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For centuries the Kingdom of England and Kingdom of Scotland have waged wars against each other. Two countries upon one island, one ruling the north and the other dominating the south. Both proud nations, they fought for power, glory, freedom, and honour. Whilst England was indeed a mighty country that most of the known world feared and respected, it could not compare to the proud might that was Scotland.
Scotland, who stood up against the Roman Empire, who held back the Danish Vikings, and won their freedom again and again from the tyranny of England, was a nation that all admired and envied. All adored this proud and strong nation, all respected the country with beautiful lavender filled highlands, vast crystal clear lakes and a people who were strong and resilient as the very land they walked upon.
England had fought them again and again, sometimes claiming victory and other times wallowing in defeat. Their battles still scarred the land even to this day and it wasn’t until a Scottish King was placed upon the throne of England that the two Kingdoms eventually earned an unsteady peace. England kept their might and Scotland kept the freedom as well as their pride.
As time passed, England began to build an empire and claimed the new world as their own. As England’s strength began to grow, Scotland realised that they too needed to expand their strength and claim new lands in their name. The very idea that England was becoming stronger than them was a thought they could not bare to realise.
And so they began an expedition to claim a land of their own, first to the north in the land that would soon be known as Canada. However the French already had claimed this land, sending them away and forcing them to go further south. They eventually reached a land they believed they could tame, but they were unprepared. The expedition failed, their first colony fell to disease and hunger.
The expedition cost Scotland too much. It had taken up almost all of their wealth, the proud nation was now on the verge of collapse and was soon fated to fall.
However they were saved by a nation they had long despised.
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Hopping off the ship that had carried him over the Atlantic Ocean, England felt a strange sense of relief as his feet came into contact with the very land he was connected with. He could feel the warmth of his people, feel the rain as it hit the earth, and feel the wind as it blew through the trees. It had been such a long time since he had been home. His messy golden hair shimmered in the rare sunlight, his green eyes wide and beautiful as he gazed around the port city, spotting a carriage that was waiting for him. He climbed on board, the driver snapping at the reigns to get the horses going. The carriage rocked about but it was nothing compared to the rocking of the ship as it sailed over choppy waters.
As he was taken home, England couldn’t help but think back to his time with America, smiling as he thought back on all the memories they made together. The sweet child he was raising had grown so much these past few decades, but he was still as cute as ever with his bright blue eyes and soft golden hair. Sure he got a little bratty at times and was insanely greedy when it came to food, England secretly enjoyed it. He was everything England wanted in a brother; loving, affectionate, and always happy to see him.
At least America was always happy to see him.
At least America loved him unconditionally.
At least America was happy they were brothers.
He sighed as he spotted his home, the beautiful stone building surrounded by a luxurious garden was the envy of anyone who lived nearby. England had spent centuries tending to that garden, some of the trees that towered over it he had planted himself. He even took care of the building, wanting his home to reflect his own pride in his history. Despite its beauty he wasn’t exactly thrilled to come home.
When the carriage stopped he sat there for a while, wondering if he should get off and go inside. Deep down he really didn’t want to, it was only when the carriage driver opened the door that he forced himself to climb out. Picking up his suitcase he climbed up the staircase, opening the thick oak doors and found himself in the entryway of his grand home. It was a little dusty, meaning either the maid had been slacking off or maybe she left all together. Still it wasn’t that bad so maybe she just missed a few spots and she only came in three times a week whilst he was away. Of course he didn’t hire her just to clean his home, there was another reason all together.
Taking a deep breath he made his way to the living room, knowing for certain is where he would be and sure enough there he was.
He was as still as a statue as he sat upon the specially order wheelchair, a tartan blanket covering his legs. He was hunched over, staring down at himself and not looking up even when England approached. The fire in the fireplace continued to roar away, meaning that someone must’ve made it along with the half eaten bowl of porridge that sat upon the table nearby.
England felt his heart ache to see him like this. Despite the history they shared together he never dreamed of this happening to him. It also didn’t make things any easier than the fact that the person sitting before him despised him.
With a small inhale of air England gently said, “I’m home, Scotland.”
The figure moves upon hearing his name. Green eyes nearly hidden behind fiery red locks of hair glared up at him with intense hatred, it was almost terrifying.
“Pity... I hoped ye’d drown on yer way back.”
England scowled a little. “That’s no way to greet your younger brother.”
Scotland made a “pfft” sound as he looked away. “I ain’t yer wee little America, go back ta him if ye want any affection. Ye’ll get nothing from me.”
England sighed. Scotland wasn’t in a talkative mood. Then again he was never in a talkative mood the moment he came to live here against his will. Knowing that standing there would do neither of them any good, England went to put his stuff away and prepare some tea, hoping that this time it wouldn’t end up on his face.