A/N: So I watched Henry V last night and got inspired. This oneshot is about any one of the young boys that were in the army. I wrote it with Boy (Christian Bale!) in mind but it could apply to any one of them. The POV is that of a young French girl. Her narration will be in plain English but the dialogue will be in Shakespearean. (Don't say I didn't warn you!) [As of 10/15/07 this fic has been updated with corrections in the grammar of the Shakespearean. Thank you Zallah for pointing out those mistakes.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Henry V. It all belongs to Shakespeare; and Kenneth Branagh to some extent. I only own the girl.

Rating: PG

Genre: Friendship/Tragedy

Summary: A young boy in the English army speaks to an embittered French girl and helps her realize that not all Englishmen are her enemies. This is not a Mary Sue. It's not even a romance!

Wilt Thou Weep?

I moved slowly through the mist, pulling my cloak tighter about me as the curling ribbons of fog reached out to entangle me in their cold fingers. The scarf that covered the lower half of my face rippled in the slight breeze and I hastened to still it, firmly pulling it back into place. The darkness of the woods seemed oppressive but I had a mission. The camps were not far from where I walked, I could see the orange glow of the fires, tempting me to draw nearer.

Maman told me to stay away from the English camps, but I could not stay away. I had to look upon the men that were going to fight to capture France. There was no love lost between me and the English, but I wanted to see what our army was up against.

I drew near a campsite. Three men lay stretched out with their backs to the fire, sleeping. One man sat up and watched the flames, his mind lost in thought. I crouched behind a tree to watch him. His clothes were ragged and his face was drawn. He did not seem to be a monster like Maman had told me they were. He looked like a man, a normal man on whom hard times had fallen.

I moved to creep away, my curiosity satisfied, when my gaze fell upon a smooth, pale face next to the base of the tree. It was a boy, only a couple of years younger than my own fifteen winters, and he was so close I could have touched him. He was curled up like a cat and a dirty and torn blanket covered him. Dark eyelashes fluttered softly on pale cheeks and his brown hair fell over his forehead. He was very fair of countenance and he looked so much like my younger brother that I paused.

Realizing that this boy would be going into battle soon brought tears to my eyes. To lose ones life at such a young age was a terrible thing. I brought my hands to my face and wept at the fate which this boy truly had earned. Even though he was my enemy, I did not believe one so young and fair should deserve to die.

Something stirred beside me but I did not turn to it. A voice whispered to me in the fog.

"Wherefore dost thou weep, fair lady?"

I lowered my hands, glad for once of my English lessons which were forced on me by Maman. I lifted my head and wiped my eyes. "Nay, thou art mistaken, for I am neither fair nor a lady."

The boy sat up and stared at me. I pulled the scarf tighter around my face.

"Doth thou call me a liar? For truly thine eyes art as clear as the sky and shine as bright as the stars at midnight."

I snorted softly. "Thou doth jest surely, for thou hast only known me for a short while. How doth thou know I am fair when thou hardly knowest me?"

The boy smiled slightly. "Marry, thou speak the truth."

There was a moment's pause in which I studied the boy and he seemed to study me. His eyes traveled to the scarf tied around my lower face and I resisted the temptation to touch it self-consciously. Instead I concentrated on his brown eyes.

"Wherefore hath thou come hither?" asked he.

"I came hither to seek out for myself what men wouldst dare defy the King of France. To see what wretched dogs follow fain after that rouge Henry the Fifth, for surely he is a surly lout." Contempt was evident in my voice.

The boy's pale cheeks flushed pink as his anger was incensed.

"Thou knowest naught of what thou speak. Thou art a saucy wench! Fie! Thou shalt be amerced, for King Harry hath great choler whence he hath been riled. What hath he done to thee to receive thy hatred?"

I was silent a moment. Slowly I reached up and unwound the scarf that hid my face from him. His breath caught as he took in the scars that marred my face from the nose down. Burn scars they were.

"An Englishman did thus," said I, gesturing to the ugly flesh that clung to my nose, chin, and cheeks. My lips had permanent blisters and hurt whenever I pressed them against something or spoke or smiled.

The boy's eyes softened. "Why dost thou blurt at me? For surely nary an Englishman is alike, inasmuch as nary a Frenchman is alike. Dost thou judge one man's character with another's folly? If thine heart blaze thine choler towards an Englishman, marry, I bid thee tell me wherefore didst thou stay hither?"

I knew I could not lie to such a boy. I drew closer, kneeling upon his blanket. He watched me carefully. I smiled slightly.

"When I laid upon mine eyes thy fair visage, I could not go hence. Thou hath the countenance of an angel in thy sleep. Thou brought mine thoughts to mine fair brother who hath been dead three fortnights. I would that thou were him."

His mouth slowly curled into a smile. Although it was painful for me, I returned it. Then his face turned thoughtful.

