Woohoo! I churned this one out quickly didn't I? I wrote this while at work when I should have been, you know, working. But with the holidays coming up this month is going to be pretty slow anyway.

I hope everyone is doing well and liking the story so far. There are usual disclaimers regarding history, accents, etc. But we are getting close to the Part 2 of this story so, thanks for keeping with me and this story! Enjoy!

Ch. 12-

Meeting her uncles was almost exactly as she'd expected it to be. The found them in a tavern, making noise, and half-heartedly listening to both her father's and Uncle Rhys' lecture about propriety and behavior and how they were supposed to meet them elsewhere hours ago! Uncle Reilly shrugged, but her Uncle Alistair snidely commented that it didn't matter; they found one another, hadn't they? But when she finally drew closer, make her presence known, the arguing stopped. Her Scottish uncle walked a full circle around her in inspection while her father stood stiff, daring his elder brother to say anything insulting, but he only smirked and congratulated her at not inheriting her father's alleged poor looks. He earned a giggle from her and a squawk from her father. He had a firm hand upon her shoulder and welcomed her; to pay attention to him and he'd show her the ropes; ignore anything his brothers said, he'd teach her to be strong. All the brothers were squabbling at the point in varying degrees of indignant, until Reilly broke away to give her a rather enthusiastic hug despite her father's gripe that such displays were inappropriate.

It was, strangely, almost exactly how she expected the meeting to go. She'd spent so much time with her uncles who never faulted her for her revolution. Sure, they had their gripes about this or that battle, but they didn't hold a grudge. They welcomed her as always when she visited, kept her visits quiet from her father, and could party as well as the best of them; never kept her from enjoying the festivities as well. And for that, they'd got on famously, enacted trade, had a wealth of immigration, though that was bumpy at times, and had no trouble treating her as an equal, in and out of war. Anne supposed she knew their personalities very well, even if she didn't know their entire pasts. And much later, further down the road and hangovers slept off, when Rhys continued with his stories of their pasts, they were happy to join in, adding little details and commentary which made the storytelling that much more entertaining. For once, they didn't shy away from their crazy adventure; they'd pressed her for her own, which she tried to supply without giving anything away.

She still felt like she did...somehow. That she was going to mess everything up, but it was hard to hold back. They'd been curious and interested, perhaps because they weren't meeting her when she was a toddler wandering the wilds. Compared to her father, they'd been amicable, welcoming...did feelings from the future travel back with her. Was that possible? She'd left the future after a fight with him. Did he, even unknowingly, somehow feel that anger, the hate, in this time as well?

Or was it simply the nature of their relation to one another? Were they destined to be ambivalent to one another? The thought had soured some of the stories' happier tunes, her smile sometimes turned brittle as much as she tried to appear genuine. And when the stories were done for the day, and they rested here or there, her family members sometimes lapsed into hushed conversations in their respective languages—none of which she was particularly fluent in. Anne made a note to attempt to learn at least one of them when she returned. Couldn't be that hard, right? Ah, what she would give for her cellphone right now. All she could do in these quiet moments was observe them as discreetly as possible.

As it was, her Scottish uncle was determined to ignore her father as much as possible; something that annoyed him to no end, having to relay messages through their Welsh brother despite their only being two people between them. It was rather comical seeing the display of immaturity. They'd always, even when they were arguing in the present, to be as...dignified as possible. At least her father had always tried very hard, Alistair was less inclined to maintaining posture and quietness. Still, leave it to the red-haired man to pull her father into a more confrontational mood; he had a knack for it. Apparently so did she.

And Alistair had drilled her with questions during those conversations. He'd turn hard on upon her and ask her specifics; what was she doing, why was she there when the spell was cast, how did she get caught in the crossfire, why did she not shield herself? Her lack of magic came as a distinct surprise to her family members, save her father and Rhys who already knew.

"How could she not have any magic?" Alistair growled towards her father, somehow implying that it was his fault, which of course, her father took as an insult.

"How would I know? No one can control the siring of a nation let alone the makeup of one."

"Figures your bad stock would do something like this."

"The devil does that mean, hm? She is of foreign lands; it could be that the magic, as you well know, is different there! Perhaps her magic is different or couldn't develop because of that and being born of our clan." Alistair gave a 'harumph' and crossed his arms in his place. "Bloody git! You imply that I somehow caused this mishap!"

"For all we know yeh did!"

"Excuse me, but the mishap is sitting right here." Anne piped in dryly. She was only slightly insulted. It wasn't anything new after all. They'd been disappointed when her magic didn't manifest. And they barely acknowledged any of her lands' mysticism when the colonies were starting. Besides, science was her game, so magic just took a back seat. It wasn't that she didn't believe in magic, after all it was what had landed her here, but like she'd mused before it had never been a big part of her life, especially as she grew larger.

