Over 2000 Years and Counting

by Army of Flying Turtles

Just a story on England's growth as a person, of his struggles to overcome adversity and his fight against his own demons. All of this wouldn't be possible without his family by his side as they all learn to forgive and appreciate the love and camaraderie between them. A lot of serious stories but also humour, historical pieces and yaoi.

13. History Two, Part One: I Understand Now

HEY GUYS! Finally got another chapter written! It's the first of two parts. After the second part I will probably pick up from where I left off in chapter 11. Many thanks for everyone's constant support!

This is set during the reign of Queen Elizabeth I, specifically in 1588 and the surrounding years. I honestly can't speak or right Shakespearean so yeah...And I also took a bit of literary license with the clothing...

Disclaimer: Everything except the plot and OCs are not mine!

Warnings: Both EnglandxWales and ScotlandxEngland!

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"Where is he?"

It was only around nine in the morning and already Wales was worried. Despite it being a relatively warm summer, waiting around for England's ship to pull into the docks was a daunting business since he wasn't even sure when he would appear or even if he would appear. His twin had left around five years previously in order to set sail for 'New Worlds' across the sea. It certainly wasn't his first trip and it definitely wouldn't be his last but Wales missed his grumpy twin. He was also extremely concerned since War with Spain was looming over the immediate horizon. Despite not wanting to be a part of his Kingdom, he did want to be with England in this trying time, especially since there were talks of a great 'Armada' that was set to be unleashed upon his brother's forces. It didn't help that the Queen's temper was all the more potent without the charismatic blonde. (1) He may have been a brigand and wild horse but that didn't mean that the woman didn't love her nation, the man she also called 'husband', any less. (2) The completely hateful chaos that was the relationships between his twin and France and Scotland did not help matters either. It was one thing fighting with Spain and the Papacy but Scotland and France were both family and fighting so viciously with his family had soured them all. Hell, even Wales was sour and that was an emotion he detested.

He ran a hand through his shoulder-length locks in frustration. When had everything become so difficult? It seemed to him that it was only yesterday that they were all happy under the adoring eyes of Britannia. A combination of invasion after invasion, horridly scaring experiences, specific rulers and a lack of sincere communication had all but wrecked that happiness. He had tried to talk to his twin about what had happened under the Roman Empire and all the other invaders that they have had before. He had told England about his own experiences in order to make him more comfortable with the subject and to show that he didn't have to suffer alone. He told him about how, despite the numerous good things the Roman Empire had brought them, he had been forced away from England to mine for gold through layer upon layer of solid rock with nothing but the clothes on his back and a tiny pick axe at the tender age of ten. How he almost had limbs completely blown away by deliberate explosions set off by the Romans in order to create more mines. How he was often whipped to go faster and how he had to watch his people suffer every day. (3) But England never budged. A furious look would come over his face but would morph into one of indifference. He had tried to talk to him about how he felt when Ireland had been forced to flee, when Britannia died or when he was taken away from both himself and Scotland but, again, he would never budge. How he wished things were simple again...

His thoughts were ceased when he heard several human voices calling to a ship that had appeared. He could immediately feel his twin's energy and at first his heart was exalted by joy. But, as he tapped into it more deeply, he could feel a fiery ferociousness that hadn't really been present before. A new found arrogance that covered up any worries he had held previously. His energy was devious, volatile and dangerous in a highly alluring manner. He could practically taste this new spiciness and dominant masculinity in his mouth.

As the ship sailed closer and closer, he began to feel very restless. He grew confused when he couldn't see his twin at first. His aura was beginning to almost suffocate his own in an attempt to see him submit. He held firm and made it clear that though England held authority over him, he would not so readily submit to him. The energy became softer then. It was still quite overbearing but was much gentler and he could tell that his twin was very happy to be able to see him again after five very long years. He waited patiently as the boat was anchored at the docks.

"CARIAD!~"

The loud, throaty call had startled him somewhat but before he had a chance to respond a figure had taken a rope and swung down recklessly to the ground. All Wales had to see was shabby wheat-coloured hair, piercing emerald eyes and larger-than-life eyebrows to know just who the man was.

"Arthur!"

Though it was a tad undignified, Wales ran over to his twin as fast as his legs could carry him. The large shadow that the magnificent galleon vessel had cast over the ground had created a slight chill despite the kindly weather. He embraced the man tightly, not taking in his appearance in his rush.

"I see that you have missed me..."

Wales hummed to confirm this but when did his twin's voice achieve such a pleasant sounding baritone? Had his twin always been an inch or two taller than him? He didn't care; all he cared about was that he was back home and thus back with him.

"I have indeed missed you, Brawd...You simply cannot fathom how much I have missed you..."

England chuckled at the use of Welsh. His brother was technically not supposed to speak it in his presence but he never did have the heart to tell him not too. A language was just one of the many things that personally belonged to a nation. Taking away a language was like taking a part of their soul and he loved Wales' soul. He spoke quietly in the other man's language, making Wales' smile.

"Well that does please me. It pleases me very much because I have missed you too. Now, lift your fair face to me so that I can see you properly..."

Wales did as he was told and his mouth almost fell open in shock at the sight that greeted him as he looked up and down. England was dressed in attire he had never seen him wear before. He had loose fitting black trousers that were held at the waist by a dark red sash. His shirt, which was stained by days, if not months, of wear, clung to his attractive figure, damp with sweat and sea spray. It was tied at the top with leather cords and a rather sloppily done, but still rather neat, dark-coloured cravat embraced his neck. Long emerald and gold earrings were donned by his dainty lobes, framing his face and complimenting his fiery emerald eyes rather splendidly. Two gold studs above them glinted prettily in the sun. Then there was the coat. He had to admit that it was probably the best coat in the entire Kingdom if not Europe simply because it suited England so well. The heavy red fabric billowed awesomely behind him in the gentle wind, giving him a regal appearance. The shoulders were padded and decorated with a black material that was fringed. Big gold buttons as well as the golden embroidery that detailed the front and the shoulders shone impressively in the sun. The coat came down to just below his knees and his feet donned knee-high laced leather boots. A privateer? Pfft. His brother was still a fully-fledged pirate and a captain at that.

"I see that you are still as fair in countenance as I remember so why do your brows lift themselves upward with surprise? You will mar your delicate features by doing that..."

Wales snapped out of his observation and blushed heavily at the sultry smirk sent his way. Why did God continue to curse him with such a roaring passion for the man who was, in all intents and purposes, his captor? (4)

"It makes me happy that you still find me pleasing. And forgive me, Brawd, I was merely surprised at your attire and how well it suits you..."

England's smirk only seemed to widen.

"Thank you. I was wondering what you would think of my vestments but I am comforted by your words. And do not fret, my Cariad, I will show you just how pleasing I find you in my chambers at the Castle if you would oblige me...Now follow me, my dearest wife...I must see the Queen as soon as possible..."

Wales' face became a blacksmith's furnace at the comment. He followed the man after getting over his shock, muttering a vicious 'I am not your wife..." His stomach had tied itself in knots and it seemed as if butterflies had suddenly erupted from within. He realised he would have to become accustomed to England's new found sex appeal. The man had always had it but it was rather subdued and quiet. Now he was seemingly tapping into its full potential.

They travelled that afternoon with trustworthy humans sent by the Queen herself and they had been the humans that rode with Wales to the docks and he knew they were nothing if not efficient. Their strong horses walked at a leisurely pace as they approached Windsor Castle. (5) All-in-all the ride took two days and one night.

"How did they treat you whilst I was away, Fair One?"

Wales bit his lip discreetly. He couldn't get away from the jibes about his being Welsh but it really didn't bother him so much any more. England on the other hand was not so kind. It wasn't the first time that England would ask him that question with a sinister undertone that made a shiver crawl up his spine. He knew that someone's life could very well be continued or ended depending on his answer.

"The treated me most kindly, my Lord..."

With so many other people around, Wales had to address England by his title. He hated to, though. It demonstrated a subservience that he abhorred. Yet his statement was true overall. Elizabeth I was kind of sympathetic to his plight and was often very nice to him. It helped that she liked him personally too; often saying he was a very respectable, beautiful and kind man. She tried to instil even a small sense of respect in those around him though whether or not she was successful is debatable. England, despite asking, never really believed the answers given to him but if Wales didn't give him any other indication that someone wasn't treating him badly then he couldn't do very much about it.

"I see..."

They reached the castle to a flurry of welcoming humans. England couldn't help but grin. He knew his Gloriana (6a)wouldn't really approve of his clothing but he liked to rile up the fiery red-head all the same. His persistent impish behaviour towards the Queen had earned him the dislike of several, if not the majority, of the nobles and he loved every second of it because they truly could do nothing to him. He stormed through the corridors with Wales by his side, very much looking as if he owned the entire place. In a sense he did own it. Everything built upon the body that was his land was, in effect, his. He did at least remember his manners as he waited outside the doors of the Grand Hall and Throne Room patiently until he was called. As soon as the door opened he strode purposefully towards the woman that came third in his heart only to his Mother and Mann. He could already see the relief in his monarch's eyes turn to disgust at his clothing. He bowed down lowly in front of his Virgin Queen (6b) and kissed the ring on her outstretched hand and when he raised himself with the woman's permission, Wales did the same. He waited for his Queen to speak.

"And what is it that you are wearing in my Court, Lord Kirkland?"

England grinned.

"Your Grace, if I was not as bold as both yourself and your Court know me to be, I would reply with apologies. But since I am so bold I would reply that in your Court, at this very moment, my Queen, I am wearing clothing...You are an intelligent lass and yet you ask the most baffling questions..."

Subdued gasps were heard from various members of the Court but Wales had to hold back a snicker.

They could not believe the impudence of that man! Nation or not, every member of her Majesty's court must show the due respect to the monarch. They were all hoping that the Tudor Queen would finally lock him in the Tower or at least whip him into curbing his impertinence. Their prayers seemed to have been answered when the Regnant narrowed her eyes dangerously.

"Piracy is not something I tolerate in my Court or Realm and neither is insolence..." (7)

England simply chuckled and raised his chin all the higher. (8)

"You sadden me, my Queen. Why it you encourage and reward gentlemen such as Sir Francis Drake for exactly what I do now, pillaging Spanish ships, and punish me? And we both know that your previous attempts to punish me in order to teach me a lesson were unsuccessful as I am still here now, scars upon my back and all, and I am still engaging in the art you so hate! ...Hmm...Being drowned or burnt at the stake has not worked to curb my misbehaviour in the past...nor has being stabbed repeatedly or hung...Although the scars from them remain. Perhaps a beheading will do?"

Elizabeth sucked in a shaky breath in order to control her temper as her dainty fingers massaged her temple.

"You have always been very bold but now your cheek is to the point of being insufferable...I am your Queen and by convention something like a wife since I consider myself married to no one but my Nation..."

England's smirk became feral and Wales brought his hands together in worry. Yes, his brother had been hanged before and whipped as well as burnt at the stake, drowned and stabbed more than once and that obviously didn't work but he wasn't all too sure if a beheading would be as unsuccessful...He didn't want his twin to be hurt or worse because he couldn't control his arrogance.

"Yes, that is true, my Liege, but as far as I know I am married to no one save one nation and you are the first servant of my State...You must understand that you can only leash a Nation so much before they become exasperated. I try to please you but I fear that at this time in my life I may never be the man you want me to be. But I will continue to try and I will not complain, for I love you dearly, my friend and Queen and thus I wear the second ring on my marriage finger with pride..."

Elizabeth blushed but before she could say anything a noble shouted out against England. The noble stormed up to the teenage looking Nation and his eyes burned with fury. England looked at him with a levelled gaze; completely cool and without a single ounce of intimidation or fear.

