Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.
It might be one of my first english written fanfiction at all, so bear with my poor english.
I also might write it more french-sided, since I am a France rp'er and know way more about France than of Scotland.

Pairing: Scotland x France

Rating: T

Genre: Historical.
As I imagine how it all went down. I might miss events, but that's a minor loss in my opinion.

Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Angus McKirkland (Scotland, and I gave him this name) belongs to a user in pixiv.

_

"Dear Alasdair…", the letter began, that Francis had send to his lover. Said person sat down on his hammock. The captain's cabin wasn't more comfortable than he needed to. He didn't need much to be happy. But he missed Francis. Without the letters he would have gone insane long time ago.

"I can't tell you how much I love you and miss you. I am covered in crumbled paper now… gosh, I am so disrespectful to paper. It's not like it's growing on trees, is it? Well, fact is that I tried to think of a thousand ways to tell you the most important things on not a lot pages. I can't send books with Pierre after all, you know?
But now to the more important news. Matthieu has grown so much! He is now half my height. Isn't that crazy?
Spain and I are going to make a peace treaty. We possibly made it by the time you got it. My king is married then to the Spanish princess also. I thought about it and came to the conclusion that they're both Spanish. Navarra, where the Bourbon family comes from is in northern Spain after all. The Pyrenees make the frontier to Spain, and Navarra is below that. That makes… me being ruled by a Spanish king who held war against Spain. What a bullshit…(picture me rolling my eyes). But Henry IV. and Louis XIV. are good kings. I know it.
Your country is still not really… they're still more of a republic ruled by a non-aristocratic. Should a commoner rule a nation? What do you think of it? I guess you don't like it, as you just went away at a time like this. Or was it because your siblings were getting more unbearable? I know how Ireland threw a tantrum…
I wonder what you are doing right now. I hope you are alright. …Pierre would tell me if something was the matter, but as you know, messages come delayed. The distance is just too big. And whenever I think of that fact, it makes me cry. I miss you so much! I hope you come back soon and healthy.

Sincerely and forever in love
Francis"

Francis just kept these letters incredibly short. But then again there was everything noted down that was important. And ever so vibrant words of love and adorement.
Alasdair sucked those words literally with his eyes. He would read the letters twice before writing an answer. As the jewelry would be a big surprise, he wouldn't write any of that into his letters.
When he finished, he signed the letter and folded it neatly into an envelope, and put the envelope into a bag that could be carried by Pierre. It was a simple bag that was prepared to save the mail from wind and weather.
Alasdair watched the dove then flying towards east, towards Europe.

In the meantime, the crew had claimed an island for themselves. They were cheerful and discovered the unknown place for life of any sort. The redhead followed them slowly.
"Hey Captain, this place seems good for a feast. Will we stay here for a while?"
"Aye, I think …", The Scottish couldn't even finish his sentence. The man who had just spoken to him was hit by an arrow and dropped dead.

"Natives!", several man screamed and dashed back to the ship. But most of them were hit by arrows or captured with slings. The redhead reacted fast and pulled his gun. He shot several of the Indios. It just couldn't be that his men were killed like house flys. They were like his children. He felt sorry for the Indios, but it was their fault for not being friendly.
The ammo of his gun was soon gone. The guns from that time couldn't shoot so many times repeatedly. The Scotsman cursed violently and threw the piece of metal away, exchanging it for another one, a blade. With the sabre in his hand he dashed over the sandy beach and hoped to not be hit by a stray arrow.
The hope was in vain. One arrow struck him onto the arm in which he held the sabre. The other struck him into the leg. But he kept running as the adrenaline numbed the pain his body was experiencing. At least for a while. Long enough to impress the natives.

The 'foreigner' fell and lied just a few feet away from his enemies. The natives soon shortened the distance and carried those that they had captured back to their place. They had known that Alasdair was their leader for they had hung his crew in nets on strong trees. But the redhead himself they kept in their village.
The arrows had been poisonous and the Scotsman was experiencing feverish dreams. The Indios, moreover their medicine man, was trying his best to recover the 'guest'. He had pulled out the arrows, sucked out the poison as good as he could – he even had to cut some of the flesh – and then treated his patient with antidotes and healing herbs.

Long weeks had passed before Alasdair would regain his consciousness. His vision was still blurry, but soon his mind cleared. He could only faintly remember where he was and what he had done to end up in this place. As the vision sharpened, he scanned his surroundings.
The Scotsman was in the middle of an untouched vast jungle, a rainforest. But he wasn't alone. A group of approximately twenty people was living here in huts that were a few feet over the ground. Their small huts were built on pillars, so that wild animals from the jungle wouldn't surprise them at night. The redhead leaned against the thin wall of wooden sticks. He was sitting naked in such a hut, and the hut's family was busy with household. They all were naked as well but seemed unaware of it.

The people here were of dark skin and black hair as well as black almond shaped eyes. If he hadn't known better, Alasdair would have said that they were east Asians left back in stone age.
The women were busy in the huts or on the ground with either food making or with making baskets or grinding herbs. The men were gone – probably hunting. The few children that were here ran around playing and laughed. But despite them being children they knew how to take care of their siblings and also helped their mothers in case they would order something.
And then there was the medicine man. He was very old, but the only one wearing a loincloth and a bit of accessories on which even a foreigner could tell that he was having a special position among the group. The medicine man also had two students.
One of the students noticed that Alasdair was awake and spoke to his master.

