*waves nervously* Hello everyone... it's been almost a year since my last update, hasn't it? Almost, I think I still managed to stay under a year. I am very sorry for the long silence and I know many people have gotten worried over me putting the story officially on hiatus or discontinuing it. No matter how long it takes me to finish this story, you have my word that I won't disconinue it. I'm really sorry for not updating in such a long time though.
My life has been really busy. University got so busy this year that I couldn't even draw for the first few months, which made me really stressed and unhappy. After Christmas, I stopped caring and started drawing again. Even though I'm studying Zoology, I really don't think I will be working as a zoologist. I saw this year for the first time what the work of a zoologist looked like and I didn't like it. Too scientific, not enough contact with animals (I was mainly dealing with dead animals and dissecting them) and it didn't feel right. It bothers me to have come to this conclusion after three years but I see now that I love animals and while I love scientific facts, I don't like the work involved in forming these facts. I hate writing reports (my writing is never scientific enough for them!), I hate analysing my data, I hate reading graphs and pretending to see a relation between my data and my hypothesis... it's a mess honestly. Now I find myself with an uncertain future. Should I become a scientific journalist and report on scientific papers to the general public? Become a librarian and work in the archives as I like books and organising them? Go back to university to take up Celtic studies and taking as a joint degree something that I like and is also useful? Get into a program that will qualify me to teach English in foreign countries? And somehow still write novels on the side and become a writer? Aaah as you all see, I have many paths to choose from but I have no idea what path to take. I will figure it out somehow but for now I feel lost.
I guess one of the few good things that happened to me this year is that I joined a Creative Writing class and I absolutely loved it. Finally I felt like I was in a group of like-minded people, people who had stories in their heads and we helped each other by reviewing our works. My issues with my writing is that I am a bit too redundant and I use too many adverbs and adjectives before dialogues. I tried cutting back on that, my writing style may have changed a bit but hopefully not too much. Other than that many people seemed to like the ideas I have in my stories and one person told me that I'm good at writing something familiar that has been done before but making it seem fresh and new. I'll see if I can join Creative Writing this year because I really enjoyed it.
Anyway I wanted to thank everyone from the depths of my heart for reading this story, for following the story and for telling me in your reviews what you thought about this story. I especially thank the people who took the time to write reviews, every single one meant a lot to me and it makes me sad that life no longer gives me the time and energy to reply to all of them personally. I just wanted to thank everyone for sticking with the story, even if the updates have slowed down. Thank you so much. *hugs tightly*
I hope you enjoy this chapter and thank you for your patience!
Chapter 49
The dark form broke though the surface of the water… revealing Australia. America and England were confused, having expected to see Banreen or other Fuaths coming out of the water. It took America only a brief second to break out from his shock before he stood up and ran into the sea. Australia was gasping and thrashing about, seeming completely disoriented.
America quickly swam towards the Australian, reaching out to place a hand on the other's shoulder. Australia jerked violently at the touch, twisting his head around and staring at America with terrified wide eyes.
"Australia it's me, America," America reassured, shocked by the fearful reaction of Australia. Whatever happened down there, it had shaken Australia.
The Australian regarded America for a few more moments with panicked and unrecognizing eyes, before snapping out of his fear and really saw America.
He let out a shaky sigh of relief, muttering, "America, I've never been so glad to see you…" As soon as these words left his mouth, the Australian seemed to fall unconscious and America wrapped his arm around Australia's chest and pulled him ashore.
"Is he hurt?" England questioned worriedly, approaching the two nations and trying to see if there were any injuries on Australia.
America crouched and inspected him closely, frowning anxiously as he saw multiple scratch marks on Australia. Nothing was too deep or bleeding profusely, though it was possible that the wounds were closing and weren't half as bad as when they were first inflicted. Australia was otherwise breathing normally and seemed to have fallen unconscious due to the strain that had been put on his body.
"It doesn't look too bad," America answered, feeling a spike of hatred going towards the Fuaths. Australia was completely innocent, he hadn't done anything wrong to deserve this. He didn't deserve any kind of injuries like the ones he had… on top of that, the "trespasser" charge was completely pulled out of nowhere. It was just to give the Fuaths a reason to hurt Australia and that enraged America.
No, they really needed help. America reached in his pocket and took out his phone, he was going to call Isle of Man and Wales to come and help out because neither he nor England knew what to do at this point.
England looked up from his inspection of Australia and his eyes suddenly widened, hissing in alarm, "America, look!"
America stared at the sea and saw Banreen surface, looking at America and England with hard cold eyes. England stood up and walked in front of Australia, standing protectively as he shouted, "Where are my brothers?! What are you doing to them?!"
Remembering what England had wanted to do to get his brothers back, America prepared himself to make a grab for England if the Fuath came any closer to them.
Banreen however made no move towards the nations, just contenting with glowering silently at England. Eventually she said, "England your sacrifice, while interesting, is not necessary. Over time the fragments of Bronagh within you should have been assimilated to the point that neither her memories nor her presence should have remained. Her presence is more of a hollow skeletal form of what she once was. Not much of the Fuath has remained… there is something that has stopped her from disappearing. Something within you stopped her. You have to find why you stopped her from leaving when her time ended. My kind can't help you beyond that."
"What does that even mea-", America began demanding angrily but Banreen dived back into the sea, not allowing for further discussion. England was staring at the sea wordlessly, carrying a face of equal confusion.
"But why would I have kept the dark voice alive?" England questioned, looking at America with a quizzical expression. America shrugged, having no idea how to answer that question. England frowned, looking down at Australia before he asked, "Wait, what will become of Scotland and Ireland?! Banreen said my offer was not necessary…? Does that mean they're keeping the two?"
"I don't know but I really think we should call your other brothers, they might know what to do," America declared, searching through his contacts in the hopes he had Wales' phone number.
Just as he found Wales' number, he heard the water surface bubbling again. Both he and England looked up and saw multiple dark forms beneath the water surface and many Fuaths started appearing out of the depths of the sea.
America was filled with both relief and dread as he spotted Ireland and Scotland among the Fuaths, though it seemed like neither were conscious. The Fuaths reached the shore and dragged the two Celtic nations out of the sea and onto the beach. America instinctively stood up and started walking towards the Fuaths, which caused many to stand back and hiss angrily at the American.
Not in the mood to put up with these violent creatures, America stamped his foot on the ground and stared at them in defiance, causing some of the Fuaths to shrink back in surprise. The other Fuaths seemed to regard America with smugness. The pack then retreated back into the sea without any kind of resistance.
With them gone, America approached Ireland and Scotland swiftly and crouched to assess their state. They were in worse shape than Australia, America spotted multiple bite and claw marks on them. What worried America the most though was that neither were breathing…
Noticing England beside him, America handed his phone to the smaller nation and quickly ordered, "England, call Wales and tell him we need help immediately, we have three nations down and two are really not in a good shape. He and Isle of Man should come with their groups as soon as they can."
England was staring at his two brothers in fear, whispering, "They're not breathing…"
"I'll take care of this, you call Wales now," America commanded fiercely, turning his attention to Ireland and Scotland. For a split second he was completely lost, having never been put in a situation where a nation couldn't breathe. These things happened so rarely, what did humans do when one of them was in this state?
As America wracked his brain over what technique humans used to restore breathing to one of theirs, Scotland started coughing up water. The Scot convulsed briefly before he coughed more water out. America crouched over Scotland and placed his hand on his shoulder.
Scotland opened his eyes wide but when he saw America, he calmed down. America gave him a reassuring smile before turning his attention back to Ireland. The nation was still not breathing and it was beginning to frighten America.
CPR. America remembered now what he had to do. He tried recalling the steps, he needed to act quickly if he was to restore breathing to Ireland.
He turned the Irish nation onto his back and placed his hands on the centre of Ireland's chest and pressed down. Remembering he had to do this about 30 times at more than once per second, America began pumping and took care not to use his full strength. The last thing he needed was to injure the nation further.
After that America tilted Ireland's head back and lifted his chin. Pinching the Irishman's nose shut, America took a deep breath and sealed his mouth over Ireland's, blowing all his air into the other. Out of the corner of his eye America watched Ireland's chest rise and fall. He took another deep breath and blew all his air into Ireland again.
He was just about to go back to pumping when he saw Ireland convulse. Suddenly Ireland was coughing and water was coming out from his mouth. Ireland jerked and struggled, completely disoriented.
The American tried pulling Ireland onto his side to allow the Celtic nation to cough out any water that lingered. Feeling Ireland's resistance, America reassured, "Ireland, calm down. It's me, America. You're safe, those Fuaths are gone."
Ireland's struggles stopped and his wide panicked eyes rested on America, though America couldn't tell if Ireland was seeing him or not. Ireland opened his mouth but coughed out more water. Despite that, the older nation desperately choked out, "O-o-o-thersssss-"
"-are safe too," America replied, understanding what Ireland wanted to know. "Scotland is safe and so is Australia. England is also safe. The Fuaths have left, you're all out of danger."
At that Ireland visibly relaxed, his eyes becoming half-lidded. He coughed a few more times but it didn't seem like he was going to attempt to talk again. Already it looked like a struggle for him to even cling to consciousness.
"America, Wales said that he is coming over right now. He contacted Isle of Man and both their groups should be arriving," England said as he approached America, phone glued to his ear with his trembling hand. He saw that Ireland's and Scotland's eyes were open and he let out a little sob of relief. He spoke into the phone, "Wales, they're breathing again. America managed to wake them up."
Smiling crookedly, America reached out and gently squeezed England's shoulder to reassure him. "Told you I was going to take care of this. Don't worry England, everything is going to be fine. They're going to be alright."
England stared at America and despite his reassurances, England's eyes welled up with tears. But as the tears overflowed and England broke down crying, America understood that his tears were that of stress and fear but mostly, endless relief.
The moment the avatars had come back to Ireland's house, everyone became busy with assessing the state of Australia, Ireland and Scotland and tending to their injuries. As all three had been kept in the freezing waters of the sea for a long period of time, it soon became evident that their body temperatures were abnormally low. It was rare for nations to get hypothermia but considering their previous predicament, it was inevitable for them. America had noticed England wandering away from the others and going up the stairs. The American had asked where England was going and the child nation replied that he wanted to be alone and was going to the library. Judging by how shaken up and exhausted England seemed, America had opted to let the little Brit go ahead and then America had been called away to help with the injured nations.
Thankfully Australia's wounds were closing up fine, he had no injuries his body couldn't repair. Most of his wounds were simply pink lines by this point. Isle of Man had checked him over and declared that Australia's only concern was his low body temperature. The moment Australia had sat down on an armchair, Brittany and Cornwall did everything to warm him up. They went to the point of almost drowning the poor Australian in blankets and towels.
