FFnet being glitchy, I can't post new story in Hetalia category, I'm sorry if this story ended in another anime/manga category ;_;
credits to: NeonZangetsu, Shiuta-san, and notwritten for making this story successfully posted ;_;

EDIT: I HAVE BETA NOW ASDVFSKDJFS THANK YOU LEGEND OF ZELDA 4 LIFE *3333*


Chapter 1: Land of Dreams

Holding onto the small palm in his hand, he smiled. He found it amusing to watch his sweet little child shyly cover his mouth to hide his sleepiness while continuing to clutch his stuffed polar bear at the same time.

"Mathieu, as-tu sommeil?"

"Non, Papa…"

He took his little baby in his arms, patting his back, whispering that it was okay to sleep. Soon after, he felt the little one relax and he took the stuffed toy -the only thing his wife left for their beloved child- so it wouldn't fall down on their trip to the world beyond the sea.

In the darkness of the dock, he heard someone gave the cue to him and some other people to jump into the cargo ship. Yes, it was now or never – he didn't care how, the urge to visit his late wife's birthplace got the best of him even though he knew this was illegal.

He remembered how his wife lulled him to sleep with her stories about the childhood he'd never heard of, the faeries, unicorns and many things that usually made him giggle while she would pout. Besides that, he was sure that in the land of the rain, he would find the luck he needed to raise little Mathieu into proper life.

"Hurry up, don't let anyone see you!"

Someone with a thick accent and a small oil lamp stood in front of the cargo box, receiving fares from people like him and counting them on the spot. That man didn't care what kind of people stowed away ton his boat, as long as he had his share. When his turn came, he handed most of his fortune to the rough looking man.

"Hey you!" the man stopped him. "This is not enough; you must pay more for that little kid there."

"But Monsieur, he doesn't need any room, I'll carry him…"

A little bit impressed with his English, he nonetheless walked towards him and spit his tobacco to the side. "Pay more or leave the child behind."

"Comment pourrais-je? He's my child!"

The rough man seemed run out of patience; he raised an eyebrow and pointed to the line behind him. "Look, pretty face, I still have loads of passengers there, so if you don't want to pay, then get out."

Muttering his disbelief, he gave the man what he wanted and only left with a bit of money, enough to stay a few days on the new country.

The other man sneered as he counted his money greedily.

"Merci beaucoup, have a nice trip and good luck!"

He sighed and walked further on the cargo deck to find some people already marking their spots. He knew he would be joining them soon, too. The gloomy atmosphere somehow made him relax. No one bothered to look at each other's faces, knowing this would be a short trip and that they would all scatter to unknown places after this cargo ship arrived at destination, early in the morning.

Mathieu stirred a little and the smile crept back onto his tired face. "Ça va aller,mon petit."


~Half a year later~

"Mathieu, viens ici. Aide-moi, s'il-te-plaît. "

"Oui, Papa."

"Please bring me a paper bag for this nice lady."

"Yes, Papa."

Mathieu ran inside the fruit store and talked to the owner, an old lady. While outside, his Papa attended to a young lady from the next neighborhood who he sees often at the bar. She needed to buy some fruits to see her sick friend.

"He's so cute, is that your little boy you often brag about?"

"Oui, he's cute like his Papa, non?"

They laughed as Mathieu brought the paper bag in his tiny hands. His Papa placed the fruits gently inside it and the lady left after thanking the little boy and paying – with a little extra for the little helper.

"Papa, look, I got candies!"

"Lucky you Mathieu, candy is not cheap. Treasure it will you?"

"Hmm!" he ran inside to show the old lady owner his candy. The old lady flashed her no-teeth smile and patted the boy's head gently.

He inhaled and smiled. Time surely flies by fast. He still remembered the day when they reached Dover and the days of suffering and starving... watching Mathieu's eyes when he checked out the candy or freshly baked bread to calm his growling stomach... And he, as his father, couldn't give him anything beside the cheap leftover bread -which's solidity could be compared to that of a rock –. They often slept under the stars or the rain without having their stomachs filled.

He didn't plan to stay that long in Dover. He only vaguely remembered how they could reach the countryside near London – the place where his late wife was raised before she went to his homeland –. There, he met this kind old lady who was willing to accommodate them with a place to stay in exchange for helping her sell the fruits she grew and dealing with the farmers.

