Work Text:
Cymru felt the heavy tension of the bow in his aching arms, the brush of the arrow against his cheek. He focused the weapon on the small deer, grazing at some distance away. It was likely too far for him to hit, he considered, as he steadied himself. It would be unfortunate to have to go after the arrow.
“What are you waiting for?” Scotland hissed.
“Shh.” Their mother scolded. “Cymru, go ahead.” She whispered.
Before he had the chance to release, the dear bolted, now certainly too far out of reach. Cymru slowly released the tension in the bow.
Scotland groaned. “You always take so long that they run away. Can I shoot next time, ma?”
Their mother ignored Scotland, grasping Cymru by the shoulder in a firm but gentle grip.
“You hesitated. Hesitation can be the difference between eating and starving, between life and death. You must promise me Cymru, that when you have that arrow aimed, you will let it loose. Do you promise me?”
Cymru nodded, fighting back feelings of embarrassment. He wouldn’t let her down again.
---
“He’s here” His mother whispered one night.
Cymru would never forget those words, the way she whispered them in such horror, such fear. Until that day he had always believed his mother to be above such a thing as fear.
She adjusted her youngest son, England, who slept fretfully in her lap, small hands clenched in her tunic.
Cymru exchanged a nervous glance with Scotland, confirming that his brother sensed this same fear.
“I will need to fight him.” She continued, her voice growing more steady with resolve. “You will need to leave.” She gathered England into her arms.
“Cymru, you will take England. Go west. Follow your connection to the people there” Cymru accepted the weight of his little brother, realizing perhaps for the first time just how heavy he was.
She then turned to Scotland. “Alba, you take Èire and go north.”
“Take whatever you need, but hurry. I’m not sure…” She bit her lip, gazing into the fire. “He may be here very soon.”
Cymru and Scotland scrambled, gathering what supplies they could fit in their sacs. There wasn’t much. Some knives, part of a loaf of bread, the berries they had gathered that morning. They should have been more prepared. They knew Rome was coming.
Cymru tied his sac to his waist. He readjusted the weight of his younger brother, who continued to fall in and out of a fitful sleep.
“Cymru.” His mother said, causing him to look at her. “Promise me. Promise me whe- if you see him, you won’t hesitate. Promise me you will fight.”
Cymru’s words caught in his throat. He nodded. Please don’t let it come to that his mind begged. Let mother win. Because if mother lost, how would he win?
“Now go.” She insisted. She gave them each a kiss on the head, and a rushed embrace.
The last Cymru ever saw of her was a smile, a gesture meant to give him confidence and hope.
Instead it haunted his nightmares.
---
Cymru felt the heavy tension of the bow in his aching arms, the brush of the arrow against his check. His entire body ached with the agonizing feeling that his world was being torn apart. He tried to take a breath, but he feared the heavy wheezing of his breathing might give him away.
He had done as mother said. He had taken England, and ran westward. He had killed many soldiers when he came across them. And still Rome was here.
One arrow wouldn’t kill an empire. It would only anger him.
Cymru’s heart pounded erratically, filling his mind with the need for air.
He needed to get to England. He cursed himself for leaving his brother in the first place.
He had managed to shoot a rabbit, leaving a sleeping England in some bushes while he ran quickly to retrieve it. He hadn’t wanted to wake him.
And now the most powerful man in the world stood between him and his brother.
“ I know that you are hiding from me, Barbarian. ” The man’s voice called in Latin, sweet like oil. Cymru knew better. If Rome was here, their mother… he shuddered.
He willed England to stay quiet.
“ You will have many nice things if you come with me.” He continued sing-songily. “ You will have sweets, and fruits, and toys, and nice clothes. All you need to do is obey.”
Cymru’s arm shook with the effort of holding the arrow.
The man paced the area between Cymru and England, almost as if he knew their location, and was merely toying with them.
The man frowned, running his fingers over his beard.
Please leave . Cymru begged to himself. He needed Rome to leave without seeing them.
“ I just love children.” He continued. “ There are many children at my house.”
The man began to slowly walk around, this time using his sword to push aside various shrubs. “ Many women too. Perhaps you might even like one of them to be your new mother.”
Cymru trembled with rage.
Rome now stood three steps away from where England was hidden.
He had three steps until Rome would find England.
Then he would loose his arrow and run.
Two steps.
There was no saving England, but maybe an arrow to the head would be enough to let him escape, so that one of them could be free.
One step.
He focused his aim onto Rome’s skull.
Rome pushed aside the bush, revealing a sleeping England.
Cymru hesitated.