Arthur couldn't help but occasionally glance at Francis during the meeting currently taking place in Paris. It had been at least a few days since they last saw each other on that 30th May. Once Francis called for a break for an hour and a half, Jeanne's prediction rang in Arthur's head once more as he collected the papers together.
"A few days after today, someone would 'ave said somesing to make Francis snap at zee next meeting 'e attends. At first, 'e would act like it didn't bozer 'im but during zee break, 'is 'eart would shatter."
Arthur stole another glance and saw the Frenchman in the company of the cheery, auburn haired Feliciano Vargas. He watched them casually chat for a brief moment before tapping the papers on the table to align them perfectly.
'E would cry until anger is left inside of 'im. Zen 'e would 'ave got access to a weapon and smash anysing and anyone in 'is path. 'E would 'ave regressed back to zee time of zee Reign of Terror; a time of unnecessary destruction and death."
Arthur paused as he recalled the last two sentences Jeanne said that day in Francis' bathroom. He wondered what anyone could say to make the Frenchman snap if her prediction came true. Anything insulting Jeanne would make him act defensive. From what Matthew and Alfred had told him, he earned himself a sore jaw because Francis thought he was disrespecting her. The Frenchman would normally laugh and brush off insults aimed at him but what if that could cause him to become unhinged? There was so much a person could take and Francis was no different. He seemed to have a high tolerance level when it came to people making fun out of him but when things went too far, he would certainly let them know. For a man who speaks so often about love, he found it hard to forgive people who have wronged him. And this begged the question: did Francis genuinely forgive him or did he do it because he was told to?
"I forgive you," Francis stood from the couch and gave Arthur a sincere look as he uttered those words. The Englishman blinked a few times wondering whether Jeanne had taken possession of the Frenchman. Even Alfred and Matthew sitting on the couch had to double check they were in reality. Of course Arthur knew she couldn't have possessed him or his voice would have been unnoticeably high-pitched. Again, the Englishman blinked in disbelief.
"You forgive me?" Arthur stammered. "For what?"
"Everysing you've done to me. Plain and simple."
Arthur could remember that serious expression and it wasn't one he shared with other people often. Everything about him that day was genuine: facial expression, tone of voice, and the body language. However, Francis didn't look either resentful or relieved. Arthur took another look at the conversing pair when he caught Francis walking out of the room, without saying anything to anyone on the way out. After his jade eyes followed the Frenchman out of the room, Arthur immediately searched for Feliciano who had already bounded to Ludwig. The Englishman meandered around the table to where the two were about to exit when Ludwig (being as observant as he was) caught sight of Arthur approaching them.
"Arsur?" The blonde haired German said as the Englishman finally caught up to them.
"Erm, hey Ludwig," Arthur nodded a greeting to him before turning his attention to Feliciano. "Pardon me Feliciano, but did Francis mention where he was going at all?"
"Veh? You're asking me?" The auburn haired Italian blinked in surprise since Arthur didn't normally want to speak to him.
"Yes. I… I need to speak to him urgently. You were the last one to speak to him so I was thinking you would know." Feliciano placed his index finger on his chin and thought for a moment.
"Mm… I don't think he mentioned anything specific but he did say he wanted to do some thinking," The Italian answered. Arthur thanked him before turning away and dashing out of the room into a sprint. Both Ludwig and Feliciano watched the Englishman disappear before the German turned his gaze at the Italian.
"I vunder vat Art'ur wanted wit Francis," Ludwig scratched his head while Feliciano's fixed at the oak door Arthur exited from.
"I don't know…" He murmured in response. However, somewhere inside Feliciano told him that there was reason for Arthur's question but lunch quickly pushed that concern out of his mind.
!
Arthur slumped into his chair after spending the rest of the break searching for Francis. Everywhere he looked, he was no-where to be seen. No one had seen him either which worried Arthur. He kept his eyes fixed on the door, waiting for the Frenchman to burst through them in his amorous manner or with a weapon in his hand, one of the two. One by one, the other nations dawdled through the door but no Francis appeared amongst them.
As the time for the meeting to restart approached, Arthur fidgeted his fingers by threading them together and pulling them apart again. Surely after making the effort to letting Jeanne talk to Francis that he wouldn't do anything to harm anyone else, right? It's like she said, they intervened in time so nothing bad should happen. The other nations glanced at each other wondering where the Frenchman had disappeared to when ten minutes later, the doors finally burst open, revealing the man himself. He drifted to the front of the group, tightening his tie and clearing his throat before restarting the meeting with an unusual smile that didn't seem so… smug.
"I apologise for my late return. I 'ad business to sort out," He said in a tone less lively than how he usually sounded. Arthur watched him warily as Francis sat himself down again focused on the next nation to speak.
After what seemed like hours, the nations were dismissed and went on their way to their hotels or airports. Arthur sighed and placed his papers inside his black brief case when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He ignored them thinking it was someone who wasn't going to pay attention to him until they stopped.
