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.

14. History Two, Part Two: Victory

HEY EVERYONE! I am so sorry for such a late update but exams and the responsibilities of life took centre stage! I'll be adding the notes on this chapter later but I really hope you like it!

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Wales looked over to his twin and couldn't help but shake his head with an odd expression of both amusement and concern. England was struggling to contain his excitement at being able to face his greatest enemy, Spain, where he felt most comfortable besides his House; on the sea. He had removed his coat and so Wales could clearly see how sweat and sea-spray made England's shirt cling to his well-defined body and how his earrings and rings glistened in the sunlight. England looked restless and eager, his fingers itching to wrap themselves around the Spaniard's throat. His rapier was tied securely to his waist and his pistol was strapped to his thigh just in case. His emerald eyes shone with an almost inhuman ferocity as they planned out strategies again and again. The smug smirk upon his face and the conceited way he held his body made his arrogance and almost brash confidence plain for all to see. He was also smoking a cigar with tobacco being something he had taken a great liking to after bringing it back from the New World.

"Honestly, Arthur. Cease with your restlessness. You are making me nervous."

England laughed as he removed the cigar from his mouth, the sound as pleasant as the crashing of the waves against their ship.

"I simply cannot! I cannot wait for my chance to confront Spain!"

Wales giggled and brushed a loose strand of hair behind his ear. His face became more serious although a gentle smile remained.

"It seems as if you are the only one with such brash confidence. Please, be careful out there today."

England returned the smile. The smoke from his cigar twisting upwards in aesthetic swirls.

"I must be confident. Besides your presence here today it is the only thing that will get me through this. I know as well as everyone that the odds against me are great but...but would you believe me if I were to say that I just have this...feeling that I have a fighting chance?"

Wales blushed as he pondered the idea and had to agree with England. Nations were no fortune tellers but they could sometimes feel in the pits of their stomachs whether there was a chance for victory or not.

"Do Scottie and Francis believe that you have a chance?"

England's expression soured slightly but he still answered. He threw his cigar overboard since he had finished it. As soon as the used cigar hit the water however, he was already desperate for another.

"The Frog believes that my defeat will teach me to stop being an 'arrogant heretic'. Fuck him."

England's expression then morphed into something incredibly tender.

"Alasdair on the other hand did send me a letter wishing us all the best for the campaign. I am sorry I could not show you but I had to destroy the letter as soon as I read it since our correspondence is rather secret...I have not had a good wish from him in centuries. It is strange but...nice I suppose. I have wanted even just the smallest bit of the love I once basked in and now that it seems like a real possibility that I can enjoy even just a tiny part of it once more...well, let us just say that the burden upon my shoulders has lessened."

Though Wales' heart still dropped at the sweet affection that invaded England's voice and expression subconsciously whenever he thought or spoke of the fire-headed Scot (he had admitted to both himself and England that he wasn't ready to look passed the transgression despite England's apology), he was genuinely happy that they were both making an effort to simply get on. Complete forgiveness was unreachable at that point but it seemed as though reasoning wasn't too much to ask for any more.

For England, though he was still uncomfortable with the idea of loving the Scot since it would really complicate their already tempestuous relationship, it did not scare him as much as it did when the realisation first hit him. He supposed that it should have not come as such a shock since, when he thought about it, it was almost inevitable anyway. All throughout his life, besides Wales, Mann and his Mother, he had always held Scotland in the highest regard. As a child he had loved the elder from the moment he saw him and, throughout the years, the love had only increased. When he first saw Scotland after finally becoming a proper nation in 927AD, he felt the stirrings of a different kind of love that seemed much more potent that whatever he had felt before. He saw how the wild boy of his memories had become a man. A man that he wanted and that he could never resist. Theirs was a bond that always had them coming back for more.

Much like Scotland before, England began to imagine just what it would be like if he could just love the elder with freedom and without consequences. It was a foolish idea but it endeared him all the same. It endeared him to the point where he missed the Scotsman more than usual and it actually renewed his desire to prove to said man that the part of his heart he had so recklessly given to him without regret was loyal. That there was no ill-will or treachery to be found there. That it loved him so completely that the constant rejection in the past had broken it apart. Despite this, England looked Wales straight in the eye, his expression even more passionate than when he was thinking about Scotland.

"Do not worry about me today. Just...just make sure that you return to my arms alive and well. That is all I care about..."

England suddenly ran a hand through his hair in frustration and worry.

"Why did I ever agree to you being here today? God, if anything were to happen to you...if Spain took you away or if you get injured...I would never be able to forgive myself! You are all I truly have in this world and I cannot-"

Wales cupped England's face with his hands to stop him rambling but the blonde's eyes remained wide and frenzied.

"Hey, hey, hey! Enough of that now...Shhh...It is alright...It is alright..."

Every ounce of the brash confidence that had previously ignited England's gaze had suddenly abandoned him leaving the worried, insecure and desperately lonely person- no, boy that Wales had, unfortunately, come to know. Wales tried to smile reassuringly but he couldn't keep the sadness from it, especially when England turned his face away from him in pure shame.

Wales knew instinctively that England only held an air of arrogance and unyielding to hide his belief that he was the scum of Mother Earth. Rome had called him so, Ireland had called him so, Scotland and his children had called him so, France had called him so, the Normans had called him so, the Papacy had called him so, Spain had called him so and so many humans had described both him and his people as so. As much as he tried to hide it, Wales knew that those words had cut deeper than any wound he had ever received had. They had been said repeatedly and with conviction every, single time and thus England had internalised the disdain and he believed the words.

The blonde was getting tired of having to prove and defend himself personally time and time again. To have to vehemently defend the simple fact that, very often, the actions of Nations were forced by their rulers with one simple command and that the actions of the people were not necessarily in line with the views of their Nations. England was also very much considered an underdog when it came to European powers and he was beginning to become greatly disheartened and disillusioned. When was he going to receive his moment of glory? When would he been given the chance to do something that would have him remembered forever? He was pinning a lot of his hopes on the upcoming battles with Spain and he just couldn't afford to lose. Wales could see the frustration in his twin as he shook in front of him.

It was as if, instead of a person, his experiences had transformed him into a cornered animal with no other choice but to lash out. Yet instead of helping matters, it only disgraced him further in the eyes of others; a vicious cycle he couldn't ever hope to escape from because he knew no better. He only knew that it was either eat or be eaten; he had to become strong enough to step on others before they completely crushed him instead. To England, having a brutal distrust of everyone was the only way to survive.

The loneliness that had plagued England since Rome's appearance however, made this difficult isolationist idea impossible. As much as England professed that he did not want for anyone's love but Wales', Wales knew that this was simply not the case. He knew England wanted to be surrounded by a family that loved him, by children who would call him 'father' and kind faces that would not look upon him with scorn. He wanted the respect as a nation he felt he deserved. Yet the loneliness would never release him from its deathly grip and the thought that his twin was scared forever upset Wales deeply. The dark-haired man moved England's face round to look at him.

"Do not turn your face from me...Look at me...Arthur..."

England tentatively returned his gaze to meet his twin's once more. Wales smiled in approval and reassurance.

"You did the right thing by letting me join you today. Do not worry about me, I know how to look after myself. You know as well as I do that we can get through this in the same way that we have overcome every single other hardship we have faced; by facing them together. It has been you and I since the day we were born and it will remain like that forever if you will have me..."

Wales looked around to make sure no one was looking but lamented at the fact that he couldn't kiss England without people seeing. He settled for laying a hand upon England's arm.

"Until death do us part, and even after that, I will always be by your side...I promised you that, remember? When I first confessed how I felt about you, I swore upon the heavens above that I would love you forever...No matter if the entire world looks upon you with scorn I will still stand faithfully by your side. So do not worry..."

England closed his eyes as Wales stroked his arm soothingly. He still couldn't get rid of the biting worry that settled in his heart and stomach. He truly didn't know what he would do if Wales wasn't by his side. He was so unhealthily dependent on the smaller man that the mere thought of Wales leaving him or being forced to live at someone else's House or that his country's control of Wales would, God and Heaven forbid, kill him made him want to vomit. It was just like being addicted to drugs in order to relieve depression; he needed Wales to function. His unhealthy addiction often reduced him to tears with how debilitating it was. He answered Wales' heartfelt speech in the only way he knew how; by being an obsessive arsehole.

"Do not be stupid. Of course I worry."

Wales looked slightly hurt but England's expression softened briefly.

"I do remember your confession though...I remember as if it only happened minutes ago...You know that I will have you because I simply love you too much to ever let you go. I have entrusted you with my soul, my heart and my mind because I trust you...I trust you implicitly because you have stood by your word..."

England's gaze became sinister.

"But if you leave me, Cariad, that day will be the death of me...Leave me and I will never forgive you and, if we were human, I would probably kill you. Therefore what you want is not worth the risk to your safety...It never has been and to me I believe it never will be...I worry because if I lose you, I have nothing..."

Even though Wales' eyes hardened slightly, his heart skipped nervously with fear. How and when did the man in front of him become so menacing and so obsessive? A shiver of dread went down his spine but he pushed all these thoughts to the side; he loved England no matter what and because he loved him he needed to make his feelings known; he needed to make some sort of stand.

"And what about my happiness, hmm? Since that is typically in conjunction with what I want."

England replied without missing a beat.

"Your happiness is my happiness of course. Yet I cannot even imagine how you would be happy if I were to suffer because you so willingly place yourself in harms way..."

Wales did not speak for a moment but then heaved a huge sigh. He spoke with slight frustration at England manipulative insinuations. His hand gripped England's sleeve.

"Enough, Arthur. You speak nonsense. You are willing to risk your life for me but why will you not let me do the same? We are supposed to be partners..."

England smiled sadly.

"Because you are my primary purpose in life and, unlike you, I am not worth such a risk..."

Wales' expression immediately became crestfallen but before he could reply a voice called out to the blonde.

"My Lord! My Dearest Lord Kirkland!"

England turned round quickly and found himself delighted to meet the man that would help lead him to victory; Francis Drake.

"Ah, Drake! What news of Spain?"

The young human man spoke gently but with a sense of urgency, his curly brown hair thick upon his head and his eyes alight with a more subdued version of England's previously astounding confidence. He bowed lowly and raised himself with a grin on his face; completely at ease in his Nation's presence.

"The Spaniards are on the move and thus we shall be ready to meet them very, very soon, my Lord. Her Majesty the Queen has requested to make a speech, after which she has requested that you deliver you own to the sea men alongside myself, my dearest Nation."

England smirked, his sharp canines glinting in a feral manner.

"Excellent. Call me when I have to prepare. You may be dismissed in the assurance that your Nation is both confident and delighted, especially with your efforts."

Drake smiled and bowed lowly once more, awe and admiration present in his gaze.

"Thank you, Your Grace."

He took his leave to gather the sailors and prepare them for a speech. England turned to face Wales once more.

"Cariad we must-"

England stopped speaking as soon as he saw the furious expression on the usually laid-back Welshman's face. He knew it was best to wait until Wales vented out his anger in his own time. The shorter man took some deep, calming breaths but his words were spat out with venom.

"Do not...Do not dare say that your life is worth less than mine..."

Wales pulled England down to his eye level by his collar, the rough movement startling the blonde.

"What did I just say to you? You are not an imbecile, Arthur, so why do you insist on coddling me and leaving yourself out for the wolves? We are suppose to be partners! Does that word not mean anything to you?"

England heaved a sigh, his eyes dark with sadness.

"I made a promise to Mother to protect you. I have already failed numerous times and you know how much that tortures me..."

England raised his hand to cup Wales' cheek and to stroke his hair.

"You know as well as I do that Wales' place was not with England originally but as an independent principality. There is, therefore, every chance that you may leave me in the future or someone else may take you away as much as I do not want that to happen! I want to show you, as much as possible, that I can look after you because I do not want to give you a reason for you to ever stop loving me..."

Wales' raised his voice until he was struggling to keep it at a whisper.

"When will you realise that you will never fucking lose me? That I will never stop loving you? It should be me worrying about that since I am the eldest of us both! The place of Wales and England is irrelevant in this matter! The place of Cariad Kirkland is at the side of Arthur Kirkland and that is how it shall remain if only you will let me aid you!"

