France x Jeanne d'Arc doesn't get enough love. This is my first fanfic focusing on a pairing though, so please forgive me. If I make any mistakes, please point them out. If it's about historical accuracy, though, I did my research on this, and then dutifully ignored it. The weapons and stuff are all accurate though.
I do not own Hetalia: Axis Powers, which should be obvious.
Jeanne trailed her fingers across the cold stone walls of the castle hall. She was lost, though she hated to admit it. The nice attendant had assured her the lavatory was just down the hall...
Rounding a corner, she gasped and almost fell over as she ran into a man coming from the opposite direction. Luckily, he caught her shoulders and pulled her upright.
"Ohonhonhon! What do we have here?" The stranger grasped her chin and turned her face this way and that.
Jeanne pushed herself away, blushing furiously. "Excuse me, monsieur, but I must be going..."
"Are you lost, my dear?" the man asked, unabashed. He leaned close, so close that Jeanne could feel his warm breath on her cheek. "I never turn down a chance to help a lady in distress."
Jeanne brought her knee up, straight into the perverts groin. His expression turned to that of horror, and he fell over, clutching at himself.
That was the first time Jeanne d'Arc met her country.
"Jeanne! You must dance!" The king clapped his hands together.
"Sire, surely you want me to go soon?" Jeanne pleaded. The king flapped his hand at her, waving her off. "Soon enough, but you must meet your army, non?"
"My army? But surely, the soldiers would not be here?"
"Of course not!" The king laughed. "Only the important ones, generals and such. Oh, you simply must dance the leader of the army, a charming ma-"
"With all due respect," Jeanne interrupted, "I thought I was the leader of the army."
"Former leader, then." His eyes flashed in anger. "Really Jeanne, you must listen! Now go, dance!"
"But-"
"No buts!"
Jeanne sighed in resignation. "Where is this man?" she asked dutifully.
"Oh, I'm sure he'll find you. You are very pretty,after all."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Jeanne exclaimed, but the king was already gone, whisked away in the crowd of dancing partners.
She whirled around as someone whispered in her ear. "King Charles is right, my dear." The stranger managed to dodge her slap and grasp her wrist, pulling her close to his chest.
"Very feisty!" He laughed. "I think I will enjoy this dance." He slid an arm around her waist, and Jeanne shuddered as his prying fingers grasped her side.
"What is your name, lovely lady?" he asked, spinning her around to match the dance being performed by countless lovers in the hall.
"Jeanne," she answered through gritted teeth, trying to concentrate on dancing correctly, though extra effort was made to stamp on the man's feet.
"Beautiful," he whispered, leaning in closer to her face. Jeanne became uncomfortably aware of how much taller he was than her.
"And what is yours?"
"Francis Bonnefoy!" he grinned. "At least, that's what my friends call me."
"Good faith*..." Jeanne muttered. "It doesn't suit you."
Francis burst into laughter again, but not his strange Ohonhonhon. It was genuine, and way too loud. Curious faces stared at them. Jeanne flushed furiously and looked away.
"Don't be embarrassed, my darling. They are as enraptured by your beauty as I."
"They're staring at you, fool," Jeanne whispered, mortified.
Francis sighed, as if this was some hard trial in life he just had to endure. "Yes, I suppose I am rather beautiful as well."
"What! No, that's not -" Jeanne stopped when she saw that Francis was grinning.
"So what brings you here to the French court?" he asked.
Jeanne refused to answer, instead concentrating on her feet. She stepped on Francis' toe, and he winced slightly.
"I'm about to be sent off to war, you know," he started after a minute of stubborn silence. "Do you want to give a weary soldier some luck?"
Slapping him would probably upset her balance and send them both tumbling to the floor, while kneeing him again would probably cause some sort of scandal.
"No. I will not be making anyone get lucky, ever," she hissed.
Francis' eyes widened in what seemed to be genuine horror. "What, never?"