"You, Sir, are a disgrace to this court and a petulant whelp at that! Your deplorable acts of piracy and the manner in which you address our Sovereign Lady are unpardonable! If it were up to me, I would not tolerate such impudence, even from my 'Nation', I -"

Quicker than the human eye could register, England whipped out a golden, jewelled rapier from the sash on his waist and propelled forward it with dangerous accuracy. He didn't wish to kill the man, just to scare him and thus the sword was pointed straight at his throat, creating an ominous indent. England's eyes glowed with venom as he ran the tip of the blade along the man's neck and left a long, bleeding cut in its wake. His mouth was set into an animalistic snarl. None of the others dared speak out; they were not willing to be on the receiving end of the avatar's anger. The Noble's previous passion had left him completely, leaving a debilitating and unbearable fear in its wake.

"And is that how you address your Nation, Human? Is that how you address the personification of the very soil you stand upon? How dare you address the man whose lands provide you with everything you need for absolutely nothing except protection and reverence with such disrespect? A petulant whelp? Hah! When you have suffered as I have then you may be free to say such disgustingly offensive things."

England sneered at the man; the fury in his eyes and the dominance in his posture coupled with his very youthful face made him a truly frightening sight to behold. Wales hated it when his twin got like this; it wasn't him. The England he knew was, yes, a tad unpredictable but he was kind. The man in front of him lacked any notion of kindness. As he squared up to the cowering human noble he was truly brutal.

"Be not mistaken, Sir, I am also a servant here by nature but if I were not I would have you locked my Tower (9) and cut out your tongue...Next time you speak to me in such a manner, I will not be so kind as to just graze your filthy skin...Anything that concerns me is certainly not up to you, so do not waste my time with such foolish notions...Do I make myself clear?"

When the commotion had died down and order had been restored, Elizabeth addressed England once again.

"Really, one person with a fiery temper is enough...Now, what are you to do with those vestments, dear Nation?"

The nobles still retained the hope that the Nation would be respond humbly. Their hopes were dashed at the stone walls as soon as England spoke.

"They shall remain draped upon my person. I highly doubt that these fine gentlemen-"

England gesticulated mockingly at the Court surrounding him.

"Would want to see my nakedness despite it being a glorious sight to behold..."

Wales resisted the urge to nod in agreement. The bristled nobles seethed; surely the Lady of the Realm would punish him now. Their hopes were run over by a plough horse the moment Elizabeth burst out into laughter, her ashen face becoming alive with a merry colour.

"Oh but I have missed your cheek, Lord Kirkland, as insufferable as it is at times! And you, Sir Kirkland, how do you fare?" (10)

The nobles seemed to like Wales if only for his respectful behaviour and kind, gentle manner in comparison with his twin's. Wales blushed slightly at being addressed so suddenly but replied softly after bowing.

"I fare the same, your Majesty. I thank the good Lord for my health and you for your kindness..."

Elizabeth smiled benevolently at the dark-haired man.

"You are much too gracious and kind, Sir Kirkland. If only all men were as sweet as yourself. Also, I can only imagine how much you have missed your brother being his twin if I, myself, have missed him terribly...I do not think I can say the same for most of the Court however..."

Wales chuckled as he nodded and responded softly, a gentle smile etched onto his face as he glanced briefly at the blonde by his side.

"That I did, your Majesty. I have missed him terribly every single day since he departed five years ago. I can only hope that those feelings of loneliness were present in my brother's heart whenever he thought of me on his voyage..."

England was thankful that no one noticed the dopey smile on his face and the rose tinge to his cheeks. Elizabeth continued to smile as she took in what the Welsh avatar had said. Her face then became serious as she called them to a more private planning room with her War Ministers and other men that would lead her forces against Spain and his Philip II. By the time England and Wales had managed to get back to England's chamber, the blonde man was frustrated and restless with the stress of planning a war against Spain and finding out that his eldest brother was due in the Court the very next day in order to discuss possibilities of his King James VI becoming King of both of them upon the death of his Queen, since she was not married and had no heirs. Scotland was still sour about the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots, and meeting him again after years would not be easy. The only reason he even knew about the execution in the first place was because a letter (one that had been sent with a ship that was going to join him in the New World) had been sent to him for Christ's sake! (11)

"Please rest, Brawd. You are exhausted from your journey and I am sure that your campaign against Spain will go well..."

England whipped his head round to snap at Wales.

"And what should happen if I lose? I will not see Europe kick me down again and again like a dog like they have done before! You should not comment on matters you do not understand!" (12)

Wales' eyes went wide and then sad as he brought his legs up to his chest on England's bed. He did not like it when the other man shouted at him in such a manner when all he wished to do was help him. He didn't like always being pushed away by the one person he loved the most; it broke is heart.

He heard a mournful sigh and felt the bed dip but did not turn to face the blonde. It was only when a gentle, war-calloused hand wiped a tear upon his cheekbone that he realised he was crying. Damn his sensitivity.

"Forgive my harshness, Dear One. All of this is certainly not your fault and thus I should not treat you so..."

Wale sniffed slightly as he tried to wipe his eyes. He tone was bitter and frustrated.

"My country may have been annexed by yours, Brawd, but do not treat me as the nobles sometimes treat the maids and servants of this Castle...Do not treat me thus when all I wish to do is be your aid in these times of strife..."

England did feel terribly guilty. He cupped the dark-haired man's cheek as he pressed a chaste but adoring kiss on the other.

"I am rather ashamed. I have only been in your company for two days and I have already caused you misery..."

Wales smiled somewhat sorrowfully as he rested his forehead against England's.

"No, no...I understand that you are under a great deal of stress...but please understand how much it upsets me when you treat me thus...It really is heart breaking..."

England smiled dolefully as he held Wales' hands in his.

"I do understand...You deserve none of this; not such horrid treatment nor my ruling over you...No one so beauteous should have to suffer so...I am sorry..."

Wales smiled kindly as he raised England's hands to kiss them. The blonde man returned the smile.

"So does that mean I am forgiven for my deplorable behaviour?"

Wales grinned and brought his arms around England in a strong embrace, which England returned.

"Yes. Yes you are..."

England nuzzled the smooth skin of the dark-haired man's neck gently.

"Well at least someone forgives me...I am not certain whether our eldest brothers or Francis will be as merciful...but I do not care as long as I have you...As long as you are here with me, I will want for nothing else...I do not need their love when I have yours..."

England kissed Wales' shoulder chastely and he spoke passionately.

"I love you..."

Wales felt a heavy feeling settle in his heart but blushed at the loving and honest words.

"You had no knowledge of the execution of Alas' Queen. How could you if you were at sea for over five years? Padraig? Well, you have warned the Queen more than once to treat both him and his people well and yet she still considers him a savage... So I do not know what else you can do. And France, well, I am sure that you will enjoy each other's friendship once again in the future..." (13)

Wales played gently with the ends of England's shoulder length hair and his hands stroked the man's slightly bearded jaw.

"I love you too...More than anything besides my country and people, I love you. But you know deep down in your heart that you do want for their love. But for now I will love you all the more, though it seems impossible, if only to make up for their lack of it..."

The Englishman hummed and embraced the man tighter but then heaved out a huge sigh as the feelings of sorrow festered in his heart.

"My shoulders are so burdened that I am not sure how much more weight they can support..."

Wales ran his dainty fingers through his twin's hair.

"That is why I wish to help you...Let me fight with you when you meet Spain on the seas..."

England snapped his head upwards and glared vehemently at the other man.

"You will do no such thing! I am not going to risk you getting hurt because of my wars!"

Wales cupped England's face and the determination in his eyes was unwavering.

"I will do such a thing, Brawd. You are both the man I call 'brother' and my husband! Is it so wrong of me to want to support you? I will not stand by and let Catholic Europe tear you apart!"

England gritted his teeth.

"Can you not see that I want you safe? I want you here where no harm will come to you!"

Wales shook his head.

"No! That is not an option. I will not be like a normal wife waiting for her husband to come home. I am a man and I want to prove myself worthy to fight by your side! I am tired of the people here taking my skills for granted and thinking that I am useless; let me show them what I can do."

England shouted in distress.

"And what would happen should I not come home?"

Wales' eyes widened in surprise.

"What do you mean?"

England's face was painted with deep distress.

"I mean, Brawd that I could very well lose this war regardless of whether or not you are there by my side. I would rather you remain here where you will not be witness to such a disgrace should it occur..."

Wales understood his brother's worries but they still did not change his mind in the slightest.

"Well even if this battle does end in defeat, I want to be right by your side to comfort and to support you..."

Confronted with such determination and with such sincerity, England acquiesced. He wasn't happy about it, but he figured that fighting with his twin would only make him stronger. England spat out his words.

"Fine...Do as you wish for all I care..."

Though the answer was rather harsh, Wales knew that it was only to cover up England's worry. He smiled widely.

"I am glad that you have agreed to my request. Now I do believe I shall agree to yours..."

England's eyes widened to the size of saucers as Wales pushed him backwards to straddle him. The dark-haired twin's eyes were alight with a desire that England found very attractive. Though many thought they looked the same, England could clearly see the physical differences between them.

Wales was much, much sweeter looking and seemed to radiate warmth. He was charming in a very innocent and benevolent way. His pink lips set in a luscious pout. A couple of freckles dotted his nose and cheeks. His skin was smooth and rich with a colour only the sun could create. The man was rather petite and delicate looking but his spine was strong and his hands calloused through hard work. His dark, wavy hair was thick upon his head and the loose curls tumbled beautifully upon his shoulders. His forest green eyes were wider than England's but were alight with a mischievous passion. As sweet as he was however, England often attributed the adjective 'impish' to him, especially when he smirked or gave him 'The Look'.

England on the other hand was much colder in appearance and had much sharper facial features. He was charming but in a more dangerous, less innocent way. His brother was 'beautiful' but he was often described as 'handsome'. His hair was the colour of wheat and barley in the golden summer sun and usually did not tumble about his shoulders, but was maintained short about his ears. His five years at sea changed this however, the hair now going slightly past his shoulders in very gentle waves. Golden hair framed his jaw since he hadn't shaved for a while. His skin was as alabaster as the moonlight but, much like Wales, he also had a set of freckles that dusted his nose and cheeks. His lips were thinner than Wales' and his eyes narrower. His body was also somewhat broader but not by very much.

"What are you doing, Cariad?"

Wales tilted the head to the side coquettishly as he ran delicate fingers through his lover's long tresses.

"I am simply reminding you, Arthur, that you need to show me just how pleasing you find me..."

England's eyes darkened as he remembered his promise. His hands raised themselves to settle upon Wales' hips. The Welshman smirked as his bent his head to whisper in England's ear, his voice husky and rich with a seductive undertone. In England's mind, his voice was pure music.

"After five years of being without you, I am at the point of starvation...Your lips are like wine, and I want to get drunk..." (14)

England pulled the man upwards by his hair and kissed him hard. He adored how Wales knew of his love of Shakespeare's works. His hands moved downwards to cup Wales' rear as he ground his hips upwards. Wales briefly broke the kiss to cry out softly, his head tilting backwards and his body hyper-sensitive. England swallowed the rest of his cries as his lips captured Wales' in a passionate dance once again. When they had parted, England couldn't help but smirk at Wales' already dishevelled appearance, rouge-tinted face and heaving chest. His eyes were glazed over and unfocused; he looked completely intoxicated. England grinned fondly and without mockery as he stroked the boy's cheek indulgently.

"You are a danger to all men and yet you cannot handle your wine, Sweet One..."

England stripped Wales of his trousers and undergarments with such a desperate fervour that he was sure that he wouldn't stop even if someone burst into his chambers. Wales, too, removed England's clothing with shaky hands.

"My...*gulp*...my tunic..."

England watched the mesmerising way Wales' throat moved as he gulped. He kissed that throat whilst loosening the ties on his tunic before removing it completely. He licked his lips as Wales was fully revealed to him. His eyes raked up and the lithe body straddling him; a passionate and possessive fire burned within his orbs. He began to prepare the other with oil by his bedside.

"Please, Brawd..."

England chuckled as he laid kisses upon Wales' ear. He could taste the sweat and feel the boiling heat on the man's skin.