"Here you go," America said as he handed Australia a bowl of chicken soup. The Australian struggled to get his arms out from the cocoon of blankets that had been made for him. He gripped the tray the bowl of soup had been placed on carefully and grabbed the spoon, his hand trembling a bit.
Australia tried to suppress the shivering and sighed, "Thanks America. You know how I always complain about how hot it is over at my place and sometimes I could just literally melt? Yeah I really miss that right now. I've never felt this cold in ages and I want to go back home."
"You're in no condition to travel though, you need to warm up and rest," Cornwall pointed out hesitantly, bringing with him more blankets and towels.
"Guess so," Australia replied with a disappointed huff as he began eating his soup.
America sat down on the ground beside the armchair and redirected his attention back to Ireland and Scotland as they were being checked over by Isle of Man. Both Celtic nations had been wrapped in as many blankets and towels as possible and were placed together on the couch. Wales sat next to Scotland while Isle of Man was standing in front of the two injured nations.
The American was concerned over the two nation as they were nowhere near as active as Australia, they weren't even talking much. Scotland seemed to be the most awake of the two, though that didn't mean much as he was just staring numbly at the ground. Ireland had his eyes closed and seemed to be dozing off before Isle of Man shook him awake.
"Are you sure you don't want another blanket?" Brittany asked Australia, regarding him worriedly.
Australia looked up at the French region and shook his head quickly. He chuckled weakly, "I already don't know how many you gave me, I should be okay. Thanks for offering though."
As a conversation started up between Brittany, Australia and Cornwall, America found himself standing up and wandering over to the other side of the living room. He had seen Isle of Man sit next to Ireland and as America walked closer, he saw that both Wales and Isle of Man were hugging the two elder nations. America frowned in worry, it was really not a good sign if they were using body-to-body heating to help raise the body temperatures of Ireland and Scotland. It didn't help matters that the Welsh and the Manx nation wore grim expressions.
"I'm telling you Wales, their body temperatures should have started to rise by now. The fact that it isn't means the internal injuries are bad enough that all their energy is directed at repairing instead. We should consider giving them a little boost from our magic to help them," Isle of Man argued in a hushed tone with Wales.
The Welsh nation frowned worriedly and shook his head. "We can't take the risk, you don't know if our magic will interfere with the healing process," Wales pointed out firmly, staring at Isle of Man with warning eyes.
When Isle of Man returned his gaze with a miffed expression, Wales sighed, "Mann, all we can really do is make sure we warm them up slowly. Our body heat is the most helpful thing to them right now."
Isle of Man and Wales stopped talking when they saw that America was walking towards them. America looked at Scotland and Ireland briefly before turning his attention to them, asking, "Is there nothing else we can do to help them? Can't we give them something like soup or a hot drink, like with Australia?"
"I honestly wouldn't mind some whisky," Scotland mumbled slowly, eyes still staring blankly at the ground though he was very much keeping track of what was going on.
Wales gave him an irritated glare and scolded, "Scotland, you know very well you can't have any kind of alcoholic drink in the state you're in now! It will cause you more harm than good! I honestly can't believe that you would even-"
"Wheesht," Scotland said softly as he looked up from the ground and turned his gaze towards Wales. His eyes held a faint glint of amusement. "I was just riling you up, silly goose."
Before Wales could angrily retort, Isle of Man quickly answered America, "We considered it briefly but we tried to get them to cough to see if they could swallow. Neither seemed able to do so, so we decided against warm liquids. It certainly would help them but the last thing they need is burnt throats."
"Oh," was all that America could say, feeling deflated by the helplessness of the situation. He looked at Ireland and pointed out, "Ireland is dozing again."
Startled, Isle of Man quickly glanced at Ireland and gently nudged Ireland with his head. "Ireland, no nodding off. You know you can't sleep yet , stay awake." Ireland seemed to jerk back awake and his eyes opened up slowly.
"I'm awake," Ireland grumbled weakly. He seemed to have trouble focussing his eyes on anything as he squinted in discomfort. He suddenly asked, "Where's Sasana?"
"I think he went upstairs to your library, actually he has been up there for a while," America began answering before trailing off, becoming thoughtful. It had been quite some time since England went up there and America was becoming mildly worried that England hadn't shown himself since.
"Don't worry Ireland, I saw North go after England a while later and join him in the library," Wales added reassuringly when Ireland frowned at America's answer.
"Maybe I should go and check on them?" America suggested tentatively, earning himself an ill-humoured glare from the Welsh nation.
"Absolutely not, England has been troubled enough as it is by today's events," Wales said curtly, seemingly tightening his grip on Scotland judging by how the Scot winced.
America was really getting too tired for this, he knew he should call out Wales' rude behaviour towards him and demand an explanation for it but he honestly couldn't feel bothered right now. He was too exhausted for an argument and there were more important matters that needed attending to. Instead he ground out with a forced smile, "Exactly, that's why I would like to go and try to comfort him."
"I don't think anyone here should be doing the comforting. Northern Ireland knows exactly what England must be going through and he knows how to comfort him," Wales argued back, his patience seeming to wear thin as well.
"And why can't any of us comfort him too?!" America demanded angrily.
Wales stared back at the American and explained in a low voice, "Because England probably feels responsible for what happened and of us all, Northern Ireland is in the position of understanding this the best. He'll do a much better job comforting England than any of us would."
Isle of Man was looking from Wales to America and back again worriedly, seeming to pick up on the rising tension and anger between the two nations. He coughed loudly to gain the attention of the two and he said quietly, "America, it might be for the best to let England be comforted by someone who was not involved in today's events. It makes Northern Ireland a relatively unbiased bystander and having been in similar situations, he will know what to say to comfort England."
America listened to the Manx avatar and unwillingly found himself seeing the logic behind Mann's words. Certainly that didn't make him less angry towards the way Wales was acting towards him but… America wanted to continue believing that it was just due to their current situation. It didn't really excuse Wales' behaviour but he was maybe like this due to the fear and stress of having two other brothers in bad shape. It might explain Wales' unusually irate and brusque behaviour. America could just back down and go check on England later. He didn't need Wales' permission.
He finally replied, "I guess you guys have a point…"
The tension that was hanging heavily in the air dissipated almost immediately and Wales seemed to relax at America's response. Isle of Man was staring at the Welsh nation with an unreadable expression but when he looked back at America, the Manx avatar shot him a small but grateful smile. Isle of Man then proposed, "America if you want to make yourself useful, could you come over here and share your body heat? Ireland is in dire need of it, never mind his protests to the contrary."
Ireland shot Isle of Man a rather peeved look but after a moment, he muttered, "As long as it stops the bickering… I was starting to get a headache from it."
America let out a small chuckle as he squeezed between Scotland and Ireland and pulled some blankets aside so that he could slip under them and huddle next to Ireland. He almost immediately regretted his decision when his arms touched Ireland, his body was absolutely freezing. Despite the blankets and Isle of Man, the Irish nation's body still felt like this? America couldn't help but blurt out, "Holy shit, are you made out of ice or something? You're freezing!"
After that comment, America was glad that Ireland could only muster a half-hearted glare as he growled sarcastically, "Is that so? I couldn't have possibly been aware of that fact until now, smartarse."
"Hey calm down, I was just shocked by how cold you are," America said rather defensively, surprised by Ireland's sarcasm. What had he done now, why was everyone getting so moody with him? He mumbled, "And I also don't see why you need to be embarrassed by this. You have hypothermia and you need more body heat, it's as simple as that."
"I'm sorry for snapping at you but this whole thing is bothering me," Ireland explained, looking away from America guiltily as he continued, "I just don't understand why my body is taking so long to recover. It isn't normally this slow."
Silence fell over the five nations, America finally settling down into a comfortable position beside Ireland. America couldn't exactly tell what kind of silence it was, was it tense, moody, uneasy or simply exhausted? Everyone just seemed too tired to say anything else. Isle of Man even closed his eyes at one point and after a few minutes, America became convinced that the Manx avatar had fallen asleep.
Looking over to the other side of the room at Australia, Brittany and Cornwall, it was not the case for them. They were still chatting away, none of them seemed to have noticed the tense exchange between America and Wales or anything else. After a while though, someone on their side of the room broke the silence.
Wales said quietly, "I hope you two realise just how brainless you were and how this could have turned out far much worse than it did."
"Wales don't start," Ireland groaned heavily, closing his eyes as he shook his head slowly.
"I'm not trying to say "I told you so" or something along those lines," Wales quickly explained, "But from what little I've been able to gather from England and America, how could either of you have neglected to mention that you had killed a Brollachan and a Fuath?! And it never occurred to you to avoid going to the den they were from, so that this kind of situation wouldn't have happened?"
"Firstly we didn't kill the Fuath, she died by her own hands. We managed to prove that. Secondly, we didn't forget. We just assumed they were from a pack that was extinct and we didn't think we needed to worry. So we messed up in that regard but apart from that it was beyond our control," Scotland argued back defensively, sounding a bit aggravated by Wales' accusation.
Wales exclaimed, "But this mistake could have come at a hefty price-"
America turned his head to look at Wales and cut him off, "Wales, everyone makes mistakes. What's the point of beating a dead horse over this matter?"
The Welsh nation made a displeased face at America and he replied, "Yes, but I want them to realise that if they're here right now with just hypothermia, it is purely through sheer luck. Fuaths are beings with very ancient magic, they could have kept Ireland and Scotland down there and continued attacking them and…"
"Wales, it's going to take more than an enraged pack of Fuaths to finish us off," Ireland pointed out, a shrewd smile creeping on his face when he regarded the Welshman.
After regarding the other nations, Wales let out a defeated sigh and looked down. He mumbled resentfully at Scotland, "Even in your hypothermia, you still have the nerve and try to rile me up…"
"You're still on that?" Scotland sounded surprised, laughing lightly as Wales refused to make eye contact. "I just did that because that scared look doesn't fit you. I prefer you when you're scolding me instead of looking at me with those eyes."
"…you can only tempt fate so many times Scotland," Wales exhaled heavily, still keeping his eyes downcast. America briefly caught sight of raw panic flashing across Wales' eyes and the nation looked grief-stricken. He closed his eyes and added fearfully, "Just please never forget that at the end of the day, we are not immortal."
England sat in a corner of the dark library, arms wrapped around knees and pulled close to his chest. He was staring numbly at the wall, willing himself to feel something. He felt so empty and cold inside, not even tears were forthcoming.
He closed his eyes and let out a shaky sigh. He wished he could know what he was feeling because this emptiness was disturbing him. He could very faintly hear the other nations talking downstairs and a part of him longed to be with them. But he wanted to figure out this emptiness inside him on his own, he didn't want to go back before then.
