I

L'automne

Francis Bonnefoy still remembered the first thing that had truly captivated him about the New World all those years ago, when he first arrived. It had been early autumn and the sharp cold winds were already promising an extremely cold first winter. Remembering the mistakes he'd heard that Angleterre made while (trying) to settle farther south, Francis and his men had begun to immediately build strong homes to brace themselves against the impending snow.

Francis, along with two of his subordinates, were searching through the forest, silently marking the sturdy oaks when they came to a rocky overhang that overlooked a large valley between three nearby mountains. To his surprise and delight, the carpet of forest below was in a great swath of color, a brilliant and fiery combination of reds, gold, and yellows. The sight below had taken away Francis's breath: while Europe did have its moments of beauty in the fall, farms, towns, and the occasional church would create a break in the scenery. But here, in the New World, it was clean and unbroken underneath a startling blue sky.

The scenery still was beautiful, hundreds of years later and in hidden locations. Francis had located a new one, while walking alongside his one-time charge, Canada. The two personifications were walking on one of the old trails that Canada had found last year behind his house in northern Quebec. Canada's faithful polar bear, Kumajirou, was lumbering along ahead, albeit off the trail; Francis could still see the polar bear's white fur through the foliage. There weren't that many deciduous trees this far north as compared to the regions closer to Canada's southern borders, but Francis didn't mind. He was simply enjoying the peace that both the forests and Canada seemed to have.

He glanced at his companion, who, like him, was dressed casually in jeans and an insulated jacket along with a scarf and gloves. Francis smiled sadly when he was once again reminded of how much he had missed while Canada was growing up. Canada had been in his early teens when Francis was forced to leave him in February of 1763, at the conclusion of the Seven Years' War. When they reunited in France during World War One, not long after the outbreak of war, Francis had been caught off guard by how much Canada had grown. He was almost as tall as Francis now.

Do not dwell on the past, not when you have him here with you now.

Canada seemed to sense at that moment that Francis was watching him, because he looked away from Kumajirou toward the older nation. "Did you say something?" he asked, looking worried at the thought of having missed something important.

Francis smiled. "Non Mathieu, I was merely enjoying your company," he replied, absently reaching out and pushing back some loose hair, mindful of the errant curl. "It has been what, six months since we last saw each other?"

Canada nodded, smiling faintly. "G8 conference in Madrid, middle of April. Someone had tampered with the room assignments in the hotel computer the day everyone was scheduled to arrive, and the first two days and nights were full of arguments as everyone tried to switch rooms and roommates at the same time. Then the fights started in the middle of the conference about who did it, and Germany called it off early because we weren't getting anything done anyway." He raised an eyebrow at Francis and said, "I did notice that you and a couple others weren't volunteering any information about possible suspects. You wouldn't happen to know who did it, would you?"

Francis pretended to mull over the question. "Let's say that a little bird told me that it was going to be hard to convince the others that they couldn't pin the prank on just one individual," he said, giving a small conspiratorial smile.

"Oh, did that little bird happen to have yellow feathers and an albino master?" Canada teased lightly, dark blue eyes bright with mischief.

France smirked. "Depends who is asking. If it is Switzerland or Angleterre, the answer is no. If it is you, well, then the answer is perhaps." Francis caught Canada's free-swinging hand and squeezed it gently. "Did you have any complaints about your new roommate?"

"Nope, not at all. Arthur wasn't happy at all when he found out about the new arrangement, but at that point my brother showed up and dragged him away, so my roommate was spared his ire." Canada said, letting go of Francis's hand so that he could balance himself while carefully sliding down a small slope of rocks. Francis opted for the safer route of where the trail thinned but wound around the rocks. He took Canada's gloved hand again at the bottom as they continued walking.

"Well, that satisfies your roommate's curiosity as to why Angleterre didn't kill him after the second day," France said, gently pulling Canada closer with a slight smile.

The Canadian laughed quietly before looking ahead for Kumajirou, who, unfortunately had either already bounded ahead and out of sight, or accidentally adopted his master's tendency to disappear. Knowing the bear's level of energy and 'playfulness', Francis was fully prepared to assume the former.

As Canada released Francis's hand to go chase Kumajirou, Francis recalled his less than favorable first impression with the polar bear.

He couldn't recall if it was the first winter in the New World or not. He just knew that it had been an early one. A few Native Americans had been showing Francis and two subordinates how to trap beaver in the dead of winter when they all became aware of a small polar bear cub watching them carefully through the leafless trees. The natives had warned the French away from the bear; it was a spiritual guardian for the child spirit of the northern lands. The French subordinates took the warning to heart, crossing themselves against the potential evils, but Francis's curiosity was piqued. Natives often mistook personifications as spirits because they not only aged slowly, but there was always the subtle spiritual connection between the personification and his or her people.

