• Roma Antiqua would travel the world; have a little fun on the beach, fight a good battle and gain new lands then celebrate with a little more fun on the beach. He had it all, and thought it would all stay. He was too cocky, too proud.

    Germania knew this. He knew that Ancient Rome was doomed to fall to ruins. His internal government was far too unstable, the constant shifting between monarchy and republic to being Autocracy. There was no way that his people would stand for this for much longer.

    And after Germania had gone to all the trouble of fighting alongside him, showing him the better armor, Roma was still going around and sleeping with strange women down in Egypt and Greece and the Balkins and Syria... He set about to punish the Roman with his own sword.

    "The fatal blow." He whispered, raising the blade to gleam in the setting sunlight. You cheat with someone, shame on you…but get pregnant by that cheater, well, shame on you again. Germania had no time, no will, to be a parent. He knew what happened to nations when they gave birth-their child took their place in the world; and they would die. He would die.

    Well, he wasn't going to go down alone. He would take that Roman fool down with him.

    Germania brought the sword to eye level, inspecting his ice blue eyes in its reflective surface. So cold and dark. How long has it been since they held the spark of life? The dark circles under his eyes made him look so old, so tired-wait...he was old and tired.

    His eyes moved from the sword, down to his armored covered body. Brown, forest green, rusted bronze, made to be strong, enduring. Yet under it all, there was a tiny life growing, so delicate and fragile. He hated it. He hated Rome.

    ******

    The fair skinned nation looked out over the Italian peninsula, waiting for Rome to arrive. The note in his hand was of no use. They were going to discuss the growing problem-"For the time being, keep smiling until I get there"

    "Off visiting Manga Graecia probably," he grumbled, trying and failing to follow the notes instructions.

    "Wrong~" Rome sang, wrapping his arms around Germania's shoulders. He rubbed the stubble beard against the others smooth, strong jaw line. "I was…" getting beaten by the Ottoman Empire. "…Just getting a little Sun." lies. "Out in the vineyards' with a plate of pasta and olive oil-prodigiosus! You must join me sometime." Before you die.

    "…That's what got us into this trouble in the first place, Rome." Typical behavior, so stern, so serious-yet with an added hint of worry, "Your sex addiction is going to get this world," you "into trouble." The blond turned, pulling his body away from the Roman's. His fingers itched to grasp the handle of the blade and drive it home in the Roman's heart. But he couldn't-wouldn't. Germania would make Roma pay on the day the infant was born.

    So for the time being, Germania allowed Rome to feel safe and secure. He allowed the other to whisper sweet words to the growing nation under his armor.

    Just as the sun set and the moon rose, Germania had a horrible sinking feeling. The ice cold grip of worry took hold of his heart and twisted his stomach into knots. "Who will raise it?" he whispered to the top of Rome's head. And sapphires were met with rusted brown; both were left with the heavy question with no answer.