As much as I wish I could own a few countries, I do not. and I don't own Jeanne either, she owned herself.

Shouts echoed off the walls, filling the tiny, 8x8 cell with a cacophony of anger and despair.

"You bastard! You have to help her! Don't let them do this! Please Charles!"

He screamed and shouted, begged and pleaded, but his king only shook his head.

"I cannot risk another war with England, Francis. You know this. You're too weak to fight right now. I can't do that to you."

He couldn't look at him. His voice shook. He was afraid. The man she had worked so hard for was too afraid to save her. His weak, useless, merciless king. She was going to die! He knew that he knew. He knew she was going to die, and he knew that he wasn't going to do a damn thing about it. He could see it in his eyes. She was going to die, and he didn't give a damn about it.

He strained against his bonds but he was still too weak. Damn that Arthur. When he saw him he was going to kill him. He was going to do worse than kill him. He was going to beat him to a bloody pulp and then wait for him to heal and then slit his throat. The English bastard deserved worse for what he had done to her. He could feel everything. She was his, part of him. He could feel every single thing he had done to her. Every time she was beaten, every time she was branded and raped and afraid, he could feel it and there was nothing he could do about it.

He felt it when they tied her to the stake and he felt the heat from the flames rising inch by inch. He could hear her screams in his ears and he answered with his own. His voice was going raw. Charles just shook his head, saying the same stupid phrase over and over again, as if it meant anything to either one of them.

"I'm sorry Francis…."

"Jeanne….."

"I'm sorry Francis…"

"Jeanne!"

" …Francis…"

"JEANNE!"

"… I'm Sorry…"

He was crying now. He didn't care if he saw. His bastard king should see just how much he was hurting his beloved country. Charles gave him one last glace before walking to the door and exiting with another muttered, useless apology.

France sat against the wall and cried for the only one he had ever truly loved, and tried not to choke on the smoke that was burning his nostrils. Eventually he fell into a fitful sleep, every now and then letting out a pitiful whimper, a broken name.

"Jeanne."

Hello All~ It's been a while huh? I'm sorry for the angst, but this one comes with a story as well!

I was sitting in my french class and we were talking about, you guessed it, Jeanne D'Arc. My french teacher actually brought about the inspiration for this little fic, by saying ...

"France really loved her. King Charles 2 couldn't care less, but France really really loved her."

Thus I took no more notes and commenced scribbling. I've always been a firm believer that france and Jeanne had an epic romance, and the reason he acts like such a skank is because he's trying to replace her by sleeping with the entire world. But that's just me. Hate me if you will FrUk and Franada fans, but that's my head canon.

Anyway, thanks for reading everyone! Reviews are love!