Hey, I'm back again, guys! School's been in the way and I finally have found the time to write again. Also, since there is a lot of French, particularly between Marie-Ann and France (more than could be written here), just Google translate the words. Also note that the song "Je voudrais voir la mer" is not of the time period, but I thought it fit the situation perfectly.

Please excuse any English mistakes.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except the plot and the children of the nations.

April 30, 1431

It was a month before the time Jeanne D'Arc would have been burned at the stake. What many people don't know, even priests, is that she had had a child. A virgin birth. France, who had tried on his own, with his Scottish companion, wanted to help Jeanne escape the English.

As he found her cell, he was startled to find that she was holding a bloody blanket in her arms, in which soft cries were coming from. She had a tired look on her face, but the smile still shone through.

"What happened?" France asked.

Jeanne raised her head to look at her nation, her smile growing by the second. France rushed to her and embraced her. The little cries were there, but the nation barely noticed. Scotland had caught up to them in the cell, and stayed back slightly in awe. Granted, he wasn't really close to Jeanne, but he and his people were her guards.

Jeanne broke the hug and placed the bundle in France's arms. France, ever more stunned to see a little face, looked at it with confusion.

Jeanne laughed a little, and pointed at the child, "She's mine."

France was shocked ever more and opened his mouth repeatedly, desperately trying to find the words. Jeanne laughed more and stated, "Ever heard of a virgin birth?"

France said, "This is a miracle! But-"

He tried putting the baby in Jeanne's arms again, but she pushed the child back to him. France didn't know what to say, and looked on in confusion. At this point, Scotland had come in wondering what was happening.

Jeanne sighed, quite sadly, "France, we've been very good friends, yes?"

France was silent, but nodded his head. Jeanne continued gesturing to the baby, "I want you to take care of her."

France's eyes widened, and Scotland was dumbstruck. After a few seconds, France piped up, "But we're here to get you out of here There's no need to have us take care of her if you're still around."

Jeanne's eyes were filled with sadness as she took in her friend's words. "France, I know my limits and how far I can go… I'm not going."

It was France's turn to cry. "B-but you have to!"

Jeanne shook her head sadly, "No, France, I can't. I know my fate is sealed. I'm not afraid of what will happen to me, for I have only served God's will. I am worried, however, about her. I don't want her growing up in an orphanage or with some Englishmen that won't really love her. I want to let her have a life that will open up opportunities for her, and the only person I can see being able to do that is you. I'm sorry, both of you, but there is no way I can go with you, and that's that."

Scotland was silent, with small sounds of crying coming from his French companion. He finally found the words he tried saying, "If it's yer wish, then aye will grant it."

France was still silent, with the small child in his arms, now very quiet, as if she knew the weight of her future was at stake. Jeanne raised France's head, which he had not known was hanging at the time, "Francis, please, for me. I know what this would mean to your people, but consider this my last wish."

France looked into her eyes, thinking of what the world would be like without her. He wasn't romantically involved with her, but she was dear to him no matter what, even if the English say she was a witch. He finally nodded his head.

"Thank you." Jeanne reached into her blouse and pulled out a little necklace with the fleur de lis (*) hanging from it. "This is for her, to remember who I was."

France took the necklace and put it in his pocket. He had one question to ask her, "What is her name?"

Jeanne smirked slightly, "Marie-Ann."

There was a clamoring sound down the hall. Guards would pour in minutes.

"You'd better go." Jeanne motioned towards the door. She gave each of the two men a farewell kiss on each cheek, and one lingering kiss on her daughter's forehead. Then the men rushed out of the cell, leaving Jeanne to sit there.

She had a brave smile on her face.

May 30, 1431

Jeanne was burned at the stake. The smile did not leave her face, knowing that she would see God, and that her daughter was safe with the two people she trusted most.

France had fallen into a depression, and a rage when he met England again. That raged burned within his people, and it pushed them to wining and driving out the English from French land.

However, the depression took hold soon after the win, and it affected his "daughter" too. He didn't take care of her, as Jeanne would have wanted, barely giving time to even play with her. It got to the point that Scotland had to step in, feeding her, changing her diapers, reading to her (with what books was left), and in general giving her attention.

France rarely ever looked into her face, only seeing Jeanne and caused his grief to override him.

Eventually, this lead to arguments between the close couple, sometimes leaving with bitter moments.

This went on until 1789.

July 14, 1789

Long after the Auld Alliance broke down between Scotland and France, with the former leaving and going back to his home country, France was left to take care of Marie-Ann. The little girl looked to only be 3 years old, which startled the French nation a bit, as he was fairly certain that this was out of the ordinary. He could feel she was different, like a nation could tell who was another nation, but she wasn't quite a nation, he could sense something out of the ordinary with her.

