Ireland couldn't sleep. It wasn't from lack of trying. There was just something off, an aura about the house that he couldn't shake off. He eventually couldn't take it anymore and got up to go walk around.
"Ire," Northern Ireland asked, his eyes half open, "Somethin' wrong?"
"No, nothing," Ireland responded, "Go back to sleep."
Northern Ireland closed his eyes. Ireland waited a few moments to make sure his brother was asleep again before leaving the room. All was still and dark out in the hall.
Ireland summoned an orb of green light and walked around the house. The rain had finally stopped, but the wind picked up. It rattled the trees and knocked them against the windows. He eventually saw that the door to England's library was open and light was coming out from there. Peering inside, Ireland found Wales asleep at the table there, his head resting on his arms. He looked exhausted, which made Ireland question how much sleep his brother was getting.
Ireland knocked on the door lightly, which made Wales jump wide awake immediately. Ireland was not at all surprised. It was a reflex that Wales had developed due to being ganged up on by Scotland, England, and Ireland (and if he was really lucky, all three of them at once). It never got any better. "Alright?" Ireland asked.
Wales nodded, then stopped and looked shocked. "Ire… you may…"
Ireland suddenly felt a sting in the back of his head. It hurt badly, like a scolding. He turned around, ready to fight whoever did that, but almost fell down out of surprise. "Mum?"
Britannia, in all her brilliant glory, gave Ireland a fierce scowl. "Aye, it's me." She was wearing that white dress she wore back when she was alive; her long blonde hair tied up in a braided bun. Ireland was both glad to see Britannia again, and also terrified to hear her pissed off voice. "Tell me, what did I ask you to do?"
"When?"
"When I died. I told you to do one thing."
"To look after my brother and…"
"Brothers," Britannia corrected him, "I don't care what you all got into an argument about, but it has gone on long enough."
"You don't know what happened."
"Does it look like I care? Scotland has told me enough about it, and it seems that everything has been put right now, besides all your feelings. Family cannot give up on family."
"Aye, mum…" Ireland said quietly.
Britannia gave Ireland a hug. "You are all each other has in a world that is always changing. I know the past is your specialty and that it haunts you, but that does not mean you can hold onto grudges forever." She told him quietly. It took a lot from Ireland not to burst into tears.
"What are you doing here, Mum?" Wales asked once Ireland and Britannia's moment was over, "And how can we see you?"
"I came to see England. It took a lot of convincing to do this, and in the end, I have to thank Rome." Britannia did not look at all happy about that fact.
"Really?" Ireland groaned, which warranted another slap in the back of the head.
"So you know that he's ill," Wales stated.
Britannia nodded. "Spéir did a fantastic job healing him. I'm only making sure that his head is in the right place. There was another person involved, who was also apart of the healing ritual."
"That's why he used more magic than expected," Ireland said, realizing what happened, "But who else is involved?"
Britannia shook her head, "I didn't ask. Now, what are you doing in the dead of night in a library?" Britannia turned to pointedly look at Wales.
"It's this," Wales said, bringing out a relatively new spell book, "I don't know if Scotland told you about Canada, but we recently found out that he has a gift for magic. I've been trying to make a spell book for him, but finding spells has been rather difficult."
Britannia asked for the book and read through it. "Scotshire may have mentioned him once or twice. Who is he?"
"He's a nation England took in when he was younger," Wales explained.
"Can I see him?"
The three of them walked down the halls, guided by Ireland's light. Canada's room was the same one he had when he lived in England's house before. There was a wall full of old childhood drawings. Canada was in his bed, asleep to the world.
"He looks like France," Britannia said, "The hair is the same."
"He was France's for a little while. England took him in when France no longer could take care of him."
"What kind of person is he?"
"He's quiet," Ireland said, "And never really argues, except with America, but then again, they are brothers. I've actually never heard of any stories of him getting really mad at anyone ever, except if it has to do with hockey. He helped out during this one bad war for our side…" Ireland was at a loss for words; he couldn't seem to get the right ones out to completely capture Canada. In honest truth, he really liked the nation. They always seemed to agree on similar things.
Britannia walked over to where Canada lay. She placed a hand on his forehead. "He has a gift in finding lost things," she said quietly. Britannia opened the book and wrote down a few things before placing it on the nightstand. She then placed a finger on Canada's forehead and said, "My blessing be upon you, Canada. May you be protected by the graces of your land and people." Her eyes glowed green as she spoke.
"What does it do?" Ireland asked once they closed the door to Canada's room. "Your blessing?"
Britannia gave a mysterious smile, but didn't answer the question. Ireland was not at all surprised; Britannia never answered questions she didn't want to answer.
"Now, is there anyone else I should know about in this family England has made?"
"Australia and America," Wales said, "They are also little ones England took in when they were young."
"Australia is the rambunctious one," Britannia said, "I have met him before."
"How?" Wales and Ireland asked in unison.
Once again, Britannia didn't answer in words, but rather in a knowing smile.
"Fine, keep your secrets," Ireland said.
"America was England's favorite," Wales said, "He's the leading power of the world now."
"And what is he like?"
Wales and Ireland looked at each other. "He's…" Wales started to say.
"He's Canada's exact opposite, personality wise." Ireland said without hesitation. "He's loud, he's rude, he speaks his mind constantly, and he doesn't understand subtlety. But, regardless of that, he has saved all our asses on numerous occasions, and his heart tends to be in the right place. The world would be very different without him in it, that's for sure."
