England doesn't remember much. He remembers Russia, America, a conference- getting the news-
The flash had been blinding. The world reduced to ash around him and everything in him had screamed as he felt his people drop where they stood. The flame scorched him, the dust choked him, and somehow through it all he remembers how America and Russia had looked, their skin blistering and boiling in the heat. He remembers wondering if he looked that way. Remembers hearing the crackle and pop of his own skin, retching at the smell of charred flesh.
He'd woken up here, what must have been days, weeks, even months later with the most curious sensation. He couldn't feel his people. He couldn't hear them laugh with their friends or cry with their loved ones. He couldn't hear anything. He passes out again with shudders wracking his frame.
When he wakes up, there are three people crouched around him in a lopsided kind of circle. The first face he sees is a woman, her skin brown and her lips blue. If he looks close enough, he can see the way the ice around her lips crackles, melts, and refreezes with each breath she takes. She is lovely, and her quiet strength reminds him of Hungary. The second is a man, green eyes set deep in a stern face. As England watches, he picks at his teeth with a blade of grass, and when he notices England his expression turns sour- hostile and almost angry.
The third and final person is the easiest to overlook. She is small and pale, and when she sees that he is awake her grey eyes sparkle, and she jumps to her feet. She is the youngest of the three, but her eyes look the oldest.
He doesn't learn until days later what they are, that they are nations- nations like him and America and France. It takes him longer to accept where he is. During his fourth week as their guest, he's told of a fourth nation, but its months until he meets him.
He's told of the war that has wiped out Air's people, the war that Fire started so he could rule over them all. He remembers Germany, and how even as the Jews had burned, the other Nation had convinced himself that it was for the best. Remembers Caesar and Alexander and countless others who'd convinced themselves that ruling over others was for the best.
He remembers himself, not even a millennium ago when he'd looked at America's smiling face and told himself that this was best.
He feels sorry for Fire, so when the Avatar finally captures the Fire Lord, eliminates the threat- when the other three nations of this strange world have Fire bleeding and retching on the cold marble floor England crouches in front of this broken King and presses a chaste kiss to the Nation's bruised temple.
England hopes that Fire will remember this the next time one of his Lord's gets a craving for power, but in the end, he knows that he won't.
They never do.