Ireland crept up the narrow servant back stairs, a small loaf of stolen bread tucked into a pocket in her petticoat that had faded to gray with repeated washing. She reached a landing then stopped. She could either continue up the long and winding servant stairs or she could go into the 'proper part' of the house and use the main stairs which would be an awful lot quicker. Problem was, if she was caught...
She shivered; she hadn't forgotten the last time she'd stepped out of line. And this time she was smuggling food up to her freezing cold room in the attic.
She decided to take the risk and entered the main part of the house through a door that most of the time remained unused and hidden behind a tapestry. She crept quietly though beautifully decorated corridors, praying for the floorboards to stay silent.
She made her way through the moon-lit corridors in silence. Halfway down the last one before she could get to the stairs, she froze, hearing the sound of movement from the nearest door. England's bedroom.
She held her breath, clutching the rosary beads hidden around her neck and began mouthing a decade of Hail Mary's. She got halfway through the 'Glory be to the Father' part when she heard what could have been sobs coming from the room.
She peeked in the slightly ajar door against her best instincts. She could see England's sleeping form (well, she hoped he was sleeping) curled up on the bed, lit by the moonlight streaming through the window.
Ireland could feel her motherly instincts kicking in almost against her will. She stepped quietly through the slightly open door and crept over to the bed.
England had thrown off the covers in his sleep, revealing his heavily bandaged chest and arms, a result of his battles with Spain and France. His slightly frowning face twitched slightly as she gently brushed a few strands of messy blonde hair away from his closed eyes.
Asleep, he didn't look like a cruel and mighty Empire, but more like the little brat she and the others had tormented in their youth. She smiled wryly. 'What goes around, comes around, I suppose.'
England rolled over onto his side and clutched her hand, mumbling to himself.
She smiled and stroked the back of his hand with her thumb. Damn mothering instincts.
"Jaysus child. You've gotten so... I don't even know anymore. There's... a part of me that wants to hate you so much, like I know you hate me. But...I just can't. You're my little brother, I can't hate you. ...But I can never forgive you for what you've done. I've been your slave for too long to do that."
England scrunched up his massive eyebrows, a trait all of their family shared, and clutched her hand tighter. She smiled despite herself and ran a knuckle down his cheek softly.
Sleep, O babe, for the red-bee hums
The silent twilight's fall:
Aibheall from the Grey Rock comes
To wrap the world in thrall.
A leanbhan O, my child, my joy,
My love and heart's-desire,
The crickets sing you lullaby
Beside the dying fire.
Dusk is drawn, and the Green Man's Thorn
Is wreathed in rings of fog:
Siabhra sails his boat till morn
Upon the Starry Bog.
A leanbhan O, the pale half moon
Hath brimmed her cusp in dew,
And weeps to hear the sad sleep-tune
I sing, O love, to you.
Faintly sweet doth the chapel bell
Ring o'er the valley dim:
Tearmann's peasant-voices swell
In fragrant evening hymn.
A leanbhan O, the low bell rings
My little lamb to rest
And angel-dreams, till morning sings
Its music in your breast.
Sleep, O babe, for the red-bee hums
The silent twighlight's fall,
Aoibheall from the Grey Rock comes
To wrap the world in thrall.
A leanbhan O, my child, my joy,
My love and heart's-desire,
The crickets sing you lullaby
Beside the dying fire.
Ireland closed her eyes and sighed. She rose to her feet and made to leave the room. She stopped at the door and looked back at her little brother.
"Sleep well, invader from a foreign land."