England raised his voice in anger but not enough to bring attention to himself and Wales.

"I will do whatever I have to do to keep you safe, the risks to me are inconsequential! I have a right mind to lock you in the Castle forever if that is what it takes!"

England had to bite his tongue lest he said more that he would later regret. Wales snapped back.

"You would not dare! My people have already lost their freedom and I will be damned to hell if I lose the last of my personal freedom to you! You insinuate that I do not care for your happiness since I so 'willingly' put myself in harms way, yet it is you who is inconsiderate to me!"

England had never seen such a fire in Wales' eyes. Not since his was fighting for his independence when his people wanted to take it away. Wales' voice cracked with strain as he laid his heart bare for England.

"You must not love me as much as you say you do because I give you all that I am and yet you still have the audacity look for more in the arms of others even when I am right in front of you! Francis I can accept, Ela was a one night affair and countries such as Denmark, Norway, Portugal and Prussia I can perhaps overlook. Rome is dead and Padraig shares the same sentiments as myself believe it or not so there is nothing I can do there."

England's eyebrow was raised in disbelief. Ireland? In love with him and upset that he couldn't be more monogamous? Wales had finally gone insane it seemed because England was more than sure that the Ireland he knew would rather hack himself to pieces with a blunt hand-held axe than have any feelings for him.

Although, now that Wales mentioned it, England did notice a heaviness in Ireland's gaze and a slight blush upon his cheeks whenever they met or if they found themselves in bed together (though any reactions became much more prominent then), but he always thought it was the hatred that brought about those reactions. Now he wasn't so sure and that both excited him and concerned him. Exciting because he could exploit it, concerning because he wasn't all too sure of the extent of his own feelings towards Ireland. He was attractive, yes, incredibly so with his pale, freckled skin, flushed cheeks, strawberry-blonde curls, fiery personality and bright emerald eyes but he never really thought to bring deep emotions into the equation as it would only complicate a relationship that was already complicated. Wales' face contorted into a snarl and England could see his fiery Celtic spirit ignite into a blazing inferno of life.

"If you do not believe me then ask him yourself! You will see his feelings painted blatantly upon his face. He loves you passionately, Arthur, and is utterly smitten with you but why would you ever notice when you have fucking Alasdair?!"

Wales spat out Scotland's name as if it disgusted him. He thought he could get over the Scot's amorous intentions but he just couldn't because the Scot was quite possibly the only nation alive that England would never, ever say 'no' to besides himself. The Scot was the only nation alive that could take England away from him, that could potentially take precedence over him. Wales had practically lost everything upon his Union with England but he didn't want to lose the one thing he could say he did have with confidence; England himself. Jealousy was indeed a very powerful emotion that was naturally augmented in Nations as a survival mechanism because, after all, a scorned Nation is always a more driven Nation.

"Alasdair? I find that I cannot let that matter lie. How am I to compete when the chemistry between you both is so fucking palpable. When you both cannot be in the same room without wanting to tear each others' clothes off! You are a bastard for pursuing him when I was in the Castle! You did not even have the decency to give me the respect I deserve and at the very least send me away so I would not have to find myself as a forgotten toy, thrown away when something better comes along!"

England could feel himself begin to lose his temper and that was the most dangerous thing to lose control of.

"And your constant degradation of your worth is heartbreaking! And yet you simply expect me to just simply except all of this!? Do not think me submissive because I am peaceful in nature, I think that I am well within my rights to fight in any battle I see fit at the very least!"

England's eyes darkened as he brutally pulled Wales' to his own personal cabin by the wrist. Wales struggled all the way. When they got to England's cabin, the blonde slammed Wales harshly into the door and he pinned the man's hands above his head. As he loomed over the dark-haired man, he was glad that no one would barge in to his quarters due to sheer fear. Wales glared back defiantly but he was still fearful despite knowing full well that England would do nothing to him. England's breathing was heavy and laboured due to anger. He carried on looking at the floor for fear that his infamous temper would get the better of him.

"There is no need for you to fucking compete! I will not tolerate some of the things that you have just said. Frankly, I am sick and tired of Alasdair, his children, Padraig, Francis and yourself blaming me for absolutely everything that has ever gone wrong between us all...I am sick and tired of it..."

England tried to calm himself down but he found that it was a very hard thing to do as he started shaking with the extent of his fury.

"I am not sure how many times I have to apologise for your heartbreak but I have never said that I would be faithful to you, as cruel as that may sound. I have always asked that you do not promise me that either because you are well within your rights to love another as well as me even though the idea is thoroughly unappealing to me. You are not a toy and again, you are right I should have sent you away but where would I have found the time?"

England raised his eyes to glare at Wales, the fury in them causing the smaller man to flinch. The normally bright, emerald-coloured eyes were dark and cold. England unconsciously loomed over Wales even more than he was, making him look even more threatening. Wales knew that if this dangerous fury were to go unchecked then there would be no limits to what England could do in the course of his long life.

"I did promise, however, to always hold you first in consideration and to love you forever or did you forget this? Now, this...relationship that we have is something we have both always done and that works for me...but does it work for you?"

England shook his head and Wales became speechless.

"We discussed my...extramarital relationships at length beforehand and you said that you could handle them just as long as I was honest with you. I also said that you must pay me the same courtesy. I have given you that freedom because I know that neither of us are to blame that your nature is much more...monogamous than mine shall we say, due to my political standing ..."

England suddenly found himself resting his forehead against the other's.

"But you are right, I am inconsiderate to you. You are also right to be angry that you are not my only lover no matter what 'agreement' we have come to...I know that I have no right to lock you away but do you understand how hard this is for me? You are the only thing that keeps me from going absolutely insane...that keeps me functioning..."

England planted a gentle kiss upon Wales' forehead, his grip upon his wrist tightening. He took a deep breath and spoke earnestly as he placed his forehead back in its original position.

"You are all I have left...In my heart there has always been you...the majority of it I give entirely to you! No matter who I have lain with you...you always undo me so utterly..."

Wales' eyes softened at the trauma his love was going through. He knew how difficult it was for England to even agree to let him get on the ship let alone actually letting him participate in the upcoming battle. He knew how England suffered under the weight of perceived failure but he was only 'human' as it were. He still became frustrated when England constantly coddled him. He wanted to know, more than ever, that England loved him no matter who came into his life. England let go of his wrists and placed his hands on Wales' hips when Wales pushed back on his grip and placed a gentle hand on his sharp cheek. Wales lowered his voice to a gentle murmur.

"Do you place so little faith in me that you do not believe in my capabilities and my loyalty? That I blame you for your people's actions? And I am sorry, jealousy is unbecoming...but..."

When Wales failed to continue, England brushed his lips and then his nose against Wales' to try and coax him to finish.

"But what, my beautiful Dove..."

The pitch of Wales' voice rose into a soft mewl at the sound of the endearing nickname.

"I just cannot help it..."

Wales reached upwards with his other hand to pull England's face to his. He kissed England sweetly and hoped that the other man could feel his love for him. It did indeed leave the blonde feeling dizzy with the sheer amount of affection and desperation within that one kiss. When Wales pulled back, he left one elegant hand upon the blonde's cheeks and lowered the other to trace said blonde's lips.

"How can I not be jealous when all I ever think about is you..."

One of the younger man's hands came up to stroke Wales' cheek gently. The dark-haired man's cheeks tinged to a lovely shade of cerise and his breath left his lungs at the intensity of England's gaze.

If only England would look at only him with such passion...

England pressed forward to place short pecks upon Wales' fingertips and then his lips, throat and ears. He was a drug addict yes, but that didn't mean that it was a bad thing entirely. He pressed Wales back further against the door and slid his thigh in between the slightly older man's legs. Wales, for once, tried to avoid England's lips so that he could get his point across but it was very hard for him.

"How can...I prevent such...jealousy when...when hah...you drive me so...wild with want? How many...times do I...mmh...do I have...to...say that...aah...I love you...for you to believe me!"

England dragged Wales' face closer to his by his chin and whispered against his lips as he glared at him. By this point Wales was at breaking point with both desire and emotion.

"Do not reject me..."

England briefly brushed his lips against Wales' in an almost punishing manner. Wales narrowed his eyes.

"Then say that you love me and that you believe that I love you too because I cannot go on like this...Prove it to me."

England kissed Wales hard but parted after several seconds.

"I believe you...And I love you...Na ddal eiddigedd...nid pan Rwyf wrth fy modd i chi yn fwy na neb ar y blaned hon..." (Bear no jealousy...not when I love you more than anyone on this planet)

Wales' arms wrapped themselves around the blonde's neck and England hoisted him up against the door by the older man's thighs; the lithe legs immediately circling the blonde to bring him closer. He ran his hands through the blonde tresses, a habit that England had actually picked up from him, and he pressed forward to kiss England deeply, secretly thanking God that they had the privacy to do so. England's tongue slipped into his mouth and, if they didn't have a battle to go to, they may have ended up taking things further. Wales didn't care though; he was just happy that he could finally put his anxiety to rest somewhat. England loved him, it was clear to see, and he didn't want to ever feel such a horrible doubt gnaw at him ever again. He still worried about England's relationship with others and how it would affect their own relationship, but he didn't doubt that the blonde loved him any less. Eventually England just stood there and embraced the other man tightly, willing the feelings of guilt, anxiety and desolation to leave him in peace.

"I have loved you since moment I laid eyes on you...You smiled and I think...I think that that was the second best moment of my life..."

Wales, glad that both his and England's anger had more or less dissolved, embraced England just as tightly.

"I remember that...You just stared at me with wide eyes full of awe because you did not expect that someone would be waiting for you..."

Wales looked downwards modestly and shyly but England noticed the sudden dispirit in his energy. It was hard not to notice; not when his energy was euphoric with relief only a couple of seconds before.

"May I...may I ask what the best moment of your life was?"

England didn't say or do anything for a while but then he shook his head with a slight smirk on his face. He realised that the older man was worried that he would constantly be second best to others and to Scotland especially. How far from the truth that was! He loved Scotland, yes; but the man would never be Wales. He lowered Wales to the ground and gave him one last, lingering kiss on the lips. A tender grin was etched across his face.

"No...I looked at you in awe not only from surprise that you were there at all...but also because you were so beautiful...And when you first said that you loved me romantically...and then we made love under the stars...That was the best moment of my life because I knew then that you were mine forever..."

England's grin became sinister as Wales' face lit up like a blacksmith's furnace.

"Now, cool your fair face so that we do not arouse any more suspicion than we already have and let us show our Spanish 'friend' exactly why he should be fearful of us..."

---

"The Spaniards seem to believe that they can simply encroach upon our land and that we will either welcome them or submit to them...They think us so weak that we will put up no resistance!"

Hundred of anxious but prideful eyes were looking towards England as he spoke to them passionately; getting them into the right frame of mind to fight.

"But are we weak gentlemen!?"

The entire crew bellowed a powerful 'NAY CAPTAIN!' and the sound made England's heart swell. He continued with an air of authority and power that had everyone staring in awe. It made Wales happy because it had been a while since he had seen his twin display such passionate self-belief.

"Then prove to me to me that you are strong! Prove it to your Queen, your Country and each other! Show Spain what happens when you make an enemy of the English! Show him that neither his King nor his religious rule are welcome here!"

The entire crew cheered and whooped with confidence in their leader's words.

"There will be no mercy! There will be no compromise! There will be no defeat! Prove to the whole of Europe that England shall be underdog no longer! Show them the Lionhearted strength burning in your hearts! Show them and let it consume them! Burn them when the time comes!"

England let his gaze sweep across his crew. They were filthy, they were coarse, crude and certainly not perfect; but they were England's and he felt an acute joy to be fighting by their sides. He did not care if others thought that his people were the scum of the Earth; they were his people.

"Your Nation is counting on you...And with God on our side, Gentlemen, Victory will surely take your hand and lead you to her warm embrace! Let this be a Victory the world will laud forever! Let the world know that this was the battle where England stared adversity straight in the eyes and won!Where she took on the 'mighty' Spanish Armada and sent it back to their ports in shame like the dogs they are! We have not been invaded since the Normans and we will not be the one's to let our proud and beloved Britannia be forced to kneel at the foot of a filthy aggressor! I will be here fighting by your sides; risking my life as you are. Now, WHO WILL FIGHT WITH ME!?"

