A few things to say:

I've decided to skip the presence of Wales and just focus on these two.

Actually there was another wall before Hadrian's one (Antonine Wall) but it was not as important as the latter.

The village referred is Colchester, the oldest recorded Roman town in Britain.

As in my other story about little England, I've decided to call him Britain as a pet name for the last son of Britannia. Funny thing I've realised while writing this is that Britannia in Hetalia (not officially yet) is represented as the mother of all the Kirkland's brothers, but actually her name is only for England and Wales. But anyway, let's think she's the representation of the Celts of the British Isles.

Besides! Today is Scotland's birthday! I feel happy to upload this story on this day ;w; and thanks to my beta: The Bad Touch Trio Girl (She really does a great job!)

Enjoy!

The Wall

Britain felt it again. Like a winter wind, he shivered at the sight.

Stones and wrath were united together to form the huge wall. Whoever looked at it, would feel as small as an ant, easily to be trod. In fact that was its purpose, the emperor was not happy at all with the 'barbarians' of the north.

Obviously, Britain was called in the same way the first time he met him. Luckily, they mostly left him alone to walk wherever he pleased, but there was that wall. The wall that prevented him going further north.

To Scotland.

The Hadrian Wall always frightened him. Dense fog covered the place and no sound was heard other than his own breathing. He felt more than little when he stood in front of it.

He raised his head and realised the impossibility to reach the wall. He felt loneliness growing in his chest. It had been hurting him for days now. Sometimes, he looked for company of bunnies and fairies, but they were not always there. And he did not know how to call for them.

He then touched the wall against his fear.

The wall separated the only company he could have.

"Brother..."

Tears dropped out giving him a relief of company, but also a show of how vulnerable he was.

He was just a little child in a cruel world, under the rule of the merciless Rome.

A child that needed his eldest brother.

Scotland inhaled the cold and heavy air.

And then he exhaled it.

The Highlands made him feel secure, feel that he was invincible, unconquerable. Someone who was not brought up in the cold, rocky and ferocious meadows but in the sunny, dry and hostile land could never win the north of the Isle.

Rome could never touch a land like that, and as much as he wanted to, he ended up defeated. He gave him a strange name; Caledonia. The land of the obscure and savage. Scotland always laughed at the thought.

He smeared his finger in the blue substance and drew a continuous line below his eyelids. Blue as the waterfalls that ran, blue as his vivid, youthful eyes. Blue as the sea that protected him as a wall.

The Wall.

Scotland had learnt how to be strong, and when a new emperor called Hadrian came, he had been able to battle him victoriously and a wall was built as a border line of the Roman Empire.

He felt safe now, but something tore at his conscience. The Wall was not something that made him really happy. It was true it separate his home from that cruel Roman Empire... But his little brother was in there.

His eyes focused worriedly on the South. He could not keep completely calm knowing that his brothers were under Rome's hands.

As much as he refused to admit it, that little brat was his brother. Same blood by mother, yet he had never, ever, got to love him. The first time Mother came carrying him in her arms, so small and vulnerable, Scotland did not say a word.

Mother only said one thing:

"Take care of him."

Now he could not look away. His concern was more than visible. How could he do that? How could he have been blind and deaf about his brother's situation?

He was his little brother after all, he needed him more than anyone in the world right now. Rome would not have pity for him. On the contrary, he knew about Rome's treatments to his subordinates; and Britain, who was weak and a nuisance, would be the loss of Rome's patience.

Blame swam in his eyes. He had failed his mother, and even more, he had failed as a brother.

Now that the Wall was already erected he could no longer keep his word. But he was Scotland, a Pict. No matter what or who ruled southwards, he would find a way to go to see his little brother and protect him. No one would get to hurt his little brat.

It was a promise.

Night always frightened him the most.

Silence and darkness surrounded him, feeling lost and littler in his own land. The only place that he felt, or should be, safe was in the villae Camulodunum, yet the fear did not go away.

"Boy, come here."

The Roman warrior shouted happily before pouring himself another beer. Others like him where sitting around a fire doing the same. One of them turned his head at the presence of the child and smirked.

"Quid est, mi fili?" (What's that, son?)

"S-sorry?"

The Roman laughed at the boy who was trembling in fear.

"Puer vanus est. Nolite loqui." (The child is useless. Leave him alone)

"Veniet, tantum volo habere fun." (Come on, I just want some fun)

"Shut up. I called him to come. Boy, can you pour me a beer?"

At last he could understand, and answered no. Then, to his surprise, the other two men started to laugh loudly looking at him maliciously.

"Sorry, sir. I don't know how to do it."

The man turned his head to his men.

"Have you heard, lads? The boy doesn't know how to pour a beer." More laughs. "Don't worry, little one. I'll teach you how to." After that, the Roman spilled out all his beer over Britain's head.

"W-what are you doing!?" Everyone had burst out laughing. His face was red of fury and shame. But it seemed the shame was gaining ground.

"Look at him, lads. He's going to cry."

"I-I'm not crying! Y-you are all stupid!"

"Boy," said the general bending over to be at his same height, "you're like your mother. She was strong, very self-confident and had a deep love for you. But, you know what? In the end, she cried as you were going to do. And louder than you-"

"Shut up!"

Another burst of laughter echoed the place.

"Boy, come on! Aren't you gonna cry now, are you?"

