I Will Always Be With You
Genre: tragedy
Rating: PG-13
Characters: France, Jeanne d'Arc
Warnings: um, angst
Disclaimer: don't own Love You To Death or Hetalia
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When they met, she was fifteen. He had never met a mortal quite like her, and it would be a very, very long time before he found someone else that might bring her to mind.
"I know who you are," she told him, and even dirty, and in rough hardworn boy's clothing, she shone with a light from within that drew him like a flame.
He teased. "Such a wise little one you are! Then who am I, my dear?"
"Beloved," she said, serious, calm, and that threw him, because she was mortal, she was barely out of childhood. She was so beautiful. Glowing from the inside. "Beloved France."
He did what he could to save her, but it wasn't enough, and she had always known it wouldn't be. He'd gone to see her, that last night, before the end, and held her small frail calloused hands that had handled sword and needle in their time, had pulled hard on the threads of fate and changed his world. "It was never your fault," she said, and kissed the back of his right hand. He'd never been so ashamed of his soft blemish-free skin, feeling that touch, seeing her eyes filled with knowledge beyond even him. "The saints spoke to me, and told me this day would come."
"You're so young," he said, and the tears came without his permission. "So young, my Jeanne, you deserved so much more than this."
"I saved you, though," she said. "And I will always be with you, will I not?" Touched his cheek, fingers striped pale and grey in the moonlight and the shadows of the bars of her cell. Her eyes were too bright this night, too liquid, but he would say nothing to her about it; she had every right. "Beloved France."
There were a lot of things he'd forgiven England for - for what was the point of holding grudges long after everyone concerned was dead, even for one of their kind? - but when Jeanne burned, he knew that even if he tried, this was one hurt he could never forgive or forget.
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