During that time, malaria had spread to many people in the countryside, including little Marie-Ann. She had a severe case, doctors saying she probably only had a couple of days left. France cried, about to lose the only piece of Jeanne he had left. That was, until the next morning after she should have died. When he went to check on her, bracing himself for the smell of death, his daughter was sitting on her bed, with drawing paper and some charcoal making some sort of picture

She lifted her head, noting his presence. "Bonjour, Papa."

She looked odd. There wasn't any sign of a fever-ridden child, or pale skin, or bony frame (as she had lost her appetite early in the sickness), or any sign of pain. Her golden hair was as bright as could be. Her eyes didn't look glassy, and the brilliant blue was as vibrant as ever. She was normal. As if she never was sick at all.

France blinked a couple of times, shocked that she was all right. She looked at him strangely, like he was the one who was sick, "Es-tu bien, Papa?"

France shook to clear his head, "O-oui. Es-tu malade?"

Marie-Ann shook her head "no" in response. France came over and put a hand to her forehead. Nothing.

He had concluded long after that she must have been immortal, like himself. As to how that could have happened, he didn't know. He figured that, along with the fact that she didn't age normally, she was immune to old age and death by illness. As to wounds… let's just say he was loving enough to the child to not want to see that happen.

As July of 1789 came about, the revolution was on its way. France, not sure if Marie-Ann would be safe, and not wanting the aristocrats he despised for making the rest of the population suffer have their hands on her, put her in the hands of a trusted family he knew would keep her safe.

They were the Moreaus. They weren't high enough to be targeted by the revolutionists, and not low enough to not be able to provide for Marie-Ann. They knew of his true origin of a nation, and they would take care of her for generations if need be.

He left her there, without saying goodbye, though she didn't seem to be shocked by this.

He refused to see her for many years after the revolution.

May 30, 1867

Today was Marie-Ann's birthday.

She hadn't seen her father since 1789, yet she wasn't fazed by it. She had been used to not having his presence around her, though she did miss a certain Scot that she hadn't seen since 1560. She had finally turned into a 5 year old.

She was in her little room in an old farmhouse overlooking the town of Honfleur, trying her hand at drawing yet again. Though average 5 year olds wouldn't be able to draw past stick figures, she had hundreds of years of practice, and had managed to try still life. Now she had paint and, what would be considered very early development, colored pencils.

A grandmother walked into her room, just as she finished a rough sketch of her quilt. "Mademoiselle, votre père est ici."

Marie-Ann lifted her head, a slight wonderment in her eyes. She got up and straightened out the little dress she wore, grabbed the necklace she remembered her mother had, and left the room.

She came down the stairs and entered the little parlor the house had and peered in. Her father was sitting in front of the fireplace with the grandfather of the house, he seemed quite casual with his suit, and he hadn't noticed her eyes fixated on him.

That's when he turned his face and their eyes locked on to each other. He noticed the pale blue, lacey dress she wore, that had gold trim around the neckline and edges, like the one he wore as a child, and the matching ribbon in her hair. He eyes glanced to her hair, which was wavy and ended in curls that gave a natural bounce every time she moved. She stood firm in his gaze, quite unafraid of seeing him again.

The older man in the armchair cleared his voice, earning the gazes of the other two. "Your father wants to spend time with you." His English was rusty, but Marie-Ann had learned enough English to know what he meant.

France looked at his daughter with a blank face. He wouldn't be too concerned if she didn't want to be with him. He was only here because his government finally caught up to him and forced him to start his visits.

He was shocked to see the little girl's head nod up and down and looked to him expectantly. France nodded slightly and gave his thanks to the grandfather, promising him to bring her back before 9:00 pm. They got into the little carriage that brought him there and started towards Honfleur.

France sat on one side and Marie-Ann on the other. It was quite silent between the two for several minutes, until Marie-Ann started humming an old, cheerful tune. France recognized the tune and started singing the words to it very quietly. It was like that for several minutes, just them singing.

Eventually, Marie-Ann stopped and looked out the little window in the carriage to see some horses that were out in the pastures. France looked at her every now and then, seeing her hair bounce up and down ever so casually to the movement of the carriage, and seeing her making faces at some of the farm animals that they passed. If it wasn't for the fact that they hadn't been around each other, much less had he spent a lot of time when she was growing up, he would have thought they always been like this.

He then decided to try and break the ice, "Votre anglais est bien comment?"

Marie-Ann glanced over to him, "C'est bon."

"Oh?"

"Oui." Marie-Ann raised her eyebrow and smirked slightly, the same way France did when he was challenging someone. She must have picked up the quirk when she was living with him.

France did the same face in response, "Comment dite-on, Le chat est rouge."

