Graveside Dream
His surroundings were cold.
Very cold.
And wet.
And dark.
He didn't mind though. He was used to this weather, it's what he grew up in. He sat against a huge semi-circular, rough looking rock. (grave stone shaped but only the top circular of a grave stone) It looked like someone had tried to shape it a little but had never properly carved stone before so it resulted in having bumps and missing chunks. He never actually minded this; it made it look more unique and interesting he thought.
Personalised and special….
His back was against metal though, not rock. On one side of this huge rock, which came up to Scotland's shoulders when he was standing, a large perfectly flat and even semi-circular sheet of metal which covered about ¾ of the side leaving a rocky border to the place. Around this metal plate were metal sculptures of four different types of flowers intertwining. This includes the rose, the daffodil, the shamrock (3-leafed clover) and the thistle. They were beautifully crafted and looked detail and fragile but were actually very sturdy. Moss covered the ground around the stone but didn't touch the huge rock at all. It looked like someone regularly cleaned the stone and kept any moss from staining or spoiling the beauty of the big rock.
On the metal plage were four columns of writing. 'Britannia' was the first line of each column and from left to right the second line read 'Màthair', 'Máthair', 'Mam' and finally 'Mater'. The lines continued in a similar pattern. Each column seem to say the same thing but in different languages except for the last part.
The feel of cold, smooth metal on his back was strangely comforting. His eyes were closed as he absorbed the in the tranquil surroundings. He smiled gently, feeling warm and strangely content despite where he was. Though he suspected that was due to his blood loss. He doubted he was going to die though, countries were sturdy people and it took a lot to end their life. He guessed he would probably survive too even if he was human though. A couple of broken rips, a broken knuckle and a little bit of blood loss wouldn't be enough to bring him down even if he was a human. He had been though a lot, lot worse.
He felt himself drifting in and out of conscious as he lay in the coolness of the night against the grave stone of his mother.
He missed her. A lot. He loved her more than anything and was the closest son to her. In his eyes, she seemed perfect. A goddess. She was the only person he had ever looked up to and was devastated when she died. It broke his heart to bury the beauty of his mother under this filthy mud, though she loved the earth. Though he would never admit this to anyone, especially his younger brothers. He always felt that he must be a strong leader for his brothers and never show any weakness or fault. It was stupid, he knew that, but he couldn't help it. He even tried to avoid publically visiting the grave, sneaking off in secret to see it. He hated himself for that but he was stubborn.
His eyes opened sluggishly as he heard the wail of bagpipes rang loudly. He looked around confused to why someone would be playing bagpipes out here, which to humans was consider the middle of nowhere. It was near impossible to accidently stumble upon too as the place was surrounded by marshy bog land. Step in the wrong place and you are waist deep in smelly peat and filth.
Only the five brothers knew how to get here safely unless you counted the mythical creatures that were magically drawn to this place. It was a place with strong magic qualities and runes.
His pocket vibrated and he suddenly recognised the bagpipes as his own ringtone. He picked it up and hanged up again immediately without looking at the number. He didn't want some modern plastic contraption disturbing the peace and magic of this completely isolated place.
He was about to place it in his pocket again when it rang again. He did the same thing again.
And to his annoyance it ran again.
Fed up with the noisy thing, he threw it angrily into the distance and heard it plop as it hit the watery marsh. Its tune was soon drowned out.
He sighed and moved his body a little. It was stiff from lying down for a while. To be honest he had only been here just over hour but it felt like only 5 minutes to him.
He leaned forward and drew his knees up to his chest. He leaned his head on his arms for a few minutes. He looked up again and squinted into the dark. He couldn't see any stars tonight. He sighed again but gruffly this time. His body was in agony but it was turning numb now. 'Gud' he thought. He flopped backwards again lazily, hitting the grave more roughly than he had intended. Pain shot from the cut on his shoulder and buzzed in his body, causing him to gasp out in surprise a little.