The men aboard the ships cheered and England couldn't help but yell back.

"Then what are you all waiting for? Onward to Victory men! Long live the Queen and may God's winds blow in our favour!"

With that, the now impassioned men began to scurry about. England suddenly felt a gentle hand upon his shoulder. When he turned around he was met by the gentle, proud gaze of his twin.

"I saw what you did there, mentioning our 'Mother'. I know she will be with you in the battle."

England smiled.

"She will be with you too, you know..."

Wales laughed.

"That she will but-"

"LORD KIRKLAND, LORD DRAKE! THE SPANIARDS ARE FAST APPROACHING!"

As soon as the crew member shouted those words, Wales could see a sinisterly gleeful fire burn behind his twin's eyes. If he hadn't seen the sight before, he would have been very disturbed. Nowadays, he barely batted an eyelid at the sadism in his brother's gaze. England turned his gaze to Wales, a large smirk plastered on his features.

"I cannot wait to see him, Cariad."

Wales raised an eyebrow.

"Who?"

England's grin became wider if possible.

"Spain. My rapier, dagger and guns against his axe and whatever else he has; I wonder who will victorious..."

Wales hoped to God that England would be victorious. Though he had a gun, it was a bastard to reload and a rapier was very small compared to Spain's battle axe never mind a dagger. Spain was also very clever in battle, his instincts often joining with his intelligence and his brutal strength to form a very formidable combination. Wales hoped that England would be able to use the weight of Spain's axe against him however. Speed, wit and agility were, therefore, England's greatest allies in this battle. Wales somehow found himself praying for Spain. Should the Mediterranean Power lose against England...Wales shivered when thoughts of what England would do to Spain crossed his mind.

"I do hope that you will win, my Brother, but remember, we must avoid boarding the ships in this battle. 'Tis how Spain usually wins."

England grinned.

"I know. But that will not stop me from boarding his ship and taking him back to England with me. Back to my Tower where he belongs..."

Wales shivered slightly, his prayers for Spain becoming somewhat stronger. The battle progressed steadily from there. England sent out fire ships against the Spaniards and watched in pure ecstasy when the winds blew in his favour and he saw some of Spain's ships burn in front of him. All around him he could hear the terrifying sounds of cannon fire, gun and musket fire, swears, curses and screams; it was absolutely thrilling to him. He ran up and climbed up the mast as high as he could go in order to survey things from a higher angle. He looked down to make sure that Wales and Drake were alright and, when he saw that they were, he shouted out to them.

"LOOK! Spain's ship seeks battle! Go to it!"

When Drake and Wales looked towards the sea, amidst all the flags, the sails and the vessels, they watched as a great, hulking galleon surged forward on what England would later call a 'Catholic Wind.' They saw two flags raised high above the ship; the Spanish Naval Flag and the King of Spain's Coat of Arms. Drake couldn't yet see the Nation or Spain himself, but he knew that he would soon and when he did, it wasn't going to be a pleasant meeting. Wales and England on the other hand, could feel Spain; they could feel his energy and the power that came with it. They could feel how it burned their skin. England's aura spiked in retaliation and defiance, dimming the sting of Spain's aura somewhat. Drake turned round in shock and shook his head in defiance .

"We cannot, my Grace! We cannot let the Spaniards board our ship!"

England shouted back angrily.

"I will not be made to cower away when Spain so arrogantly seeks battle! Why will you not go to him? Do you find me weak, Sir, or do you doubt me?"

Wales shouted back, concern saturating his tone and gaze.

"Please, Arthur, do not make Sir Francis commit such an act. You could be taken away!"

England looked truly frightening as a blazing anger overcame him.

"DAMMIT ALL! Either one of you steer this ship towards Spain before I do or I will jump overboard and swim to him! Do as I fucking command for once!"

Drake looked pleadingly as sea water splashed around him.

"PLEASE MY LORD! DO NOT-"

England cut him off viciously.

"ENOUGH! I have waited years for this! Do not dare take this away from me! Do not take this opportunity away from your Nation!"

Against the sound advise of two people who were close to him, England was able to get his wish through sheer determination and bull-headedness. The English Master Ship set sail to meet Spain's upon the rocky ocean. Some of the other English ships became confused but Drake managed to send a message to surrounding ships to not pursue the Master Ship. The poor human was highly wary of the bollocking he was going to receive from so many people after everything was said and done if he survived. The Queen herself included.

Oh, the things he did for the happiness of his Nation.

With each metre of sea crossed, the tension on England's ship became greater and greater. Spain's ship was truly massive, the sheer size of the galleon was intimidating at its worse and fear inducing at its best. Wales continued to fire shots but he could feel worry gnaw at him. He was so worried and yet England seemed as though he hadn't a care in the whole bloody world. The canon fire got louder and louder and louder but it stopped for a while in order for the Captains of the ships to lay down their terms. The Spanish galleon sailed so close that the distinctive Spanish husk of the enemy could be distinctly heard. A particular voice could be heard above all others.

"INGLATERRA!" (ENGLAND!)

England's eyes became sinister as they landed on an equally as green pair. The blonde grabbed a rope and leaned over his ship's side arrogantly. Spain was doing the same, his jewelled crucifix glinting in the light of the day and of the fire. His curly hair was longer than England remembered it but his skin was just as dark and rich as before.

'Such a splendid face and form...' England thought. 'How wonderful it will be to ruin them both with injury and hunger...'

England responded to the other man's call mockingly with an exaggerated bow.

"España!~ How wonderful to see you!"

Spain was not at all impressed with the younger nation's lack of respect.

"Are you ready to renounce your heretical beliefs and to follow me?"

England scoffed loudly as he manoeuvred his body in order to dodge a bullet.

"Surely, Sir, if one is to denounce any heresy they should not be forced. And follow you?"

There was a strange, hopeful look in Spain's eye. It was as if he truly feared that England would be damned should he not let Spain 'help' him and bring him back on to the supposed 'right path'.

"Yes, Inglaterra. Follow me; do not let your soul be damned! Let me help you; my King and the Pope are in their right minds to launch a Crusade against you! Stop this before you find yourself a slave again!"

England looked truly disgusted and his eyes shone fiercely with offence, especially when Spain mentioned slavery.

"I would rather die than follow you...I will follow my own path and I will be a slave to no one!"

Spain's expression was grim.

"So be it...It is such a shame; you used to be such a beautiful, pious creature..."

England shot back a retort as the Master-Ships got closer to one another; so close that England was coiled up, ready to jump. For once, England showed genuine sadness for the Spaniard in his eyes, something that didn't go unnoticed.

"And you used to be someone I could admire...Someone whose cheer, no matter what life through his way, would shine brighter than the sun itself! You were a such happy nation, Spain, and now look at you...This is not the Spain I grew up with under Rome!"

Spain gritted his teeth- England's concern had struck a nerve. It somehow reminded him of his precious Romano. Romano who, despite his coldness, only ever wished to see Spain truly happy. When Spain saw Wales aboard England's Mater ship however, Spain became furious.

"Why is he here? Why are you are dragging your spouse into this? ANSWER ME!"

Some of the strongest members of his crew were lined up with England, all ready to strike when their Nation gave the word. Wales, too, let adrenaline take him over completely as he moved to stand by his twin's side. Member's of Spain's crew did the same as the tanned nation looked at Wales with pity. England glare was as acidic as his eye colour.

"Do not lecture me, Sir, on who chooses to fight with me when you have children at home waiting for you! You have Roma at home waiting for you!"

Spain flinched and then glared at the mention of Southern Italy. England carried on regardless.

"Che, you are nothing more than a fool now that you cross me!"

As the final words left England's lips, he shouted out. It was a sound that was so powerfully savage that all who heard it shivered.

As soon as the shout was heard, all hell broke loose.

England and his men jumped over to Spain's boat as Spain's men jumped onto England's. From then on, time seemed to be a flurry of chaos and weaponry and shouts of pain and anger.

England and Drake managed to land in Spain's boat but Wales couldn't jump as a Spaniard jumped and attacked him. England cut through the barrage of enemies effortlessly; no human is a match for a Nation. He stormed towards Spain who had his axe raised; waiting to strike. England cried out and made the first move, slicing the air with his rapier. Spain narrowly dodged the attack and brought his axe down. The sound of the mighty weapon colliding with the deck was ground shaking. England managed to jump out of the way but new he couldn't afford to risk another close encounter with that fearsome weapon. He pulled out a pistol and shot. Spain was quick, raising the heavy axe effortlessly he held it horizontally, letting the metal deflect the bullet. Spain grinned.

"Face it, Inglaterra; you are out of your league here! Just surrender and all will be forgiven!"

England laughed back.

"Are all of you Spanish dregs this dense? I have told you once and I will tell you again-"

England charged, his sword clashing loudly with Spain's axe. Both men could could feel tension coil in their bodies as they tried to force the other back. England found himself nose to nose with the Spaniard and he was able to see the vivid flecks of green in his eyes and the darkness of his brow. He hissed his words as he pressed himself up against the other.

"I bow to no Nation!"

England pushed his body forward violently and managed to knock Spain backwards. He used the opportunity to slice at Spain's just, leaving a bleeding gash in its wake. A cry stopped him from following his swing through however. He turned around to see Drake battling valiantly against an equally valiant Spanish youth who was probably as old as he looked. The young man was winning though. England removed his second pistol from its holster and did not hesitate in shooting. Nevertheless he did lament having to kill the boy. He breathed a sigh of relief when Drake called out his thanks. He was about to reply when Drake's face became pale and when both he and Wales began to scream.

"ARTHUR!"

"MY LORD!"

Before England could react, he felt the full weight of Spain's axe crash upon his head. His saw white for what seemed like ages and he found that the only sound he could hear was an intense ringing; his head was screaming in agony. He felt warn liquid pour in what seemed like torrents down his face but he knew he had to react. He turned and moved backwards but he found that he wasn't quick enough. Blood blinded him and his pain dizzied him and Spain managed to create a gash across England's chest that was similar to his own. England could somewhat recognise Wales' voice somewhere in the distance.

"Never show your back to your enemy; that was something that Rome taught us but it seems as though I was the only one paying attention...Are you that used to showing a man your back, little bitch?"

Though he was shaking, England managed to stay upright.

"I cannot remain faced to the enemy when my child cries in such a way...Maybe it is easy for you because you are a contemptible person...Fuck you. By today's end I'll have you screaming my name..."

Spain gritted his teeth and his fury became evident.

"You have just killed my child to save that...that fiend Drake...If I had my way I would drown him myself for being such a nuisance..."

Both England and Spain launched themselves each other once more, the deck below their feet becoming stained with blood. Not only did both Nations have to deal with each other, they had to watch out for bullets, wooden shrapnel and other fighters whilst they were at it. Both Nations had been shoot, the sting causing them both a familiar agony.

England noticed something however, Spain was slowing down ever so slightly. More and more he was forced to go on the defensive the longer the fight continued. England grinned the most malicious grin that Spain had ever seen; the Spaniard was losing. His commanders were so determined to win by boarding English ships that they were not using their ammunition. England and his people had also learnt a lot from previous skirmishes and they were using this new knowledge to their advantage. Their smaller ships had better manoeuvrability than the hulking Spanish galleons, provoking Spanish fire while staying out of range. The English would then close in, firing repeatedly and damaging the sides of the enemy ships, enabling them to make the most of the winds so that the Armada was exposed to damage below the water line. Damage not so easily seen but dangerous all the same. Due to the heavy casualties, many of Spain's gunners were dying, leaving the guns to be manned by regular foot-soldiers creating a severe disadvantage. England suffered casualties also but not nearly as bad. Though the English ships soon ran out of ammunition, they had a victory.

The Spanish began to curse the 'Protestant Wind' that had cursed their campaign and even Spain was finding it hard to keep morale up within his men. All around them fire seemed to burn and the fire was beginning to burn Spain too. England became more savage, showing the curly-haired elder no mercy whatsoever and all around the two nations chaos still ensued. He grabbed the Spaniard by the arm and shoved him face first against the ships mast as hard as he could. He pressed himself against the elder, finding satisfaction in the way Spain shivered against him.

