He used to be the centre of the world. Once, he was feared and respected. His fleet was a military wonder; his pirates the scourge of the seas. His royal family was one of the greatest powers on earth. And now England watches helplessly as his strength drains away, helpless to stop it.
He knows exactly when he sealed his own fate: the War of Independence, when that ungrateful git decided he could stand on his own two feet. And America was right, which makes the whole thing a million times worse. His erstwhile child has gone and become the leader of the free world and he's not doing too bad a job at it.
Doesn't change the fact that he's an idiot.
Every once in a while, England goes over the campaign in his head, wondering what he could have done differently. Would anything have allowed him to keep both his power and his ex-colony? He remembers the fire in America's eyes as he faced England down and doubts that he could have managed a compromise.
The end to his reign was inevitable. He just thought it would be faster than this. He's not complaining much – he's seen amazing things in the last century. But this slow wasting feels too much like cancer for comfort, and he almost wishes to just be dissolved. But then one of the uppity bastards he's found himself surrounded by comes up with something brilliant, and he's glad he's lived this long. Hopes to live longer, even if his old might is forgotten entirely.
England used to be the centre of the world. Now that title belongs to America, and he can't bring himself to begrudge his former colony of it. He's entering the twilight of his existence, and it hurts to let go. But much as he hates to admit it – quite a lot, actually – he doesn't regret lowering his gun that rainy day. Behind the blusters and the screams and the desire to punch the idiot until he stops being stupid, he's proud of America.
But he intends to take that secret to his grave.