"Francis!"

The small voice of a little girl from the neighboring shop dragged him back to the current time. He smiled and leaned towards her. "Yes, my princess? Can I help you?"

"It's time to play the accordion!" she grinned enthusiastically.

"You've heard me play since we moved here at the exact same time. Is that not enough?" Francis laughed.

"No…we love your songs!" She beamed and the others slid on their puppy-dog eyes, while their parents – mostly owner of the shops- laughed at their children's antics. He couldn't resist the children and sighed in defeat. He finally put his hands on his hips, thus answering the children's hopes. "Fine, you win, attendez ici un moment."

The children cheered.


The clopping of horse shoes mixed with the sound of wooden wheels echoed on the cobblestone street. He didn't like going near his summer house, where everything he wanted to erase was blatantly exposed in front of his eyes. If only this was not a business need, he might even forget that place and bury himself in his work at the main house.

"Alfred stay put please." He finally sighed, watching his son buzz around inside the carriage.

"But father, I'm bored~" the kid whined.

"Why don't you read? You have your reading homework, right? Even though you're coming with me, it doesn't mean you should neglect your studies." He chastised.

"I don't like reading, I want to play!" Alfred pouted.

"Remember what we agreed on yesterday?"

"Yes father…I'll behave…" the blond kid looked away, crossing his arms.

The little one threw a glance outside. When his father knocked on the roof of the carriage with his cane, the carriage stopped in front of the candy shop. He asked the coachman to buy him some candy and keep him occupied before handing him a pouch of money.

Alfred's father chuckled at his son's bright face. "This will be the bribe if you can behave this entire week."

"Only candy? You know it won't be enough…"

His father rolled his eyes, "I'll think about another reward when you show yourself worthy of one…"

Alfred let a little chuckle escape his mouth before something outside drew his attention. He decided to quietly slip outside the stopped carriage after making sure that his father didn't pay attention to him. The latter was too busy looking at the suit shop's display window.

"You know, maybe I can buy you the new train set if you be…" his sentence trailed off when he turned to see the other side of carriage door already opened and he realized his son wasn't sitting beside him anymore.

It was jovial. Everyone on the shopping street danced and clapped their hands, forgetting their differences and their cultural backgrounds. It was beautiful; he couldn't describe it with mere words. The sound of his accordion accompanied them in creating such an atmosphere. Some of them even joined him in creating a new harmony with used drums or their everyday utensils. Everyone was laughing, and in the corner side of the city that no one noticed, the street became light and merry.

Big blue eyes stared at them from the street entrance. He couldn't hide his enthusiasm and jumped into the crowd. During his 8 years of life, he'd never seen this kind of excitement. His father only took him to the dull parties where everyone loves to talk more than dance and when they dance, they dance with caution, like they're afraid to break their necks if they moved too much.

Little Alfred was an adventurous boy. He danced without caring who they were, he laughed with them, took the ladies' hands and showed them manners his father taught him. Nobody cared much about him.

Everyone was having fun, until repeated desperate screams called the party to an end.

Everyone fell silent and eyed the young man in his expensive suit, standing there and panting. His expression was a mixture between panic, worry and anger.

"Fa-father…" Alfred stammered, blanching.

"What did I tell you about behaving?" he walked towards the little boy who looked about to cry.

"I-I…"

"Go back to the carriage!" he ordered him with a booming voice. It made Alfred drop his eyes lower than before.

"Hey, Monsieur, don't be too harsh on him, he's just a little boy."

The businessman turned when he heard the accent he hated. It was the man with the accordion, who was sitting on a wooden barrel. He glared at the person who dared to interfere with his family life but he found the other's eyes holding the stern gaze thrown at him easily.

"What's with your gaze? I'm teaching my own son, who had run away from the carriage."

"Run away?" Francis put his accordion on top of the barrel and walked towards him.

Even though both of them had the same height and almost the same shade of blond hair, their exterior looks completely stated their social class.

"But do you need to yell like that? Don't you see he's trembling?" Francis noted, raising a brow.

The Frenchman reached his hand out to pat Alfred on his back but his father swatted the hand with his own. "Do not touch him with your filthy hands."

Everybody on the street gasped at the rude remark. Little Mathieu, who was watching from the sidewalk, ran towards his Papa to cling to his thighs and send the Briton a glare which was not as threatening as he liked.

