France sat among his many advisers. It was the 15th century and the country was war torn. The Hundred Years war had been going on for a very long time and the hatred towards England ran deep.
"That stupid English bastard! What are we supposed to do?" he asked getting fed up with all the complaining and no answers.
France was rubbing his temples in frustration when a humble young message boy walked in.
"What is it, little boy." France asked.
"There is a woman at the door, Lord France, she requests a meeting." he said standing straight and tall.
"What is it that she wants?" France asked.
"Monsieur, I apologize, but all she said is that in the name of God, she wanted an audience with you." he said.
The advisors whispered amongst themselves. A woman requesting an audience with France? Who did she think she was, some sort of holy priest with the audacity to claim that she had God on her side?
France mulled it over a few minutes, "Send the mademoiselle in."
"My Lord, are you sure this is a good idea?" one of his advisers asked.
"Are you questioning my authority?" France asked.
"No, my lord, not at all."
The message boy left quickly and in no time flat, he returned with a blonde woman with short hair cut to resemble a boys. The entire congregation of advisers laughed at her sight, but France said nothing. He just watched her walk in and then stood. The advisers quieted down.
"Bonjour, Mademoiselle." France said, "What brings you here today?"
"I come in the name of God, my Lord. The voices of the saints have sounded in my head and I can help you end this war." the woman said confidently.
All the advisers burst in to deep chortles all aimed at the girl before them with such a nerve. France gave them all the eye.
"Mademoiselle, is there a name that I may call you?" he asked seriously.
"Oui, Monsieur, Jeanne d'Arc" she said.
France smiled.
~~~
France believed Jeanne d'Arc. He trusted her and made her head of his army. She actually fought valiantly, she was brave, strong, and righteous. She never shunned from a fight and always took the soldiers into account. Before long, he found himself falling in love with her. The way she would smile whilst singing hymns in church, or the way she'd smile softly at France while walking by, he felt his heart melting for her.
One day, it was right before a major battle, no one knew how it would all turn out and, frankly, everyone was afraid, but not Jeanne d'Arc.
France ran around trying to get the already exhausted troops ready for battle. "Everyone, get ready for battle! We fight soon!"
Jeanne d'Arc heard of this and walked up and shook her head, "Non, these troops do not go out to battle before going into confession."
He turned around and looked at her, "Surely you are joking, there is no time for confession, if we do not leave now, they will escape us!"
"I do not care about losing the other army. These men need to go to confession before battle. What if they fall in battle. If they die before going to confession, there soul is lost. Do you not care about the spiritual well being of your people? I thought you were a better than that." she said very strongly with no show of fear for telling of her boss, as far as she was concerned, her boss was God.
France stopped what he was doing and looked at Jeanne. At first he was shocked at her outright defiance, it showed in his eyes, but then his expression softened when he saw that strong confidence and surety that he had come to love in her eyes, he nodded.
"You are right, mademoiselle." he said softly. Then he turned to the troops, "Forget what I just said. All men are to go to confession, it is under both my orders and the orders of Jeanne d'Arc."
Jeanne smiled softly as the men all put what they were doing down and headed for the church. Soon, it was just her and France.
"Thank You, France." she said sincerely.
France turned to face her, and smiled at her, "It was nothing mademoiselle, I should thank you for helping me see what was really important."
France walked over closer to her, lifted her hand and kissed it gently.
"We can get those sneaky English Bastards another day, no?"
Jeanne d'Arc smiled, "Oui."
~~~
It was night, another time, and all the troops were sound asleep. They had all gone to confession; they were prepared for the battle the next day against the English. However, France couldn't seem to find rest, he was anxious for the battle's coming. After yet another hour of not being able to fall asleep, he got up and left his tent for some fresh air. He looked around and saw someone off in the nearby field, they looked to be on their knees. France walked closer and discovered it to be Jeanne d'Arc. She was praying underneath the stars and France couldn't help but notice how beautiful she looked in the moonlight.
He just stood there watching her, and he was so wrapped up in the way she looked when she knelt down that he didn't notice her utter the words "Amen."
Jeanne turned around and saw him there and blushed, "France! How long have you been standing there?"
France looked down in embarrassment, "I guess for a while."
Jeanne d'Arc looked down, "Did you hear my prayer?" she asked.
France shook his head, "No I did not."
He walked over a few more feet to cross the gap between them and sat down in the grass besides her.
"It was about you, France" she admitted.
"Me? Pourquoi?" he asked.
"I am worried, France, I am worried about you." she said.
"Pourquoi, mademoiselle?" he asked.
"What if I am not able to save you? What if I fail and the English win. What would happen to you?" she asked with genuine concern, "God has unlimited power, but I am only a woman, what if because I cannot defeat the English you disappear?"