"Give up. You have no power here."

Spain tried to struggle but he stopped when England simply chuckled and held onto him tighter.

"Let's not make this any harder than it has to be, alright?"

England did not speak as Spain called him every Spanish insult under the setting sun. After Spain's tirade of hatred was over, England ran his tongue over Spain's ear and whispered maliciously.

"You have lost..."

---

The Spanish fleet were forced to retreat and all evidence that the battle between the Nations on the Master-Ships was wiped off the face of the Earth. On that night England made good on his promise. He made sure that Spain wanted him by seducing him just as he did with Scotland. Though he wanted his former spouse, Spain was certainly more than humiliated by the blonde.

The day after the sea battle, Elizabeth made her speech at Tilbury in front of four thousand troops, ready and waiting for any further Spanish attacks. England had forced Spain to listen and he had never felt more proud. Elizabeth spoke with passion and so England felt his heart swell with pride.

"Let tyrants fear, I have always so behaved myself, that under God I have placed my chiefest strength and safeguard in the loyal hearts and goodwill of my subjects..."

The army looked on and listened intently.

"And, therefore, I am come amongst you as you see at this time, not for my recreation and disport, but being resolved, in the midst and heat of battle, to live or die amongst you all – to lay down for my God, and for my kingdoms, and for my people, my honour and my blood even in the dust."

Elizabeth poured every ounce of feeling into her words and the men felt them. Spain cringed in humiliation.

"I know I have the body of a weak and feeble woman; but I have the heart and stomach of a king – and of a King of England too, and think foul scorn that Parma or Spain, or any prince of Europe, should dare to invade the borders of my realm!"

A cheer erupted from the English and England grabbed Spain by the hair, raising him up.

"See that? This fury is what awaits you should you dare try to invade me again. England is no underdog and we would tear you to pieces until every last man falls before we let you walk all over us, mark my words..."

---

Spain had heard rumours of the Tower of London. He had hear rumours of a haunted place devoid of hope, life and warmth. A cold place were mercy was not spared. The rumours were true. He never wished to be in such a place.

England would visit yet showed no kindness and no remorse to the suffering he willing inflicted upon the Spaniard. He was a lisping demon. Tempting Spain to the point of begging for some sort of release

"Seems as though I am not the only one who enjoys pleasures of the flesh. Such a surprise for such a pious man..."

Spain would lose his temper.

"If you do not want to indulge in me then do not taunt me!"

England would shrug but leave him both broken and wanting in the end.

He used all sorts of punishment such as naval whips made of rope to cut the Spaniards skin deeply, leaving it to then get infected or even rubbing salt in the wounds. Burning wax that would make the elder groan in pain. He had broken the man's nose and ribs too many times to count and offered no help when the both of them were struck by the sickness that consumed their troops after the battles. He did not however, rape him. That was something a Nation would simply never do. To force an unwilling partner was akin to immoral invasion, invasion for a reason besides supporting or liberating an ally; and invasion was something that all Nations abhorred. Spain had asked once.

"Why do you keep me here?"

England had just smiled.

"To make an example of you. To crush before I myself am crushed. That is all."

Spain eyed him for a while.

"I am not the only one who has changed it seems..."

England grinned.

---

On the final night of his imprisonment, England visited Spain and, for the first and only time, he had not come to mock or punish him. He simply came to talk.

"Why did you do this?"

Spain was taken by surprise but answered truthfully.

"I wished to both punish you and to help you. Punish you for allowing Drake to plunder my ships. Help because you seemed to need it..."

England scoffed.

"I can look after myself..."

Spain, chuckled.

"That may be so but your country is in turmoil what with a Queen who will not marry and enemies surrounding you. I know what Francis means to you and I do not wish for you to fight. If I could reinstate Catholicism, that would be one less thing to fight over..."

England pondered the words and spoke carefully.

"Foolish man. You had good intentions but you should no better than to get involved in an argument between...between friends..."

Spain blushed, slightly embarrassed.

"I cannot do that..."

England smiled.

"Fool."

A peaceful silence descended upon them both but England asked another question.

"What will become of us when you are set free?"

Spain's eyes bore into England's for a while, a certain fire igniting them.

"We remain enemies until the war between us is ended. But, even then..."

England nodded, knowing what the other meant. They would probably never be friends. The silence drew on until Spain spoke.

"We were married once..."

England grinned.

"Aye; we have been married on several occasions. Bigamist, you are married to Austria and yet your King married my Queen, Mary..."

Spain smiled despite the uncomfortable nature of his restraints.

"I loved you once...Every time I married you, there was affection there..."

England's grin faded and he spoke in a sombre tone.

"You love me now, but you know as well as I do that I am not the one for you..."

Spain looked somewhat sad and England seemed to know what the elder was thinking. Love counted for nothing; their relationship was doomed from the offset.

"I recall that you loved me as well...That must count for something...But sometimes it is not meant to be. God works in mysterious ways..."

The blonde sighed and got up. He began to walk towards Spain. He raised the dirtied face to look at him with his boot. His mouth was a sombre line and his eyes swirling with melancholy. He leaned down to kiss the man gently.

"Aye. That I did...And perhaps He does..."

England undid the bonds on Spain's legs and body and then lead him outside. He gave the man back to his people who had come to collect him. They did not speak but shared a meaningful glance. Words were not needed when what's done is done and both England and Spain were more than done with the fighting.

---

After releasing Spain, England returned to the Tower not long after. It felt good to finally make his mark on the Mediterranean Nation; to prove to him that he was not weak by any stretch of the imagination. His victory had sent out a clear message to Europe that he had a couple of aces up his sleeve, most notably his navy and his spirit, and he sincerely hoped for more successes in the future.

As he walked through the corridors, he found himself looking for someone rumoured to have been kept there for a while. Someone that he knew quite well and that had persistently broken the law and, thus, had landed himself in one of the most infamous prisons in the world. England knew that he wouldn't be in there long, he would personally make sure of that, but he was still rather curious to see how he was faring. His curiosity and desire to see the man had only increased since Wales had mentioned him weeks earlier when they had fought before his sea battle with Spain. He sensed the man before he saw him and he made his way to the dingy cell. He lent upon the bars, the noise of his movement alerting the other of his presence since England usually preferred to keep his aura hidden.

"Feck off. Oi do not want yer 'ere..."

England tried to resist smirking but failed. Oh, Ireland was a fire cracker indeed. Even though he was covered in a thick layer of filth, blood, and sweat; even though he was cut and bruised; even though he looked like he hadn't slept in days and even though the very nation that held mastery over him was right there, he raised his chin in pure, fiery defiance and he spat his words like venom. England had always liked feisty people or Nations as partners; it made everything all the more interesting and their eventual submission to his charm all the more sweet.

England's gaze met the Irishman's and he saw how hateful those Irish eyes were. But, behind the hatred, he saw that peculiar heaviness that he had become accustomed to. If he were not blessed with the sharp senses and heightened awareness of a Nation, however, he would have missed it completely since the hate was just so strong. The blonde's voice became low and sweet.

"Now why would I do that when I would much rather stay here with you, hmm?..."

Ireland blushed as any words seemed to be caught in his throat and England grinned. He was beginning to see what Wales meant when he said that the Irishman was rather smitten with him. The signs now seemed so blatantly obvious with each passing moment; England, no matter how modest he was about it, couldn't deny the fact that he was a very handsome young man indeed and thus reactions to his appearance and demeanour had become rather common place. He noticed the reactions easy enough with Wales and to an extent France and Scotland but never really so with Ireland unless he baited him. He couldn't really fathom a reason why. Ireland's eyes lit up with fury; the fire within them bitter in its nature. The older man was finding it hard not to shout at the other.

"Waaat more do yer want from me? Yer takin' away everythin' as yer bastard people defile me land an' abuse me people an' yet yer still want ter humiliate me further?"

For a brief moment, Ireland looked genuinely distraught and resentful. He shook his head to will away tears.

"Ye've becum cruel, fella, whaen yer never were. Ye've becum so, so cruel an' uncarin' an' Oi 'ate dat...Oi 'ate dat..."

England, whose mouth had become a thin line, listened attentively. He eyes, no longer teasing, had become sombre as he pondered Ireland's words. He spoke after a long while but Ireland had already resigned himself to a beating since England looked so distant and cold.

"You do realise that humiliating you was not my intention at all? It never was and never has been. I was being mostly sincere when I said that I would much rather be here with you than patrolling this God-forsaken monument. Any lack of sincerity comes from pondering just how mad I am to want to spend any time at all with you when you clearly do not share the same sentiment."

England shrugged.

"I came here because I was going to release you from this Tower and send you back to Ireland. I know how much you hate both myself and my Home. So, in light of that, I do not think that you really want me to go away..."

That took Ireland by complete surprise, especially since England was being absolutely sincere; his eyes held no trace of treachery. It wasn't only that that surprised the Irishman; England was not allowed to release him without the Queen's permission and he knew that England didn't have it; the regnant would have released him sooner otherwise. He realised that England would be punished severely for what could be classed as treason if he set him free. Ireland wasn't sure why the other would go to such lengths for him but his heart thumped loudly in hope; hope that England wasn't as cruel as he thought he was.

Before Ireland had a chance to respond, England spoke again, a contemplative expression on his face. He spoke in Irish Gaelic though it was a tad rusty since he hadn't spoken it in around a decade but Ireland thought it sounded more or less fine. It sounded really lovely, in fact, in that it it was soothing and familiar to the elder, especially since England had achieved a beautiful baritone voice in his late adolescence.

"Would you like to hear my story, Padraig, before you leave? Would you like me to tell you why your darling little brother has become such a cruel Nation? Why you are mistaken in your belief that I harbour no sympathy for your plight and in your idea that I do not hold an autonomous point of view to my rulers? "

England smiled when Ireland looked very, very hesitant to humour him and even insulted with the very idea.

"Oh go on. You might as well listen since you have nothing much to do here in this lonely cell do you? Our other two brothers found it incredibly enlightening..."

Ireland regarded England suspiciously but the earnestness of his gaze did not waver in the slightest. Furthermore what the man said was true, he did have nothing better to do and if listening to England meant that he could go back to Ireland then he would listen until Kingdom came.

"Alroight...Oi'll listen..."

England's smiled in genuine happiness, his pearly teeth glinting in the low light. Ireland could feel his heart skip a beat and he found it incredibly ridiculous. It was incredibly ridiculous but he couldn't help it; England looked very endearing when he smiled like that. What he said next stunned Ireland since it had been a while since he had said something like that to him.

"Thank you..."

England knew that he didn't have time to lose. He did not have permission from his Queen to release the man, only to visit him. He couldn't delay or Ireland could be stuck in the Tower for years and he would be stuck in there with him and that couldn't happen because he had to be with Wales.

Whilst he was in thought, a guard had come along the corridor to check on Ireland. This guard England had seen before and he was known for being incredibly inhumane. England watched him like a hawk as he open the door to Ireland's cell and began to check the chains restraining the red-head. Ireland watched him warily and refused to say anything when the man spoke to him. He then turned to England with a lascivious grin.

"Such a shame he's one of them savages from across the sea, right my Lord? He's silent now but I've seen his temper. He looks to be a wildcat in bed..."

Ireland's glared at the man and England snarled.

"This is not a whorehouse and if you make any more comments like that I will see to it that you will not be able to enjoy the pleasures of the bedroom again."

Ireland looked at England with surprise. England was defending him. His face flushed slightly since he suddenly felt happy that the blonde was willing to defend him instead of egging the other on. Unfortunately, the guard noticed the blush. He turned and winked at England.

"Apologies, my Lord, but look how the dog blushes for you as if he's begging you to take him. Do not fret, I will not tell anyone if you decide to have your way with the Celt since I would kill to have a turn. Seems as though he only has eyes for you anyway...Such a shame."

At that moment, Ireland spat in the man's face and kicked at him, yelling all the while.

"Yer Sasanach son av a bitch! Oi'm not a whoore or a feckin' dog!"

The guard did not take to kindly to this and immediately turned on Ireland violently; kicking him with a heavy, leather clad foot again and again.