The old man walked over and sat before the redhead and spoke in a language that Alasdair couldn't even sort in. The man thought that the redhead might have lost his brain during the fever, and added some more gestures to his talk. Alba tried his best to follow him. He wasn't stupid nor did he lack a brain, but he was more of the type to grasp the world than to think about it.
However, he let the medicine man know that he was feeling well so far and was a bit hungry. He wondered what natives would eat. Snakes possibly and some unthinkable fruits. Then again they all ate from what the place was offering them and they didn't die yet.

Alba was being still uncomfortable with wearing nothing at all, so he made a makeshift kilt from the blanket he was given for his rest. The people laughed at him, but he didn't care. The hunting men came back with their prey and the women hurried with their work, so they all could eat. It was a giant snake and some strange looking animal that would later be recognised as 'Tapir'. Along with that they had several exotic vegetables and for dessert some fruits. As for drinking they had either water or something like alcohol. Probably some berries they had fermented.

Although Scotland liked it here, he faintly wondered for how long he had been out. Had it been days? Weeks? … of even months? He knew that the Indios here used really strong poison on their arrows. The only reason that he was awake was because he was an immortal nation. Now how could he ask the medicine man?
As he thought more about it, he came to the conclusion that when Francis would show up here, he would be really, really late. What an amusing thought. He remembered when the little blonde had found him on the Orkney isle. Not even a place around the corner. If someone, then it was the Frenchman who would follow him to the end of the world.
After 'Dinner', he wanted to help the women with cleaning the dishes or bowls in which the food has been made. But they didn't want his help, and the 'plates' they had were made from big leaves.
So either way he felt himself pretty useless. Still he wanted to do /something/ and pondered.

The medicine man came towards him and talked to him. Somehow the redhead understood that the medicine man wanted the guest to do some sort of medical therapy. Alasdair ended up sitting with the old guru and grinding some herbals that the man showed him. The guru would show him roots or a leaf or something alike and pointed to his own body where it was used. Then he gave it into the primitive mortar. Satisfied to have a job, the redhead tried to also memorise the use of the plants and everything. He thought of dry-pressing them in books for Francis. The Frenchman would surely love to have the knowledge about new plants.

Later at the evening – the tribe sat around a fire – the guru would show him some beans that he should be grinding. The guru added some spices and soon a brown sticky liquid was filling the bowl. The man sticked his finger into the bowl and sucked the liquid from the finger. His face showed almost lustful expression. Then he hurried Alasdair to do the same.
"Woah, this is… this is amazing! Simply amazing. Whit's this cried?"
The man told him the name of it, he somewhat understood that the young man wanted to know the ingredients. But then the bowl wandered from one hand to another. It was like a drug on which they would begin to feel themselves…more erotic.
It was chocolate.

By this time, chocolate had just been found by the Spanish and maybe also Portuguese. With the Spanish Infant Marie Therese, the chocolate came to the French Court! Firstly, it was more that the French Court would laugh about the young French Queen. But for Marie Therese it was the only joy in her life. Her husband found that she was not really worth looking at soon and would wander at night to other sleeping rooms.
The chocolate of the queen but was made by her Dwarfs. She had a male and a female Dwarfs that would never abandon her.

Alasdair knew nothing about that, since Francis hadn't written about chocolate in his letters, but he was sure that the Blonde would love this substance.
The redhead slept the night in the medicine man's hut. He heard certain noises from the other huts and had to admit, with a smile, that some things were the same all around the world.

On the following day, Alba went out to look for his comrades. His fellows had been scattered all over the beach. And those that had been captured alive were killed only a few days after. The natives have not been friendly to them, so Alasdair was very lonely.
Well, not that much. A Pierre bird came with two messages. One that Alba should have answered the last time, a month ago. And then one more in which France was hysterically worried and asked if he should call in the French and Scottish troops. The Scottish troops were still questionable, but Francis would have moved mountains in case something happened.
Thus, Alasdair hurried with answering both letters. He was in his cabin on the ship that was still anchoring before the coast. He was somewhere between middle- and south America.

Alba turned his back from watching the bird flying towards the east and saw the medicine man, standing on the beach, who had followed him onto there. The nation wondered what the other one might think. But he couldn't stay here, he had to leave sooner or later.
Then again he had to bury the corpses of his men. Really not a task he liked. With two months they started to rot already.
So he disembarked the ship and under the judging eyes of the medicine man, he buried his men in soil near the sandy beach. He had dug the grave with the help of some thick branches that had just the right shape. Good luck in a bad time. He felt sorry for the dead men. It had been good men and he remembered how he had met each of them.

The Scotsman felt very lonely. He had no one to really talk to and unlike most times he felt like sharing his experiences. His crew had been wiped out so soon. Now, he wondered why the natives had spared him. Right… they could have just left him to death. And now he was in their debt for saving his life. Was it because of his hair colour? It wasn't the first time such a thing happened. But then again, there had been the Irish with their red (orange) carrot hair. Shouldn't they have been spared also, then?
How was he supposed to ask such a complicated question he barely understood himself? But the thing was that he would work off his debt.

The next few weeks he recovered fully, and then hunted along with the native hunters. The natives didn't understand the thought of being indebted due to saving the life of someone… so the problem was that neither of them knew when it was time for Alba to go back home.
In the end he stayed two long years.

But then the homesick feeling was unbearable. He wanted to see Francis again. Just sending letters wasn't enough. He was a nation, but also just a man. He did an extra hunting round and gifted his prey to the tribe. Scotland also made clear that he had to leave for home. Some of them began to cry, others just stared at him. Alasdair felt sorry and excused a dozen times. He hadn't known that they had grown to close despite that they had never understood each other and their ways of living had been so very different. Yet again he felt very warm around the heart for having such a family who loved him so dear.
Ah, he could just visit them again later! But now he really had to go home. At the next day he sailed with his ship further north again, towards Nova Scotia.