They were like that all the way to inner part of Honfleur, checking each other's English and trying to trip each other up. Seemed Marie-Ann was able to do that more so than France, and he made a mental note to brush up on his English.

They exited the carriage and started walking around the town. They were a little more talkative with each other than either thought would be possible. As the two walked down the street, they came across a little café and stopped for lunch. France was amazed that she wasn't picky, and she had a little creative mind for seeing patterns.

As the continued down the street after lunch, they came across a little shop for paintings. Marie-Ann stopped and looked at a beautiful little scenery of a Japanese garden, with some of the leaves a lightly pale green. France stopped, noticing the little girl wasn't following him, and glanced at what she was staring at. Seemed they both like to view art as well.

"The leaves look quite pale," said Marie-Ann, "The painter must have used very light blue to make it that pale."

France was quite impressed at how quickly Marie-Ann could conclude which color was used to make what. "You paint a lot, oui?"

Marie-Ann looked up at France, "A little, mostly drawing."

France smiled lightly, and then frowned when he noticed that Marie-Ann had peered around him to glare at something. He looked in the general direction and glared himself at a certain Englishman who was walking down the street.

He quickly pulled Marie-Ann behind his back, "Stay behind me."

Marie-Ann did as she was told and they tried to walk around without the Englishman knowing of them. England had known about Jeanne's child, and France didn't want any chances taken with him. Unfortunately, he saw them immediately, and came walking over.

"Well, frog, didn't think I would see you here." The Englishman said bitterly.

"Oh? I thought this was still my country after all Angleterre." France said just as bitterly.

England glared at the Frenchman before him, and then saw the little girl with him. He quirked his eyebrow at Marie-Ann. France stepped in front of her to hide her from his view, but not before she gave a very quick, shallow curtsy with a glare of venom.

England glared at France, "And who is she?"

France made himself look larger, preparing for a fight, "That's none of your business."

"Oh really?"

Marie-Ann piped up, "I'm Marie-Ann. I know what you did to Mama."

England paled slightly, and took a small step back. France slightly looked at his daughter, somewhat surprised that she knew already. However, he glared back at the Englishman, "You stay away from us, vous-comprendez?"

England was silent, and then someone pulled him back. "Aye thought ye were tryin' ta be civil, wee England."

Marie-Ann's eyes lit up as she saw the redhead she had missed. "Alasdair!" She ran and hugged his leg, causing him to fall back some.

"Whoa! Easy there!" Scotland let go of England and patted the little girl's head.

France was little saddened that she would hug Scotland, but then again, he remembered that he didn't really keep close to her like Scotland had.

England kept his distance. He had felt genuinely sorry for doing that to Jeanne, and he was quite sad that he left a child motherless. Though he knew his place was unwelcome and walked away.

France noted this, but at the current time was too preoccupied with the fact that his ex-husband was now here. "How come you're here?"

Scotland stopped chatting with Marie-Ann to look at France, "Well, lots of ma people come 'ere, an' aye jus' though' aye would come an' enjoy some time off."

France quirked an eyebrow at that, but didn't bother to press further. Scotland stepped a little bit forward and grabbed the other's hand. France was confused for a bit, "What are you doing?"

Scotland, quite nervously, spoke, "Aye wanted ta see ye again…. Aye still love ye."

France blushed, knowing his daughter was listening in with a little smirk on her face. Marie-Ann went behind him, "Kiss already!" and pushed him into the Scott

France fell into the arms of Scotland, and their lips crashed together. Both quickly recovered and looked at Marie-Ann. "Marie-Ann!"

Marie-Ann looked up at the two men innocently, "Quoi?"

They had returned later on that night, with Marie-Ann and France talking in the carriage. France told Scotland he needed some time to think, that he may or may not want to be back together. Though Marie-Ann made it quite convincing to go back with him that instant.

While in the carriage, France decided to have a serious talk, already knowing that Marie-Ann was far more mature than she would lead on. "Marie-Ann, I need to know something."

She looked at him with a curious face, "Quoi?"

"Do you feel okay with me?"

Marie-Ann tilted her head in confusion.

"Like, do you like being around me? That you… aren't mad at me?"

Marie-Ann spoke, "Ah, that…. I don't hate you."

France was a little relieved.

"But I have to say this."

France looked to her.

"I understand why you were distant. Everyone has their own way of dealing with grief. Granted, I still wished you didn't ignore me. But I'm happy that you decided to see me again."

France was on the verge of crying. After he grudgingly came to do the visit, he was going to leave with a daughter who he thought would never like him.

France spoke again, "I wish I could go back and treat you like you should have been. Given you love that you deserved."

Marie-Ann broke in, "But I don't."

France looked in shock at her. "Why?"

