Dissertation amiright?
Anyways, that's all done now so fingers crossed I can actually write more now. I have this thing called free time. I make no promises though because I've done that before, and it meant everything took even longer.
Here's the Norman Conquest of England warnings for genocide, Scotland being emotionally constipated, violence, attempted fratricide.
Wintanceaster/Winchester, Englaland, 2nd November 1065
"Sir, with all due respect, you're going to get us all killed." Harold rested his hands down on the table as he loomed over them. King Eadweard glared, but nobody refuted him. Edith sighed at her brother and adjusted her hair with the hand not holding Eadweard's while Hereward and Æðelræd became very interested in their coat linings.
"The Vatican was never going to be happy with us, but now that they've stopped receiving funding from the Byzantium's we're their biggest source of income. We could have made a deal." Harold continued.
"Might I remind you it was your father who threatened to withhold Peter's Pence and made the Vatican interested in us in the first place?" Eadweard sneered from his throne.
"It was your sentimentality of Normandig that meant that you appointed Robert of Jumièges to be the Archbishop of Canterbury over Æthelric, the man the cathedral elected." Harold shot back. "It was this position which allowed him to consolidate power here, and that position, which means it is on record now that your throne will go to the Duke of Normandig, regardless of the wishes of anybody in this kingdom. You could have chosen anybody to appease the Vatican, but you chose him."
"It was a sound decision to make." Eadweard said.
"No. It wasn't." Harold shook his head. "Neither is throwing ourselves at the Norman's mercy."
"You're the one who swore allegiance to William." Stithulf pointed out.
"I did not!" Harold snapped.
"At this point, there is little else we can do." Ealdhelm said, ignoring Harold.
"Then you are a coward." Stithulf said. "This isn't an impossible situation to escape from. We just need to train up young Étgar to be king and hold Normandig at arm's length." Harold twitched, but Eadweard nodded.
"That is possible." He said. "I will make arrangements. Is there anything else this council must discuss?" There was a moment of silence as Harold swallowed down his next complaint. "In which case, I adjoin this council. Return to your duties." The Witan bowed and left until only Harold remained. The two men held each other's gazes until Harold bowed.
"I trust you understand what you are doing my Lord." He said before sweeping out of the room, Edith following him with a look to her husband. Eadweard sighed and leaned back in his chair.
"How much time do you think I have?" He asked, turned to the corner Englaland sat in trying not to be underfoot and let the Witan forget he was there so they wouldn't soften their words for him. Englaland shrugged and came closer to his king.
"People survive turns like you had and live very long lives." Englaland said.
"I'm sure they do." Eadweard said. "How common are they?" Englaland picked at his tunic.
"Not very. Most people die within the year." Eadweard hummed.
"Then, as much as I dislike it, your next king will be that hapless barbarian."
Lundenburh/London, Englaland, 8th December 1066
"Fe, Fi, Fo, Fum, I smell the blood of an Englishman!"
"Not funny Brân." Englaland called down the tunnel, raising his candle higher to spot the rocks that had fallen over the path since he last came down to visit the giant, feet slashing against the stream of water coming from his destination and drenching the surrounding rocks. "Also, you can't smell me, you can see my light."
"I can certainly hear the racket you're making." Englaland rolled his eyes and turned the corner into the cavern that was the home of his host. Brân smiled at him, two rows of teeth each the size of Englaland's finger glinting in the dark. The Thames dripped through the soil before flowing into a waterfall that crashed down to the overflowing pool before him, which Brân's decapitated head sat in.
"Oh, you're taller." Brân sounded surprised. "You're growing into a fine young kingdom."
"Have you heard of Hastings?" Englaland cut to the chase.
"Lovely little seaside town." Brân sighed. "Shame people keep invading it."
"You know what's happened?" Englaland asked.
"I know about your little French problem, yes."
"It's not little." Englaland clarified. "This… I don't know how to explain it, but this feels different. My king is dead."
"Young Étgar might be a little put out about that."
"Étgar is a child."
"So are you." Brân stared at him with ancient eyes and Englaland swallowed down his reply that he only looked like one; that he was almost a thousand years old. Just because he had the body of a twelve-year-old did not mean Brân had to treat him like one; that he felt something shifting in his blood that made him feel all thousand years of his life, similar to Cnut, but worse.
Brân had carved the mountains; he was older than Ireland and their mother and Ireland's father; he had watched empires rise and fall and had stood for thousands of years. In comparison, Englaland was a child, however much he may hate it.
But that was exactly the reason Englaland had come to him.
"I don't know what to do." Englaland admitted. "The Witan wants to submit, but Normandig is not Denamearc, and I don't think I will get a French version of Danelaw. Nor the North Sea Empire." Brân was silent, staring at him for a moment before he spoke again.
"You have good instincts. You should follow them." Englaland made a sound to indicate that he was listening, then waited for more advice. It took him a moment too long to realise it wasn't coming.