He suspected that the wound might have opened again. His bruises had already darkened and were beginning to lighten again. His nose and lip had closed up during the car ride so now only the cut was opened. He was thankful for being a very quick healer though it made him feel more exhausted than most. He remembered packing moss on his shoulder earlier to stop the blood. He had even used some of the left over moss to wipe his face clean of all the blood. Most of it had been his but some of it belonged to that 'blondie American idjit.' He didn't want to drag that man's blood to this place. He respected and treasured it too much to taint it with some brat's blood.
Fog had begun to roll in and surround the place with thick billowing swirls of condensed water. It wasn't long before the place was completely hidden under the freezing mist. It comforted him a little.
"Màthair. Ciamar a tha sibh?..." He paused as if waiting for the rock to reply. After a while he continued again.
"I'm nae doing too good. I think I failed ye…" He closed his eyes and nestled back into the stone more as if burrowing into someone's arms. "I know ye left me in charge of my bráithreacha , in particular England…. Ye told me to make sure he grew up big and strong and that he had lots of love…. Tha mi duilich … I could only do tha first part but only if I didn't do the second part…. I'm a lousy bráthair… At least he grew up big and strong…." His breathing began to settle as he started to fade into sleep again. He could only murmur a couple more times before falling unconscious. "Tha mi duilich Màthair…. Tha mi duilich …. Tha gaol agam ort. … and wee Iggy and all my bráithreacha… Tha mi duilich …"
He didn't dream a lot. Partly because it's impossible to dream in a drunken blackout but even though he hadn't been drinking a lot recently (due to finical difficulties), he still didn't dream much. He always preferred it that way, a peaceful sleep not disturbed by dreams or nightmares, but sometimes he wished he did dream. It was sometimes a chance to find out more about his self or to remember happier times.
When he did dream though, it wasn't uncommon for him to dream about his brothers, recent or especially bad parts of his history, the mythical animals and people he knew. It was rare for him to dream about events more than 1000 years ago to his teenage years. It was rarer still to dream back to before the Roman Empire to his childhood and his shared history with all of his brothers. But the rarest dreams, the one he nearly never had but wished he had a lot more often, were dreams that involved his beloved mother.
This dream was about his mother.
He stood at the entrance to a clearing in a forest. It was scarily familiar to him. He looked around, not moving from his spot. It was about 50m in diameter, had two or three large boulders in around its edge. In the middle was a large scorch area from an old open fire. He searched his mind for this memory. He lacked imagination so knew that this was something from his past. Maybe it's about one of his camping trips or a time when he was locked outside his house he thought. It felt older than that though. It seemed very far back in time compared to his regular dreams.
Suddenly a high pitch voice screamed behind him.
"MÀTHAIR!"
He turned in surprise as a very short red head burst from the bush beside him. He was grinning and only in his toddler years. He wore a bright blue cloak, a white dress and small cloth booties on his feet. The 2 year old only came up to his knee. Scotland's mouth opened at the sight. The toddler grew as he ran across the clearing. Soon he was a 7 year old, he wore a long sleeve shirt and ¾ length trousers and proper leather boots now but he still had the bright blue cloak.
Another voice came from behind him.
"ALBA! Wait up!"
A short 3 year old auburn came from the bush, like Scotland. He wore the same clothes the toddler Scotland had worn but his cloak was a light green. He soon begin aging too as he ran after the red head, laughing. The young Ireland had only aged one year before another voice rang out.
"ALBA! BRÁTHAIR!" North Ireland wore the exact same as Ireland when he emerged, even the cloaks were the same shade of light green. They aged as they ran across the clearing. When Ireland became five, he wore a long sleeve shirt and shorts and leather boots. North Ireland wore a short sleeve shirt and shorts with leather boots as he turned five as well. All three of them remained in their cloaks.
When Scotland was 10 and Ireland was 6 with North Ireland just turning 5, a quiet voice came from the bush. He knew who to expect.