The floorboards outside of the library creaked slightly, alerting England that someone was approaching the room. He heard the door being opened and the lights were turned on.
England cleared his throat and mumbled hoarsely, "Please America, I said I wanted to be alone."
"I didn't think I sounded like him when I moved?" The English nation looked over his shoulder and saw Northern Ireland approaching him cautiously and the younger UK nation asked, "Are you alright?"
A grim smile stretched across England's face and he nodded. "I'm fine North, no need to worry over me."
"You've isolated yourself in Ireland's library and were in the corner in complete darkness," Northern Ireland pointed out before sitting beside England and leaning his back against the wall. "I doubt you're fine. Do you want to talk about it?"
"No. Yes. I don't know anymore," England said sadly, his voice feeling wobbly. He shifted his position away from the corner and leaned his back against the wall.
"Mind telling me what happened? I've mostly gotten disjointed fragments of the event," Northern Ireland inquired gently, giving England sympathetic look.
The smaller nation shrugged his shoulders weakly. "I don't think you're going to learn much more from me than you have from the others. We went looking for Fuaths, found none in the first den but found them in the second den. Ireland, Scotland and Australia went down there for a long time and didn't come back up. A Fuath named Banreen came up instead…"
Northern Ireland looked at England in confusion. He questioned, "What's her name?"
"Banreen, that's the name she gave us?" England said uncertainly, puzzled by Northern Ireland's reaction. Was there something significant about the name?
A moment of silence passed between the two nations, Northern Ireland looking thoughtful. He mused, "I doubt that's a name… it sounds like a title. The way you said the name, Banreen sounds a lot like "Banríon". That's Irish for "queen".
England's eyes widened in surprise as he asked incredulously, "We were talking to the Queen of Fuaths?!"
"Of that den at least," Northern Ireland corrected, smiling. "Every pack has a king and queen. I think in the case of Fuaths, queens are more powerful than kings."
"Why did she come to us?" England was bewildered by this revelation, the leader of the Fuaths had come up to the surface to them? Why?
"She must have been interested if she went to the surface. Maybe she picked up on America's and your presence," Northern Ireland suggested, shrugging his shoulders. "So what happened after that Fuath came to the surface?"
England continued, "She revealed to America and I that my dark voice was originally a Fuath and managed to dig up the last memory of her before she was killed by Scotland and Ireland. Then we found out that Ireland, Scotland and Australia were on trial and the Fuath said they weren't going to let them go. But then they did."
The little nation fell silent and misery and guilt started rising up in his chest as he remembered what the queen Fuath had told him. He gripped his knees until his knuckles turned white, suppressing the shivering in his shoulders. England jumped slightly when Northern Ireland placed a hand on his shoulder.
When he looked at North, the younger nation asked quietly, "What's bothering you?"
They held the gaze for a few seconds, the silence only seeming to grow heavier as England struggled to find the words. Finally he blurted out, "It's all my fault."
Northern Ireland frowned at that, questioning, "How'd you come to that conclusion?"
"The Fuath… she said that the dark voice was still alive because of me. I kept it alive. If it weren't for me, I wouldn't have needed to find out what it originally was and Ireland, Scotland and Australia wouldn't be in the state they're in! Everything's my damn fault!" England cried, gripping his head tightly as a broken sob leaked out from his mouth.
Suddenly arms wrapped around England and Northern Ireland pulled him into a hug. Northern Ireland looked awkward but his eyes were filled with genuine concern. "England, please don't think like that. They went down to the Fuaths' den of their own volition. You shouldn't hold yourself responsible for what happened down there."
"But I am!" England insisted tearfully, "If I didn't have this dark voice in my mind, they would have never had a reason to go down to the den. They wouldn't have had to go through that "trial". And on top of that now I know that my past self kept the dark voice deliberately alive."
"…what exactly did that Fuath queen tell you?" Northern Ireland asked slowly, placing his hands on England's shoulders and pulling back to regard him with sharp eyes.
"She said that something… something within me stopped the dark voice from dying. It was unable to merge completely with me when their time ended," England recounted.
Northern Ireland looked sceptical as he countered, "If you're saying what she told you word for word, she's not necessarily implying that you deliberately kept the dark voice alive. It sounds like something happened within you that you had no control over. You know like fear, it's something you feel and no matter how much you don't want to feel it, it still creeps in like a disease. You can't know whether it was something similar with the dark voice."
"Still… if it hadn't been for me, they would have never gone underwater. They wouldn't have been attacked by the Fuaths," England concluded miserably, feeling his eyes fill to the brim with tears.
"England, it was their choice to go down there. You didn't ask them, you didn't force them, they went there of their own accord because they wanted to help you. Did you ask to have this dark voice?" Northern Ireland asked.
"I don't know. But I certainly don't want it in my mind anymore," England said, that much he was certain about it. He had no idea what was going through past England's mind when he allowed the dark voice to continue existing but he certainly wasn't putting up with it anymore.
Northern Ireland looked a bit uncertain and seemed to be choosing his next words with care. "So why feel guilty over what happened with the Fuaths? You didn't know what the dark voice originally was and no one was able to recognize it either. Circumstance forced you to approach one of the more dangerous mythical creatures for answers and you happened to find the one pack that had a personal grudge against Scotland and Ireland. None of this is your fault, you couldn't know any of this would happen."
The smaller nation let the words sink in but after a moment, England still found himself frowning. He sighed, "It just… feels like most of my existence is based on causing pain to others, directly or indirectly. It just seems that if I wasn't around-"
"Please," Northern Ireland interjected, looking acutely distressed as he tightened his grip on England's shoulders. He shook his head vehemently. "Please don't finish that sentence. Don't begin to think of your existence like a curse. You matter to me and to others. You may have been the cause of pain for others, directly or indirectly, but what nation hasn't? It's something most nations can't escape. I can't escape it."
England was bewildered by that last part. "How come?"
Expression turning bitter, Northern Ireland elaborated, "My existence has been blamed for the civil war Ireland had to go through and the ongoing violence among my people. Even on a personal level, I was the cause that Ireland and Scotland were not on speaking terms for a while. And I once believed that all those bad things happening around me because of my existence were my fault…"
North trailed off, looking pensive and slightly dejected. As he released England's shoulders, he closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He added after a moment, "The fact is, many things are beyond our control. For nations, most of us will be blamed for even existing. You should never submit to this kind of… human thinking."
"How did you stop thinking like that?" England asked.
"By realizing that it was beyond my power," Northern Ireland replied, regarding England earnestly. "I can't help that a civil war broke out when I was officially created. I can't help the sectarian violence that happens among my people. I can't help that I was briefly the cause of division between our brothers. I feel awful that it happened and that my existence may have caused it, but it was beyond my power. How am I guilty of something that I couldn't control?"
England looked down at the ground, letting Northern Ireland's words sink in. He could see where his younger brother was coming from and certainly it wasn't fair that he had been blamed by things that he had no control over. But while this kind of thinking had helped stop Northern Ireland feeling responsible for the bad things that happened around him, England wasn't sure if he wanted to follow that type of thinking.
It just made him feel… so miserably powerless.
He was sure that wasn't Northern Ireland's intent, but his way of thinking simply didn't comfort England as much as it did the younger UK nation. England had no way of knowing if his past self had deliberately kept the dark voice alive or not. It didn't feel like an accident, England suspected that to some degree the old England had somehow desired to keep the dark voice alive and a separate entity.
There was no proof to this but England's gut feeling was telling him to consider it as a strong possibility. But England could see that Northern Ireland was really trying his best to comfort him, even though their way of thinking of this situation weren't similar.
"I suppose you have a point," England eventually admitted reluctantly, looking at the red-haired nation again. He firmly added, "But I can't rule out that I purposefully kept the dark voice alive when it's time ended. So I do feel responsible that Ireland and Scotland had to go through this at all."
Northern Ireland blinked slowly and gave a small nod, looking a bit disappointed. He sighed, "Perhaps, but as long as you don't know for certain I would rather you didn't beat yourself up over things that aren't your fault. The whole Fuath issue was one you weren't aware about and what Scotland and Ireland did to piss them off is not your responsibility."
England smiled crookedly and laughed helplessly. "You're really stubborn about this. Okay, I'll try not to beat myself up about it but I can't promise anything."
"Stubbornness runs in the family, you've probably realized that by now," Northern Ireland said, giving England a small smile but his eyes remained worried. Despite England's reassurances, Northern Ireland still seemed a bit uneasy.
England shifted closer to Northern Ireland and leant his head against the other's shoulder, feeling sleepy all of a sudden. He yawned widely before stating, "In any case, we will only be able to piece the whole incident together tomorrow. I wonder what we'll do from here on, since we know what the dark voice is."
"Who knows," Northern Ireland mumbled tiredly, wrapping an arm around England's shoulders. "The most important thing is that everyone is back, safe and sound."
"Ah finally," Isle of Man sighed in relief as he removed the thermometer from Ireland's mouth, checking the temperature. "His core temperature is rising."
"About bloomin' time too," Ireland muttered grumpily under his breath, struggling to keep his eyes open. He gave up on that task and closed them, seeming to fall asleep almost instantly.
America stared at him worriedly, wondering if he should wake the Irish nation. It would be the umpteenth time tonight and with every attempt, Ireland grew grouchier and more irate. He sorely needed sleep but it wasn't safe if his core temperature was too low.
Isle of Man told him reassuringly, "It's okay America, let him sleep. His temperature is still slightly below normal but it is a major improvement on what we had earlier. His body will take care of the rest."
"So I can stop hugging him, right?" America asked, releasing Ireland after the Manx avatar nodded. He got off the couch carefully and then stretched, feeling his joints crack from having remained in the same position for a few hours.
"How is Scotland doing temperature-wise?" Isle of Man asked as he got off the couch as well, waiting for an answer that never came. He looked puzzled by the silence. "Wales?"
America and Isle of Man turned and saw that the Welsh nation was leaning against Scotland's shoulder, fast asleep. Scotland for his part still had the thermometer in his mouth and he looked quite amused by the two nations' surprised faces.
Isle of Man blinked before laughing softly, removing the thermometer. As he checked it, he said, "Well Wales must have been exhausted if he fell asleep so quickly. Ah you're perfectly fine now Scotland, your core temperature is back to normal."
"Great," Scotland replied as he grinned widely. The Scottish avatar had completely rebounded, colour had come back to his cheeks and he seemed far more bright-eyed than hours earlier. It made America wonder why Ireland hadn't bounced back similarly… but it was too late into the night and as long as Ireland was healing, albeit gradually, America didn't want to dwell on a potentially sensitive subject. He'd already had Ireland snap at him earlier.
