Dormez-Vous? Chapter 11

The mercenaries were gathered in a shadowy group, drinking ale and patting their horses. They looked everything like normal men – you wouldn't be able to tell otherwise – but Auguste had heard the talk around town, and he was certain these were the men hired by the church to find his son. They had to be. From what he could see, they didn't look quite like perverts, so that was a good thing, but still, one could never be sure. Slowly, Auguste made his way over to him, his speckled mare trotting at a leisure place behind him, and his hand pulling at her reins every now and again to get her to walk faster. He had rented her from some stable master for a low price, although he wasn't sure if he intended on giving her back or not.

"Hey, boy!" One of the men hooted in greeting when he was Auguste approaching. He was a pot-bellied fellow with short, scratchy brown hair and tiny, black eyes. It was obvious that he didn't recognize Auguste as a noble, and really, the man couldn't blame him: Auguste was clad in a normal, peasant-like attire, ready for travel on the road. The satchel of money at his side, however, proved that he was more than just some dirty mercenary. "Are you coming on this venture with us as well?" The man asked happily, squinting his eyes up at Auguste and snorting. "The priest is paying us a mighty fine price just to find a scrawny runaway, huh? But, I do suppose nobles are worth more than us normal folk."

"They squeal better in bed, too!" A stocky, muscly-built man piped up from behind, his cool gray eyes flashing like pieces of flint. "I once had myself a noble woman; girl acted as if she'd never had a real man in all of her life!" Chuckling darkly, he set his saddle upon his horse and began stuffing supplies into packs that hung off the sides. He didn't seem to notice the way Auguste clenched his jaw towards his words.

The third and final mercenary gave the second speaker a sly, demented smile after he had spoken, and grinned, flashing everyone his yellowish brown, tea-stained teeth. "A noble woman, huh?" He sneered, rubbing his thin, knobby fingers together merrily. Besides his ugly teeth, and calloused hands, he wasn't that bad-looking of a man. He was a bit attractive, with bright brown eyes and soft, chocolate hair, and his face was shaped angular, like a pixie's... However he proved to be not to Auguste's liking when he furthered himself to say, "We're going after a noble child now. I bet you they squeal really delightfully." His nostrils flared outwardly as he said that, and his shining eyes twinkled.

"That's revolting!" The muscular man thundered, whirling on his friend with a look of mortification on his face. "And besides that, we're going after a boy!"

A snort escaped the brunette's nose. "Impossible!" He shot back. "There's no way! The priest said the kid had 'long golden hair' and 'sparkling blue eyes'! How is that a boy?"

Before the argument could continue further, Auguste stepped in, laughing sharply and laying his hands on either of the mercenaries' shoulders. "The kid is a boy," He chuckled, patting their shoulders. "You're talking about my son."

"Y-Y-You're Auguste Bonnefoy?" The trio stammered all at once, their mouths tumbling agape with awe. A cold wind seemed to have blown through the lot of them, and stealing their breath as it passed.

"Of course I am, sillies!" Auguste chirped, digging his hand into the satchel at his side and withdrawing a handful of golden yellow coins. He tossed them into the air, and they landed on the ground with soft thuds. No sooner had they hit the dirt than the mercenaries were all upon them, scrambling and squabbling like rats over a piece of cheese. "Come now, let's not waste time." Auguste pouted sarcastically as one of them grabbed the others beard, and a third bit onto his arm. They paused at the sound of the noble's voice and detached themselves from each other, slowly rising to their feet to stare at him with shameful, embarrassed eyes. "You're all going to do exactly what I say." Auguste told them blatantly. "And whoever behaves the best...why, maybe I'll give him a big, golden reward."

"G-gold?" The pot-bellied one piped up, his squinting eyes seeming to grow wider, until they were the size that a normal person's would be on a regular basis. The other two men soon followed with their own looks of greed and desire, fingers twitching at their sides and mouths molding into grins.