"Mam! Alba! North Ireland! Ireland!"
A 2 year old blonde rushed out with a dark red cloak. He was quieter than the others but still smiled slightly.
"ALBA!"
The toddler Wales had barely left the bush when he was followed by another 2 year old blonde in a dark green cloak.
The five brothers aged as they ran across the field, laughing wildly and grinning in pure bliss. Their clothes changed with their ages but their cloaks remained constant. It seemed that he was invisible to them.
Scotland felt a pang of pain and regret as he saw the scene. They were truly happy back then. They were wild and acted like animals and sometimes fought but they were close and loved each other deeply. He watched his younger self, wondering when he had last smiled like that. They still continued aging until Scotland reached 12, Ireland was 8, North Ireland was 7, and Wales and England were both 4. They stopped growing. He wondered why they were running so quickly. The young Scotland suddenly called out again.
"Màthair!"
Màthair? He looked in the direction they were running in and he gasped.
A beautiful blonde woman stood at the other end of the clearing with her arms spread for the children. She had a crown of thistles and a long flowing blue dress that seemed to be part of her. It appeared to be made from butterflies. Her skin was pale, fair and absolutely spotless. It was like soft snow, perfectly smooth and beautiful. Her hair was a pale blonde and long but tied up in a complicated plait and her eyes were a light green. She smiled so brightly and kindly that it hurt. Scotland didn't think. He only started running to her, forgetting that this was just a dream, that this was part of a different time. He sprinted as hard as he could.
"Máthair!"
"Mam!"
"Mater!"
There was choir of yells from the excited children. Scotland had soon caught up and passed them. They still didn't see him. When Scotland passed the children though, his mother suddenly saw him and smiled a little wider. She turned from her children to the older Scotland. He jumped into her arms and hugged her as tight as he could. The world around him faded and dripped away into blackness so it was just him and his mother, standing in a small circle of grass. He burst into tears like a small child again and wept into her shoulder. He felt no shame in the dream.
She hugged him back gently and soothed him until he was calm again. She wiped away his tears. He fell to his knees and leaned into her. She held his head in her arms and looked down at him, lovingly.
"Mo mhac…" Her voice was gentle and soothing and Scotland was completely under its spell.
"Màthair…" His voice was quiet as he stared up into her eyes. He was charmed and could only stare, semi-consciously at her with a blank face. He couldn't believe this. He had forgotten this was only a dream and had gone completely numb with happiness.
"Tha gaol agam ort." He murmured, sounding utterly intoxicated. She looked at him smiling in reply She kissed his forehead. Scotland was a completely different person with his mother. He stared at her smile before mumbling again.
"Tha mi duilich." Her smile disappeared to be replaced by tears. They swelled at the corner of her eyes but didn't fall down her cheeks. Scotland felt confused. "Màthair?..." He gave a small frown as she hugged him to her. She looked sad to hear Scotland apologise.
"Mo mhac. Scotland." He perked up when she said his name. She sounded so lovingly when she said it but also very sad. Scotland felt his heart break at how sad and lonely the tone was. He tried to speak but his voice was lost. She continued.
"Don't say that. I should be the one to say tha mi duilich. … That was my second last wish for you and your bráithreacha. You didn't fail me. Your bráithreacha are all grown up, healthy and strong. You did well Mo mhac. I'm proud of you."
"Màthair…"
"I also don't regret my final wish for you either…" Scotland gulped. He didn't want to think about her final wish… He didn't even tell his brothers about it… He had lied to them and told them that the last wish was to take care of them, especially England. But in truth that was the second last wish…
"Scotland. I have another final wish. Please promise me that...~"
"Scotland!" Huh? A foreign voice interrupted the dream. He panicked as the world he was in became to slip away. He looked up to his mother again but she was gone. He found himself on his feet suddenly, looking around panicked for her. He saw her in the distance with her arms around a 10 year old Scotland. The young Scotland stared at him confused by the image of his older self. His attention was soon grabbed by the beautiful blonde again though.