"You're still going to need to sleep for your body to regain its strength," Isle of Man warned sternly, as if he expected resistance from the Scot.
Scotland rolled his eyes and sighed, "Calm down Mann, I was going to. I feel too damn tired for anything else." He pulled Ireland closer to him and after briefly shifting the blankets around them to make himself more comfortable, Scotland closed his eyes.
Barely a few seconds passed before America saw Scotland relax and drift off to his sleep. It seemed like practically everyone in the house had followed suit by this point. Australia had long nodded off in his armchair while Brittany and Cornwall had curled up on the ground with pillows and blankets. As far as America was aware, only Isle of Man and he were still awake. Except…
America asked, "Should we check on England and Northern Ireland? They're probably asleep at this stage but still…"
"Good idea," Isle of Man agreed, "I didn't hear them leave the library so they're probably sleeping there, which can't be comfortable. Umm… I will share the guest bed with North, I don't think we would fit in one bed either way."
"True enough," America chuckled a bit awkwardly, both nations quickly nodding their agreement.
Isle of Man began walking out of the living room, closing the door behind the two nations after America had followed him out. They made their way up the stairs until they reached the first floor.
After thinking it over for a few minutes, America asked, "So what's Wales' beef with me? What did I do to him?"
An awkward silence followed the question and Isle of Man stopped in his tracks. He look apprehensive and seemed to be deciding what he should tell the American. Isle of Man eventually answered, "He's… been really stressed, we all have been. He tends to lash out when he is under a lot of pressure, normally he's at the very end of his limit when he gets like this. You have to understand that Wales is fiercely protective of his relatives and anyone he doesn't consider family or a very close friend will be almost always subject to his distrust."
"So he's going to give me the stink-eye every time I start talking to England? At what point did I give him a reason not to trust me around England?" America demanded, feeling anger rise in his chest in indignation.
As much as he racked his mind, America honestly couldn't understand where Wales' distrust was coming from. He'd never noticed it before until now, how long had Wales regarded him like that? Was it recent or had there never been a situation before that had forced Wales' mistrust to manifest itself more visibly? If it was the latter then Wales must have felt like this for a very long time.
Isle of Man shrugged his shoulders helplessly as he replied, "That's something you need to bring up with Wales, I'm not particularly certain myself why he reacts like this. Wales behaves very logically but his logic might not… match yours."
America frowned. "That's not very logical."
"To you it isn't. To him it is," Isle of Man countered, a small smile appearing on his face. "It's unfortunately a matter of perspective."
Both nations turned towards the light that was seeping out from a closed door leading to what was presumably the library. The Manxman walked towards the library and opened the door quietly. He walked into the library and fussed, "Ah what a waste of electricity…"
America followed him into the library and spotted England and Northern Ireland sitting in the corner of the library, huddled against each other and fast asleep. Isle of Man and America walked towards them and the Manx avatar crouched down. He shook Northern Ireland's shoulder and the teen jerked awake with wide eyes.
"Now, now," Isle of Man said softly, "Calm down North, it's me. The floor is not a suitable place to sleep on, I think you'll appreciate a bed better. Come."
Northern Ireland quickly grew calmer at the quiet and familiar voice, however he was sluggish with sleep and struggled to get to this feet. Isle of Man eventually managed to pull him to his feet and allowed the teen to lean against him for support.
Shifting his attention back to America, Isle of Man informed him, "Ireland's room is two rooms to the left from the library. Good night and sleep well."
"Thanks and good night to you too," America responded with a smile. Isle of Man returned the smile and nodded at him, walking by America and leading the sleepy UK nation out of the library. They disappeared down the dark hallway and America heard a door open and close.
Approaching England slowly, America bent down and picked the child nation up. England jolted awake at the action and looked around in confusion. He asked sleepily, "Wha-what happened? Where's Northern Ireland?"
"Everyone has gone to sleep, Isle of Man just took Northern Ireland to the guest room since sleeping in a bed is far more comfortable than the floor. We're gonna take the last bed so that you don't have to sleep on the floor either," America explained lightly as he turned around and walked out of the library, switching the light off and closing the door behind him.
England blinked at America drowsily as he inquired, "Is everyone alright?"
It took America a moment to understand England's question, he was getting quite tired as well he suddenly realized. He hastily nodded as he said, "Yeah, I told you they were going to be okay England. I bet they'll be up and about in a few hours, they'll look like nothing ever happened to them. Now how about you, how're you feeling?" America began walking down the hall until he reached the second door from the library.
As he opened the door, England had fallen so silent that America believed that the child nation had fallen asleep again. He looked down and saw that England hadn't fallen back to sleep just yet, but he was frowning quite a bit.
"I feel awful," England admitted, his voice heavy with discomfort and pain. America was about to tell England about how the incident with the Fuaths and the nations was none of his fault before something disturbing caught his eyes. With England staring back at him, America could see in the darkness of the room that he looked seriously ill.
America looked closer and saw that England's forelocks were matted to his forehead, as if…
The smaller nation gripped America's shoulder and leaned upwards, pressing his burning forehead against America's and exhaled harshly. He apologized quietly, "I'm so sorry but your forehead feels cool against mine."
Indeed, America's eyes widened in shock and horror as he felt how feverish England was. His forehead felt burning hot to the touch, America couldn't imagine how it must feel to England.
He strode over to the bed and placed England as gently as possible on it. He pulled back as panic started to get a hold of him and he babbled, "H-how are you sick? When did you fall sick? Your fever is freaking high, it has to go down! What can I do?!"
"Wait," England instructed calmly, shifting his position so that he was kneeling. He wrapped his arms around himself and they waited a minute or two. Then England started shivering violently and within a few seconds, the shiver passed. When England looked up at America, it looked like the illness had completely disappeared. Even the forelocks were dry.
Completely bewildered, America reached out and felt England's forehead. No fever, it had evaporated just like that. America was hopelessly confused by this point, what had happened?
England smiled bitterly as he answered America's silent question, "I don't exactly know why myself, but it seems like my body is trying to remember a serious illness I must have suffered through many centuries ago. I get these burning fevers and my arms and legs start hurting. I don't know what the illness is yet but every time it comes, it hits harder."
"Since… when have you had this?" America questioned apprehensively. He didn't like this, an unknown illness that hit and ran? Whatever it was, it was a strong illness and America hated the fact that England had to suffer through it.
"I think since yesterday… it might have started the day before, it started off very weak," England sighed, looking tired. "The best I can hope for is that one of my brothers will recognize whatever it is but beyond that, there's nothing else that can be done. It struck and now it will be gone for a while. I just want to sleep…"
The small Brit moved further up the bed and began pulling the covers back. America stood there a bit clueless, unsure of whether to let it go or to be more immediately worried if the illness struck again during the night. America asked, "Are you sure about this?"
"Well there's not much else to do, is there?" England pointed out before letting out a humourless laugh, "Everyone is asleep and God knows how much everyone needs it and I'm being struck by an elusive illness that hits hard and leaves just as abruptly."
"What if it strikes during your sleep?" America questioned while frowning darkly, it really bothered him how bitter England sounded. He was a spitting image of the past England right now but not in a good way. It worried America.
"Then it will and hopefully it won't wake me up," England replied and his shoulders sagged tiredly, the bitterness melting away as it was replaced by exhaustion.
America smiled sadly, climbing onto the bed. England scooted over to give the other space and America pulled the covers further back. He tried to be reassuring as he said, "England, the illness will come and pass and then things will get better."
"I wished I could share your positivity. This sickness will pass but then it will be another illness or another bad memory… it never seems to end," England sighed, pulling his knees up to his chest as he looked at the America.
"You do have to remember though that you have a limited amount of memories. It's not endless and eventually you will have gained everything," America pointed out, leaning forward and kissed England's head. He added, "We're here for you, don't ever feel you're burdening us. If there's anything you need, I'll try my best to help you."
England looked surprised by America's action and seemed almost embarrassed by it but a small smile still appeared on his face. Though they were in the complete dark, the only source of light being the moon, America wondered if he was spotting a slight blush on the Brit's face.
Bending his head forward, England replied gratefully, "Thank you America. You have no idea how much that means to me."
"I have a small idea," America laughed lightly, patting England's back. When England looked up at America, he said earnestly, "I guess I just wanted to remind you that you matter to me and others. Never be convinced into believing otherwise."
It was well into late evening when most avatars in the house finally woke up. Not all too surprising as everyone had gone to sleep very late. America was still asleep and snoring as England woke up. Gladly he'd had a long and uninterrupted sleep, not once bothered by the strange illness that had started to plague him. Perhaps it had struck but England had not been woken up by it.
He hoped he would find out soon enough what illness it was and why it hit and disappeared so often, as if it was coming in waves. It bothered England, he didn't have a good feeling about what this illness was building itself up to be. He didn't see much point of mentioning it to the others, at least not until the illness struck and stayed.
As England slid out of the bed carefully, his thoughts wandered back to the brief discussion he'd had with America before they fell asleep. America honestly had no idea how much it meant to England when he said he mattered.
Unfortunately guilt was still present at the far back of his mind, it upset England to consider that the dark voice was around thanks to him.
Supernatural origins or not, it looked like the dark voice was his creation after all. The Fuath Bronagh had sparked the dark presence in his mind but it had evolved into its current form as the dark voice through England's own doings. England felt awful if that was really the case. His brothers and Australia had gone and faced dangerous creatures for nothing.
England shook his head fiercely to chase those thoughts away, he'd just woken up he didn't want to face these thoughts. He didn't want to be bogged down by them. England would deal with this guilt later.
"Hey there, you finally awake sleepyhead?" America asked all of a sudden.
The child nation almost jumped out of his skin, he hadn't expected to be staring at a fully awake American. When the hell had he woken up?! How come England hadn't noticed anything? Then England realized something.
He scoffed, "What do you mean by "finally"? For the record I was awake and out of bed before you. You're the sleepyhead."
"I woke up earlier but I was napping since I couldn't hear anyone moving around in the house. I woke up when you got out of bed," America explained with a chuckle, getting out of bed as well. He stretched his arms up until they gave a satisfying crack.
"Likely story," England countered with a smile, shooting America a disbelieving look.
Just as America was going to argue back, both English-speaking nations were interrupted by the door opening.
Isle of Man peeked through the door and opened it more when he saw that both England and America were up. He nodded at them as he said, "Ah great, you're both up. When you're ready come downstairs, we're holding a group meeting in a few minutes." The Manx avatar was then gone.
"Ooh, maybe we'll find out what happened yesterday down there," America suggested, sounding very interested.
"I'm more curious to know what we'll be doing next," England admitted quietly, not sure he wanted to hear what had happened with the nations and the Fuaths under the sea.
