My fair maiden…
Disclaimer: I do not own
Author's notes: this will be historically inaccurate, and perhaps the cheesiest story I have ever written in my life. Note that Francis is a lord in this fic, serving Henry VI.
Francis trekked up the hill, until he saw Joan sitting down, gazing distantly into the countryside. While Joan had lifted the Siege of Orleans, she lost the retaking of Paris, but yet… France seemed so peaceful at this moment. The forests of Chinon , was indeed lovely in mid-autumn, but nothing quite matched the beauty of the maiden in front of him.
He had wooed countless of ladies into his bed in his lifetime, yet this was the first time his heart ever felt so passionate about a lady… he was truly in love.
Playfully, he slowly sneaked behind and covered Joan's eyes with his hands. "Guess who?"He said playfully. "Your hands smell of lavender… you must be Lord Francis." Pushing his hands aside, she looked up, and smiled. "It is you after all" she said cheerfully. "Wow, you really must be sent by god, to be able to so easily guess who I am, nor have I ever met a lady as lovely as you."
"You honour me, my lord" Joan said shyly, as her face turned red. "Please make away with the titles Joan, and please just call me Francis". Unpacking his bag, Francis took out sandwiches wrapped under a layer of linen, and offered it to her. "Thanks" she said smiling, and they started to say grace before eating. After eating, they sat side by side, as they gazed into the now peaceful countryside. Not more than half a year ago, the countryside was filled with war and carnage, but this girl led to French royal army to victory over Orleans.
"Joan actually…I...uh" Francis stammered. Francis was by no means inexperienced with the female gender, and had wooed many ladies. But yet for the love of god, for the first time in his life he was unable to express his feelings… A thought crossed his mind, perhaps it was because it was the first time he had ever fallen for someone… and that the rest were all one time things.
"Yes Francis?" Joan asked curiously, oblivious to fact that Francis's face was getting redder and redder with every passing moment. At that moment, Francis felt he could no longer express himself with words, and leaning closer to Joan. He kissed her on the lips.
The kiss was so unexpected, that Joan's eyes widened. She looked into his beautiful eyes, searching for the answer. And he looked back into hers in which he felt so much warmth. Joan's lips were so much softer than he ever thought, and he wanted more. Instinctively he leant towards her and pushed her down onto her back as he tried to seal their lips completely.
Joan, who had almost no prior romantic relationships with anyone, could do nothing but follow her own instincts; slowly moving her lips in an attempt to kiss back. Her frozen heart hardened by war, slowly began to melt away, as passion overtook her. She reached up softly brushing a hand past his cheek, gently gripping his head. Francis slid his hand down the side of her waist, sliding up and under her shirt caressing her back.
Joan could do nothing but allowed herself to be caressed by Francis. And for the first time in her life, the thought of settling down and marrying someone crossed her mind. Did she truly love this man? The answer instantly returned… yes, she did.
Francis continued sliding his hand over her smooth skin back and forth, moving over a larger and larger area, he gingerly moved his hand around over her stomach, and continued to feel every inch of her silky skin. Gaining more courage, Francis shifted his hands to the fabric covering her breasts, pressing against the shape, trying to feel her. She tried to protest, but was silenced by a kiss.
Joan could feel herself light up like a star in the moonlit night to his touch. All of a sudden her bottom went from warm to scorching, her pants becoming more and more uncomfortable. All she could do was to fidget under his touch, becoming increasingly aware of the warmth his body was radiating.
"Joan…"Francis started. "When we win this war… will you be my wife?" he asked. There was an unexpected moment of silence. Joan's heart started to beat even faster, had he really just said what he did? She thought to herself, was she willing to forever spend her life with this man? The answer came back to her instantly. She moved towards his ears, and whispered… "Yes of course Francis, I could never picture my world without you."
"Snap" the sound of a branch cracking could be heard, and was followed by footsteps. Quickly, Joan tidied herself up, silently feeling a bit upset that her lovely moment was ruined.
Marshal Gillas De Rais appeared from the trees, "Sorry to intrude, Francis, but Joan requires to depart soon, Compiegne is in need of her aid, against Burgundy." Joan nodding rose up and started to swipe away the leaves on her dress. "I will meet you back at the castle, make sure to equip your gear, the man already prepared for war."
As the marshal of France left her sight, she gave Francis one last parting kiss, hoping that moment could last for an eternity. But she gingerly parted the kiss, and started to run towards the castle as she bided Francis farewell.
Joan of arc led an unsuccessful sortie against the invading force, which led to her capture. Upon hearing news of her capture, Francis begged and pleaded with his king, Henry VI, hoping that he would feel pity for Joan and that he would ransom Joan from the duke of Burgundy. But his pleas fell on deaf ears, Henry VI, felt that Joan outweighed her usefulness, and her influence far outweighed his, and thus refused to show any form of interest in saving her. By means of negotiations instigated, and scheming, the French bishop of Beauvais who wanted to become archbishop of Rouen saw to it that an inquisition trial was held for Joan.
On the 10th of March 1430 Joan was publically condemned as a heretic and a witch and was due to be burnt on a stake as was customary with all witches at that point of time.
Upon receiving word of her fate, Francis despite several warnings from the king, that he might cause further engagement from the English, and threats from the king, brushed his threats off, and together with a party of man organized by Gilles De Rais and himself, rode towards Rouen.
Due to the distance between the two areas, the party of man arrived at the moment above the hill of Rouen to see smoke billow from the city. Francis, at that moment dropped from the saddle of his horse, dropped down on his knees and began to cry.
Joan in her last conscious thoughts, thought of god and of a man who warmed her heart, and with that gained comfort, before she passed away as she was burnt on the stake.
Gilles De Rais couldn't bear to see the death of Joan of Arc and lost faith in god, and turned to dark arts and joined a cult… (This is true)
Francis, enraged, aimed to achieve Joan's dreams of a France reunited, and by 1453, the French drove out the English from French lands. And with the help of the pope, on the 7th of July 1456, the pope revoked the charges. And was eventually canonized, and Joan became a patron saint of France.
Francis never forgave himself up till present, even after nearly 700 years passing; he never forgave himself for being unable to save Joan.
PS: sorry for the bad story and language, I wrote this story almost half a year ago, but I felt like posting this recently… because I too realize there is a lack of Joan of Arc hetalia fanfics… so here is my lousy attempt. I hope you enjoyed it, and gained some feels. Please do not call France a rapist.