I have been sitting on this idea for a wee while. But I wanted to wait until the actual date Joan of Arc died on. It's a rather short one-shot and it's supposed to be a little bit of FrUK.

Francis concentrated on the lilies, trying to make them stand well in the glass vase he had brought. He wondered how long they would last in the water. Hopefully it would be a few days before they withered. Finally, he had them just right and he pushed them away from him, trying to stop himself from fiddling with them any further. He placed his hands on the altar and sighed before he looked up.

Her effigy looked down at him and he smiled softly. "J'espère que vous allez aimer ces derniers. Dormez bien, ma chère Jeanne." Her stony face stared blankly back at him. Finally, he nodded and turned away, making his way from the building. At the door, he spotted a familiar head of hair out of the corner of his eye and he stopped. Blinking to make sure he wasn't seeing things, he looked round.

Arthur was indeed standing there, his hands behind his back, a determined expression on his face. "Arthur?" said Francis, frowning a little. What on Earth did he want on this day?

"It's- Ah- Yes- Er... Hello, Francis. H-Have you been well?" The smaller man was blushing slightly and not meeting his gaze.

"J'ai été bien, merci. What are you doing here?"

"Um, well..." Arthur glanced at a group of passers-by who were clearly American from the way they were talking so loudly. They entered the building with smiles on their faces and cameras in their hands. "Well... It's... It's that day... And, well... You told me once that her favourite flowers were roses..." From behind him, he pulled a bouquet of the red flowers. "I just thought you would want to give her some... So I brought my best roses. For her, you understand. It's... Well, my people..." He trailed off and stopped, finally glancing at Francis.

The Frenchman smiled kindly down at him as he gently took them. "Merci beaucoup, Arthur. This means a lot. Will you come in?"

"Ah, no. I-I was just going to wait here..." He rubbed his arm nervously and looked away, gazing at the café across the street.

"I really think that you should come in, cher. She would want you to, I am sure."

He looked up at Francis, a nervous and guilty expression on his face. However, he nodded and followed Francis as he re-entered the memorial site. They walked in silence to the altar and Francis handed Arthur the roses when they reached it. The Englishman looked up at Jeanne's face before bowing his head. He placed the bouquet gently on the altar and stepped back. Francis waited until he had stepped out of the way before pulling the vase towards him. With delicate hands, he started to place the roses among the lilies.

It was as he picked up the last rose that he faltered and dropped it. He blinked in surprise when he felt someone beside him. Arthur straightened up with the flower and held it out to Francis. He smiled slightly and shook his head before taking Arthur's hands in his to guide him to the vase. Understanding, Arthur put the last rose in and stepped back once again. He bowed his head and whispered, "Sorry." It echoed slightly in the still room.

Back outside, Francis turned to Arthur. "What are you going to do now?"

"Well... I thought you could use the company. Not that I care about you or anything. I just happen to have nothing to do today and the meeting's in Paris tomorrow."

Francis chuckled. "Well, shall we sit in that café for a little while. J'adore looking at the building as I eat French cuisine."

"Really?" asked Arthur, concern and suspicion in his eyes.

"Vraiment," said Francis with another smile.

They crossed the street and sat at one of the tables outside. It was a busy café with couples and families and tourists. The loudest table were the Americans from before. Arthur kept shooting them glares as they waited on their coffee and tea. When it finally arrived, Arthur sipped his with a sigh. He poked at his crêpe.

"It is not poison, Arthur. You can eat French food and live."

"I know," Arthur mumbled. He looked up at Francis and seemed to scrutinise him. Francis glanced at a lone girl who was staring at them. She blushed and glanced away. Francis looked back to Arthur who had watched all this with a puzzled look.

"What is it?" asked Francis, finally, growing uncomfortable under the intense stare.

"Are you all right?" asked Arthur with a worried look.

"Oui. Why would I not be?" Arthur flashed him a look which suggested that they both new exactly why. Francis decided to open up to him. "Did you know, Arthur, that I believe in reincarnation?"

"No. That has never come up in any conversation." He looked as though he wanted to add something with scorn but he refrained.

Francis continued, "Well, I believe and hope that people whose lives in history were unhappy, will reincarnate and live a happy and good life." He paused and glanced across the street, the mug of coffee at his lips. "I saw her, Arthur."

"Saw who?" asked Arthur, frowning.

"She was called Lisa. Of course, she did not know who I was. She was a tourist. She looked exactly the same."

Arthur's eyebrows were still knitted together. "Do you mean... She looked like Joan?"

"Oui."

"And you think that it was a reincarnation?"

