HOLY SHIT, this one is long enough to be a stand alone one-shot... I honestly did not mean for it to be this long, and I have no idea if it's even that great 'cause allergies hit me hard today and my brain is literal cotton fluff... Oh well! I'm sure it'll be fine!

Enjoy! ;)

"Legs apart!"

"What? Do you want me to do the fuckin' splits?"

"Eyes on Alistair! Don't look at me!"

"I'd be able to concentrate better if you weren't being such a dick about it!"

"If you were listening to me I wouldn't have to be!"

Northern Ireland growled, letting her sword drop and turning a pointed scowl on her older brother who regarded her dryly, his arms crossed over his chest, "England, sweetie, please try to understand that not all of us had to live in a time when your weird fetishes were a part of everyday life!"

England huffed out an irritated breath through his nose as their companions burst out into laughter, "Even America handled a sword more effectively than you are right now, and he was a toddler when I taught him."

She growled out again, "You know what! If you're so good, then fight me!"

England raised an eyebrow, and the laughter stopped, "Hey, lass, I really don't think that's such a great idea," Scotland said, "I mean he-"

"No, no Scotland, if she wants to fight me then so be it," England said, holding his hand out for his sword, "Perhaps she might even pick up some much needed technique."

"England," France interrupted sternly, "She isn't ready for a real fight, we both know that."

England spun his sword like a baton absentmindedly, staring at it with a deliberate disinterest, "If you're so worried, why don't you take her place?"

A subtle but impossible to miss grin spread over England's face, as France stepped forward, a matching smile on his own face. He held out his hand to Northern Ireland, who handed her sword over with little resistance, curiosity outweighing pride in this particular instance.

France grimaced as he weighed the sword in his hand, "This sword is off balance," he said distastefully.

"Good," England said coolly, "Now you have an excuse to spew when I impale you."

"And you have no excuse not to win," France replied in the same way, "It would be rather embarrassing for you if you lost now, wouldn't it?"

England frowned deeply at France, as they both took their swords in their hands, holding them out in front of them, bodies in ready position.

Quickly, and before they got going, Ireland trotted over to England and whispered something in his ear which made him chuckle a little, "Seventy and you've got a deal."

Ireland nodded, a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he held out a hand to shake, "Pleasure doing business with you."

"Wow, that must be the first time England's ever going to hear that," France said airily, breathing out a laugh, "Pleasure is an overstatement, no?"

"I don't remember you saying that in the twenties," England snapped, before his demeanour softened to a not all that pleasant sneer, "I seem to recall you had an entirely different outlook."

France snorted, "You really must be getting old, England, your memory is worse by the day!"

"Will you two just fight already?" Northern Ireland groused, tapping her foot and making Scotland and Ireland chuckle.

Matching grins spread over the pair's faces, "With pleasure."

And then they swung.

Their fight lasted longer than any of them were expecting, France undoubtedly with the lower hand but managing to hold his own with some difficulty. They fought with a recklessness that Northern Ireland had never seen either of the two display, disregarding whatever nicks and scratches that they may have received in favour of landing a hit on the other.

It wasn't until they were both flushed red with exhaustion, their breathing coming in short and desperate bursts that the fight came to a close. England took a step back, not noticing the rock that stuck up from the ground and catching his heel, and lost his balance, tumbling back onto the muddy ground underneath them. Before he could even try getting up a sword dug into the ground by his shoulder, a foot coming to rest on his chest.

Northern Ireland went to say something, but was stopped by Ireland's hand on her shoulder, indicting for her to watch.

"Je gagne, Angleterre," he grinned, pressing his foot down harder and making England growl lowly, "Et tu perdes."

"Shove it up your arse, France, I doubt it will take much to get it up there."

France pressed down a little harder again, England's breath coming visibly harder, "I won, and don't you forget who is standing on who, England."

England rather suddenly grinned, his hands reaching up to grab at France's ankles and yanking as hard as he could to topple France backwards. As France fell clumsily to the floor, England pulled the sword from the ground and launched himself forward, landing on top of the other and holding him down by his neck, shoving the sword into the ground in a similar way to how France just had.

"Golden rule of duelling," he said smoothly as France glared at him, unable to speak through his compressed airways and unable to move where England's knees rested on his arms, "The fight is never over until someone is dead."

"Are you going to kill me England?" France said, and though it was clearly meant to be scathing, it came out in short gasps.

England pursed his lips, "I wish I could, but the paperwork would be a bugger," he said ruefully, "I don't have that kind of time, so I'll just have to settle for the next best thing."

France raised a curious eyebrow, making England chuckle, releasing the sword's hilt, and reaching behind him. He pulled out a wand, comically large and over the top, but France was all too aware of what he could do with it, struggling under his grip.

"I thought you didn't believe in magic, frog?"

"I don't, but whatever you plan to do with that thing I don't like the look of it!"

England began muttering under his breath, making France squirm even more, Scotland and Ireland trying and failing to hold in their laughter in the background. Northern Ireland just smiled amusedly, as was her usual reaction to her brothers' antics, that was, until there was a poof of smoke.

It took a moment for it to dissipate, but when it did all four of the Island siblings burst out laughing.

"Iiie a-iiet uuoou," came a croak from where France had previously been, a frog that was somehow managing to scowl having taken his place.

England sat up, wiping his eyes and holding a hand out to Ireland, "Seventy Euros, pay up."

The frog's glare turned on Ireland, who let out a snort at the look and reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet, "Thank you," he said happily as he handed over the money, trotting over to the frog and petting it lightly on the head, "How's life down there France?" he laughed, making the frog croak something that sounded suspiciously like 'enculé', not that that phased Ireland in the slightest.