"I would keep your voice down if I were you, Cariad. Others would not take too...kindly to finding us in this position...Now; spread yourself for me, my beautiful Dove..."

Wales nodded dumbly as he bit his bottom lip in a valiant effort to keep the moans at bay.

"It is such a shame you have to keep such a divine voice behind those rose-tinted lips..."

As he moved to ride the man under him, Wales realised just how much he had missed England as he rocked his hips sluggishly. For five long years he had missed the man, his voice, his touch, his gaze; everything. He missed both the physical and the spiritual fullness brought about when they together and when the coupled. He just couldn't keep his sounds of pleasure at bay for very long. He would cry out and moan albeit very quietly. He looked down at England as he ran his hands through his damp hair. He would cup the blonde's cheeks and kiss him until he was on the brink of passing out just to make sure the beautiful man in front of him was real. The blonde smiled, showing a pearly canine as his hands settled on the man's lithe thighs. He pecked the dark-haired man chastely on the lips and spoke softly before thrusting upwards at his prostate and making Wales scream.

"I may rule your country, my Cariad...but your thighs certainly do rule me..."

---

"Must you see my brother today, your Majesty?"

Elizabeth turned to the source of the voice. England was on top of a window sill, leaning against its frame scowling at the view outside. His hair was tied back with a ribbon much like his twin' and he also managed to find time to shave. They were currently in one of the smaller, more private rooms of the Castle waiting for Scotland's arrival. Wales stood quietly to the Queen's left. The red-headed Queen gave Wales a quizzical look, silently asking whether or not the two neighbouring Nations could actually dislike each other so much despite sharing Kinship, although, now that she thought about her own family, she could relate. (15) Wales simply smiled and nodded. The Tudor shook her head and sighed as she turned to the direction of the English Kingdom. She still abhorred those clothes he was wearing but never could manage to get him to change out of them.

"Of course I must, Arthur...The sooner we resolve any difficulties the better. Remember, my dearest Nation, I shall not be here forever and I am sure my time will come with the next century..."

England swallowed a lump in his throat. He was thankful that this particular position obscured his face from view. In fact, if Scotland came through the doors he would only see Wales and the Queen unless he looked to his left.

"Do not speak of such things, your Majesty...It causes me a pain that you will never have to experience..."

Elizabeth turned to look at her nation sympathetically.

"I do know what it feels like to lose a dear companion, my friend. But I shall not speak with regards passing any longer if it upsets you so."

England smiled kindly at the ageing woman.

"Thank you, Elizabeth...Ah I do believe that my brother has arrived..."

Well, if the booming voice, thickly accented with a distinctive Scottish husk, was anything to go by...As soon as the door opened the tall nation strode purposefully and calmly towards the Queen. His heavy cloak billowed awesomely behind him. He did not bow, but instead nodded his head. He could feel the heavy aura of his blonde brother but he could not see him, which caused him to frown with suspicion. Much like Wales before, he could feel the change in his brother's energy and it unsettled him. He was unsettled even further when the energy disappeared like a phantom. On England's end, he smirked at the red-head's confusion of his hidden aura but couldn't help it when his eyes roamed the elder's strong, chiselled face that was framed by a short, fiery beard that met a moustache in the most splendid of manners as well as by a head of thick sunset-coloured hair and his supple yet strapping body .

"You do not bow to me in my own Castle, Lord Kirkland?"

Scotland smirked.

"Nae, your Majesty...Yoou are nae mah ruler..." (16)

Elizabeth could feel England's anger spike suddenly but Wales could even taste its bitter flavour. To Scotland it felt like a punch to the gut. He raised his own energy in fury against the hidden blonde and nearly yelled in frustration when the energy disappeared again. The Queen simply smirked back.

"Well, Sir, if your King very well becomes the ruler of your brothers after my passing, you would surely wish for them to bow to him, if only in courtesy...Thus, why do you not lead by example?"

Scotland bristled but still made no move to bow.

"Ah will nae bow tae the woman who killed mah Queen an' Ah refuse tae bow tae th' ruler uv th' English..."

Elizabeth stood up then, rage building in her storm-coloured eyes. England smiled; that's his Queen!

"I did that because she posed a significant risk to my position in my own Kingdom, Sir! I will not have my rule usurped by any Prince of Europe nor by any other monarch who claims my throne!

You forget that she was my flesh and blood; it was not an easy decision for me to make! Surely, you would have done the same for I know of the various encounters you have had with England where you both have been more than willing to destroy each other. Do not preach mercy to me here, Sir, when you and your people showed no mercy to your Queen! And I believe that I deserve respect English or not!"

Scotland continued his stony glare and his heavily accented voice came out through gritted teeth. Though he was perfectly fluent in English, he considered it a secondary language as well as a language that tasted foul on his tongue.

"What my...brother and Ah dae is none of your business, Madame. Yoour kind have already corrupted him against me, a feat that neither Rome nor the Viking nations o' th' North nor the Normans managed tae dae and ye have stolen mah other tae brothers from me as well. May Ah remind yoou, Madame, that it was yer faether that commenced aggressions against me after years of quiet tensions an' killed mah King, adding insult tae injury... (17). Not only that but ye sign a treaty wi' mah present King only tae have his mother executed a year later! And despite mah disagreements wi' Mary, she was still my people, my child! A nation cannae ignore that!"

Wales could tell that the Queen was beginning to lose her patience. A loud bang was heard then, startling all of them. They all looked to the source of the commotion and Scotland's eyes widened rather dramatically.

There was England, coat billowing from his sudden movement and a gun cocked in his direction. Thick smoke poured out of him and he knew that if he looked behind him, there would be a bullet in the wall. He was also surprised at England clothing and his new maturity; it seemed as if his baby brother had managed to grow a pair. Against his will his eyes became dilated with lust. The man he grudgingly called 'brother' had always been a sight for sore eyes but he was certainly becoming a most enchanting and stunning creature. England spoke in Scottish Gaelic, much to the Queen's dismay as she couldn't understand it. Both Scotland and Wales were rather surprised at how fluently it rolled off of England's tongue. He was always rather good with languages, hell, he was already fluent not only in almost every language of the British Isles and Ireland, but he was also fluent in at least five or six others as well!

"You are not here to have a debate with my Queen, Scotland. You are here to discuss succession to the throne of my Kingdom..." (18)

Scotland snarled and his eyes narrowed with venom.

"Ah coulds very well cut oout that tongue, boy. That is nae th' way ye shoulds speak tae me..."

England smirked as he put his gun away.

"And I could shoot your head from your shoulders should you even think to try...You in my Home, Scotland. You would do well to remember this. And besides, you would not want to cut off my tongue if you knew just what...talents it possesses."

Wales could feel a very, very powerful flame of jealousy ignite in his chest. His heart felt heavy like lead. He knew of his twin's desire for the elder but it was still hard to have it shoved in his face. The chemistry between the two was electric and the desire practically palpable with how blatant it was. He didn't like it but there was nothing he could do.

England noticed the bitter fury and acidic jealousy in his twin's usually sweet and tender energy. He turned to see the other's face contorted with the emotions coursing through him. He gazed at him levelly, a moment of understanding passed between them that neither Scotland nor Elizabeth even wished to come between. Theirs was a bond that was incredibly special and the silent communication and understanding between them awe-inspiring. Wales felt his furious envy cool a couple of minutes into the silent conversation between himself and England. England made his devotion to Wales clear and, though he was far from happy, the dark-haired man comforted himself with the knowledge that he was England's first love and first spouse and he shared a bond with the blonde that no one could even fathom. England could tell, however, that the Welshman would probably never let this slide.

Scotland was very well aware of this and, unlike Elizabeth who found it simply fascinating, he still felt bristled. He knew it was best not to fan the flames any further however, even though it didn't help that England's words had left him very hot under the collar. Discussion commenced and everyone found that the atmosphere was extremely tense. Despite this they had managed to get some work done.

Scotland was surprised by one thing however. He was expecting Wales to be just as bitter as himself if not more so. Whilst Scotland's independence was being threatened, Wales' was as good as gone. Ireland, too, was under heavy English rule and he absolutely loathed it but, then again, Elizabeth was not too fond of him either, often calling both him and his people 'savage' and 'barbarous'. She wished for his nation to be treated well enough so that she didn't have to bother with them, but hardly showed remorse should the need for bloodshed arise. But at least he was in his own lands. Wales was stuck here but he looked...content. Sure, he couldn't disguise the sadness and the wish to be free in his eyes but he looked...comfortable next to his twin and the woman he was forced to call Queen. Then again, he did expect Elizabeth to be like some of the monarchs England had; arrogant to a fault, greedy, uncaring or just completely and utterly incompetent. Yet she treated both of them with a respect that was almost unheard of. Even Wales and himself she treated with respect. She was fiery and at times uncaring and bitter but at least she was courteous. He still didn't like her or any one in England for that matter for all they had done to his country, but he could kind of see why his English brother liked her so much.

---

"Arthur...I am to retire now. Please show Lord Kirkland to his chambers. Sir Kirkland, would you please see to it that the rest of the gentlemen that have accompanied your Brother are shown to their chambers?"

Both England and Wales bowed lowly to the departing Queen.

"Your will be done, your Majesty..."

With a good night wish for all three nations, Elizabeth departed and was followed closely by an aged Walsingham, an elderly Lord Burghley and her closest attendants. Wales turned to embrace his twin. (19)

"I shall see you tomorrow, Brawd..."

England smiled gently but his eyes let Wales know that, despite his feelings being out of his control, he was sorry.

"Sweet dreams, my Dove..."

Wales turned to Scotland and embraced him too.

"It has been good to be in your company again, Brawd..."

Though Scotland felt distinctly uncomfortable in the Castle, he smiled too.

"Aye...it has been guid tae see ye again..."

With a fond smile and jealous eyes Wales began to lead Scotland's party away to their resting places for the next two nights. The rise in tension was so damn palpable between the two remaining nations that even servants were still milling about scurried away. Scotland spoke first as England led him through the grand home of his monarch.

"Ye let Cari speak Welsh..."

England nodded.

"Yes, but only around myself. He is too frightened to speak it to any other and he would risk punishment otherwise...He is forced to remain here and so the least I can do is lend him my ear to his Welsh tongue." (20)

Scotland made a sound of derision as they approached the chamber that was to be his for the duration of his stay.

"That's exactly why ah dislike ye...ye and ye blasted people. Yer so intolerant uv anythin' different tae ye."

England stared coldly at the corridor ahead of him. His eyes were remorseful but icy.

"The laws of my Kingdom are not decided by me...If I could have my way Cariad would be able to speak any language he wants with complete freedom. I would even let him speak the language of that filthy Spaniard for all I care...He would be able to sing those songs of old that use to flow from his heart. "

Scotland looked pensive.

"But cannae ye dae anythin' aboout it?"

England scoffed.

"I wish I did have the power to change the Law but, alas, not even my Queen has opted to change it. Thus, before you criticise me for being 'intolerant', make sure you understand that. I could hardly care less about the differences amongst us all on this great Earth, I, myself, being made up of many differences, but I am merely a servant here...much like yourself in your own Nation..."

Scotland held his tongue, surprised at the wisdom emanated from the youth next to him. After a while however, the silence became unbearable.

"Ye've changed...yer more mature and such...How auld are ye now in human years?"

England turned to look at his companion and decided to humour him.

"I am physically around seventeen or eighteen summers old...and yourself?"

"Ah am five and twenty..."

England simply nodded in response.

"Ah havenae seen ye in years...Ah didnae expect ye tae be so big..."

England turned his gaze away, a scowl on his handsome face. Why did his brother insist on talking?

"Of course I have grown. I am not as weak and as undeveloped as both you and Western Europe seem to think me to be...I am no longer the child you abandoned to Rome at Hadrian's Wall centuries ago..." (21)

England's comment made Scotland flinch.

"Ah didnae abandon ye...There was nothin' Ah could dae..."

England turned to glare at Scotland.