"Oh, yes," Auguste laughed, patting his silver-speckled mare lightly on the nose before pulling himself up onto her saddle and perching upon her back. "lots of gold."

The streets were crowded and gray, the gross smell of an excess population rising from the very ground and clogging in the alleyways the boys navigated their way through. The littlest of the children had been left at the house with Antonio, who insisted it was vital one of the elders stay, just in case Arthur decided to come back; Francis and Gilbert, on the other hand, went in search of the young Englishman themselves.

"This is all your fault, Frenchie." The albino was grumbling unhappily as they slipped through a mob of people, pressing themselves against the alley walls as soon as they got the chance to assure themselves that it was still there. Gilbert was the least appeased by this whole incident, and was determined to blame Francis for the whole incident. "You must have done something to make him run away." He said blatantly, eyes glinting in-humorously like shattered glass. "He was with you the last."

Keeping his eyes glued on the ground, Francis shook his head and bit his lip sharply. "N-non, I d-didn't!" He stammered, thinking to himself that he sounded guilty, which annoyed him – he really hadn't tried to make stupid Arthur upset! Sighing, he kicked at the dirt with the tips of his shoes, and then looked up to glance around him dully. "I don't see how we're going to find him, anyways." He complained bitterly, crossing his arms in front of his chest and stopping abruptly at the end of the alleyway, gazing off into the center of town, where the merchants resided. "There's too many twists and turns...and too many people! He could be anywhere."

"Ah, keep moving." Gilbert grunted with a sarcastic roll of his eyes. He reached out his hand and shoved Francis forwards a bit, causing the other boy to stumble and almost fall to his knees. "If you keep whining like a little girl, we'll never find him, and by the time we do, he'll probably be a corpse."

Fury made Francis burst, and he whirred around onto the white-haired boy, jabbing an elegant finger at his face. "Stop saying things like that!" He hollered, annoyance brewing inside the pit of his stomach and heat flustering his skin. "I never did a-anything to you, and you act as if you despise me!" Blonde hair fluttered in the wind, curving inwards towards Francis' face and seeming to reach out towards Gilbert as he spoke. This irritated him further, and he grasped onto the sides of his hair with both hands and pulled it backwards, wishing he had a hair-tie with him. Gilbert watched him with a monotonous expression the whole time, making Francis want to slap him across the face. "You're really an ass, you know that?" He hissed instead.

The monotonous look on Gilbert's face broke into an outraged one. "Hah! At least I don't look like a prepubescent girl!" He snickered, mouth spreading open into a wide grin, as he flashed his teeth at Francis snobbishly. "I'm more awesome than you ever will be, you rich, spoiled-brat!" Done letting his insults fly, Gilbert places his fists on either of his hips, laughter rumbling out of him and shaking his stomach lightly. Francis stared at the way his mouth moved when he laughed, so tauntingly and wickedly, and the way his eyes twinkled like dew-coated, ripe cherries. It made him sick to his stomach.

"Yeah..." Francis began, fighting for a good insult, although he couldn't think of anything witty at the moment. Instead, he did something he realized afterward he shouldn't have done: he insulted Gilbert where it hurt. "Oh yeah!" Francis snapped, face turning a shade of darker red, and hands balling into tight fists. "Well, I bet the fire that killed your parents...I bet you started it...and god only let you survive so you could live every day with the remembrance towards the evil you committed!"

The laughter abruptly stopped.

Gilbert's whole body seemed to stiffen up in an odd way, and his teeth came crashing down upon his lower lip ferociously. The albino's face turned the same color as his eyes, but it was not with embarrassment, but rather, anger. Balling his hands into tight fists, he cast his gaze towards Francis' face dangerously. "How...dare you." He half-choked, half-snarled, which almost made Francis want to apologize. However, his feelings of remorse were soon diminished when Gilbert opened his mouth and practically screamed, "Go to hell!"

