No warning this chapter except a brief description of a post battle wounds. And swearing, that's going to happen all the way through.
A note on names, I'm not doing any fancy language tricks, you're getting hello and goodbye, but locations will be in the language of the POV/speaker, in this case the older versions where I can find them. A few of these aren't used this chapter but will be in future and I want to just copy and paste it.
Old English – Welsh – Irish/Gaelic
Englaland/Englarīce – Lloegyr (Pro. Loy-ger) – Sasainn (Pro. Sas-in)
{Wealas Land} – Cymry (Pro. Cum-ree) – An Bhreatain Bheag (Pro. Britain)
Scotland – yr Alban – Alba
Éireland (Ireland) – {Iwerddon} – Éire (Pro. Air)
Guthfrith/Gofraid and Æthelstan/Ethelstan are both alternate spellings of the same name.
Kernow is Cornwall in Cornish.
Don't expect another chapter to come out this quickly, this is because the first one was so short.
Also forewarning, I have an actual obsession with the Anglo-Saxons I tried to turn it down and may or may not have succeeded.
Anyway enjoy.
Ynys Wydryn/Glastonbury Tor, Somerset Levels, Wessex, 2nd February 926
"There are warmer places we could have met." Lloegyr greeted as he helped pull their boat in, hair plastered to his face from the drizzle and clothes whipping in the wind.
"You're going to Eboracum when the weather turns." Cymry reminded him, jumping out of the boat to help, and ignoring Hywel's amused smile. While Lloegyr's recent growth spurt had given him more strength than before, he was still small and Cymry did most of the work.
"Which is why I'm down here now."
"This is easy to get to from Dinefwr." Cymry explained.
"So are Athelney and Pilton, and they have houses."
"I'm sure out next meeting will be less clandestine and we can do it indoors." Hywel interrupted, having stepped out of the boat. "Now, your king?" Lloegyr opened his mouth to answer when a voice spoke up behind them.
"Your Majesty." Æthelstan greeted, and they all turned to look at him a little further up the rise.
"Your Majesty." Hywel greeted back. "You are looking well."
"And yourself. I trust your journey was not too perilous?"
"The head of the tide is not until tomorrow." They stood for a minute, the wind the only sound, sizing each other up.
"Why did you wish to meet me?" Æthelstan asked, cutting straight to the point.
"Your aunt was a fierce warrior, your father an ambitious man. I wish to know if you share their ideals." Hywel replied just as blunt and Cymry felt Lloegyr tense up next to him and start vibrating, or maybe shivering, as he stared up at his king with the eyes of a child who had not yet been exposed to how often adults lie.
"Have you seen the view?" Æthelstan said mildly. He gestured for Lloegyr who ran over, and they started up the hill, Hywel followed and Cymry checked the boat was secure before following as well.
The view from the summit was breathtaking, though he knew from experience that on a clear day it was even better and best at sunset. Water stretched for miles and miles until it turned into the Severn Sea with dotted peaks rising up over the waves that crashed together in the dreary weather and the grey water and sky contrasted so beautifully with the vivid green hills that Cymry wished he were as artistically inclined as some of his siblings, his art skills inherited from his mother not his father.
"It is a good view." Hywel commented when they stopped in a dip near the top, the sides providing protection from the wind but still allowing the view. "A burial place fit for a king." Lloegyr stared at Cymry in shock and Æthelstan tensed up next them before he started speaking to the sea, his voice wrought with iron.
"A few hours to the south of us is an island that was all my grandfather had left of Englaland. These marshes and the hopes and dreams of his people. Today I hold both his and my uncles unconquered and liberated kingdoms and this year my sister shall marry Sihtric and into the last of the English lands held hostage." Æthelstan took a breath and turned to look Hywel in the eye. "I will let you know now that these lands are hard fought and hard won and any attempt to take them, no matter how friendly, will be met with extreme hostile action." Hywel stared back, a small smile curving on his face. "You were loyal to my aunt and father and I hope you will be to me too, but that previous loyalty will not help you if you cross me."
"Good." Æthelstan blinked but otherwise remained impassive. "I wish you the best of luck and tell you my loyalty to you is conditional upon you returning the favour. You want a single Englaland. I want a single Cymry." Lloegyr grinned at the words.
"Congratulations!" He reached out, briefly squeezing Cymry's hand and through their Connection a small happy buzz flowed over him.