"Can you help?" He asked.
"Yes." Englaland sighed in relief.
"Thank you so much I can't-"
"But I won't." Englaland's breath caught in his throat and his heart skipped a beat.
"Why not?" Englaland asked, voice strangled. "After what happened? Why not?"
"What happened?"
"What do you mean, what happened? You said you knew. You always know."
"But I want to hear it from you." Brân was using the voice he used to calm the oceans. Englaland stared at him, then snorted and shook his head.
"In 1050, the Papacy started consolidating its control. Demanding more power in our legal systems and over secular matters. I didn't like that, but Eadweard wanted to keep the Vatican happy, so when my bishops refused to accept the decrees, he started appointing Norman ones, and making Norman Lords. Godwin, of Wessex, protested and the fake Archbishop of Canterbury, Robert of Jumièges, accused him of plotting to kill the king and had him exiled. Godwin returned and ousted the Norman but by that point Robert had already told his Lord that Eadweard had made him his heir even though Eadweard has no power to make anybody his heir. My kings are chosen by the Witan, so the best person for me will be chosen, not left to chance!
"Then Harold, Godwin's son, was shipwrecked in Ponthieu and its Earl handed him over to Normandig, who says Harold swore an Oath on sacred relics that he would support William's claim to the throne. Harold returned and said I should stop funding the Vatican and paying Peter's Pence so the Vatican got all annoyed at him, and me, because he wouldn't support the reforms and since Byzantium's not paying anymore either they've lost a load of money.
"Then Eadweard died and Normandig, and Norway, decided they could steal my kingdom. Harold fought Hardrada at Stamford Bridge and won, but William took the opportunity to invade at Hastings and got the Pope to declare the invasion a Holy War and excommunicated all my soldiers!
"The navy was dismantled at the end of September because the weather had turned and nobody's insane enough to cross the Narrow Sea in winter." Englaland swallowed and corrected himself. "We thought nobody was insane enough to cross the Narrow Sea in winter. Before Stamford, we had dismissed the fyrds for harvest and were left with only a few soldiers who marched south after the battle. It was a massacre and William's marched north ever since everybody who's tried to stop him has been slaughtered, in Cantwara burg and Wintanceaster. The Witan wants to submit. They think he will stop the killing after, but I don't think so and I don't know what to do and I'm scar–so here I am." He finished.
"So here you are." Brân agreed. "But this is not new. Cnut-"
"Made me great." Englaland interrupted.
"So could William."
"William doesn't feel like Cnut."
"As I said, you have good instincts."
"Please help me." Englaland begged.
"I am protector of Britain, Englaland. Not of Englaland. William is your problem to solve." Englaland closed his eyes. "Besides, he is already here, and no one can change the past. The future is always changing, but the present-" Englaland opened his eyes, "the present each of us can change." Brân smiled, softer than before.
"When you and your siblings reach an accord, come back to me. I've told you before what you need to do. In the meantime, you need to decide if you will submit or fight." Brân closed his own eyes and there was a thunderous boom as his giant head shifted somehow for him to become comfortable enough to fall asleep. Knowing a dismissal when he heard one, Englaland made his way back out of the cavern to creep through the magically hidden doorway under the White Hill.
The next morning when the Witan stood before William and proclaimed him king Englaland was not among them.
Bodmin, Kingdom of Kernow, Englaland, 12th April 1067
"Earl of Cornwealas!" Kernow waved the letter in his face with enough ferocity that Englaland thought she might tear it. "Earl!" She scoffed and slammed the letter on the table, leaning over so she could loom over him. "I am not a wayward earldom or shire. I am a kingdom. Completely different and separate from you. I am not English lands and some French ponce claiming to be an English king has no power over me!"
"Exactly." Englaland interrupted before she could go off completely. "He only has some ludicrous and completely unproven claim as Eadweard's successor as told by a disgraced and corrupt bishop. He has never claimed any power over you, and he shouldn't have any. He's just an ambitious bastard."
"Thank you." Kernow threw her hands in the air and shook her head. "Breizh was claiming otherwise."
"Brittany's a dick, you know, his dukes looking for a power grab."
"He is. What is it with dukes and power grabs?"
"They do seem to have that bad habit." Englaland shook his head. "The point I was making is that William will not stop. As long as he's in Great Britain, we're all in danger, not just me, so I need help to get him out."
"You have my full support, but I think my tin would be more use to you."
"No, you are more use to me." Englaland grabbed her hand. "Kernow, our brothers aren't going to believe me if I tell them they need to help get rid of him. They won't want to believe me, but with you there they won't have a choice." Kernow raised an eyebrow.
"You want to go beg for their aid?"
"Alba's aid." Englaland corrected. "Wales is helping. Bleddyn and Rhiwallon ap Cynfyn are allied with Eadric the Wild. They're going to besiege Hereford Burh. I've also sent a message to Denamearc: Sweyn Estridsson invades East Anglia and kills William, the crown is his." Kernow's eyebrow managed to rise even further.