Feeling that it was, at least, a tiny bit his fault that this fight was started, Francis only stared at his toes. He didn't want to meet Gilbert's eyes, nor did he want to speak to the other boy anymore. Why couldn't Antonio have come instead? He wondered longingly, scuffling his shoes into the dirt and imagining that the earth he disturbed was actually Gilbert's stupid face. "You...started it." He sputtered finally, the words coming from his lips louder than he intended.

A great breath exited Gilbert's tense frame, and the child lunged forwards all of a sudden, shoving Francis forcefully, and sending him staggering backwards, almost to where he fell out of the alley and into the marketplace. "You started it!" The albino snapped discontentedly. "You started it by coming here, by dressing the way you do and wearing your hair long! You started it by...by acting like a little whore in the alleyways, and tempting me with your sins!"

Shock washed over Francis' countenance; he was still regaining his balance from being pushed so harshly, but Gilbert's ever-harsh words hit him twice as hard. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach, as if little bugs were crawling around inside of him and eating out his insides.

No joy was in Gilbert's expression as he continued – his mouth remained a straight, emotionless line, only twisting into looks of agony and fury every now and then – which seemed to prove, to Francis, that the things he said were things he truly thought. "You came out of nowhere, and invaded my town, stole my friend, and ruined how I look in Antonio's eyes as well! I kissed you!" He ranted, waving his arms about in the air, then finally whipping his arm forwards and pointing accusingly at Francis' nose. "You...you're nothing but a fucking fag!" He snapped, saliva spraying out of his mouth and speckling Francis' face. "One day, you're going to really go to hell!"

For the first time in his life that he could remember, Francis threw the first punch. He actually started a fight with another person, which was something he had never imagined himself doing.

Before he knew what he was doing, some strange emotion took a hold of Francis' body, and his fist was bashing into Gilbert's nose. The shock of actually striking someone overcame the Frenchman for a second afterward, almost causing him to pause, but the realization that pausing would cause him to loose made him do the exact opposite. Instead, Francis hurled himself forwards and butted his head into Gilbert's chest, sending the both of them crashing to the ground in a flurry of dust and movement. Francis' hands clutched at Gilbert's arms next, pinning him onto the ground as he looked at nothing – gazing downwards, but in a way that suggested Gilbert was transparent to him at the moment- with a look of complete pain on his face. He didn't understand why everyone kept calling him these thing...and why no one seemed to want to accept him.

Francis hadn't really thought about Gilbert's response to being stuck and tackled, but he knew once he was on top of the boy that he would not be able to fight anymore if Gilbert got up. Therefore, he held the latter down with all of his strength while he thrashed and cursed, spitting up at Francis, "Get off! Let me go you stupid asshole!" He howled, getting to the point where he was even attempting to bite Francis' hands. Eventually, Francis found he couldn't hold the white-haired boy, and Gilbert freed one of his arms, soon clutching Francis' wrist in his hands. "Damn it!" He snarled.

It was at that point that Francis sort of gave up, and allowed Gilbert to free his other hand, and push him roughly off of him and onto the dirt. Laying on his back, Francis stared up at Gilbert, glassy-eyed, as the bigger boy loomed over him with blood-lusting eyes. Heat rushed to Francis' cheeks and turned them tomato red. Slowly, he tilted his head to the side, shame washing over him. I hit someone, I hit someone... He kept thinking. And...it felt good.

Icy fingers wound their way around Francis' thin neck, and he shut his eyes, expecting Gilbert to throttle him. He imagined that the boy easily could – it wasn't as if anyone cared for Francis here – and if Auguste ever did learn of his son's demise, it would be next to impossible to know who did it. Francis pushed his own hands upwards and tried to pry Gilbert's away from his throat. "Leave me...alone." He growled half-heartedly, imagining Arthur discovering his corpse behind his closed eyelids.