"Very much so." Æthelstan said much more cautiously. "Interesting spot for a proposal, the burial place of Arthur, King of all Britain."
"Indeed. Very poetic. I thought I would point out the fact that our lands have been united before and that they will be united again." Hywel and Æthelstan stared each other down. "I would like that to be on my terms.
"You cannot defend all your borders at once, your connections with the Franks are strong but they too are under threat of a Viking attack which may come from their strongholds in Denmark or Dublin and as for the north? Causantín is no fool. The game you are playing with Sihtric is smart, but he is already playing the same game with Guthfrith and it is a gamble. Neither of you has children and if he dies Northumbria is just as likely to go to you as it is to Guthfrith but just as equally so if you die your kingdoms will go to your brother or to him. Now while you will not be alive to see this, I do not want to see a time when Guthfrith has me surrounded, he is bad enough in Dublin, so it is in all our best interests that Sihtric dies first. However, even if this does happen Guthfrith will still try to claim Englaland and while Causantín is friendly now the Scottish have no dog in this fight."
"Yes." Lloegyr interrupted. "But why does this require a union?" Cymry looked away from the kings for the first time since they'd started debating to watch his brother's pale face and small hands curled up into fists, a pang of hurt went through his chest that he quickly brushed away. Lloegyr was fiercely independent minded, he'd known from the beginning that he would not like this proposal whoever it came from, but luckily it was not he who had the final say.
"King of All Britain." Æthelstan rolled the words on his tongue. "I assume it is not Causantín whom you wish to see such a title bestowed to."
"No."
"It sounds rather permanent. Do you wish to see Cymry a little too united?" Hywel rolled his eyes.
"How long do kings of Britain stay kings of Britain? I fully expect you to be deposed within the decade, but a decade is enough for both of us. You deal with Sihtric, the Danes, and the Franks. I'll deal with Guthfrith, Causantín and my countrymen. You provide me with supplies, and I'll supply you with men where necessary. We keep a two-way street of communication and help each other, and we'll go down in history as legends when we both succeed in our goals."
Cymry watched his brother as he frowned and stared at the ground when their kings shook hands and started haggling over the details. They had almost finished before Lloegyr looked up and smiled at him shyly.
"I want to be Englaland, not Britain." He said quietly.
"Of course you're Englaland." Cymry rolled his eyes and grinned at his brother. "I'm Britain."
King Arthur's Round Table, Eamont Bridge, Miercna rīċe, 12th July 927
"Just to clarify," Owain of Strathclyde raised a hand as he leaned forward in his chair in order to draw everybody's eyes towards him, "what is Englaland?"
"I would presume the Land of the English." Hywel commented mildly.
"Suck up." Owain of Gwent muttered.
"That wasn't what I was asking, and you know it." Owain of Strathclyde shot back. "I am honoured to be here at your coronation, and it makes a pleasant change to hear about the establishment of a… new kingdom before it happens, but I just want to know who exactly I'll be bordering. I mean, is Kernow part of your new kingdom? What about Gwent?"
"Hey!" Protested Owain of Gwent. "We're an independent Welsh kingdom like you. Besides, you're the one who made a 'Tripartite Northern Alliance' with the Mercians." He effected a high-pitched voice. "Oh, Æthelflæd, let me come rescue you so we can ride off into the sunset together, the Vikings won't take your kingdom as long as I am here!" There was a moment of silence.
"Firstly, I don't sound like that." Owain of Strathclyde pointed at Owain of Gwent accusingly. "Secondly, you've obviously never met the woman. Thirdly, the question was not for you." The Owain's glared at each other before they turned to look further around the table.
"It is a valid question." Causantín of Alba spoke up for the first time, "it's very interesting that you've called us all here to simply announce the creation of your new country." All eyes turned to Æthelstan, who surveyed the round table with serious eyes before standing.
"I am the King of the English. By birth right the King of Wessex of the same blood as Cerdic who founded it; by inheritance I am the King of Mercia who welcomed me with open arms and who accepted me as their King as easily as they accepted my Aunt as their Queen; by marriage and by right of conquest I am King of Northumbria, the first of my lineage. I rule from the South Sea to the Firth of Forth, from the Wye to the East Sea. I am the King of all English peoples and all English land and it is this land that I Christen Englaland." Æthelstan leaned forward and placed his hands on the table.
