The wall clock told Francis it was 5:36 in the evening but he didn't pay much attention to it or the sky turning from light blue to evening purple. He had only just returned from Rouen to visit the statue of Jeanne of Arc and to the Frenchman, she stood near where she was executed as beautiful as ever. Despite visiting the Place du Vieux-Marché every year after the statue was first displayed, it was always hard for Francis not to burst into tears of heartbreak when walking past the square which once held crowds, watching the orange flames engulfing the only woman he truly loved. And despite how gloomy the paintings depicted her death, he knew for a fact that on the 30th May 1431, it was sunny when she died; which reminded him of a saying he heard once, "The sun always shines on the righteous". Today on 30th May 2012, the weather was just as bright as it was five hundred and eighty-one years ago.

Francis mused on these thoughts as he lay on the chocolate brown leather couch; his fingers fidgeted his cross on a gold chain he always wore around his neck. He used to be very religious to the extent of being a God fearing citizen but the strictness waned over the years after French Revolution and the World Wars, only going to church occasionally. Many a time he did question his faith but Jeanne was his one reason he kept giving God their umpteenth chance. Francis let out a sigh and dangled the cross so he could remind himself of how happy he used to be with Jeanne. But before he could retrace the first memory, the doorbell chimed. He tucked the cross behind the white shirt he wore and picked up the purple hair band he took out of his blonde hair before he lied down and tied it up again. He grumbled to himself in French as he made his way towards the white front door. Can't he be allowed to mourn for someone for that one day alone? It wasn't often that it happened every year but he still considered the interruption rude. He grabbed the handle and pulled the door open as gently as he would allow himself without flying into anger. "What do you want? I'm not in zee mood to-" His expression changed from annoyance to surprise. "Oh, Matthieu, Alfred. What brings you to my abode?"

"And Artie! He wanted to visit too!" Alfred grinned his million watt smile as he tugged his messy blonde haired companion in front of him. This earned Alfred a glare of annoyance from the British man.

"Get off me! I don't need you to pull me over 'ere like a servant!" Arthur barked in an unusually nasal accent. Francis immediately picked up on this straight away.

"Does Arsur 'ave a cold?" He inquired as he cocked his head to the side, folding his arms.

"We did tell him to rest but he insisted on going," Alfred explained, ruffling his honey blonde hair. "He said he really needed to talk to you personally."

"'E does realise what day it is today does 'e not? If 'e knows what's good for 'im, 'e will go back to 'is little island but you two are more zan welcome to stay," Francis gave a cold stare at Arthur. Matthew stepped forward.

"Francis, he really needs to speak with you. Please, you have to hear him out." Francis stared at the Canadian's earnest dark blue eyes. He knew Matthew wouldn't lie about anything unless he had a good reason to and since he couldn't find one, Francis let out a sigh.

"Alright, 'e can come in but I'm not in a good mood so forgive my rudeness," Francis turned and made his way down the hallway and into the living room. Everyone else followed suit as they sat down on the couches and were instructed by Francis to wait while he made refreshments in the kitchen.

While the Frenchman waited for the kettle to boil, he thought about two things about Arthur's strange behaviour. First, Arthur didn't look ill and if he did have a cold, the only thing that was giving him away was the nasal accent he acquired. But the second thing was something that provoked Francis' interest; he didn't insult him yet. He found it odd that Arthur hadn't even gotten round to throwing insults at him but he probably would as soon as he walked back into the living room. After all, their relationship has been described as a passionate hatred for each other. There have been occasions when they have put their differences behind them but in most cases, they just argued. Once the kettle was up to boil, he dropped a tea bag in each of the three tea cups (and a tea spoon of instant coffee powder in a mug for Alfred) onto the wooden tray along with the bowl of sugar, four tea spoons and a small jug of milk. Once he poured the hot water into a floral porcelain teapot, he placed that onto the tray and carried them into the living room where his guests awaited. After everyone got acquainted with their refreshment, tension still hung in the air as Francis carefully watched Arthur sipping his tea rather cautious than he normally did.

"Th-This tea is too hot," The Englishman drew his lips away suddenly from the tea cup, annoying the Francis in the process.

"What's zee matter Arsur? Is zee French tea not bland enough for you?" He said in a condescending manner.