"Stop, please!" The child screamed, trying to hold himself back.

"Dimitte, milites. Puer vult essec cum matrem suam." (forgive him, general. The boy wants to be with his mother)

"Don't say a word about Mother, stupid!"

"Mind your tongue, boy." The general said turning serious.

"If you don't stop this, I'll tell Rome-"

"And then what?"

"What?"

The general stared at him with both a serious and malicious look on his dark eyes. "Do you think Rome will protect you?" He squeezed hard his little arm. "We obey Rome. And you obey us. Is that clear to you, little rat?"

Britain made his best attempt not to cry, but his vision was going blurred. Unable to say a word, he managed to leave his hold and run away.

"Run, little, run! That's all you know to do!"

Laughs were still audible, but he did not stop. He did no longer care about where he was heading. All he longed for at that moment was to disappear from that place and find Mother.

The woods were getting darker and darker, with his blurred vision he barely realised how far he had gotten away from the village.

Then a branch made him fall, awakening him from his blindness. He cleaned his tears. He had reached a clearing. It was dark and silent. If it was at the light of the day, he would sleep there without fear, with fairies giving him little kisses and his mother singing to him sweetly in his ear.

"Mother?" He called, hearing his own echo as a response. The wind took pity of him and blew, leaving room to the light of the moon.

Britain approached to the white light, it was just a timid circle in the middle of the dark wood, like a hope in the unknown.

"Where's Mother, Moon?"

He received no other answer than the wind moving the high branches that hid the moonlight.

He couldn't count the days he was in his mother's arms for the final time. She disappeared, leaving her baby child alone, unable to protect him.

He knew now that his mother would not come, and he could no longer hold it. Anger, impotence, cruelty, loneliness. All the feelings he had swallowed blustered in a strong cry. His tiny heart had already stood out enough.

"Why?" was all he asked to nobody.

He was just a little boy who had done nothing wrong in his short life, yet all the miseries had happened to him.

He felt as if no one really cared about him. He knew he was not strong enough to face anything but he always did his best, although anyone could see it.

Then, something touched his head.

A big white animal stood up in front of him. Britain doubted between running away or staying; however, he observed the beautiful animal and it observed him too. It had a horn in its front. It reminded him of his mother's tales yet he had never seen one of them with his own eyes.

"Are you a unicorn?"

The unicorn nodded, Britain was surprised to see it had understood him. With a little confidence, he decided to caress its face. The animal let him do that, closing his bright eyes.

"You're amazing..." The unicorn neighed drawing a smile from Britain. It seemed harmless and, in a way that he could not explain, he felt a familiar warmth. "Are you going to stay with me?"

The unicorn approached more and sat down close to him. It allowed room for the little one to lie down on him. Britain had not looked away from the animal and felt, for the first time, safe.

He was dozing at the moment something moved from the brushes. "W-who's there?"

Britain started to breathe nervously, his heart beat quickened. It could be a wild animal, or worse, the Romans. But then the unicorn caressed its nose over Britain's hair, calming him and telling him he should trust him because he will always be there for him, that it would keep him safe.

Little by little, Britain relaxed. No more noises were heard.

There, on the warm white fur Britain fell asleep, feeling protected. He smiled for he was not alone anymore. That strange and beautiful creature would follow him for the rest of his life as a loyal friend, the first one of the little son of Britannia.

A pair of blue eyes smiled at the sight behind the bushes. The little one was safe at last, and that was all he needed to know. He could not do much for him, in fact he should not have gone southwards; but he had a promise to keep.

Britain was breathing quietly, sleeping curled up next to his new friend.

The eldest son of Britannia was tempted to do something he should not, but the night was benevolent and no one would ever notice it. With soft steps, he went out and approached to where Britain slept, lying down and embracing him.

For the first time, he was holding his little brother in his arms, still as little and vulnerable as he remembered. He put a light kiss on his head.

"You'll be fine, brother."

Scotland caressed his hair and started singing low near his ear. He saw Britain smiling in his dream. He thought the little one would probably be dreaming about Mother as she was always singing to Britain to make him sleep, yet this time Britain knew it.

"Brudda..."

And there in the obscure night the two sons of Britannia could both sleep in peace.

Days had been calmer and less hostile towards him. The Romans had somewhat become more tolerant and had let his own kings rule. Now he could smile without worrying too much for the repression of his superiors. And since his first encounter with the unicorn, which he called Angie, they had become inseparable.

Britain walked together with the unicorn by his side. Everything was brighter that day, no grey clouds were over his land but a warm sun that brought up the vivid colours of nature.

Maybe there was something that was always grey.

"Well, here it is."

The Wall still stood up dominantly, harsh and oppressive over his possibilities.

"You know, Angie, this wall used to frighten me. It's funny because although this wall is here to protect my land, I've never felt safe." The unicorn patted his cheek with its nose. Britain laughed. "I know. That was how I felt until I met you." Then, Britain approached to it and touched the cold rock. "Now I feel nostalgic." Britain turned to Angie, his eyes showed sadness. "My brother is there."

The wind blew, removing the last rests of his fears.

"I know I will meet with him. I just have to wait and be stronger."

Angie neighed happily, agreeing with the child's desire.

What Britain did not know was that he had heard everything, from the other side of the Wall, with a smile and a tear on his pride.

"You're already strong, bràthair."