"Why should I?!" Gilbert snapped in response, his grip tightening a bit. It felt as if the two sides of Francis' windpipe were going to touch each other, and the blonde-haired boy squeaked in pain, fearing what would happen if they did come into contact with one another. "You've insulted me beyond repentance..." Gilbert snarled, his hands loosening just the slightest bit, as if he wanted to hear what Francis' response would be.

Digging his fingernails into Gilbert's pallid white skin, Francis pried his hands away from his aching neck. Coughing, he glared up at Gilbert, who seemed to be trying to decide whether or not to strangle him again. "You did the same to me." Francis told him coldly, blue eyes glittering like the frozen surface of a lake. "You don't even know how many times you have."

"Hmf." Grunting, the albino trailed his blood-red eyes across the-boy-he-was-sitting-on's face, his paste-colored lips twitching between a straight line to a slight frown. Then, he sighed. "Fine." He heaved, slowly picking himself off Francis and rising to his feet. His hands were still balled into ready fists, and his back stiffened and ready, but he stood stock still.

Francis didn't really know what exactly he meant by 'fine', but he took it as a sign that their fight was over, and cautiously he clambered to his feet as well. A fine layer of gray dust coated his frame, and dirt was smudged on his normally clean, peach skin. He didn't say anything to his comrade when he was on his feet again, instead he chose to stare down at the disturbed earth beneath him. His downcast eyes held a strange, emotionless look to them, and his soft, light-yellow hair rustled around his face almost hauntingly. Without a word exchanged, the two started up their search for Arthur once more.

It was cold. Jeanne was in mud all the way up to her ankles, and brown-colored water all the way up to her knees. To top that off, the water got higher with each step she took, and yet she knew that she must keep going. "Urgh...get off!" She cursed a slimy green plant that happened to wrap itself around her foot and hold her into place. It took her a few minutes of kicking and splashing around before she could finally shake the thing, and once she did, she was angry, and huffing for breath. "It's all your fault!" She yelled to the air as she sluggishly moved through the slowly-flowing part of the river current. She had decided it would be smart to cross the river on the way to the second town, just in case the priest had sent anyone after her. She didn't doubt he meant to have her killed now, especially now that he knew she was alive, and he likely told Auguste Bonnefoy to execute her too, if he got the chance. Stupid pet. She inwardly growled at the noble. Stupid Francis' père.

Water splashed up against her waist and seeped through her clothing, chilling her stomach and making her grimace. Her brother had told her to bring extra provisions, just in case something happened, and she did have a small sack of bread and cheese over her shoulder. However, she had never through to bring anything like an extra change of clothes, and her brother surely wouldn't have thought of it either. He hadn't ventured out of their makeshift home in the forest ever since the incident with the green-robed priest.

As Jeanne reached the center of the river, and balanced herself carefully with each further step she took, she couldn't help but wish her brother would have come with her. She missed his presence at times, and it irked her sometimes that she always had to play the thief. Sure, every once in a while she would venture home and find him with a loaf of bread, or slab of butter, but she didn't know where he got them. For all she knew, he could have made it himself, somehow. It wouldn't surprise her. In the end, though...everything went back to that damned priest. I thought I had forgotten. I thought all of that had happened in a different town... The girl thought dully, her clothing making squelching noises and feeling heavy as she emerged on the other side of the river bank. But I was wrong...

Jeanne had only been a child when the incident had occurred – a very young child at that – and it was difficult for her to remember it in full now. Although it was fuzzy exactly what had happened, she knew the general lift of it. Her brother refused to speak about it.

The Darc family had, somehow, learned of some corruption within the holy walls of the very church they attended. It started out with Jeanne's brother – he was the first to know – and after receiving the knowledge he did, he soon spread it to his mother and father. Jeanne remembered her parents yelling at him to begin with, and then, late at night, talking to each other in hushed, concerned voices. After a while, they too began to believe the corruption within the church...and, perhaps, they too obtained evidence of it.

