A/N: Notice that England is neither Arthur nor Britain in this story. Arthur is Briton's boss, and England is not yet the United Kingdom.
Britannia was a servant in the house of Rome. At the time of Rome's death, she had four sons. Scotland was the eldest, a dark, proud boy. Wales was just as proud as his brother, and the two fought often. Youngest were twins, Eire and Angle-Land. While her elder sons made war, on each other, on the Gauls, and on the Norse, Britannia taught her green-eyed youngest sons the secrets of her land and her magic. They would explore the islands together, these happy three; graceful as the unicorn, carefree as the dancing fae.
Yet all too soon, Britannia grew weak; and on the day of her death, she blessed her four sons in the name of the earth itself. Angle-land, the youngest and strongest, felt the power in her blessing, and stayed with her to the end; his twin was more easily swayed by their brothers, and went off with them to drink away their sorrows. Burying his mother alone, young Angle-land vowed that he would never forget Brittania and her magic.
Life after that was hard. Scotland and Wales divided the islands between themselves, giving Eire a whole one of his own and leaving Angle-land only the swampy south. Even Eire now acted superior to Angle-land, since he had been accepted by his older brothers. The fight that ended their friendship came barely a century after their mother's death, when Eire accused Angle-land of selling his soul to the Fae. It was not entirely false; the fae were his only true friends. That was the day Angle-land left his brothers' house for good. He built himself a smaller house in the woods and tended his mother's grave.
It was about that time that he met the boy from across the channel. France son of Gaul came to visit, and was quite friendly to Angle-land until he decided that his new friend's clothes and lifestyle, and even his name were ridiculous and provincial.
"Ahngulll-land? Is there a trick to pronouncing it—something you do with your tongue, perhaps? You must have a more fashionable name if you want to be respected as a country. I shall call you Angland." And he laughed and skipped off.
(Later he would realize that he could not pronounce "Angland" in French, and began to call him "Angleterre" (Angle-land). But the younger boy found his new name—England—much nicer.)
England lived quite peacefully on his own for centuries more. He had little to do with other nations, or with humans, until he was visited one day by the Briton tribe. The unexpected sound of horses called him from his house, and on one of the horses, he saw a tall regal human warlord. A Nation rode beside him, dressed as a bard.
"Who does this forest belong to, boy?" said the warlord, who saw England as a human child.
"It's my mother's," young England replied. "She is buried here, in this clearing."
"So this place is yours?" The warlord looked surprised.
The nation understood, and said to him, "He speaks the truth, Arthur. This is sacred ground."
The warlord, visibly puzzled, asked England his name. The boy racked his brains for a suitable human name, but could only remember the one which had just been said. "Arthur, sir," he said. "Arthur of…of the land."
"Well, Arthur of the Land," said Arthur the Briton warlord, "what am I to do with you?" England was taken aback—no human had ever spoken this way to him.
"Make him your servant," the Nation suggested. "He surely knows much about the land, and can help you advance. Besides, you keep telling me you need a page—"
"All right, Merlyn, you've read my mind again," Arthur laughed. "Come, boy."
England was excited by the prospect of battles and adventures, but he was suddenly uncertain. "Sir, may I say goodbye to my mother first?"
Merlyn spoke before Arthur could. "Of course you may."
As England approached Britannia's grave, he thought, who is this man, and who is his Nation? Should I go with them? What will happen to me? He knelt, and a passing sprite giggled and imitated him.
Then he heard his mother's voice in his head, seeming to come from everywhere at once. Go with the Britons, my son. Teach them my ways, and they will make you a great nation.
Britannia's voice echoed and faded, and the sprite dashed away. England stood, feeling stronger, and raced back to the Britons. "I'm ready, sir," he said.
Years passed, but the child who was England barely noticed. Briton, whom the humans called Merlyn, taught England how to act as a nation, and in return England taught Briton his mother's magic. As Arthur of the Land, England advised Arthur, tended his horse and weapons, and trained as a warrior.
One Midsummer Eve, Briton and England left their tribe and sneaked away to a nearby village. There, they stole a sword from the smithy. England enchanted it so that only he and Arthur could wield it, and thrust it into the boulder that marked the center of the village square. The two Nations returned to their camp confident that news about the sword in the stone would reach Arthur.
He heard about it at midmorning, when the Britons reached the village. Several strong men had already tried to pull the sword from the stone, to no avail. "Why don't you try, sir?" England suggested innocently.
Arthur glanced at Briton, who nodded. "All right," he said, "you haven't been wrong yet," and he reached for the sword, which seemed to jump into his hand on its own. The villagers cheered what looked like superhuman strength, and soon the village's elders came to pledge their loyalty to Arthur, Lord of the Britons.
Other conquests followed, and Briton's magic and musical talents quickly made him legendary as well. With each victory, on or off the battlefield, England felt himself growing stronger.
Briton formed a council of the villages that Arthur conquered, and after few years had passed, all decided that Arthur should be made a king. The coronation was held at Britannia's grave, outside the house England had built.
Inside the house, a smaller but no-less-important ceremony was happening. England's brothers came to swear sarcastic fealty, then left looking for a tavern. France, whom England had talked into witnessing, laughed to himself as Briton knelt to place a wreath on young England's head and gave him the title of Britain. And England knew that wherever his mother was, she was proud of him.