FrancexJeanne! To be honest, I know almost nothing of Jeanne d'Arc, except that she was alive during the 1400s and fought for a free France and then sold to England and charged for heresy. But I do hope I did some kind of justice... She was such a brave woman. -admire-
I don't own Hetalia or Jeanne.
I hope you enjoy!

"Jeanne."

"Hush."

"But…"

"You knew this would never last, Francis."

"Yes, but I-"

"Even though we are about to part, I will never regret it."

"It's too soon."

"Our time together is enough to last a life-time."

"It's not fair."

"I know. But, that is what we fought for. All those battles."

"I will never forgive Arthur…"

"You don't have to, but for my sake, please, don't blame him. I was, after all, the one who acted against the church."

"For a good cause, to better France!"

"And I feel I have. If even only a bit."

Francis grasped Jeanne in an embrace. Jeanne smiled and nuzzled her nose into Francis' hair.

"I will miss you." Tears pricked at his eyes.

"And I will miss you. But I will be watching and making sure you do alright."

Francis stepped closer, onto the wood and placed a kiss on her lips. "I will carry on your dream, Jeanne."

"I hope you do."

Three bells chimed in the distance and a procession was able to be seen marching down the main road towards the two.

Francis rubbed his cheek to hers; letting his hands roam the back of her head, feeling the newly chopped hair. "I could stand here with you. I would."

"No. You would only raise suspicion to the townsfolk. I want you to be in the crowd with the others. One of them because you are them."

Francis let his tears fall as he broke away from Jeanne. "Je t'aime Jeanne, Je t'aime."

"I love you too, Francis." She leaned forward, as far as her restraints would allow her, and placed a kiss on his lips. "Forever and always."

Francis touched his lips as he stepped back before the procession could arrive. He stood in the forming crowd and watched as a man read aloud Jeanne's 'crimes'. He watched as he lit a torch and watched as the flames licked their way up to her feet and then her skirts.

"Viva la France!" She called aloud suddenly. "Viva la France!"

Francis glazed at her through watery eyes. "Viva la France," he chanted along under his breath.

The flames climbed higher, to her chest, but she did not scream. She only chanted more, "Viva la France!" over and over.

Tears slipped down his cheeks as Francis choked and began to cry. He crouched down, holding his stomach as the sudden urge to empty it washed over him. He could smell her – not her perfume, but her flesh – burning.

He was afraid to look again as he listened to her chants die down. Then it was quiet, sans the crackle of fire.

Francis' body was wracked with sobs as he cried harder. The crowd dispersed and he felt the first few drops of spring rain.

The smoke and fire died down soon, but Francis had yet to get up. He could still smell her, hear her.

The rain picked up pace quickly and drenched him, soaking him to the bone.

It was only after the sun set and darkness fell around him that he stood back up, glancing fearfully in the direction of the stake.

Nothing was there. Not a trace of what was once a beautiful woman who had fought for her France, for her Francis.

The ropes, her clothes, she was gone.

Francis wretched there in the dark streets. On any other day he would have laughed triumphantly to have done something so disgusting to Arthur's place. But he could only cry as he fought to keep the rest of his stomach contents down.

"She will be watching, looking down," he whispered to himself. "She said so."