Deanon from the kinkmeme

Prompt: China through the eyes of the Ancient Nations. As they age and weaken and begin to die, China remains youthful and strong. Death is an inevitability for all except him. A dying Ancient's view of China and his seeming immortality

They sat, side by side, the gentle breeze caressing their faces, enjoying the warmth of Greece's sunny shores. China would have been more than happy to sit in silence, but his companion wasn't about to let him avoid the topic that he dreaded yet knew had come.

"This may be our last meeting," Byzantine said, and China felt the world crashing around him. The picturesque shoreline thus abandoned (the brilliant sunshine which he usually adored had begun to leave an ash-like taste in his mouth), he turned towards her.

Her eyes had always had that dreamy touch, as if she was seeing things beyond this world. China had always found it rather endearing, and admired how the faraway look would sometimes fade away to reveal the shrewd woman underneath.

But right now China wanted to scream, for it was unfair, so unfair that she could continue looking so serene as if the topic they were discussing was the weather rather than her impending death.

Now that he forced himself to look more closely, he could see the sallow tinge in her olive complexion. Her eyes, sunken just a little further; her long waves of hair, slowly losing the glorious splendor Rome had crooned over.

It felt unfair, that she was dying while he felt stronger than he ever had.

"Why?"

"Times are changing, my friend," Byzantine replied, as if it answered everything. Perhaps to her it did, but to China it answered nothing.

Times changed, that was a fact of life, but nations were meant to change with them, or that was what he had thought. He had been Xia, a long, long time ago, and someone else before that; then Shang, Zhou, Qin, Han, Sui, Tang, Song; he'd survived through the era of the Warring States, and the Three Kingdoms, which logically should have torn him apart, could logic be applied; he'd been conquered by the Mongols, but still remained himself. It was all part of what made up who he was, all those bits of history added together.

"But you've changed as well, haven't you?" he pressed. "I knew you first as Greece, now as the Byzantine Empire."

"Hmm…"

China followed her gaze to the child frolicking on the sand with a group of kittens.

The Asian felt a wave of resentment towards the boy, even though common sense told him it wasn't the child's fault. But a spiteful part of himself still insisted that the boy was the cause of his mother's decline. A parasite, drawing strength from her to himself.

"The Turks are coming."

China's brows furrowed, still dissatisfied with the answer. "You've survived Rome conquering your lands. Why is this any different?"

"My land is entering a new age, Κίνα. As you said yourself, I have changed, no longer Greece but the Byzantine Empire. Byzantine is but a remnant of Rome, and Rome is no more."

"Then become someone else!"

"No."

China took a deep breath. It wouldn't do to fight at this time, not when this may well be the last memory they would create together. Eyes focusing on the child – that usurper, an inner voice raged, but he pushed it away – he decided to make an effort, to extend an olive branch even though he still couldn't bring himself to accept her decision. He huffed a sharp breath through his nose.

"That boy. What is his name?"

"Greece."

And China spun again to stare disbelieving at her, forced calm thrown out and instantly swept away by the sudden gust of wind. "You gave him your name!?"

"It is the only name I have the right to give." And in this her voice was firm, brokering no discussion. China bit his lip but said no more.

Byzantine seemed content to sit in silence and so they settled that way, the quiet soothing the turmoil in China's heart just by a bit. With a small sigh, Byzantine leaned against China's shoulder, and just as easily he rested his cheek against the top of her head. They had sat like this often in the past, seeking no more than the comfort of a friend.

The sun was setting on the horizon, bathing them in rays of reddish gold. The boy had long since fallen asleep, surrounded by kittens.

"As it does every day without fail, the day ends and turns to night. The sun, knowing its place, falls away beyond the sea to allow the moon its time. What is life, without death?" Byzantine murmured.

"This is no time for your riddles."

"Is it not?"

"The sun does not vanish, it merely moves on to another place. I have followed the sun across the seas; felt the sun set in my lands even as I stand bathed in sunlight."

