'However motherhood comes to you, it's a miracle.'
France was not surprised, if he was being honest with himself. Although England hadn't always been a motherland, it was difficult for anyone - him included - to remember what England had been like before that. And even then, he could distinctly remember spying on England, seeing him pick up tiny bunnies and birds, rock them to sleep or care for them with a gentle expression on his face that he hadn't thought possible of the savage child.
Then years passed in a blur, and in a royal court he saw England once again, with a tiny brunette girl holding onto his legs, no older than 5. Inquiries revealed she was called Londinium, a fine name for a girl, the courtiers agreed. If only they knew how true the name was to her. And yet England himself was only 14 and France tried not to wonder just how she came into existence.
More years flew by, an Empire built, cared for, and lost... And Londinium dead by the end of the Second World War. Instead, London had risen from the ashes of Londinium, to usher in a new age. No personification of the capital accompanied this, although France (or anyone) wasn't quite sure how their existences worked, so no one could predict if there ever would be a London.
The others were lucky their capitals were still alive, if traumatised and frightened beyond belief, but England truly had no one at that point, and began drinking more heavily. For all their closeness and being 'the married couple of Europe' France wasn't sure how to bring up Londinium, or any of their children for that matter, without starting a real fight, a real argument. It was a touchy subject, and he wasn't sure what to do. Sometimes, he thought it was a curse that England had been so nurturing, being both a man and a nation... For them, family would not last.
So when he saw that gentle expression on England's face and the lullaby sung so sweet, he could have laughed with joy. England had found someone to care for again, and Russia (whom he did not think so ill of) would finally be cared for. Perhaps Russia would stop England's alcoholism; perhaps England could reign in Russia's childlike violence. This union would be good for everyone.
He watched, with a smile, as England's eyes visibly softened, just for a moment, as they landed on Russia, who was slumped forwards a little, tired from nightmares. Given the fact he had tramped in 10 minutes late without the slightest hint of embarrassment, he did not remember what had happened the night before, although everyone had been talking about it all morning in hushed whispers. He saw how purposefully his longtime partner marched to the coffee machine, and left a steaming mug there just before Russia reached it. His smile grew wider as Russia started in surprise and sipped the coffee gratefully, even if he didn't currently know who it was from.
He chuckled, and moved towards England, ready to begin annoying him for the day, and thanked God one more time for the miracle before being hit in the face.