Heyo! If you haven't noticed, this chapter is in third person, not first. That's because I've spent the past three days rewriting and editing every chapter of the book so far to be in third person, as well as adding new headcanon changes and some foreshadowing, I highly recommend you go through and reread the edited chapters if you haven't already they're amazing.

June 17, 1775

England's day started with cannon fire.

The ships in the harbor were attacking rebel fortification in Charlestown, just across the Charles River. The Colonies and his rebels had set up fortifications on two hills, meaning that someone had tipped the rebels off to England's plans.

England was furious. He was already under a lot of pressure from his son to break the siege of Boston and end the uprising. Not to mention the mocking letter England got from Wales, making fun of how he fled from The Colonies' rebels. Wales mocked England, blaming the loss on England's great mistake from 1536—when England accidentally almost killed himself, permanently weakening him.

Wales neglected to mention it weakened him too, but then again, with the dragon traits the faux-countryhuman gained from the Glyndŵr rebellion, perhaps the dragon-lion chimera saw himself as stronger than his English counterpart.

Now, he had this to worry about.

England was furious and swore to himself that he was going to take his grandson, drag him back home, and throw him at Britain's feet to face the punishment he deserved. England knew his son would show The Colonies more mercy than England and just beat the colony. England knew that the beating would keep the Colonies docile until their unfounded rage subsided enough for them to see the error of this rebellion.

Normandy used it to help him see how misguided he was, although England would admit his mother was much less harsh than Britain. Still, you could not deny the results. The colonies fell in line, even Scotland's brat and her brood, and that's all that matters.

Still, that wasn't important; instead, what was important was dealing with the threat outside of Charlestown, hopefully capturing The Colonies and demoralizing the stupid rebellion.

General Gage had ordered troops together at mid-morning, and now, at midday, the first ship carrying soldiers, England included. As the troops began to assemble, England kept an eye on Breed's Hill, where the rebel fortifications were, looking for any sign of his grandson.

Unfortunately, The Colonies was nowhere in sight, leaving England curious about what the colony was doing.

"England?" General Howe asked from behind him. England turned, his eyebrow raised, "Are you sure you won't join the feint? It would be a lot more believable if you did."

General Howe's plan was smart. One force would advance on the redoubt as a feint. A second would march to the right through an open pasture and flank, surround, and crush the resistance inside the redoubt. Unfortunately, the general wanted to send England as a distraction despite his years of experience in combat.

England sighed, "For the last time, General, I will go with the main force. If Colonies is there, I must ensure he gets captured and returned to his father."

General Howe nodded, his face stoney. "I trust your judgment. You have my permission to go with the main force."

England almost snorted in amusement. Permission. How quaint of this human to think he could give England such a thing. England was eight-hundred forty-seven years old and had been at war for much of his life. He knew where he would fight, and he knew he would fight and not be some feint to trick a bunch of rebels and a rebelling colony who really shouldn't be thinking for himself.

England walked to stand by the commander of the attacking force, who looked up at him with awe. England ignored him, his eyes back to scanning for his grandson. Eventually, England spotted a glimpse of him, and his ears twitched, frustrated, as even with his better hearing, he could not hear what his misguided grandson was saying. 

Finally, after waiting a while, England and his troops were given the order to advance, as the ships ended their bombardment of the hill after hours.

As they made their way through the pasture, England realized this would not be as easy as he had thought. For one, the tall grass had hidden many obstacles from England and his troops, from fences to rolls, and the advancing line slowed to a crawl as they carefully picked their way around them.

Secondly, The Colonies had apparently not placed all his troops in the redoubt. In a shocking display of military intelligence from a group of rebels, some were at the end of the pasture. However, much to England's shock, the rebels weren't firing, not at them or the decoy force. They watched the soldiers come closer but still made no move to fire.

What on earth were they doing?

The rebels' lack of reaction to their advance made England nervous. Although their guns were raised like they would fire, they did not move.

However, as England's soldiers got closer, the rebels opened fire, and the air was quickly filled with the screams of the injured and dying.

England bit back an Old Norse curse as it finally dawned on him what the rebels were doing. They waited until the soldiers were close before firing so their bullets would cause more casualties.

It was brilliant and a strategy befitting an actual army and a real military commander, but these bloody rebels did it!

England was going to make The Colonies pay.