"We're both ready to go though, no?" America inquired, looking down at himself and then at England. They hadn't changed out of their clothes from yesterday and both nations appeared rather untidy. But they didn't have any spare clothes to change into and at this point… did anyone honestly care?
England nodded firmly and went to open the door. They walked down the hallway until they bumped into Northern Ireland, who possible looked scruffier than they did. It didn't seem like he had slept well, if the dark rings under his eyes were anything to go by.
America didn't seem to notice that at first but he did brightly ask, "Hey Northern Ireland, what's up? Looking a bit pale there, are you normally like that?"
"What's wrong North?" England asked a moment later, feeling that there was a reason that Northern Ireland looked so dishevelled.
Northern Ireland looked at the two other nations and seemed rather nervous about something. He cast a glance at the stairs and stared back at the two nations with desperate eyes. "I don't think I can go down there," Northern Ireland said quietly.
"Why?" England inquired, confused by Northern Ireland's words.
The younger UK nation shifted on the balls of his feet and answered reluctantly, "I'm technically not allowed to be in Ireland's house without his express permission… Isle of Man let me in yesterday. I don't know what will happen if I go downstairs."
"But Ireland was completely out of it yesterday, you couldn't really ask him. What's the worst he can do? Chew you out?" America pointed out, seeming equally baffled that this was an issue at all. He added, "And also if he did that, I don't think any of your siblings would allow him to be harsh with you."
"I don't know," Northern Ireland sighed, not seeming completely convinced by America. England wondered what had happened between the two Irish avatars for such a bizarre rule to exist. It must be bad if Northern Ireland felt so much distress over not upholding it.
"Look North," England attempted to reassure, "we'll come downstairs with you so that if Ireland is expecting you, you won't have to face him alone. How does that sound?"
Northern Ireland looked surprised by the proposition and then seemed to grow relieved. He responded sheepishly, "Sounds better than whatever I had in mind. Not sure how well it will work but maybe Ireland wouldn't snap at me with you two around."
"Come on then," America encouraged, nudging North lightly with his elbow before walking past him. He came at the top of the stairs and started going downstairs.
Northern Ireland regarded America with a thoughtful expression. Before England could ask what he was thinking about, the younger UK nation sighed heavily and began walking down the stairs. England followed him closely, hoping that no fights were going to break out.
When they were halfway down the stairs, the three nations could see that Ireland was indeed at the bottom of the stairs, looking at them as if he had been anticipating their arrival. Well North's arrival to be more exact. Ireland had a blanket draped on him and his expression was unreadable. England couldn't tell if Ireland was angry or not.
The Irish nation remained silent until the three nations had reached the bottom of the stairs. Ireland stepped aside to allow America and England to pass but neither walked past him.
Ireland blinked a few times, seeming a bit surprised by America's and England's refusal to leave but he seemed to shrug it off. He focussed on Northern Ireland and stated tonelessly, "I see you spent the night here."
"I did," Northern Ireland replied warily, gazing back at Ireland.
A moment of silence followed the answer and a staring match started between the two Irish avatars. Eventually Ireland broke eye contact and looking to the side, he said, "Thank you."
Northern Ireland seemed taken aback by Ireland's words and almost without a second thought, Northern Ireland blurted out defensively, "I didn't do it for your sake."
"I know," Ireland replied without missing a beat as he looked back at Northern Ireland. He turned his back on him and added, "Thank you still for being there for Sasana's sake." With that said, Ireland walked back to the living room and didn't spare Northern Ireland another glance.
It was obvious that North was helplessly confused over the exchange of words that had taken place. He looked at England and America and he shook his head, sighing, "I don't know what happened, usually he would have been enraged with me or at least very pissed off. Not… like this."
"See, it wasn't that bad," America said with a wide grin, patting Northern Ireland's shoulder. North though didn't seem to be relieved by that fact, he seemed genuinely baffled.
Cornwall appeared at the doorway of the living room and asked, "Hey are you three coming? Everyone else is waiting."
When the three nations had followed the English county into the living room, they found a circle of chairs. Ireland had returned to the couch where Scotland also was, though the main difference was that Scotland didn't have a blanket wrapped around him. Effectively almost all blankets and towels had been removed from the room, save for the blanket on Ireland. Australia was sitting in the armchair while the other avatars were sitting on chairs. Only three empty chairs remained.
As England sat on one of the chairs, he looked at the other avatars of the room. It seemed only Wales and Isle of Man had made an honest attempt to make themselves a bit more presentable, everyone else looked very uncombed. Australia, Scotland and Ireland seemed to have thankfully completely recovered from yesterday's events.
He noticed that Wales was looking at him, though to be perhaps more correct he was regarding America who was sitting beside England. Something about Wales' expression, or lack thereof, made England curious about what had happened yesterday when he went upstairs to the library. Had he missed a conversation?
America noticed and stared back evenly at Wales. The Celtic nation quickly averted his gaze and started talking to Isle of Man. The American looked at England with a quizzical expression and he said, "You know, from all your brothers I think Wales is the weirdest one. I really have no clue what he's thinking half the time."
"I think that'd make two of us then," England replied, shrugging his shoulders. He'd figured by now that Wales thought in a manner that didn't always make sense to others.
While some chatting was still going on between Ireland and Australia and between Cornwall and Brittany, once everyone noticed that all avatars were present, silence fell upon them. Wales looked around at the other avatars and was the first to break the silence.
"So now that we're all gathered, I think it would be good for us to recapitulate on what happened. We were lucky that the injuries some of us suffered yesterday weren't too major but there are some gaps of information that need to be filled." Wales looked at Ireland and Scotland meaningfully and asked curiously, "What exactly happened down there with the Fuaths?"
Both Ireland and Scotland looked at each other before Scot looked at the rest of the avatars and answered, "We were immediately captured by the sentries… we couldn't really do much against them, we couldn't even fight. They dragged us to their den where the rest of the pack was waiting."
"That's when they held the trial?" Isle of Man questioned, looking intrigued.
Ireland laughed awkwardly, "Use the word "trial" very loosely in this context, they spent most of the time screaming at us for answers and biting and scratching us whether we answered right, answered wrong or didn't answer at all."
Australia huffed in annoyance, "It was basically just glorified torture, I don't think they were interested in learning the truth. When they did know the truth they preferred trying to drown us."
England frowned at that and he demanded quietly, "Why? Why were they like that?"
"We did warn you, Fuaths are hateful creatures and don't ever be tricked into thinking you can befriend one. They'll just spend their time trying to figure out how to hurt you in the deepest way possible so that they can feed on the hatred you'll be feeling for them," Ireland explained with a weak shrug, shivering a bit. He regarded Wales as he continued, "Also I need to clear a few confusions that you had yesterday about them."
"Which ones?" Wales questioned, looking sceptical.
Ireland smiled uneasily as he said, "The Fuaths couldn't have kept us in their den, even if they wanted to. They are beings with ancient magic but that means that they're also aware of the consequences of seriously damaging or killing an avatar. The price would have been their extinction had they decided to keep us down there. Keeping us was never their intention, that was a bluff. Most of what they told us were bluffs." At that England and America exchanged a look. How much of what Banreen had told them was a mere bluff then?
Scotland also added, "And it wasn't through sheer luck that they let us go with just some wounds and hypothermia, they calculated everything. They hurt us to generate hatred but they were careful not to cause enough damage that we couldn't function as avatars anymore. They were testing how far they could push the limit." Scotland shifted a bit and looked down at his arms. England wondered if Scotland still felt some pain from yesterday.
"So let me get this straight," America began, looking a bit puzzled, "they never actually wanted to keep you down under the sea and they hurt deliberately to make you hate them. Was… was the trial completely fake or what?" He seemed to frown angrily and England couldn't help but mirror his anger. Had Banreen been bluffing all the time then, just trying to make England and America go mad with worry and distress?!
"Not that the trial was a fake," Australia answered the American, "it seemed more the Fuaths didn't give a damn about the outcome of it. What Ireland and Scotland did in the past gave them the excuse to attack us, they weren't really seeking justice."
England was beginning to be really bothered by this and he found himself wondering out loud, "But why the hell would they do all that just to "generate hatred"?! Why hurt Ireland, Scotland and Australia, why make America and I believe that we weren't going to see them again for a long time? I mean I know they feed on hatred but why-"
The child nation stopped himself as he realized that he had just answered his own question. As the realization dawned on him, England felt sick to the stomach.
"The Fuaths followed us home and had the house completely surrounded," Ireland declared, pulling the blanket closer to him. That comment caused all avatars to shift uncomfortably. These hateful monsters had been so close to them?
Wales looked disgusted by that and started asking darkly, "Are they still around-?"
"Gone, I can't feel anything around my house," Ireland quickly replied. Looking very irked, he added, "Probably back in their den completely bloated and satisfied on our hatred. Hope they get indigestion at least…"
Isle of Man seemed thoughtful as he questioned, "I still am confused about this though. Charging you for the death of a Brollachan was silly, their law states that if the Brollachan was fatally wounded while in its transformed state then their death is always considered an accident and they can't pursue you on that. But it is still considered a serious crime killing a Fuath, they could have inflicted far more damage on you for that. How did you manage to get out of that situation?"
At that Ireland and Scotland both looked at each other and chuckled. Scotland shook his head and let out a short laugh as he answered, "Simple, we didn't kill that Fuath. She died by her own stupidity."
"How so?" England was confused by that, he had clearly seen in his memory that Ireland had smashed the flat side of his sword on Bronagh's head and he'd heard something snap after that. Weren't these two things related? Though there had been a gap between the strike and the snap… but then how did she die?
"There's one rule that every Fuath has to adhere to, one rule that is as important to them as breathing is to us," Ireland explained with a serious expression, "and that's never feel hatred. If a Fuath starts hating someone or something, their body starts feeding on that hatred. It would be the equivalent of us ripping out our heart and eating it. Bronagh forgot that rule and started hating Scotland and I for the death of her child. And it was her hatred that killed her."
"And you managed to prove that to them?" Cornwall asked.
"Our memories alone were not enough. One of them though managed to get Bronagh's memory from England and that memory showed that it was her hatred that killed her, not my sword. Why would I use the flat side of my sword if my intention was to kill?" Ireland was looking at Wales again, telling him earnestly, "I didn't want to kill her, I was just trying to stop her from ripping Scotland's throat out. She didn't die at our hands."
"Alright, alright, so my knowledge of your ancient mythical creatures is not as good as yours," Wales sighed heavily and shifted uncomfortably in his chair, clearly he didn't like admitting that.
Ireland had a knowing grin as he pointed out, "Never said anything about that, I was just underlining that we didn't kill the Fuath. And when I made that clear to the pack, they just went all out on us and released us a while later."
