So this is the second fic set in my AU, the same AU as 'Live a Little' is set in. Basically, the island is off the coast of France, pronounced Fronce like it is in French, and the Français and the islanders have a friendship agreement. This is my story of how France and Seychelles met, and I know England is supposed to have a hand in there, but this is AU, so I've changed it to suit the AU.

Summers and Francis

She was five summers old when she first met Francis. His hair was the colour of the sun, his eyes as blue as the endless sky, and his skin was a shade she had never seen before on a person – pale like the clouds and the foam on the sea.

"Hello, my dear," he had said, kneeling down so that he was could look her in the eyes. Her father, the chief of their tribe, stood behind him. "How are you today?"
"Your voice is funny," she said bluntly, referring to his flowing accent.
"That's because where I come from," he replied with a chuckle, "we speak differently."
"There are more people like you?" she asked incredulously, gazing at him in wonder.
"Oh yes." He stood up, and stroked her hair fondly. "You have a wonderful daughter, sir," he said to her father. "Truly wonderful."

She never grew tired of pulling his silky hair and fiddling with his shirt.
"Who made your clothes?" she asked him, marvelling at the soft fabric with wide eyes.
"A special lady," Francis replied, "who makes clothes all day."
She was sitting beside him on the seashore. Her white dress was plain, hand-spun by the women of the tribe who doted on their princess. Her mother had died in childbirth – it did happen on the island, but the tribes survived regardless – and that made everyone treasure the little girl even more. Francis was pleasantly surprised that the girl had none of the pride or snobbery that was the scourge of wealthy, highborn children.

"Doesn't she get bored?"
"Oh no, she loves making clothes. That's why she does it for a job."
"Please can speak your words for me?" she asked, and Francis couldn't refuse that sweet face.
"Hello, my name is Francis Bonnefoy, pleased to meet you," he said in his mother-dialect, Français, so different from that of the tribes. The little girl beamed at him.
"Teach me, teach me!" she begged.

By the end of the evening, she could introduce herself fluently.

She was seven summers old when he brought her a large present from his home. It was heavy and stiff, tough on the outside, and soft leaves made of something the same colour as Francis' skin on the inside. Each page had a picture of people who looked like Francis on it, and black marks.

"It is a book," Francis told her, as they sat in their usual spot on the beach, the book open across her lap. "There are stories inside."
"Why can't you just tell the stories?" she asked, running her fingers over the intricate illustrations. Her knowledge of his dialect had improved to a point where she was almost completely speaking it, with odd words in her own tongue interspersed.
"Sometimes people can't remember all the stories," he replied fondly. "So they write them down to make sure they remember to tell them properly."
"That's clever. But how do you know what the story is?"
"They can read these words." Francis tapped the black markings. "I can teach you how to read them, if you like."
"Oh, yes please!" she said eagerly. "Are the pictures of the story? It doesn't look anything like the stories from around here."

"You're right, they are different," nodded Francis, "but I think you will like them."

She was eight summers old when Francis' yearly visit included not only spending time with her but also business deals.

"I am setting up a trading post on the northern tip of this island," Francis said conversationally.
"A trading post? What's that?" Her Français had improved amazingly, and he was delighted to see that she was carrying the book of fairytales he had brought her the previous year, and it was looking pleasingly dog-eared.
"Since so many people back in my land want to buy things from here, we're going to establish a steady trade route –" he broke off when he saw the completely uncomprehending look on the young girl's face. "You know what, it doesn't matter," he smiled, patting her head. "All it means it that there will be Français men living here all the time."
"I can practice my speaking then!" she grinned. "Only Father can understand when I speak Français, and he is very busy all the time," she sighed, looking out towards the sea. Francis was suddenly struck by how much older she looked since the day he had first met her, three years ago.

"Speaking of your father," he began. She turned to look at him, head tilted curiously, "he told me something today that I want to tell you. He said that if anything were to happen to him before you became an adult and married, he would like you to live with me. What do you think about that?"
"Live with you?" Francis nodded, and her face split into a huge grin. "That sounds wonderful, Uncle Francis!" But suddenly, her smile disappeared. "Wait, what do you mean, 'if something happened to Father'?"
"Oh, nothing is going to happen to your father, my darling!" Francis reassured her. "It's his plan, just in case. Don't worry, nothing is going to happen to him."
She still looked anxious however, so Francis pulled two red ribbons from his pocket.

"I brought you these," he smiled. "Do you want me to tie them into your hair?"
Her hair was a deep, lustrous brown-black and thick, falling just below her shoulders. Francis separated it into two equal piece and tied each ribbon in a bow.
"There we go!" Francis sat back. "You look lovely," he said softly, tweaking one of the bunches. She smiled sweetly back at him.

She was just nine summers when it happened.

They said that her father had gone out into the shallows. It wasn't jellyfish season, nor was he in a dangerous area. They thought nothing of it when he didn't come back, they assumed that he was doing business in the newly built trading post, or was simply having time alone. They found his body cold and stiff the next morning, with a monstrous jellyfish gripping his leg. Uncle Francis had been sent for immediately, via the trading post, and the newly orphaned princess had sat on the beach and stared out at the cold blue sea, waiting for the ship that signalled her uncle's arrival.

Food had brought to her, and a blanket for when she slept on the beach, refusing to leave the shore. The next day, Francis was running down the beach and gathering her up into his arms. Only there could she cry. He rocked her and soothed her until her eyes dried.
"He's in a better place now, no?" Francis whispered as she sat up, eyes puffy, still resting against his shoulder. She nodded slowly into his shoulder. "Remember what I said to you last time I came? About you coming to live with me if anything… happened?"
She nodded again.
"Do you want to come and live with me now? You will come and stay here every summer, of course, I wouldn't just take you from your tribe."
There was a short silence, before a muffled, "Yes, please," was mumbled into his shirt.

"You will love it in France," Francis assured her, hugging her tightly. "And you can meet my sister Emilie, and my goddaughter Madeline – oh, I suppose you are also my goddaughter now –"
"Does that mean you are my godfather?" she asked quietly. "Do you want me to call you God - father?" Her lower lip trembled at the familiar word.
"Oh no, my darling, not if it upsets you. You can call me Papa, if you want. Madeline calls me Papa."
"Papa," she tried, testing the new word. "I like Papa."
"Also, as beautiful as your tribal name is, I think you should have a second name – like a middle name. That way, your tribal name can be special for when you come here."
"I want another name," she said hopefully. "But I don't know any Français names."
"I have the perfect name for you. How to do like the name Michelle?"
"Mi-chelle. It sounds pretty."
"Then it is perfect for you." Francis kissed the top of her head. "When I go back to France, you will come with me."

She had just turned ten summers old when she arrived in France. Instead of her plain, white dress she had always worn on her island, she was dressed in a bright blue children's gown with layers of petticoats and lace. Her hair was arranged in an intricate crown, with blue ribbons, and she was wearing shoes – something she wasn't quite used to yet.

Francis was so proud of her. Just a little girl, and yet she was so pretty. Her richly coloured skin allowed her to wear bright jewel-like colours which would have overwhelmed paler women. Her hair was shiny and thick, her eyes almond-shaped with chocolate-brown irises, and she was healthily plump without being fat. She would grow into a beautiful woman, he knew that.

She stepped off the gangplank, one hand holding her governess' hand and the other holding Francis', and immediately all eyes were on her – the eyes of all the pale, fair Français citizens. She smiled and said in sweet Français, "Hello, my name is Michelle Bonnefoy. Pleased to meet you."

Just fluffy family stuff. Reviews always appreciated~