"That may be so, but we are not the sun. We are the people, and people are mortal. If it is our destiny to die, then so be it."

China frowned, mouth pressing into a stubborn line. "I don't believe in destiny."

Byzantine hummed again, thoughtfully. "What do you believe in then, Κίνα?"

"I believe in myself."

Byzantine looked almost amused as she continued to gaze out to the horizon. "Ah, yes, and there might be where we differ."

Silence fell again, as the sun dipped fully out of sight. Now, blanketed by darkness, China wondered if it would be alright to let the tears fall.

"Do you miss them?" she asked suddenly, not needing to clarify who she meant for it was clear.

China wanted to say no, just to be spiteful. That Rome had been a pain, Germania too straight-laced, Egypt too detached. And he had barely any chance to know the others – Scandinavia, Kievan Rus, and surely many more – before they too were gone.

He didn't answer and he knew that his friend didn't expect him to.

"They aren't completely gone, you know. Each of them left traces of themselves behind, their legacies passed down to their children. Have you met them? Those children."

Again he was silent, for she already knew the answer. He had not traveled anywhere beyond the Silk Road, and even that had lessened since his friends had left one by one. In recent years he had holed himself in the Imperial Palace, only venturing beyond his borders at Byzantine's request. She sighed a little, lacing her hand through his.

"They are very sweet, Rome's boys. They resemble him greatly, but much less annoying." China had to crack a smile at that, wan though it was, but at least Byzantine looked pleased as she continued. "Germania seems to have entirely too many, a few odd ones here and there but most are very much like him. Egypt left just one, like I will – a quiet and intelligent boy. Kievan Rus has three – you share a border, do you not? Perhaps you should go visit."

It was phrased as a suggestion, but said like an order. If his heart had not been so heavy maybe China would have laughed. That was the Byzantine he knew, strong and no-nonsense, with just a bit of willful charm thrown in to help her get her way.

She straightened to look into his eyes, but her reassuring grip on his hand remained. "We are unlike you, my friend, we are destined to fade. But our legacies will remain. You are not alone, Κίνα. You simply have to reach out to find them. Travel the roads, travel the sea; there are more of us out there, and more to come. We are merely the beginning."

"But they are not you."

"Yes," she agreed. "They are not us. They are themselves. And that makes it all the more precious, does it not?"

With that she stood, brushing sand from her long dress. She turned, dark tresses sweeping out behind her with the wind. In the hazy moonlight she looked like a specter, or a goddess come to earth, never meant to stay.

"I suppose this is goodbye then."

Swallowing back the lump in his throat, China nodded mutely. Temporarily casting away the cultural inhibitions that usually held him back, he pulled her into a tight hug, resting his cheek against the crook of her neck. "I'll miss you," he whispered.

"And I you, my friend." She drew back to press a kiss to his forehead. "Go well."

He watched her gently lift her son into her arms, the child stirring slightly at the movement but not awakening, merely curling closer to her familiar warmth. Warmth that would be ripped away from him all too soon. Byzantine looked back, one final time, a small sad smile that China did his best to return. And then she left, the wind softly brushing away even her footprints in the sand.

It was only after she had left his sight that he finally allowed the tears to fall.

OMAKE

Who was to be pitied? The ones who had to leave, or the ones left behind? The ones fated to die, or the ones fated to live forever?

'I sound like one of Greece's philosophers,' China chuckled in his mind, before a crash roused him from his musings. Out of seemingly nowhere he pulled out a huge tin. "Come, let's not fight. Have some sweets -aru."

"Ve~! Thank you, China! Is there any pasta?"

"Sweets originated from me -daze!"

"Oh man! These are – mhm – really – mhm – good!"

"Listen to me when I'm talking you wanker! Oh, erm, yes I suppose I will take one, thank you."

"Focus on the meeting!"

"Aww, come on, amigo, let's have a siesta with China's sweets first, si?"

Sitting back to watch the bickering chaos, he chuckled. Perhaps this wasn't so bad after all.

Reviews are always appreciated!