"If I reminded thee of thy fair brother, pray tell me wherefore were thy weeping? For to see thy brother, even in the visage of another, wouldst not that be a happy thing?"

"It wouldst were it not for the terrible fate I saw thou fetch."

"Pray, explain."

"It is not mine will that thou shalt fall. Thou rides into woe and a plague. Must thou go into the fray?"

"I wouldst follow my king to hell's fiery gates if he doth will me to. For he is a fair man and a just king, full of mercy and grace. He discourses with such eloquence that hath but been fetched by angels."

"Thou speaketh well of thy King. Would that I could express such love to mine as thou doth to thine. 'Tis been revealed to mine eyes that thou art true about the English. Thy art no different then my own brother. Pray, let me be thine coz and I wilt search for thou whence this foul fray be done."

The boy nodded, laying his hand over mine. Leaning in close he spoke in a whisper, his face inches from my own scarred one. His breath mixed with mine in welcoming warmth from the wet chill in the air.

"Wilt thou weep for me? Wilt thou shed a tear if I be slain?"

I did not wish to think of such things but I could not refuse him this one simple request. His eyes searched mine.

"Aye, I shalt weep for thee," breathed I, nodding my head slightly.

He smiled, still keeping close. "I knowest not thy name."

"Thou may call me thine sister, for to have a brother this fair night is more than I couldst e'er will."

He leaned back and took my other hand. "Henceforth thou shalt be Sister."

"And thee, Brother."

"Good Sister, wilt thou tary but a moment? I will that thou lay beside me until sleep descends. For sleep hath deprived me of its blessed dreams these past days."

I smiled slightly. "Thou lay down and I shalt beside, for I too knowest the loneliness of the night."

The boy lay down and I pulled the blanket up over him. Lying down beside him, he turned and pressed against me with his back. I wrapped my arm around his shoulders and held him close.

"Now sleep, fair Brother," whispered I into his ear. "For dawn approaches much too quickly and thy must be ready for the morrow."

"Thou art good, Sister," the boy said softly. "I would that thou were mine relation."

I smiled into his hair. "Sleep," said I.

The boy's breath grew steadily softer and his body relaxed against mine. I lay there for a while longer. When the man by the fire stirred, I crawled away. Standing, I took one look back to the sleeping boy before turning and making my way home.

000000

I walked slowly throughout the field below Agincourt where the battle had just ended. Wails came from all around as wives fell upon their dead husbands, as mothers found their dead sons, as sisters came upon their dead brothers. I could see the English army coming up towards me. They were singing and when they arrived at a certain place they lay down bundles they had over their shoulders. When I drew nearer I saw that they were not bundles at all but boys.

My breath caught in my throat. Dozens of boys were being laid out near a wagon. I ran forward hurriedly, praying to God that Brother was not one of them. I had remembered that day in the woods ever since and I had longed to see him again. I had not many friends since the incident with the Englishman that ruined my face. No boys would come near me; no girls would speak to me. Yet this boy had touched me and spoken to me as if I were merely a girl like any other. No, better than any other for he called me his Sister.

Pushing past several men with somber faces, I finally came across him. He was lying beside boys of his own age, his face pale in death, his eyelashes no longer fluttering although his brown hair, much lighter in the daylight, still rested upon his forehead. Several of the English soldiers stepped forward to take me away, but one stopped the others. I recognized him as the man by the fire. Turning back to the boy, I slowly lowered the scarf that covered my mouth and leaned over, tears gathering in my eyes.

When my face was inches from his, I whispered onto his still lips.

"I weep for thee, fair Brother."

A tear fell from my eyes and mingled with the dirt and blood on his face. Even though I knew it would hurt, I pressed my lips against his forehead in a kiss of farewell. Standing, I stood by, hugging my chest, as the men picked up the boys and placed them in a wagon. I watched as they drove them away, letting my scarf hang loosely around my neck, heedless to the stares it might bring. My tears flowed freely down my scarred cheeks.

Brother had been the first person to see my face uncovered after I had determined to hide it from the world. Brother had been the first to call me "fair lady" after my faced had been scarred. Brother had been the first to look me in the eye and speak to me normally since the attack. Brother had been the first one to show me that not all Englishmen were miserable wretches. Brother had been my friend and I wept for him.

A/N: You won't believe how long it took me to write this. First I had the first seven paragraphs down before my computer decided to mess it all up. Then I had to start again. And can you imagine how hard it is to find Shakespearean words and be able to write well with them? It was hard let me tell you. HARD:-P So please! Give me some comfort by leaving a review. I could use some encouragement. (Brain feels dead.)

"And so goodnight unto you all! Taketh my hand if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends." --Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream

Translated into English: Goodnight everyone. Leave a review if you liked the fic, and I will reply with chocolate chip cookies and a smile.

:-P