form with hunger, Germania could not fall. He couldn't allow himself to snatch up his broken heart from amongst the clothes scattered on the floor, and disappear back home with the morning sun.
Rome was "Great". Egypt was "Great."
Germania was not great. He was "Germania Libera". Free Germania. And that was all he had. What Rome gave to him, he could not keep. Touches were returned, sweet words avoided, and feelings ignored. Germania wasn't strong enough to pick up the pieces of a broken heart from the floor and flee like a regretful one-night stand. Germania wasn't strong enough to stand back up again if his heart was torn apart. So Germania, Free Germania, guarded his heart like his most important treasure. He could give away his words, his body, but not his heart. And Rome kept trying to conquer Germania, and Germania kept trying to survive.
He wasn't great enough to do anything else. He wasn't sure he was even great enough to keep doing what he was doing. No, he wasn't, and Rome brought Germania crumbling to his knees when he suddenly bestowed a new nickname.
"Germania Magna," Rome called him that as his large calloused hand gripped the back of Germania's sweaty neck, pulling his head to touch his forehead, hot and aroused beneath the sheets, "my Great Germania."
And even though his words betrayed his intention, -conquer- even though Germania knew what Rome was doing, even though he knew what he should do, even though he heard the possessive, Germania, Free Germania, Great Germania, fell. And it scared him. Rome, who conquered and took all, had conquered Germania, and Germania surrendered his heart.
But Rome didn't know. It was both a surprise and a stroke of luck, Rome continuing to attempt to seduce and own Germania, and so Germania continued to put up an act of resisting. Rome reached out, and Germania pulled away. Rome spoke sweet words, and Germania covered his ears. Rome touched him, and Germania reacted. A feint. A farce. A façade. Rome, still so earnestly tying to win. Germania, pretending he hadn't already lost.
Germania feared the day that Rome found out, the day Germania became just one of many, before he was tossed away and forgotten. He knew his place was only "One who has not been conquered" in Rome's heart, so desperately, Germania kept up his act.
"I'll try my best to conquer you,"
Running when chased, fighting when forced, drawing a line between them so clearly.
"So try your best to survive, Germania."
A line to prevent Rome from getting to close, a barrier he couldn't cross. But the same went for Germania. Rome, on one side of an invisible wall, holding Germania's heart. Germania, on the other side, empty and aching for something he couldn't get back. And the game that Germania forced himself to play began to grow tiring. A script, every line recited from memory. Every step, every motion well-rehearsed. And somewhere in the scripted play, Germania, wearing a mask to hide his feelings, facing Rome, unmasked and raw.
"I want you, Germania."
Germania knew that.
"Germania, Magna Germania, I want you."
Rome knew that Germania knew this too, and Rome grew more desperate.
"I will have you Germania, even if I have to fight you."
And Germania stood against Rome on the battle field, ready to die where he stood at any moment, going through the motions of one fighting for his life with reckless abandon. He could not beat Rome, Germania knew that. Regardless if Rome called him so, he was not "Magna Germania". He would not even be "Germania Libera" for much longer either. Rome was greater, stronger, and had more fire and desire in his eyes. Germania was tired, tired from his scripted game, tired from the aching, tired of fearing for the sake of his love he'd given away so long ago. Germania could not win. He wasn't even sure he wanted to anymore. He was just waiting, waiting for the blow that stopped him in his tracks, and then, like so many years before, Germania would fall, and Rome would successfully conquer the only one he couldn't conquer.
He moved, sword outstretched, and Rome moved too, and he knew the tip of Rome's sword would pierce his chest. He knew his wouldn't connect. And yet, they were acting a script, so Germania moved to pierce Rome's chest, and Rome moved to pierce his. Except-
Except-
"I knew it."
Blood dripping down, a sword that shouldn't have pierced had gone trough, and Germania's shaken gaze found the sword that should have pierced his heart, thrown away at the last moment. The action to do so had left Rome unable to deflect the attack, and Rome Sank down to his knees, amber eyes still locked on Germania's face, despite the open chest wound.