"I called you here to inform you that I hope our warm relationships will continue, that all agreements signed by me in my capacity as King of Mercia, Wessex or Northumbria will transfer over to me as King of Englaland. I asked you here to the midpoint between your lands, to this henge of our great King Arthur's to my own round table to ask my fellow kings to bear witness to this historical moment in hope that the dark times will be behind us and that today will mark a new brighter beginning."
There was a pause as the kings around the table stared at him, a few nodding at his words before Owain of Strathclyde broke the silence.
"Okay, so only Wessex, Mercia and Northumbria. Got ya."
"I did tell you this before." Conan of Kernow sighed, Kernow patted him gently on the arm rolling her eyes although she refrained from making the faces she usually did when she hadn't cut her hair solider short and could hide behind it.
"I was just making sure." Owain of Strathclyde protested.
"If you're done making sure, can we have our coronation now?" Englaland asked, finally tired of all the adult talk, and leaned forward excitedly, ignoring Cymry's kick from the seat next to him where they were sat between Æthelstan and Hywel. Owain of Gwent gave a booming laugh.
"You heard the kid; Coronations are always better in daylight I find. Unless you'd like to make some more insinuations against us?" he glared at Owain of Strathclyde.
"Our alliance still stands. You have my allegiance" Causantín cut in glancing at Alba next to him, who nodded in agreement while also glaring at Englaland for interrupting, Englaland ignored him, he was almost an adult so probably enjoyed the adult talk. Owain huffed but nodded.
"Ours also… and our Tripartite alliance. You're not the worst neighbour I could have." They all winced at the allusion of Guthfrith, although the reminder of why they were there and agreeing to Æthelstan's proposal had the room lighten a touch.
"Thank you." Æthelstan said dryly.
"I was ready to agree to a united Englaland a long time ago, my Lord." Ealdred, Reeve of Bamburgh smiled gently at his nation and Englaland grinned back at him. "I am delighted that I am here to see it happen."
"Our arrangement still stands." Hywel acknowledged, the last of the men present, then stood. "To the church?"
"To the church." Æthelstan agreed.
King Arthur's Round Table, Eamont Bridge, Englarīce, 12th July 927
At sunset Englaland stood by the river, almost vibrating with excitement while his brother lay on the grass beside him overlooking his land on the other side, their older siblings had disappeared into the trees further up the river not long before to talk about 'things little boys had no business knowing'.
"I told you I'd be a proper country one day." He said when he couldn't contain it anymore.
"You did." Cymry stated. "And I said we would be together again."
"Hywel-"
"Has plans, and I'd thank your king for putting them into motion." Englaland watched fish dart up the river and drew his eyes to Strathclyde.
"What does he plan to do about Owain?" He asked eventually because he couldn't figure it out on his own.
"The same as Æthelstan I imagine." Cymry stated mildly, and Englaland realised why Alba had been so creeped out by his nonchalant musing about Athelstan's' conquest of Northumbria. The carelessness when speaking of a part of himself had Englaland's hair stand on end.
"Not that Owain." Cymry lifted his head slightly to look across the river.
"Alt Clut is difficult. Alba makes it so."
"They're yours."
"They are." Cymry agreed. There was a pause before he spoke again. "I will agree to your terms." Englaland looked over at him. "The tariffs you will impose next time we meet." Cymry clarified.
"Why?" Englaland asked.
"How does it feel to be whole?"
"I'd help with that anyway. I've already agreed to."
"Then keep doing what you are doing. Hywel and I will do just fine, as long as some of that military tithe makes its way back to us."
"I know you'll be fine." Englaland grouched. "I was being nice." Cymry laughed at him.
"Speaking of being nice, do you think they realise what's going on yet?" Englaland glanced over at the trees.
"Yes, but as long as Guthfrith is in Dublin they won't be able to do anything without fear that he might use the power vacuum to come back."
"Then let's hope he lives long enough for us to establish ourselves." Cymry tugged at his leg and Englaland obediently sat down next to him, although he fussed with his trousers to make him let go and show he wasn't just doing it because Cymry said to. Technically he was boss now.
"What about Éireland?"
"She's terrifying. Remember that time she set up a bunch of colonies on my west shore. She'll be fine. Besides, we have to look after our own people first." Cymry said confidently. Englaland hummed then nodded.