The Welsh nation looked thoughtful for a moment and seemed to realize something. "So now we have the final confirmation? England's dark voice was originally this Fuath called Bronagh?"
"Seems like it unfortunately," America replied with a weak laugh, looking down at England. "While we waited for the others, one of those Fuaths called Banreen came up to us and somewhere along our conversation, she confirmed that the dark voice inside England's mind was originally a Fuath."
England felt the need to correct America on one detail. "Actually America, North told me yesterday that Banreen's name is in fact her status. She's the queen of the pack, hence her title "Banríon"." England then grew quiet for a few seconds and all of a sudden he said, "I'm so sorry."
All the other avatars looked slightly puzzled by England's apology but they seemed to have an idea what he was apologizing for.
America was the first to break the silence as he said, "England, you have nothing to apologize for." He placed a hand on England's shoulder and smiled at him. England didn't agree with the American, he wasn't the one carrying a creature in his mind that was most likely his own creation.
"America's right, you couldn't have known what was going to happen," Northern Ireland said quietly, staring at England worriedly.
"What are you holding yourself responsible for?" Wales questioned, seeming a bit saddened by the fact that England blamed himself for what happened yesterday.
"The Fuath told me that Bronagh should have stopped existing as an entity a long time ago, she should have been assimilated into my mind. But when her end had come, "something" in me stopped her from disappearing. Bronagh, the dark presence… she's gone but the husk has remained and that became the dark voice. The dark voice still exists thanks to me," England explained bitterly, balling his hands into fists. "Ireland, Scotland and Australia went down there for nothing and were hurt thanks to me. The dark voice's origin is something the past me must have known about if he kept it alive."
"Hey look mate, we went down there because we wanted to help you," Australia argued, his expression determined. "Don't blame yourself for something that was our decision alone."
Scotland agreed, "Aye and you don't know for certain if your past self knew about the origin of the dark voice. You don't even know if you made a conscious effort to keep the dark voice alive, the Fuath queen said that "something" within you stopped the assimilation. That doesn't mean you yourself made an active decision."
"In discovering that your dark voice was originally a Fuath, we might have gotten an important clue to how the dark voice managed to remain a separate entity," Ireland mused. "What the Fuath queen meant by that something within you, maybe the dark voice was formed by your hatred. Hatred either towards yourself or towards others, maybe both. Perhaps the dark voice's undoing lies in this knowledge."
The avatars were silent for a few minutes, each one sunken into their thoughts. England considered Ireland's words seriously and was surprised by Ireland's point of view. Had the dark voice been formed by his hatred? It made some sense but how was England supposed to defeat something formed by hatred?
Brittany asked curiously, "So what do we do now?"
"There's not much else we can do apart go back to our work," Wales answered with a shrug. "Our quest was to find out what the dark voice originally was and we've found our answer."
"But weren't we also looking for a way to get rid of the dark voice once we discovered its identity?" Australia questioned, seeming a bit bewildered.
Wales paused before turning to look at England, asking, "Did the Fuath mention to you by any chance what you could do to get rid of it?"
"All she said is that I had to find out why I stopped the dark voice from disappearing when its time had come to an end. She said her kind couldn't help me beyond that," England replied, feeling a bit helpless that there was nothing else that could be done. But would finding out why he kept the dark voice alive help him in getting rid of it?
"I could do some research and try to see if I can find anything about a Fuath becoming attached to another creature's mind and if there is something else that can be done," Isle of Man proposed. "I've never heard of it happening before but that doesn't mean it never happened at all."
"Shouldn't we consider the possibility that this Fuath lied to England?" Brittany inquired while she frowned, seeming rather unconvinced about what England had been told by the Fuath.
Ireland shook his head as he said, "When they lie, they do it to bluff and cause pain to someone. What the Fuath queen told Sasana doesn't seem like a lie, there's no objective reasoning for her to give Sasana false information if she can't feed on his hatred."
"Besides, I'm not really looking to meet these creatures again for a very long time," Scotland added with a small laugh.
"So that's it? We all have to go back to our work?" America asked, looking rather disappointed.
Wales looked at America with a raised eyebrow and he pointed out, "America, there's probably a lot of overdue paperwork waiting for us and it will only keep on growing. The quicker we get back to work, the better." He turned his attention to England and suggested, "I was thinking, it would be a good idea if you came back with me to your house. I'll help you relearn how to work as a nation, once you've grown a bit more you can start taking on responsibilities. Are you alright with that?"
England considered Wales' words. It was true that England was beginning to grow closer to his original age appearance and while he still had many memories left to regain, it would be good for him to start relearning the ropes to being a nation.
He stared at Wales and agreed, "I am, I think it's a good idea too. It's time I learnt how to work again and represent my country."
The Welsh nation smiled at that, pleased at England's answer. Scotland was nodding silently his approval while Northern Ireland seemed relieved by England's response.
Ireland grinned widely and whilst standing up from the couch, declared, "So that's settled! Everyone can go home and-" Ireland cut himself off as he swayed a bit, causing him to sit back down. He continued, "Either get back to your paperwork or try to fix your sleeping pattern. I certainly feel I might need a day or two of sleep to do that."
A light laughter broke out amongst the avatars and small talk started up again. England found that he and most of the others agreeing to Ireland's suggestion. Sleep sounded far more inviting than work right now. That especially seemed to be the case for America, who seemed to have turned his mobile phone back on and looked taken aback by all the messages that awaited him.
When America noticed that England was staring at him, the American glanced up from his device at the smaller nation. He complained, "You know, it's really awesome to be a nation and all but sometimes the paperwork gets really obnoxious. Trust me, they can seriously give you headaches. Especially legislative texts."
England looked at America sympathetically when he suddenly felt really ill. Knowing that it was the elusive illness again, England suppressed the feeling and instead chuckled, "I will find out how horrible it is sooner or later. Though I just think you might be exaggerating."
America gave England a kicked puppy look and pouted, demanding dramatically, "When in the world have I ever exaggerated?!"
Both nations stared at each other for a few seconds before they burst into laughter.
From that point on came the time for the farewells. Cornwall and Brittany were the first avatars to leave, both wanting to have a stab at their paperwork today so at least there'd be less tomorrow. Both county and region bade their goodbyes to everyone and left Ireland's house.
The next avatar to leave was Australia. Although he was less than enthusiastic about getting back to work, he felt it best to start going back home on account that he would have to travel the furthest. It was likely he would have to do a few stops along the way to rest. Besides, he had explained, New Zealand was probably worried over him and he could expect a lengthy rant from the New Zealander nation.
"See ya around then England," Australia said warmly as he hugged England. "Maybe I will see you at the next World Meeting or… maybe sooner, who knows. Take good care of yourself, alright mate?"
"I will," England replied as he hugged the Australian back. When he pulled away, England added, "I hope you have a good journey."
Australia rolled his eyes as he chuckled, "It will be a long one, that's certain. But at least I'm looking forward to the heat, not going to complain about that for a while now. Bye then!" Australia patted England's shoulder and made his way out of the front door, closing it behind him.
"Since I'll be going home soon as well, can I have my keys back?"
England turned to look what was going on behind him. Northern Ireland was staring at Scotland and Ireland while holding his hand out towards them expectantly. The young UK nation was frowning as he asked, "You have no reason to keep me locked out of my house anymore, so I would appreciate you gave me back my keys."
Scotland and Ireland looked at each other before the Scot nodded. He dug a key out from his pocket and handed it to Northern Ireland. The younger nation accepted it happily but paused for a moment, staring at the two elder nations with a slight frown. "The spare key as well please."
Sighing, Ireland pulled the spare key out from his pocket and Northern Ireland took the key from him. North stared at them suspiciously and warned, "You better not have made another copy of my keys without my knowledge."
"Who do you think we are, Wales?" Scotland questioned, laughing awkwardly.
Hiding a small smile of amusement, England left the hall and went back into the living room. Wales and Isle of Man were near the doorway discussing something quietly. England paused and leaned his head to one side to listen.
"So will you be leaving soon as well?" Wales inquired.
The Manx avatar shook his head and he answered, "I'll stay here one more day to help Ireland put his books back in order. Also on unofficial terms," Isle of Man dropped his voice lower, "I'll be just keeping an eye on his health."
"Sounds fair," Wales commented with a small chuckle. He noticed England looking at them and he told him, "England, we'll be leaving in a few minutes. Use your remaining time to say goodbye to the others, okay?"
England nodded wordlessly and he walked past the Celtic nations, searching for America.
America had claimed the armchair and seemed engrossed in the messages on his phone, muttering quietly under his breath. He honestly didn't look very pleased.
"Hey America," England greeted as he approached the American.
He looked up and quickly put his phone away, replying with a large grin, "What's up?"
"I'm leaving with Wales soon, so I just wanted to say bye to you," England answered with a small shrug.
"Wait what, already? Why is Wales in such a hurry to leave?" America asked with a quizzical expression and his grin disappeared. He seemed saddened by the news. He stood up from the armchair and crouched down to regard England.
"Probably wants to get back to work as soon as possible," England explained, smiling shrewdly as he patted America's shoulder. "Hey, don't look so sad. We'll see each other soon enough, won't we?"
The American avatar returned England's smile with a crooked one of his own. He admitted, "I'm just a bit bummed out but you have a point, once I get my truckload of paperwork under control you could come over to my place again. Then we could do tons of fun stuff!"
"That sounds like a great idea! I promise that I will get in touch," England declared happily before letting out a surprised squeak when America grabbed him for a hug. America stood up carrying England with him and if possibly, tightened his hug. England gasped, "America I still need to breathe, please."
America leaned forward and let go of England, allowing the child nation to land on his feet. England inhaled deeply to regain his breath.
Grinning apologetically, America said, "Heh sorry, I got a bit excited. But seriously though, take good care of yourself alright?" He lightly bumped his forehead against England's.
The child nation smiled warmly and pressed his forehead back against America.
"England, we're leaving!" Wales called out, the Celtic nation standing at the doorway with his hands folded on his chest.
America ruffled England's scruffy hair and said, "See you soon then England."
"I look forward to it," England answered cheerily.
As England and Wales entered England's house a short while later, the child nation suddenly stumbled forward. Wales paused briefly, looking down at England worriedly as he quickly closed the front door behind him. What was wrong with England?
"England, what's the matter?" Wales questioned anxiously, crouching to have a look at the English avatar.
England was shivering and was panting loudly. Wales felt his forehead and was alarmed when he sensed the high fever.
Wales picked his younger brother up quickly and strode to the living room, placing England gently on his side on the couch. England had wrapped his arms around his sides as he tried to suppress his shivering. His shaking seemed to get more violent and his legs jerked, it didn't look like he had any control over his body.
