I see the confusion on Alfred's face as he took in the fact I was there and that we were inside my memories. We were home, when momma and papa were still around. Britanna and Celt, the most powerful couple to ever enchant the seven seas. And while Alfred and I could see each other, none of the people in the memory could.

Alfred was clearly shocked to see Scotland and I running around playing like normal siblings, "Come on Alli! I want to go to the lock before supper!" My small form cried to his brother, I was five and he was eight in the memory.

"Alry, alry quit yer yappin an come on then." But the ginger nation was smiling, a smile America had never seen from his uncle before.

He frowns asking me, "What happened? He used to be so happy, and you guys never get along now."

I sigh explaining, "Well for one, mom and dad died, and for another the legion of Rome that took us over- they abused him terribly."

As I finished the words, we zoomed through more of my memories, passing a few decades, and then slowing. This memory featured a teenage Alasdair, protectecting a now 12 year old me from a legion of soilders dressed in SPQR armor, shields and swords drawn. Me in my memory ran when the Scot told him to. He didn't notice them shoving his brother to the ground, he was too busy making sure he followed orders.

As a few days in memories pass us in a few seconds, we see Scotland being taken to a camp, a camp where the Romans were living as they moved, moving into my and Scotland's land. They burned our villages and raped our people, telling them they could convert or die- and they did. I held Alfred's hand as we both cried, seeing what all of this was doing to me and Alasdair had torture on top of it.

We got to look in from a bird's view on his torture sessions, seeing him- mostly naked, starving, covered in fresh and healing brusies and blood. Teeth clenched together in response to their questions about my whereabouts. When they got out a knife and started carving his chest- I fell to my knees, sobbing. I'd seen- and felt those scars… he got them from keeping me safe? Then why?! Why the hell would he do all of those things to me?! He always stayed drunk, and graduated from just brusing me rather quickly…

I flinch at the look of shock I get, forgetting that in this spell- we can communicate through thoughts.

Why the fuck didn't you say SOMETHING ARTHUR!? I could've made him leave! he yells in thought.

I frown, How could I make him leave when he also did all of this for me?!

He grabs me by the shoulders, Arthur- do you really think that I could ever forgive someone who's hurt you so badly?! I don't care if they saved you a million times, you can't do that to people, and Arthur, I love you too much to let that happen. His voice is cracking by the end and more tears well up in my eyes. I let the memories change to the ones of after… the reason I'm so afraid of my older brothers.

I walk through the door on my '15th birthday' to see a smashed whiskey bottle on the floor, before I can do anything, I'm pressed against a wall, Ireland in my face saying something about how I was too pretty to be such a good fighter, I had fresh brusies on my stomach from Scotland for the day before. -Speaking of the brute, he sees the way Seamus has me, and tells him to step down and that he'd 'take care of it'.

For once in a long time I wanted to hug my brother, but before I get to thank him, he has me over his shoulder, marching to my room. Since it was the beginning of the 1700s, clothes were still modest, but I had a long linen shirt functioning as a tunic. When he opened the door to my room and laid me down on the bed pinning me down, my mind started to struggle- knowing Alfred was going to see this made me start crying harder next to him.

Alasdair reached a hand under my tunic, running it lightly over the brusies he'd given me- he was an adult, I asked what he was doing… he forced his mouth to mine and my eyes flew wide. I froze- too terrified to try and move. When he ripped the tunic apart, I was left in front of him- vulnerable and he looked -strange-... almost like he was in pain that he was doing what he was doing but he also looked pleased- immensely pleased to see my developing body. Alfred was holding his breath, both at my battered teenage body and the understanding of some of Scotland's comments and my own.

Alasdair didn't start with himself, no- he had to make sure I at least got physical pleasure out of it. He started nipping at my nipples lightly, tears running down my face, I knew from my memories I had blackedout at that point. When he saw my young cock hadn't risen he went for that, surprisingly gentle for the man constantly leaving me injured. After he was satisfied at my body's hormones responding to stimulation, he sat, straddling my thighs and reached under his own tunic, moaning the second his hand made contact with the prick that controlled him.

I knew he was drunk because he smelled like alcohol, but this was different from normal, he was more desperate, longing. It made me sick now and leaves me sad now. When the next memory showed me I was 17, I was making out with Ireland, leaving America shocked- after all he'd been under my care at the time. Nonetheless, I was a hormonal teen and I'd rather have this brother willingly than forced and scared with the elder.

A moment after Sea groped my ass, there was Alasdair. He threw Ireland to the ground and started beating him senslessly- when I tried to break up the fight. I got hit- hard, my nose broke that day. I had to do a healing spell so Alfred wouldn't notice. The only thing that stopped them was when my slightly older brother Dylan entered the scene, he knew how to calm them both down, but Scotland wasn't done with me.

This time, he ripped a hole in the ass of my trousers, and forced himself into me- I cried out in pain and tears were leaking out of my eyes. He didn't wait either, he was yelling at me the whole time that I'd acted like a whore so he'd treat me like one. I could see Alfred crying and clenching his fists. After he released in me, he held me. I had already passed out a few minutes ago, unaware of the tender whispers of how much he loved me as I slept. Alfred looked at me frowning now, Have you ever gotten a therapist to evaluate him?

I hadn't… I didn't think to, but between his subtance abuse and the trama of his past having a health issue form was quite likely- all the subatance abuse ould make him more unstable too. As I came to the conclusion the memories faded.