"Is that what you say in order to comfort yourself at night? You have simply no idea what happened to me under Rome and all the other invaders I have had..."

Scotland frowned at the ferocity in England's voice but was not intimidated.

"Francis has given me an idea but he didnae say much, only that he wouldnae have wanted tae be in yer situation...Somethin' about respectin' yer wishes because he practically raised yer up..."

It was England's turn to flinch.

"Even now that fool cares about me..."

Scotland smiled.

"Ov course he does. Sometimes yer all he ever talks about..."

England's eyes softened.

"Is that so?"

Scotland simply nodded.

"Aye...He loves ye, wee one, even though ye both hate each other and often curse each other tae th' depths uv hell..."

England replied with a 'hmph' sound.

Scotland knew he was entering dangerous territory but he simply had to know what happened to England all those years ago. He figured that their relationship couldn't possibly be made any worse.

"What happened, England...Ye know, when yoou were wi' Rome...an' after that..."

As expected, England's glare was venomous and his toxic eyes were alight with fury.

"Why would I tell you such a thing? So that you can mock me or pity me? I do not want for either for I have enough of both..."

Scotland shook his head.

"Nae. Ye dornt want pity sae Ah won't give it tae ye. Ye dornt deserve mockery if this is yer reaction tae yer experiences even being mentioned..."

England looked pensive for a moment and then sighed.

"Fine...but I shall not speak of such things here. If you would oblige me, I would much prefer speaking of such things in the privacy of your chambers..."

England opened the door and let Scotland go in first. He closed the door behind him and then leant on it, eyes closed in deep concentration. How in the name of Hell did he find himself in these situations? He was about to bare his soul to a man he disliked with a fiery intensity. How ridiculous...Yet he couldn't find it in his heart to deny the elder. He supposed it was the lonely child within him wishing so badly for the one person he used to look up to the most to just understand why he was the way he was. He opened his eyes and saw Scotland sitting on the bed, waiting patiently. England turned his gaze away and stared at the fire that had been lit in the room.

"Though we had met him before and though he had stayed in our country with Mother for a couple of years, Rome was not always the most welcome presence in our lands as you already know. I suppose it was just the fact that after years of doing things our own way, we were not looking to replace our system with another's. Bitter fighting broke out. One of the greatest revolts being Boudica's..." (22)

A poignant look came over the blonde's eyes.

"Her husband, leader of the Iceni, had died but made it clear he wished for his tribe to be jointly ruled by both his daughters and Rome as he was an ally of theirs. Yet when he died that bastard turned his back on his word. The Kingdom was annexed as if it were a simple conquest, the Queen was publicly flogged, shaming and humiliating her and all her daughters were raped. To add insult to injury, Roman financiers called in their loans."

England's expression soured further.

"She led a revolt but it was defeated. My dear Queen committed suicide..."

England looked up to Scotland.

"I was physically too young to fight by her side but I was with her when she passed away...I was powerless to stop my occupation..."

England turned away once more.

"Wales and his people fought until the bitter end too. We both resisted with a ferociousness that would have made both you and Ireland proud. We resisted and we never bowed down but Wales' Druids were massacred, my people had lost and we became Roman colonies along with our sickly Mother..."

England paused for a long while.

"When Rome took control of our lands, he sent us all to his own House. Though we were already weary with homesickness we at least had each other...We missed our blessed Earth, our wondrous Gulf Stream, our rivers, mountains and forests. We missed our battle ready, hardy and tough men and women who we would ride with Pride into battle with. But we missed you, Eire and Ela most of all. It did not take me long to realise just how deeply I loved Cariad...Besides Mother, he was my entire life, Scotland, and my very first love at that. He was a reminder of the beauty we were forced to leave behind and every day I would look at him and see Mother in his gaze. I knew I could be strong and see the future through if Rome would let him remain with me."

And for a while it did look as if he would let him remain with me. He built huge roads, two of which are now motorways, which connected our countries properly for the first time. He developed links and routes and encouraged us to stay together at his House."

England's eyes darkened and a glaze of deep, unrelenting sadness washed over them.

"His actions ended with the death of our Mother...And I know you resent me for it and I know you wish it was me who died instead of her but I was there and she begged me to keep on living and to keep Cariad alive with me; to protect him. I was there as our Mother's body turned to dust. I held her but Cariad was held by Rome. That bastard hardly found it noteworthy since our mother was one of the 'most savage of nations and Venus would surely shy away from such a hideous countenance.' I knew that he only said that because she would always reject his advances. He was always a sore loser."

Scotland could feel the hate for the deceased nation deep within his chest flaring to life but also a deep sadness. He could never forgive himself for not being there at his mother's death and, yes, he could suppose that he was rather envious that England was able to be with her. He didn't resent England for it nor did he wish that he had died instead however. England and Wales looked so much like the woman they called 'Mother' it was almost unbelievable. They all use to look at him so lovingly with matching expressions and when they smiled it was as if the sun had finally found its match. When Britannia died, all that he, Mann and Eire had left of her had been two angel faced babes who used to look at them all as if they could not possibly love another more; as if their heart would shatter into a million pieces if he were to try. England especially; from the moment he had first held England, the boy had adored him in particular, perhaps because he didn't see much of Mann or Ireland. He would look at Scotland as if he was his hero and his inspiration. He was his angel-faced babe who's smile made him want for nothing else. Thus he could never wish for the other's death. He could never wish for the other's death because he made a promise to that gentle woman to love him forever. He could not bear to hate the face that reminded him of kinder times.

"I did not even have time to gather our Mother's ashes before I dragged away with Cari, kicking and screaming, to a ship that took us back to Rome's House where we remained unless he allowed us to visit our lands and until we were no longer a part of his Empire. At least Mother was able to die on her lands I suppose..."

Scotland could feel goose bumps appear on his arms as England's energy tinged to black.

"When it seemed as though nothing else would be taken away from us, that bastard changed his mind about letting Cariad remain with me... Rome took Cariad away...He took him whilst I slept but I woke up...I failed to uphold my promise to Mama..."

England's voice cracked harshly; creating a sound that the Scot wanted to shy away from. England had to swallow a huge lump in his throat and blink quickly to dispel any tears. He looked upwards and then back down to the floor and then back to Scotland.

"During our first visit to our lands, Rome took Cariad away in order to force him to mine for the gold in his earth...I was forced to remain with him since he had taken a fancy to Mother and I looked most like her. Also, most of the major Roman settlements like London, York and Bath are all on my lands. I cried so hard and I was so upset that I ended up falling ill. I fought against everyone that tried to hold me down; Cariad would thrash against all that held him. We would not stop screaming. My hand was torn from his and he was taken away in the night. I do not expect to ever forget that night or the pain I felt that was all the more potent because of Cariad's sorrow and fear...I do not suppose you know what it is like, losing half of your soul or the unending suffering that comes with it?"

Scotland didn't respond to the question. England chuckled, the sound deep and melancholic.

"I would not have thought so. But that was that and I never saw Cariad again for centuries. My loneliness hardened my heart and I forgot how to smile for a while. I could still feel every tear he ever shed and it soured Rome to me all the more even though he did so much for me..." (23)

England ran a hand through his hair.

"I was able to enjoy the advantageous developments of the Roman Empire; the aqueducts and sanitation and such...the rather stable peace he brought was a God-send really. He built up my cities into majestic living spaces, introduced things such as apples and pears and I became a breadbasket due to a rather fantastic agricultural boom. He even gave me a home that had centralised heating, a toilet and a place to bathe. He gave me a strong, centralised government. He taught me different ways to build, to speak and to live. He urbanised my people, well significant number of them and many of them really embraced Roman culture and so I gained physical years. But it came at a personal price; namely my family. Nothing on this Earth is worth what you all mean to me. Other prices were the heavy taxes and in return for trade items, my people were sent as slaves. I do not mind, Scotland, that I traded things like metals, grains and even dogs. But my people being traded as beasts of burden angered me. Many luxuries were reserved for 'Romans', which I, clearly, am not. The roads were nice I must say and I cannot complain about the language...but other aspects I did not like..."

England turned to Scotland and smiled.

"To be enslaved and spat on and considered a barbarous, primitive nation and people until we were 'Romanised' ruined my esteem...To have the spirits of my warrior people broken and my women subjugated was a horrible feeling and the tattoos upon my body singled me out all the more. I sometimes missed you all so much that I would cry myself to sleep. Rome replaced my Gods with his own and then with Christianity, thoroughly confusing me for a while..."

England looked at Scotland earnestly.

"Thankfully he did not really have an interest in Ireland but he always had plans to invade and conquer you and no matter how much I begged him to leave you alone he would not listen. You may have forgotten, Scotland, but I loved you more than anything that was not Cariad or Mother; I was willing to bite the hand that fed me if only it would keep that very same hand from you. He ended up building Hadrian's Wall to separate you from Cariad and I...Ireland and Mann were long gone by then..." (24)

Scotland looked down sadly. He could remember how much he hated that Wall and how it separated him from the people he loved. He hated that Rome was trying to take away his freedom. He hated how it was that man who had given England a taste of what Imperialism could be like. He hated how England was so much like him. He hated how he wasn't all that sure whether or not he still had that love that England once gave him with such unquestioning devotion. His thoughts were disturbed by England chuckling.

"I wish you could have heard his rants about you. He would shout endlessly about how you were the absolute bane of his existence; a fire-headed, unnecessarily tattooed, axe-wielding, sword flailing Devil Child that made life all the more difficult for him. I would laugh with delight and amusement and express my deep pride that you were my brother. It always earned me a lashing but it was certainly worth it."

Scotland wasn't sure what to make of that. He was happy that England was proud but he didn't like that he was lashed for that pride.

"Rome often left me to both to Cleopatra and Helen, Ancient Egypt and Ancient Greece, who, despite having their own children, treated the rest of us Roman colonies with love and kindness. They were wonderful women, Brother, and I often find myself missing them terribly; missing their smiles, their warmth and their energy. I miss the stories they used to tell and the songs they used to sing but, alas, they passed away as well. Those were disheartening days..." (25)

Scotland had never seen such a sad look on England's face and he realised that he actually didn't really know this man at all. This was the little boy he once protected with everything he had in him and he still loved him with every fibre of his being despite the bitterness but...he wasn't his baby any more. He was grown up and just as haunted by life as all nations were. Scotland wanted to protect England from all the horrors of being a nation but he was confronted by the crushing reality that he had failed. England continued talking quietly.

"During all of this time, I had met Uncle Alaric, Germania. (26)Gilbert's little brother is the spitting image of him you know. He was always stern and cold but his eyes shined with kindness when with myself or Cariad or any of the children and women really. Now that I think about it, one of the only people he really hated with a passion was Rome. I also met Gilbert very briefly, I think he was still with Aestii at the time; I am not so sure. It did not matter though; the moment we saw each other we knew that, despite difficulties, we would be great friends in the future and, despite it all, he is..." (27)

A small smile graced the blonde's face.

"I had also met Francis properly. He was another 'wild horse that needed to be broken'. As much as he loves fancy clothing and such now, you know as well as I do that both him and his mother, Gaul, could have given our family a run for our money. I still do not know why, but he took on responsibility for my personal care, a care that lasted well into my Saxon, Viking and Norman occupation, and he did raise me..." (28)

Scotland knew why France raised England. Though the European Power would rather die than let England know about his reasons, he did tell Scotland since they were best friends and lovers. In a moment of pure sincerity, France declared that he had no singular reason but there were no deceitful motives such as spreading his influence or creating ties of an economic or political nature. France declared that as soon as he saw England, despite the boy's cold nature, he saw a tiny child who was so desperate to be loved and to know that there was someone close at hand that cared. He saw a little boy who was so desperate to be rid of the haunting loneliness that had plagued him so brutally. And, thus, he poignantly saw almost a mirror image of himself; a child without a family who was left to face the entire world all on his own. France told Scotland how a singular impulse to protect and love the boy had overwhelmed him so completely that almost no rational thinking into the consequences of his actions remained. He simply had to do what he could to help. France would tell Scotland about how difficult it was to get England to trust him but, when he did, he felt as though his personal life had been enriched when the boy began to smile and laugh and believe in his worth again.

