"Scottie, what are you singing?" asked England, looked wide eyed at his eldest brother. He was curled up on the ginger's lap, as he hummed a tune. He wasn't half bad at singing.
"I dunno, jus' made i' up," Scotland replied, shrugging. Really, he was just trying to get the young blonde to take a nap, but it obviously wasn't working.
"Well, it's reaaaaaally pwetty~" chirped the toddler, smiling brightly up at him. "You should um… make it a fuwll song!"
The elder couldn't help but return the smile, but looked off, thoughtful. "I'll see wha' I can do."
~o~
As England rode out to the battlefield, he heard something sound over the fields. He recognized it as his brother's blasted bagpipes. Around him, his soldiers weren't deterred at all, but some cringed from the basically disgusting sound from the instruments. England himself couldn't understand at all why they played that-
Suddenly, he stopped his horse. That melody…
"So he finished it," he muttered darkly. His soldiers looked questioningly at him, but they didn't stop marching. "Bloody wanker…"
He turned to the nearest general, glass green eyes ablaze. "Make sure you crush them. Every last one of them."