"Shhh, mademoiselle." France said softly putting a finger to her lips, "You do not need to worry. I have full faith in you. I couldn't choose some one I trusted more with my well being than you."
"But, France, I don't want anything to happen to you, what if-" she said but was cut off by France.
"Do not worry Jeanne, I know you can do this. I trust you." he said seriously looking into her eyes.
"France….Je t'aime." she said.
France smiled and kissed her tenderly in the moonlight, "Je t'aime, aussi."
"I promise, France, I would die before letting England win this war." Jeanne d'Arc said.
France sighed and kissed her forehead, "I know, that is what worries me."
Jeanne leaned against France and looked up into the stars, "You don't need to worry, France." she said.
"Why?"
"Because, even if I don't make it to see another night like this, I will always be with you, in your heart." she said.
"Don't go tomorrow, to war, please." France begged.
"I cannot promise that mon amour." she said softly.
"Por quoi?" he asked in a sad tone.
"It is my destiny, France, God wants me to fight. But I will do everything I can to protect you France." she said confidently, "Even if that means my death."
France pushed some loose hairs from her eyes and let his hand rest on her cheek, "Je t'aime, Jeanne." he whispered and pulled her face to his for a kiss.
Jeanne d'Arc didn't resist, instead she wrapped her arms around France's neck and welcomed the kiss as if it was what she had been wanting for a very long time. France kissed her with all the love a country like him could muster. He put his hand on the small of her back, the other cupped her face softly, cradling it. They kissed each other passionately in the moonlight, for they were afraid they would never be able to be like this again.
~~~
The next day, the battle went without flaw. The victory fell to the French. The king of France, and France was so pleased with Jeanne d'Arc for being so amazing in the war. She was knighted in the court of France, and France smiled the whole ceremony.
That night, France walked out of his room, he wanted to talk to Jeanne, after the ceremony, he didn't get the chance. He walked silently down the halls, trying to move undetected. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, he could not wait until he reached the second to last door on the right. Every step he counted, they each meant one step closer to seeing his beloved. Finally he was standing just outside her door. He knocked softly.
"Jeanne?" he called softly, putting his lips close to the door.
There was a sound inside, it sounded like a startled sound and then a crash. It made France jump.
"Jeanne! Are you alright?!" he asked as he let himself into the room.
Jeanne d'Arc was lying on the floor, holding her toe. She was wearing nothing but a night dress that had been unbuttoned slightly because of the heat of that night. She was blushing furiously and looked over at France, she looked down, blushed even deeper and stuttered.
"O-O-Oh, B-Bonjour, M-monsieur," Jeanne said quietly, "H-How are you doing this fine evening?"
France chuckled and bent down. He scooped up the blushing Jeanne d'Arc and set her on her bed.
"Are you alright, Jeanne?" he asked, with much care in his voice.
"Oui, monsieur, just a little bump," she said, hiding her foot under her nightgown.
"Can I see then?" France asked, offering Jeanne a hand.
She reluctantly gave him her foot. It was very small and soft, without blister, which was surprising considering her career on the battle field. Her toenail was already beginning to turn blue. France carefully ran his finger over it and Jeanne flinched.
"Jeanne, you've broken your toe," France said softly, he looked up with sad eyes, "This is my fault, Je suis désolé." ((*I'm Sorry))
"Non, Francis, it is my own fault, do not blame yourself, I am glad you came to see me," she assured him.
France smiled and brushed a bit of blonde hair from Jeanne's face, "You've never called me by my first name before," he noticed.
Jeanne blushed and looked down, "I'm sorry, do you prefer monsieur?" she asked
France shook his head, "No, please call me Francis more often, I like the way you say it."
Jeanne smiled softly and looked up, "It is a beautiful name."
"No where near as beautiful as you though…" France said softly.
Jeanne looked up at him again and the dim candle light made Jeanne's eyes show like sapphires. France, the country of love, couldn't resist but to lean in softly and kiss her gently. Jeanne kissed him back, her lips softer than downy feathers, and warmer than fresh baguettes.
The candle slowly went out seemingly on it's own as France and Jeanne d'Arc fell onto the bed…
~~~
The war wasn't over though. Time passed and Jeanne lead more men into battle, fighting with God on her side. Sometimes, France would join her in combat, other times he was withheld by his boss, the King. France was obedient every time he was withheld, giving Jeanne a secret kiss and a "Be safe, mon amour". But Early Spring of 1430, France was so wrapped up in work he wasn't able to come down to see his love off.
"I'll give her an extra-tight hug when she get's back." France decided, working on a load of official documents.
Though her promised time to return came... and passed... Jeanne was nowhere to be seen. France slowly began to worry about what had become of her, but every day that she didn't return, he came up with a different reason to rationalize her delay. Her horses were tired and needed to rest. Her men were being slow and lazy and are keeping her. They came to a river too deep and had to find a way around it. But as the days went on... the excuses became weaker and weaker. Until a lowly servant came to the castle, shaking terribly and on the verge of tears.