"Fucking bastard! I will have you hanged by-"

Ireland cried out in pain. He cried out England's name instinctively, knowing that the blonde had the power to help him. He didn't know if the other's help would extend so far however.

Ireland didn't have to worry.

As soon as the guard turned violent against the red-head and as soon as his name was cried out, a sudden surge of love, possessiveness and anger erupted in England at the sight and he rushed into Ireland's cell without a moments hesitation. He grabbed the guard by the scruff of the neck and threw him to the floor a few feet away. The guard tried to scurry backwards, feeling as though he was being burnt alive by the extent of England's anger.

"My Lord, please-"

England kicked him square in the face; his face was as taut as a glacier but his eyes burnt with ire. He felt satisfied by the crunching sound of his heel connecting with the man's nose and teeth.

"Make a sound and I promise you that I will gut you alive..."

Though Ireland could only see England's back, he could feel the fury rolling off of the younger man in waves and it both frightened and comforted him. Frightening because the sheer power England possessed when he was passionate was enough to cause pain. Comforting because England was that angry for him. He could admit that he didn't like to fight with England, not at all, and he was convinced that the other hated him but England's defence of him reassured him somewhat.

With the guard shivering in fear, bloodied and bruised at England's feet, the blonde grinned ferociously. He saw the man looking for a way to escape; he couldn't have that. England grabbed him by the hair in order to restrain him.

"Ooohhh...Leaving so soon?"

Ireland could smell the fear running off the man in waves and he could only imagine what the look in England's eyes must have looked like. He saw England take a piece of dirty cloth from the man's pocket and gag him with it. When the man whimpered, England tutted in deep disapproval. He then raised his leg and stamped hard on the other man shin most definitely breaking it. Ireland stared wide-eye in horror but was rendered speechless as the man's screams were muffled by the cloth. England hissed through his teeth.

"I will have you know that I do not like people abusing what is mine...Yes, he is Irish and yes, he is absolutely stunning but he is something precious to me...And no one has the right to treat him the way you have. Not you, not the Queen and not even God...If I could, I would stop the Queen and God, but I cannot. I can, however, stop you..."

The guard's eyes widened at the conviction and the treason in the Nation's words whilst Ireland could feel his stomach churn with love even though he did not like that idea of England claiming him as though he were property; he just hoped that England was being sincere with his words and quite a large part of him hoped that England didn't consider him as just property.

The guard tried to get away but, as soon as he moved, England grabbed his arm, moved behind him and twisted the arm painfully behind his back. He used his other hand to push the man's face down by his neck; the pressure applied probably fracturing the neck painfully. When the guard screamed, England chuckled; the sound haunting to all ears in the cell besides his own. He pressed his face close to the man's ear.

"Too slow..."

With that, in what seemed to be a blink of the eye for Ireland, England grabbed the man's head with both hands and twisted sharply first to the right and then to the left. Ireland closed his eyes in sheer horror at England's ruthlessness but the sickening sounds of the man's neck snapping echoed in his head and left him feeling cold. England smiled in deep satisfaction as the man became heavy and slumped in his grip. As he got up, he threw the body to the floor and kicked it to the side. He hadn't even broken a sweat. His priorities soon changed when he heard Ireland groan.

He stormed to where Ireland was and fell to his knees in front of the shivering red-head. He pulled a rag from his pocket and some water from a pouch he always carried. He doused the rag in water and tried to wipe Ireland's face but the elder man flinched; his body instinctively trying to get away from the person that had so easily killed a man a few seconds before. England frowned briefly but was understanding and gentle; a complete contradiction to his previous actions. England leaned forward and kissed Ireland's cheek sweetly, much to the other's astonishment.

"I did not just defend you to then hurt you. Come now...Do not be afraid of me..."

After looking into England's eyes and seeing a very rare hint of gentleness within them, he let the man continue. England softly wiped the sweat and dirt of Ireland face and the blood running freely from his lips and nose. He also let the astounded man drink from his pouch, all the while muttering reassurances and stroking his greasy, matted hair away from his face. The whole experience was unnerving for Ireland because it had been a very, very long time that he had been shown such kindness from an Englishman; that he had experienced such tenderness from England himself. He could feel his heart swell with love for the wild-eyed man in front of him.

England soon realised that there was a problem, the man's shoulder joint was dislocated and it was only the adrenaline running through Ireland's veins that was stopping the great extent of the pain.

There was only one way to fix this but he felt sadness because it would hurt the elder man immensely. He looked at Ireland sadly and sympathy was thick in his voice.

"I must push the shoulder joint back in its socket before it becomes harder to..."

Ireland finally noted the pain in his shoulder but the sad look in England's eyes told him all he needed to know about how grave the injury was. His face was contorted with frustration and distress but he understood.

"Oi understand...Do whaaat yer need ter do..."

England bit his lip as suffering over came his features. A suffering that Ireland was not used to seeing on the blonde and especially not because of him. England spoke softly.

"I am sorry...Please...try not to scream..."

As soon as Ireland nodded, England leant over him to unlock the shackles that held his arms high above his head. Ireland sighed in bliss as one of his arms was finally able to rest upon his lap but groaned in pain when England helped to bring the injured arm down. England gave him a look to make sure that Ireland was ready. When the other man nodded, England grabbed Ireland's shoulder and popped the joint back into place with a strong push. He could feel the bone roll over and then go into the socket and it made him cringe internally.

Ireland could feel the acute pain shoot through his arm, shoulder, chest and collar bone. It was so painful that he could feel his head pulsing through strain as he sucked in an incredibly harsh breath. Rough but restrained whimpers and groans of pain escaped his lips as the pain seemed to be worse than normal because he was so weak and exhausted. But he didn't scream; and pride swelled within England.

By the time England was done, Ireland was trying to regain control of himself as the intense pain still coursed violently and frenziedly through his veins. Ireland was still panting from the pain and England watched him carefully, knowing it was best not to touch the other just yet.

After what seemed like an eternity, Ireland had managed calm down. England breathed a sigh of relief. Ireland felt exhausted but the tiredness vanished somewhat when England then stroked Ireland's cheek gently and, for once, Ireland couldn't find the strength to complain. Concern and remorse saturated England's gaze.

"Are you alright?"

Ireland grinned lopsidedly; tiredness evident from his fluttering eyes.

"Aye. Oi am now...Tanks for defendin' me...You did not nade ter kill 'im though..."

England smiled sincerely and then grinned.

"It is quite alright and yes, I did need to kill him. I cannot have my authority undermined by not administering due punishment."

Ireland chuckled at England's words and, after a comfortable silence, Ireland spoke once more.

"Alroight, tell me yer story then...It better be worth it..."

England laughed outright, secure in the knowledge that the man in front of him was OK. He made himself comfortable in front of the other man since he still had to stall for a bit of time to prove he was visiting. His expression was calm and inquisitive as he released a steady stream of his aura to ward off any other guards.

"What do you know of my life 'til now, Eire?"

---

By the time England had stopped talking, Ireland was absolutely speechless. He found that there were so many emotions going through his body all at once that it made him dizzy. What did he just hear?! England continued quietly in Gaelic.

"So you see...I am not what I am...And I have never claimed to be...Please understand why I am like this..."

England gesticulated to himself as he spoke bitterly.

"I am aware that I am...not of sound mind, shall we say, and I hate it as much as you do...I hate teetering on this blasted line between sanity and insanity."

England shook his head.

"You are all mistaken in believing that it is only my loneliness, my regret and my bitterness that have made me this way...I have tasted slavery, brother, and it appeals to me not..."

For a while, Ireland was truly afraid of England as a glint of that aforementioned insanity shone vividly and ferociously in his toxic eyes.

"I have also tasted power, however, and I have found its taste to be incredibly appealing...So much so that I crave it now and I will not be satisfied until I have obtained it...It seems, however, as though God has forsaken me and by extension you, Cariad...everyone close to me..."

Ireland looked at England worriedly. The blonde just shrugged.

"If there even is a God, Padraig, then I think him even crueller than what you perceive me to be..."

Ireland managed to blurt out something in defence of the God his people so desperately clinged to.

"But...laddie...Dat's heresy...blasphemy even...He...He's not cruel...Oi've seen 'ow my people look te Him fer support..."

England shot back at the comment without even stopping to pause. His eyes cold and hard.

"Yes, they look to Him for support but does He help them, Eire, hmm? It is all well and good listening to people you claim to 'love' in their plight but your people are still being oppressed and tormented. Tell me, Eire, where is your God when my people massacre yours? Where is His so called 'love' there?"

Ireland flinched noticeably. England's expression softened then.

"I apologise for being so crude but after everything I have seen and experienced, I think God to be the cruellest being possible because I do not know what I have done or what you have done to deserve any of this..."

Any severely muddled and illegible thoughts he had managed to strew together had left him when England had said those words. He was then alerted England moving from his seated position in order to loom over him in order to undo the shackles on his feet and to then break the chains tied around Ireland's torso that were in place to stop the red-head from using his Nation strength to break free. Ireland watched him warily as no amount of new understanding would ever make him lower his guard around the blonde.

The proximity of the blonde to him, however, was making him uncomfortable since England had to lean over him to undo the shackles and chains from the hands down. He closed his eyes to compose himself but it didn't stop him from noticing how the blonde's touches lingered and it made his temperature rise. His eyes snapped open when he felt a gentle hand against his forehead. The glint in England's eyes and the smirk upon his mouth were mischievous in their nature.

"Hmm, I wonder if you have a fever...You are ever so hot, Eire..."

Ireland had to suppress a shiver going up his spine from the slow, sensuous way that England said his traditional Nation name. England soon removed the hand. His smirk disappeared and any mischievousness in his eyes was replace by anger and concern.

"They have not been feeding you properly even though I made it clear to them that if you were ever to be kept here then you should be fed well. I will find the culprits myself and see to their punishment later..."

Ireland shivered and spoke quietly.

"Please don't...Oi've 'eard Spain screamin' cuz av yer...an' de way yer killed dat man just now...Leave dat business ter someone else. Yer ruinin' yerself an' what's left 'ave yer mind, laddie, an' it's not 'elpin' matters..."

England chuckled. A frightening smirk pulled on his mouth and that deviously malicious gleam was back in his eyes.

"Now why would I ever do that when you are mine?"

And, just like that, the glint and the smirk were gone once more and Ireland's eyes widened in disbelief. They widened not only because he did not belong to anyone let alone England, but he was completely stupefied with his own lack of perception. England's 'insanity' was plain as day to see and he had been completely unaware of it for centuries even when it was literally staring him straight in the face. The blonde's almost bipolar tendencies were not only worrying, but they made shivers of fear drift down his spine uncomfortably. That glint in England's eyes was haunting; he would never, ever forget that glint in the boy's eyes. Not even if he lived to be a million years old. He just couldn't believe that this borderline psychopath used to be an innocent, joyful little babe. England continued, smugly satisfied with the knowledge that Ireland was beginning to realise just who was in the cell with him.

"And until that ceases to be true I will continue to do all I can to make sure you are alright when you are here with me...I do the same for Cariad as much as I can...It is the very least I can do for you both since my rulers have, in effect, ruined your lives and I do not help matters."

England then shrugged, the smile still upon his face but much more carefree and blasé.

"And what is the point of looking after my mind when it is, for the most part, ruined anyway. It still functions however; I still theorise with men of the arts and sciences. So there really are no consequences to what I am going to do."

Ireland became noticeably concerned by the man's words but did not argue any further; he was still trying to sort out his thoughts. He said the first thing that came into his head.

"Oi'm so sorry, Arthur...If there wuz somethin' Oi could have done..."

At the sound of his human name, England looked up. Ireland felt even more nervous about the proximity of the other man to his person. He could clearly see the minimal freckles that dusted the boy's nose and cheeks. England looked rather confused.

"Whatever are you sorry for? There was nothing you could have done. Alasdair also reacted like you to my story. He blamed himself as well..."

At the mention of the older man, Ireland stiffened noticeably. He had heard all about the elder's trysts with England during the three days he was staying at his House from Wales when the dark-haired man had visited him briefly during that time. Wales had cried in front of him as he described how he couldn't even have a moment with the blonde without the Scot being there, watching the blonde as though he were prey. How it seemed as though the only time that the two Nations weren't fucking each other silly was when they were conducting official business or dining with everyone. Yet even then it was almost as if they were magnetised to each other.

