Brother... [Wales]

[atrb=width,360,true][atrb=border,0,true][bg=5F5532][atrb=style, padding: 10px; font-family: verdana; border-top-left-radius:2em; -moz-border-radius-topleft:2em; border-top-right-radius:2em; -moz-border-radius-topright:2em;] [style=color: #000000; font-size: 24px; font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; margin: -25px; text-indent: 30px; letter-spacing: -2px;]you stood tall, now you will fall...[/style] [style=background-color: #BFC097; font-size:10px; line-height: 12px; color: #333333; text-align: justify; padding: 10px; font-family: verdana;]Albion was so very young and though he wasn’t a nation at this point, he had been wandering the earth. Not for too long—but enough. The world still seemed very new and wild to him. To any average person, he looked somewhere between the ages of four and five— physically and mentally, though he had been around longer than that. For how long, Albion didn’t know... All he knew at the moment was that he was cold, wet, hungry, and very lost. He was traveling with a family for a while, within a large group, but the men scattered after an unexpected attack from Rome. He wasn’t successful, but Albion was cut off from his group in the confusion and he had been wandering in the forests ever since. He knew that he couldn’t die of starvation or exposure like humans, but that didn’t exclude the pain of severe deprivation. The rain was relentless for the past few days. Albion had found himself a poorly constructed shelter within a muddy spot beneath the low, green canopy of a sturdy tree. It wasn’t long before the little boy was shivering and soaked through—the hood of his cloak sticking to his forehead like a second skin, the sides of the fabric slopped to his cheeks. The only thing he owned aside from the clothes on his back was a bow built for a child. Albion was embarrassed to say, however; that it was still a little too big for him and he didn’t really know how to use it. One of the men in the tribe he was following was going to teach him along with his son that looked to be about Albion’s age, but then, of course, the impromptu attempt at invasion had interrupted that… And he hadn’t seen them since. He didn’t even have any arrows with him. Frustration and loneliness bubbled furiously in the little boy and it was only able to escape in little, choking sobs whenever the world grew cold and dark. He didn’t want to be alone. And he hated the way that his stomach felt like it was digging sharply into his gut—especially whenever he tried not to think about food. The berries and roots sometimes helped whenever he could find them… but even they weren’t enough to fill the boy. Most of the time, he was simply too small to reach for the fruit way up high. The only kinds that he could reach were scarce, because small animals were also far more likely to scavenge for those as well. Luckily, he had passed streams to quench his thirst. Sometimes he would stay at them for a while, drinking for several minutes just for that temporary feeling of fullness. At the moment, Albion was walking, ambling further into the steadily peeking sun through the rainclouds, finally breaking after the week long storm. Drying off was a slow process, even when the sun was shining—a rare occurrence. There are few things more unpleasant than trudging around in wet clothes and feeling about as happy as a mud hen in winter. Like any tiny child without anyone to properly watch out for them, he was smudged with dirt and grime. The only semi clean area on his face were the pale tear tracks down his cheeks, but of course he was unaware of that and would deny to the ends of the earth that he was crying. Albion never cried! He was strong enough to take care of himself. If everyone wanted to leave, then fine… he didn’t need them. They could leave him behind all they want and he wouldn’t care. He didn't care… The anger came out in a harsh sob and the little boy sat down to rest his aching feet. All the trees looked the same and he felt like he was only walking in circles. Not long after, fat tears made their way down his dirty cheeks and he rubbed his red, blotchy nose against the edge of his wet sleeve, not at all hearing the distinct sound of someone softly making their way through the trees nearby. [/style] [style=background-color: #BFC097; font-size:8px; line-height: 12px; color: #333333; text-align: justify; padding: 10px; font-family: tahoma;]WORD COUNT: 695 NOTES: RIGHT BEFORE ROME’S SECOND UNSUCCESSFUL INVASION… TAGS: BRAN/MARV TIME: 55 BC PLACE: SOMEWHERE IN THE BRITISH ISLES… CREDIT: AERIE OF OTE[/style]