"Estridsson? Hasn't spent the last, what, generation fighting Harald Hardrada? Who you killed? He's never going to kill William."
"I don't need him to." Englaland shuddered at the thought. "I don't want him on my throne, but there's no way he will be. I just need him to cause enough trouble that most of the French forces will fight the Danes and not me."
"Well, if you're sure it will work." Kernow sat down and ran a finger over the letter. "When's this happening then? When Estridsson shows up?"
"He's Danish." Englaland rolled his eyes. "He'll show up when he's good and ready and not a moment before. Forget about him, he's the distraction. William left for Normandig last month. That's why they're attacking Hereford now. Exeter is under the Godwin's and Northumbria is still in English hands. If we can push them east into the hands of the Danish army, then they'd have to re-invade to re-establish themselves, and I still have my navy."
"Where does Alba come into this?"
"Supplies." Englaland squeezed Kernow's hand. "Look, I have this all thought out. I just need proof, and that's you."
Aberdon/Aberdeen, Kingdom of Alba, 8th September 1067
Alba looked very surprised to see them when they showed up at his house before he shut the door in their faces. Englaland scowled at it before banging his fist against the wood.
"That's not how you treat guests." He called through the door.
"You're not guests." Alba called back. "You're professional annoyances."
"Alba." Englaland whined, leaning forward and placing his head against the oak. "You don't even know what I'm here for."
"Rebellion against your king." Englaland could hear his brother shuffling about the house, probably looking for something to do with his hands.
"Brân asked to see you." There was a moment of silence, then sudden rapid footsteps and he only just pushed himself back upright when the door was flung open.
"Brân?" He repeated.
"Yes Brân." Englaland ducked under Alba's arm and into his house before he could stop him. Alba's house was much warmer than he'd thought it would be, considering how draughty the door must be.
"Why does Brân want to see me?" Alba demanded, marching up to Englaland and leaving Kernow by the door.
"A severed head of an ancient giant tasked with protecting our isles can't talk to one of the Nations he is protecting?" Englaland enquired.
"No, and he's not doing a very good job of protection, is he?" Alba shot back.
"That's what he wants to talk to you about." Englaland collapsed backwards onto Alba's favourite chair by the fire and tried not to smirk as the muscle in Alba's cheek jumped.
"And if I decline?" Alba asked.
"You do not decline an invitation to talk from the Raven King." Kernow warned. Alba glanced over at her, arms crossed, and the door firmly shut behind her.
"Aye. That is true." He looked back at Englaland. "But I don't believe Brân issued an invitation. He has many ways of contacting me. He would not send a child to do his work for him." Englaland pushed himself to his feet and stepped up onto the chair he had been sitting on.
"I am perfectly capable of delivering messages as I am of fighting for my people. I am a Nation, brother, do not mistake my physical manifestation for my real age."
Alba took three large strides over to him, and his towering height ensured that even standing on the chair, Englaland had to look up to meet his eye.
"Your arrogance, child, will never cease to amaze me." Englaland ground his teeth together. "Your wealth makes you insolent and lazy, and your age gives you false wisdom. Do not mistake human customs for our own, brother. We are not human and although it may seem, so we are not immune to mortal failings. Age and death, but to name two." Englaland glared at Alba through blurry eyes.
"You have no right to speak to me like this." He snapped.
"What did Brân say to you?" Alba demanded.
"He said he cannot repeal invaders who are already here, but to protect us from future pests, he needs all of our agreement." Alba stepped back and frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you need to put aside your pride and visit Lunden." Kernow said. "We have a ship. Wales will meet us at the Isle of Sheppey on the new moon."
"Why does Brân need to have my agreement to repeal invaders? He should have been doing so anyway." Alba threw at her.
"Do you remember Arthur?" Englaland asked. Alba pointed at Englaland with his finger and stepped forward again.
"We agreed about this King of All Britain bullshite." Englaland slapped his hand away.
"Well, it turns out he was an even more of a twat than we thought he was. When he went to sleep, he swore he would come back if needed. Yeah?" Alba stared at him. "And you remember how he dug up Brân's head because we didn't need him to watch out for us and stop all invasions because he was there?"
"Englaland." Alba growled.
"Well, apparently that broke Brân's magic and we need to go ask him to help us restore it or he won't be able to stop invasions." Englaland finished in a rush.
"For Christ's sake. No wonder there's been so many Danes around recently." Alba ran a hand through his hair and sighed. Then he looked up and sighed again.
"This is bad news." He said. "But what do I get out of this?"
"William will come north." Englaland said. "With an eye for your throne. Come visit Brân and give me supplies to be rid of him, and he won't get the opportunity."
"So, this visit is about committing treason again, your king."
