It came as a tremendous blow to the world. The death of the United Kingdom was quick and unexpected. It took mere days for the island nation to be annihilated. All four brothers were gone; Wales, Ireland, Scotland, and, the largest blow, England.

By the time the rest of the world knew what had happened it was far too late to help. The only thing left to do was to retaliate, thus the beginning of World War III.

It had only been a month since the beginning of the war. America, the first to retaliate and at the forefront of the fighting, was tired, battle-worn, and devastated over the loss of his closest friend and former older brother. Now, America was keeping a close eye on his only other family member. Some nations believed it was just to protect his borders, other more astute nations saw his devastation. He had failed to be a hero once, but he damn well wasn't going to let it happen again.

America had to come home for political reasons when he got the letter. One of the people who actually knew what he was entered his office leading another man, cuffed, and clutching an envelope.

America sat wearily behind his desk signing papers. He was in a white shirt and dress slacks, a much different attire from the uniform he'd been wearing only days before. When the men entered he looked up with hard eyes. It only took him a moment to know who they were and stood.

The uncuffed man saluted and the cuffed man nodded his head in familiarity. The assistant spoke first, "He's been checked and cleared. But he absolutely refused to let anyone but you open the letter. Only reason we let him through was because he said he knew England." America stiffened. The assistant, noticing the movement, saluted again and left. An upset country could be dangerous, after all.

When the door shut America motioned the bound man forward. They had met once before, before… the initiation of the war. He was the go-between for England and the Queen when duties kept either of them away from the other. He's now an older man and has worked for his country for several years. England had trusted him.

Quietly, save for the soft clink of chains on his wrists, he put the slightly crumpled, yellowing envelope on the desk and slid it towards the boy, "He asked me, if something ever happened to him, to make sure this got to you." He gave a sympathetic smile and nodded before leaving the office.

America stood for a moment, looking at the envelope. Slowly, and softly, he grabbed it and sank back into his chair before neatly slitting it open with his pocket knife.

While the envelope was slightly old, the paper was modern. The hand was painfully familiar to America, although it seemed slightly hurried. With trembling hand, America withdrew and unfolded the paper. Within it was another folded paper, aged like the envelope. He set that aside for now.

Alfred,

I just wrote this letter when you were young, while the threat of that pitiful armada loomed over my head. I've revised it several times since then, in times of crisis. But I could never really get it as good as how it was the first time.

You surely know that I was never good with spoken word, but there are some things I've been meaning to say to you since you were a child. Upon rereading them I was rather surprised to notice that they still apply to how I see you now. You exceeded all of these expectations, but perhaps, hen I'm gone, you may need reminded of them.

I wrote this intro quickly and all I ask is that you finish reading it before, if you were, disposing of it.

Alfred reached for the yellowing sheet. He swallowed as he began reading the stronger, steadier writing. He emitted a choked sob of happiness as he read.

I hope you never loose your sense of wonder. Get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger. Prey you never take one singe breath for granted, and I'll ask God love never leave you empty handed.

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance, and never settle for the path of least resistance. Living might mean taking chances, but they're worth taking. Loving might be a mistake, but it's worth making. So don't let a helping heart leave you bitter. If you come close to selling out, reconsider; and give the heavens above more than just a passing glance.

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean. If ever one door closers another always opens if you can see it. Promise me you'll give faith a fighting chance.

And, if you get the choice, to sit it out or dance…

Dance, love, dance.

Here's another little something I've been working on!

My ipod likes throwing ideas into my skull. Most of the time I ignore them, but I just had to write this. The song is called I Hope You Dance by Lee Ann Womack. I have always loved country music and this song has been a favourite of mine since I was young. Love it like I have: http:/ www. youtube. com/ watch? v=RV-Z1Yw aOiw&ob =av3e

...I hope I didn't destroy it by writing this fic.