Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia: Axis Powers!
Story: They all thought it was France who influenced America away from England. That only Prussia influenced America's military. That only England's culture was completely entwined with America. But there was someone else pulling the strings, and Rome was waiting to rise again.
Set somewhere somewhere somewhere (shrugs).
Spoilers: Yesssss….Noooo…I don't know?
Warnings: Violence, language, sexual situations, etc.
Pairings: RomexFem!America, one-sided WorldxFem!America, side-main platonic (and yet not really platonic) UKxUS, CanadaxBelarus, AustriaxHungary, etc…

Aeternus Amor Meus
Chapter One: Rome Wasn't Built in a Day

He stumbled through the foliage, mind dazed and not yet focused. His mind hasn't been focused for quite some time, ever since he'd been dealt that blow by his former bodyguard turned enemy –Germania, who he'd once considered a close friend.

How long ago has that been?

It's felt like forever as he kept running, wound flowing freely of blood, not stopping and strangely he had yet to die. He muttered a curse as he stumbled again, but this time he dropped to his knees, heaving great breaths to try and gain back any sort of sense. As he slumped over and lay gasping on the ground, his blurry gaze peered up and saw an unclear figure gazing down at him, a golden sort of haze framing whoever or whatever it was.

"Angelus," he murmured.

'So, Holy Roman Empire, has one of your little angels come to collect my soul? To where does a fallen Empire go –to Heaven, to Hell, or do Nations simply fade away? How does that fit into your little religion, little boy?'

He closed his eyes and waited for peace.

When he next awoke, he was surprised that he was still alive. Unless the afterlife was very much like the living, then he doubted he was dead. After all, there were no gorgeous women in scanty clothing moving about in what he'd pictured the afterlife to be.

And then a little girl popped up in front of his face, blue eyes wide and innocent as they stared at him curiously. He nearly fell back in shock, but regained his balance and stared back at the girl. She wore a similar, though much more simple, outfit like the other women there, wearing gold bracelets, a necklace, and also a diadem, with some type of blue gems embedded into the jewelry. She was barefooted, with ankle bracelets designed like the rest of her trinkets. She actually reminded him a little of Ancient Egypt, except a lot more wilder. And a little of the African savages he'd met all those time ago.

"Who are you?" he asked, fixing a kind smile on his face.

She tilted her head and then began to talk. But what came out of her mouth wasn't any language he knew and he ended up not understanding a thing she said. He inwardly pursed his lips and reevaluated his situation, thinking about his next step.

However, this was nothing new. He had conquered many a nation without understanding their language and eventually forcing his own onto them. But as he glanced around, he understood he could not do that here. He was still weak, recovering from his fall from grace. And he was still in the process of healing from his wounds.

No, no force could be used here.

Instead, he would watch and gather information. He would learn to communicate in some way and soon enough, he will find a way back to the top.

"Romanum," he enunciated, turning his attention back to the little girl. "Ro-man-num," he pointed to himself.

She tilted her head again. "Rominam."

He frowned and shook his head. "Romanum."

Her face scrunched up adorably in confusion.

"Rome," he said quietly. "I am Rome."

While she probably did not understand most of that sentence, the shortened Rome seemed to click with her.

"Rome," she sounded out, pointing at him. He nodded, smiling again. "Amy-ka," she replied, pointing to herself.

He was the one confused this time, and shook his head to show his confusion.

"Amy…Amy…Amyr…icka," she tried to enunciate her name for him to understand. "Ah-mar-icka."

"America," it seemed right to him, so he spoke it. With the name seeming to just come to him, the minute warmth of appreciation that entered him as he spoke it and seemed to confirm its rightness, and the invisible aura all Nations had that told other Nations that they were one as well was around her –it all seemed to add up to tell him this girl was a Nation also.

He gently took her little hands into his and bent over to face her.

"America," he repeated. "Neutiquam erro."

'I am not lost. I am not yet done in this world.'

A year passed and Rome had made considerable progress. He had healed and was in full health, but had discovered that only this girl could see him. To all eyes but America's, he was nothing but a shadow.

He had also learned that the people she was currently staying with were called the Aztecs, but that she didn't stay with them all the time. She was more up the north, she'd managed to communicate to him, but she liked to visit the south a lot. A man named Mexico stayed in this area, she told him, but she always stayed out of sight.

In that year, he also managed to at least teach her Latin so that they could communicate more easily with each other, and that at least the language barrier could be breached. And unlike how he'd forced his language on those before, she willingly learned it and he actually taught it. It was…different. But nice.

When she returned back to the north, he was surprised to see how different it was from where he'd left. The indigenous people here dressed and lived differently and he had to readjust himself to the differences yet again. America seemed to slip right in easily, but then again these were her people.