"Pardon us," Rhys sighed throwing pointed looks to her siblings, "I'm sure Alistair did not mean to imply that you are..."

"Damaged?" Anne supplied almost bitterly. That seemed to shock them into silence. Another common subject of discussion; the what-was-wrong-with-America topic.

"Of-of course not," Alistair looked uncomfortable while Arthur stuttered.

"Look, what happened here was an accident and I can't go into too many details. My place in magic is...not the same. And that is fine with me because, frankly, what little experiences I've had with it have been disastrous. I manage fine without it; excel even." She raised an eyebrow daring anyone to challenge her claim, "What I excel in is technology and science. My nation put a man on the moon for heaven's sa—" She cut herself off. Shit, should she have revealed that? The conversation however, zeroed in on that fact. A man on the moon? Truly? One exclaimed. Her uncle Rielly had literally stuck his head out of the carriage to peer up to the sky as if he could literally discern some proof there. Meanwhile, Uncle Rhys wanted to know what they found there—were there monsters? Water? People? Anne wasn't sure she could answer any of that, but it was interesting to see such wonder in their eyes. While the whole of the world was fascinated by the great Space Race, concerns over nuclear war overshadowed any thrill of the interplanetary frontier. Sad, really, because space really was an interesting place to be. She knew; she'd been out there. She knew Tony...wait, wouldn't Tony's alien tech be able to help her? Was he even back from visiting his relatives in... whatever galaxy he came from? Huh. Could Tony even time travel? How has she not thought to ask that before? Well, hindsight and all that, she supposed. Still...

"We built rockets to get there. They're like ships but they're powered by...fire, I guess. And it takes time, but we made it. We were the first nation do it. Traveling to spa—er, the heavens is fairly regular now; expensive but we have, like, a small group of people up there often."

"And what is it they do?"

"Science. Research. We trying to learn as much as we can about the origins of the universe."

"But that is godly knowledge."

"It is science and available to anyone who wishes to learn about how we came into being. And if you're wondering about the Christian heaven, well, we never found it out there. But hey," she shrugged, "the universe is bigger than our minds can comprehend. There is so much we really don't know, so who knows what we will find out there..." Like Tony, she thought about the crude little alien that hung around her house, missing the slight shock that appeared on Rhys' face. The others peered at him and he shook them off slightly conveying that he'd tell them later what he'd seen.

They thankfully turn their conversation to the far past where they spoke of inventions of those times; mainly weapons and the like; keen to point out which invention came from where, but she could tell they itched to press further with the way occasionally one would peer up to the sky in consideration. Her father also seemed to like this conversation, speaking of the incredible advances he'd seen since he'd come into being. It was wonderous seeing the same enthusiasm she had for the latest inventions in a man who typically worked to keep his emotions so tightly in check. Didn't always work, of course, as he lost his temper with her...and France...and Spain...and Prussia. Nevertheless, it seemed like that control extended to joy as well. He'd only allow himself to express only so much happiness. Anne could never understand it. Emotions are meant to be expressed. If you were excited by something then why not show it. If you were happy why try to hide it. If you were sad, then you cried right? Well, not even she was perfect in that regard. She was notorious for hiding her pain as much as she could, preferring to cover it with happiness. As if by smothering the negative things with joy could somehow lessen the blow. It only did so much to hide and did nothing to ease the hurt, she admitted to herself.

When they turned in for the night her father had informed her that they were very close to their destination and would take only a short time to prepare for the ritual. From there they'd be able to send her home. The news came as a relief as much as it had been sobering. She'd been having fun, listening to her uncles during the ride across the countryside, learning songs and dances in the taverns, and relaxing for what felt like the first time in so many years.

Being a world power was hard work; long work. And she had help, so why is it her time for adventuring became less and less? When the talk of holiday came up there was always something. Something that needed finishing, something to be done; this or that meeting; obligations. And even parties and events that were supposed to be fun or relaxing became more of a drill of etiquette, deals, and greater scrutiny from outsiders as well as her own government. She was always putting on a front; everywhere. And when she was finally able for some down time, she was either too tired or she needed to remain close; just in case. In fact, falling through time was probably the longest she'd gone without work in... decades? Anne rolled over in the small, lumpy bed she was given and tried to sleep, but it was difficult with the flashes of images her mind was insisting she see; it brought a headache, that was for sure.

