1. Of Splendor and Riches

Date Written: January 2, 2019

Date Posted: March 17, 2019

Characters: The Roman Empire, Veneziano

Summary: A young blustering Roman Empire finds a dingy little boat on the water.

Notes: Takes place to when the Roman Empire was still flourishing, possible a few centuries before his decline. Since Venice is known to be the "City of Water", I decided to incorporate that into this fic. There may be a few historical inaccuracies, but nothing too glaring, I hope.

It was another sound victory for the Roman Empire. Under the watchful eye of his boss, the Great Roman Empire had managed to amass additional land in the West. It was a trial, for sure, but at the end of the day, he was victorious. His blood roared through his veins with a melody that sung of triumph. Such beauty did the far off lands offer, such riches he could attain from such far off splendor!

After he could physically do no more, the Roman Empire returned to his main holdings. His muscles were newly scarred, but his heart was full of joy. And so, he settled by himself near the coastlines, wanting to rest and prepare for future conquering. However, as he had settled down for his nightly ritual, he began to hear something amiss. Confused, but wary, the warrior stepped out from his makeshift camp and began to walk towards the noise.

Although he had no weapon (a foresight that he would correct in the future), the Roman Empire knew he could overtake any threat if the worst were to happen. Nations had sprung before him and many will come after, but none could hold a candle to his strength now. None could and none would—of that he was sure.

So caught up in his musings, he almost didn't hear a little shrieking sound just a few meters away from where he stood. Intrigued, the warrior stepped back and found himself looking down at a little boat; it was crudely made and decaying from the damp. Normally, the Roman Empire would have turned away after such a trivial matter, but underneath the rays of the soothing moon, his eyes caught trace of white cloth underneath what appeared to be miscellaneous provisions one would usually find in a boat.

As his eyes adjusted and as he moved closer, the bundle of white cloth rustled and let out a little cry. Bemused, the Nation stepped—a little awkwardly—into the boat, which caused the bundle of cloth to stop crying out in fear.

Unbidden, a smooth smile graced his features. "Hello? Are you a nymph little one? One of Neptune's children?"

He chuckled when he received no answer.

The man seated himself besides the cloth, a look of patience on his face as he idly watched.

For a few moments, the bundle of cloth refused to do anything, a trait that pleased the Roman Empire. If the little one knew how to keep quiet when under the threat of attack, perhaps it would last longer than most. When minutes passed and the Roman Empire's patience was not yet rewarded with another sound or rustling from the bundle of cloth, he finally made his move.

With one large hand, the Nation grabbed hold of the bundle, almost amazed at how much the young one weighed. As he did so, the bundle kicked and screamed, causing the warrior Nation to smile despite the young one's best efforts to thwart his good intentions. Good, a fighter. The Roman Empire liked this one already. If he were human, he would have liked to raise and mentor this child as his own.

"Hush now," he commanded. At once, the babe quieted at his commanding tone and the Nation relaxed. He had allowed the child to misbehave, but the time was late. The warrior began to peel back the layers of white cloth where he thought the head would be. The process, underneath his deceptively nimble and dexterous fingers, took only a few seconds.

The babe, a boy he expected, looked up at him—a sight that had the older Nation gasping. In his large hand, he could see the likeness: the curl that rose up in defiance, the clear brown eyes, the straight Roman nose that had yet to emerge from the baby fat of his face.

Nations had no families, no one to hold their hand or to teach them. Young as he may be, the Roman Empire knew that this small child was a part of him. In a way, he was a reflection of him.

The young child…

Without restraint or for a passing thought to anyone who rested nearby, the warrior Nation laughed. He laughed with joy.

With sadness.

And fears of the future.

The young child, with tears of his own in clear brown eyes, looked up at him.

Already, he held a power that the Great Roman Empire was steadily succumbing to.

Potential.

The boy, unnamed and still so small, had potential.

"Come child of the sea, blessed by Neptune, I will take you home."

Surely, a young boy to raise and call his own was worth more than all the splendor and riches in the world.