[atrb=cellpadding,30,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background:url(http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15865368/nd/00009k2x.png);width:350px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;border-radius:60px;][STYLE=background:url(http://i113.photobucket.com/albums/n222/amoline/ex_zps120f095e.jpg) repeat;filter:alpha(opacity=40);opacity:.7;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-bottom:10px;border:1px solid #ccc;height:200px;] [/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:1.2em helvetica;letter-spacing:4pt;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-bottom:10px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;]WHERE TO BEGIN[/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:0.7em helvetica;border-radius:20px;text-align:justify;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;] WORDS 792   TAGS arthur   NOTES ryyye, you break my heart D: Cymru was deeply aware of the first Roman invasion on his little brother’s shores the moment that it happened. He could also feel it among the tightened nerves of his people. They often kept a cautious eye on the tribes to the East, and usually not for very good reason, but this time was for something entirely different. Rome had tried to take his little brawd... Dark fury licked at his insides and there was a certain urgency that had been ignited within the boy. Thank the gods that Rome had failed, though his soldiers had left several dead after his retreat. The Empire from the Far East would probably try again, Cyrmru reasoned. In fact, it would be stupid to assume that he wouldn’t. The tribes on Cymru’s side of the island were both a bit apprehensive and fired up for a future blood-filled confrontation. Because a takeover from Rome in the East meant that the Empire would soon come for Cymru in the West. It would only be a matter of time after Rome had Albion. And after Cymru, the Empire would probably try his hand at their oldest brother in the north… though Cymru had heavy doubts that Rome would be very successful with that endeavor… Alba was… insane. Resilient and tough, but mental. On the particular tribe that Cymru was with, the men got in more brawls than usual, drank more, hunted more, and took more women into their shelters. It was the usual pattern before preparing for battle… Cymru, himself, who was taken into the leader’s family unit within the tribe, had decided to avoid his home for the time being, as the old man was also partaking in everything that his men were. Although Cymru was far older than what his appearance suggested—probably somewhere between twelve and thirteen— he still didn’t necessarily want to be near the noisy longhouse at the moment… Instead, he took his lucky bow—one that had seen many battles, and was the perfect balance of sturdiness and flexibility, to began an impromptu practice. Cymru wasn’t a bad shot by far, but he wasn’t excellent either… and he desperately wanted to change that. Before leaving, he stuffed supplies into his homemade bag just in case he would be out longer than usual. It wasn’t odd to have him wandering too far into the woods only to come home around midnight. Things happened... Cymru wandered a bit further today—challenging himself to shoot at a particular tree from varying distances. With each stab into the trunk, he cocked his head slightly, determining whether it was a passable shot or not. Again—he wasn’t great, but he also was far from bad... It wasn’t long until he heard and felt something startlingly familiar the further he walked into a particular spot where his men often wandered to find game. He softly slung the bow over his shoulder and his footfalls grew quiet, trying his best to blend into the forest as he had a thousand times before. Whoever it was, they weren't far... The closer he came to a large oak that he heard the noises from, the better he could hear them… It sounded like someone was crying... The boy paused; slightly alarmed that he heard something like that in the middle of an otherwise quiet wood. His mind jumped to wild thoughts about the Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk… and even a Cyhyraeth. He’d heard stories about a dangerous spirit who would weep to lure lost travelers. After another long pause, Cymru swallowed his fear and drew even closer. Then, the sound became clear and was without a doubt familiar. The first thing he saw was the dirtied blond head of hair. His heart twisted at Albion’s appearance. He was soaked, dirty, and looked undeniably wretched... Normally any contact between either of the brothers meant an immediate skirmish before anything else, but Cymru stood still, visually inspecting his little brawd. ”Albion…” he called out quietly before taking a few steps closer, no longer trying to silence the