"Oh no," Arthur bought the tea cup to his lips again and took another quick sip. "Zee tea is… satisfactory." This put the Frenchman in such shock. Arthur, his biggest rival in history, called his tea satisfactory. Something was seriously wrong if he said something nice to him but then again it could be his sarcasm he was notorious for. However, Francis didn't consider this as he hastily placed his cup onto the coffee table and glared at Arthur intensely.

"If you want to mock me about today, go a'ead! I don't care what insults you 'ave planned for me but if you insult Jeanne in anyway, I will bring zee thunder on you!"

"Whoa! Dude! Take it easy! We've just been on a four and half hour trip just to see you!" Alfred exclaimed.

"I didn't really want any company, especially from zee Englishman mocking me!" Francis shot daggers at Arthur. "I'm sorry for acting like zis but you must all leave before my patience runs out!"

"Zat's enough Francis!" Arthur shot from the couch as fire seemed to burn in his emerald eyes. This aggravated the Frenchman to approach him and grabbed the collar of the Englishman's shirt.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do in my own 'ouse you ingrate!" Francis suddenly felt Matthew's hand touch his shoulder.

"Francis! Please! Stop it!" He begged.

""Matthieu, get out of my way! I don't want to take my anger out on zee wrong person!"

"You're not taking your anger out on Arthur!" Alfred stood from the couch and readied himself to restrain the Frenchman.

"'Oo's side are you on!" Francis shot a glare at the North American brothers and back again at Arthur.

"You don't understand! You're not talking to Arthur! Arthur isn't here!" Matthew gushed quickly. For a split second Francis' anger simmered before turning to the Canadian.

"What are you talking about? 'E's right 'ere!" He jabbed Arthur's chest as if emphasising his presence.

"Well… he is here but isn't…" Matthew said slowly.

"Quoi? You're not making sense," The Frenchman looked at the three men in confusion, which gave Arthur the opportunity to pull out of his grasp.

"'E means exactly what 'e's said Francis. Arsur is… somewhere else at zee moment." Francis couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why was Arthur speaking in a French accent? His immediate reaction would be that he was mocking him although it sounded too natural to be anyone trying to make fun out of him let alone the English man. (Come to think of it, wasn't he having trouble pronouncing the words 'tea' and 'hot'?) But for Alfred and Matthew's sake he decided to play along and see where it would lead.

"If you're not Arsur zan 'oo are you?" Francis finally asked even though he was slightly afraid of what name this supposed imposter would come out with.

"You may not believe me when I say zis but," Arthur placed his hand on his chest. "C'est moi, Jeanne d'Arc."

Everything froze and silence became the only thing to fill the atmosphere. For once, the Englishman had left Francis speechless. Not a single response flew into the Frenchman's head to respond to Arthur's confession. He processed the sentence over and over in his mind no less than three times but on the seventh time, Francis' right hand clenched into a fist and before anyone (including Francis himself) could say anything else, the French hand collided with Arthur's cheek, knocking him to the ground. Immediately, Matthew knelt to the Briton's side and inspected his face while Alfred stepped in front of the two ready to hold Francis' next attack back.

"What the hell is your problem dude!" He demanded. Francis' nostrils flared, his teeth clenched together in anger and both his fists curled into tight balls.

"Get out! All of you!" His hands shook in rage. "I will not 'ave any of you disrespecting my Jeanne! Not today or any ozer day! Now get out before I throw you all out myself!"

"Francis!" Matthew looked up to his former guardian with pleading eyes. "Arthur is channelling Jeanne's spirit so she could talk to you! Arthur never meant to disrespect you at all!"

The Frenchman paused and glanced at Matthew with icy eyes. "'E's… channelling Jeanne?"

"Yeah like, he's being possessed by a ghost!" Alfred added. "N-not that I'm scared or anything because I'm too heroic to be scared of ghosts!" He nervously laughed earning him stares from everyone until Francis turned away from Arthur and rubbed his own face looking pensive. The Englishman stood to his feet, not taking his eyes off the Frenchman, as did Matthew and Alfred. It was after a few minutes that Francis finally spoke.

"Matthieu, pourriez-vous attendre dans la cuisine avec Alfred s'il vous plait?" He spoke in his mother-tongue. The French sentence piqued Matthew's interest but felt confused by Francis' request. His mouth opened to ask why but something clicked in his head and instead he nodded and made his way to the kitchen.

