I do not own the rights to Hetalia or any of the characters that are not of my own creation.

Just a fair warning, I am not a historian so not everything I write is 100% accurate, especially considering there is little to nothing known of ancient celtic history because it was forbidden to write much down for them. Rome also destroyed what little documentation was and all we do know is the propaganda that they wrote of the Britons. If I got anything wrong or did not include something you would like to see, please let me know. I am passionate about history and mythology and would hate to write of it falsely.

I also decided to give historically accurate names which, yes, will evolve into the names we all know. Here they are, with pronunciation for those who do not know these names:

Britannia:Fianait (fee-uh-nit)

Germania: Alfbern

Éire:Ailill (all-yill)

Picts: Drostan

Gaul: Andere

Rome: Romulus Augustus

Ireland: Erin

Alba: Alisdair

Wales: Dylan

Albion: Artair

Franks: Franciscus

Even in Avalon, the winter brought about a merciless cold that pierced the hardiest of wools and crept into the bones of all creatures of the isle who had not a wit about them to leave for the season. The winter storms had been exceptionally violent this year; day and night the snow would rain down with no inclination to cease and the wind sang its ghastly, hollow tune through the branches of oak and yew. The trees were dolefully bear, and even the famed trees of apples sit among their grove leafless and lifeless, left to the mercy of the wind that threatened to uproot the younger trees. Fianait scorned herself for not having left sooner for the inland, and perhaps she would be huddled close to a fire with her family if not for it, but she felt that there was something significant that lingered within the isle that was not yet present, even with her Sight. She shivered violently against the wind, hurrying through the torrent of sleet and too lost within her own thoughts to notice the young priestess who called out to her from the House of the Lady.

Avalon… It had been her place of birth, and even despite the counseling of a pretentious druid, where she had decided to birth her first son. That was long in the past by mortal standards, but it seemed only a short time ago she had first noticed the bump on her stomach where the child grew soundly in her. She had long hoped for a daughter so she could be reared in Avalon, as she had been, to be taught in the ways of a priestess, but the Goddess had decided not to give her a daughter. Instead was born Erin, a healthy boy who strikingly resembled his father. His father, Ailill, was of the southern island of Éire and was a handsome enough man with coppery hair and a smirk that held both mischief and intellect. She had loved him well enough, and was even sad to see him leave, but she was admittedly relieved Ailill had not returned to her isle. He was an unpredictable man and she knew very well he only played for his motives, whether it be war or love.

Even so, it would haunt her every time she thought to remember her beautiful child. When he was old enough to chew his meat, she had sent him to live with his father instead of being raised as a druid, knowing she would not be able to keep him happy. It was not only in appearance where the resemblance began, but almost immediately she could see that Erin was as strong willed and audacious as his father and would not be suited for the quiet life she chose to live. It still pained her deep within her heart knowing that she could have had a happy life with her first son.

It was my only choice, Fianait reminded herself, though she was not fully convinced. The Goddess herself thought best of it, else she would not have sent that horrible dream. He was an unruly child, unfit for the discipline of a druid, and he was tied to his father's land, not mine! I cannot keep paining myself with him in my mind. What is done is done, and for good reason too!

She pushed the thought far back, though she knew it would only resurface later that night in her wakefulness. A distant call and the warm glow from the House of the Lady brought her attention back to earth, and she chided herself for not being able to quiet her thoughts. Even the young girls of twelve years are taught and expected to silence their thoughts, and I, a master among the women here, cannot even make it through a minute without a haunting of a thought.

Yes; that was surely a voice she heard calling her name some minutes ago now that she thought of it. Slowly, Fianait turned back towards the house. As always it stood in the shadows of the stone ring up the hill. It seemed everything on this island was dwarfed by the loom of ancient stones which has the power to make even a God feel insignificant and shiver in fright.

Even to me, Fianait thought as she moved slowly against the wind towards the house, those stones are a mystery and I am older than anything I know! There had been a time early in her childhood where the stones held little secret to her, but it was a nearly impossible task to call upon those memories now after so long. That had been a time before an ancient civilization had broken off into the sea to lay forgotten even to her now in adulthood. She regretted that she could not recall those years or even remember the face of her father, but there was no point on dwelling on what could not be changed. But even so, there had been a dream long ago of an ancient city and the druids of the stone rings with torques of serpents along their arms. She wondered if any of that mattered now, or if that was just another relic of the past to be pondered of, but never significant.

It was warmer inside, so Fianait offered her woolen cloak to the young priestess as she entered. As the fog and mist cleared from her vision, she was able to recognize the girl as Bríghid, one of the newer priestesses who was under the obligation of serving the Lady. For being a young girl of thirteen, Bríghid was already shaping out to be a beautiful young woman with fair hair and stunning blue eyes. She was already an exceptional height for her age, unlike Fianait who was short and dark-haired like the fairy folk. "What business does the Lady have for me, Bríghid?" she asked, moving nearer to the warmth of the hearth.

"She wished to speak with you, but she told me not of what. I apologize." She answered quietly, tending the fire with a dry log. Sparks flew from the hearth and she flew back frightfully, finally kicking the log in with her foot. Her cheeks glowed with cold and embarrassment and her eyes fell meekly to the floor. "I apologize gwraig tylwyth teg, but the Lady will be busy for some time."

"Did she tell you with what?" she asked hurriedly, wondering how it was so that she grew impatient? She had no right to grow irritated in this realm, especially when she herself held little position here. She sighed a tired breath, and knew it was the cold that was getting to her, not her Lady.