"I know it was," said Francis firmly.

His green eyes looked back at him for a moment before Arthur nodded. "Well. That's good. So you're not as... upset... because of that?"

"Oui." He smiled again. Arthur closed his eyes and took a sip of tea. Francis took a piece of his own crêpe.

"I..." Arthur began, setting down his teacup. He was staring avidly at the liquid within and Francis tilted his head, curious. "I just want to... apologise... for-"

"Arrêtez-vous là, Arthur. You do not need to apologise for anything. It is not your fault."

"But-"

"Arthur. It is not your fault. I do not blame you."

For a moment there was silence as Arthur took a mouthful of food. He chewed thoughtfully, staring at the plate. Francis watched him. Suddenly, his brilliant eyes rose and gazed at him. "You... don't blame yourself, do you?"

He shook his head. "Non. We cannot control the actions of humans. And we cannot go against them."

"You used to blame me and yourself, didn't you?"

"I regretted that I could not save her. Mais..." Francis raised his eyes to the sky. "I know that she is living a better life now. Et she has been made a saint."

"Yes," said Arthur, smiling a little. "She was a very determined girl. And a skilled fighter."

"Oui!" said Francis with a grin. "She certainly managed to stop you!"

Arthur's smile faltered for a moment before his smile widened a little. "Yes. She did." He picked up the fork and poked at the plate again. "I still feel-"

"Non, Arthur. I assure you, it is not your fault. You tried to stop them."

"For my own reasons."

Francis sighed and reached across the table. He looked up at Arthur as he gasped in surprise; he kept the Brit's hand in his own. "Stop this. There is nothing we can do about it now."

After he had extricated his hand, Arthur sighed and nodded. "I suppose you're right." There was a pause as he lifted his teacup. "What are you going to do for the rest of the day? I mean, I have some time and nothing to do so..." He trailed off and looked at Francis who smiled in relief – he had stopped blaming either of them when he had met Lisa. Although, on this date, he would always feel guilty that he could not do anything. He was reassured that the blame game had been stopped with Arthur's acceptance of his innocence.

"I was not going to be doing anything in particular, cher. I could drive you to Paris, though. We could have dinner in a good French restaurant, if you would like to dine with moi."

Arthur poked at his food again before looking up with a mischievous smile. "As long as we can go drinking afterwards," he demanded. Francis chuckled and nodded.

As they ate dinner and discussed topics which would be coming up in the next day's meeting, Arthur watched Francis carefully. On the outside, he seemed as happy as normal. He seemed to be at peace. However, Arthur was noticing slight differences in his demeanour.

For instance, when the pretty waitress came over to their table, he barely paid attention to her. He stared at the menu and read off what he wanted. After he had done so, he looked up at Arthur and watched him as he read off, with a little more difficulty, his own order.

At a table near theirs, Arthur noticed a beautiful couple, their clothes of the highest fashion. They seemed to be in love, gazing at each other and hardly watching their plates. However, Francis paid no heed and did not comment on the beauty of love as he normally did. In fact, when the man proposed, he barely applauded with the rest of the restaurant.

He may have forgiven them, he may be happy that she had been "reincarnated", but he was still upset on the anniversary of such a horrible day.

Thus, Arthur took extra care not to snap at him, restraining his temper as much as possible. He ignored any mild insults sent his way. He laughed off the slights to his cooking. He patiently listened to his French stories. He didn't complain when Francis spoke to him in French. However, it was when he responded in French that Francis stopped and looked at him curiously. He stared back before glancing down at his plate. "What is it?" he asked.

"You do not need to treat me as if I am about to break, mon cher."

"I know," said Arthur, feeling his cheeks heat up. "But, today, I am determined to be a gentleman to you. Tomorrow it will definitely be business as usual."

Francis chuckled and his smile made Arthur feel much better about his decision. Arguing with him would probably have made the Frenchman more upset.

Arthur opened the door to Francis' house for him – for once, Arthur was more sober than he was. Perhaps he shouldn't have suggested the cocktails. He pulled Francis through the door and gently let him sit down on the floor. He staggered a little before steadying himself and turning back to close and lock the door. He helped Francis to his feet again and pulled him further into his house. For a moment, he paused at the door to the living room before hauling him up the stairs to his room. Once there, he let him drop onto the soft, huge bed and sat down beside him, breathing heavily and feeling a little dizzy.

"Arthur..." mumbled Francis.

"Hey, you should go to sleep," said Arthur without looking round.

"Arthur. C'était un très triste jour."