"When I felt so terribly lonely, I went to Francis. When I was upset, I went to Francis. If I wanted to show someone something, I would show it first to Francis and even when I was hungry I would go to Francis. He took over your place in my life, Brother, and I am not ashamed to admit that whenever I was in Francis' arms, I felt at peace. I felt loved...and, in turn, no matter how cold I sometimes acted towards him..." (29)

England eyes softened with affection for someone other than their Mother, Wales, Mann, some of his humans or his familiars for the first time in what seemed like years to Scotland. England whispered.

"I loved him...And I still do and I believe that I always will...But do not tell him that, please..."

England could feel Scotland bristle suddenly at an almost vicious rate at this information. It was almost as vicious as Wales' temper earlier. The blonde smirked.

"Jealousy is very unbecoming, Scotland."

Scotland's eyes narrowed and his words were spat out caustically.

"Ah'm nae jealous, England...Ah have nae reason tae be..."

England grinned.

"Lying is unbecoming as well; I can taste the sourness of your energy...If it makes you feel happier, though Francis took your place in my life at that time, he never took your place in my heart. And he never will. Though I had not seen your face in centuries, you were still one of my most blessed and cherished memories..."

Scotland didn't respond as he was too stunned but the warmth in his energy told England all he needed to know. England continued where he left off, eager to change the subject.

"I also met that bastard Spain whilst at Rome's house...Admittedly, he was a very endearing child. He was generally full of cheer and incredibly sweet. I am not all too sure what has happened but he's an incredibly serious man these days...Ah, now I remember what happened to him. Catholicism is what happened to him." (30)

Scotland could feel himself smiling lightly at the comment.

"I never really saw much of North Italy because Rome frequently took him on trips, leaving Romano behind. I never did understand that. Romano was Rome's first grandchild, the heir to his legacy but he completely shunned him and often felt him inferior. It is hardly surprising that the boy is as bitter as he is. I would play with him when I had the time and he is actually a very sweet, well-meaning nation. He is not as skilled as his brother in some respects, but even though he lacks physical years he is a tremendous cook, shame about his clumsiness though, and believe me he has one of the most angelic singing voices that could only be a gift from God himself. I once heard North Italy's voice and tasted his cooking and it pales in comparison. As much as he criticises his work, Romano is also a rather remarkable painter; I have some of his pieces in my own personal chambers..."

Scotland found it remarkable how wistful England sounded. As if simply retelling all these memories and feelings was bringing sadness to life.

"Rome was no stranger to slave labour and neither was I after he set me to work...I could not have been more than thirteen years old in human years...I did not have the strength for such work but I was made to do it anyway if I was rebellious...The same went for anyone who was personally rebellious. It was not a strange occurrence if my knees shattered from under me but I did the work without complaint...When I became a bit older, perhaps fifteen, he would also..."

Scotland didn't like the way England's sentence trailed off. He spoke firmly.

"What did he do, England?"

England's face reddened with shame and he refused to look at Scotland in the eye.

"It was not illegal for a Roman man to have sex with another man, as long as the other man was a slave and as long as the Roman was the dominant participant...Pederasty became rarer over the years but not extinct." (31)

Scotland face contorted with fury. How dare that man touch the blonde in that way?

"But did ye consent tae it, laddie?"

England's eyes went hard.

"I had as much choice in that matter as I did with regards to looking so much like Mother or even invading you, Cariad and Padraig...but I suppose I did in the end."

Scotland looked heartbroken as his fist clenched the sheets in an iron grip. England shrugged but still looked rather ashamed.

"I learnt that quiet resistance was a much better option than outright disregard...I learnt to accept the advantages brought about by Rome and bare any sufferings quietly...It also helped that nations like Romano and France helped me through it...Francis did all he could to protect me but he could not always do so. Thankfully Rome was much more interested in up keeping his Empire than in myself personally."

England scowled as Scotland made a note to self to thank France.

"He made me fight. Rome, I mean. He made me fight against both lions and gladiators in his Colosseum if I did not 'behave', all for the pleasure of his people, for my people. Whilst I loathed this practice with a passion as I much preferred the theatres, my people loved it. The lions were often crazed with starvation but I always managed to win...I had to win because I would much rather kill beasts as magnificent as them than be torn to pieces. It was the gladiators my heart often broke for...How can you expect a mere human to fight against a nation and live? I could taste their desire for freedom and the weariness that would seep into their very bones. I put them out of their misery...lamenting the fact that they never had a chance in the first place..."

England looked deeply into Scotland's eyes and he could see the realisation of the sheer extent of his pain dawn upon them.

"It is one thing killing human soldiers on a battlefield, but it is an entirely different matter killing them in the name of sport...a sport that will never be fair or just..."

England held his gaze but then suddenly burst out laughing.

"Funnily enough, Scotland, it was the sword and archery skills you taught me in my youth that saw me through the fights! I would always try to desperately remember all that you had taught me and your encouragement...I suppose I should give you thanks for that at least..." (32)

Scotland blushed under the praise and thanks. As much as he liked to believe there was nothing but hate in his heart for the man in front of him, just knowing that something he taught him so long ago helped him made his heart soar with affection. He just couldn't shake the feeling off and that annoyed him to know end. His musing was interrupted by England finishing his recollections.

"Well, what does it matter now? I am here and this is more than I can say for Rome. He was a bastard but...but without him I certainly would not be who I am today...I may not even be here at all...Despite it all, he brought a stability and a standard of living that was more than could have ever hoped for...The centuries after his departure were hard. As much as I disliked the Romans sometimes, I absolutely loathed the Normans. The power struggle and the scramble for my lands after Rome had left resulted in me becoming younger again...At times I found myself missing the Romans...That is why I hate to talk about this...How can I hate someone who helped make me who I am? That gave me so much? I sometimes miss him, Scotland...He was a bastard but he was sometimes so good to me and when we coupled I sometimes felt so fucking special...as if I was worth every ounce of wealth in the world and every minute of time he spent administrating my 'far away' country. But I never want to be ruled over again...I will never let it happen again and that is why I must fight Spain. I must fight him and win." (33)

Scotland realised that he had never seen anyone look so miserable in his entire life when he looked at England when he said those words. The wretchedness seemed to surround the blonde and it was almost tangible. It changed his energy, making it as heavy as lead and sucking any oxygen from the air around him. He was close to choking on England's sadness. His eyes widened when the blonde wiped his eyes of tears hurriedly.

"I envy you, you know? You, Cariad, Wales, Eleanor and everyone else on this archipelago of ours..."

That really surprised Scotland.

"Why dae ye envy us, laddie?"

England smiled sadly, the expression making him look vulnerable. It was possibly the most heartbreaking yet most breathtaking smile Scotland had ever seen.

"I can hardly call myself Celtic now...I may have gained over the years, but I feel as though I have lost absolutely everything...My language, my people, my religion and my family...Everything about me has been changed by those many centuries of invasion. Rome, the Anglo-Saxons, the Vikings and the Normans have left their mark so thoroughly that I sit here, Scotland, and truly question just who it is I am...The only Celtic part of me, really, is Cornwall...the rest is a mixture of Roman, French, Norwegian, Danish, Dutch and German and the original Celts...Damn it all to hell, even my name is not my own! I doubt I am actually related to any of you any more or, if I am, it is an incredibly weak relation..." (34)

England laughed with derision as a couple of tears escaped his eyes.

"I envy you all because you are all still a family. I am simply an outsider that you used to all know and that you now all hate. And you hate me all the more because I am forcing you all to stay by my side because I cannot bear to be alone and unwanted again. Yet, the thing I hate the most is that none of you except Cariad and Eleanor believe that I never wanted to invade any of you in the first place; the original wish for expansion was not my own. I want you all to stay with me but not because of an invasion..."

Though the sadness and desolation was still present in England's watery eyes and energy, there was a steady rise in anger too.

"Both you and Ireland call me cruel and, perhaps, I have become so. But I am willing to bet everything I own that you all have never realised how terribly lonely I am or how desperately I want a family. Only Cariad truly knows and that is why he puts up with me. I cannot go through the suffering of losing any of you again. This debilitating and rather fanatical anxiety may not be enough justification for my actions but I am very sure that you can see why I did some of the things that I have done. Why I now try to force you all to stay."

England gesticulated wildly at Scotland as his voice became louder. His face contorted into a snarl.

"You do not even try to understand the mental impact my life has had on me and yet you think you can come here and preach to me about tolerance? When no one, not even my own family, has had any tolerance for me? How dare you, Scotland?"

Scotland looked at England with a mixture of guilt and pity. He figured that that was possibly why he hated Rome so much; he had truly started the Age of Change in England. He never realised, however, just how lonely the younger man was nor the extent of how damaged he was. He was indeed beginning to understand why England was the way he was and he lamented the fact that it took so much time and so much suffering to understand. He then realised that he had never asked. He found it hard to swallow the lump in his throat. His memory brought up an image of a teenage England and himself clashing swords amidst a bloody and brutal battle. It was a battle where his very independence was on the line. (35)

"Ah knoow Ah blamed ye fer my invasion but...but Ah think Ah may have been wrong tae do sae...But, think aboout it from mah point o' view. Mah own brother's people are oppressing mah people...What was Ah suppose tae believe when yoou had raised yoour blade against me in anger instead of trying tae prove mah suspicions wrong?"

England looked at Scotland with an expression he just couldn't seem to figure out but eventually the blonde sighed.

"I understand...but you must admit that you would never have believed me either way."

Scotland realised he did have to admit to that one as he nodded in understanding. Both men smiled as progress seemed to be made.

"Ah knoow that it must be hard fer ye...but ye'll always have Cari, Ela, Francis and even me...Ah knoow Padraig is certainly in nae mood tae even see ye but...we all loove ye despite everythin' that has come tae pass...Yer still family; naething will ever change that. Ye dornt knoow how hard Ah tried tae get ye back from Rome...When he took ye away, it broke mah heart tae pieces...An' Ah'm sorry that Ah havenae tried tae understand but Ah do now...Our relationship might be in tatters but at least we can say that we understand..."

Memories of England's hand being in his own for a few seconds after years apart and then being snatched from his own and taken over Hadrian's Wall invaded his mind. Memories of being held back whilst little England was taken away from him made him see red briefly. He could feel the desolate misery sting just as sharply as when it actually happened; he hadn't seen Cariad, Eleanor and Padraig in years if not decades and he was going to be damned if he lost Arthur too; but he was damned in the end, the memory of a red faced child in the arms of a Roman crying out his name.

"But throughoout th' centuries where Ah never saw yoour face, not ah day went by where Ah didnae think uv ye...Sae it doesnae matter if yer nae what ye were; th' fact that yer hear shows ye that God has plans fer ye...that ye meant tae be here wi' us on our Islands and not wi' another..."

England's misery and the anger lifted slightly, his energy no longer dense like lead. It was gentle and seemed to caress Scotland. He wasn't sure if England even realised this.

"People like yourself, well, you are certainly impossible to hate entirely...Thank you..."

Scotland smiled demurely. He knew it would be so much easier if they could both hate each other but he also knew that that would be impossible; no matter how bitter their relationship, he knew it would cause so much more pain to let go.

"I can see myself becoming like him, you know?"

Scotland furrowed his brows in confusion at England's sudden interjection. England smiled.

"Both Spain and myself, as well as Portugal and others, are establishing Empires just like Rome...Maybe we will thrive or maybe we will fall but that is for God to decide...I wish for my people to help the Empire like he did, but I do not wish for them to be cruel...Yet I can already see that they will be and that worries me...Do you understand?"

Scotland frowned at the question. He couldn't say that he understood, he didn't have an Empire nor did he particularly wish for one. Yet he did understand England's almost crippling fear of being a failure as a nation. Failure meant almost certain weakness or even death.