Arthur and his brothers crowded a corner of the tavern after sending Anne off to sleep. They kept as close as they were willing but they needed to know what it was their eldest sibling had seen. Well, for Rhys, seeing is a somewhat generous word. Since he'd met his niece, he'd be subtly pressing her psyche to glean information. Not outright pulling thoughts, but enough to put conclusions together. It was something he kept from his younger brothers, lest they demand details he wasn't willing to give. The less they knew about the future the better, but they couldn't go into this blindly. And he really couldn't trust his rather emotional family members to not try and use that information despite the dangers knowing could wrought. Rhys had known his place since long ago; had foreseen it. A gift he inherited from his mother. Some manner of clairvoyance and sight had served their family well in the darkest of times. And for this, Rhys knew, somewhat, what was to come. The things he'd dream of wasn't typically helpful in preventing terrible things, but at least it could help fortify them to brace for impact. But strong memories, especially from a mind untrained in blocking itself from infiltration or psychic powers, could be clear as day.

Rhys had known who his niece was the moment Arthur had dragged her into that first tavern; had known to expect her, just not exactly when. Memory and visions were fickle things; they could show you so much and then like smoke disappear and one wouldn't know they'd gleamed the future until the moment had literally come to pass. There would be no memory of the warning signs. It was why he tried to write his visions when he saw them, so that he could remember them, but even then, the cosmos would right itself and the vision was for naught. It was why he was surprised that his younger brothers seemed so oblivious, because he remembered and it seemed they had not.

He'd known his niece because he'd met her before; they all had. Ages ago it seems. And it was why he knew what was coming despite the fearful churning of his stomach for there was nothing to do but let it happen. To do everything he could to keep her safe in the moment since what was to pass will pass nonetheless. She would fall further. He knew it; remembered it and the sharp pain in his mind would follow. But his brothers seemed to have forgotten. Or at least, they weren't sharing. But after her second fall he could not remember what would become of her. If the times she lived before she traveled through time would be her last. Would she ever make it back to her time? Or would she disintegrate?

It was all terribly concerning.

It was why he told her every story she wanted to know. Doted upon her; mediated his brothers, tiring as that was. Who knew what the future held because there was only so much he could see from her; fantastical it may be. And what he did see was indeed fantastic. Stone cities that reached the sky, flying machines, and even more destructive weapons. Her science was incredible to say the least. The memory of this creature, Tony, was startling. The stuff of nightmares. The Texas personification was no doubt a child of the Spaniard; and possibly so was the Molossia boy but...not quite?

And her memories of her father; they'd been fighting he knew, but when was his youngest brother not fighting. The Welshman wanted to sigh. Arthur was headstrong, stubborn, and at times unforgiving. But still, Rhys was as much saddened as he was frustrated. Arthur had always wanted children. He'd hoped that having the dream fulfilled would soften the Englishman a bit, but...well, his child was just like him. Just like all of them, really. But both of them had also wanted; wanted to love each other, to be a family again. They just couldn't move past whatever had caused so much discord between them; too much pride and a fear of being rejected by the other. Ah, what to do...

"You coming back to us now?" Rielly prodding him and Rhys glared. "Thought we'd lost ya a second there."

"Just gathering my thoughts."

"Aye so; what did you see?"

"Not much I can tell you I'm afraid." Scotland grumbled and Arthur scowled, but Rhys held up a hand. "That is how it must be."

"Then what can you tell us?" Eire prodded again.

"We must be prepared or we will fail her. This spell is dangerous and it will be up to us to keep her in one piece. That should be our focus."

"We need to know where to send her though. We can only hope that our future selves will be able to pull her in the right direction."

"They won't." Wales said solemnly. His siblings gave varied startled responses.

"What do ye mean?"

"I mean she will go where she is destined to go."

"Another point in time." Arthur looked pale and horrified. "But-brother, she—she could die." And Rhys wanted to reassure them, but he could not. Any joy they felt about meeting her seemed to suddenly dim into sorrow. Arthur looked surprisingly about to run to her room, where she slept soundly on, unknowing of what was to come, and just hold her. As if maintaining contact would spare her any terrible thing. It was their younger brother's weakness; when he loved, he loved greatly, even if it could destroy him. His emotions were always held close to the heart. He would never be over the departing of their beloved mother, he would never forgive Rome, would never fully trust Denmark; no matter how hard he tried to appear undisturbed. If his child ever died, it would destroy him, shatter them all. There would be no recovery. Their happiness always hollow and tainted with loss. He didn't want to think about it.

Eire had pulled out his runes, tossing them several times, and frantically trying to figure anything he could. But his focus was off from too much ale and worry to be able to concentrate as much as he needed to. Alistair clenched his mug hard enough to bend the metal, but Arthur abruptly stood and simply left the tavern. Rhys let him go, hoping he didn't get into any trouble, like a brawl, that they'd have to pull him out of. Taking a long drink of his ale, Rhys ran plan after plan in his head. He could only hope that fate favored the girl as much as they all already did.

As always, thank you for your faithful following and reviews! And I think I found a way to incorporate Angel Arthur for one of my reviewers! So hopefully that goes well! It'll be subtle, but present! Woo!