"He's not my king." Englaland snapped back.
"Tell that to the rest of the world." Alba scoffed.
"I am. Loudly. I just need supplies."
"What makes you even think he will come north? It is you he wanted. I don't have treasuries of gold."
"Because he is a conquer." Englaland replied.
"He has deposed of my king and replaced him with an Earl." Kernow said. Alba turned to look at her. For a moment, neither of them moved before she inclined her head just so, and he nodded.
"Okay. So, he's a threat to peace, but why should I give you supplies when I can negotiate directly with him?" Alba turned back to Englaland. Englaland stared at him imploringly before swallowing.
"If you help me get rid of the French, I will recognise your claims to Bernicia." The words felt like flint in this throat, but regardless of what his siblings thought of him, he was a Nation first and foremost. He needed to think of more than the needs of a few.
Alba's lips curled.
"I'll pack my bag." Englaland beamed. "While I'm doing that, you can wash off the mud you've tracked in from my furniture." Englaland hopped off the chair and scowled at him.
"I'm not a servant."
"No." Alba agreed. "Servants I can get rid of."
Lundenburh, Kingdom of Englaland, 23rd October 1067
Wales met them at Minster with dinner and news of Éireland.
"She said that she would provide none of her own men, but she's already accepted Harold's sons and they can use Dublin as a landing pad." Englaland nodded.
"Ain't that sweet." Alba grumbled. "Are we leaving or not?" Wales glared at him, but grabbed his bag and stepped into the boat, sitting next to Kernow.
They spoke little on the ride in, but somehow, when the lights of Lundenburh came into view around midnight, a hush fell over them, anyway.
The Normans were guarding the Roman walls, not the White Hill, but they still took care when travelling to its entrance, using only the moon to guide them and the familiarity with the path to know where to tread. The foundations for a great fort tower were being laid and would raise alarm if disturbed.
The entrance opened to them when they neared, the magic in the air allowing them in.
Kernow didn't hesitate to march on through, and Alba followed after a beat, the two of them disappearing into the magical gateway, leaving no trace behind. Wales slipped his hand into Englalands when he stepped forward and squeezed gently.
"You have my support." He said. Voice almost a whisper but still ringing loudly in Englaland's ears. "Whatever Brân says and whatever happens next. You have my support and if you need help, I will come for you." Englaland smiled weakly at him, squeezing his hand back and resisting the urge to throw himself into his brother's arms. He was not yet so weak.
"No conditions?" He said. Wales chuckled.
"There are conditions. But nothing you can't give." Wales flashed Englaland a grin and disappeared after their older siblings. Englaland took a moment to breathe, his chest a little lighter, feeling like he'd regained something he hadn't realised he'd been missing, before giving the countryside one last overlook and stepping into the Hill.
Immediately, Alba's voice came echoing down the hall, too far away to discern what he was saying, but loud enough that his displeasure was made known. Englaland followed the path and thankfully reached the main cavern as Alba fell silent. Nobody looked at him, although Brân only took a moment longer to continue his staring competition with Alba to turn to Wales.
"You've grown into a fine warrior since I last saw you." Wales inclined his head.
"Thank you, Lord. I endeavour to protect my people. I am here to beg of you to do the same." Brân nodded and turned to Kernow.
"And you dear?"
"Always." She curtsied.
"I want what's best for me and mine. That cannot happen with constant incursion." Englaland said before Brân could ask when his eyed flicked to him. Brân said nothing, but turned back to Alba, who crossed his arms.
"You never answered me. If you've known this whole time we were undefended, why didn't you say so? And if men have the power to render our defences worthless, how can we stop them doing so again?"
"I said so." Answered Brân. "You were too busy fighting amongst yourselves to listen."
"Because we were not supposed to deal with outside threats." Alba growled back. Englaland stared at him and wondered briefly when the last time Alba had visited, then he realised he was jeopardising Englaland's chance to remove the French.
"When Arthur died, he said he would come back in our time of need." Englaland interrupted. "He also said that we didn't need Brân because he would fight off any invaders, so having a lookout was useless. We didn't look into what he meant by that. We should have." Alba snorted.
"Fat lot of good he's done. How many Danes have we had crawling over here since he left?"
"He obviously underestimated the number of Danes." Kernow said dryly.
"We can't change that now." Wales interrupted. "We can secure our defences for the future."
"If you say now, I can ensure no other person can bring an invasion force to this island. I will be your eyes and ears and alert you to any dangers, and if the danger is too great, Arthur." Brân said.
"How will you alert us?" Englaland asked. "They are building a great burh, a castle, on the White Hill because they heard that you are here. It is unlikely we will be able to visit again, and the entrance may be blocked."
"It's a magical entrance." Wales said. "But the French believe in Brân?"
"No." Englaland admitted. "They believe we believe that below the White Hill lies our patron, who will protect us. They are trying to destroy that protection and the spiritual site. A lot of great buildings are being built on spiritual sites."