Northern Ireland rolled her eyes, chuckling as she walked over to her brother and the frog. "Leave him be Ire," she said, swatting his hands away and picking the frog up from the ground, "England, how do we fix him?"

The frog ribbited in an annoyingly self-satisfied way as England narrowed his eyes, and Ireland groaned, "Will you stop being responsible for a minute?"

She smiled, but shook her head, "Wales isn't here, someone has to take the responsibility." She turned pointedly to England, "England."

"True love's kiss is the traditional way, but since we don't have any of those a kiss from a blue-blood should do the trick," he replied slightly grudgingly, "Although I say that as if we have a royal in the vicinity."

"What's with all the kissing?"

England shrugged, "I didn't write the terms and conditions, I just blindly agreed to them without reading them like every other sod who agrees to anything." He seemed to get a thought all of a sudden, standing with a strangely vulnerable air covered with his usual aloof bravado and walking over to Scotland, who regarded him with scepticism. England twisted their hands together and leaned up to whisper something in his ear.

Scotland chuckled, turning his head to rub their noses together, "You trying to say I'm your true love?"

England blushed a little but didn't do anything else to indicate that he hadn't meant for the others to know what he was talking about, "No, I don't believe in all that bollocks, what I'm saying is that you're as close as I'm gonna get, and that's good enough, right?"

Scotland's smile turned soft for a fleeting moment, so short that is you'd blinked you would have missed it, but it seemed the frog had seen, because it let out a long croak that was probably supposed to be a dreamy sigh which the pair pointedly ignored, "Okay then, let's give it a try."

They walked over to Northern Ireland, holding out their hands to indicate the frog should relocate, which he did slightly grudgingly. The pair stood opposite each other, lifting the frog to between their faces.

England grimaced as he looked at the frog, who turned to him and almost seemed to smirk, "This was a terrible idea."

"You were the one who agreed to do this for fifty quid," Scotland said in reply, "I get absolutely nothing for this."

"You were the one who invited the twat in the first place."

"Let's just get it over with."

And with that they both closed their eyes and leaned in, pressing a kiss to each side of the frog's face.

There was a poof of smoke again and the three of them were standing with Francis in the middle, looking more than a little smug with two pairs of lips on his cheeks. The two seemed to realize it had worked and jerked away, making the two Irelands laugh as they wiped at their mouths.

"Eugh, I should have gotten more than fifty quid for that," England grimaced, spitting onto the ground.

"You were the one who turned me into that mucus-covered monstrosity, you're the one who has to pay the consequences," France replied haughtily, "That is something I never want to repeat."

"He's got a point," Northern Ireland said, raising a finger as if to emphasize her point.

"And don't pretend it wasn't worth it anyway," Ireland added quickly after.

Before England could reply he got caught up in one of Scotland's arms and a short chaste kiss. He wrinkled his nose, "You're covered in frog."

Scotland bit his lip to hide his huge smile, dropping his voice to say something to England which made the Englishman's frown disappear, a small smile taking its place, "You would buy into all that," England said, his arms moving up to wrap around Scotland's neck.

"You mean you don't believe even a little?"

England melted into Scotland's expression of hope, "I- uh..." he stuttered for a moment before growling, "Fucks sake Scotland," he grumbled, pressing their foreheads together, "I hate you when you do this."

Scotland smiled, widely and smugly, "Do what?"

England lowered his voice a little so that supposedly only Scotland could hear, but it was easy to tell what he was saying in the silence that was the meadow, "Make me fall in love with you all the bloody time," he sighed, "It's exhausting."

Out of the corner of her eye Northern Ireland caught sight of France, his hands over his mouth to hide his huge grin and gleeful giggling, and she couldn't help but notice the smile on her own face, lifting her own hand to cover it. A glance to her other side revealed Ireland looking pointedly away, not from them she noticed, but from something, a conflicted expression on his face, conflicted about what she couldn't tell, but she still took note of it.

When she turned back to England and Scotland they were just staring into each other's eyes. That didn't really do it justice though, because staring isn't really what it was. She wondered in the back of her mind how many countries got to do this, fall in love, really fall in love. Surely they couldn't let themselves fall like this, the way she saw it in their eyes right now. They had themselves to worry about they had different lives, languages, cultures, people to care for, but... England and Scotland weren't like that, and she was the same, which is why, she supposed, she could understand how they could let themselves do this. And there was a part of her which almost wished to be a part of it, but another, bigger part hated to take any of what they had. She was sure she could find her own love like that... One day.

It was England that finally broke the moment, dropping his eyes and resting his forehead against Scotland's collar, "I'm starving," he said, "We should go back to the house for a bite to eat."

"Seconded," Ireland said, finally looking up from his shoes.

"I can agree, but I'm going to cook it,"

"Oh come off it you tosser!"

"I'm not making that mistake again, England!"

"I can cook bloody fine!"

Northern Ireland just smiled and shook her head, heading breezily back toward the house. In her current introspective mood she completely missed the longing look Ireland cast after her, but Scotland didn't, making a mental note to talk to his brother about that particular look later.

Also yes, I ship North/Ireland... I couldn't help myself.

(One more thing, IDK how often I'm gonna get to upload these next couple weeks 'cause I'm going on holiday, so if there's not another one for a while then that's why. I mean I wanna get one more requested one up, and one chapter of DOTL before I go, but don't expect a lot after sort of Thursday-ish)