noise that he made. ”Wyt ti'n iawn…?” That was a stupid question. Albion sure as hell didn’t look okay… but that was all that managed to come out of his mouth. Cymru’s common sense came back long enough for him to remember to lay his weapons and bag to the side to show that he wasn’t going to harm him. Moving in closer, he crouched down to Albion’s level, raising his hands a little to show that they were empty as he slipped a little into his brother’s current tongue. ”I promise I won’t hurt you… will you come here, anwylyd?” His voice was gentle. It would be better if Albion approached him willingly. [/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:0.7em helvetica;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-top:10px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;]table made by greyson of btn[/style]

[atrb=width,360,true][atrb=border,0,true][bg=5F5532][atrb=style, padding: 10px; font-family: verdana; border-top-left-radius:2em; -moz-border-radius-topleft:2em; border-top-right-radius:2em; -moz-border-radius-topright:2em;] [style=color: #000000; font-size: 24px; font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; margin: -25px; text-indent: 30px; letter-spacing: -2px;]you stood tall, now you will fall...[/style] [style=background-color: #BFC097; font-size:10px; line-height: 12px; color: #333333; text-align: justify; padding: 10px; font-family: verdana;] Albion was more than aware of his brothers and their assortment of tribes to the north and west. There was the oldest one to the north that Albion didn’t like... And then there was the one to the west that Albion really didn’t like... Really, he hated the both of them for all the nasty fights they've gotten into, but perhaps more so for always leaving him behind. Achingly tight knots formed in his stomach every time they left—just like when mum had left them. Albion remembered her least among the brothers and he always had been a bit envious that Alba and Cymru had the privilege of spend more time with her than he did. Overall, Albion did pretty well on his own… among his people, that is. So, perhaps he wasn’t quite as capable to be on his own yet, but he would get there pretty soon. He was sure of it! Albion wanted to grow up quickly so that he could be as big and strong as his brothers. Stronger would be better… then stupid empires like Rome wouldn’t try to invade him again. Like Cymru, Albion was sure that Rome would be back. Even with how he physically felt at the moment, he was determined to fight him off again. Looking at the welts forming over his body, he was fully aware that his people were hurting. Setbacks wouldn’t keep them down, however. Accounting for their dead would only further ignite the determination to not lie back and allow the attack. The boy was too busy trying not to cry to hear the movement behind him. Even if he did, every so often a soft scuttle in the brush only alerted him to the fact that there were several small animals scurrying about, enjoying the warm day. It was quiet enough to have been passed as one. And then he heard his name followed by very human sounded footfalls. Albion startled a nearby rabbit as he nearly toppled over in his hurry to get to his feet. Normally, it was death to be in a vulnerable position before an enemy. Due to his embarrassing lack of a weapon, he grabbed the nearest stone and threw it at the intruder, aiming for his head. It was only after he’d thrown it and grabbed another at his feet did he see that it was Cymru. Not that it made any difference really... The question in his brother's native tongue only made Albion more upset and he glared at Cymru, which was a bit hard to do when his vision was getting a little blurry with a fresh wave of tears. Emotion that had been locked away since the invasion—since being left behind by the others. Really, he should be used to it by now. No one ever stayed. ”Y-you don’t care.” He felt like shouting, but it only came out as a mutter and his small fingers tightened around his stone. The boy's eyes widened marginally when he saw Cymru lay down his weapons along with his bag. Apparently he had other intentions… Albion still half-stepped back when his brother began to approach him. Albion saw Cymru’s opened, emptied hands and his feet felt rooted to the ground. ”I’m not falling for that…” Albion protested, but it felt weak on his tongue. A soft wind came through and it made him shiver in his damp clothes. He pulled the wet cloak closer around him, but it only seemed to draw the heat even more from his already chilled body. He bit his lip hard to keep his teeth from grinding and his gaze wandered to the bag that Cymru had tossed aside, wondering if there was any food hidden