"England?" Wales asked fearfully, uncertain about what was going on. He sank down to his knees and he watched his brother helplessly.
The episode seemed to pass and the trembling stopped. England was exhaling harshly, the shivering may have stopped but the pain still seemed to be present. The small Brit sat up looking very miserable. Wales felt at loss about what had happened when he saw something that made him suspicious and afraid.
Wales took a deep calming breath and looking at England earnestly, he inquired, "Can you let me have a look at something England?"
England nodded cautiously. Wales leaned forward to get closer to his neck, pulling England's shirt to the side. He grimaced when he spotted two smooth lumps at the side of England's neck.
He wordlessly motioned for England to remove his shirt, which the child nation immediately did. The Welsh nation saw that England had about a dozen of lumps on his abdomen, arms and armpits. Wales started having a strong suspicion about what was afflicting England.
"What are those lumps Wales?" England asked fearfully, suppressing another shiver. "They're very painful, they haven't been this bad before."
"Those are your lymph nodes and they're swollen," Wales noted, frowning unhappily at this discovery. "I hate having to say this but I think your body is remembering the Black Death."
"What's that?" England inquired in a shaky voice. He let out a pained noise at the back of his throat and closed his eyes tightly.
The Welsh nation watched in silent horror as the tips of England's fingers, lips and nose blackened. England opened his teary eyes and balled his hands into tight fists, his arms trembling slightly as he tightened his grip on his shirt.
Wales winced and had England put his shirt back on him before pulling England into a careful hug, mindful not to cause England more pain.
"I tried ignoring this illness, I really did, but it seems to strike harder every time it comes back," England whimpered, burying his face into Wales' chest. He whispered, "Why are my fingers black? Why do they hurt so much? This illness is called the Black Death?"
"The actual name of the disease is the bubonic plague. The name "Black Death" is used to refer to when this illness spread all over Europe and killed a lot of people. Only a few areas in Europe managed to escape it," Wales explained sadly, patting England's head. "The blackness of your fingers is gangrene, they're rotting and the pain comes from that."
England pulled back and stared up at Wales, pleading, "Please tell me this is as bad as it gets…"
Shaking his head, Wales sighed, "It's going to hit harder England, there is worse to come. Victims of the bubonic plague suffered towards the end seizures, delirium and eventually coma. It didn't hit once and go, it came back again and again as waves throughout the centuries. The Black Death could be seen as the peak of the illness."
The small English avatar closed his eyes and bent his head forward, his shoulders shaking. England muttered quietly, "I can't do this, I can't face this illness. The pain is too much to bear and it's going to get even worse than that? No I can't, I can't face this."
"You can," Wales said firmly and he grasped England's shoulders, causing the other to look at him. "You've gone through this before and you can again. But you have the option to stay awake or sleep through the illness this time."
"What do you mean?" England questioned, looking confused.
Wales suggested, "You can choose to stay awake or you can take some sleeping pills and hopefully you'll be able to sleep through the worst of it. I can't guarantee you won't see memories from this time period but it is an alternative to the pain."
England exhaled loudly and said, "I don't know what's the best choice but if I can avoid the worst of it, then maybe I should… hmm." England grew thoughtful for a few seconds before he looked back at Wales, his expression determined. "I'll try the sleeping pills."
England opened his eyes and found that he was in a dark and lifeless street of London. He was mildly shocked by how quickly the sleeping pills had taken effect but it was probably a stronger dose as well. England allowed himself to merge with his past self and started looking through his eyes.
What struck England the most was how thick the air was with the smell of death. He never got used to that smell, no matter how many times he had been exposed to it. It mixed in with the stench of sewage, which made the smell doubly unbearable to England. He walked down the winding street slowly, wincing at how his footsteps echoed.
Was there anyone left here? Or had everyone died or fled the city?
He could see no sign of life and his senses were too muted by the illness to pick up anything. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted movement behind him. He turned around only to see rats scurrying away from him.
The sick nation winced internally at the sight of the nasty creatures and he backed away quickly. He turned around and he hurried his step, not wanting to be anywhere near them. They frightened him, he felt they were somehow responsible for the pestilence. Wherever they went the plague followed.
As England wandered in the streets of London, a feeling told him that the city was not completely empty. But the few that remained hid in the shadows, praying that the plague would not find them. The only people bold enough to walk outside were the plague doctors.
Just then he heard the creaking wheels of a cart coming from a street further than the one England was in. So someone was still out and about? He broke out into a small trot until he reached the end of the street and turned around the corner.
His heart sank at the sight. England had hoped it was a merchant cart, even though there were barely any merchants left in London. Just any kind of cart, except the one before him…
A death cart, overflowing with decaying bodies. A plague doctor had been pulling it and loading it with the newly deceased. Some were wrapped in sheets, most weren't. The plague doctor was counting under his breath, probably memorising how many corpses there were.
The human looked up when he felt he was being watched. The bird-like mask and the black overcoat he wore made him look more like an enormous raven than a human. His appearance made England feel uneasy even though plague doctors like him helped other humans. His costume simply seemed devoid of humanity.
"What are you doing here my child? Where are your parents?" The plague doctor asked, his voice sounding tired yet still concerned. He started walking towards the small nation.
Despite his desire to stay as far away from the doctor as possible, England stayed rooted to his spot and looked up at the human. He answered, "I have no parents."
"Ah, another orphan," the human murmured as he nodded sympathetically. "Are you befallen with the pestilence?" The doctor leaned closer to England to inspect him.
England sighed, "I've been sick for a very long time."
The doctor pulled back, clearly confused by England's comment. But the human could see that England was sick from his appearance, he didn't need to examine closer to know that for certain. However England's words seemed to surprise him and he looked at a loss for words..
"Don't worry doctor, neither your colleagues nor you will be picking up my corpse anytime soon," England assured, a small bitter smile appearing on his face.
That only seemed to unsettle the doctor further, he was probably wondering what the hell kind of creature England was meant to be.
After a long uncomfortable silence, the doctor asked, "You're not human, are you?"
"Not exactly," England answered vaguely, shrugging his shoulders.
The plague doctor leaned closer again and regarded England sharply. He noted carefully, "Your eyes are old. You couldn't be an angel because angels don't fall sick… are you a demon of the plague?"
"Do I strike you as a demon?" England questioned with a raised eyebrow.
"No, no, no, there's something different. You feel different," the human protested as he shook his head vehemently. The doctor placed a shaking hand on England's shoulder. His voice was full of wonder as he said, "You feel like… you feel like… like home."
England felt a small smile tug on his lips, the human was quite observant. His shoulders sagged and he sighed, "And home is halfway between diseased and dying. But I won't die as long people like you call me home and I'm thankful for that. Good luck human and I hope the plague spares you."
England started walking past the plague doctor.
"Wait, where are you going?" The doctor called out after the small nation. When England paused in his steps, the human asked curiously, "Don't you get… lonely from wandering on your own? How many years have you seen? How many more will you see? How can you… exist? In the form of a child?"
"Most questions you ask are ones that I can't answer myself," England replied. "There are more of my kind though… however I've known loneliness. It's part of my life. But I've come to accept it, having you and others as my people is what I live for. Farewell plague doctor."
The nation turned around and nation-hopped away before the human could stop him. He felt bad for leaving the human behind but the doctor was too curious and too kind. England feared that, he'd rarely let avatars see him like this and he didn't want to let a human get so close to him.
The plague could claim him, another human could kill him or the human would die of old age before England noticed the time pass.
Why get attached to such a fragile creature and have your heart broken when they perish? Why get attached at all when everyone and everything eventually died?
England landed in front of a large plague pit just outside of London and his stomach twisted around at the sight of the corpses. Tears threatened to leave his eyes when he spotted in the pile people that were still breathing. Abandoned and on the verge of death, no hope was left for them. Death was certain.
The nation felt ill and he turned his back on the plague pit, unable to stomach the sight anymore.
He hadn't always chosen loneliness over company… but reliving this plague was unearthing memories that were painful to him now. He couldn't bear to be reminded of these memories in this moment.
The first time the plague had struck England, it had followed the footsteps of the new invaders into lands that had still been Celtic. Weakened by the illness, England hadn't been able to escape when one of the avatars of the "enemy" had come after him. England didn't know who he was at first, all he knew was that the stranger wasn't like his brothers. His language sounded nothing like the Celtic tongues of his brothers nor the Latin tongue of his previous invaders.
But this stranger introduced himself as Wessex and took England under his wing, treating him like his own brother and taking care of him. He had gotten nothing but kindness and affection from an avatar that had been described by his brothers as cruel and immoral.
Throughout the plagues that ravished the lands, Wessex stayed by England. It didn't matter if the plague struck England. It didn't matter if Wessex was struck by the plague as well. Wessex had told England that no matter what, he would always be there for him.
As he looked over his shoulder at the plague pit, he dearly wished Wessex was there right now. He missed him so much. England had never felt so lonely and lost, surrounded by the decaying bodies of his people.
England wished he didn't have to face this alone.
Just as England had started to feel like he was recovering, the plague struck him yet again and he was left weakened by the ferocity of it. He wasn't as aware of his surroundings as he would be usually and that left him open for attack. It was too late by the time he realized that he was being invaded.
"How are things going, brat?"
The small English nation almost jumped out of his skin when he heard Scotland's voice behind him. He'd just been wandering through one of his villages, one that had long become silent after the pestilence had gone through. He hadn't noticed that another nation was behind him, so clouded were his senses by the illness.
Of all nations, why did it have to be Scotland?
"What are you doing here?" England blurted out, turning around to face the red-haired teen nation tiredly. He concentrated on his land and picked up the signals of a Scottish army entering his lands. He frowned darkly as he started realizing what was going on.
"Oh just dropping by, wanted to see how much the plague has beaten you up," Scotland answered with a bright grin, taking a moment to look over England's appearance. England knew he looked awful as Scotland immediately grimaced. "Well, you sure look battered."
England's throat felt dry as he demanded, "Are you invading me?"
The Scot blinked briefly before smirking. "Oh don't look so offended lad, I was under your rule not so long ago. My people want to return the favour and the moment couldn't be more perfect. Your people are weak and you're vulnerable, why not take advantage of that?"
"Are you that thick?" England asked in amazement as he let out a harsh laughter. It hadn't occurred to him that Scotland would invade him in his current state but thinking it over, he couldn't have expected less from his brother. He growled, "You shouldn't be here."
The other nation smiled darkly and he started sauntering towards the sick nation. England started to back away even though he knew it was pointless, he couldn't outrun the Scot. Scotland stopped just before England and he leaned over him, sneering, "If you hadn't noticed yet, I no longer answer to you. You cannot order me around anymore."