"Aye, Ah do understand...we may not see eye-tae-eye but we are th' same in that respect..."

England smirked and rolled his eyes.

"Well if we claim some sort of kinship, if only by Family Name, then we do have to have some similarities between us..."

Scotland chuckled.

"Aye, I was wonderin' when we would find soome!"

England cocked his head to the side, his smile mysterious and alluring. Scotland almost jumped out of his skin with fright when the younger man approached him and cupped his face. The younger man just had a raging desire to touch the elder, to get him to make him forget the deep pain in his heart. He wanted to feel wanted by someone other than Wales and if this was the way to do then so be it.

"Well, the physical similarities are not so scarce...I do believe that we have some similarities with our personalities as well..."

His gentle hands, hands that were still much smaller than Scotland's own, began to caress his features starting with his hair.

"I must say that though the colour is vastly different, we have the same hair with regards to its texture and lack of curls...The messiness is also familiar."

Scotland wanted to bat away the offending hands but they were just so soothing...The curled round to his temples and brushed over his eye area. His eyes closed.

"We certainly have the same eyebrows and the same eyes...Eyes so terribly honest we find it very hard to hide our emotions...but we manage to somehow...We are not like Cari, Ela or Padraig whose emotions are often so blatantly painted upon their visages..."

Scotland's eyes fluttered slightly and he could feel dread seep into his veins. Both his and England's eyes were very honest and he knew that if were to open his eyes whilst under the blonde's ministrations, he would surely see the elder's desire for him. The hands stroked his cheeks, nose and jaw, the hairs of Scotland's neatly trimmed beard and moustache tickled the skin pleasantly.

"Our features are very sharp; well, much sharper than Cariad's or Padraig's..."

Those warm hands ghosted over his lips. He prayed to the Lord above that the blonde couldn't hear his heart thundering against his ribcage. He was already sure that he could feel the heat radiating off his face. Against his better judgement his lips parted under the gentle pressure of England's fingers. England grinned and cooed affectionate words at the older man before continuing.

"These lips are strange as both words so vulgar and words so sweet pass from them. A voice as loud as the thunder and a voice as quiet as the summer's breeze passes through them in equal measures...Much like my own..."

He ran his fingers along those parted lips, blushing heavily as Scotland's warm breath ghosted over them. He could also swear that a moist tongue ran itself over the pads of his fingertips. Though he was the one doing the seducing, a raging heat that burned only for the Scotsman; his enemy, his rival and his weakness, and that could only be quelled by the Scotsman; his friend, his brother and his strength, pooled in his heart and stomach, shocking him somewhat. His hands left the red-head's face to trail downwards to his broad shoulders and lastly toned pictorials above his heartbeat.

"I do not believe I will ever be blessed with your physique...I must say that it certainly rivals the marbled bodies of Gods that were carved by Heracles and his mother, Helen...But I do believe that my heart is just as strong and as passionate as yours..."

Scotland's breaths became shorter as England's hands seemed to burn his skin without inducing pain.

"It is not like you to lie about how you feel, however. Both Ireland and I are more likely to do that..."

Scotland dared to open his eyes and found that he was breathless. The fire in the room was reflecting off England's eyes, turning the venomous colour into liquid magic; the green colour swirled with red, yellow, orange and mercury. They shined with a mirth that not only masked a slight surprise but also an emotion that he would never have expected to be directed at him from England; a passionate longing that made desire rage through his veins. With a coy smile, England bent down so that he was face-to-face with the elder, his lips just mere millimetres away. The way he purred Scotland's name sent shivers down his spine.

"You desire me do you not, Scotland?"

Scotland tried to gain some control over the situation; now he remembered one of the biggest reasons as to why he almost hated the boy. Perhaps it wasn't entirely his fault but he didn't deal with his loneliness and insecurity in a healthy way. He would seduce and conquer and then throw away. He tried to clear his mind of the bewitching fog the boy had cursed him with. He placed his hand on England's shoulder to push him away. He said England's name with contempt despite the friendly atmosphere that had been achieved.

"Do not flatter yerself, England..."

England simply smirked, hardly intimidated. He moved to grab Scotland's hand and ran it down his own body; down the plains of his chest and ending at the curve of his hip. He rested his forehead against Scotland's and pecked the elder's nose tenderly. Scotland's mouth became dry as England moved closer to lick the shell of his ear. It left Scotland wondering how that very same tongue would feel going down other parts of his body.

"Do not lie...Your eyes are too honest...Your entire body is much too honest..."

Scotland grabbed England and flung him on the bed, flipping their positions. He held England's arms, one in each hand, above his head. His lips curled upwards into a snarl.

"Yer a feckin' witch..."

England laughed mockingly as the sexual tension mounted.

"I cannot be held accountable for your longing! I could see it in your eyes when you first saw me earlier and I can taste its sweet musk in your energy! I can even smell your desire to fuck me from a mile away..."

Before Scotland could respond, England ground his hips upwards to rut against Scotland's athletically-built thigh causing a hiss to escape from the bearded-man's lips. The elder's cheeks were already flushed and his eyes were dilated. He was losing.

"And may I be so bold to say that I do find myself flattered...as well as curious about your capabilities in bed since the last time we found ourselves in this position...They were more than satisfactory then, what are they like now?"

Scotland's mind flickered back to when they were at war, when he had been fighting England because his King, Henry VIII wanted to marry his son Edward to his infant Princess, Mary. Such a time was known as 'The Rough Wooing' and with good reason; seduction became a dangerously rough game they were both more than willing to play. (36)

His mind also drifted to his fight for his independence from English invasion. He could remember the bitter feelings of betrayal that made him sick and the unrelenting anger that burned within him. He could remember England's vehemence that though he wanted Scotland by his side, he never wanted to invade; that he was commanded to by his Ruler and thus was forced by a Nation's nature to submit. He could remember England's deep depression when he made it clear that he didn't believe him. He remembered how England's sadness had turned to anger and how he readily went to war against the elder in retribution.

He could remember England's nails scraping angry lines down his back as he took him roughly against a tree. He could remember the taste of England's skin as the younger rode him into the forest floor. He could remember the ecstasy and adrenaline pumping through his veins because he was having sex with the enemy; the ripe but forbidden fruit that made the passion and pleasure all the more delicious. Even then they couldn't resist each other. Even when they were at war with each other, they had an overpowering connection that made submitting to it worth the risk of getting caught. England raised his head to nuzzle his nose lovingly against Scotland's cheek. He seemed to be enamoured with Scotland's facial hair. The action surprised the elder man; when had his face gotten so close to England's?

"You cannot tell me that you honestly do not want me...That you do not lay awake at night aching to nestle yourself between my eager thighs..."

Scotland could feel his resolve cracking when England nuzzled further against the hair of his jaw line. His resolve shattered when the younger pressed languid open-mouthed kisses to his cheeks and then the corner of his mouth, gently coaxing him into surrendering himself to his want. He slowly turned his head to meet those lips. He could feel something he could only describe as lightning shoot through his body when his eyes met England's for a split second and saw nothing but searing passion for him and only him. When his lip's met the younger's, he had to resist the embarrassing but excruciating urge to moan loudly. He had failed and England groaned as he swallowed the vibrations of Scotland's deep voice. The deep, smouldering connection, no, bond he had with England would be the death of him; he knew that nothing short of divine intervention would ever quell or equal the passion he felt for the younger.

The hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood on end. The younger man's lips were soft and warm as they moulded themselves against his. Shame ran through his veins; he couldn't resist the younger. Time and time again he would say to himself 'This is the last time,' only for the same thing to happen again and again. Last time they had come together it was a more or less mutual thing born of hatred; Scotland held all the cards. This time he had been thoroughly seduced. The passion he felt, however, overwhelmed the shame.

England pushed back against Scotland's grip on his arms and, as soon as the elder let go, his arms wrapped themselves around the red-head's neck, his fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck as they made out. Scotland manoeuvred his body so that it was indeed nestled between England's legs and his arms circled the boy's body until it was completely flush against his own; the delighted moan from the blonde told him that that was a good move. One of the younger's hands made its way down Scotland's spine where it stroked it lazily. The elder's moans were swallowed by the younger as his erogenous zone was abused. His hips thrust themselves forward blindly, coveting whatever friction was available as a voluptuous pleasure set his body ablaze. His left hand moved to stroke England's erogenous zone on his chest and he groaned loudly at the sound of the younger man's cries.

Heat began to pool within the stomachs of both men as their activities became more frenzied. England raised his legs up to wrap them around the bigger man, running them up and down his body restlessly. His hips ground upwards relentlessly and it started to drive Scotland mad. Scotland grunted as England's hand had wormed its way into his trousers, grabbing his length with a confidence that made him seethe with jealousy. Just how many people have had the pleasure of bedding the blonde besides himself, Wales and Rome? England smirked, knowing exactly what was going through Scotland's mind.

"I have slept with Cariad, Rome, Francis, Padraig, Eleanor, Gilbert, Matthias, Lukas, Spain, Lars, Maria, several humans and you. I will repeat my question, do you desire me?" (37)

Scotland gritted his teeth for what seemed like the one-hundredth time that day. He was already showing weakness by submitting to his desire, he would be damned if he admitted his weakness out loud.

"It is only a simple three-letter word, Scotland, surely you do not wished to be left here in this state; to be left completely unsatisfied..."

"Scotland's eyes became hard.

"Ye wouldnae dare..."

England smirked but his eyes shone with a deadly seriousness. He didn't even need to speak; Scotland had his answer when England's hand left his trousers. He didn't want to be left in his state and he wouldn't stoop so low as to pursue someone in the castle. It was as dishonourable as it was crazy. Though the thought of going to Cariad ran through his mind, he dismissed it almost straight away. England would surely have his head for it knowing how possessive he was of his twin (so possessive it was almost insane) and it would be an incredibly cruel thing to do to the Welshman. The thought of using him as a replacement for England was a sick one. He wouldn't be taking his feelings into consideration, just his appearance. His train of thought was broken when a calloused hand stroked his face. England's eyes were strangely sincere but Scotland wasn't sure whether or not the emotion was earnest.

"You profess love for me and yet you cannot admit your want of me. Just say one little word, Scotland, just one little word and I will be all yours until we part..."

Scotland frowned; this was the first of only two nights. Though both he and England were acting like common whores, he knew this was a case of dominance. The first time they had slept together, the first time he had seen England after Rome, dominance was never an issue. It simply happened due to their overwhelming happiness. The most memorable time they had slept together it was all about Scotland dominating the younger, showing that his invasion was in no way welcome nor would it go unpunished. It was also about England trying to salvage what was left of their tattered relationship; to prove that he loved the elder and that his heart was loyal to him no matter who his ruler was. 'The Rough Wooing' was all about lust and persuasion. This time it was a similar story but this time it was England asserting dominance over him. Even though it was Scotland hovering over him, even though he was the one with his legs spread, it was England who held all the aces. Even his posture made it clear that everything was going to be done on his terms. Scotland took in a breath, the taste of bile rising in his throat as he realised something.

He loved the boy. That's why his heart felt like it was being ripped out of his chest at that moment. He felt as though he had signed his own death warrant; out of all the nations he could have fallen for, he picked England. He picked one of the most dysfunctional, dangerous and downright complicated nations of the entire planet. He loved the boy so much he felt like it could kill him but he didn't want to be used; he didn't want to be a simple fix for a junkie. He didn't want to be a fix but he didn't want to let this...opportunity pass him by.

"Yoou will be mine until we part ways?"

England grinned but somehow the sincerity remained. Victory tasted sweet in his mouth and felt like drugs in his veins. He leaned forward and kissed Scotland, slipping his tongue into his mouth briefly only to end the action when Scotland tried to press forward, his tongue meeting the younger's for all of two seconds.

"Yes! I will be yours if you say that you want me!"