"In this case they will fail at both." Brân said. "The entrance will open somewhere new, and you will always be able to visit me. And I am the Raven King. As long as the ravens have access to the earth above us, I can use them as my eyes and ears."
"Then we will ensure that the ravens are well cared for." Wales grinned.
"You should." Brân said. "Because if they cannot reach me, I cannot forewarn you of any attack, nor will Arthur be alerted. Your people's morale will break, and you will fall."
"We will take excellent care of the ravens." Promised Kernow when none of them spoke up.
"Yes." Englaland agreed, throat dry. "I'll ensure there's always ravens here."
"I ask for your protection, Lord." Alba said, face impassable and voice a little rougher than before. "That there are no threats from outside."
"Very well." Brân agreed. "For as long as I am able, there will be no more threats from the outside. This island belongs to you, and you can decide how it is split between you."
"And the French?" Englaland asked.
"Are for you to deal with. But if they leave, they cannot return."
Northumbria, Kingdom of Englaland, 17th February 1070
The child in Englaland's arms sobbed silently as they hid huddled under the brush.
He didn't know her name, neither of them had asked when they'd met at the crossroads a few miles back and they were too exhausted to talk after running from the adults they had been travelling with when a Norman contingent had met them at the same crossroads.
His head swam and his Nation senses were aflame. His nerves alight in quiet agony. His head as full of smoke as his lands and the blood loss from the wounds littering his body - open sores to match the scars on his land, sword cut from close escapes with soldiers and desperate people with no thought of anything but their inability to run – and the never-ending flood of his people leaving him, making his starvation almost unnoticeable.
Almost.
They'd collapsed under the brush more than anything, having sped through the trees, the hounds of hell on their heels, thanking God all the way that it had not rained the days before so their footprints wouldn't show, and nobody could follow them.
She was sobbing for her family. He knew that, and he knew they were dead with more certainty than she did, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't pick out their names from the dozens-hundreds-thousands of others facing the same fate and overwhelming his senses.
He wasn't entirely sure where they were. Land contested and splitting and everything he'd known shattering beneath him. He could feel it thrum beneath him and knew he was still in Northumbria, but for all he knew he could be a mile from Mercia or Alba or the sea.
Not that it mattered: he didn't know where he was going, just that he needed to run.
Eventually the girl stopped crying, and they lay together in the dark, straining for knowledge that they were alone. They lay together for so long that Englaland had thought she'd fallen asleep when she spoke up.
"Why is nobody coming?" she whispered. "Why hasn't God sent anybody to help us? We're good Christian people. We've done nothing to deserve that." Englaland swallowed and buried his head in her hair.
"This is not the work of God, but man. The Welsh tried, the Irish are taking in our people and the Danes are in East Anglia." He whispered back.
"And the Scots?" She whispered. Englaland didn't say anything. He didn't know what his brother was doing. He was hadn't heard from him in years. "I heard they were raiding the north."
"They're not." Englaland protested immediately. "They can't be."
"How do you know?"
"Because they promised to help and I'm going to see them." He nodded, as much to himself as to her. "Where are you going?"
"My father served with a man in Mercia. We were going to see if he could provide aid for us." Englaland swallowed and nodded.
They trekked east the next morning, a compromise and in the opposite direction to which they'd come, across the barren fields and when they reached a road, they had followed it on the opposite side of the hedgerows, skirting the ashes of hamlets and villages.
It was mid-afternoon when they found other travellers, Englaland's instincts dragging him off the road to the stream without quite recognising why. They'd stumbled upon a woman washing up and all froze in tense silence, having long since learnt that screaming would make things worse, before realising they were friendly.
Ten minutes later and they were asleep in furs with a promise of dinner when they awoke and the false security of adults above them.
They did not speak over dinner, but when they'd finished, Englaland bid goodbye to head north and they did not try to stop him. Whether it was because they could see his desperation or sense something not quite right about him, he didn't know.
He avoided other humans for the next few days. Something that had become depressingly easy. He needs to think clearly, so he knew what he wanted to say when he finally met Alba and if he were with his people, he'd think about them instead (and how they were dying and how their blood split and how hungry hetheyhe were andandand).
He needed to know what to say to Alba, but three days of walking didn't give him any ideas.
It just left him with his thoughts of what Alba was doing instead of helping.
Englaland knew his elder brother didn't like him. He wasn't entirely sure why. He had extracted tribute from him, but so had Denamearc, and in turn Englaland had paid tribute to Alba. Politically, Englaland was the injured party and Alba had no reason to hold a grudge as long as he held Bernicia.
Which left personal reasons. And the idea that Alba would stand by and watch his people die because of something Englaland personally had done made him put one foot in front of another.
The daffodils were out when he reached the border, heavily fortified and with many suspicious eyes, but they were letting people through. A steady stream, even though it was only a small outpost. Because it was a small outpost.