"She is terrifying." He flopped back on the ground next to Cymry and watched the stars peak out. The ground hummed beneath him, his people safe and happy, the disjointed jagged block that he had known for so long inside of him were smoothing over and fusing together. He could feel his brother next to him and Alba and Kernow walking back towards them, the Strings that tied them together stronger than this morning, increasing his awareness and in the distance he could hear people chanting.
"Ave Æthelstan rex Angulsexna Norþhymbra imperator, paganorum gubernator Brittanorumque propugnator." Hail Æthelstan, King of the Anglo-Saxons and Emperor of the Northumbrians, Governor of the Pagans, and Defender of the Britons.
Peairt, Rìoghachd na h-Alba/Perth, Kingdom of Alba, 14th March 934
Éire did not usually visit Alba often, busy with her splintered people and the Vikings, which was why it was a surprise when he opened his door to find her on the other side, wild grin on her face, eyes alight and hair ragged from riding too fast in strong wind.
"The King is dead." She announced. "Long live the King. Do you have any wine?" Alba blinked then slowly a grin spread across his face to match the one on hers.
"No." He said, stepping aside to let her in. "But I have whiskey."
"Even better." She strolled over to the bench by the fire, dropping her bag on the floor as she did so. She collapsed onto the bench and tugged at the blankets to rearrange them comfortably around herself, more relaxed than she'd been in years.
He picked up a loaf of bread and a knife with the two glasses, putting them on the table and letting her cut however much she wanted while he went next door to dig out his whiskey. The bread was almost gone when he came back and he shoved the last of it in his mouth as he poured them both a glass, sitting down and grinning at Éire.
"What shall you do with your newfound freedom?" Alba asked, raising his drink.
"Conquest. I want that city back. Again. You?"
"Sedition." Éire grinned and raised her own glass.
"To conquest and sedition then." They downed their drinks. "Speaking of, do the brats still think we don't know about their little side deal?"
"No, they figured out we knew. They still don't know about our side deal though."
"Element of surprise." Éire nodded and poured them another drink. "Nice."
"It feels less of an achievement when you remember than neither of them has reached puberty yet. It just feels cheap then. Nothing like outsmarting Skadi or Germania or Rome." Alba frowned at his drink, Éire threw her head back and groaned.
"You've never outsmarted any of them in your life. Skadi ran off with your northern isles; Germania ignored you because Ing was fucking Mum and he didn't want to deal with his son throwing a hissy fit at a crucial period in time because he had blue balls, and Rome thought you were a brat and decided that he didn't want to deal with you, for which I don't blame him. You were a hellion." Alba made a sound like a strangled cat. "The brats are planning on island domination, enjoy your intellectual victory, and start focusing on planning your physical one." She threw back her second drink and poured herself another while Alba grumbled under his breath.
"Speaking of physical victories, Gofraid's son. What are you planning of doing with him?" Alba really needed to learn how to change the conversation subtly.
"Amlaíb?" She shrugged. "Nothing, he's gonna go subdue Luimneach, brag about it for a while then pop over here to conquer Northumbria off Sasainn. A plan I whole heartily support, he's not his father but I want him off my island anyway."
"So I would have your support then, if it came down to it." Alba leant over the table to her, and she laughed.
"You'll almost always have my support Alba, that doesn't mean you'll have my sword. You might not even need it. As you said, neither of them has reached puberty yet." Alba rolled his eyes.
"We're planning of harassing them first, see what they do. Tell Ethelstan where he can shove his allegiance." Éire nodded.
"Good plan. Greater plan: stop talking about politics and start drinking." Alba laughed and held out his own glass for her to top up.
"That I can do. Remember that time in Béal Átha Seanaidh with the midwife, the scarf, and the sheep? Same thing happened again up in Inbhir Nis a few years back. It was crazy."
Sruighlea/Stirling, Mruig/Marches, Rìoghachd na h-Alba, Teyrnas Ystrad Clut, Englarīce, 19th July 934
(Stirling, The Borderlands between the Kingdom of Scotland, the Kingdom of Strathclyde, and the Kingdom of England)
"That's more impressive than last time."
"Well, they haven't had to spend lots of money on rebuilding after invasion, have they? They've got cash to splash." Alba crossed his arms and cocked his head, watching the English and Welsh soldiers hurry around setting up camp for the night in their respective kingdoms. None of them paid much attention to the two watchers on the other side of the bridge or indeed the village either.
"They have definitely got new banners." Éire shook her head. "I mean, it makes sense, but they've obviously never seen battle before."
