'France, listen to me!' Albion insists, frustrated by his friend's distant mood today. Even the sharp command doesn't bring him back. Just staring in the direction of his own country, France looks like he wants to be nowhere but home. Albion finds it nothing but insulting.
'Fine! Go home if you're so bored!' It takes a smack on the cheek with little sharp nail imprints to bring France back to him, blinking as if coming out of a daze.
'Sorry…sorry, no. I want to know what the mermaids said. I-'
'I told you - that's why I'm here! I knew you weren't listening! The most beautiful mermaid with the most beautiful voice begged Neptune and Amphitrite to have her island. The-' Albion casts the already-famous scowl upon France as he looks back to the glimpses of white sky through the woodland they are resting in.
'I must go. Albion, I'm sorry. Please, please tell me the rest next time. Rome is moving, I think.' His voice is tense and laboured, anxious, and Albion knows that feeling. He hates it.
'Okay. Promise?' That's a promise not to let Rome make him disappear like their parents, and they both know it.
'I promise. Come here. I'm sorry for ruining your story but I was really enjoying it.' France pounces on Albion with a hug and he actually allows it, momentarily, but only because France is scared. 'I think I'd be the most beautiful mermaid – and then you'd have to live with me!'
'No, you wouldn't.' Albion grumbles and they stand up together, walking hand in hand to the coast. Albion always escorts France safely to his boat, always. Many times he's hiding as he does it because they've fallen out but he will never let his land-mermaid get into danger here – as if his people could do anything wrong! Just in case the idiot gets lost on the way…
But as they reach the break of forest, there appear not eighty ships, but eight-hundred, and both young countries freeze in terror. France's land is barely visible, the sea is barely visible, just a foam of oars and ships ships ships! Albion's people are running at the very sight of such a threat. How is it even possible? How can so many trees, men, weapons, be made and put in the same place? How is Rome so big and strong to do this? Albion tugs on France's hand but France is already picking him up and sprints back into the forest with Albion's people. They hear and feel the laughter of Rome as he steps onto the empty beach, his soldiers more than ready to push the natives up the country and slaughter whomever is brave enough to face the power of Rome. They can bloody try…