Bríghid shook her head, and Fianait wondered if that was sorrow or just the lingering of the cold in her expression "No, the Lady tells me not anything but what she wills me to do. Nothing of her affairs. I think I would be too dumb to understand it, anyway." She smiled to Fianait, offering her a chair by the fire, which she gladly took. Even indoors the cold bit harder than thistles caught in fabric, and Fianait was beginning to regret removing her travel cloak.

"Why do you say so? You should know that one's words hold power, so it may be so that you will never understand." She scolded, and Bríghid flinched.

"I am sorry; I should not say things of that sort, but I just grow weary of my training and…Oh! I just cannot seem to do anything right!"

Fianait grew amused that the girl felt so ready to confide in her, but then again, all young girls are quick to whine and moan and gossip to any and all. She had been that way too when she was still young girl herself. "It will come with time, little one." She assured the girl, offering her the chair across from her so that they may speak. "Nobody, not even I, comes to Avalon already mastering the ways of the Goddess. How can she tell who truly is worthy of her mark if there is no struggle or effort to be given to her? Be patient and devout and she will give more to you than you would hope for, good and wicked. You must to ready to bear what plan she has for you. Now, let us be done talking of theology. The sun is setting fast behind the island, see to it that the fire does not die."

Bríghid did as she was commanded, and returned to her seat across from the Fairy lady. Now that she noticed it, Bríghid looked very much like how she remembered Erin. Her hair was reddish just like Erin's, and there were splotches of freckles on her skin. She remembered no matter how carefully Erin soaked his skin in buttermilk, he was unable to rid of the freckles that made him 'look of a common herder'. Her heart began to pain for her son, and she had to turn away so her wetting eyes were not visible to the young girl. No matter how many times she told herself he was better in the hands of his father, the pain of being childless was unbearable for her. She would have to give the Goddess another child at Beltane. That would hopefully fill the void in her heart that wanted nothing more than a babe. A pregnant quiet that filled the air, and once more Fianait fell into a deep trance of known and unknown, and her mind wandered through formless visions and scenes of half-truth that seemed foreign and withdrawn from the linear time of the Earth realm. Ever since the Beltane fire that year, Fianait was struggling with the Sight and found, more often than not, her mind was being pierced by an unwanted vision or that unshakable feeling that there was something important that lingered within the most mundane of things. That was why she was here instead of home and she was beginning to tire of useless visions and magics. She was a leader, not some Fae maiden who meddled in the affairs of a failing Goddess. Even so, she knew Avalon was very much part of her realm, and it would be foolish of her to disregard the Lady of the Lake and her priestesses when she herself had grown up here.

It was hours before the Lady of the Lake presented herself to her visitor, and she appeared in her finest weaves with gold about her waste and arms. Though she was no taller than Fianait, and much thinner than her, she held with her power and wisdom that gave the illusion of physical feat. "Britannia, dear friend. It is truly on honor to have you among my women here." She greeted with a smile warmer than the hearth. She outstretched her arms in a druid's welcome, and Fianait, who had sworn to never lower herself to any mortal, could not help but lower her head in respect to the Lady.

"No, it is an honor that you would have me." She answered, finding the Lady's welcoming aura very contagious. She stifled her ease, growing tense with the persistent feeling of dread that had not left her since the Sight had gotten the better of her. "I am regretful to end these pleasantries, but there must be a reason you wished to see me other than a good-natured talk."

"Ah, yes. I am sorry to say." The words sounded apologetic, and the Lady rested a reassuring hand on Fianait's shoulder. She stared at her, growing impatient and longing to know what kept her from her family this season. This has taken long enough, thought Fianait bitterly, trying to hide the displeasure on her face, shall I grow old before I know why I have wasted my time? The Lady frowned, seeming to have read the other's mind. "You have been bothered by the Sight, I see. What troubles your mind so that you cannot find peace even hither in Avalon where mortal affairs have no bearing?"

Fianait was startled by the other's words, wondering if it had truly been that obvious. "Yes, I cannot seem to control my Sight, but I do not know the cause." Fianait suddenly grew angry, "This cannot be why you called for me, Lady. If so, this has been a waste of—"

"No, that is not the reason" The lady sighed, "I only thought you would want me to help, but I could be mistaken. I have had a vision in which you played an integral role, and I hoped to speak with you of it. Could we have some time alone, Bríghid? Thank you dear, please see to it that the maidens have finished their weavings for the day. And do not worry about coming here tomorrow; my time shall be occupied." The Lady looked to Bríghid fondly as she exited with maternal love that Fianait bitterly wished had been hers.

"Britannia, do you not feel as well that a great curtain of dread has fallen over the land? There is this unwavering feeling that this land will be torn apart by an army of unprecedented power and destruction."

"Yes," She answered solemnly "I have felt it too. I thought it was just a nightmare."

"But all dreams are real, you should know that." The lady lowered deeply, troubled by the visions that held little more than vague concepts. "If you have seen it too, tell me what exactly it was you witnessed?"

"I don't know, it was unclear." Her voice wavered "I saw an eagle of gold flying over the great channel and he dove down towards the land with talons of fire, burning my villages and slaughtering the people. They screamed... —they screamed for mercy, but the eagle did not hear their cries. Please, lady, tell me it will not be so!"

The embers in the hearth were almost dead and pulsing with their last breath. A sudden chill filled the air, and Fianait found herself shivering against the cold. The Lady said, almost whispering in the dark "Visions are no more true than you wish them to be, but I do not think it would be wise to disregard this, for I have been haunted by this golden eagle too."

"Well, do you know what it means?" She cried, and suddenly she was afraid and looked to the Lady with startled fright.

"We can only wait to see what the Goddess wills us to know, but I have foreseen that a great leader shall be born to draw out these invaders once the time comes." Her voice took on a clear, mystical ring of prophecy. "You, Britannia, shall bear this leader."