Scotland's body was screaming 'yes' but England wanted, no, needed to hear him say it. He needed to know that he was wanted. Scotland looked down at the man under him and shook his head in frustration. God he wanted him and it was plain as day to see! He was pressed so closely to England that he could feel every lithe muscle and every curve on his body and he was more than sure that England could feel every bit of his body. He wanted to curse England's beauty but couldn't bring himself to do it. It really wasn't England's fault that he was just so easy on the eyes.

He realised then that, as pathetic as it sounded, he was willing to bring humiliation upon himself if he could just have England spread his legs for him like a woman. It was a very strange sort of love really. A love he knew would never subside or weaken no matter how many centuries passed. He could feel a new need rise up inside of him; a need to punch himself very, very hard. He wasn't masochistic so why did his heart torture him like this? Why did his heart cloud his mind so? He shouldn't have even been in that situation but he was and he knew that it wouldn't matter how many times England used him and threw him away; he would never love him any less. His husky voice that was roughened from pure lust sealed his fate.

"Aye...Ah want ye..."

Scotland supposed that his humiliation was worth the unadulterated delight that shone in England's eyes. England knew in his heart his was being as ruthlessly cruel as the elder perceived him to be; he could see how much Scotland wanted him and yet he made him say it out loud like a wench. He knew Scotland cared about him in a way he had only experienced very rarely and this was how he repaid him. He knew the humiliation it would cause but he didn't care; his need to know that he was wanted blocked out any notions of propriety. He needed to get back at Scotland for daring to question his loyalty and his love; for making him feel like an outsider in his heart and for not understanding him. He was addicted to the feeling of power it brought.

He did have to admit that his blazing delight had barely anything to do with the power. He figured that his long centuries of occupation had truly damaged him, leaving a rather insecure person behind. The feeling, however, had far more to do with how happy he was that Scotland's eyes, ablaze with longing, were only looking at him and that he was willing to degrade himself just to have him. What both men didn't know is that they both felt a similar wave of sadness at the passing of the exact same questioning thought: 'Does he only want me for his bed?'

At the same moment they smashed their mouths together without poesy and Scotland had practically shoved his tongue inside England's warm and more than willing mouth. Scotland's thinking process had turned over to instinct; he actually had no fucking clue what he was doing. All his knew was that any clothes covering the areas below England's naval just had to go. On England's end he only cared that Scotland's trousers and undergarments were lowered to his knees; he didn't even care if they were off completely. Both men were so impatient that Scotland ended up tearing England's trousers and the ties of his tunic and England had ended up tearing Scotland tunic right in two.

After moments of desperate fumbling and preparation, England found himself on the receiving end of Scotland's rough thrusts. He moaned as the Scotsman's large hands grabbed the flesh of his lower back and thighs and as the red-head's body, ripped with muscles and decorated with old Celtic tattoos pinned his own smaller but similarly decorated body to the bed deliciously. He was completely surrounded by the older man and his senses were only focused on him. He ran his hands over Scotland's body from top to bottom and then vice-versa. They ran through the man's fiery, whisky tinted hair, over his neck, his broad shoulders, his mouth-watering biceps, his strong back, the curve of his pelvis and his thighs and back up again. The incessant action of those demanding hands had Scotland's brain short-circuiting. England all but shouted Scotland's name when a well aimed thrust made him see white and when a broad hand suddenly grabbed his shaft and began to pump.

"Alba! Ah!" (38a)

Scotland grunted in a mixture of rapture, effort and annoyance.

"Ah'm glad ye remember that name...Sasana...but...but mah name...ngh...use mah feckin' name!" (38b)

England looked confused.

"That...nng... makes no fucking sense! What else...can I call you...when we're like...hah...like this?"

Scotland smirked lopsidedly and England suddenly found it that much harder to keep from cumming.

"Mah human name...mmh...Because damn it all Ah won't...hah...Ah willnae have ye screamin' mah nation name..."

Scotland lifted a hand to gently stroke England's cheek.

"Nae when yer sae bonnie like this...Arthur..."

England blushed but acquiesced; he had humiliated the elder man so the least he could do was fulfil his request. He cupped the elder's face and kissed him sweetly amidst their rough intercourse and then he called him by his most personal name, the name he had not called him by for centuries.

"Alasdair..."

Scotland blushed heavily; the colour spreading all the way to his chest. His smile was dopey and his eyes were glazed with affection. England's own name flowed like a mantra from Scotland's lips as the man bent his head to kiss England's ear and neck. It was as if that was the only word he had ever learnt. Scotland hadn't called him 'Arthur' in centuries either but he was and it was the most beautiful sound to England.

"Arthur...Arthur...Arthur..."

It was with each other's names on their lips that they reached oblivion together. The sheets were in complete disarray and the men were even worse. Scotland used the little energy he had left to pull out of the younger and collapse on the bed next to him. Though there was still a blatant chemistry and an overwhelming passion between both men, the frenzied urgency had consumed them had been satisfied for the time-being. England grinned at him slyly, his chest heaving and his skin and hair sweat-soaked. Scotland found the way that England's pale skin had become alive with colour enchanting and the satisfied glint in his emerald-coloured eyes mesmerising.

"I do have to admit...that you are certainly a stallion amongst the sheets...That was...wonderful..."

Scotland smirked at the compliment. His already rose-tinged face grew hotter with a deeper shade at the complement; it was always a wonderful stroke to his ego to be told that he was a good lover, especially by the one person he wanted to impress and satisfy the most. He was equally as dishevelled as his lungs sucked in air greedily. England watched how the taut muscles in his chest and abdomen contracted and expanded and how sweat dripped down every alabaster crevice visible on his glorious body to his hungry eyes.

"Wael...yer a bit of ah...lion yerself..."

England chuckled, the sound light and fresh like a summer's day. Though there were still remnants of his biting shame, Scotland couldn't find it in his heart to regret what had come to pass. Any shame was certainly worth having sex with England. It was a very crude thought but the elder man hardly cared.

He was a bit shocked, however, when England began to get up to leave. He definitely cared about that! He didn't want to be thrown away so soon but someone he loved so much. He wanted to embrace England and show him that he didn't need to face the night alone. He, himself, didn't want to be alone after he had just had one of the most exquisite, albeit vexing, experiences of his, long, long life. Coupled with his new understanding of the younger man, the pleasure he had just experienced had been close to being almost excruciating with how breathtaking it was and he couldn't bare for it end with just one tryst; England had sworn to be his until they parted and he was going to milk his reward. He pulled England back onto the space by his lap; the younger's back pressed intimately against his chest and the desire he had felt consume him previously raged back to life. England could practically taste the spike in arousal in Scotland's energy and it only served to turn him on once more. He raised his hand behind him to caress the elder's face and his nose nuzzled against it. Scotland closed his eyes and pecked England's cheek.

"And pray tell, my Stallion, what is it that you are doing?"

Scotland didn't speak but began to kiss the back of England's neck and his bare shoulder, the tunic having been damaged significantly by their previous antics. England's face flushed and his eyes closed at the gentle treatment.

"Your thoughts, prithee..."

Scotland's hand wandered over the contours of England's body, mapping out every dip and curve and jutting edge much like how the younger did previously. His hands found their way to the front of England's body, sliding into the dip between his thighs. England spread his legs subconsciously as Scotland dragged his hands backwards over his thigh. The blonde sighed in bliss as Scotland's baritone voice drifted pleasantly to his ears.

"Ye cannae leave me now, my Albion...nae when ye jist humiliated me and we are both blatantly still unsatisfied...Ye claim that yer lonely but why leave me so soon if that's th' case? Bide wi' me...Let me show ye just hoow guid Ah can be...an' hoow guid Ah can make ye feel. Ye dornt need tae punish yerself by remainin' aloone..."

England frowned. He had been secretly hoping that the fire in his body would cool once he had satisfied both his needs and that of the Scot's. He found, however, that the fire and the insatiable need had simply grown. He loved Scotland; he knew that if he never revealed those feelings then he would never be remotely satisfied. This sudden notion of 'love' had hit him like a lightning bolt from God. It was so perfectly simple yet so overwhelmingly complex. He had always loved Scotland, always, but he was now close to trembling from the realisation of just how much he loved the older man and the nature of this love. This feeling scared him as much as it excited him; it felt as though his heart had simply grown in order to house such affection- especially since he was absolutely unwilling to give Wales up. He swore to himself, however, that as long as Scotland didn't admit anything other than platonic love coupled with fiery lust and hatred then neither would he. He would take his affection to the grave if that's what it would come down to. And yet, for the first time in his relationship with Scotland, he felt guilty for seducing him, for humiliating him. It genuinely wasn't fair on the other man and England could feel the emotion eat away at him. It seemed like the only thing he was capable of was hurting people. He tried to swallow a lump in his throat but it failed as tears brimmed in his eyes. His voice came out in a shaky whisper as the extent of his psychological distress seemed to crash upon him like a wave.

"I am sorry...I am so, so sorry..." (39)

Scotland's eyes widened in complete surprise; England did have a have an awful habit of surprising him at the strangest of times. Despite everything, he found that he couldn't be mad at England. He couldn't be mad when the boy was obviously torturing himself and probably had been for centuries. Scotland realised that the younger man was severely aggravating any problems he felt that he had by not seeking some sort of help. He knew that he was the only person on Earth to know the extent of England's feelings and that was wrong; Wales and Mann deserved to know. Wales only wanted to be there for England and the blonde was wrong to keep pushing his help away. A problem shared was a problem halved and he certainly wasn't going to always be around the blonde to ease his pain but Wales was. Scotland ran his large hand through England's haired as the boy tried, and somehow managed, to rein in his emotions.

"Hey noow, dornt be torturing yerself sae...Nae when somethin' beautiful has just happened. Ah'll admit, yoou've gone aboout this whole thing th' wrong way, but...but it's never too late tae make things right...Ah woods never gie up this new understandin' fer th' world..."

Scotland embraced the man tighter.

"But ye have tae promise me that you'll tell Cari and Ela what ye told me...And then when yer able tae, tell Padraig too..."

England could feel his blood run cold at the thought of leaving himself so vulnerable to the others. Though it paid off, he took a major risk with Scotland. He nodded anyway, feeling a determination to make amends grow inside him.

He tightly held Scotland's large hands in his own to help quell his turbulent emotions as the elder bent his head downwards to nuzzle and kiss his neck. The younger was absolutely enamoured with how the Scot's strong arms circled his body with a delicate power and the elder was simply enamoured with the way the younger fit in his arms. England could feel Scotland's heart thunder against his back and he was more than sure that his own was beginning to match the elder's for pace. England turned his torso completely in order to press tender, chaste kisses to the man's head, nose, hands and lips. Scotland returned the affection, leaning in to press his lips against the blonde's. The moment was strangely intimate and beautiful; Scotland wished that they could just lead simple lives as two people who loved each other, with no others and no complications of a political or social nature; just two souls in the bliss of Eden. When they parted, England smiled softly and he spoke in Gaelic, much to the elder's delight. His hair and his face were stroked gently before he was pressed back down onto the mattress for a second round.

"If that is what you desire, my dear Caledonia, then I shall stay with you and I shall, for once obey you. I shall stay with you until the morrow, when the dawn's light shines a blessing upon us both..."

---

Scotland had left two days later in order to return to his beloved land and his King. There was still a high level of tension between the two men but some sort of understanding had been achieved. They were still light years away from resolving all of their issues, but just knowing that hatred wasn't the only emotion held mutually between them was a good enough start. It was a sad affair saying goodbye to the Scot, but it was done without excessive outbursts of emotion.

Later that day, England picked fresh daffodils from the forest near to the Castle. He cut the bottom of the stems and tied them with a ribbon and also went to find something he had made a couple of days before but never had the opportunity to give. It was a handkerchief that was decorated with simple, but fine embroidery. There were roses and daffodils stitched on as well as a 'C' entwined with an 'A'. He went in search of someone who had avoided him like the Plague since Scotland stepped foot in the Castle. He found Wales by a window, one knee bent upwards and the other hanging off the ledge. Both of his arms rested on his lap and he looked pensive. He heard footsteps approach but when he saw who it was his eyes went frosty.

