As Silent Warrior slowly became Matthieu, Kanata evolved into the colony of la Nouvelle France. Matthieu watched as ships full of men sailed off into the great expanse of ocean between France and his homeland.
François had taken it upon himself to teach Matthieu French in the darkness of their cabin aboard l'Émérillon and by the time they arrived at François' home in Versailles, Matthieu was proficient enough to understand the generality of what was happening in a conversation. He wasn't bilingual by any means, but François was delighted by his progress.
You could call me papa, if you want, François said one night as he tucked Matthieu into bed. The blankets were heavy around his shoulders and the flickering light of the candle reminded him just enough of campfires that he could sleep easily. That is a word I have not yet taught you. It means father. A father, Matthieu, is someone who loves you and cares for you unconditionally. That is what I would like to be for you, if you will let me.
Was that what Skandia had been to Matthieu and Soaring Eagle in those precious fews moments they'd had together? Matthieu wished he remembered Skandia, but the only things he had were the stories he overheard when his mother thought he was asleep, and the amulet Skandia had given them when they were born.
It was an amulet half, designed to be fit together to achieve completion, and smithed from the first metal Matthieu had ever seen, supposedly from the blade of Skandia's own seax. Inlaid in the iron were the heads of two gods, one for each half of the amulet. Matthieu's half had Magni {strength} while Soaring Eagle's had Modi {bravery}, the brothers who were destined to inherit Mjolnir after Ragnarok. That was all his mother had ever told him and Matthieu suspected that was all she ever knew.
Strength and Bravery, inheritors of the new world, survivors of the fall of the old.
François had frowned when he saw Matthieu's amulet, but did not try to take it from him and for that Matthieu was grateful. So maybe he would let this new man become his father, replace the one who had never been there for him, and maybe Matthieu would grow under his guidance and careful tutelage.
I think, Matthieu whispered in a small voice that echoed in the vastness of his room. I think I would like it if you were my papa.
François smiled and blew out the light. Then I shall see you in the morning, mon fils.
oO0Oo
It was many months before Matthieu dared think about Soaring Eagle. He was ashamed to say he'd forgotten, caught up in the reveraly that came with being a part of the French court. It was fun - there was music and books {Matthieu found out he loved books} and hundreds of new foods for him to try, but very soon it became apparent that something was missing.
He missed Soaring Eagle. He missed his laugh and the way his eyes sparkled when he had an idea that was bound to get them into trouble. He missed the way the palm of his brother's hand fit perfectly into his own as they pulled each other up the branches of the trees that towered high above the water. Most of all, Matthieu missed the comfortable familiarity that he'd had with Soaring Eagle, how they could gaze up at the night sky without saying a word and yet know exactly what the other was thinking.
It wasn't to say that he didn't like François, but the man was still new to him. Perhaps, in time Matthieu would find a similar connection with this Nation who had become his father, but not yet, not so soon.
"Papa?" Matthieu tugged on the puffy sleeves of François' doublet. His father-figure was speaking to another important man - a dignitary? A lord? - in the rapid-fire French Matthieu still had trouble following.
"Please, excuse me for just a moment." François sent the other man an apologetic smile that seemed to also convey his annoyance and an invitation to his bed. He turned to Matthieu. "Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas, Matthieu? The nurse should have tucked you in long ago, it's past your bedtime."
The dignitary - for that was what Matthieu decided he was - had the courtesy to pretend he wasn't listening, despite the bewilderment clearly plastered on his face.
Matthieu knew he confused people. He confused himself sometimes, too. He'd been counting and he'd been la Nouvelle France for a little over a hundred years, but he'd hardly aged. Except, he'd recently gone through a growth spurt and now that he was a least a foot taller and several years older, the nightgown that had fit him only months before was now resting just below his knobbly knees. Secretly, Matthieu was pleased as that meant he was growing stronger and would soon be able to practice lessons that were more befitting of boys his age.
{He was getting frustrated being confined to his nursery all the time. Yes, he understood he still had the body of a small child and yes, he knew that his appearance was difficult to explain, but there was a whole other world outside the walls of François' estate that Matthieu wanted to explorer}.
Explorer the world like he'd done with Soaring Eagle before he'd vanished.
"I miss my brother," Matthieu whispered, clutching his blanket around his shoulders like a cape. Over top of the nightgown, his amulet shone in the light of the crystal chandelier.
François frowned and knelt before Matthieu on the polished wooden floor. "You have never mentioned a brother before, mon petit."
"I know, it's just - well, I -" Matthieu's voice began to tremble as he stumbled over his words. "He's like me and he left without saying goodbye and I really miss him, and, I - I was hoping you might be able to help me find him?"
His voice turned up in a hopeful question at the end.
"Of course I'll help you find him," François smiled softly. "Do you have any idea what happened? Is there anything you can tell me about him - a name, perhaps? Then I can look into having him brought to Versailles."
Matthieu didn't know how to translate his brother's name into French - or even if François would understand what he was saying if he did. "We're twins an' he's got blond hair, like me, but blue eyes like you, and a funny piece of hair at the front of his head that never wants to stay flat."
François' eyebrows furrowed, but Matthieu pressed on, eyes shining with excitement.
"He left not long before you found me. My-" Matthieu hesitated. Was he supposed to tell François about his mother? François was now his father and Matthieu didn't like keeping secrets from him, but Matthieu's last father had hurt her in ways he couldn't even begin to imagine, and Matthieu wasn't quite certain if François could be trusted with the information just yet. "Someone was waiting for him down in his land - south of mine. That's how I knew someone was going to come for me - because someone had already come for him."
François cursed so foully that Matthieu thought he might have to spend a week in the chapel repenting for even hearing those words. "Your brother," François' voice dropped to a low growl. It wasn't directed at him, but it made Matthieu uneasy all the same. "Is now the colony of my enemy. While you are under my control, you will not be going near him. Do you understand me?"
Something cold slithered down his spine. Matthieu nodded his head frantically even as his heart clenched so tightly it ached. Looking at his father, seeing the anger he'd awoken, he was sorry he asked. He wrapped the blanket tighter around his shoulders and dropped his gaze to the floor.
"Come, now," François said, tilting Matthieu's chin up to look him in the eye. "I didn't mean to frighten you, mon cher. Monsieur le Compte de Bussy, please excuse me, but I have to retire now," he turned to the spluttering man he'd been speaking to before. "I hope to continue this conversation some other time."
Without another word, he lifted Matthieu up and headed for the grand staircase. Matthieu snuggled against his warm chest, desperately trying to ignore the sting in his eyes. "Will you tell me a story, papa?"
François smiled down at the child in his arms, his tense demour from before relaxing into something soft and caring. "Have I ever told you the one about the Battle of Hasting?"