"I am not ordering you," England mumbled, pulling the tattered cloak closer to his body. "I'm warning you. You and your people shouldn't have come here. You are going to be hit by misfortune as I have been."
"I doubt it," Scotland scoffed, seeming to be highly amused by England's words. "I've been asked to bring you to my men, so you'll have to come with me. In your weakened state you can neither fight me nor flee, so you have no other choice."
"I refuse," England said curtly, standing up straighter and stared at Scotland defiantly. He wasn't going to let himself be invaded, even in his sickly state.
Scotland's eyes narrowed. "That is not an option." He reached out and grabbed England's arm and started dragging him, causing the other to almost fall.
England glared at his brother and started leaning away from him, trying to pull his arm out from the Scot's grasp. "Let go you arse, you're making a big mistake. The plague will get you if you don't get out of my lands quickly. Your men will be dead and dying before you know it."
"I don't fall sick as easily as you do and my people are a lot tougher, we've gone through worse," Scotland pointed out with a cheerful smile, dragging England effortlessly despite his attempts to slow him down.
"Nothing compares to this plague, once it comes to your lands it won't leave until your people are rotting in the ground!" England yelled angrily, reaching with his free hand Scotland's cloak and yanking it downwards. Scotland stumbled to a stop, turning to look at England quizzically and half-annoyed. England showed his hand to his elder brother and added fiercely, "Do you want hands like these, with the tips rotting off? Do you want lumps all over your body that bleed and ooze pus? Do you want to know how it feels like when you're rotting from the inside?!"
Scotland was regarding England's hand neutrally, not seeming very shocked by it. He said coolly, "I am familiar with the plague and that doesn't change my resolve." He picked England up and slung him over his shoulder, continuing to make his way out of the village.
"And what if your men can't invade my lands?!" England argued sullenly, feeling defeated. He couldn't do anything apart from hit Scotland's back and at worst that would just tickle him.
"Then at least we can use you against your meddling king. Perhaps then he will finally keep his nose out of my people's affairs," Scotland countered, his voice heavy with bitterness. He continued his quick pace and followed the road leading to outside of the village. As they reached the exit, Scotland stopped dead in his tracks.
At first confused by Scotland's halt, England only had to throw a glimpse over his shoulder to know what Scotland was seeing. A plague pit, probably one of the largest in the area. The smell of decaying flesh was unbearable.
"W-w-what in Heaven's n-name is t-t-that?" Scotland stuttered out, shaken by the grotesque sight.
England sighed and he looked in the other direction, at the empty street. He replied quietly, "It's the village. The plague spares no one."
Wales spent the whole night by England's bed, keeping a watchful eye on the nation's temperature and putting a wet towel on his forehead in an attempt to lower the fever down. There was only so much he could do, he was helpless against the seizures and spreading gangrene that England got.
It really bothered him to watch England's body remember the Black Death and he had a sinking feeling that England was also remembering later pandemics. Wales felt sadness as he watched the gangrene spread and recede several times, he could see that England was in pain.
At one point England started sobbing in his sleep and he started shaking violently. Wales stood up from his chair and leaned over England, uncertain if he should try to wake his brother or not. England had wished to sleep through the pain but Wales was becoming genuinely concerned that the memories were becoming too much for England or in the worst case, the dark voice was attacking him.
He placed a shaking hand on England shoulder and the younger nation immediately responded by grabbing his hand and holding it tightly in his own. The strength of the grip was to the point that Wales' felt the bones inside his hand crack dangerously, a little bit more and they surely would have snapped.
That did not deter Wales and he never attempted to remove his hand. A broken hand was barely anything, a few hours and it would be all healed. Wales however didn't know what pain England was going through and all he could do is hope the sleeping pills would keep England asleep.
The sobbing eventually died down but England didn't relax his grip on the Welsh nation's hand until about half an hour later.
It would take several hours before he saw the gangrene disappear and the seizures fade away. Wales stood up and felt England's forehead, satisfied to discover that the high fever was finally coming down.
Wales sat down on his chair with a sigh, feeling relief that England had pulled through the memory of the plagues without being yanked out of his sleep. He did hope that England would have a more peaceful sleep now, he'd had enough nightmares for tonight.
He had during all these hours been in complete silence, mulling his thoughts over.
Wales looked at England closely, feeling as if though the nation had grown again. He seemed to have the age appearance of an 11-year old, more or less. It pleased Wales to see this, it was important that England would continue growing. Even if it was hard remembering the darker memories, they were a necessary evil for England to find himself again.
The only thing Wales wished is that he could spare his younger brother all this pain. Some of it was unavoidable but not all of it. England didn't have to carry the whole burden of his pain again like he did before…
The Welsh nation clasped his hands together, glancing at England before focussing on the bed sheet. Anglesey's words returned to him and the idea started taking shape.
What he was going to attempt was rather risky. He knew he was practically on his own with his opinion and the others would get mad at him if they found out. But he was in a good position and circumstances were playing in his favour.
It was worth… giving it a try.
Wales looked back at England, staring at the smaller nation with unreadable eyes. He wanted to protect his little brother, after all.
Isn't that what brothers did?
The doorbell rang twice, the first ring short and the second a bit longer. England looked up from the dusty history book he'd been poring over, wondering who it could be. As far as he was aware, Wales and he weren't expecting anyone, right?
"Oh, can you get that for me please England?" Wales called out from upstairs.
"Alright," England responded, closing his book and jumping off the armchair. He made his way out of the living room towards the door, picking up that two avatars were standing outside of the house. The signals from one was that of a nation while the other… it was different, most likely a region. Oddly enough both signals appeared familiar to England but he couldn't place who they were.
Curiosity sparked, England reached for the door handle and pulled the door open.
Before him stood Denmark and an unknown female region. England had seen Denmark at the World Meetings several times but his presence here puzzled him. However when he looked at the blonde region, a cold shiver ran down his spine and he was filled with dread.
"Hey there England, remember me?" Denmark asked enthusiastically, grinning widely at the smaller nation. He added with a chuckle, "I was the one who gave you the chalk in that one meeting, but don't mention that to Wales though okay?"
"Bonjour petit garcon." The blonde woman greeted as she gave England a smile that only seemed to make him more uneasy. Something about her made England feel on edge. Her words didn't help matters, they seemed very familiar to him and not in a good way.
Slowly and hesitantly, England answered, "Hello Denmark and hello… umm."
"Oh yes, how silly of me. I forgot that you have no memories of me," The stranger laughed lightly, the sound making England's skin crawl. Her eyes were sharp and calculating as she introduced herself, "I am Normandy."
A/N:
Hope you enjoyed the chapter! As with the last chapter, there was another part to this chapter but I snapped it off because I went over my word limit. But it will serve as a good start to the next chapter. Anyway the cliffhanger isn't as horrible as the last one, no?
For those that know England's history very well, you may suspect why Normandy and Denmark have been invited to England's house. But that reason may not necessarily have the desired result. Normandy is a bit of an ambiguous character for me, in no way do I want to portray her as a villain but I can't shake off the feeling that England and Normandy would have a very strained relationship. Even if Normandy is a collected avatar today, her early history states otherwise.
Now everyone is glad that the Fuaths are out of the picture, huh? They're really a vicious and manipulative bunch, and not surprisingly very hateful. The most important thing to them is to make other creatures hate them, so they injured the nations really only for that reason. They weren't seeking justice for the deceased Bronagh, they were just enjoying an excuse to attack. (the crime of killing a Fuath is only so serious because it gives the Fuaths a reason to torture their victims till they're half-dead or begging to die) I really struggled to write the CPR scene, I just felt really awkward. Originally I didn't plan on writing it but the story wouldn't flow at this point, so I found myself writing it. Hope I did enough research on how to do CPR correctly. Also I hope I didn't mess up in my research of hypothermia and how to treat it.
And now things are starting to heat up between America and Wales. America is still hoping that his rude behaviour is due to circumstances but he might have to face Wales and demand what his problem is. I'm trying not to present Wales as a complete ass... he's ridiculously overprotective and is so opinionated to a point that he only sees his beliefs. Well, I hope his reasons will become clear later on. He is led by his desire to protect England from those he thinks are capable of hurting him again. Ah I feel uneasy writing Wales so antagonistic because I fear that people will hate him.
Anyone noticed that the dark voice was absent in this chapter? There's a reason for that. There's also a reason why Ireland was slower to recover compared to Scotland and Australia. And there's also a reason why Northern Ireland isn't allowed to be in Ireland's house without his permissiion. But that's two headcanons that take some time to explain so I will not make these author notes longer than necessary. It might be explained in the next chapter why the dark voice became silent.
I hope the scene where all the nations discussed what happened and what will happen from then on wasn't too boring, I felt that it dragged but I'm not too sure. At least now England has come to a closer understanding about where the dark voice came from and how it was formed. It might lead him to defeating the dark voice, who knows?
The bubonic plague was something that was requested by the user Catzi... a long time ago. Possibly two years already? I did promise I would write it in and so here it is. I apologize that it took so long, I wanted to squeeze it in a good place. It's kind of funny how many things I looked up and researched for the segments on the plague. To note, the typical image we have of a plague doctor probably didn't exist yet when the Black Death (1346-1353) struck Europe, but there are some historians that claim that "bird-like masks" were described to be worn by such doctors so it's possible that something similar may have existed. (if not, excuse me for giving the plague doctor a costume that didn't exist yet ^^;) Also I tried finding information on whether people or horses pulled death carts during this time period but I wasn't sure about it, so I had the plague doctor pull it. Probably wasn't a doctor's job but we may assume that London was almost completely empty and so there was no one left to pull the cart. Also Scotland did invade England in 1349, the Scottish had thought that the weakened state of the English would allow an easy conquest. All it did was give the disease to the Scottish and they brought it back to Scotland. I don't think the invasion went very far, I found a text that mentioned that they had gathered in the forest of Selkirk but I didn't find further mention about how far they got when they invaded England. Scotland was referring to the Wars of Scottish Independence, he was right in the Second War where he no longer was under English rule but the English king Edward III was sticking his nose in Scotland's affairs and complicating Scotland's political stability. (if I understood this well enough) So really Scotland was mainly interested in getting England in the hopes of getting Edward III to stop meddling. (didn't work too well as Scotland caught the plague) Also this is how England really met Wessex, either during or shortly after the Justinian plague. An earlier bubonic plague pandemic that mainly hit the Byzantine Empire but some historians have a theory about how the plague may have given the Anglo-Saxons a better foothold in Great Britain.
Aah I'm giving myself a bit of a headache here. I hope it makes sense. Thank you for readinig the chapter and I hope you enjoyed this update! Till next time!