If climbing the hill in the pasture had been difficult, the rain of bullets made it impossible. While England could see a few rebels fall, he was losing far more men.

Eventually, as the soldiers drew back, the rebels' fire slowed, and Engladn realized that they would only be fired upon as long as they were close. Still, they had to climb the hill to take the redoubt, and England ordered his men back into the slaughter.

England heard cannon fire start back up again and panicked. He turned around to look at his ships and sighed in relief when he realized they were only targeting Charlestown, with red-hot cannonballs too, England presumed, as the small town had started to catch fire.

Breathing out a sigh of relief, England returned his focus to the rebels. Unfortunately, having lost the momentum their attack needed, General Howe ordered the troops to withdraw.

England growled in frustration, shooting a hateful look at the rebels before pulling back, tail lashing, and praying they were not about to retreat from The Colonies again.

"We need to try something else. The rebels are slaughtering us, and they have too much of an advantage on that hill." General Howe told England as they regrouped with the feint force, who had also lost a lot of men.

"Are there rebels on the other side of the hill? They cover the pasture and the front, but if they aren't covering all sides of the hill, that could be the opening we need." England pointed out. General Howe nodded.

"It's worth a shot. If we fail, we'll have to report another failure to break the siege, and none of us need that right now." General Howe said before ordering the troops to regroup.

Once they had done that, they marched up the left of the redoubt, this time facing far less resistance and able to put more pressure on the redoubt. It also seemed like the rebels were running low on ammunition, as England could see some throwing rocks and others fleeing.

The sight filled him with confidence, and England was sure now that they would win, especially as some of his soldiers began mounting the walls. Smiling in satisfaction, England moved forward to join them, climbing over the walls with all the grace of an experienced soldier (who had the benefit of sharp claws).

Inside, a bloody melee had begun, with England's soldiers cutting down rebels with their bayonets as the rebels desperately fought back, turning their rifles into clubs. England jammed his bayonet into a rebel's stomach before ripping it out, leaving behind a bloody hole, before dodging a swing of a musket.

England sighed and shook his head as he saw who the attacker was.

"You know this isn't right. Come home." England growled out, baring his sharp, draconic fangs.

The Colonies shook his head, and England felt a bolt of fear go through him as he realized that The Colonies' eyes were bright green instead of the brown they had been for so long.

"I think I am home. And I think you need to get out." The Colonies said, baring his teeth in return. England tightened his grip on his gun.

"I won't leave. I'm taking you back to your father, so you'll face punishment for this stupid little rebellion."

"Listen here, England," The Colonies said before England cut him off.

"Stop pretending we aren't family," England said, clenching his jaw. More rebels were fleeing now, the improvised weapons failing against the bayonets. It filled England with great satisfaction, seeing his army win against the cocky rebels.

"We aren't. Not anymore. You aren't taking this seriously! You don't take me seriously! But I'll show you just how serious I am, England." The Colonies snarled out before swinging the butt of his musket into England's jaw, swinging the weapon like one would swing a club.

There was a loud crack, and red-hot pain erupted in his jaw as England collapsed to the ground, blood filling his mouth as he spat out one of his teeth.

England attempted to speak but stopped as another bolt of pain erupted in his jaw, causing tears to prick in the corners of his eyes. This was a kind of pain he had never felt before, blinding and all-consuming, as every movement of his face seemed to send a new type of pain down his jaw.

England bit his tongue, trying to prevent himself from whimpering in pain. He could not let The Colonies see how badly he was hurt. It would do no good to feed into the delusions of control.

"We aren't going to give up easily. I–we hope you've learned that. Send Britain our love," The Colonies said, his eyes vividly reminding England of Ireland.

England felt anger swell throughout his body as he tried to stand up. However, The Colonies kicked him in his jaw, which made another loud crack. England let out a cry of pain before he collapsed, not getting up, the pain rendering him immobile. It was all he could do to stop himself from crying at the pain as The Colonies, foolish coward he was, fled.

The pain was overwhelming, but England still managed to turn onto his side, painfully spitting out a mouthful of blood as he struggled to breathe.

He knew his jaw was broken.

The rebellion had barely begun, and The Colonies and their godforsaken rebels had already forced England into a pyrrhic victory. This did not spell good things for the rest of the rebellion.

However, in this battle, England and Generals Howe and Gage had made the costly mistake of underestimating the colony and his rabble.

That was a mistake they could never make again.