Englaland stopped and watched them leave, heart in his throat, and tried to figure out the best way to find Alba.
He could go to his king but might be handed over to William as a hostage.
He could try the army, but he didn't know who they were helping.
He could wander around Bernicia broadcasting his presence until his brother came to him, but that could take months he didn't have.
He could-
"Sas-Brother?" Englaland span around at the incredulous voice behind him to see a small raiding party with a group of prisoners. Sitting on one horse was Alba. Armour dirty from wear and a bag slung over his shoulder, a golden sceptre poking out the top.
Englaland had never been happier to see him.
By the time Alba had dismantled his horse and reached Englaland, he was crying, and, without care, he threw himself into Alba's arms.
"Whoa." Alba stumbled slightly. "What are you-? What's going on? Why are you here?"
Englaland babbled. He wasn't sure what he said or if he answered anything Alba asked, but his words didn't make it past his sobs and after a moment Alba gave in and picked him up. Englaland wrapped his arms around his brother's neck and stopped trying to explain himself and started trying to breathe.
By the time he'd got his sobs under control, Alba was trying to unlock a door and cursing into Englaland's hair.
Englaland took a depth breath and swung his legs to the floor. Alba jerked but kept one arm around his shoulders as he used his new free hand to finally turn the key.
Englaland didn't fight when he dragged him inside and sat him down on the bed. He stared at Alba as he closed the door behind him and removed his armour. A moment later there was a knock at the door and Alba swung it open again with more force than was strictly necessary, surprising the maid behind it. He grunted his thanks as he picked up the tray with a carton of water and a loaf of bread and brought it to the bed, kicking the door shut behind him.
"Drink." Alba said. "You've just cried up any water you've drunk today, and I don't want you collapsing from dehydration." Englaland smiled at him and took a sip, then a gulp.
Alba watched him. Face carefully blank but hand picking at his tunic.
"You alright now?" he asked when Englaland set down the water and started tearing into the bread. "Able to explain what happened?" Englaland shook his head and swallowed his bread.
"I don't know." Alba groaned as he took another bite.
"What do you know then?"
"I was in Jórvík last summer. With Étgar Ætheling and Selwyn and Denamearc. William attacked, and we were disbanded. Denamearc went to his ships in the Humber Estuary. Étgar and I were split up, and I ran. William didn't stop at Jórvík." Englaland stared at his brother. "He kept attacking anyone he came across. I told people to run, but they were scared and then they were dead." Englaland twisted his tunic in his hands. "I didn't know what I had to do, so I ran and tried to help and then I came here because I heard you were helping, then that you were wasting, and I don't know what to think anymore." Alba nodded and gently patted Englaland on the back while he took another bite of bread and tried to stop crying again.
"Denamearc agreed to go home when the weather changed. The French paid them off." Alba said, and Englaland twisted his month and tried to ignore the pang in his chest. He didn't trust Denamearc, but he had hoped he'd stay to help. He'd hoped that Denamearc liked him enough to want to stay to help.
"We met Étgar at Wearmouth with the news and offered him sanctuary. He declined they've returned to Hungary. After we returned home." Alba paused for a moment, holding Englaland's gaze. "Gospatric of Northumbria raided my lands on French orders. In return, I raided his. I've been taking in your people. You're safe here."
Englaland nodded. Alba paused for another moment, then also nodded.
"I'll have more water sent up. Sleep." He patted the bed and then Englaland's shoulder and fled the room. Englaland smiled softly and settled down to sleep. He drifted off minutes later, feeling safer than he had since Eadweard had died.
Perth, Kingdom of Alba, 5th September 1070
The rider from Scone ignored Englaland when he arrived. Marching into the house and demanding that he talk to Alba, even when Englaland repeatedly told him that Alba was out hunting and wouldn't be back until evening.
He had been very rude, but Englaland had stubbornly shown him Alba's guest quarter to allow him to freshen up for dinner because he could be a good host. He also wanted to show Alba he was better now and could be trusted to do things on his own. He wasn't bleeding out randomly anymore and he could think straight and be polite.
He was well enough to face William. To do what he didn't know but staying in Alba while his people suffered wasn't helping. He needed to be with them. He needed to negotiate with Francia. This was not the first time he had been conquered. He knew what needed to be done, and he knew there was no fight left to be had.
Not unless he wanted Mercia or Wessex to become a wasteland like Northumbria.
Afterwards, with no interest in returning to his reading, and shooed from the kitchen by the cook. He wandered out onto the grounds to see if he could find Alba and felt a ping at the edges of his mind. Englaland stopped for a moment, concentrating before spinning on heal and running to the stables, almost colliding with the man coming out.
"Sorry Lord." He said, in English, before realising his mistake and repeating himself in Gaelic.
"You're from Dunholm!" Englaland grinned.
