I've been reading about the Irish Rising of 1916 lately, and thought it was time there were more fics about it on here. So, here it is! I'll try my best to be as historically accurate as I can, but just know that I've never learned about it in school or anywhere. All I know, I got from Peter de Rosa's book, Rebels: The Irish Rising of 1916 (great book, by the way, you should read it if you're interested) and my mother, who grew up in Ireland and did learn Irish history. Though, with her forgetfulness, I doubt she's a reliable source...
Now, I'll just state the human names for the other members of the United Kingdom here already: Allistair=Scotland, Dylan=Wales, Cearul=Ireland (he was part of the UK at the time) and (though he doesn't appear until the end of this story) Coineach= Northern Ireland
*I do not own Hetalia or any of the characters mentioned, except my OCs for the United Kingdom*
And now, without further ado, here is my latest story:
"Home Rule," he said as he tapped his crossed arms with his fingers almost nervously, looking his brother deep in the eyes. His words had come after a long and rather uncomfortable silence between him and his three brothers, and his voice sounded almost alien to himself. It was like listening to someone through a telephone, or perhaps when only half awake, with your mind still dazed and foggy from sleep. Whatever it was, his voice had sounded off, far away and vague. He swallowed the lump in his throat that threatened to choke him and forced his heart to beat normally again as he opened his mouth to speak once again. "That is all I ask of you, Arthur: Home Rule. All I have ever asked of you." His younger brother sighed in exasperation and closed his eyes. "And if I give it to you," he asked, "what will you do then?" The personification of Ireland opened his mouth again, but he hesitated and no sound came over his lips. After about a minute, he shook his head, answering, "I'd rule myself, yet remain part of the Empire: that is the deal, is it not?" God, how he loathed these formal conversations. He masked as much of his accent as he possibly could, seeing as the Irish accent to those stick-up-the-arse Brits sounded 'too informal' and 'was too hard to follow' for use in negotiations such as these. It was rather difficult, not to mention that it felt like he lost yet another piece of himself every time he did it. He most definitely had to refrain from speaking Gaelic, for that was not tolerated either. No, he was speaking to England, so English it was.
The younger nation shook his head. "We both know very well that is not true, Cearul," England responded, shaking his head slowly. "Once you rule yourself, what then? Independence? I have seen it happen before, and I am not about to see it happen once again." Ireland clenched his jaws together and tried his very best not to glare now. So he was still bitter over the loss of America? Ofcourse he was. England was not a very emotionally-controlled person, and bearing grudges was simply part of his nature it seemed. That's the very reason he now ruled his brothers (and a large part of the rest of the world along with them) with an iron fist. Ireland almost scoffed and internally said, Well, if it makes you feel any better, lad, I'm sorry for abandoning you when you were only just a baby. I did not foresee the Romans, the French and the Vikings. But then again, you pulled through well enough on your own, did you not? You don't even need us! And, with a grin, he would add: So how about that independence we discussed, yeah? About bloody time we got it, if you ask me. But ofcourse he'd never said those words aloud. Doing so would be like writing his own death sentence. Who knew his baby brother, the one that used to be so very cute in his primitive clothing with his tiny bow and the crooked arrows he made from twigs and pebbles, would grow to be such a tyrant? Nervously, Ireland averted his gaze and looked at his other brothers, Wales and Scotland, instead. They looked so very confident sitting there beside England. The United fucking Kingdom of Great Britain. And Ireland, thoug he was not good enough to be part of their 'Great Britain'. No, he just got the addition 'and Ireland' in the mighty Empire's name, and contented himself with just that. When the day came he regained his independence after seven bloody centuries of British domination, at least he wouldn't make renaming the Empire too hard for his dearest brothers. Scotland was the best of the three, a decent young man with whom Ireland could actually have good conversations when he was not patrolling Irish ground like he owned it (in name of the English, ofcourse). Wales was called Bhreatain Bheag, which translated to 'little Britain', for a damn good reason. While he was also not too keen on the British rule, he also never lifted so much as a finger against it. Threats, harsh words at most, but never a true rebellion.
Ireland then looked back at England who stared at him with emerald-green eyes, waiting patiently for his older brother's reaction. Knowing by now that his attempts were hopeless, Ireland gave one final effort to convince the younger nation that he would not betray the Empire. "I will stay loyal to you and to Great Britain, Arthur," he promised, almost pleading. Judging from the way England's gaze remained cold as ever at hearing these words, Ireland knew there was really no chance of his request being accepted and the Bill being passed. "Just give me Home Rule: let me rule my own land and my own people while I remain at your side as a loyal part of the Empire. But let my people be free." England rose to his feet and shook his head. "Absolutely not. Cearul, we have been discussing this since 1886," 1870, Ireland corrected him in silence. My first request came in 1870. "My answer was no seven years ago, and as is it now. The Bill may have passed the House of Commons, the House of Lords defeated it, and that's it. Don't come crawling to me for mercy and compassion now, because you will not get it from me anymore than from my government." Ireland allowed himself to gape at him in astonishment for once, and he choked out, "So I'm not even worth showing compassion to anymore now?" England, who had already turned around to leave, looked at him over his shoulder with an icy gaze. "And here I thought we were brothers, Arthur." The younger nation narrowed his eyes for a moment at his brother's words, and replied with a cold voice, "We are, but that does not mean you should receive privileges other colonies do not have." Some hint of amusement now shone in his irises, and his lips twisted into a small grin as he added: "That's what being a nation is like. Funny, that I have to teach my older brother these rules instead of the other way around." He then turned around and left, Scotland and Wales in tow. Before he closed the door behind him, he muttered, "Ofcourse, back when you should have taught me, you weren't there." And then he was gone, leaving Ireland to stare after him in defeat. Why was it, that he was the oldest of the brothers, yet felt helpless like a weak newborn when speaking to the youngest of them like this?
"Second Home Rule Bill," he muttered to himself, sighing and letting his shoulders hang. "Defeated."
That was in September 1893.
Before you start flaming me about how incredibly cruel I portray England, remember, at this time in history, he was. Ever heard of Black '47? The Irish potato crops were all rotten, so they had nothing to eat there. Yet, the English had the guts to import Irish beef for the Brits to eat... they let the Irish starve.
Also, I find the relationship between England and his brothers is portrayed wrong in most fanfics. It was England who opressed Ireland, and if I'm not mistaken, Scotland and Wales as well. Not the other way around. But his reasons for hating his brothers, and especially Ireland, so much will be explained.
Now don't get me wrong. I love England, nation and character, but I can't deny facts. They're as decent as any other European people these days, but the English history is a dark one. (I'm not saying my own -the Dutch- isn't. Gods, we were monsters and had the frickin' guts to call it our Golden Age...)
Anyway, tell me what you think, but leave the flaming out please!
