A/N - This begins in Francis' POV as a memory. It moves into a third party to be the next year… Please review for me and maybe I'll continue it. But if not then I'll leave it as a one-shot. I know that the lullaby used isn't exactly time appropriate since it was made later in history but please excuse this.
"Papa Francis! Papa!" The gentle wind carried the small child's voice as far as the falls and oceans. The golden sunlight bounced off of his beautiful yellow locks, creating halos around his head. I cannot fully explain their beauty. He is my child, my beautiful, sweet, sweet child. And nothing could ever change that. Nothing could change my never ending love for my son.
I carry him in my arms, and I can feel his little fists gathering up my overcoat, short legs trying to wrap around my waist for better support. I did not know how I came to deserve such a wonderful babe… He surely was the best thing that had ever happened to me... And I was grateful for being blessed as I was. He made me forget how lonely I really was, and I felt committed to him, as I had never felt before.
"Papa Francis, will you take me to see France someday…?" My child asked, voice bountiful with his innocence and kindness, untouched by the terrors of what this world may contain for him. "I want to see how pretty it really is, like in your stories."
"Ah, mon cher, I promise, I will bring you to see France and all her glory… For your birthday, how about that, mon enfant?" I asked, planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. "I'll show you my home and take you to see all of France's sites…" I announced, resting my chin on the top of this head.
"Papa!" He giggled, wrapping his arms around my neck. "It will be my best birthday ever! I can't wait to see all of France! It sounds so amazing, and Papa Francis lives there so it must be great!" He giggled, kissing both of my cheeks. "Papa Francis is the best Papa in the whole world…!"
Francis' head hung low, tears stinging his eyes as he held the small child nation in his arms. He choked as he looked up at the child whom he loved so dearly. A small sob escaped his lips as the tears began to fall, the steady streams trickling down to his stubbly chin. "Mon cher…" He whispered, hands trembling.
"Papa…? Papa, what's wrong? Papa, why are you crying?" The small blonde questioned, tears coming to his own eyes from having to see his dearest Father cry. it was unbearable to such a small child to see his hero break down, crying and bloodied. "Papa?"
"Mon enfant, I have to go away for a while…" Francis explained, voice cracking as his knees weakened, trembling and knocking together. His whole body was wracked with sorrow, and his face seemed as if it would always look so despaired. His wavy blonde hair was matted and ratty, as if he were in some sort of awful fight. Grass and mud stuck in it as the rain pounded down onto the father and son.
"P-Papa! Papa, it's my birthday! Y-You promised we'd go to France! Papa, you can't go! You promised!" Matthew wailed, gripping Francis' collar so that it bunched up to constrict the Frenchman's bruised throat.
"Mon enfant! Please…! Please… I… I can't take you to France…" Francis whispered, clinging to the child so tight that it winded him. "Mon enfant… Mon enfant…" He whispered into the child's ear, rocking back and forth, easing into a gentle lullaby.
"Dodo, l'enfant do,
L'enfant dormira bien vite,
Dodo, l'enfant do,
L'enfant dormira bientôt.
Une poule blanche,
Est là dans la grange.
Qui va faire un petit coco,
Pour l'enfant qui va fair' dodo.
Dodo, l'enfant do,
L'enfant dormira bien vite,
Dodo, l'enfant do,
L'enfant dormira bientôt.
Tout le monde est sage,
Dans le voisinage,
Il est l'heure d'aller dormer,
Le sommeil va bientôt venir."
His gentle, deep voice was shaking, small sobs exiting his lips where he stopped to take a breath. "Mon enfant… Mon enfant, je t'aime… Ne pas oublier." Francis whispered, voice breaking and raising in octave. "Ne pas oublier… Je t'aime toujours. Toujours!" He said sternly.
"Papa, I know! I know you love me! I love you to, Papa! Forever! I love you forever too, Papa!" The child cried out, patting Francis' cheeks, stout fingers trying to reach to brush away his father's tears. "I love you too, Papa! I'll never forget, Papa!"
Francis winced when a booming voice sounded behind him. "Hey toad! Hurry it up! I said you could have a moment, not a bloody eternity!" Arthur tapped his foot impatiently. "You have 'til the count of five! One!" He shouted, holding up an arm to flick a finger upwards.
"Mon enfant…!" Francis whimpered, "Mon enfant… Votre nom est Matthew. Mon Matthew…"
"Two!" Another finger raised.