within. When his brother crouched to his level—something that he never did, Albion felt his resolve slowly dissolving. And gods, did he want to accept… His brother looked warm and dry. And Albion hadn’t seen anyone for two weeks. As much as he disliked Cymru, even hearing another voice was a bit of a comfort. ”You swear it? he mumbled. Even as he said this, however; Albion took a step toward him, wide eyes peering cautiously up at Cymru beneath his dirty blonde fringe. [/style] [style=background-color: #BFC097; font-size:8px; line-height: 12px; color: #333333; text-align: justify; padding: 10px; font-family: tahoma;]WORD COUNT: 708 NOTES: :3 TAGS: BRAN/MARV TIME: 55 BC PLACE: SOMEWHERE IN THE BRITISH ISLES… CREDIT: AERIE OF OTE[/style]

[atrb=cellpadding,30,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background:url(http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15865368/nd/00009k2x.png);width:350px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;border-radius:60px;][STYLE=background:url(http://i113.photobucket.com/albums/n222/amoline/ex_zps120f095e.jpg) repeat;filter:alpha(opacity=40);opacity:.7;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-bottom:10px;border:1px solid #ccc;height:200px;] [/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:1.2em helvetica;letter-spacing:4pt;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-bottom:10px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;]WHERE TO BEGIN[/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:0.7em helvetica;border-radius:20px;text-align:justify;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;] WORDS 759   TAGS arthur   NOTES =D Cymru really cared for his little brawd, he really did... he was just perhaps a bit rougher than he meant to be with him. Well, perhaps a lot more, but that's how Cymru sometimes showed his affection. In either case, Cymru was probably a lot gentler than Alba, but he still wasn't the greatest at knowing how to look after Albion, who didn't even like him in the first place. It's not as if the little one was completely helpless either... but still, sometimes the blonde seemed lonely and wearied from the consistent attempts at invasion... Now that he was close enough, Cymru could see the nasty bruises forming over Albion's little arms. His blood ran hot with barely hidden fury just looking at them. And then he felt a stone smack his head. He rubbed gently at the tender spot where Albion had aimed, biting his lip in an attempt to stifle his automatic reaction to lash out. Damn bugger was a good shot, he would give him that... When he saw that Albion had snatched another stone, Cymru was about to just grab the little child before he could give him another bruise until he started talking. Cymru stilled, and his chest tightened a little at his words. "I... just because we fight sometimes doesn't mean that I don't care, anwylyd..." When Albion stepped away from him as he drew closer, Cymru's muscles tensed, preparing to give chase if he had to. That would be difficult, though... Albion was as quick as a spooked rabbit when he wanted to be. He was small enough to slip between the thick foliage and could duck quickly into small spaces. Yeah... the little blond certainly wasn't amusing to chase. Cymru usually ended up with scratched limps and bruised knees afterwards as he attempted to sprint, crawl, and dive after him. Cymru sighed heavily when Albion told him that he wouldn't fall for any of his tricks. "I promise... I swear to you that I won't harm you, Albion..." Cymru's brows drew together slightly when he saw the shiver pass through the younger. He really did look miserable... The moment that Albion took the first step towards him, Cymru leaned forward, enveloping his little brawd in a strong hold. He picked him up before getting onto his own feet as he held the cold, little body against his. Cymru ran fingers gently through the dirty mop of hair, trying not to get them tangled in the fine strands, encouraging Albion to rest against him. The older brother's eyes trailed over their surroundings wondering what he should do... Well, firstly, he knew that Albion needed to dry. Cymru paused only for a moment to gather his weapons and bag, which was a bit of a challenge while simultaneously holding the child. Knowing that his little brawd probably wouldn't like where he was heading, Cymru began to make his way back along the trail that lead towards one of his people's settlement. There they always had a central hearth going as well as plenty of food and drink. Cymru's arms tightened around Albion, shifting most of his weight against his hip, as he began to catch familiar sights leading toward the encampment. His nose and