Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia.

A/N: I've got some explaining to do. Right now, I'm in a Canadian History class in university, thus this idea. However, it's mostly from confederation to today, so if you're alarmed that I skipped something like exploration of the west or something, don't worry. It's not really part of my story. Anywhoo, I hope you enjoy this. At the bottom, there will be historical notes if you're interested. Oh, and parts will be updated as I progress through the course. ;D.

1537.

Francis shifted in his cabin, throwing another log into the oven, the crackle of the flames pleasant to his ears.

It was cold; a bitter cold here in this new world. All the sun that shone over his shores of France could not ease the wind creeping through the walls.

He felt as if he were the only man left in the world, alone in the vast unknown.

This land was so endless, extending far beyond anything he knew. He was forever surrounded by pine forests, reaching above him like great green hands, gently covering the soft navy sky. Snow, crisp and white piled up his cabin walls, so deep that he sunk to his knees when he stepped outside.

This world was nothing like France.

In truth, he was more homesick than anything.

He missed his people and their voices.

No heat could ever rid that feeling from his bones.

As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door.

Francis turned to the entrance, slightly alarmed.

"Who could that be?" He muttered as he headed towards the sound. A fierce storm was raging outside. Whoever was outside had battled it for the last while as they travelled from the nearest colony.

The knocking continued. One. Two. Three more times. The same rhythm.

Francis cautiously opened the door, wind brushing past him in a great burst of power.

A small child looked back at him. He blinked, fanning his long lashes, his mouth slightly open as if lacking the words to speak.

"Mon Dieu! Come in, child!" Francis cried, throwing the door wide open.

"…Merci, Mister Francis Bonnefoy." The boy stepped in, allowing Francis to close the door.

Francis flinched, his back to the wall. "How do you know my name, little one?"

The boy, looking around, whispered, "I was looking for you."

"Looking for me? Whatever for? Where are your parents?"

As the child removed his cloak and hat, Francis noted his peculiarities.

The child was not of the nearby Iroquois. He did not have rich copper skin, or thick raven hair. He was as pale as the moon, with long golden locks to his shoulders and piercing indigo eyes.

But it was the feeling Francis suddenly knew that this child was like him.

This was the New World.

New France.

Kanata.

"Tell me, child, what is your name?" He asked tentatively. He watched the boy sit upon the chest by the fire, swinging his feet.

"I don't have a name yet."

Francis moved closer with a twinkle in his eye; inside, he was cheering that he was the first to discover the boy. "Then I shall name you Matthew, and you shall be mine." Francis smiled, ruffling the boy's blonde hair. "Now, Matthew. You must be cold from your wandering. Why were you looking for me?"

Francis wrapped the boy up in a blanket from his bed and sat down beside him.

"They told me to." Matthew confessed as he placed his hands on his lap. "The spirits, I mean. They said I had to find you."

Francis laughed. "That's alright, my petite enfant."

Matthew shuffled on the seat, staring down at his interlaced fingers. "Will you leave now that you've found me?" The boy asked suddenly. "…Everyone leaves me in the end."

"Mon cher," Francis said quietly, placing an arm around the child's shoulders. "I promise I won't ever leave you."

Matthew leaned in, nuzzling his head on Francis' chest.

"They all say that too."

So, the only thing I can really say is that France wasn't the first to meet Canada. Historically, the Icelandics/Norse had already made their visits and then left after meeting hostile indigenous groups. The Portuguese were also there, or so Wikipedia tells me. Also, Kanata means village. Hooray!

ANYWHOO, please review. I'd appreciate it. : ).