He can't look at her, he can't. It would mean that this is real. That she is moments away from death and there's nothing he can do to stop it. At first he was ashamed at being laughed at. After all she was a woman, it's not a woman's job to fight. But…it was her destiny to save him and his people.

"Where are your angels now?" Someone calls out from the mass crowd forming around them.

"It wasn't God but the Devil."

"Godless woman." Another man taunts as a few laugh around him.

"She must be. She dresses in man's clothing."

Their words stung him more than they ever could her. She had made peace with God and both of them know it but it wasn't making it any easier for him. "Jean…." France softly says pulling his disguise closer around his body hoping that it will somehow make him invisible. "God don't let her die like this…let her die in battle…not as a witch." Slowly as the flames start to dance above him the nation has no other choice but to look up at the woman he dared to call friend.

Their eyes lock for what feels like hours. France's prayers go unanswered as he watches the light drain from her pained eyes. "No…" It's all that will come out as he forces the tears away but soon it becomes too much for the nation as he finally breaks down.

A young woman next to him looks over with concern, "What is it Father?"

Tears flow freely down his face as he takes a step back, "We have killed a Saint….My God we have killed a Saint."

The young woman lets out a small gasp as a few turn to stare at the blonde haired priest and his outcries. "But Father she's a heretic. She wears men's clothing."

It was true but that didn't make her a heretic. He knew exactly why she wore pants and belts. "T-That is true child but….excuse me." Quickly he turns on his heels as he darts from the crackling fire. His footsteps quicken as he starts to run.

He doesn't stop until he reaches a small side street. Panting he falls to his knees half in prayer and half cursing the people around him. His shoulders shake violently as another man joins him, "You know I wore that same disguise when I was a child."

"Bastard…"

"Oh come off of it. I won this round and your great hero is burning on her sake."

Instantly France's head whips around, "Won? No one has won. Arthur you tried a woman that was innocent of all her crimes."

"She wore-"

"So your men would not rape her." France interrupts as he slowly stands. "Than your men dare to rip off her dress so she could only wear the garments I brought her." His hands ball into fists as he glares wickedly at the shorter nation. "My only saving grace is that that woman will go to Heaven a virgin…It's the only thing I could do for her in the end…" The last part is whispered quietly but England hears every word.

"Then may God have mercy on her soul."

"No…May God have mercy on your soul, Arthur." France slowly removes his brown hood as he slowly walks away. "She might not have been able to say she had God's grace…but anyone with eyes knows the answer…at least it was clear to me."

"Then why would he let her die?" England shouts out as France refuses to look back, "Francis. Francis!" He cries out before looking back at the ashes lying where the woman once stood as the crowd slowly disappears. The thought inching its way into his mind, "If she was in his Grace…and could hear the angels…" He slowly looks up at the sky above, "Than what have I done?"