"Yes, and I'd rather they weren't bloodied for the first time on Scottish blood." Alba gnawed at his lip. "There's more of them than I was expecting, I thought they'd send a small force." Éire loved her siblings dearly but sometimes they were complete idiots.
"Sasainn has a population four times yours, this probably is a small force."
"And Bhreatain has one half of mine, he's still sent soldiers."
"Were you planning on pissing off Ethelstan or Hywel? Besides, you weren't even planning on fighting."
"No, we were planning on gauging their strength, and there's more of them than I was expecting." Alba turned to her and shot her a small grin. "I guess we'll need your sword after all." Éire flicked her eyes over the soldiers and realised her brother was less of an idiot than she'd thought.
"I guess you will. I however will not be the one persuading Amlaíb."
"No, I will leave that to Causantín. He can also persuade Owain. The problem will be Hywel and Bhreatain."
"Not Kernow?" Éire raised an eyebrow.
"Kernow never goes to war with anybody. She just mines her tin and gets on with it."
"But the kids like her don't they, could she get Bhreatain to not help?" Alba shook his head.
"Kernow never goes to war with anybody. She's not just doing it to be annoying when you're around, she just doesn't do war. Doesn't have the numbers and nobody to fight anyway. The only thing she has is tin, and she sells that at a good enough price that any disturbance in production will result in the ire of the entirety of Christendom and I don't know about you, but I don't want to be on the other side of that."
"She's violent for somebody who doesn't go to war with people."
"She's violent because you kept taking her idols when you were children. I can't believe you don't know Kernow doesn't do war." Éire made an offended sound.
"Well excuse me for not paying attention to the intricate details of Cornish politics." They stood for another moment still watching the soldiers.
"Speaking of." Alba turned to her fully. "Kernow's worried about you." Éire rolled her eyes so hard she almost saw the back of her skull.
"Kernow worries about everybody. She's a worrier. A warrior worrier. A warrior worrier who worries. I'm fine."
"Are you sure?" Alba stared up at her with big doe eyes, vulnerable in a way that showed strength and for the moment he looked just like their mother, if not for their father's red hair.
"I'm sure." Then she turned on heel and marched back to the horses. "You have work to do when you figure out your plan send a message. Until then, I have my people to prepare back home."
Buckingham, Sasainn, 13th September 934
Buckingham was frustratingly nice for September. The harvest in but the weather still summery, far south enough that it was almost a month ahead. Alba grumbled about it the entire time he was there, to whoever would listen, which it turned out was mostly just his brother.
"The weather is gorgeous." Sasainn agreed, Alba hoped he agreed since he was standing in the middle of the river and was liable to catching a cold in weather colder than he was used to. "Much better than in Dunnottar." He smirked and Alba threw his socks in the water. "Hey!"
"Leave Dùn Fhoithear out of it."
"Then maybe raise an army next time you break a peace treaty and provoke somebody into invading. You didn't even try to stop us."
"And yet you left anyway."
"Because the weather's shit in Dunnottar! And you said you'd keep the treaty." Sasainn fished his socked out of the river and made a face at them that changed into contemplative as he switched his gaze to Alba. "Why did you break a peace treaty you said you would agree too after not fighting to keep breaking it?" Alba rolled his eyes and left. He'd weaved his way through the tents on the riverbank and entered the town proper by the time Sasainn caught up, shoelaces undone and tunic on back to front. "Okay, so you and Éireland are scheming. Fine. We're totally prepared for your scheming anyway."
"I'm sure you are. No scheming on your side?"
"No." Said Sasainn quickly. "You're doing all the scheming." Alba sighed and turned around the cottage to walk up to the church doors, ignoring the soldier on either side, and walked in. Causantín looked up when he entered and gave him a small smile but the priest, Ethelstan and the local lord ignored him, focusing on the treaty they were finishing off. Sasainn appeared a few minutes later, his tunic on correctly and his hair a mess, eyebrows furrowed together and scowling like Albas own personal raincloud. He had enough manners not to bother him in church at least.
The three Englishmen suddenly stopped arguing between themselves and stepped back, allowing the priest to clear his throat and start reading the agreement. Alba zoned out almost immediately, Causantín would tell him anything important, as a witness he need to pay attention to these things, and examined the carvings around the pulpit instead. They had nearly reached the end when they caught his attention.