"What is it, Brawd?"

England gulped inaudibly and prayed to God that Wales would understand.

"Here..."

With a fierce blush and his eyes drawn to the ground he presented Wales with the daffodils and the handkerchief. He knew that he was degrading his behaviour to that of a love-struck maiden but he was willing to do almost anything to make Wales happy again. He knew it was his fault the dark-haired man was livid with him; no one likes their husband to have sex with others let alone have such deep, unrelenting feelings for them. It left Wales with a bitter taste in his mouth because there was nothing he could do to change the situation but his eyes softened when he was presented with the gifts. He took them gingerly and let his hands rest on England's.

"What is the occasion?"

England spoke passionately from his heart and, even though he really, really wanted to punch him in the face, Wales couldn't find it in his heart to be as angry with him as he once was.

"All the days that I have known you and that I continue to know you are special occasions... celebrations, even."

Wales' blush rivalled that of England's. England's eyes were wide and pleading.

"You are my first love, the one whose smile has helped to keep me going all these years and the one I cannot be without. It is your ring that I wear primarily on my marriage finger and it is there that it will stay for as long as I live. When you are happy, so am I. When you are saddened, so am I. Never forget how precious you are to me or how much I love you...Every time I say those words to you I never mean them any less than the previous utterance. In fact, I mean them more each time...And it is about time I stop pushing you away...I will tell you my story and I will answer your questions as honestly as I can..."

Wales smiled and took the gifts in his hands. His face lit up as he touched the petals delicately and he held the handkerchief close to his heart. A warm feelings spread throughout his body and he felt much lighter, as if he could float. He sat down with England in the garden and simply listened as England poured his heart out for him. He listened and he comforted and he still loved. England wondered why he hadn't told Wales sooner. By the time their conversation was done, the sun was setting and the sky had exploded into colour. Wales smiled.

"Thank you, fy Anwylyd..." (My Beloved...)

England smiled back sincerely and knew that though he may not be forgiven just yet, at least he was understood; he could rejoice in the fact that he wasn't alone and that he was loved.

Now, if only Spain would understand him and just bugger off.

---

That's part one! I hope you liked it!~

I'm gonna type up all the notes for this chapter tomorrow cos I'm so tired! If there are any burning questions however, please feel free to ask!

Notes:

(1): Elizabth's personality was often described as fiery and then in the later years of her reign tempestuous and bitter. Yeah, just like her father, Henry VIII, her mother, Anne Boleyn, and sister, Mary I, she had a wicked temper.

(2): Elizabeth didn't marry for various reasons and this was highly unpopular as she couldn't produce an heir. This meant that the Tudor dynasty would end with her. She did, however, consider herself married to her Nation; married to England.

(3) The British Isles is renowned for its metal production and there is, basically, gold in certain parts of Wales and the Romans were very eager to get it.

(4) The Laws in Wales Acts 1535-1542 were passed under Elizabeth I's father, Henry VIII and they annexed Wales' legal system into England's with the intention of creating a single state with a single jurisdiction. This is often referred to as England and Wales. It did, however, come at the price of Welsh freedom and independence essentially.

(5) Windsor Castle was one of the major residences of an English, and later British, monarch and was often used for diplomacy, as a home for the royal court and for entertainment. Look it up, it's gorgeous.

(6a and 6b): 'Gloriana' and 'Virgin Queen' were nicknames for Elizabeth I.

(7): It is believed that Elizabeth encouraged Sir Francis Drake's pirating of Spanish ships and wealth but I can't imagine Elizabeth allowing England to do it since he is suppose to be her 'husband' of sorts.

(8): In my head canon I see England as being rather rebellious in this time period, something that continued all throughout history, and I cannot imaging him being any less rebellious or cheeky with some of his sovereigns, namely Elizabeth. I also see him as being very intolerant of the court and, upon occasion Parliament and, thus, they don't like him much either ;P

(9): The Tower is a reference to the Tower of London = one of the world's most infamous dungeons.

(10): Since Wales was annexed by England, I would definitely argue that though Wales would be given a title with respect to his being a nation, he would not be considered on equal terms to England.

(11): This paragraph deals with the Battle of the Gravelines (or the Spanish Armada) and also with the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots (and, for a while, Queen of France). In 1569, the Rebellion of the North occured whereby Northern noble's basically tried to overthrow the Protestant Elizabeth and replace her with the Catholic Mary who was, through her Aunt Margaret (Queen of Scots and sister of Henry VIII), her cousin. Elizabeth, after a great deal of hesitation, had Mary executed in order to consolidate her position of Sovereign. The Spanish Armada was mobilised against England by Spain because of this incident and because Phillip II of Spain saw Elizabeth as corrupting England with Protestantism and he was absolutely fed up with English 'privateers' stealing Spanish wealth from its colonies in the New World. In my head canon, due to all the naval expeditions that happened Elizabeth, England wouldn't have know about the execution of Scotland's Queen cos he was out at sea nicking Spain's treasure.

(12): During this time period, England was a bit of an underdog when it came to European powers.

(13): Elizabeth I often took a hardline approach towards Ireland, often considering the Irish people as 'savage' or 'barbarous'.

(14): Shakespeare had some of the best chat up lines.

(15) Elizabeth's mother, Anne Bolyne, was executed by her father, Henry VIII, her sister, Mary I, locked Elizabeth up in the Tower of London for around two years and Elizabeth executed her cousin, Mary, Queen of Scots. What wonderful family relations..."

(16); Scotland bowing to an English ruler? I think not!

(17): Elizabeth I's grandfather, Henry VII, tried to end hostilities between England and Scotland. It was rather successful though tension were still high and to cement this, Henry married his eldest daughter, Margaret, to the King of Scots, James IV. Henry VIII, however, had other plans. He pissed Scotland off by invading France, and then Scotland marched into England. Both armies met and after the battle, the Battle of Flodden (1513), the core of Scottish nobility were dead including James IV. There were subsequent battles between Scotland and England thereafter.

(18): Because Elizabeth had no heirs, the English crown passed on to the Scottish Stuart dynasty as they were the closest kin to the English Tudors.

(19): Sir Francis Walsingham was Elizabeth's principal secretary and her spymaster (he was the one that managed to find out all about the Revolt of the Northern Earls in 1569) and William Cecil, or The Right Honourable Lord Burghley, was Elizabeth's chief advisor during the vast majority of her reign as well as her Lord High Treasurer (1572) and twice Secretary of State (1550–1553 and 1558–1572). They were incredibly loyal to Elizabeth even though they didn't always see eye-to-eye with her.

(20): For a very long period of time, Welsh was considered an inferior language to English and English was legally the official language of all official documentation and business in Wales until the law was repealed not long ago. During the 20th and 21st centuries, efforts have been made to preserve the language as it was in severe decline and now the numbers of speakers are steadily increasing.

(21): Hadrian's Wall was a Roman Wall built on the oders of Emperor Hadrian in order to create a boarder between Roman Britannia and Caledonia.

(22): With Boudica, I basically explained most of her story in this chapter but look her up if you want to know more :) The same goes with the points about the Romans in Britannia i.e. their impact and influence.

(23): With the lack of mobility and quick transportation during those days would have prevented England from seeing anyone for a very long time.

(24): The Roman's tried to capture Caledonia but were unsuccessful.

(25 and 26): My OCs Helen (Greek name meaning 'moon', 'torch' or 'corposant' (with 'corposant' being a reference to St Elmo's Fire) = Ancient Greece and Greece's mother and Cleopatra (Derived from Greek meaning 'glory of the father' and the name of many of the female rulers during Egypt's Ptolemaic dynasty) = Ancient Egypt and Egypt's mother. I see these two personifications as being very kind and fun but also very religious and fierce when required. In my headcanon they seem to be the motherly type.

Alaric (Germanic name meaning 'noble ruler')= Germania. The Germanic people ruled over England after the Roman's, giving birth to the Anglo-Saxons, and were linked very closely to the Celts and, thus, England calls him uncle due both of these.

(27): Gilbert's little brother here is a reference to the Holy Roman Empire which, at this time, was a European superpower. A part of what was Prussian land was home to the Aestii tribe. This tribe included land from other countries such as Lithuania and Estonia. In my headcanonnon, England and Prussia would have only seen each other briefly but they connected quickly.

(28): Gaul was a Celtic people whose lands incorporated most of France, Luxembourg, Belgium, most of Switzerland, the western part of Northern Italy, as well as the parts of the Netherlands and Germany. They were conquered by the Romans during 58BCE and the following years under Julius Ceasar. The take over was brutal with thousands of Gallic people killed and enslaved.

(29): Since France, Britannia (England and Wales), Spain (and the lands that would later become Portugal) and the Italys all lived in Rome's House, my headcannon dictates that England personally relied on France and to a lesser extent Romano since then. He would have also known Nations such as Spain and Veneciano since then too.

(30): When it came to religion, Spain during the Tudor time period was pretty much the Top Guy behind the Papal States. The Spanish took religion rather seriously.

Also, I do not believe that the southern half of Italy is as inferior to the North as is made out to be. The Southerners are fantastic cooks, good painters with a rich culture of music and dance and many of the best tenors from Italy are from the South. They have a lot to be proud of.

(31): Pederasty was a homosexual (but not always sexual) relationship between a young man and a pubescent male and was practiced in the Roman Empire. Additionally, when England alludes to not always being consenting, he is referring to the fact that many Roman laws were not applicable to slaves and thus didn't protect them against rape.

(32): I definitely see Scotland as the type of brother to teach skills like hunting and the art of weaponry.

(33): After the departure of the Roman's England was in quite a state and was often repeatedly invaded. The Anglo-Saxons, Vikings and Normans all conquered England to some extent and they all left their mark. In my headcanon, such a scramble for lands and repeated invasions makes a Nation younger due to the instability.

(34): The fact that England isn't really related to any of the others is a very important point. In my headcanon, I do not really see the Nations as being immediately related at all except in certain cases like Iceland and Norway, where Iceland's first settlers were Norwegians. Thus a nations 'blood' is their people and the true relation or link, is in the sharing of people or natural inhabitants, culture, history etc. Thus, 'Nation Families' are formed primarily on the basis of shared history, people, culture, language etc. Think of the Nations as the Greek Gods, sure they were related in some fashion but that hardly mattered in their mythological relationships.

The only native Celtic people in England are the Cornish in comparison with the rest of the country that can find roots in the Anglo-Saxons, Normans, Vikings etc. Thus England is like an incredibly distance relative like, so distant its pretty much the exact same thing as not related at all which is why my OC Scottie, Wales and Ireland are attracted to him more easily. But England is still considered 'family' due to shared history and language etc.

(35): Scotland is referring to the Scottish Wars of Independence (late 13th and early 14th centuries). In my headcanon, I don't think England would want to invade and conquer someone he loved so dearly. He would want them to stay with him but not because of invasion. Scotland's rejection of him, however, made him incredibly resentful even though he understood. On Scotland's end, he would have felt incredibly betrayed.

(36) In order to increase English influence in Scotland and to stop hostilities, Henry VIII tried to marry his son Edward (later Edward VI) to Mary (later Queen of Scots). This offer was rejected by the Scots. Henry subsequently tried to use force to get the betrothal but was unsuccessful.

(37): Padraig = The Irish form of Ireland's name Patrick (also where the nickname 'Paddy' is derived from).

Eleanor = The Ilse of Man

Matthias = Denmark

Lukas = Norway

Lars = The Netherlands (The Netherlands were vital to the English for trade and as a strategic point).

Maria = Portugal (England and Portugal have the oldest alliance in the world!)

(38a and b): Alba = Scots Gaelic for 'Scotland', Sasana = Sasanach = a Saxon, Often used by Celts to denote an Englishman (often offensive). Though the earliest use of the word is said to be 1771, I imagine the British Isle family used it long before :p

(39) England has a few screws loose...