"Magna Germania, Germania Libera."
Words spoken with more love than Germania could bear.
"I knew it from the start."
The eyes so full of desire, of the emotion that Germania had identified as the need to conquer, locked so lovingly with Germania's broken gaze.
"I could never conquer you, mi amore. No matter how I try, Germania can never be mine."
And Germania was falling apart. He didn't know that his heart could break by his own hands, and not another's. when his sword pierced through Rome's chest, he had not stabbed Rome's heart, but his own. because Rome had long ago given Germania his heart in return, and Germania was only now realizing this. He fell, too, legs buckling and failing beneath him, crashing heavily to his knees in the battlefield, so close to the one he'd never meant to conquer.
"Why?"
Words falling from his lips, so broken and faint they might have been nothing less than a gust of breath on the wind. He didn't understand how they ended up here, how Germania had been the one who conquered Rome, how they'd turned the roles around.
"I'll try my best to conquer you,"
To conquer; Rome's role.
"So do your best to survive, Germania."
To survive; Germania's role.
And yet the one to conquer had been Germania, and the one who tried to survive was Rome. But it was too late, and Rome and Germania, both battle veterans, knew that this time, Rome would not survive. There was a terrible hole opening up inside Germania, then collapsing into itself, over and over. Rome smiled, as though his face wasn't paler than marble statues, as though blood wasn't pouring endlessly from his chest.
"Germania, Great Germania, Free Germania. I always knew that i could never conquer you. Yet still-"
There was a pain deeper than the kind a wound could cause in Rome's last words.
"I'd hoped you could be mine."
And Rome swayed, falling, and Germania caught him in his shaking arms. That smile, that stupid, content smile, was still on Rome's face as he tried to keep his eyes opened and fixed on Germania's own eyes. Amber against blue, peace against pain. Somehow, in death, Rome had found something to allow him to pas peacefully. Somehow, in death, he had taken every chance of Germania doing so himself.
"You idiot."
Germania lowered his forehead to touch the rapidly cooling one of his best friend, his rival, his only love.
"You conquered my heart a long time ago."
But the words were spoken in vain, the mask falling too late, and the act coming to close on a terrible tragedy. Germania made his heart-breaking confession to a cooling corpse amongst a blood-soaked battle field, surrounded by the bodies of both their men, warriors who fought and died for nothing at all. Rome, The Great Roman Empire, The Conqueror, the one who's eyes always blazed with a hidden fire, did not respond.
And Germania sobbed like a man who lost everything, with no more mask to wear. He howled, broken, open, and unrestrained on a battle ground that was now a graveyard, over a love he couldn't get back. Germania didn't try to hide his broken heart as he sobbed. There was no one left to see.
And when Germania did stand up, he wasn't the same man he had been. He felt empty, emptions muted, pastels in the background. He did not want to die. Neither did he want to live. Yet somehow, Germania still was. He went through the motions after that, moving and acting distantly, seeing the world from backstage, actions in a script he couldn't stray from. Then, one day, a child. A child that didn't look like him, not really. A child that looked even less like Rome. There was no fire in the child's face, just wariness and resignment. A child that didnt resemble either him or Rome in the slightest, in appearance or personality. Even the blond hair was wavy, the blue eyes a shade darker. Yet, somehow, for some reason, Germania held out a hand to it.
"What is your name?"
A wary, but strong reply.
"Francia."
And something stirred in him, words he was told a long time ago, a role given for his life, a way to survive. Germania crouched to Francia's level, holding out a a hand.
"Then lets make a deal."
His heart was pounding in way he hadn't felt in a very long time.
"Come with me, and I'll protect you."
And the child showed the sword they had kept sheathed, the thing that drew Germania to them.
"What if I betray you?"
There is was, a fire hidden underneath bowed shoulders, a precision behind his wary eyes. Like Germania, hiding his feeling and acting so he could live. Like Rome, Germania set the roles.
"Then try your best to conquer me, Francia, and I'll try my best to survive."