When searching for the 'child spirit', Francis had kept a careful eye out for that spiritual guardian, not wanting to aggravate it unnecessarily. Unfortunately for Francis, that 'spiritual guardian' was very much real, as he had the misfortune of discovering when the bear attacked him from behind, claws and teeth bared. Francis probably would have maimed or killed it too, had his sharp eyes not caught sight of a bundle of furs topped with fair hair huddled in a patch of ferns.

Francis eventually won over both little Canada and Kumajirou with his secret weapon: food.

Mindful of the several jagged rocks on the trail before him, Francis breathed in the fresh clean air as he approached the clearing, which had a small lake surrounded by leaves. Leaves floated on the water's surface, rippling as Kumajirou splashed around in the shallows nearby. Canada was sitting nearby on a large rock that jutted out into the water, knees drawn up to his chest and arms wrapped around his legs as he watched Kumajirou pause long enough in his play to chase a few water birds.

When he saw Francis climbing onto the rock, Canada scooted over to give him room to join. The two sat in companionable silence, and Francis closed his eyes to enjoy the faint breeze. He smiled softly when he felt Canada scoot closer and press against him as though he was a young colony again seeking warmth.

The smile waned a little at that thought.

There's too much history between us for there to be a different relationship now instead a fraternal one.

"I used to come down here frequently when Arthur was away. Whenever things got overwhelming, whether it was domestic or foreign issues, I'd sneak away from the government officials and come down here to take a step back from it all until I trusted myself to think rationally again. The nice thing about it is that this is on my house property, but it's not on a map." Canada glanced at Francis and said, "My brother may suck at diplomacy, but he does know how to read a map, and I'd rather he didn't find this place."

Francis quietly regarded him before taking his hand and softly kissing the back. "Merci, Mathieu, for allowing to visit your sanctuary," he murmured, his lips barely brushing the skin.

Canada flushed a light shade of scarlet, but still smiled nonetheless.

Rrroawr!

The two nations jumped when Kumajirou bellowed in frustration, sending water flying everywhere as he charged after a flurry of panicked waterfowl. "Kuma apparently has gotten into the habit of chasing birds since he can't chase cats, they're too fast for him. He went after a couple barn swallows last week. I talked to a park ranger two days before you got here, and he says it's not normal polar bear behavior," Canada said, leaning back on both hands as they watched Kumajirou stalk another flock of unsuspecting waterfowl.

"Mm. But it's not normal polar bear behavior to live with a human either, is it not?" Francis pointed out with a teasing smile.

Canada snorted. "Depends on the case. But Kuma's been with me since for- KUMA!"

Francis jumped when Canada abruptly yelled, forever a rare occurrence for him. Francis drew his legs closer to his body for safety as Canada stood up, stepped over him and then jumped off the rock, landing with a splash in the shallow waters below. "No Kuma, that's not food…" Canada grumbled as he went after a misbehaving Kumajirou, who was running away from him. After lowering his arm, which he'd used to shield himself from the splash, Francis got a good look at what the two others were doing.

Canada was more or less chasing Kumajirou around, the latter of whom was careful to keep a fair distance between himself and his master even though he didn't go deeper into the water. Something large, black, and feathery was in the bear's mouth.

Aha.

Francis calmly stood up and carefully slid down the rock and onto the grassy banks before he started walking toward the bear's intended path. Francis may have not been there while Canada and Kumajirou were growing up under English rule, but he still knew the tricks to getting both to calm down, techniques that didn't involve food. As Canada began attempting to corral the bear, Francis moved in front of Kumajirou, reminding himself that the polar bear was easily several hundred pounds heavier than he remembered.

For Kumajirou, the immediate threat was behind him, not in front. He slowed down as he approached Francis, warily eyeing the Frenchman. The bear could hear a semi-familiar song coming from the Frenchman, almost as though it were from a half-forgotten lullaby. The sound was soothing, and Kumajirou finally slowed to a stop, his head dangling near the Frenchman's hands, the feathery prize still caught between his teeth.

The second the bear's jaws slackened, Francis deftly reached forward and eased the trapped bird out. He was already standing up and backing away when the jaws snapped shut again, but before Kumajirou could reclaim his lost dinner, Canada pounced. Francis examined the bird while Canada wrestled an enraged Kumajirou back, and was pleased yet surprised to find that the bird had survived the attack after all.