The man, Ælfgar, son of Beorhtric and Sunngifu, husband of Hilda, father of Eadberht, farmer, favourite colour green, blinked at him.
"I am. Yes. You're from Wintanceaster." Englaland nodded and resisted the urge to reach out to hold him. He had seen none of his people since he'd left Northumbria. Only Alba's. "If I might ask, Lord, how you ended up here?"
"This is my brother's estate." Englaland explained. "How did you end up working for the angry man?" Ælfgar smiled.
"I was captured by Malcolm's, the kings, army when they ravaged Dunholm. Taken slave alongside many of my compatriots." Englaland nodded, relieved.
"In 61? So, you missed the Harrying." Ælfgar frowned.
"No, this year." Englaland froze.
"The Scots didn't march on Dunholm, that was the French."
"Both did." Ælfgar said. "The French then the Scots."
"But he said they only ravaged Gospatrics lands." Englaland stared at Ælfgar, knowing he was truthful. Ælfgar laughed bitterly.
"Half the population was killed. You think a few thousand Frenchies could do that on their own?" Englaland's vision tilted, and his stomach dropped to his feet.
"How many?" He asked.
"Thousands were taken as slaves. Thousands died from starvation. Hundreds from the sword." Ælfgar ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. But they took all the gold they could get their hands on too." Englaland had known that. Had seen it. Had felt it.
There were rumours of who had helped. But he'd ignored it because he didn't want to think about how his brother might take advantage of him when he was down.
He should have. They were Nations.
Englaland tripped and fell and hit the ground. He blinked and looked up to find himself in the forest, a large tree root sticking up behind him, and his hands and knees grazed.
He didn't realise he'd run. He didn't know how long he had been running for, just that he'd followed the ever-present tug home.
He stayed where he fell, breathing deeply and trying not to scream.
He needed to go home. He needed to gain some sort of control over his life and country again.
He needed to collect his things and talk to Alba.
He got up and walked in the exact opposite of home. Arriving at Alba's estate half an hour later to find Alba rushing out of the door, the cook following soon after. They both stopped when Englaland stepped out of the trees before Alba ran towards him.
"Are you alright?" He ran his hands over Englaland's arms while Englaland nodded.
"Of course. I just needed to clear my head. There's an angry man from Scone in the guest room. I'm going to go freshen up." He removed himself from Alba's arms and went to his room to pack and hide a wire in his room to pick the lock.
Englaland didn't say anything over dinner. Neither did the angry man. Alba tried briefly to engage both of them in conversation before giving up and letting the room fill with silence.
The angry man left after dinner. Alba showed him out and returned to Englaland with a letter.
"You found out about Étgar, then?" He said. Running the letter through his hands. Englaland stared at him, keeping his face as blank as he could.
Alba cleared his throat and sat down opposite Englaland.
"I was gonna tell you, but you needed to rest, and you wouldn't of you knew he was in Scone."
"How did he get here? He was supposed to be returning to Hungary." Englaland asked.
"Shipwreck. They blew off course. But the news has come in that Étgar will be staying here indefinitely and that the king will marry his sister." Englaland frowned.
"Which one?" Alba checked the letter.
"Margaret." He shifted slightly before continuing. "Since you're obviously feeling better, I thought you might like to give congratulations in person."
"What will Étgar do?" Englaland asked softly, curling his fingers around the knife he had kept. "In your court. He hasn't renounced his claim to my throne." Alba shrugged.
"I'm sure Malcom will figure something out."
"Like Northumbria?" Alba did a small double take.
"Like-? What are you talking about?"
"Malcolm helps Étgar become king and Étgar gives him Northumbria?" Englaland said.
"That's a bit extreme but some of your northern lands will be up for negotiation, yes." Alba snapped back.
"Presumably the bits you didn't help the French raze?" Alba froze.
"I have taken no orders from the French."
"You wasted huge areas, so they didn't have to. Once you left my people with nowhere to go, you took them as slaves. You didn't need to take orders from the French. You were working in tandem with them!" Alba slammed the table.
"I am not a charity! If they want aid, they have to work for it."
"They wouldn't need aid if you hadn't turned your army on my people instead of the French army!" Englaland stood up. "You've always been after Northumbria, and this was too good an opportunity to miss. You steal my gold. You take my people and you spread fear, so I would come running to you for safety. Then I give you Northumbria because I don't have anything else left to give because you've stolen the rest. Is that how it was going to go?" Englaland seethed.
"No, you daft child!" Alba jumped to his feet. "I razed Gospactics lands. I've helped you. I've helped you consolidate your position. I gave you your supplies." Englaland laughed, high pitched and without control.
"How stupid do you think I am?" He asked. "I'm not going to fall for that again. You're probably going to make an agreement with the French and hand over Étgar, anyway. You're not getting Northumbria. It's mine! It's mine and you're not touching it."