"Yes, never." She glared at him. "I have some shred of dignity left, unlike you -"
"Don't worry, my dear, you have simply not met the right man yet," he consoled, though he seemed to be reassuring himself as much as her.
Jeanne looked up at him seriously. "I have found the man I love. God."
"But surely he gave us flesh for something!" Francis smiled and twirled her around.
Jeanne fought for balance, only remaining upright because of Francis' way too personal touches. "Oui, to serve him, not to indulge ourselves in sins."
"Surely love is not a sin," he protested.
"I suspect your sort of love is one."
Francis smiled. "I am simply a man who wants to spread love around the world. I must be generous, as I have so much of it to give."
Jeanne raised an eyebrow. "One-night stands do not leave a trail of love."
Francis pouted. "You do not even know me."
"But I know your type," Jeanne said as France lead her in some sort of complicated twisting move. "I am not ignorant to the ways of the world."
"I never suggested you were, my dear. Though you do not seem to be from royalty." He left the question hanging.
"I come from a small village in the French countryside. You would probably not know of it."
"I assure you I will. I pride myself in knowing even the most obscure of towns."
"Domremy," she whispered, seeing he would not give in.
Francis nodded. "Part of the duchy of Bar, am I correct?" Jeanne nodded, surprised.
The song ended, and they stopped dancing. Jeanne hadn't realized how much time had already passed. In fact, the sky had been bright when the celebrations had started, and now it was twilight. In fact, many couples had already retired.
Jeanne started as a hand slapped her heartily on the back. She turned to see King Charles laughing at their startled expressions.
"I see you'll get along just fine. Didn't have any worries, of course. There's no lady," he coughed a little and went on, "no woman that Francis can't charm! Isn't that right?"
Francis smiled weakly. "That's right, sir."
King Charles chuckled. "You're the talk of the court! You've been dancing all night!" The king winked at Francis. "But you gotta stay pure girl! Don't wanna get on His bad side, hmm?"
"Excuse me sir , I don't think I -"
Charles frowned. "Haven't I told you? By God, I haven't! Francis, meet your new commander!"
"What?" Francis exclaimed. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.
"She guided by the saints." King Charles beamed. "Isn't that right, Jeanne?"
Jeanne smiled and bowed her head slightly. "Yes, sire. We will lead France to victory."
"You're not leading me anywhere!" Francis protested.
"I said France not Francis, you dimwit. I don't want to lead you anywhere," Jeanne spat back.
King Charles looked at them and backed away. "Lovers' quarrels...
"We are not in love!" Francis shouted.
"Don't shout at your king!"
"He deserves it! Spoiled little noble. Just cause he's my boss doesn't mean he can boss me around." He stopped and considered the logic of this. "I'm older than him!" he shouted to empty air, and stormed after the retreating king.
Jeanne watched him go. "He's going to get himself executed," she muttered. Not that she cared, except the care she had for everyone. Perhaps she could make an exception for him though.
Francis grabbed King Charles' shoulder, spinning him around.
"What do you mean by this? Why are you putting a woman in charge?" he demanded.
Charles blinked owlishly at him. "She is guided by God. We had her tested by the priests and everything."
Francis pouted. "That doesn't mean she can be put in charge of my army!"
"She says she can lead us to victory." Charles sighed. "We're not doing so well, Francis. You know this."
Francis nodded. He knew it all to well. But alas, aspirin had not yet been invented, and he would just have to endure the pain. Damn that England, with his annoying eyebrows and his disgraceful cooking.
"She's our last resort, isn't she?" Francis stated dully. He had known, of course, that his government was weak, but surely...?
King Charles nodded. "I'm afraid so. The English are pushing in." He froze, realizing what he had said. But no perverted chuckle came from his country. Francis was simply staring at Jeanne. Our only hope...
Arthur strolled through the continent, marveling at how different it felt compared to his island. He felt stronger, somehow. More connected to the rest of the world. To add the the feeling of euphoria, he was beating up Francis, something that never failed to make him happy. Soon that damn frog would be eating his food – not that should be considered a form of torture, despite what Francis insisted. His cooking was delicious, thank you very much!