After he'd recovered from his initial shock, Francis held his hands out in a defensive manner, "Bien, Monsieur…I won't touch your child or your vêtements coûteux, but don't you think it's a little bit rude?"

"I don't care what you think about this. Let's go Alfred." The businessman muttered grumpily.

As he was about to turn around, he suddenly heard the Frenchman scoff. "Mais quel ignorant, cet Anglais."

"Pardon?"

"Nothing…you don't care what I think about this, am I wrong? Go on then…" he strained his smile.

The Englishman could have punched the other blond right there, on the spot, but he decided against it. He decided instead to get back to his carriage and continue their trip to his summer house. There were no benefits in beating the other man to a pulp. The immigrant just might spread the news and wound his reputation if he did.


The new train set decorated Alfred's huge room, but he found no appeal in playing with that. He always threw his gaze idly out the window, staring blankly. Lately the weather had been nice – weather you would call being perfect for having a picnic – but he didn't want to do anything but stare into the distance.

His father sighed when he found his only child unattached to his real life. No matter how many times he called him, he would not respond or if he decided to, it was a slow response followed by slow motions of his body. Alfred never acted this way before he found the immigrants on the shopping street yesterday.

He'd been like that since they'd gotten to the summer house, a place that he personally loathed, but that Alfred adored.

"Alfred, come help me pick the fruits to make your favorite fruit cake." The blond tried.

"Why are you not working?" the kid threw back dully.

"Do you really want me to get back to work even when I have time with you?"

The little boy perked up at that and jumped towards his father. He grabbed his hand, leading him to the back door where their butler usually left what he picked as the freshest fruits from the local farmer. Once in a while, the businessman reminded his son not to get over excited but his little boy ignored him.

The butler greeted them but before Alfred's father reached the back door, his butler handed him an important letter from the main branch. The older man told Alfred to go first and examined the letter on the nearest seat which was the pantry seat.

Alfred, on the other hand, still bouncy as ever, greeted the farmer cheerfully, but stopped halfway when he realized that the man before him was not the usual one.

"AH!" They both exclaimed simultaneously upon seeing each other.

"You're the boy from yesterday!"

"And you're the accordion man!" Alfred gasped. He then looked around for the usual farmer around here. "Eh…where's uncle Sadiq?"

"Oh that old man... His back was aching after he helped on his neighbor's farm…when I visited him to restock the shop with the fruits, he told me to come here first before I go home…"

"I see…you're helping him then…" Alfred cocked his head to the side cutely.

"Oui." Francis smiled.

"Hey accordion man, do you bring your accordion with you?" Alfred suddenly asked, a spark lighting in his sky blue eyes.

"First of all, son…I have name – my name's Francis. And second, no I didn't bring it with me, but you are always invited to come to the street…" he winked as Alfred's smile grew considerably. "As long as you don't bring your grumpy father there…I guess it's okay…" he added with a chuckle.

"Pardon me for being grumpy."

Both of them jumped of the sudden voice. Alfred's frightened expression slid back on but Francis didn't care. Alfred's father sighed.

"I won't allow you to go to the street, and you have to remember you need to study here, even though it's only a week…" Alfred gave him a desperate look. "…but if this Monsieur here is kind enough to bring his accordion to this house and entertain you, I can allow it." He finished with a smile.

Alfred immediately jumped and hugged his father, laughing and offering a thousand thanks to him. Francis smirked and shook his head amusedly at that.

"I guess I misjudged you Mr. Grumpy." he offered his hand to shake but the Briton only stared at it. He pulled his eye level back to Francis' face without taking the other man's hand.

"First, my name is not Mr. Grumpy, it's Arthur Kirkland. Second, I'll take that as 'yes'." He coldly answered.

"Bien, Monsieur Kirkland…" Francis dropped his hand and sighed. "See you tomorrow."

~to be continued~


I'm on FrUK and FACE family roll

Translations:

(French)

As-tu sommeil?: Are you tired?

Comment pourrais-je? : How could I?

Merci beaucoup: Thank you very much

Mathieu, viens ici. Aide-moi, s'il-te-plaît : Mathieu, come here. Could you help me, please?

Attendez ici un moment: Wait here just one moment.

Vêtement coûteux: Fancy clothes

Mais quel ignorant, cet Anglais: What an ignorant Brit he is.

Bien : Very well