"What kind of bird is it?" Canada asked, coming up to Francis. "Oh… a Common Loon, or that's what we call them in North America at least. I think you guys call them the 'Great Northern Diver'. It's real name is the Great Northern Loon though," he said, carefully taking the red-eyed, black-and-white feathered bird from Francis. He smiled, and said, "I remember when I was little, you and your men thought that the loons were moaning ghosts."

"Ah, Mathieu, we were newcomers to your lands," Francis chided gently as he studied the bird for the expected injuries; there was blood coming from the teeth marks in its body, and one of the wings was sticking out at an unnatural angle. "We could probably save it from death, we'd need to return to your house first."

"Yeah, Al's labeled them as endangered in his country, and wants me to help protect them," Canada said, carefully handing the bird back to Francis so he could pull off his red-and-white patterned scarf. He smirked. "It's kinda ironic, for me at least, that Alfred wants to protect these birds when they created one of his biggest fears."

Francis frowned. "How so?" he asked, helping Canada wrap the loon in the scarf by holding its legs and uninjured wing against its body. The bird had recovered from its shock and was now squirming in Francis's gloved grip.

Canada turned pink in embarrassment. "When Al and I first met as colonies under Arthur's rule, we were living in a one-floor house near what is New Hampshire today, near Lake Winnipesaukee. We got into a fight and he won in the end because he played on Arthur's sympathies. So I was mad and told him some of the ghost stories from my native peoples. Later that night, I couldn't sleep but I could faintly hear the loons from the lake, and, well, Kuma and I snuck out, he found one, and I brought it back and left it underneath Al's bedroom window. I was in the neighboring room but I could still hear it loud and clear all night long."

"I take that Amérique didn't handle it very well?"

Canada allowed himself a nasty grin. "He's afraid of ghosts now, isn't he?" He stifled a snort and said, "Even to this day he doesn't know what really happened."

Francis chuckled as he tucked in the ends of the scarf, which was now wrapped around the loon. America may be often scatterbrained and Canada may be often overlooked, but both were extremely devious when it came to revenge and they had idle hands. "Remind me never to cross you, Mathieu," he whispered in a low voice, enjoying the slight blush spreading on Canada's face.

Canada just nodded mutely.

By the time the two nations returned to Canada's house, the loon was crying mournfully while half-heartedly struggling against its confines. It really was a beautiful bird, with the white neck and collar contrasting nicely with the black-feathered head and the body of black feathers flecked with white. Steady red eyes carefully watched Canada and Francis's hands, briefly struggling again when the two nations entered the house. Canada led Francis to the living room, which looked out toward the woods. Francis waited patiently for Canada to clear off the living room table and place a white sheet down, and while he waited, he crooned in soft French to the agitated bird, which was trying harder than ever before to escape. After a few moments of whispering though, Francis was pleased to find the bird calming down.

"Here, give her to me," Canada said, offering his hands.

"Her? Are you sure it is a female?" Francis asked as he carefully handed the wrapped bird over.

"Yeah. I just know," Canada replied, sitting down on the couch and placing the bird gently on the covered table.

Francis just nodded, pulling up a chair so that he was sitting on the opposite side of the table from Canada. Something he had noticed over time about the North and South American countries was that not only were they attuned to their peoples, but to their animals as well, more so than the European nations. Francis suspected it was that way because the North Americans had had a relatively calmer upbringing compared to the Europeans, who seemed to be at war every other five years in those early decades.

Canada's brow furrowed in concentration as nimble fingers soothed the loon enough to enable better access to the injuries. Every now and then the uninjured wing would flap up in Canada's face as though to startle him so he would let go. A small smile of gratitude flitted across his face when Francis leaned over and began stroking the bird gently, slowly reducing the bird's squirming. Behind Canada and through the bay windows, Francis could see Kumajirou digging in the soft soil, leafy debris flying everywhere.

It was confusing. Canada was no longer the little brother he remembered taking care of, he had grown so much both mentally and physically to the point where Francis barely recognized the nation before him. But whenever the two were in the houses they used to share, Francis was assaulted with memories of little Canada. It was getting to the point where Francis didn't know whether to treat Canada like a younger brother or… something else.

It didn't help either that every time he was in close proximity with Canada, his imagination started to run away to places where one did not usually think about brothers. The temptation had been particularly strong in Madrid, during the G8 conference when the two were together before and after meetings.

"Ah, Mathieu, I have been wondering something," Francis casually asked as Canada began to set the broken wing. The other briefly glanced up to acknowledge Francis, but was distracted almost immediately when the loon flapped the uninjured wing into his face again. Taking that as an invitation to continue, Francis said, "How… how have you been these last few decades? And I'm not asking about your people, I'm asking about you."