Even Elizabeth and her court had questioned the amount of time that the two men privately spent together but England would always reply that he and Scotland were simply 'catching up' and 'building new bridges.' Hah! Building new bridges his arse; it was blatantly obvious that that was a lie. Away from the Court, however, Elizabeth was said to have been incredibly suspicious and even rather frustrated but, no matter how much she pleaded for the truth, England never changed his story and thus the Queen conceded.

Ireland sympathised deeply when Cariad confessed that he was sure that he had lost England entirely every time he had accidentally caught or heard England and Scotland together during those long, long eight days. He thought that he had lost the one person he wanted to spend the rest of his life loving because it seemed as though England was far more impassioned for the tall, handsome Scotsman than he had ever been for the petite, beautiful Welshman. Behind England's back, Ireland had tried to comfort the other but he wasn't sure if he was successful. Wales seemed receptive to the idea that his relationship with England could be sorted out but they both knew that Scotland had a very rare bond with England, a bond certainly rivalling the one he had with Wales. Ireland couldn't help but feel his body burn with an emotion he hated above all others; jealousy. When he replied to England's words, he tried to keep the iciness from his voice.

"'Tis always feckin' nice ter knoow waaat Scottie's bin tinkin'...An' Oi'm sorry for everythin' dat's 'appened ter yer Oi suppose. Oi didn't really knoow dat you were 'urtin'...Oi mean, everyone 'urts but Oi didn't knoow it 'ad gotten ter dis stage..."

As he continued trying his best to unlock and break all the heavy, rusted chains in order to free Ireland, England picked up on the resentment in Ireland's voice when he mentioned Scotland and after a pregnant pause, he asked a question he had been wanting answers to for quite some time. England levelled his face so that he was nose-to-nose with the Irishman and then his cocked his head to the side in a rather adorable fashion. Ireland was this close to telling the man to get away from him. His scent, his eyes, his warmth and the sound of his voice were driving Ireland wild and his freed hands were bunching into fists.

"Do you love me, Padraig?"

If Ireland was tense before, he was shocked to stillness now. He had even stopped breathing as any air was knocked right out of his lungs and a boiling heat burned his cheeks at the suddenness of such a personal and intimate question. What could he say now? England had begun to blush as well when the heaviness in Ireland's eyes became much weightier, conveying emotions he could easily define but couldn't quite believe. He saw love, lust, disgust and even fear. The man's eyes had practically become molten emeralds with the extent of the emotions coursing through his veins. He then saw pure dread rise up within the elder. Ireland realised that England had probably seen every emotion within his eyes and expression before he could cover them up. Ireland glared at the floor in an attempt to cover up his emotions.

"In whaaat way yer talkin' about? 'Cos as kin, aye, Oi do suppose dat love yer..."

When England saw that Ireland was going to evade his question, he changed tactics. He gently took hold of Ireland's chin and turned his head so that the were nose to nose-to-nose again. As he looked down upon Ireland he could clearly see what he had thought for centuries; the man was beautiful. Even thoughhe was scowling and absolutely filthy, England knew that that face could make even the coldest hearts melt with desire. He wasn't lying when he had told the guard that Ireland was a stunning man. He was just so very pleasing just to look at with his distinct Celtic features that seemed so different to England's own visage that was a flattering mixture of Roman, Anglo-Saxon, Viking and Norman with only his eyes alluding to a Celtic past and present. The gentle flush upon the red-head's face was so very becoming that England only wanted to increase its colour. The Irishman's voice, though not nearly as symphonic as Wales', was distinctly musical and rhythmic; entirely enchanting to his ears. He tilted the man's chin higher and towards him; forcing the elder to look him in the eyes. By this moment, the tension was palpable.

"Do not dishonour me by evading my question, my Black Bird. You know the nature of love that I am talking about..."

England then bent down and kissed the curly-haired man on the lips chastely. Though chapped, the man's lips were warm against his own. Ireland's eyes fluttered close of there own accord and his heart felt as though it would burst forth from his chest. He could feel it beat rigorously and harshly against his rib cage and he was finding it very hard to breathe. His hairs stood on end as though he had been struck by lightning. England could feel the intense heat now radiating off the Celt's face and he smirked into the kiss.

When they parted, England remained close and nuzzled his nose against the other's softly. Ireland's instincts had taken over as he leaned in to brush his lips against England's flirtatiously, not quite pressing them fully. When England did try to press their lips together, however, Ireland found himself moving away with bashfulness; he was rather startled by his own impulsiveness and not even sure if England was returning his feelings or just simply playing him like a well-strung violin. His breathing was harsh and each individual breath was quick and sharp. He began to feel dizzy with the lack of oxygen. When he looked into England's eyes, his breath hitched at the affection that glazed them. It was at that moment that he truly believed that maybe, just maybe, there was a chance, no matter how slim it was, that his feelings weren't as one sided as he thought. It wasn't long before they somehow became drawn to each other once more.

Before either of them fully realised, England had a hand fisted in Ireland's hair at the nape of his neck, pushing him closer whilst the other hand supported him against the wall. He took a dominant role and pushed his body forward so that his torso pressed Ireland's against the cold stone behind him. Ireland's arms were wound tightly around England's neck as they kissed deeply. Although he was a bit miffed that he was submitting to someone who was, physically anyway, more than five years his junior, he couldn't bring himself to care.

During the kiss, Ireland had brought a hand down to cup the younger man's cheek in a sweet caress and his spread legs had begun to wrap around England's thighs. What was he doing? He couldn't let the other man have any more power over him and here he was practically giving himself away! He was giving himself away...but he couldn't help himself, not when he felt love with every fibre of his being.

On England's end he was completely surprised not only be Ireland's reaction, but also his. The stirrings of warmth in his heart gave way to an astounding tenderness and affection for the man under him. An affection that was incredibly disadvantageous and risky to have since it would complicate matters severely. He swallowed any and all of Ireland's quiet moans and even found his own sounds of pleasure escaping the confines of his throat. He shivered when he felt the elder's leg's wrap around him. He briefly lowered his hand so that he could wrap Ireland's thighs tighter around his body. When they parted for the second time, panting heavily and chest heaving, Ireland glared at the blonde above him.

"Oi don't love yer..."

England's eyes went wide but then he grinned; Ireland was a terrible liar at times. The blonde decided to humour him anyway but a knowing look lingered in his eyes. Ireland knew that he was officially screwed for the rest of his life.

"Whatever you say, love..."

Ireland's hand grabbed England's collar and pulled downwards sharply. He hissed viciously.

"Don't call me that...Especially if yer don't mean it..."

England's smile became more sincere as he stroked the man's face. He looked sincere but Ireland noticed that, over the centuries, England had become much, much better at concealing his true emotions. The smile was upon his face was kind but his eyes were almost blank and very distant; the affection that he saw within them long gone. The sudden change made him question if the affection was ever truly there.

"Who knows?...I am not what I am..."

Ireland resisted the shiver making its way up his spine; that phrase suited the Englishman much too well and it unnerved him. The incarnation of England was a being to be genuinely fearful and cautious of he realised.

"Now, stop looking so ravishing and let me break these last few chains..."

Ireland had to fight back a retort as he blushed; he still couldn't trust that England would release him. Yet, England had made good on his words and broke all of the chains restraining Ireland. The elder man's body was stiff with disuse and incredibly sore from abuse and torture. England looked him up and down and then hummed.

"You will not leave until you have been bathed and fed. I will also provide you with new attire. I am not sending you back to Ireland in this state."

Ireland really wanted to tell the younger man to shove his food, bathing and clothes but England beat him to it.

"You will not argue with me. Please, just let me do this for you..."

Ireland hesitated but nodded. When England picked him up bridal style however, he complained.

"Oi'm not a feckin' bride, England..."

England glared at Ireland; his gaze was level but incredibly cold.

"I do not have to release you from here, you know. I could leave you here to rot for as long as I hold power over you..."

Ireland had to suppress a shiver as he made no further complaint. England's gaze contorted and became ominous and threatening as he began to leave the cell.

"Remember that I will be punished for this; for helping you. Even though I do this out of the goodness of my heart, I have found that the whims of a heart can change with the right...incentive..."

England''s voice became a sinisterly harsh whisper that was hissed through pearly teeth.

"If you know what is good for you, Ireland, do not give me that incentive. Do not make me change my mind about setting you free..."

Ireland gulped and nodded, knowing in his heart of hearts that he did not have the strength to fight and that England was being deadly serious. When England took a note of the Irishman's resignation, he smiled icily and his tone of voice became much more gentle albeit mocking.

"Now there's a good Black Bird ..."

Ireland couldn't help but flush with humiliation as the blonde carried him through the Tower undetected (how he managed to do that he would never know). The blonde had ended up taking Ireland to a chamber and, after dropping the other on his bed, addressed him for the first time since threatening him at the Tower.

"I am going to get water for a bath. Do not leave this room and if someone should enter, even if it is the maids, hide there-"

Ireland looked to where England was pointing. It was a huge tapestry.

"There is a door to a secret chamber that I have hidden using magic behind the tapestry. The magic will let only Cariad in but now yourself also. It will keep you safe as long as you do not move from there until I have come back."

When Ireland nodded obediently due to the intensity in England's words, England smiled and bent down to kiss the man sweetly.

"I will be back soon and remember; hide there if you need to and, no matter what, do not come out."

Ireland nodded after returning the kiss, not bothering to hide that he really liked England kissing him. When the other left, Ireland found himself feeing incredibly alone. He tried to busy himself by looking around the room. He was surprised that England's room, though comfortable, was incredibly bare except for a vase full of roses, the tapestry and a couple of grand Renaissance style paintings upon the wall. The paintings were stunning to look at; the details so fine and the colours strong. He saw they were signed with the single name 'Romano' and he wondered why this name sounded familiar. He then got up to see the tapestry. He didn't touch the fabric, scared that he would stain it, but he looked carefully at the story being told.

There was a family at the top, a woman and five children. They seemed to be happy but along the tapestry the woman and the two smallest children were taken away by an armoured man and the remaining three scattered. The woman later died and one of the smallest children was taken away from the other and did not appear again until much later in the tapestry. Later, the armoured man fought the tallest child but seemed to be mostly unsuccessful. He built a wall and brought the remaining smallest child to the taller boy only to take him away again. Soon, the armoured man died and, in his stead, a tall, blonde man and three Vikings in their ships came for the remaining small child. When they left, ships from France came to the smallest child from across a stretch of water. As he continued looking at the tapestry he realised that he knew this story. It was England's life he was seeing. The unfinished bottom with the beginnings of what seemed to be the destruction of Spain's Armada seemed to confirm it.

Before he could keep on looking, someone knocked at the door. His instincts kicked in immediately and he darted behind the tapestry. He came face-to-face with the door and he burst through it, feeling the warmth of magic for a while. He slammed the door shut. His breathing was erratic and he was sweating. He heard a couple of voices enter the room.

"Lord Kirkland , are you in here?"

Ireland's breath caught in his throat. It was one of the Queen's advisers but he couldn't exactly pinpoint which. He could also hear what sounded like a Servant's voice.

"The tapestry moves, m'Lord. I will check behind it.:

Ireland began to shake as he heard sounds near the tapestry."

"There's no one 'ere, m'Lord...Might just movin' because the window's open..."

The servant moved away and the noble spoke.

"I do not believe he is back from the Tower. He will probably be back tomorrow at the latest..."

With a grumble the advisor and his servant left and Ireland released a breath he was holding. As he released the breath his knees gave out a little. He never thought that his life would be like this; full of fear for his people and himself and imprisoned. He yearned for freedom but couldn't get it and it left an incredibly sour taste in his mouth.

He looked up at his surroundings and realised that he was facing a tiny chapel. It was incredibly bare but had two stools and a small alter that had a crucifix and was filled with candles. There was a lit fire in the fireplace by the wall and what looked like a tub with a drain next to it. In one of the corners of the room there was a small bed and next to it a book shelf with a few books and a small lute rested against it. It surprised Ireland that though England's sea voyages meant that he had come into some personal wealth, he really did not seem to enjoy the lavish lifestyle that many of the English nobles he had encountered did. He seemed to love his art, books, instruments, clothes and jewellery but that appeared to be the extent of his spendings. He looked after himself, that was for sure, but Ireland was certain that he didn't spend more than was strictly necessary.

