title: Thoughts of a Dying Empire
genre: drama
rating: T for themes, prolly
characters: Roma Antiqua, passing mentions of Germania, Ancient Greece, Ancient Egypt
summary: Rome is dying, and he knows it. His life seems to flash before him as he ponders his death…

Rome is dying, and he knows it.

He doesn't know how it came to be. It just is. He can feel himself cracking inside, the people's vitality being slowly eroded, the conspiracies of the military wearing away at his emperors. Death is near, and it vibrates in his bones, the thought of it the only thing on his mind. He's lost his edge; the once proud and strong armies of the great Roman Empire have been sapped of their rigid discipline and steely resolve that once terrorized their enemies.

He sleeps fitfully now. At night he can hear the whispers of the long history of treacherous generals and weak emperors, of the Goths who sought the Roman asylum, of the Huns with their barbaric ways and their skill with a bow and arrow, of battles and wars fought all around the Mediterranean Sea. Memories of blood and spear and metal and round helmets with bristly plumes haunt his visions, and every once in a while he swears that he is in the room, he with long blond hair and armor and steely blue gaze, the man who had once been his friend and ally. Yes, Roma Antiqua can hear the soft sighs of the man who roamed the northern plains of Europa, far from Rome's seaside empire, floating in between the space where their worlds merged…

By day he walks the streets of Rome, and sees the people of his empire, the Romans who once filled his city, wasting away in their villas, dying and ill, just like he is. He has tried many times to come up with a cause for his people's sicknesses, but the causes are too many, from the sickness that caused yellow skin and bloody stools to the poisoning from the stone plates. Either way, the children that once ran in the streets, shouting and playing, dwindle in number until the only children Rome sees lie in bed, sick.

It saddens him. Rome loves children, especially his two young grandsons: Romano of the southern Italian hills, sunny and joyful; and Veneziano of the northern mountains, charming and romantic. They are his legacy, but one that he will not be able to see them inherit, he fears. He loves them both very much, and wishes he could stay to see them grow up and become strong like he was once.

Once.

Even as the great Roman Empire walks through his capital, he can't help but think of happier times, times where he didn't have to face his blond friend in battle, times where the sun might have shone a little brighter and the alcohol ran a little freer. Times of beautiful women, of glorious conquest, of the great Republic, of Pax Romana.

He remembers Ancient Greece, her pale skin barely dusted with a tan, her wavy brown hair soft under his fingers, her eyes green-blue like the Aegean. She was as stately as the queen of the gods Juno—or Hera, as she called them—and wise as Minerva—or Athena. Her beauty was unmatched by Venus, the evening star, and she fought with all the strength of Mars. She walked among mountains and forests , surrounded by her wood nymphs and lost in the philosophy of Socrates and Plato, humming the songs of Odysseus and Menelaus and Pericles and the rest of the great Greek kings. He remembers how she birthed a child with sun-kissed skin and blue eyes like hers, named Herakles for the Greek hero who completed twelve impossible tasks using his wits and strength.

He remembers Ancient Egypt, with mysterious eyes gold as the sand she walked on, her face that was dark and beautiful, her hair black like the river soil that gave life to her people for over a thousand years. She was like a cat, exotic and graceful, with gods as alien as her manner. She walks along the Nile, careful to always stay on the side of the living, the side where she may face away from the river and watch the sun rise. She always sets much store by the sun, creating a persona of it who reigns over the others. It fascinates him, how she watches all and any nature that crawls, flies, and slips through the desert, from the lowly beetle that rolls its ball of dung across the desert, to the falcon that soars across the clear blue skies, to the crocodile that swims in the waters of the river, to the cat that prowls in the hot sand, hunting vermin. She births a child who looks just like her, with golden eyes and quiet disposition.

He remembers Gaul, with her long blond hair braided behind her, and how she fought brilliantly and loved passionately. Her blue eyes sparked alternately with angry fire and light playfulness, and she danced in the sun, worshipping her land, with lush green forests and mountains to the north and south. Rivers the wound their way through the land, and the sun shone brightly on the warm southern shores. She is wild and free, and when he sees her he wants to tame her, a task that he could never quite accomplish. Even still, she gives birth to a child with blond hair like the sun and blue eyes exactly like hers. He is as playful as his mother and loves beauty as much as Rome does.

There are many more loves that he could go on and name—Carthage, the city-state that once bested him in battle; Iberia, the land of sun and warmth and passion… the list continues on, but they all give Rome the same warm, comfortable feeling in his stomach. They marked happier times in his life, simpler times where he only ate and slept and fought and made merry. Times where the blond man was his friend and ally.

But slowly, over time, Germania's trust and friendship—if there had been any at all… there had, Rome would tell himself firmly—faded from Rome's grasp, and soon the blond man's eyes were like chips of ice on the mountains of the Alps. Betrayal and animosity lingered in those eyes, even as far away as they stood from each other on the battlefield. Again and again they faced each other in war, the warmth fading from Germania's eyes every time until Rome recognized them no more.

Germania was coming for him. He knew that. Clear as day, clear as the ice that had settled into the blond man's eyes and heart, Germania was coming to Rome.

Rome couldn't bear to think about what would happen if he did. All he could see were the burning buildings of his capital, barbarians ravaging through it, plundering and taking all the riches that Rome still had. The mansion of Sallust, in flames. The Basilica Aemilia, in flames. The old, stately Senate House that had stood there for as long as Rome could possibly remember, in flames. Rome could only see that, that and Germania's cold, cold eyes looking at him as the silver blade hurtled towards him…

The end was near. Rome could see that much. There was nothing he could do. He had never been a Christian, no matter how many people in his empire were, he had no religion, no belief in afterlife, not after the great Roman gods had dissolved under the Semitic teachings. He saw no eternity in the Underworld like Ancient Greece did, no great life beyond death in the west like Ancient Egypt did. Nothing.

All he saw was the end.

It scared the hell out of him.

notes: Agggh what happened to the end? D:

Heavily influenced by "Thoughts of a Dying Atheist," hence the title. :) Man, I did some serious research for this… so I credit Simon Baker and his book "Ancient Rome: The Rise and Fall of an Empire" for whatever information is in here. Also Wikipedia, so some of the facts might be off. But this drabble is fiction so PFFFFTTTTTT XD

Btw, the sickness that is mentioned in the fourth paragraph is malaria, which caused some serious problems in the population towards the end of the empire.

Also, I figure most people will be like "Hey, the druids were in Britain." But they also lived in West Central Europe, in modern-day France and Belgium, all the way to Switzerland. Hence, Gaul is where modern-day France is… but I made Gaul France's mommy because it's adorable…. *heart*