"Scotland! Wake up!" The panicked voice shook the world again and the dream dissolved farther.
He sighed, knowing this perfect world was ending. His loving expression turned into one of acceptance. His mother continued to stare at him though and he stared back sadly but accepting. Back into her beautiful light emerald green eyes.
"Wake up you git!"
Scotland closed his eyes and opened them again to stare into the same light green eyes. They were staring right into his and so close to his. Without thinking, Scotland moved his arms forward and wrapped his arms around the person who owned them, pulling them down into his chest. "Wait!.. What? OWW!" He held the person tightly to his chest and whispered quietly in to their ear.
"Màthair…"
"What are you doing you wanker? OW!" The person struggled against him but he didn't notice before falling unconscious again.
This time though, he didn't dream.
(A/N - Lots of gaelic...
I'm so disappointed with myself! I couldn't find all of the Gaelic words I wanted to find! So any English spoken word in Italics is meant to be Gaelic! I'm sorry.
Translations Time!
Màthair (Scottish Gaelic) - Mother
Máthair (Irish Gaelic) - Mother
Mam (Welsh) - Mother
Mater (Latin) - Mother
(I made England speak Latin as his early native language as that is one of the main roots of modern English.)
Bráithreacha (Scottish Gaelic) - Brothers
Bráthair (Scottish Gaelic) - Brother
Tha mi duilich. (Scottish Gaelic) - I'm sorry.
Tha gaol agam ort. (Scottish Gaelic) - I love you.
Ciamar a tha sibh? (Scottish Gaelic) - How are you?
Mo mhac (Scottish Gaelic) - My son
Brittannia - Yep in my head canon, Brittannia and England look almost exactly the same. Of course England doesn't know this. She is very connected to the land and anything magical. The mythical animals loved her and did what ever she asked them too. The mythical animals follow England and his brothers because they feel obliged because of their mother. She was very powerful. She loved all her sons very much but after Wales and England were born, she was alot more busy and had hardly anu time for her sons. The boys were mainly raised by mythical animals and then Scotland when he was old enough.
This is what Brittannia looks like:
h t t p : / / w w w . z e r o c h a n . n e t / 4 2 6 4 4 3
Just remove all the spaces. There is a space between every letters btw.
Age time! (Me explaining their human ages and basic time line for their child hoods according to moi)
Scotland -
He was born into the world as a two year old. (Don't complain! America was four when he was discovered!)
He was 7 when Ireland was born, 8 when North Ireland was born and 10 when Wales and England were born
He was 12 when Britannia died and England and Wales was captured by the Roman Empire
He was 14 when the Roman Empire left.
He is 30 years old now.
Ireland -
He was born into the world as a three year old.
He was 4 when North Ireland was born, 6 when Wales and England were born.
He was 8 when Britannia died and England and Wales was captured. He was sent away along with North Ireland right after Wales was captured by Scotland to protect them.
He was 10 when the Roman Empire left.
He is 26 years old now.
North Ireland -
He was born into the world as a three year old.
He was 5 when Wales and England were born.
He was 7 when Britannia died and England and Wales was captured. He was sent away along with Ireland right after Wales was captured by Scotland to protect them.
He was 9 when the Roman Empire left.
He is 25 years old now.
Wales -
He was born into the world as a two year old.
He was still 2 when England was born. (He and England are only 6 months apart in human years)
He was 4 when Britannia died and when he was captured by the Roman Empire.
He was 6 when the Roman Empire left.
He is 23 years old now. (But will be 24 years old very soon - there will be a birthday party one-shot later!)
England -
He was born into the world as a two year old.
He was 4 when Britannia died and he was captured by the Roman Empire.
He was 6 when the Roman Empire left.
He is 23 years old now.
REVIEW! I need motivation!)