mouth brushed against the side of Albion's face, whispering softly. "I know you won't like where we're going, but I promise there will be food and fire. Trust me on this." He didn't pause in his brisk pace to hear if Albion would protest. It took a bit to find his way, but he was moving pretty quickly, not caring if he was being a bit loud along the way. He caught sight of his people soon enough and emerged near the settlement. Cymru's arms tightened protectively against his little brother when he noticed a couple wayward glances toward the pair. Cymru didn't pause; instead he headed straight for the main longhouse where he knew that he had the leader's unchallenged protection. "Bran... pwy yw hwn?", a deep voice immediately recognizable to Cymru as his leader and current 'father-figure', asked who he had brought with him. Cymru stiffened, holding Albion closer... hopefully not squeezing the breath out of him... "Dim byd..." he paused, glancing at the tall man before sighing, relenting. "...fy mrawd bach." The man's firm eyes softened, giving a slight shake of the head before heading back into the longhouse. Cymru gave an irritated groan as he inched closer to the main hearth, finally setting Albion down so he could massage the circulation back into his sore arms. [/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:0.7em helvetica;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-top:10px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;]table made by greyson of btn[/style]

[atrb=width,360,true][atrb=border,0,true][bg=5F5532][atrb=style, padding: 10px; font-family: verdana; border-top-left-radius:2em; -moz-border-radius-topleft:2em; border-top-right-radius:2em; -moz-border-radius-topright:2em;] [style=color: #000000; font-size: 24px; font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; margin: -25px; text-indent: 30px; letter-spacing: -2px;]you stood tall, now you will fall...[/style] [style=background-color: #BFC097; font-size:10px; line-height: 12px; color: #333333; text-align: justify; padding: 10px; font-family: verdana;] Albion would agree with the fact that his brothers were rougher than necessary, but that was part of who they were. And sometimes he hated them for that. However, deep beneath all that animosity, he did care about them. So, Albion was rather proud of himself when his first stone had hit its mark—he hoped that Cymru was sporting a nice bruise over his scalp… serves him right for being a haliwr… a little word that he learned from Cymru a while back. Such nice, brotherly exchanges. When Cymru’s tone took a more serious turn, Albion stared at him, cautious and silent, but didn’t throw a second time. He wondered if Cymru would run after him if he fled. Probably. But Albion could outrun him. He could outrun both of his brothers—both too bulky and large to match him. It was a bit amusing to Albion that they could be a bit more bruised on account of him through chase between the forest fronds and beneath harsh foliage rather than actual harm done by the small nation. Albion softened, considering, when Cymru promised not to hurt him. Before he could really give an answer one way or the other, Albion was picked up by his brother. The boy stiffened, unused to being held in a protective way. A shiver passed through him once more, now half from the cold and half from badly stifled panic, because he learned to expect either pain or security from Cymru’s hands… and sometimes he didn’t know which to expect in that moment. For now, he felt warmth. Albion pressed tightly against Cymru’s dry clothes, attempting to soak up as much of that coveted heat as he could. A small sigh passed through his lips at the feeling of gentle fingers running through his dirty, tangled mess called hair. Yes, the child looked more like a swamp rat after wandering alone for so long. Albion involuntarily hummed a contented sound as he nuzzled into Cymru’s cloak, his eyelids growing a little heavy. He vaguely felt Cymru’s hold tightening over him slightly as he picked up his weapons and bag. Green eyes blinked up at Cymru when warned him that he probably wouldn’t like where they were heading. Albion blinked once more before his eyes narrowed in suspicion. This had better not be a trap or he was going to make Cymru regret this… he wasn’t sure how, but he would do something… But Cymru did promise fire and food… Albion remained rigid, his cautious gaze still on Cymru as he continued to walk and hold him. And it wasn’t until they came across the people that Albion recognised that they were in one of Cymru’s tribesmen’s encampments. ”Twpsyn!” Albion hissed at Cymru in his tongue, completely unprepared over the fact that he was basically being coddled