"Alfred, lets give them some space," The Canadian instructed Alfred softly. The American frowned puzzled.

"But-"

"Alfred. Now." Matthew said with a lower and threatening tone. Without hesitation, Alfred followed but not without turning back at the Frenchman and the bizarre Englishman confronting each other. The two kept their eyes trained on the American and said nothing until Alfred finally disappeared into the kitchen. Once the door clicked closed, Arthur and Francis stared at each other intensely. At last, Francis began speaking in his native tongue.

"If you are 'oo you say you are, you will not only be able to understand me but you will be able to answer any question zat only Jeanne and I would know. Do you understand?"

Arthur nodded his head with affirmation. "Of course. Continue." He spoke in the same language as the Frenchman. There was a pause from Francis as though he thought to himself Arthur was doing well with a language he didn't speak often. But whether he understood the first French sentence was of a different matter and that this test was going to prove who's really in the room with Francis.

"On zee night of zee 29th May 1431, I snuck past zee guards just to see you for one last time before zee day of your death. On zat night, I gave you a gift in form of a poem I composed for you. If you are zee real Jeanne d'Arc, zen you would be able to recite zee poem without difficulty." Francis said in a serious tone. Arthur responded to the sentence with a gentle smile, one that conflicted with the Frenchman's icy expression.

"Zee poem… I remember it so well. Even as zee flames touched me, I still kept reciting it in my 'ead as it was so precious to me." Arthur placed his hands behind his back and closed his eyes.

"Oh sweet pure maid of Orleans, your life cruelly snatched away

By zee wickedness of zee foes of God.

Your beauty, innocence and grace 'as gone from zis world

But zose three treasures were part of mine and as such, my world will remember you.

Through zee songs of birds nesting in zee trees,

Through zee whispers of zee wind's gentle breeze,

Through zee warm rays of zee shining sun of gold, zee glow of zee moon of silver and zee glistening stars of diamonds; your beauty, innocence and grace shall be remembered.

I wish for your assassins to pay with zheir blood

But you being zee kind soul you are would never express such a grudge.

Dear God, 'ear my prayer and care for zis sweet maid of Orleans

And in 'eaven; your 'ands will protect and preserve 'er beauty, innocence and grace.

Amen."

Arthur's eyes opened slowly as though he had been through a memory for sometime and gazed at Francis' trembling figure. He could see the Frenchman had waded through the same sort of memories he did; the memories of her death. Francis' hands hid the tears that streamed down his cheeks. "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…" Joan, in the Englishman's ears could hear Francis blubber repeatedly. Arthur's body moved into the Frenchman and enveloped him into a hug; one hand rubbed small circles on his back while the other held his right shoulder. She, in Arthur, felt Francis bury his head into the Englishman's chest and his arms wrapped themselves around his torso. "I shouldn't 'ave doubted you like everyone else did zat time ago…" Francis whimpered, his breath hitched in three places of his sentence.

"Francis, you know I don't like to see you cry." Arthur consoled in his nasal accent. "You are a man and men aren't supposed to shed tears over sings like zis."

"I believed you zough!" Francis' voice wavered. "I knew you were innocent but it was zose general's jealousy zat you were wrongfully accused and sentenced to death! And it took twenty-five years for zat pope to pronounce you innocent… twenty-five years too late…" His voice trailed into more sobs and tightened his grip onto the Englishman's form. The Joan in Arthur felt sorry for Francis who wept into him. He sensed all the Frenchman's turmoil in his cries. Joan could not bear to see Francis like this anymore. "Francis, my death is in zee past. You cannot keep dwelling in zat sadness or you'll always feel bitter towards everyone." Arthur started. "I know you're not zee sort of person to forgive and forget quickly but if you keep carrying grudges, zey will become your burden. So when I do return to God's kingdom and zis Englishman is 'imself again, forgive 'im and to zee ozers 'oo 'ave wronged you, forgive zem too. I know it's a 'ard sing to do but you'll feel zee weight leave your shoulders, believe me. Doing zat and moving on will make you feel better."

"But I don't want to forget you Jeanne!" Francis whined. "I can't! I won't!"

