A/N: Inspired by another fic by a friend of mines. What words are exchanged when a once proud nation finally gives in to his brother?
...
Scotland glared at the ground just in front of him, his breathing coming in sharp, heavy gasps as he tried to stand again. He grit his teeth as his shoulder twitched and he fell to the ground,
"God damnit." He growled; his frustration made abundantly clear to those that would care to notice him. This was not what was supposed to happen. He was supposed to walk away from this tall and proud, once again showing that little ingrate that dared to call himself a kingdom, an empire that he would not be subjugated and forced to live by the rules of others. That dream now lay in tattered ruins amongst the bodies of the Jacobite rebels, slaughtered by the combined forces of the English army and the lowland Scots who had joined them. Scotland did not know whether to feel betrayed by them or not. After all, it was not like they had agreed to the rebellion in the first place and they were living fairly comfortable lives under rule from Westminster. He was shaken from his thoughts by a callous voice coming from above him,
"Oh how the mighty have fallen once again." England sneered as he stood above his older brother. Scotland growled in irritation,
"Whit the hell d'ye want?" he asked simply, knowing exactly the reason his so called 'brother' had come along. England leered at him,
"I've come to have a little chat." He replied easily, "About exactly what you thought you were going to accomplish by this insanely childish behaviour." Scotland slowly raised his head to look at his brother,
"Ye ken just fine whit I wanted to accomplish." He spat, glaring daggers at the grass green eyes that were silently mocking him. England snorted,
"May I remind you Scotland, that I am the one in charge around here?" he said, his voice low, "I will no longer be spoken to as though I am below you." Scotland choked back a bitter laugh,
"Ye may be in charge, but ye hae no right tae treat ma people as though they're below you." Scotland struggled to his feet, meeting England's gaze, "Ye didnae win ma land o'er some silly wee conflict so ye hae nae right tae tell me whit I should and shouldnae be daein'." England gazed at his musket, an unconcerned look on his face,
"You're quite right about the invasion part, but I didn't have to in the end did I?" he looked back at his brother with a triumphant look, "The last parliament you will ever have gave it away for free. Therefore, as you no doubt need reminding, you are below me." Scotland scowled at him,
"If the Union was voluntary then that makes us equals!" he retorted, "I refuse to continue to be treated like some dog!" his rant was cleanly cut off as England swiftly kicked his feet out from under him. Scotland hissed in agony as he landed on his back, which was already raw from the battle the two of them had just fought. England stepped on his chest with a boot and levelled the end of his musket at him,
"Dear me," he tutted, "It looks as though the barbarian still needs to be taught some manners." He sighed, "I own you, just like I own Wales and Ireland and you, my dear brother, seem to keep forgetting your place." He said, his voice low. Scotland glared up at his brother, still refusing to back down even now,
"You will never own me." He growled, "Not now, nor ever. My people will never stand to be completely taken over by English rule and law. Even if it takes another thousand years or more I will be a free nation again." England chuckled darkly,
"You expect me to believe that? You are nothing more than a broken shade of what you were because of your own stupidity. I don't even think you count as a country any more, given that all the powers that control you are stationed at Westminster. I, on the other hand, am an empire that continues to grow day by day. And when I finally beat that bloody frog into submission again I will own the entire North American continent." Scotland managed to send England a sarcastic smirk,
"Ye cannae control the colonies forever Arthur." He said, "One o' these days they'll know what freedom is, an' when they do..." he left his statement hanging. England scowled at the nation before him and kicked him in the ribs,
"Alfred will never leave me!" he yelled, "You know nothing of the bond we share! You never have!" Scotland coughed harshly, the kick having winded him,
"You just keep tellin' yersel' that laddie. One o' these days ye'll learn the hard way that empires never last forever." He glared up at the empire again, "An' when it a' fa's into tiny wee pieces, I'm gonnae be there tae dance on yer fuckin' grave." He spat, nearly blacking out as England hit him with the blunt end of his musket. He barely heard the last thing that his brother said as he walked off,
"We'll see who dies first, Angus. And mark my words, it will not be me."