Author's Notes: 'Sup guys. This is my epic of epic proportions. Or something like that. IDEK. Anyway. First off, some things you should know.
This is historically based, however not always historically accurate for fiction sake. (however will be very dang close) It will also be on the mature side for various reasons. You can't have a setting in ancient Rome without gratuitous sex and violence, now can you?
This is predominately a GermaniaxRome fic, however there will be the pairings of RomexMamaGreece, GermaniaxMamaGreece, and RomexMamaEgypt in there. I also use head cannon human names for all of the characters in this story, and I'll list them at the top of each chapter, just for reference. Hope you all enjoy!

Germania - Ansehelm
Rome - Aeneas
MamaGreece - Hypatia

Prologue: The Lines

It was raining on the day the Lines came. The goddess was mourning her children.

He remembered watching them gather in the east, just before dawn. Their torches flickered in the early morning dark. The flames refused to be doused by the goddess's tears. It was a symbol of the Lines' defiance. Their intention couldn't have been clearer. The sound of their armor and weapons echoed through the valley as they moved. It was steady and rhythmic, like the buzzing of bees in their swarms just before they stung. But they instilled a worse kind of fear.

Romans. That's what the other tribes had called them. Perhaps it's what the Lines called themselves. They had pushed over the mountains in their perfectly organized mass, and one by one, the Lines swallowed the western tribes. Those that survived congregated in the valley for refuge. His people had taken the survivors in, promising them safety, a promise they couldn't keep. Now, the Lines were here. And the goddess was weeping. She knew their fate.

The echoes grew louder. They began to drown out the sound of the rain hitting the ground around him. And the torches grew closer.

He could feel his rage mounting.

The battle itself was little more than a blur. The moment the Lines arrived he and his people were there to meet them. He had lost count of how many of those "Romans" fell to his blade, or beneath his arrows. They kept coming in their unrelenting Lines. And as they came, he would keep cutting. And he would keep firing. He would keep fighting.

He didn't remember the blow that caused him to fall to his knees. He didn't remember the arrow that pierced his leathers and embedded itself between his ribs. All he remembered was the muddy ground coming to catch him, and the darkness' embrace.