and carried into enemy territory. His tiny fingers fisted tightly Cymru’s cloak in discomfort and anger. When a man approached them and began to ask who Cymru had brought with him, Albion glared at the man, bristling like a cornered animal about to spring. And then Cymru started to squeeze him… ”Hhhgh… not so tight.” Albion complained into his shoulder, his voice muffled. Cymru said something back, something that Albion didn’t quite catch before they were off again and he was set down in front of the main hearth, the warmth of the fire already radiating pleasantly the closer that Albion inched forward before it grew too hot. He removed his bow before unclasping the wet, green cloak. As he laid them aside to dry, he was careful to hide how damaged his small fingers were at the moment, currently lacerated with numerous scratches and cuts from his latest venture before running into Cymru. It wasn’t long before Albion peered up once again at his older brother. His cheeks flushed as his stomach started making its empty noises. [/style] [style=background-color: #BFC097; font-size:8px; line-height: 12px; color: #333333; text-align: justify; padding: 10px; font-family: tahoma;]WORD COUNT: 650 NOTES: fewds, please xD TAGS: BRAN/MARV TIME: 55 BC PLACE: SOMEWHERE IN THE BRITISH ISLES… CREDIT: AERIE OF OTE[/style]

[atrb=cellpadding,30,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background:url(http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15865368/nd/00009k2x.png);width:350px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;border-radius:60px;][STYLE=background:url(http://i113.photobucket.com/albums/n222/amoline/ex_zps120f095e.jpg) repeat;filter:alpha(opacity=40);opacity:.7;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-bottom:10px;border:1px solid #ccc;height:200px;] [/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:1.2em helvetica;letter-spacing:4pt;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-bottom:10px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;]WHERE TO BEGIN[/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:0.7em helvetica;border-radius:20px;text-align:justify;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;] WORDS 649   TAGS arthur   NOTES =D Cymru grinned like an idiot when he felt Albion lean and snuggle into his cloak. He couldn’t remember the last time that his little brother allowed him to hold him like this. Feeling a bit excited to get the opportunity to once more, he wrapped his cloak around them tighter to trap in the heat. Hands rubbed up and down Albion’s spine in small circles, trying to bring in some more warmth to the otherwise chilled body, murmuring barely coherent words as he made his way. He caught Albion a few times looking up at him with that adorable, innocent, yet angry expression of his. Yes, it’s adorable. And it made Cymru smile—half genuinely happy and half amused. He always did think that Albion was quite tense and easily upset. In his current situation, it wasn’t difficult to see why he was more agitated than usual. Cymru’s grip tightened over Albion when he yelped at him in his own tongue. The formal expression was even more forced as he waited for his leader to go back into the longhouse. ”Not so loud, Albion…” he warned under his breath. He did loosen his hold somewhat when Albion complained about him holding on too tightly. Cymru laughed loudly when he heard Albion’s stomach. ”Hungry?” he teased in that sing-song voice of his. After setting down his brother and rubbing the feeling back into his arms, Cymru went in search for food, muttering something about being back soon. He was quick to sneak into the reserves for the tribesmen, making his footfalls as soft as he could while he grabbed bread, fruits, dried meat, and a deer skin satchel full of goat’s milk. On the way out, he also grabbed a dry child’s frock and a clean cloth. The food he hid easily within his bag, but the milk, he had to carry so as not to let any to accidently spill over. For the most part, no one seemed to give him any notice. It was usually a very grave offense to take extra food from their storage without it first being rationed out. Cymru blended in well; however, and was at Albion’s side by the fire in a matter of moments where few others happened to be. He dropped his bag on Albion’s lap and more carefully handed the deerskin satchel, making sure that he was holding it securely. ”You really are a mess…” Cymru muttered to himself as he got to work in cleaning the dirt smudges from Albion’s face. Wetting the clean cloth, it was a simple enough task, as long as Albion wouldn’t squirm too much beneath his fingers. He spread out the dry clothing next to Albion for him to put on