"Listen here, you little bampot." Alba growled. "You're going to go and congratulate your princess and talk to Étgar and let him put some sense in your head. Then you're going to come back and clear out the stables for being an imp." Englaland squeezed his fists and shook where he stood.
"I'm going home."
"You are not."
"I am a Nation! I belong with my people."
"You won't be safe."
"You can't keep me prisoner here! My people need me."
"Your people are dead! Your culture is dead! The people you go to are not the people they were before. Your people don't need you. You need them." Alba threw up his hands in the air. "For Christ's sake, you're using them as a crutch to hide behind your own weakness. Maybe you should give Northumbria to me. I'm a much better Nation for them!" The air stilled and Alba's eyes widened, and Englaland saw red.
"YOU FUCKER!" He leapt across the table, bringing his knife to Alba's chest. Centuries of conflict had Alba moving so that it cut his arm instead. Englaland didn't stop and brought it around again.
Alba grabbed his wrist and twisted it as Englaland kicked at him and pulled at his collar with his free hand.
"YOU-YOU-" He stumbled over his words and Alba twisted his arm again until the knife was falling to the floor in a clatter. "I'll kill you!" Englaland sobbed, struggling to escape Alba's grasp.
"No, you won't." Alba said slowly, pinning him to the table.
Englaland relaxed his body, and Alba jumped as he slid out of his arms and onto the floor.
Next to the knife.
On top of him, as they were this time, the knife went into Alba's stomach. Alba yelled in pain and Englaland scrambled under the table and to the door.
If he wanted to escape, he needed to do so now. He easily grabbed the bag he had prepared and he bowled past the maids who tried to stop him with a strength they could never match.
Alba had made it to the dining room doorway and had one arm wrapped around his stomach, a trail of blood behind him.
"ENGLALAND!" He yelled as Englaland barrelled past him towards the unguarded front door. He ignored him and fiddled with the key as his vision blurred and hands shook. "Englaland!" The door opened and Englaland fell out just as Alba reach him. They had another minor scuffle before Englaland was running towards the trees the innate sense Nations have singing to him as he fled home.
Running. Again.
Brân the Blessed, the Raven King, and King of Britain, is a giant who was killed in a war with Ireland. Luckily, he has a cauldron that brings people back to life, so his head is buried under the White Hill facing France to prevent invasion. King Arthur dug it up to show he wasn't superstitious. Presumably when the Normans built the Tower of London on the Hill, they reburied the head because there haven't been any invasions since. The Ravens at the Tower or Brân's eyes. If they're there he can see, if they leave he won't, and the kingdom will fall.
In 1054, the Byzantium Empire and the Vatican had a falling out called the Great Schism, and the Vatican lost a lot of authority, importance, and money because the Byzantium was the richest country in Europe. This led to the Gregorian Reforms, which had started earlier but came much heavier post Schism and was basically the Vatican imposing its control over everybody else. England protested for legal reasons but also religious ones. The British Isles practised Insular Christianity, which had a lot of links to the new Orthodox religion, and was geographically isolated enough to have distinct practices of its own. This was a problem for the Vatican as England was the 2nd richest country in Europe and paid this extra voluntary church tax called Peters Pence, if the English government decided that it was politically convenient it would have been very easy for them to declare their church separate from Rome the same way the Byzantium one was.
The Normans took advantage of the crackdown to insert themselves into key English positions and claim the country. When the Witan pointed out that they elected the king, William went to the Vatican, who was happy to declare the invasion a Holy War and excommunicate anybody who fought the Normans, forbidding outside interference.
Ironically, one of the first things William did as king was to divert Peter's Pence to his personal bank account, which is one of the things which makes him the 9th richest person in human history. It was later re-established but was often used to get the Vatican to stop interfering in English affairs for centuries after.
After William was crowned in London, there were several uprisings against him. There was a Danish invasion, but they were paid off and the Irish never directly involved themselves but provided supplies and political aid to the point where a conquest of Ireland was planned to stop them, fortunately William died before they could enact it. They and Byzantium took many refugees.
The Harrying of the North occurred over the winter of 1069/70 in response to the Danish invasion. The Norman army marched north and killed everybody they came across and destroyed all villages, farms, and food stocks. ½ the population of Northumbria, ~100,000, died a further ¼ fled mostly to Scotland, where they were taken as slaves. This was a loss of around 8-10% of England's total population.
The Scottish helped with the Harrying and used it to solidify their position in Bernicia and had earlier provided support to Harald Hardrada, but they also accepted refugees, including Étgar/Edgar Ætheling and his sisters, the last members of the English Royal family. In 1069 Gospatric, Earl of Bamburgh raided Scotland on Williams' orders, so the Scots raided his land in return. In 1070, Malcom III married Edgar's sister Margaret, gained a claim to the English throne, and suddenly became very interested in overthrowing William.
The Normans also conquered Kernow and southern Strathclyde, incorporating them into Englaland.
Now for Wales.