"Ego Ethelstanus rex Anglorum per omnipotentis dexteram totius Britanniae regni solio sublimatus quondam…" totius Britanniae regni. Throne of all Britain. Alba glanced sideways at his king who didn't appear to notice anything wrong, then at Sasainn who was paying even less attention than he had been, before looking back at Ethelstan. The king raised an eyebrow when Alba caught his eye and he frowned at him, but after an apologetic smile from Causantín, he tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment. He was man enough to admit when he had been played.
"Quorum nomina subtus deputata annotantur." The priest finished. "Objections?" Nobody objected. "Then if my Lords could just sign here." Alba said nothing when they signed and when Buckingham bowed to his king and left to release his men home. He waited for the priest to finish clearing away his writing utensils and retreat to his own home leaving just the two Nations and their kings in the church before speaking.
"Totius Britanniae regni?" Sasainn snapped his head up to look at him. Eyes bright and trying and failing to hide the excitement and resentment at the idea. Alba wasn't sure why he tried, Sasainn wore his heart on his sleeve and couldn't hide his emotions to save his life.
Ethelstan smiled at him, kind and victorious. Causantín remained impassive, although this close Alba could feel his frustration.
"Ego sum Æthelstan, Rex totius Britanniae." I am Æthelstan, King of All Britain.
Oh yeah, Alba was definitely going to wipe that smile off his face with his sword.
Brunanburh, 937
"This might not have been the best idea." Alba announced. Éire kicked him, although considering the amount of blood she had lost, physically from the sword in her slowly healing gut and metaphysically from the lives on the battlefield, it was rather weak. Not that Alba could have done better, he physically had not been wounded, but the metaphysical one was larger, and the blood loss was making him dizzy and tired.
"We all got what we wanted. Sort of." Sasainn grinned at them optimistically, the most well off of them all, high on victory and with the smallest population loss. Although Alba had no doubt that the moment his king manged to get him to bed he'd sleep for days. "It could be worse."
"You're just saying that because you weren't allowed to do any fighting. Were you even allowed on the battlefield?" Éire groaned. Sasainn made a sound like a strangled bird.
"Who do you think dragged you off the battlefield to heal instead of leaving you to die? Æthelflæd taught me healing." Alba immediately checked the bandages and ignored Sasainn's protests. He thought his brother had manged to persuade one of his men to do so for him before he dragged Éire's body to a nearby cowshed to re-knit itself, or die, in peace.
"They're done well." Éire said, a little begrudgingly. "I thought you'd done them."
"Of course, they're done well, I've had lots of practice." Sasainn's face dropped for the moment before he ducked his head and stated following the patterns on Éire's tunic with his finger. "I did you when they were healing the people with major injuries and I wasn't allowed to help, so you have the good bandages. We'd run out by the end, so you're lucky."
"Thank you then." Éire said. "I'd hate to have the bad bandages." Sasainn grinned at her and Alba swallowed down his remark that she would have had the good bandages anyway because he still had some left over from when the Scottish had used up all their own, spilling blood on foreign soil for something he still wasn't sure of the outcome of, and raided the Irish camp taking their bandages, the Irish healers not having enough patients to use them on. He had no idea about the state of the Strathclyde men, Bhreatain had not joined them but was presumably still metaphysically bleeding out from the comfort of his own bed.
"Bad bandages and losing is a double whammy." Alba said instead, swallowing down a brief flare of jealousy.
"Wait, we lost? Ugh." Éire scrunched up her face. "Hit me, what are the terms?"
"They're being negotiated." Sasainn informed her.
"Probably they'll come out with something like we all agree to leave each other alone, not help the Vikings. They'll be a Scotland for the Scottish, a Wales for the Welsh, and an England for the English and nobody gets to use the title 'Rex totius Britanniae' anymore. Also, this was shit so no more wars for a while, which means they're going to take all night to hammer out the details." Alba said. Éire opened one eye to look at Sasainn who immediately started to defend himself.
"It wasn't my idea! I was being ambitious, you know? Reach too high so if I fail I'll still be united. Which is working. Also, no more Vikings, which we all can agree is good because they suck. Also, oh." Sasainn scrunched up his nose and waved a hand out in front of him to grab Alba.
"Oh?" Éire asked.
"The Connection broke." Alba told her, shifting to try to dislodge the icy feeling in his chest of missing something he hadn't realised was there. "I guess we really are done with this 'Rex totius Britanniae' bullshit."