whenever he was finished eating. ”I thought it was about your size,” Cymru grinned. After getting the worst of the dirt off, he went for Albion’s hair, pulling out leaves and trying to work out the worst of the matted tangles with his fingers. ”You really, really need to go wash when you’re done, little one… you look like a rat that the storm has washed up,” he teased. After he was done, though, he had to admit… Albion did look a little more clean and halfway decent. He gave himself a proverbial pat on the back. It was just then that he noticed the sorry state of Albion’s hands. He reached out and took one, inspecting it with a small frown. After a moment, he released him and looked on at the fire, not sparing Albion a glance. ”You really must’ve been out there quite a while all by yourself…” Cymru’s eyes wandered to the bow next to Albion and he laughed softly, realizing that that was all he had with him for defense. ”Do you even know how to shoot?” he asked, his voice teasing, though his gaze was somewhat serious. [/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:0.7em helvetica;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-top:10px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;]table made by greyson of btn[/style]

[atrb=width,360,true][atrb=border,0,true][bg=5F5532][atrb=style, padding: 10px; font-family: verdana; border-top-left-radius:2em; -moz-border-radius-topleft:2em; border-top-right-radius:2em; -moz-border-radius-topright:2em;] [style=color: #000000; font-size: 24px; font-family: georgia; font-style: italic; margin: -25px; text-indent: 30px; letter-spacing: -2px;]you stood tall, now you will fall...[/style] [style=background-color: #BFC097; font-size:10px; line-height: 12px; color: #333333; text-align: justify; padding: 10px; font-family: verdana;] Albion couldn’t help the calm from slowly creeping in with Cymru’s soothing motions while carefully holding him, so very unlike how he was usually handled. Despite further protests waiting on his tongue, Albion actually listened when Crymru told him not to be loud. It’s not as if he wanted to meet anymore of Cymru’s idiot people anyway… Even though every sign said otherwise, Albion flushed a bright red when Cymru seemingly teased him for his hunger. He clamped a small arm over his stomach, as if to stifle the empty noises that it made. ”I am not!” The lie was clearly written across his face, which he buried into Cymru’s cloaked shoulder, as if to rub away the warmth of embarrassment for being so easily provoked. After being set down near the warm fire, for which Albion greatly appreciated, despite still hating his brother for bringing him here of all places, he waited patiently for Cymru’s return. Well, as patiently as a small child could. Despite being so many years old, he still had the physical and mental capacity of a child around his seeming age (more or less.) And that unfortunately included having little patience. When a bag was dropped into his lap, Albion immediately opened it and started by tearing into the pieces of dried meat and bread. The fruit came later. Eating was a good distraction for him while Cymru began to clean away the smears of dirt and grime. Albion did wriggle away from his brother a little when the leaves and twigs were pulled from his matted hair. He mostly ignored Cymru’s quip about him looking like a washed up rat, but he did shoot him a dirty look. Albion pulled the dirty, wet child’s frock over his head before slipping on the nicer one that Cymru had brought him. His skin seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, finally being dry and semi-warm for the first time in a long while. Albion pulled the deerskin satchel of goat’s milk closer and began to sip from the opening, looking up at Cymru while doing so, for once without his usual glare of animosity, simply content and feeling substantially calmer than before. When Cymru reached for Albion’s hand, Albion allowed it, as he was too preoccupied with the milk to care. However, as soon as he pulled away from the satchel, he yanked his hand from Cymru’s. ”I have been out there... for a long time,” Albion stated simply, almost as if shrugging it away. He still didn’t understand why his brother was doing this for him… It’s not as if Cymru cared for Albion’s welfare… or hasn’t cared in a long time before… so why should he start now? Just because some creepy, foreign, old man wanted to invade him? Albion averted his gaze when Cymru asked if he knew how to shoot. ”I… someone was going to teach me... before we were attacked.” Albion bit his lip as he wondered over the family’s fate, though in all reality, he knew deep down that he wouldn’t see them again. His chest tightened. ”They’re gone now.” He pressed his palms against the clean cloth of his new frock, making the barely healed wounds hurt even worse against the harsh threadbare, trying to distract himself from the tears that longed to escape. He refused to cry in front of Cymru. [/style] [style=background-color: #BFC097; font-size:8px; line-height: 12px; color: #333333; text-align: justify; padding: 10px; font-family: tahoma;]WORD COUNT: 561 NOTES: no notes TAGS: BRAN/MARV TIME: 55 BC PLACE: SOMEWHERE IN THE BRITISH ISLES… CREDIT: AERIE OF OTE[/style]