But that had been a very long time ago, and even the burst of energy he'd gained from that had long since died down and burnt out. Once again, Germania was going through the motions, uncaring and unaffected by the future. It had already been such a very long time since he'd given his heart away, since he'd broke his own heart and taken the life of one he loved. It had been even longer since Germania was born, and he was finally ready for it to be over.
"Father?"
Francia's voice from the door, where Germany had summoned them. Francia, The Frankish Empire. He hadn't been wrong about what he'd seen in them as a child, and now they, as an adult, were still proving him right. Francia approached carefully, no doubt feeling that something was about to change, and knowing, though they'd try to deny it, what it was. Germania had one last thing to do before he followed Rome to see whatever was beyond life and death. He was leaving many things behind, not just land, but a legacy and a history, and he didn't want this small proof of the worth of his existence to die with him. So, to the child he'd chosen to call his own, to the adult in front of him. he left it all.
"This is my heart,"A parchment pressed into Francia's hands, "take care of it."
And the country who broke down in front of him understanding.
"No! I Don't want it!"
Francia screamed in a voice of loss, but Germania could only offer the last of his emotions, an affectionte, but sorrowful look, and Francia continued to fall apart.
"Why? Why wont you stay with me? Why cant I make you love me?"
A child, desperately trying to hold onto a parent. A country trying to conquer another. An echo of words from long ago rang in Germania's ears.
"I always knew that I could never conquer you."
"You said I should try to conquer you!" Francia threw the words back in Germania's face. "You said that you'd try to survive!"
And the last act in this mad play was finally drawing to a close, and Germania could see the red curtains loosening, about to fall. Germania, for perhaps the first time since even before the fall of Rome, smiled, though it was pathetic and lonely attempt.
"I'm sorry, I've lied."
Betrayed eyes on his own, and Germania took of his mask before the falling curtain.
"I was already conquered long time ago. There's someone waiting for me, you see, and I've kept him waiting long enough."
He was romanticizing his end, he knew, but not just for Francia's sake, but for his own too. Germania truly hoped that somewhere , where ever countries went when they died, he could meet Rome again. There, he wouldn't make the same mistakes, he wouldn't wear a mask or act a part anymore. There, Rome wouldn't need to try to conquer him, and he wouldn't need to survive. And there, in a place that love was inevitable and death already passed, perhaps Germania could finally say those words he'd never gotten to say in life. His lands were passing to Francia, and he felt his life force go with it, and closed his eyes to block out Francia's broken-hearted and pleading gaze, picturing a different pair of eyes, amber instead of blue, instead.
"Germania."
He tried to remember what Rome sounded like when he called his name.
"Magna Germania."
So loving, so greedy. How had he ever mistaken love for a desire to conquer?
"Germania Libera."
Why had he run for so long from someone he only wanted to be close too? Germania felt that last of his self, his life force, his being, his lands, pass away.
"My Germania."
A voice so rich, so deep nd loving and overflowing with emotions, familiar and close, like the owner of that voice was right in front of him. He opened his yes, and there, loving, greedy, deep, he saw familiar eyes looking down at him.
"I told you I want you, Germania. I'll have you, even if I have to die first. "
And Germania finally allows himself what he never had before, reaching up and pulling a person he thought he'd never see again down to him, eys lighting up with emotions he'd forgotten, flushing his cheeks as he presses his lips greedily against the other's. Rome doesn't try to resist, more than happy to indulge, and Germania feels like his heart that he'd broken so many years ago is finally beating again. Too soon and yet after such a very long time, they separate, and Germania struggles to catch his breath so he can say the words he desperately needs to say.
"You Idiot,"
Germania gasps the words as best he can,
"I've been yours for a very long time already."
And Rome's eyes have afire on an empire, even if its a fallen empire, as all he does is pull Germania back to him, capturing another kiss, desperate to earn back all the time they'd lost.
And Germania-
"I love you."
Finally, he says the words he could never say before, and everything, both he and Rome, are perfect now.