Matthew shook, beginning to gulp on his breaths. "Papa Francis! What's happening? Who is that man?" He shouted, fear clouding over his eyes. "Papa! What does he want from us?" He screamed, lower lip trembling pathetically.
"Three!"
"Shh! Je t'aime… Je t'aime… Je t'aime… Shh…" Francis cooed, squeezing his eyes shut so that his tears flowed even heavier.
"Four!"
"Papa! Please!" Matthew gripped Francis' shoulders tightly, little nails digging into the thick silk.
"Times up! Five!" Arthur shouted, grabbing the Frenchmen's filthy blonde hair and yanking him backwards, a clump of bloody hair sticking between his fingers as it ripped out. "Get going, toad! You're not welcome here any longer!" He said, scooping up the screaming Matthew from Francis' arms. "You lost the war fair and square!"
Francis and Matthew both wailed, father and son as one ominous voice. Matthew kicked violently, thrashing his body around and shrieking. "Papa! Papa! Get him off of me! Papa! Don't let him!" Matthew pleaded. "Papa, I'm sorry! Whatever I did! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! Please Papa!"
Francis screamed and attempted to run after the Englishman, only to be stopped by three of the stone-faced, red-coated guards. "Arthur! Please!" He shouted. "Mon enfant!" He was winded as the butt of a rifle found its way into his gut, saliva escaping from his mouth as he gasped for a breath, now rolling around on the sodden ground.
"Papa!" Matthew screamed, thrashing harder, kicking both of his legs into Arthur's thighs, earning a small grunt from the blonde Englishman. "Papa, no!"
"Mon… Enfant…" Francis whimpered, eyes blurring over with new tears.
It was months before Matthew spoke to anyone… And years after before he spoke in anything but French. Arthur had to hire translators to follow Matthew throughout the house so that if he spoke to anyone, that they'd understand him. But Matthew was still a strange boy... Always staring out of his bedroom window every night for hours… As if searching for something.
Arthur came to love him too… The sweet little blonde boy who had never hurt anyone in his life… But Alfred was his own son. And Alfred took priority.
Francis didn't see Matthew until many, many years later after the boy had turned from a small and innocent child, into a young man with a insignificant existence. It broke his heart to see his child so empty, and translucent. His child, who was once so happy and delicate… Now so alone and invisible. He couldn't stand to see it…
And the more he got to see his beloved child, the more he missed him… And the more he saw him flower. Chubby cheeks thinned and shaped… Limbs lengthened and became slender… His body gained a slight shape, curving at the hips… His wide eyes thinned, but were still so beautifully blue… His lips were a pretty pale pink, and looked so soft to touch…
How could Arthur have done this to such a beautiful boy? How could he rob him of his father and his pride and raise him as a secondary son? Francis would have raised him well and second to no one! Matthew was the only one who made him feel full and happy, and in the time that his baby was gone he'd only attempted to fill the void with cheep wine and one-night stands.
But seeing those eyes look straight at him like they did… How they shined and sparkled, even now after all of the years… It made Francis actually feel… Somehow committed to someone. It made Francis feel… Loved. Truly loved.
It was Matthew's birthday when Francis again approached the younger blonde.
"I promised, didn't I…?" He said with a smile, extending a hand to the Canadian. "I promised that I'd take you to France on your birthday. Remember…?" Francis asked, rubbing his thumb on the boy's knuckles.
Slowly, Matthew grinned, a small blush planting itself on his cheeks as the all too familiar tears burned at his eyes. "Papa. Je savais que tu reviendrais pour moi." He whispered, hugging the taller blonde. "Je t'aime, Papa."
"Je t'aime, Matthew." Francis said fondly, pecking the corner of Matthew's lips. "Je t'aime toujours…"
A/N - I tried not to use too much French because I only took one and a half years of French in school plus I know how people must hate not knowing. Here's the translations.
Mon cher – My dear
Mon enfant – My child
Je t'aime – I love you
Ne pas oublier – Do not forget
Toujours – Forever
Votre nom est Matthew – Your name is Matthew
Mon Matthew – My Matthew
Je savais que tu reviendrais pour moi – I knew you would come back for/to me
The lullaby was "Dodo, l'enfant do" which means, "Sleepy Time, The Young One Sleeps"
The lyrics in English are;
"Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,
The child will sleep very soon
Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,
The child will sleep oh, so soon.
A white hen
Is in the barn.
It'll make a small egg
For the child who goes to sleep.
Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,
The child will sleep very soon
Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,
The child will sleep oh, so soon.
Everyone is calm
All around
It's the time for all to sleep
Sleep will come soon."