Every nation can fall at any given point in time. It's a matter of circumstance and the decisions made by the nation and, most importantly, the real leaders at the helm of every nation: Their humans and their infinite lack of wisdom. Rebuilding and time and strength of will are necessities in rising from destruction; in conquering and taking back what one had taken before. Years, decades, centuries; these England has endured and given of himself to perpetuate his own survival and the well-being of his citizens. He's fallen hard with the first loss of his Old Empire, and then sunk into the destitute throes of totalitarianism and organized chaos. Only the most worthy of a people can survive that--and because of it, not only is he returning to strength but he holds another precious jewel in his pocket: Russia.

England always did have a personal liking for the wild and unattainable.

Silent for the moment, he cups Russia's face in one hand. The world powers are to blame for the choking of Winter, he knows too well what the drive for coal, oil and other natural resources has done to the planet. It's disgusting honestly, yet still another harsh necessity and in the end, Arthur's personal likes will always be overwhelmed by the reason he exists at all. This is his purpose--to survive and thrive, divide up nation states with a finely crafted blade and conquer them, to move them about like pieces on a chessboard. This 'glory' is hard-won though. England is a tiny island, efficient, cold, industrious. The angles on his face are sharper than they ever were in centuries' past. He looks upon Russia--such a loved, wretched watchdog--with hard eyes. They are no longer green and warm, for the most part, but older and tired and chilled by time and wear.
He draws a gloved thumb across Ivan's cheek.

Your trust wasn't unfounded, he'd like to say, but that would be an outright lie. His armies had brought fire and wrath and ruthless drive with them. The stubborn island would not be shaken by Russia's armies this time. He had coaxed him and his leaders, tempted them, moved in without really lying about... some of his intentions. Older and wiser, he'd learned from his past successes and failures. Certainly things could have gone better, and there were great losses on his own as well... But here they are. The world is weary from decades of war and starvation and political upheaval, and England will tend to it with a burning iron hand as he had before.

Thinking of the wave and sudden invasion, he smiles. Breaking a nation is all well and good (and hideously awful, if he were to be honest), but the worst of England's wiles is when he offers kindness and prosperity. He will tie himself to you, and you will want it and embrace it.

He could snap his fingers and Ivan would do as commanded. Slightly drunk on that kind of power as England is, he likes to pretend himself a kinder master than that (this is up for debate).

"What's that look now?" a chilly purr frosts England's voice. "I trust you slept well?"

England treats his most prized possessions well. They are pretty and useful and therefore are allowed an elegant spot on his shelf. They will provide protection and service when it's required, and he will provide economic support and protection of his own. Ivan may be the taller of the two by far, but England holds the power here.

There's no mistaking that.