[atrb=cellpadding,30,true][atrb=cellspacing,0,true][atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style,background:url(http://dl.dropbox.com/u/15865368/nd/00009k2x.png);width:350px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;border-radius:60px;][STYLE=background:url(http://i113.photobucket.com/albums/n222/amoline/ex_zps120f095e.jpg) repeat;filter:alpha(opacity=40);opacity:.7;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-bottom:10px;border:1px solid #ccc;height:200px;] [/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:1.2em helvetica;letter-spacing:4pt;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-bottom:10px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;]WHERE TO BEGIN[/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:0.7em helvetica;border-radius:20px;text-align:justify;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;] WORDS 649   TAGS arthur   NOTES =D Cymru’s laughter only grew louder at Albion’s indignation over how famished he really was. ”Can’t lie to me, little brawd. You always were pretty horrible at it.” He squeezed Albion when he buried his blushing expression into his shoulder, the affection for him breaking through. He enjoyed provoking Albion over the smallest things, but there were usually affectionate intentions behind them. Even calling him names as he cleaned him brought on the same amused reaction from the Welsh nation. A little habit that would continue well into the future, even after being dominated and subdued by a grown-up, vengeful version of Arthur. For the time being; though, Cymru was going to enjoy the time when his little brother was cute and innocent (albeit still an angry brat some of the time.) Cymru frowned at Albion when he twisted his hurt hand away from him. As always, the stubborn child seemed to spurn help whenever it was offered. Not that Cymru exactly has a reputation for helping him… more like hurting him, killing his people, and starting or reacting to the violent aggressions between them. Cymru’s grip tightened over the edge of his own bow when Albion stated that he’d been traveling alone for quite some time. Cymru knew that he alone was far from capable of doing much harm to the Roman Empire, but his fury still burned at the thought of the Empire daring to lay his hands on small Albion. What twisted brand of sick bastards did they breed from across the channel? …And now they wanted to spread their filth to their islands, no less! None of them: Albion’s, Cymru’s, and Alba’s people would stand for that. The real question was which one of them would be able to evade Rome’s power-starved reach? Cymru cast his eyes towards the ground when Albion mentioned what had happened to his host family after the attack. An uncomfortable heat swamped his chest, noticing that Albion looked like he might cry. Cymru was never good with tears, especially when they came from either of his brothers… He quickly changed the subject. ” Well, you need to learn! Can’t 'av you completely defenseless against dat bastard, nigh, can we?” He grinned, the widest that he’d displayed within the last hour, hoping that it would be infectious to his downtrodden bawd. He told Albion to wait again, but the words were barely out of his mouth before he scampered away, going into yet another longhouse to scour through their weapons supply. Children learned to shoot extremely early on in their culture, so it didn’t take Cymru too long to find one that would fit Albion perfectly. Slinging another collection of arrows over his shoulder, he was back quickly, nearly colliding into another Welshman in his haste. ”Here!” Cymru presented his small brother with the procured items. ”Now, don’t tell me that isn’t the finest you’ve ever seen,” he winked, an amused expression overtaking his features. ”Explains why we’ve beat your arse so many times, eh uffar gwirion?” He laughed, amusement lighting up his gaze as he poked fun at Albion. Some things will never change. [/style][STYLE=background:rgba(255,255,255,.4);color:#999;padding:10px;font:0.7em helvetica;border-radius:20px;text-align:center;margin-top:10px;border:1px solid #dfdfdf;]table made by greyson of btn[/style]