~~~
"Dammit! Sir! That's not good enough!" France exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the table where his king sat, eating a large dinner.
"I told you, France. I tried three times. They won't accept any ransom money. I tried everything I could. It's no use." the king said, frustrated that his dinner was being interrupted.
"Send in troops then! March into England and take her back!" France shouted.
"We don't have nearly the man power to pull off something that suicidal!" the king exclaimed.
"Then let me go!"
"NO!" this time, the king roared, making all of his servants flinch, "Jeanne d'Arc is gone. This is the end of the discussion. Now leave my presence! Don't return until you've learned respect!"
France gritted his teeth, "Oui, sir..." and turned and walked out.
~~~
Eight times France tried to escape. Eight times France tried to seize a horse and ride to save Jeanne from the clutches of the British. Seven times France failed miserably and was dragged to his room and kept there for an entire month. The Eighth time... France succeeded.
He rode day and night, never stopping, only to change horses. Until finally he reached the coast. Boatmen tried to deny giving France a ride to the English coast, but then he showed how much he was willing to pay.
~~~
France finally made it to England. He was dirty, weary, and hungry, but he didn't care, not in the least. He was so close to freeing his love. He could almost feel her lips on his again. Through eavesdropping and asking around at shady pubs (making sure to hide his accent), France was able to determine the city where she was. He snuck in.
Letting his feet tap on the cobblestones, France looked around, the hood on his cloak down firmly. To some he may have seemed suspicious, but the weather was still very cold, despite the fast approach of June. Usually choosing to keep his head down, France only took small peeks up. The town seemed empty. As is a majority of it's people were gone.
Confused, France continued on, walking down ally ways, and usually crowded streets. After three hours of fruitless searching, something crunched under France's foot: a poster. He picked it up and let his eyes scan over the contents of the page. He ran, leaving the Poster to fall, fluttering, to the ground once again.
"Hear ye all! Today we celebrate
the down-fall of evil! Watch the
burning of the French whore and
heretic Joan of Arc
Midday at the square"
France ran, his legs burning and his lungs screaming for more air. He didn't care. The sun...it was so high in the sky. How close had they come to midday? Why hadn't he noticed sooner? That's why the streets were bare.
He could hear people, angry people. They were shouting all at once, and it was incoherent. Few phrases could be picked out, "Burn the whore!" "Kill her!" " "Roast her alive!" The shouting grew louder and louder.
Soon after the shouting came the smell... fire. France shouted to the sky and ran his very fastest. He nearly tripped when he finally broke the houses and reached the large crowd.
Jeanne was standing, dressed in rags, tied to a pole. The flames were beginning beneath her.
"No!" France shouted, "Jeanne!" He shoved and pushed. They were all in his way, he needed to reach Jeanne.
The flames began to lick her feet, and she held back her screams.
"A cross!" she called, "Bring me a cross!"
One was raised to her face, no one seemed to know who. But the sight of the makeshift cross seemed to calm her, but the flames only continued to grow.
Her screams of anguish soon filled the air, ripping France's soul apart. He couldn't make it through the crowd fast enough! Jeanne! She was suffering!
Now she was shouting the names of her lord Jesus Christ, and all the names of the saints. She repeated them over and over.
France broke through the crowd. "JEANNE!" he shouted.
Jeanne d'Arc, whose face wore a look of composure and bravery looked down at the dirty, panicked man who stood beneath.
"...Francis..." a ghost of a smile dusted her lips as she made eye-contact. Then, her head drooped over... and it was all over.
"JEANNE!"
~~~
May 30th, 2013, France walked down to a little grave, set in a little cemetery away from everything. In his hand he held a bouquet of the most beautiful red roses that he could find. Quietly he laid them on the grave and sat down.
"I'm sorry it's been a while since I've visited." He said softly, leaning his back against the tombstone, "I've been rather busy with work."
He sat there for three hours. Talking about his life as it had been at that moment in time. He smiled softly, running his hand over the rough stone, it was cracked in some places, and a whole chunk had gone missing.
"How are things for you?" he asked softly, a few tears slipping from his eyes. He stared at the ground where a single white tulip grew.
582 years previous, France had stolen a charred finger from the blackened remains of Jeanne d'Arc. That same day she was burnt twice more and cast into the river. But France was able to recover this little piece of her. He took it to a small cemetery on the countryside where Jeanne had called home and buried it, the grave was marked with two little letters "J. A."
As France stood to leave, he turned once more to the grave. "Je t'aime, Jeanne... forever."
France left the hill, and in his wake, the wind carried a single response, a woman's voice, faint yet strong, "Je t'aime..."