Confused, Arthur looked at him to find tears running down Francis' cheeks. Alarmed, he helped him sit up and held him there by his shoulders. It was not often that he saw his so-called rival cry. "Do you mean today?" he asked, not sober nor drunk enough for French.

It took a few minutes for Francis to translate. "Non. Ce jour-là. Il ya des années. Ce fut une journée horrible."

"I know. I know," muttered Arthur, patting his shoulder.

"Je- J'étais là quand- C'était horrible..."

Feeling him trembling, Arthur focussed on his face. Tears were trickling silently down and he looked very miserable. He hesitated for a moment before pulling him into a hug. Rubbing his back, Arthur made soothing noises. "It's okay. It's okay. She's in a better place now. Remember? You told me she's living somewhere, happy."

"Ou- Oui..." mumbled Francis into his shoulder.

"Come along now. It's time for you to sleep. Lie down." But getting Francis to lie down was harder than he had anticipated: the Frenchman refused to let go of his neck. In the end, he had to lie down and hold onto him as he had done with Alfred when he was too scared to sleep on his own. He rubbed Francis' back until he fell asleep. Sighing with relief, he rolled over to leave.

Francis' hands tightened around him and pulled him closer. He froze, annoyed and confused. Now Arthur had his back to Francis and was lying beside him. If he removed the hands, would Francis wake up? He sighed and closed his eyes, trying to think of a way to get out of the embrace. Although... His eyelids felt rather heavy. Maybe if he rested for a moment, he would be able to think of a way out...?

"Hey, stupid Frog! Get the hell out of your bed! We have a meeting to go to!"

The harsh words and raised voice hurt Francis' head and he winced. Who was shouting at him? What had he done last night? The last thing he remembered was drinking with Arthur...

His eyes snapped open and he groaned, sitting up. "Merde," he croaked, squinting around the room. His bed clothes were messy but the rest of the room remained intact. He seemed to still be in the suit he had been wearing the day before. Beside him, laid carefully on the bedside cabinet was a tray which carried a glass of water, a box of painkillers and a plate with some croissants and condiments. Sluggishly, he took the pills before nibbling at the food. Arthur was nowhere in sight.

Just as he was considering getting up, the door was thrown open by an irate Brit. "Listen Frog, if I'm late because I'm waiting for your stupid, cheese-eating ass, I'll pound your head against a wall! Hurry it up! We've only got an hour!" And, with that, he swept from the room, grumbling to himself.

Francis stared after him for a moment before chuckling. It turned out Arthur wasn't all that bad.

It's not that great of a story, sorry. Most of it is them just arguing about who should take the blame. But I reckoned that Francis wouldn't blame Arthur so much - after all, Arthur always goes on about fairies and magic, so why would he sanction Joan of Arc being tried as a witch. And that's why I put in a bit about him trying to stop them - Arthur was trying to stop them from burning witches. Obviously, it didn't work. And I also had this notion that it was their bosses and the religious people who were the ones to decide Joan's fate more than the nations.

I also read something that said she was sold out by some French people to the English so they get some of the blame, too.

Except this is supposed to be a story where they stop blaming so, you know, no blaming.

I also thought that, after meeting Lisa, the reincarnation of Joan, Francis would be more at peace. However, I thought he'd still be a bit sad on the anniversary which is why he's a little disinterested in his surroundings. And the reason he let himself get drunk. Arthur is drunk, but he managed to stop himself from drinking so much because Francis had gotten drunk by the time he managed to get tipsy. Francis was drinking a lot more and quicker because he decided to let himself get drunk. When Arthur realised that, he drank less.

J'espère que vous allez aimer ces derniers. Dormez bien, ma chère Jeanne. = I hope you will like these. Sleep well, my dear Joan.

Arrêtez-vous là, Arthur. = You stop there, Arthur.

C'était un très triste jour. = It was a very sad day.

Ce jour-là. Il ya des années. Ce fut une journée horrible. = That day. Years ago. It was a horrible day.

J'étais là quand- C'était horrible = I was there when- It was horrible. - This is Francis saying he was watching her burn. Inspired by a picture I've seen which is split in two and had Joan on the stake and, below that, Francis watching in the wind.

I think that's all I have to say. I just thought it would be a sweet idea if the 30th of May was the one day Francis and Arthur didn't argue. I may do another one-shot where Francis comforts Arthur on a day he finds difficult, too. But it'll be another one-shot so you'd have to follow me or come back or whatever.

Ah! I'm sorry about the title. I thought: Holy = Saint Joan; Kindness = from Arthur; and then I added his name. So, now it sounds like a Batman thing. O.o And it's not supposed to be like that at all! :(