"Oh, great." Éire settled down on her bed on hay and closed her eyes. "They'll be needing your signatures then. You should go sign the documents."
"We can wait until you're healed." Sasainn reassured her. "It can be any time tonight."
"Brother? Dearest?" Éire opened an eye.
"Yes?"
"I'll be clearer. Fuck off." She closed it again and Alba laughed at the look on Sasainn's face.
"Come on, you heard the lady. She wants to heal in peace." He stood up and dusted the hay off his clothing.
"But aren't you supposed to have people around you when you heal?" Sasainn asked, confused but allowing himself to be hauled to his feet.
"That's humans. We're Nations, you'll understand when you have your first battle. You want to be away from other Nations." Alba steered his brother out of the room mentally preparing himself to field questions all the way back to the English camp and throwing a look over his shoulder to see his sister smile at him through her tears. He smiled back, his own long dried, then turned back to find his way to his now sovereign king in the twilight.
And here we have the first union, lasting all of 3 years with not a lot happening in-between. (This is the shortest I could make these notes. The other unions will be split up into multiple chapters so they should get shorter. Sorry.)
Mentioned: Skadi is the Norse personification of Scandinavia; the Ingvaeones (Ingwine in English) were a Germanic cultural group encompassing the Jutes, Frisians, Saxons, Chauci and Angles, Ing was the legendary father of these peoples. (Yep, England's Junior)
Glastonbury Tor is supposedly Avalon, the final resting place of King Arthur.
In 843 Cináed mac Ailpín of Dál Riada founded Scotland when he conquered Pictland, Causantín was his grandson and came to the throne in 900.
In Ireland, the Vikings had set up kingdoms in the 850s, the biggest being Dublin, the Irish briefly reconquered the area between 902-914 before Sihtric re-reconquered it, he left in 920 to go rule Northumbria instead and was succeeded by Guthfrith whose favourite hobby appeared to be randomly attacking towns and slaughtering their inhabitants.
In 865 the Danish Great Heathen Army landed in East Anglia and went on a conquering spree of the English lands until in 878 all that was left was Somerset under Alfred, who conquered back Wessex and half of Mercia. After his death, his daughter, Æthelflæd, took his quest of consolidating all English lands together over. She established a Tripartite Northern Alliance between Mercia, Alba and Strathclyde to defend each other from Vikings and in 1918 Sihtric submitted to her, but she died before she could do anything with this. Her nephew, Æthelstan, became king of Wessex and Mercia in 924 with full intent on becoming the 1st King of England and receiving fealty from all other inhabitants of Great Britain.
Wales was unconquered but split into 8 kingdoms, Hywel had ruled Dyfed since 904, he inherited Seisyllwg from his brother in 920 and merged them into a new kingdom, Deheubarth. Apparently, he got the union bug too because he went on pilgrimage to Rome and then came back in 926 and sort out Æthelstan to presumably make some kind of deal like the one in this chapter. As Æthelstan's right-hand man he had free reign of Wales that continued after Æthelstan's death and when he died in 948 he had unified Wales for the first time since Rome with the exception of Gwent.
Sihtric died in 927 and Æthelstan became King of Northumbria after a challenge from Guthfrith and then King of England. He became known as King of All Britain in 934 when Guthfrith died and Causantín rebelled, he was dissuaded by an Anglo-Welsh invasion force that left with no bloodshed. He lost the title in 937 when Causantín, Owain of Strathclyde and Guthfrith's less psychotic son Amlaíb, allied and invaded England in The Battle of Brunanburh.
The Battle of Brunanburh is probably the single most pivotal moment in British history as it established that there would be 3 nations in Great Britain. If it had not happened it is likely there would have only have been one; if the Welsh had fought as they had in 934 there would have been 2 (England and Scotland) and if the English had lost there would have been 4 or more (A Norse Northumbria/Wessex/Mercia), it also gave birth to English nationalism. It was the bloodiest battle since the Anglo-Saxon conquest, Æthelstan was said to have had 100,000 troops and apparently 35,000 Scottish and Irish troops died, presumably a similar number fell on the English side, including 5 Irish kings, almost the entire Irish army and most of Causantín's and Æthelstan's families. For reference the population of Scotland c1000AD was ~300,000, Ireland ~630,000, Wales ~150,000 (1066) and England 1,250,000. We can't confirm these numbers though, because nobody actually knows where Brunanburh is.