"Hm…" Britannia looked thoughtful for a moment. "I won't keep you two up. I think I can find my way around this place."
Wales took Britannia's hand and held it for a minute. Ireland knew that Wales was very close to Britannia when she was still alive. "You were right," Wales said.
Britannia smiled kindly and gave Wales a hug. She whispered something to him before pulling away. Then she turned to Ireland and opened her arms to him. They hugged once again. "Your energy flows through your people, just as their energy flows through you. Remember that."
"I will, Mum."
"And don't make me want to come back to scold you personally again," Britannia chided.
"We'll try," Wales said.
Ireland smiled, the bitter sting of goodbye in his chest. "See you when our time comes."
88888
America groaned and turned over. Something woke him up, but he wasn't sure what. He heard a door close. "Matt?" He asked, reaching for a light. When he turned it on, Canada wasn't in the room. Rather, there was a woman in white looking at him. She looked like what America would imagine to be the girl version of England with long hair and a bit older.
"The hero of Europe," she said, "And yet you can't see the magical folk without help. How are you my grandson?"
"Who are you?" America asked slowly, shoving on his glasses just to make sure he was seeing things properly. He glanced down at the clock on the nightstand; it was two o'clock in the morning.
"I am Britannia. Tell me, why did you forsake magic?"
"It wasn't I knew I could until a few days ago." America groaned. This wasn't a conversation he wanted to have at any time, let alone a godforsaken one.
"Except it was you who shocked England awake."
"Hey, that was a coincidence he woke up after I shook him."
"Is that your word for it? Coincidence doesn't happen in the magical world, just so you know."
"What are you doing in my room?" America asked. He was wide awake now, and hating every second of it.
"I wanted to see why England liked you so much. You are very strong, I'll give him that." Britannia took a deep breath. "The world has changed indeed." Her eyes glowed green again, and America got the distinct impression he was being read. When the light in her eyes died down, she had an amused look on her face. "You admire England."
"Once, when I was a kid." America said, with an eyebrow raised.
"Oh, but you still do. I can see it in your eyes."
America really didn't like having his thoughts read. "I fought him though. I don't look up to him anymore. I surpassed him."
"True. No one can be strong forever, and the same goes for you too. But admiration takes on many forms. You're here, aren't you? Making sure that England comes out of this alright. You still admire him."
"I just… I don't know why he did this. It makes no sense. He almost killed himself."
"Well, that's certainly true. He's always been a stubborn one, and I think you know that to be true. He didn't mean to cause this trouble. However, that is his story to tell when morning comes and not mine." Britannia took out a pair of leather gloves and a pocket sized book from her oversized sleeve and handed them to America. "Just in case."
"What are these?"
"The gloves will seal your magic so long as you wear them. The book is some spells that I believe will be right up your expertise. Being the hero and all that."
"Like I'm going to need magic." America rolled his eyes.
"It's more likely than you think. These might be the difference between life and death for you."
"Sure, whatever."
"Ireland was right, you are rude." Britannia said, with an amused expression on her face. "But I trust his judgement of your character." She touched America's forehead. "My blessing be upon you, America. May you be protected by the graces of your land and that trouble does not find you until you are ready to face it."
Before America could ask what that meant, he lost consciousness.
88888
Wales, regardless of spending most of the night awake, was still up early. He watched the kettle heat up, knowing full well the rule against doing so. He didn't care.
"Morning," Ireland said, coming into the kitchen. He looked how Wales felt: groggy, with no real way of fixing it.
The two of them stood next to each other in silence. Wales was used to that from Ireland. Even when they were kids, the two of them didn't really say much to each other. They were very different people. Wales was constantly looking toward the future while Ireland was always reminded of the past. The present was their meeting ground.
"Out of curiosity," Ireland eventually spoke up, "Did you ever find Excalibur?"
"No… the pond that Scotland threw it in is no longer there. The sword wasn't there. Someone else must have found it." The thought of it didn't make Wales happy one bit, but what was done was done. He just hoped that the sword was in a museum, locked up where it could do no harm to anyone.
"Shame."
Wales sighed, "I would have loved to see it again."
Silence pervaded once again. "I have always envied your gift, you know," Ireland said, "To see into the future."
"It's not that great. The futures I see… while I've learned to shrug them off, they stay with me like a stone. As the events unfold, either I can stop them or watch as they unravel. Mostly the latter, because I don't have the power to stop them. Watching helpless."
"But… at least there is a chance you can change the future. What good is it to watch past events again and again, knowing there is nothing you can do to change what has already occurred?"
"Humans have a reason for it," Wales shrugs. The kettle whistled and he started pouring the hot water into the tea pot he had prepared.
"Do they?"
"Memorials, museums, movies… they keep rewatching the past, their collective histories. Their reason for it is to learn for it, so that maybe next time, things won't turn out the same. They say history repeats itself."
"That history repeats itself until the human race is ready to move on," Ireland said quietly, more to himself that to Wales. He looked up and said, "It's one thing to do it willingly. It's another to be forced into it."
"True enough." Wales smiled. He then outstretched a hand to Ireland. "Truce?"
Ireland took the hand, and pulled Wales into a hug. "Truce."
Author's Note: *Ireland has learned HUG* *HUG is super effective*
But, in all seriousness, those items are going to come in handy for America in a later story. Britannia is really good at magic, and can cast spells that let her see into the future or the past, depending on what she wants to find out. She just wants to take care of the family, regardless on how they got there.
Scotshire is just Britannia's name for Scotland.
That is it for this week's up date. Until next time.