Canada shrugged. "Okay, I guess. Mexico has been showing me what I can get away with doing since hardly anyone notices me during the North American meetings." He snorted, and then said, "Even if I showed you, you still wouldn't believe some of the stuff that Izzy and Al pulled off during his isolationist years."

" 'Izzy'?" Francis echoed.

"Isabella. Er, Mexico," Canada clarified. "Anyway, she and Al stopped being co-conspirators after they fought over Texas and she lost. She showed me some of her tricks as well as Al's. Half of them are useless though since I'm technically no longer Arthur's colony. But then again, I don't mind being in the Commonwealth. It's one more meeting I have to attend though; Arthur is forever closely monitoring what we're doing. Al says it's because he has way too much free time and doesn't know what to do with it."

"Ah, but that is where your brother would be useful, if you truly wanted to distract Angleterre," Francis said in a knowing tone, and Canada laughed.

"Yeah, I might need his help for getting out of the next one, Arthur's going to be extremely stressed out because he has a busy summer next year. The other thing is that there's this nation that I… sort of really like and I'm pretty sure that Arthur doesn't like this nation very much and vice versa," Canada said, turning a slight shade of pink. "I want to talk to the nation soon, but I can't when Arthur is breathing down my neck."

"Oh? And who is this lucky nation?" Francis asked, smirking a little.

"I… I can't tell you right now, I kinda want to talk to the nation first." Canada's hands accidentally slipped and the loon immediately tried to escape. Unfortunately for her, her path led straight into Francis, who caught the flailing bird and gingerly handed her back to Canada, who promptly went back to work on the unfinished splint, fixing what had been damaged in the escape attempt. Finally Canada said, "I was curious, but do you have any advice on how to broach the subject with the nation?"

Francis paused to think. "Does he or she know of these feelings?"

"No. The nation knows I exist, but I'm worried that the nation might still see me as a 'child' so to speak," Canada replied.

"Hmmm. Perhaps the next time you see him or her, as soon as you have the opportunity, speak up. Act spontaneously, and seize the moment while you can. If you lose your nerve, then you might lose the nation as well," Francis replied, squashing the unexpected minute flash of jealousy.

"Ah, okay. Thank you."

A semi-awkward silence settled of the two of them, during which Francis forcefully distracted himself by watching the loon while Canada finished with the splint and double-checked her bandages to make sure they were secure. "She will have to stay here while she heals," Francis said. "Extensive transportation could slow down the healing process."

"Okay. I can set up a room where she can rest and heal until she can fly again. I'll Kuma-proof the door too, that shouldn't be too hard at all," Canada agreed as the loon settled down, red eyes blinking as she studied her new surroundings and the two tall creatures on either side of her. It took her a few moments before she slowly struggled to her feet. Settling her uninjured wing against her body, she began to take her first hesitant steps across the covered tabletop. "She needs a name though," Canada said, leaning back as the loon paused at the table edge before turning around.

"Oui, she has quite the warrior's spirit," Francis said, watching as the loon paused to look out the large bay windows. Kumajirou had yet to spot her for the second time that day; there was something in the dirt that was more interesting at the moment.

Canada was silent for a moment. "How about Jeanne?"

Francis paused before arching an eyebrow at Canada, whose face was a picture of open and genuine curiosity as he waited patiently for Francis's approval or rejection. Francis couldn't remember if either he or Angleterre had ever said anything about the Jeanne that Francis remembered (and still missed dearly). If not, and Canada truly didn't know the story of Jeanne d'Arc at all, then it was a very unnerving coincidence. "It sounds like a fine name," Francis finally said, smiling to mask his sudden inner turmoil; while it could have been a coincidence, there was something off about the timing of Canada's suggestion in the grand scheme of the conversation. Perhaps it was the lack of the hesitation when Canada suggested the name? Either way, it left Francis feeling unsettled.

Canada beamed, and Francis somehow knew that he'd made the correct move, not turning Canada down.

Later that night though, after both Francis and Canada had retired to their respective bedrooms, Francis could still hear Jeanne's haunting calls from her room, which was down the hall from Francis's bedroom. She sounded as though she were grieving yet calling for something… a mate perhaps? Or was that merely her version of a battle cry, designed to frighten her enemies into submission before she fought her way back to freedom?

Or have you somehow returned, my dear Jeanne, to fight for me once more?

A/N: Welcome to Les Saisons! This story will be updated daily, and is short. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Also, Google image 'baby common loon'. Those fluffballs are sooo adorable!

Fun fact: Although Canada technically has no official national bird, common loons, barn swallows, and Canadian geese are considered to be unofficial national birds.

Story title translates to 'The Seasons'. Chapter title translates to 'Autumn'.

Hetalia Axis Powers and all related media belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.