Title: sainthood
Characters/Pairings: Marie Antoinette, Jeanne D'Arc
A/N: I'm just going to pretend that Marie's convos with Henry had zero traces of blush.
Summary: |
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"Are you ready?" Marie asked, glancing over her shoulder at Jeanne. Despite her status as queen, she had adapted surprisingly quickly to their situation and barely complained about their threadbare arrangements. If anything, she had relished sleeping under the stars, calling the night sky a diamond necklace fit for royalty.
"Almost." Jeanne adjusted her headpiece. It wouldn't be long now. They were drawing closer and closer to Orleans, to her other self, and she had yet to settle her feelings on the matter. She could not understand the hate, the resentment that whirled in the dark Jeanne.
Did that make her the fake? Or did it mean she just did not understand herself? Jeanne wasn't sure which option was worse.
"Jeanne." Marie stepped closer now, a reassuring smile on her lips. Her expression softened. "Don't worry. We won't fail."
Before Jeanne could respond, two soft hands grasped her own, squeezing hard. "I know you can do it." Marie's tone was firm, brokering no disagreements.
These were definitely the hands of a queen. Marie's skin was soft, unscarred, and Jeanne could only imagine how her own hands felt. The callouses from a lifetime of peasantry and then war. She looked up at Marie's face, at the bright, innocent smile that hadn't left her throughout their journey. Despite her naïveté, there was something reassuring about her presence, her actions. Something steadying about her and her words, something that just rang true.
"After all, you are a saint," Marie finished confidently.
For once, she didn't argue. Jeanne was no saint but for Marie, she wanted to be.