Marie-Ann looked at France, with small tears pooling at the corners of her eyes, "Because then we wouldn't have learned what it meant to love and be loved right now. We wouldn't have had such a deep connection like we just had. I don't want to throw away memories, even if they are sad. They are a part of who we are."

France let the tears fall and held his daughter close, and she returned it.

When they reached the house, it had started raining very hard, leaving the road almost impossible to drive on. France was given a room to stay the night.

He was about to go to sleep when a loud crack of thunder and flash of lightning shook the house. It startled him slightly, but he heard a small whimper from a few rooms down.

He walked towards the room, seeing Marie-Ann sitting in her bed, wide awake and glancing at the window.

"Can't sleep?" France called in.

Marie-Ann shook her head, and she hid under the covers when another crack of thunder came.

France sat on the edge of her bed, and held her on his lap. "Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?"

Marie-Ann looked up at France, and then nodded her head.

France started to sing slowly, melodiously, "Je voudrais voir la mer, et ses plages d'argent, et ses falaises blanches, fières dans le vent. Je voudrais voir la mer, et ses oiseaux de lune, et ses chevaux des brume, et ses poissons volants. Je voudrais voir la mer quand elle est un miroir où passent sans se voir des nuages de laine. Et les soirsde tempête dans le colère du ciel. Entendre une baleine appeler son armour. Je voudrais voir la mer, et danser avec elle, pour défier la mort. Je voudrais voir la mer, et danser avec elle, pour défier la mort."

Shortly, Marie-Ann's eyes drooped close. Before sleep took her, she asked, "Papa? Is the sea really that pretty?"

France looked down at the little girl, "Oui, indeed."

Marie-Ann nodded slightly, "Can we go see the sea sometime?"

France looked at her with humor, "I thought you had already seen the sea!"

Marie-Ann nodded her head, "I want to see the one in Normandy, and the Mediterranean."

France thought for a moment, "Well, I guess sometime we could."

Marie-Ann had a small smile on her face as sleep finally took its hold on her. The lightning flashed, and the thunder boomed, but this little girl was dreaming of waves lapping at the shore, with a warm breeze billowing about, and her and her papa walking on the beach, laughing without a care in the world.

As France pulled the covers up and over the child, he let his mind wander. He asked himself what he had been missing all this time. What could they have done if it weren't for his neglect? What would they have had? Why did he ever leave this poor child, who her mother had entrusted him with, to grow up without her "father" ever showing her love?

France felt the stabs of guilt. He didn't want his child feeling this way. He wanted her to be happy, to live a life where she didn't need worry about being or doing anything than be a child that had every right to have a family. He vowed to be there, to be a better father to her than he had been.

And he came back every week after that.

However, the government wouldn't let him take custody. They never gave a reason.

July 28, 1914

Marie-Ann was already 6 years old when France was pulled into World War I. France had no time to go visit her, even if his own land wasn't at stake early on. As the time wore on, his controlled land gradually decreased. Germany was quite unruly to the Frenchman, and his people showed no mercy.

As America joined in, and the battles turned into their favor, gradually the war came to a close. France, though quite unstable, looked for the Moreaus, as the family kept her for generations afterwards.

Sadly, they were unaccounted for. During the middle of the war, the family disappeared, and so did Marie-Ann. No trace was left. Not even a hidden note to tell where they gone.

France was devastated. His little girl, and the family he called his own half the time, were all gone. Marie-Ann, the sweet little child, whose hair would bounce around when she was excited or her eyes would sparkle when she was curious, was gone, and he had no way of knowing if she was alright. Granted, illness wasn't the problem, he knew she would be fine, but the soldiers…

1942

As World War II came and escalated, Marie-Ann had yet to be found. With Germany and the concentration camps, France was losing hope day by day that she was still safe. Most of the family was gone, too, as the remains of some of them were found after the First World War, and the remaining family was still missing.

Scotland, even with England and the other Allies joining in, was at a loss for words. He was grieving to an extent, but he had no way of comforting France. All he could do was to keep up the search as he fought the Germans, though to no avail.

France was beside himself. Unable to comprehend the possibility that she was gone forever, he just continued fighting, for the one possibility that she would want him to, just like Jeanne.

September 1975

France was sitting in one of the side rooms of the meeting building. He had a small glass of wine in hand, and over looked the gray ocean.

Scotland walked in after having a small meeting with the rest of the UK. He sat beside his husband, and rested an arm around the other. France leaned in, and gave a heavy, sorrowful sigh.

"Ye still thinkin' aboot her, huh?"

"How could I not, Écosse?"

Look forward to more coming up in the next week or so!

"Je voudrais voir la mer " is by Michel Rivard and I in no way claim to own the song.

Reviews are welcome!