"Art'ur, do you 'ave a spare moment?" Arthur recognized the French dialect and forgot Francis was the host for the meeting.
"What do you want?" The Englishman said as he scrambled the combination lock numbers on his brief case.
"I just want to show you somesing," Francis said with the same tone as he did throughout the meeting; neutral with no particular emotion attached to it.
"If it's about how big your Eiffel Tower is, I don't want to see it!"
"Why would I show you my manliness again?" The Frenchman sighed. "I simply request we take a walk togezer to my place." Arthur hummed wondering whether it was another trap in an attempt to get into his trousers, although the tone of Francis' voice didn't suggest a thing. The Englishman debated whether or not to risk following him until he let out a defeated sigh.
"Fine. I'll risk my life and follow you back to your place."
"Trust me, I just want to show you somesing."
"Famous last words," Arthur grumbled in his mind before following Francis out of the meeting room.
!
Arthur couldn't help but notice plaques on nearly every building they walked past in the city. On these plaques were names and numbers that looked like they could signify some kind of date. Some even had fresh flowers hanging from them. This bought a memory to the Englishman, when he asked what the plaques represented.
"What's with the names on the buildings?" Arthur asked as he read the names off the plaque hung on the wall of a bakery. Francis stopped walking, not turning his head to the Englishman.
"Zee names you're reading are zee men, women and children 'oo used to live and work in zat building before zey were snatched away by zee Nazis." He uttered despondently.
Arthur had been tempted to graze his fingers over the letters, imagining the sort of people who used to call each building their home, until they were cruelly taken away to concentration camps or wherever their lives ended. Images and sounds of people crying, screaming and struggling from the Nazi's clutches played in his mind like an old black and white film. Those innocent people who live in what they called their home, hauled out of them just because they didn't fit in the vision of one malicious dictator. Arthur wondered whether Francis ever cried after strolling the streets of Paris. After all, the memorials around Britain would provoke some melancholy in the Englishman but it was probably worse for Francis since many people's lives were lost in such an ordinary setting.
Finally, they moved out of the main city area and into the suburban area where he spotted the grand white house just down the road. That was so typical of Francis; it had to match his flamboyant personality one way or another. Strolling past the rose bushes and up the porch, Francis unlocked the door and continued through the house without saying a word. To be honest, neither of them said a single word from the place where they had the meeting to his house; which in Arthur's mind felt unnatural. Normally, Francis would have happily chattered to an agitated British man and flaunted his flirtatious personality at anyone he considered attractive, men and women. The eerie silence continued to fill the air until they stepped into the garden, and made their way towards a statue of what appeared to be an angel between two red rose bushes. Francis lowered himself to a kneeling position to which Arthur followed. His emerald eyes stared at the statue until they caught sight of the writing on the plaque under it.
"One life is all we have and we live it as we believe in living it. But to sacrifice what you are and to live without belief, that is a fate more terrible than dying."-Jeanne D'Arc.
Arthur turned to Francis, who still stared at the concrete angel. "I was able to pick zis up today from zee memorial place." The Frenchman uttered, tucking some of his trailing blonde hair behind his ears. "She looks so beautiful."
"You mean you got this during the break?" Francis nodded in response.
"Jeanne really was an angel," He exhaled, almost to the point of tears but none fell. Arthur turned his gaze back to the statue, hands pressed together in prayer. He pictured her wheat blonde hair and her vibrant blue eyes on the woman's soft, oval shaped face. A sniff from Francis turned Arthur's head and without hesitation, pulled the Frenchman close, resting his head on his shoulder. Until the garden became obviously cold and dark, both nations stared at the concrete angel in a respective silence whilst in a rare embrace. Whether they could see it or not, Jeanne smiled at the pair from the heavens.
THE END
!
According to Stephen Clarke's book, Paris Revealed: The Secret Life of a City, there are about 1,060 plaques around the city commemorating the names of the victims of the Second World War, and the date that they were arrested, deported, shot or all three by the Nazis. Schools often had a plaque saying how many Jewish children were removed, and the sign would specify that their abduction was the work of French policemen and militia. On the anniversary of the date the victims were taken away, the arrondisement will often arrange a bouquet of fresh flowers to be hung from a brass ring on the plaque. Almost half of the plaques pay homage to people killed during the Liberation of Paris at the end of August 1944.
And that's it. 'To Francis From Jeanne' is done. This one was surprisingly emotional to do. I didn't expect it to blossom the way it did and I'm glad about developing it further. I (hopefully) explored things that I didn't think about when I first wrote this but it's amazing how far it went from being a one-shot to being a one-shot with five bonus chapters. I almost cried at every chapter I wrote because it was had become more than a fan fic where I wanted to write Arthur being possessed by a ghost.
Thank you to the many people who faved this story and gave their kind comments and reviews. Keep them coming in!