"I never told you to forget about me Francis. I only ask zat you forgive zee people 'oo 'ave done wrong to you. I'm sure zey want to be forgiven too. Trust me, everyone will benefit if you forgive zem." Arthur prized himself away from Francis enough to stare into his sapphire eyes. "Now promise me you'll do zat. Look me in zee eyes and say it."

Francis immediately gazed into the emerald eyes and he was certain he could see Jeanne in them despite knowing they were Arthur's. He knew Jeanne was right about him not forgiving people easily, especially Arthur; his long-time rival. He gulped down the lump in his throat and nodded. "Oui, I will do zat for you." He uttered with sincerity. Once Arthur was satisfied with his response, he pulled himself further from Francis and raised another gentle smile.

"Sank you. I'm really 'appy zat you've said zat but if I go and you don't do it, I will 'aunt you until you do." Francis chuckled at her threat. She maybe a Christian but that didn't mean she couldn't be as strict as she was with her army when she was alive.

"I promised you didn't I?" He beamed back.

"Good," Arthur giggled but when he smiled again, it was a sad one. She knew that time had come and it was going to be heart-breaking for Francis. "Now I 'ave delivered my message to you, I must return to God."

Francis' expression turned into fear and grabbed Arthur's hand in desperation. "Non, please! Don't go! I don't want to lose you again!"

"I know Francis but I cannot stay for zis body is not my own." Arthur held his optimistic expression trying to prevent tears from involuntary showing themselves. "If I stay, I would be crushing zis man's soul and zat isn't fair if 'e dies because of my selfishness."

"Zen at least don't go yet!" Francis blurted. "I… let me give you a gift before you part!"

Arthur frowned slightly in confusion. "But what could you possibly give to a spirit? When I go, zis man will be left wondering why 'e is 'olding somesing zat isn't relevant to 'im."

"Zis gift is not of any material possession," The Frenchman pulled Arthur closer to his figure. "Zis gift is somesing you will take and treasure for always when you return to God." Before Arthur (or Jeanne) could ask, Francis' lips locked into Arthur's into a kiss. The green eyes widened in surprise but before Arthur had the chance of breaking away, Francis broke away himself and gazed at the slightly perturbed Englishman. And then the most unexpected thing happened; Arthur smirked and asked in a teasing voice, "Is zat my gift?"

Francis blinked when he said it in that tone. "I didn't want God to sink you were committing a sin." If he didn't think Arthur was himself now; his next movements convinced Francis that he wasn't a constantly annoyed British man but a feisty Christian martyr who happened to be a woman. Arthur pulled himself close to Francis by wrapping his arms around his neck and grinned.

"Lust is a sin, loving someone in an intimate way isn't." This time it was Francis' turn to be surprised as their lips connected into a passionate kiss again. His widened sapphire eyes closed half way before closing fully; letting his hands drift to Arthur's waist. He couldn't quite believe that the Englishman had let Jeanne take control of his body like this and had an amusing thought, of the sort of expression he'd pull if he told him what he did while he was possessed. Speaking of which, Arthur's tongue found its way into the Frenchman's mouth. Of course he allowed it to twirl inside as the French tongue explored every inch of Arthur's mouth. He could taste the tea (and traces of coffee) as well as scent of apple.

Jeanne always loved apples and a memory of them sitting underneath an apple tree on a hill in Orleans somewhere sprang to mind. Whenever Jeanne could spent time with Francis, they always sat under the same apple tree on a day when the light from the sun poked through the fresh green leaves and the red apples. They'd admire how clear and blue the sky is and they'd talk, drifting from one subject to another and all the while Francis would always want to hold her hand and passionately kiss her like he was doing to Arthur's possessed body in the living room at present. He didn't care that he was kissing the body of his greatest rival; in his mind, he was kissing Jeanne.

His hand climbed from the Englishman's waist and combed through his choppy blonde locks with his fingers. But he could feel Arthur's touch weakening. He was losing Jeanne. After climaxing with the most passionate kiss both of them could muster, they both pulled away and gasped for air. Francis stared into the pools of green lovingly and smiled. "Je t'aime Jeanne." His voice trembled knowing what was going to happen next after Arthur's knees buckled. The English fingers dug into the Frenchman's arms and clung in desperation not wanting to let go. Francis lowered Arthur to the floor and held onto him as the viridian eyes met the sapphire orbs.