Ireland approached the alter and, as he did, he suddenly collapsed to his knees and began to sob. He prayed desperately to the God his people so believed in. He begged God to take away his feelings for England because it made his imprisonment under England and his people all the more painful and he did not know how much more he could take.

"Father Oi do love 'im...Oi do love him but Oi canny take any more uv dis...Oi cannot 'ave been made te be a slave forever..."

He prayed passionately for the freedom he so wished for and he also prayed for England; he prayed that God would grant England strength he needed to fight his demons and the peace of mind he so craved. He even prayed to God to better their relationship somehow. He was so upset that he didn't notice the sounds of someone entering England's chamber and then entering the hidden room. He was alerted to the presence of another when he heard something heavy being placed on the floor and the door slamming shut. Ireland spun round quickly in fear but was relieved as soon as he saw bright green eyes and blonde hair. England cocked his head to the side, his eyes boring into Ireland's in a way that made the elder man want to squirm.

"Why are you crying, Black Bird?"

Ireland flushed with shame and wiped his eyes hastily.

"Oi'm not feckin' cryin'...Oi'm jist...Oi'm jist so tired..."

England looked at him calculatedly but said nothing. He took the huge piles of water off the ground by their handles easily. He filled the tub with one and placed the other in a pot on top of the fire. From the second pile came the lovely scent of roses and lavender. England grabbed a stool and sat by the tub. He looked at Ireland who was still on the floor.

"Well? Strip and get in."

Ireland flushed more with indignation.

"Oi'm notgonna strip witcha 'ere! Please, Oi canny..."

England sneered even though he knew the other was uncomfortable.

"I have to stay here because people in this place are looking for me and, should things not go to plan, I have to do whatever I can to get you to safety. Now, stop being embarrassed..."

England's mouth morphed into an enticing smile as he crossed his legs, propped his elbow upon his lap and rested his head on the propped hand.

"I have seen that marvellous body of yours before in much more...intimate situations have I not?"

Ireland gritted his teeth at the sense in England's words but tried to resist being affected by England's generous complement. His body was not marvellous; he was starving, exhausted and sick. The Celt took off the rags he called clothes and got into the heavenly warmth of the bath. He noticed that England had taken off his coat and was rolling up his sleeves but didn't think much about it. He brought his knees up but jolted when England poured some of the remaining water that was left in the first pile on his head. England spoke soothingly.

"Easy now, I will become bored if I sit here doing nothing and you are still too weak. I do not want to risk you fainting."

Ireland nodded and let the younger man wash the grime from his hair and body using soap and a cloth. The blonde even combed out all the knots in his hair. England allowed the elder to wash himself when it was inappropriate for him to do so and Ireland was thankful. As he continued to wash himself, England removed the other pile of water from the fire. He tested it to make sure it was the right temperature and returned to the Celt. When he was done England helped him up and asked him to stand by the drain. He then poured the water, which had been boiled with roses and lavender to create the wonderful scent, over Ireland to remove any lingering grime from the dirty bath water. England grabbed a towel and began to dry the Celt starting at the unruly curls upon his head.

"You look much better now...Much healthier and such..."

Ireland kept any words to himself and simply nodded in acknowledgement. England didn't ask any questions about Ireland's mood since it was a long day for the Celt.

"I have brought you food and some new, warm clothes. We will be leaving as soon as night falls, which will be in around four or so hours so that we can reach the docks by morning. I will see you off there..."

Ireland frowned and spoke.

"Why ye doin' al' av dis for me? Why ye takin' such a risk for me?"

England looked at the man with mild surprise and then smiled sincerely as he continued to dry the other's hair. Ireland blushed as the smile even reached the blonde's eyes making him look even more handsome than usual; he looked kinder and more like the England he used to know.

"I have no singular reason but believe me when I say that these reasons are not borne from self interest... I am helping you because I want to. Because I care about you believe it or not...You are not a criminal and my Queen wastes space in the Tower imprisoning someone who does not even deserve to be there."

Ireland seemed to ponder these words but seemed to only be more confused. England shook his head.

"Do not think about any implications behind what I have said; just accept my words for what they are for they are sincere. If you do not believe my words then look into my eyes..."

Ireland looked up shyly. England's eyes were incredibly tender and it made the Celt uncomfortable because such tenderness was rare from England.

"You know as well as I do that my eyes are the most honest part of me if I choose not to hide what I am feeling. Do you see any treachery? Do you see any dishonesty?"

Ireland shook his head, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. God did not answer his prayer; he was still in love if not more so and it killed him inside.

"No, Oi don't..."

England could feel his heart break as Ireland's tears began to fall. He had caused this pain. Perhaps not himself directly but it was his people that were causing the other to suffer so much and thus he blamed himself. He blamed himself because he couldn't make Ireland's pain go away. He cupped the man's cheek gently.

"Then why not put your faith in me this once since you have nothing more to lose? I do care about you and I will get you away from here even if it kills me...So do not cry, please..."

Ireland found that he couldn't keep a hold of his emotions any more. He was exhausted and desperately homesick and everything he had experienced that day and over the years was catching up with him and overwhelming him. He began to sob quietly in England's hold; his head resting sorrowfully on the younger man's shoulder. He felt England becoming steadily more frantic with worry. Ireland knew that he wasn't acting like himself; just like England was not himself when in the grips of madness. The only difference was that Ireland could feel the grips of depression instead. He was a proud nation and yet he was crying because his body just didn't know how else to get rid of all the pent up feelings that were engulfing him.

He couldn't leave England worrying though.

He looked up and reached to cup the younger man's cheeks and, even though he was still crying and naked, he brought the other's face closer to his so that he could kiss him. England's eyes widened in shock but he yielded to the other man's gentle kiss. In that moment, England was sure that he would

have done almost anything short of hurting Wales if it would make Ireland stop crying. Ireland's heart soared when he felt the younger man's cheeks and lips heat up under his caresses and when the younger man began to kiss him back. The towel upon Ireland's head fell to the floor as England's hand reached out to run them selves through his curly hair instead. When they parted for air, Ireland whispered passionately.

"Alroight..."

The elder man then laughed despite his tears, his head cocking to the side in an adorable manner.

"Maybe, just maybe, Oi wus wrong aboyt yer, laddie..."

England looked curious.

"What do you mean?"

Ireland smiled.

"Oi called ye cruel earlier an' perhaps yer can be...No, yer definitely can be...But Oi didn't nu de whole story did Oi?"

The red-head patted the other's cheek.

"Dat is waaat Oi want, yer nu. Oi want ter nu everythin' aboyt yer an' yer me an' Oi want us ter 'av a better relationship wan day cos Oi lo-"

Ireland paused, recognising his slip up blushing. The slip up didn't go unnoticed by England either whose heart began to speed up.

"Cos Oi care, laddie. Oi 'ate yer so much sometimes cos av waaat yisser people 'av done an' continue ter do ter me an' me people. De 'ate is so strong dat Oi can feel it eat away at me an' 'tis al' dat drives me sometimes...Dat won't change easily but whaen yer do things loike dis..."

Ireland smiled and it was quite possibly one of the sweetest things England had ever seen.

"Yer make it 'arder ter 'ate you. Yer give me 'ope dat, wan day, things 'ill be better."

Ireland smiled tearfully.

"Cos, after al', Englan' 'as shown Oirlan' kindness an' honesty an' so Padraig's faith nigh lies in Arthur's 'ands dis once. Oi'll believe in yer wholly dis once and only dis once so please, don't let me down..."

England stared wide-eyed at Ireland but then grinned, his eyes creasing with joy.

"I would not dream of it..."

England suddenly grabbed the Irishman and kissed him hard. His hands ran down Ireland's body and settled on his hips; pushing their bodies closer and closer. His tongue shoved itself into the elder's willing mouth as he hoisted the older man up by the thighs in order to carry him to the makeshift bed in the corner of the room. He managed to lower both himself and the older man gently upon the bed somehow but before he could continue, Ireland placed a gentle finger upon his lips to shush him. There was a cheeky grin upon the elder's flushed face. England's gaze became mesmerised by the elder's heaving chest and the almost virginal blush upon his cheeks.

"An' when did Oi say dat ye could take me?"

England smirked and lowered his head to kiss the elder's ear and neck amorously. The low purr of his voice and the feel of his lips upon his sensitive skin had the red-head fighting to suppress a moan.

"I do not suppose that you will be complaining?"

Ireland seemed to ponder this for a moment before answering with conviction.

"No."

England smiled happily at this.

"Excellent."

As their love-making continued, night slowly descended upon the land though England knew that the area would be far from peaceful. He knew that the Queen would have, by now, discovered both his and Ireland's absence and she was an incredibly smart woman; it would not take long for her to put two-and-two together especially as she knew that England wanted to send Ireland home. England's hold on Ireland tightened as the man continued to writhe under him; he did not want him to leave his sight. He wanted him to be free because he knew what it felt like to be a prisoner, but that didn't mean that he wanted the other to be away from him. His thoughts were interrupted when a hand touched his damp face and hair.

"Yer tarts drift away from here an' now..."

England stared into Ireland's glazed eyes and he smiled as he caressed the other's bare thigh.

"Yes, but never far from you..."

Ireland gasped out when England's rhythm slowed to something sensual and unhurried. He hugged the younger man to him and his heart raised all the faster. They were already connected intimately and yet that connection just didn't seem to surpass the smoothness of England's skin upon his and the steady flow of heat and energy. He ran his hands over that heated skin and through the younger's barley-coloured locks and he felt his own skin tingle beautifully. He wanted more of the feeling and he almost sobbed when England raised himself slightly.

"Art'ur...Art'ur..."

England's brow creased when he heard the distress in Ireland's voice.

"You make my heart break with such sounds, Blackbird..."

Ireland's hands clawed at England's back and the blonde could help but arch his back and toss his head at the delicious feeling.

"Closer, Damn it...Touch me..."

England's face flushed red but he did as he was asked to happily. Ireland whispered against his lips.

"Oi 'ave...never experienced dis...Dis need te touch someone else..."

England eyes widened with slight shock but then he laughed gently but without mockery. A genuine, loving laugh that filled Ireland with warmth. England was certain now that Ireland loved him; and the knowledge left him feeling extraordinarily happy and light. It was a feeling that he never wanted to forget or take for granted. When Ireland tried to withhold any further moans out of pure fear that someone would hear, England nuzzled his cheek reassuringly.

"Do not be quiet, my love; the magic in this room ensures silence outside...Here is the one place in England where you will never have to be afraid...Here is the one place in England you can call a 'sanctuary'..."

Though Ireland still felt slightly shy about expressing such emotion openly, he wanted to show England how he felt even if he just couldn't bring himself to say it out loud. Perhaps, just this once, he could show England just how much he meant to him. He allowed himself to be vulnerable for the younger and he moaned for him.

"Yer still too far away...Oi want yer arms around me...Oi want yer te feel what Oi'm feelin' now, if only fer tonoight..."

England slowly and gently manoeuvred himself so that he was closer to the elder man. He smiled as he whispered in the elder's ear.

"Silly Padraig. Do you not know that I will always feel for you?"

Ireland blushed at the sweet words but thought it best not to think on them too much. He wanted to believe what the younger said. England touched Ireland intimately with a mixture of firm and feather light touches and was never rough. Ireland couldn't remember the last time that he was treated so kindly and so affectionately; treated as though he was worth so much more than just a piece of conquered territory. He knew that the next time he saw England they would be enemies once more but this night would remind him of all the great things that laid beneath the blonde's cruel smirk, frenzied eyes and wild recklessness. England leaned forward to whisper in Ireland's ear when the elder's writhing became more pronounced.

"Cum for me, darling Black Bird. Feel me...feel me in every part of you..."