He found he enjoyed the north better, simply because there was a lot more of the hunting he was more familiar with. It called out to his battle-oriented side, and a bit of his barely-there bloodlust was sated. He was still not seen, but that did not bother him as much as it had in the beginning. He had great company in a chattering America and he found the silence outside of that to be comforting and peaceful, something his usual life-full-of-war had been lacking.

Rome was pleased the girl learned so easily. When hunting, he taught her how to hunt much more effectively than the people she lived with. Deciding it would be worth his effort and his mind going on to start scheming without him fully knowing initially, he began to start teaching her diligently –as if she were an apprentice or just a student.

He taught her how to fight hand to hand combat with more prowess and organization known to his people than known to hers. After all, Romans were known soldiers and fighters. As for the sword, he held off mostly on that, considering there seemed to be no swords around there. He idly allowed some rudimentary lessons, using sticks, just so that she could at least get the basics and have a handle on them. For his own sword, he did not think she would be able to carry such a heavy and long thing just yet, and it probably wouldn't be safe to let such a young one wave around a sharp object with no expertise.

He continued his patient teaching, broadening his topics and spreading lessons evenly between things. He also decided to teach her some of the other languages he had gotten at least a grasp on from the others he'd conquered. Things were going along quite fine for him.

Soon, years passed and he was America's most constant and sometimes only companion. He continued teaching her, and started focusing a lot of his own culture. It was the thought of…if this seemingly ghostlike existence for him was permanent then he would live through America.

He would live and rise again, even if it meant in the image of someone else. If it would take years, he could wait. He was a stubborn and prideful man, and he had never been picky about his wins. As long as he was patient, he could cultivate a path to his ascendance once more. He would not stay down forever.

His enemies would come to fear him again and regret his fall.

Rome also knew that America would be his greatest masterpiece, his grandest work of art. He treasured both his grandsons, but Italy (aside from the food, art and women) was nowhere near like himself. And Romano was even less like Rome than his brother. No, America would be his true successor.

All he needed was time.

And apparently, he had that in plentiful grains of sand.

"Rome, will we be done soon?" America asked him in boredom, idly tracing random pictures of animals into the ground.

He smiled proudly to himself, hearing her speak perfect Latin. His little protégée was coming along just fine alright.

"Soon," he soothed. "Just a little more."

"I don't understand why you are teaching me the sword. No one uses it here," she looked to him.

"Because," he gazed back seriously. "I admit your people are very skilled with the bow and arrow. In fact, very skilled…but sword fighting is in my blood and I want it to be in yours."

"If it is for you, then I will," she agreed simply.

Rome tensed, jerking his head in a far off direction. He frowned to himself and America watched him worriedly.

"Stay here, America. I will come back soon," he told her firmly, clasping one of her shoulders tightly in caution.

"Okay," she mumbled, picking up her bunny and cuddling it to her chest.

He then shot away, running full speed towards the direction where he felt the pull and could hear the water swaying faster than normal. Thrashing through the trees and bushes, uncaring of the branches that smacked and scratched against his skin and muscles, he made it passed all that to run into a stop near the end of the land where water met.

Idly, he thought it an odd but wondrous thing that aside from America, animals and inanimate objects could see and physically touch him.

Shaking his head of such useless thoughts, he gazed out to the ocean and found to his irritation and consternation, that his suspicions were correct. His worries were founded and his pride and work were at stake.

The pull that came of other Nations coming closer.

The sound of the waves rushing and indicating incoming ships.

And the innate sense of something huge and important to come; that feeling of premonition that his cards would soon come under attack.

This did not bode well, but truthfully it didn't hinder him. He could handle himself and his work shouldn't be threatened, if he was confident of his progress. This was only a minor hitch in his plans, but it was nothing more than an inconvenience. He'd already laid his foundations and buried his roots so deep that he was now integrated into America, of that he was fully sure of.

He glanced at the flying flags of the ships and bared his teeth. He quite recognized a lot of them, though some designs had been altered.

"Spaniard," he muttered. And even one that was totally unfamiliar, but whose presence seemed strongly recognizable –reminded him a lot of the barbaric British tribes he'd fought. But a group of them together brought a recollection of a tribe he'd once fought and conquered, only for their Nation to 'end' him in his final stand.

"Barbarians," he snarled, clenching his fists and tensing up for an attack, even though they were much far away to be within attacking distance.

Every bone in his body screamed war and vengeance.

'Soon,' he promised himself. 'Soon.'

After all, Rome wasn't built in a day.

And now, it seemed, he had competition. However, he had years on these children when it came to America, and he'd already spent so much time invested in her. His interest in her had been far longer than theirs.

He would let nothing ruin him.

Started 1/22/12 –Completed 1/30/12

A/n: Okay, not a bad chapter. Short, unfortunately, and the more meatier part would probably begin in the next chapter once the others come in. But I still hope everyone enjoyed it! I hope this was interesting, realistic, and as plausible as I could make for you all.

Please give this and the weird pairing a try! And please review! They're very loved and appreciated!