"J-Je t'aime aussi… Francis…" Arthur panted until his eye lids closed and his hands loosened their grip on Francis' arms as his body finally became limp. The Frenchman immediately grabbed one of Arthur's hands and bought him closer. "Jeanne? Jeanne?" He murmured hoping Joan would hear her name being called and rebel from her spiritual restraints. So many tears trickled down his cheeks that he believed if he cried hard enough like people did in films, Jeanne would not ignore the sadness and return just to make him smile again.

"Francis?" A gentle voice called from above. The Frenchman looked up and saw a slightly blurred pair of North American brothers towering over him. His eyes drifted back to Arthur's unconscious form cradled in his arms and waited for a response. After pausing for a few seconds, he led himself to the conclusion that Jeanne had finally returned to heaven. He didn't realise he'd been in his dazed state again until he felt Alfred take one of Arthur's arms around his shoulders and wrapped his own arm around the Briton's waist. "Let's get Arthur to the couch," The American said in a tone that was the complete opposite to his rambunctious voice. Francis wiped the tears from his cheeks before he took Arthur's other arm and coiled it around his shoulder and helped Alfred carry the Englishman to the couch. After laying Arthur down, everyone watched the unconscious form slumber. Francis gripped a piece of his shirt and fidgeted with the cross underneath it. "Did Arsur mention when 'e would wake up after being possessed?"

"He said it would take a while for him to regain consciousness but if you wanted a specific time, he said it's different every time so we don't know." Matthew answered.

"I see," Francis wasn't sure why he did what he did but he slowly lifted Arthur's head and sat down before lowering the British man's head onto his lap.

"Francis? Are you okay?" Alfred said slowly and in the same calm tone. The Frenchman stroked Arthur's hair from his face. Surprisingly he looked angelic when he was asleep (or unconscious in this case); just like Joan. At that thought Francis raised a smile which made Alfred and Matthew wonder if it was out of sadness or relief. The two brothers glanced at each other as if conversing with each other telepathically until Francis finally uttered "I forgive you". Both brothers faced the Frenchman.

"Did ya say something Francis?" Alfred asked with an upbeat tone this time.

"I forgive you," Francis' eyes still fixated on Arthur as he murmured the words. Not quite sure who it was for, Matthew cocked his head to the side.

"Forgive us for what?" The Frenchman glanced at Matthew and Alfred with a relieved expression.

"I don't know but… per'aps it's to clear sings up between us non?"

"I guess," Alfred said slowly and scratched the back of his head in confusion. Matthew stared at Francis trying to work out what he did wrong to him but after a lot of thought, he gave up and smiled at his former guardian. "Merci, eh?"

Francis chuckled at the different reactions the North American brothers displayed and already he felt a heavy weight being lifted off his shoulders just like Jeanne told him. He felt himself relax a bit before turning to the peaceful looking Englishman asleep on his lap. He brushed away a few more strands of hair thinking how similar both Arthur looked when he was asleep and how Jeanne looked when she smiled in terms of serenity. Both images warmed his heart as well as providing the reason why he's being affectionate to the unconscious Arthur; he wanted to preserve that beauty, that innocence and grace for a little while longer before he wakes up and complains about the dull pain in his jaw. Francis decided as soon as Arthur regains consciousness, the first thing Francis would say after welcoming him back to the world of the living is, "I forgive you".

!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hey! Long time no see! I've been incredibly busy with uni work which is why I haven't submitted anything for quite sometime. I've taken a break from 'Daisy Chain to Destiny' and spent some time working (and crying) on this. I hope this isn't too confusing for people to read since it features a headcanon of mine (Arthur can channel spirits and ghosts if he wanted to).

Also, the dialogue in italics are spoken in French and this is purely because I do not want to butcher the French language. I may be a ble to speak it but my construction of French sentences is very rusty so I wasn't going to take that risk.

And most of my research was done using Wikipedia so if I got anything wrong, I apologise. But I have also read '1000 Years of Annoying the French' which has been very useful and entertaining at the same time so I suggest you guys read that book!

This is sort of a one-shot but there will be bonus chapters that describe events before/during/after this one-shot. In the meantime, enjoy.

Hetalia characters belong to Hidekaz Himaruya.