It was a cloudy and gray day when they went down to the church to confront the green-robed priest. Jeanne walked at her mother's side and clutched her hand tightly, while her brother walked behind the lot of them with his head down. Her father and mother were talking the whole time, and her father was saying, unhappily, something about the priest likely already knowing that they knew. Jeanne's mother had said something hinting that maybe the priest would pay them money to keep them quieted, and then her father had responded with something in the negative. It reminded Jeanne of what she had heard the green-robed priest say the most recent time she had come into contact with him - "Sometimes it takes more than gold to pay a man" - but that didn't exactly fit into the situation so she didn't know for sure.

As they had neared the front steps, Jeanne's brother had snatched her by the back of her dress, and pulled her away from her mother. His eyes had glinted like sharp stones upturned in a river, and he told her. "Go back home and wait for us." Since her parents didn't seem to object, and they were hardly paying attention to her anyways, Jeanne had no choice to obey. She walked home.

Hours passed, and the clouds swirled about in the sky. The sun set and the moon rose up, basking the town in a silvery glow. Jeanne sat by the window, eagerly awaiting her family's return. Eventually, she fell asleep with her cheek pressed up against the smooth pane, and her eyelids closed tightly. She was graced by a nice dream about kittens whenever her brother awoke her. She wasn't sure what time it was then, but he had looked scared, and there was something...different about him. "Come on." He told her blankly, "We're finding a new home." and then he took her softly by the hand, and led her away into the forest.

It still wasn't clear to Jeanne how her brother knew of the abandoned, run down home that was placed in the middle of the wilderness, far away from civilization's eye. If she thought about it now, he had probably been there before, but why he had was a troubling question. She found nowadays that she didn't really care – it was her home now – and she didn't want to know. There were lots of things Jeanne preferred not to know, and Francis' dark secret was one thing she didn't care to have lingering in her mind.

As she came back into reality, Jeanne let herself shudder. It was never clear to me exactly what happened to my parents. Jeanne sighed absentmindedly as she trudged through the forest, leaves and mud sticking to her clothes. It was hard to move, and she was beginning to regret wading through the river. If the priest had hounds, he could find her anyways. Brother used to say that we all knew something...something about what the priest was doing, that society wouldn't like, and because of this, the priest had to dispose of us. The trees seemed to sway in towards her tauntingly, as if listening to her thoughts. On that night, brother said to me, 'He took our parents away.' The sun blazed overhead, and the leaves glimmered a bright, almost neon green above her. He said, 'I am the evidence of what we know he did...and you are the evidence of me.'

"Hmf." Jeanne paused as she sighted smoke in the air up ahead. It was the definite sign that she was near a town. Placing her hands on her hips, the filthy girl tried wipe some of the clingy muck from her clothes. "This world is stupid." She said aloud, glum. "The only thing driving people is greed and selfishness." As soon as she said that, her mind wondered: Then why am I risking myself for Francis? She pondered being the only un-selfish human being for a moment, and then decided better of it. I just miss his company. She decided, and then she continued her walk towards town.

Ah, I'm glad I was finally able to update this, though it's not as long as I would like it to be. Still, I think it came out okay, and I hope it's acceptable to you guys. Of the things I would like to explain, I used the word "Darc" for Jeanne's last name because I read that, during the actual time Jeanne d'Arc lived, the French language didn't have apostrophes. Therefore, this - ' was nonexistent. To top that off, Jeanne d'Arc wasn't even from a town called Arc. I did research. You can too.

Also, this person drew me fanart. I was so enthralled~. zozoem . deviantart #/d5b3th1 Just remove the spaces.

I'm getting close to being able to introduce a new character! *Squeals* I actually wanted to in this chapter, but I didn't have the time to fit it in, and, it just wouldn't FIT IN to the story because of how I ended it...but it will come eventually.

Anyhow, thank you ever-so-much for reading, and I will update again whenever I have the time, and my life isn't consume by school!