Perhaps, he could go and see what the frog was doing, while was here...
"Frappaz fort! **" Yes, that was Francis alright. He should have expected that he would be talking in that revolting language.
"J'essaie! **" Now, that wasn't Francis. Who was he with? Arthur peeked through the bushes he was hiding behind. Not that he needed to hide, he just didn't want to be raped.
"Ce n'est pas si difficile que ça! Regardez!**" Francis was standing next to a young blond woman with a crossbow, shouting at her. He was waving his arms vigorously, pointing at the lady, and at a target a few paces away. Broken arrows littered the ground around it.
"Tais-toi! Vous avez fait cela beaucoup plus longtemps que moi!**" Arthur smiled. He knew enough French to translate a little of that. Though he didn't like to admit he knew any French, Francis refusing to speak any other language rubbed off, and he knew 'shut up' when he heard it.
"L'arbalète est l'un des plus faciles à manipuler des armes! Ici,permettez-moi devous montrer!**" Francis wrapped his arms around the lady, apparently trying to moving her hands to the correct places on the crossbow. Arthur had to admire his lack of molesting her. For now.
"Obtenez vos mains sales sur moi!"** The woman pushed Francis off her. Arthur raised an eyebrow. She was resisting Francis' advances...Arthur burst out laughing.
"Get your filthy hands off me!" Jeanne shouted, pushing Francis away from her. "Why are you trying to teach me this anyway? I thought you hated me!"
"I don't deny it. I just don't want the person in charge of me...and my army to go around dying and making bad choices!"
"I am lead by God." Jeanne drew herself up. "He will deflect any arrows coming upon my path, and guide my decisions regarding 'your' army."
Francis narrowed his eyes. "That's all very well, into the English longsword decapitates you. And God can not take sides."
"He will take the side of those who are right." Jeanne glared.
"The English think God is on their side too."
"The English are wrong."
Their arguing was interrupted by laughter from the bushes surrounding the field they were practicing in.
Francis was instantly alert. "I know that laugh..." he muttered under his breath. Then his eye's widened and started sprinting towards the offending bushes.
"Arthur!" he shouted as a man lept up from behind the shrubs and started running away through the trees. (Not because he was scared though. He could never be scared of that damn frog.)
Jeanne watched them run in mild amusement, though it changed to confusion when Francis started yelling at the stranger in what sounded like...English?
"Ic beon fierdfaereld to abradwian unc!**"
"Ne sum hliet!" the stranger shouted back.
"What am I supposed to do now?" Jeanne wondered. Francis had abandoned her, and she had no idea where she was. Dam - oh wait - Darn him.
* translated into French, which is what they are speaking , Bonne means good and Foy means faith. It really does not suit France.
Arthur's overheard conversation goes a little something like this (Google Translate, please correct me if I'm wrong)
"I'm trying!"
"It's not that hard! Look!"
"Shut up! You've been doing this much longer than I have!"
"The crossbow is one of the easiest weapons to handle! Here, let me show you!"
"Get your filthy hands off me!"
Francis is saying "I'm going to kill you!" to Arthur in Old English, the only language I could think of that Jeanne couldn't understand, you couldn't understand, and was still English. Arthur shouts "Not a chance"
Historical Inaccuracies! YAY!
Joan of Arc had dark hair, and a dark complexion. She didn't talk a lot, and she most certainly did not kick people in the groin. But I see her as a very strong woman how would not like France messing around with her.
They did not have a dance before battles. Or at least, none that I know of.
King Charles...Wikipedia does not know much about his character, except he was mad,like, crazy mad, and he liked to party. His wife's lady-in-waiting got married, and he and four of his lord dressed up as this mythical folk creature, chained themselves together, and then danced around. Four of the dancers caught on fire and died. Bet that was fun for the bride. History is fun, folks!
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