It was England's loving caresses, gentle movements and husky voice that made the Irish avatar see white as the sweet bliss of his climax overtook him. And England's words rang true; he did feel every part of him. From the very crown of his head to the tips of his toes, everything in the world disappeared until every one of his senses were filled with nothing but the handsome blonde on top of him. The blonde Nation smiled fondly at the sight and finished with a lustful groan of the Irishman's name. England pulled out of the elder man and moved to lay next to him. He wrapped the red-head in his arms, wanting to give him reassurance and feeling incredibly affectionate himself. Ireland blushed bashfully, still incredibly unused to such loving treatment, but snuggled closer to the younger. He laid his head upon the blonde's chest and was comforted by the pounding heartbeat slowing to something calmer.

"Sleep. I will wake you when it is time to leave. Whatever happens tonight, do not forget that I care about you..."

Ireland nodded gently and responded by kissing the skin of England's chest before falling into a light sleep.

---

It was with gentle urgency that he awoken a couple of hours later. England handed him his clothes and he was secretly thankful to be in something clean and warm. England also gave him a heavy cape with a fur-lined hood.

"Whatever happens, do not lower the hood...Red hair is not common in these parts aside from the Queen's..."

Ireland let the blonde lift the hood to his head calmly, but his heart was racing. He didn't think he had ever been more afraid in his life. When England began to lead him through a secret network of tunnels connected to his concealed room, he was waiting for the moment that someone would be waiting for them. As England hoisted him up onto his strong horse, anxiety ate him up inside. He held onto England tightly but his hands shook. England used a free hand to hold on to those shaking hands.

"Shh, Black Bird. I swear that you will be safe..."

The anxiety did not fade. The Thames port became visible in the light of the moon and Ireland could see that England was steering the horse towards a particular merchant ship with a small crew. He thought England was going mad until one of the men in particular called out to the blonde. He was of average height but even in the dim light of the moon he was very handsome, his features sharp with age and his body strong and toned with work. His earth-coloured eyes were alive with happiness and his chestnut hair hung to his shoulders.

"My sweet Lord and Captain! Your presence certainly warms my heart on this chilly night!"

England laughed as he dismounted and helped Ireland down. The elder remained silent.

"Shh, you fawning scut of a man!"

Ireland watched how the two men interacted. Even though England was physically younger than the human by a couple of years, the human looked at him with a devotion that Ireland found both endearing and vexing. Endearing because it was innocently affectionate in its nature. Vexing because the relationship between the two was deeper than what it appeared to be especially when the man kissed England's cheek and the ring on his finger as a symbol of allegiance.

"My dear Captain, you have known me for at least fourteen years and yet you still speak to me as though I am still the brash varlot I was when you first met me..."

Ireland watched as England's expression softened and cupped the man's cheek, patting it gently.

"I suppose I do for I have not changed and yet you have...At times I forget that humans are more inconstant than I am..."

Ireland stiffened. This human man knew who they were. He looked at England incredulously from beneath his hood but then realisation hit him; England clearly trusted this man with his entire life. This was a man that England loved. This was the one man who would take Ireland back to home and defend him with his very life if it was necessary. He was snapped out of his thoughts when England laid a gentle hand upon his upper back.

"Patrick, this is George Wright. He used to be my personal servant and ward but now he is my First Mate and one of my dearest friends. George, this is Patrick Kirkland, the Personification of Ireland..."

Ireland felt even more uncomfortable but some of his anxiety was put to rest when the young man kneeled before him and took his hand. The chestnut haired male spoke earnestly.

"Tis an honour, my Lord...My Lord and Captain did not tell me who I was to be escorting to the Emerald Isle but it is an honour- a privilege even- to be able to escort Ireland back to his true home..."

Ireland looked at the man for a long moment but soon saw in the man what England must have seen; he saw a loyalty, strength, sincerity and kindness that surpassed many of the humans he had come into contact with. This man was neither greedy or cruel nor was he spiteful yet there was a fire within him that spoke volumes. Ireland found the respect shown to him to be an incredibly thoughtful gesture. If England loved this man then he could certainly see why.

"Oi thank ye fer de risk yer takin' now...An' please, don't bow te me...Dere's no nade ter..."

George rose to his feet and shrugged.

"You may think that it is unnecessary to bow to you, but I do not. You deserve respect...Everyone should treat others how they would wish to be treated...My Lord Kirkland taught me that and it has stayed with me..."

Ireland's eyes softened. He turned to England who was beaming proudly at the man. George grinned.

"If it's not too bold to say, My Lord Ireland, my Lord England has spoken keenly of you and I am finally happy to meet one of the only men that my Lord holds in such high esteem..."

Ireland chuckled at England's expense, the blonde's cheeks flaring with colour.

"Enough, boy. You will have more than enough time to embarrass me later on the way to Ireland!"

George laughed and winked at the blonde.

"Oh, but I am certainly not a boy any more. Isn't that right, my Sweet Lord..."

The man bowed and left before England could kick him and in order to give the two Nations some privacy. Ireland suddenly felt incredibly sad. England coughed into his hand from awkwardness and from a desperate need to conceal just how upset he was by the Irishman's departure.

"You will board the merchant vessel and it will take you whichever port you choose. George and I picked the men on board personally; they are kind-hearted but if they fall short, they know what awaits them when they return..."

England looked at Ireland in the eye and, for once in recent history, he just couldn't find the strength to hide the emotions swirling in his eyes.

"Take care of yourself..."

Ireland couldn't help enveloping the blonde in a loving hug when the blonde's eyes began to tear up. England returned the hug fiercely after getting over his initial shock, wrapping an arm right around his waist and the other hand cupping the back of the elder's head tenderly. Ireland spoke fiercely.

"Oi 'ill never forget waaat yer 'av done for me tonoight...Stay strong, me dear fella. ...Stay strong for me..."

England took a deep breath to steady his emotions. He was always saying goodbye when he never wanted to and he was tired of it. But he knew that this was one of those times that he had to say goodbye. He loved the Irishman and he had to let him go. He continued to hold the elder lovingly as he kissed him one final time under the safety of the shadowed night. Ireland could feel the chill upon his body dispel at the feeling of the blonde's lips on his. When they separated, England hurried the man onto the ship. He held Ireland's hand as he bid a farewell to his crew and to George, gifting the human with a chaste kiss on the mouth. He kissed Ireland's hands as he was forced to get off the ship and back on to the deck of the port to allow the ship to depart. As Ireland's hand slipped out of his own, he whispered a heartbroken adieu.

"Goodbye, Blackbird..."

---

It would take a couple of weeks before Ireland saw his home but, when he did, an immeasurable amount of joy and relief washed over him. This was were he belonged and he should never have been taken away in the first place. He turned to George and his shipmates, men he had come to love and respect as much as England did and he thanked them. From the bottom of his heart he thanked them and felt genuine sorrow at their departure. He watched them sail away until they disappeared over the horizon and then he began to run. He ran as fast as he could to the home he had built himself many years previously; a place where he felt safe and at home, all the while praying that England was alright.

As much as Ireland prayed, however, England was not alright. When England had returned to to the castle to face his Queen, all hell reigned down upon him. The Queen was absolutely furious; so furious that she even struck the blonde harshly across the face. The only reason the Queen did not strike him again was because Wales had moved to protect him. At the sound and sight of Wales being struck across his face, England had lost his temper completely and the Queen had withdrawn her hand in absolute horror of striking the wrong person. It did not matter that Wales had declared that he would take any beating for the blonde, England was on a warpath fighting anyone that dared to try and stop him from shouting at the Queen.

The loss of his temper on top of setting Ireland free without the Queen's permission resulted in him being locked up in the Tower. Ironically enough, he was locked up in Ireland's old cell. He had been thoroughly beaten to hell and back as punishment and tortured for around a month and when he refused to apologise for what he had done he was locked away once more, screaming that if they captured Ireland again then he would burn the Tower and Windsor Castle to the ground. The biggest torture was that Wales was not allowed to see him. He could feel Wales' sadness however and it suffocated him. The torture continued when he was told that the merchant vessel carrying George and his crew was sunk for their treachery. There were no survivors and England's heart was shattered. He wept for the loss of the man he had known for fourteen years; the man he had trusted with his secret.

Yet he couldn't bring himself to regret anything. Ireland was not free, but he was Home.

When Wales was finally allowed to release England, he found him kneeling because his arms were tied from the ceiling. His arms were so high above his head that he couldn't sit down on the stone floor without tearing his muscles. He was covered in blood, sweat and other bodily fluids and the smell made the elder twin feel physically sick. His skin was so white under the grime and his body so still that Wales thought he was dead. He knew that he couldn't have been dead but his own heart still stopped completely as he ran to the man, kneeled in front on him and sobbed brokenly, wishing with all his heart that the other would wake up. England only responded when Wales' voice became more distraught; his eyes fluttering sluggishly and the sounds of his own blood drowning him. He passed out not even a minute later; his body and mind much to tired to support him despite the pain he must have been in from his restraints. Wales took the broken body away and nursed it back until his vibrant lover was back once more, risen from the proverbial dead.

Wales had never forgiven Elizabeth for what she had allowed to happen to England and she knew as much. And Wales knew that he probably never would. England, however, did; still completely unrepentant but understanding of why Elizabeth punished him so harshly. He had not spoken to her first, undermining her authority and taking her mercy for granted. He had soured a victorious moment for her and he had paid the price.

---

Later on Ireland would learn just how much England suffered to set him free and he was thankful. He had kept his word. Despite England's cruelty at other stages of his long life, he never forgot the kindness he had shown. He would mourn with just as much sadness as the blonde over the loss of George and his crew. It was so dangerous to love humans so much and he sympathised with the blonde. He sympathised because it was hard not to become attached.

Later, when he had met the Isle of Jersey, one of the Channel Islands, he noticed the cheekiness and the sincerity in the boy and he immediately thought of George Wight. The boy would later take that name as his own with pride.

---

England really enjoyed talking to Romano. He didn't see the man often and international meetings were some of the only times he could meet with him. He enjoyed their conversations because Romano would be much calmer. Sure, his mouth still needed a good rinsing with soap and his haughtiness was still present, but he didn't have anything to prove the blonde and thus he was more or less content. After all, this was someone who he had known almost for as long as he had been alive.

It also helped that, at this particular meeting, he really, really needed a distraction from Wales leaving the meeting early to go on a date with Argentina. Of all nations in the world that Wales could fall in love with, it had to be Argentina. England did not actually hate many Nations, but the South American was one of the privileged few. Still, he had no right to stop Wales from seeing him. The Nation made Wales happy and gave him something that England, perhaps, could not give him; complete freedom. He loved the petite man with all his heart and thus he resigned himself to allowing his relationship with the Argentinian because he deserved to be happy after all he had put the other through. He could not be selfish; it was enough for him that he was the one person in the entire world that Wales loved the most.

Spain, however, was not particularly content about it. England spending time with his lover would mean that he would have to inevitably be around him. He certainly couldn't say that himself and England were friends since there was still to much lingering resentment, yet he couldn't say that they were enemies. They both no more Empires, Religion had lost its appeal for many of the Nations and there was no more need for land or riches. Yet, he just couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness when he looked at England. History was cruel and he would never forget that.

"Te puedo ayudar, España?" (Can I help you, Spain?)

Spain's concentration broke as England called him out for staring. He knew England was taunting him because that was pretty much the only reason he ever spoke Spanish.

"No. Solo estoy pensando..." (No. I am just thinking...)

England grinned that same malicious and cocky grin that he usually wore around the Spaniard.

"Cuidado. Puedes dañar algo en esa cabeza llena de aire que tienes..." (Careful. You could damage something in that air-filled head of yours...)

Spain gritted his teeth but when England started to laugh without mockery, he too began to laugh. Romano smiled a rare smile, happy that his friend and his lover were not immediately fighting. He knew just what bitterness could do to a person. He knew he could have been a very different person if only he didn't continue to harbour resentment for his family, resentment for other Nations and resentment for himself. He knew that Spain and England would never bury the hatchet completely, but he didn't want them to be ruined because of it.

"Oi, bastardo...Come and have some wine with us."

Spain gazed tenderly at Romano and knew that he couldn't deny his request. Soon however, both England and him were at each others throats discussing naval tactics. Yes, this man was certainly not an enemy but he was definitely not a friend. And he was just fine with that.