Being a nation had its perks sometimes. She had an inability to die if she were to live away from her capital like she had during her younger years, and, while she was living in the capital, she had the protection of the guards, and a dependable food source. There were other perks, to be sure, but France could only think of the baser ones as she was forced to endure her least favorite activity of palace life.
Court.
There was always a seat for her, to the right of the king or in this case, the crown prince, if she so deigned to bore herself with court proceedings. France had been avoiding the court because, as she had told Scotland a week or so ago, the most common response to anything she asked was 'no.' But with Scotland gone, there was no one to tell her what was going on in the war. And France would rather sit through court than be oblivious to the war.
Charles of Valois, otherwise known as her Crown Prince or the only one of her bosses to at least half listen to her, kept on glancing over at France during the proceedings. When there was a lull in the flood of people requesting audience with the prince and court, she turned to him.
"Yes?" she asked expectantly.
Charles fidgeted. "Nothing"
She raised her eyebrows. "Really?"
He sighed lightly and shook his head, but he wasn't looking at her. He was looking at a cluster of nobles in the far corner of the room. France joined him in studying them. "If they ask if you're married, say yes."
"….What?"
"Jacques was asking," Charles muttered, scratching at his neck lightly, "and he wouldn't let it go until I told him your husband was fighting in the war."
"Wouldn't let what go?"
"Courting you."
"He wanted to court me?"
"They all did."
"What do they have a thing for older women?"
Charles leveled an unimpressed look at her. "Françoise, you look like you're nineteen. If I were to tell him that you were alive during the heyday of the Roman Empire, he'd laugh in my face and probably call me crazy while he's at it."
"Still, nineteen is pretty old to be unmarried."
"So's 585."
France scoffed. "I've been married. They just...don't last as long as me."
Charles looked alarmed, "Who?"
Before she could answer, another entourage was announced to see the prince. What caught her attention, was the state of dress within the group. They were poor. What were poor people doing in the court?
A hush fell about the court as the group approached Charles, his advisors, and France. France leaned forward, the heel of her hand facing the group as her fingers cradled her chin, her elbow resting on the arm of her chair. This would be interesting at the very least.
The court was entirely silent as a figure at the front of the group stepped up and addressed the prince. France blinked. It was a girl!
"Prince Charles," she said. Her voice was powerful, rippling across the room and capturing the attention of everyone present. Her hair, light golden tresses, fell about her chin and ears. Her eyes were alight with self confidence and determination. France's hand fell from her face and she stared at the girl. Without knowing quite why, she knew she really wanted her to succeed with whatever she had to say. "I am here on behalf of God."
Well, no surprise, she looked like an angel, pale skin, brilliant green eyes, and smiling lips.
The angel took a deep breath, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "I am here to win this war for France."
Oh how nice, winning a war just for me, yes go on ahead. That's perfectly alright, France thought. She was startled out of her reverie by a sharp bark-like laugh from one of the prince's many suitors. The man was chuckling down at the girl, who seemed shocked at the reaction from the advisor and then the rest of the court. Even parts of her party looked unsure of themselves as they were laughed at. A boy, who had stood next to the angel, had one hand on his forehead and he was shaking his head, muttering lightly to himself.
"Prince Charles," the advisor said, turning to the prince, who had not laughed as the others hand, "this girl is of no use to us. Send her away from us. We have more pressing matters to be addressing."
"Wait no!" the girl exclaimed. She climbed up the short steps that separated the prince from the rest of the court so that she was now even with the advisor. There was a collective gasp from around the room. She flew to her knees and reached for the prince's hand. "Prince Charles, please. My name is Jeanne d'Arc. God sent me here to end this war in a victory for France. I can do it. God has chosen me to. I will win this war and I will see you crowned king in Reims."
Reims? The name sent a ripple throughout the crowd. Everyone knew what it meant, but not everyone knew the significance. For France, just hearing the name was enough. She had not seen Reims in years. If Charles was crowned king, there would be no more hiding in Chinon or Vaucouleurs. She whispered the name as though it were a taboo.
Charles looked up to her and then back down to Jeanne. She was still looking up at him, her eyes wide as she pleaded for one chance, just one. "I can end the siege of Orléans. I am the maiden destined to save France. Please."
Charles stared down at her, but made no motion to take back his hand. The court was silent. France wasn't sure if she was breathing or not. Then,
"Do you have any formal military training?" a general asked gruffly as he stepped up in front of France and the left of Jeanne.
Jeanne glanced over her shoulder quickly at the general and then back to the king. "Well no, but God has chosen me. I can do it."
The general scoffed and turned away, shaking his head. France glared at him until Charles' soft voice drew her attention back to the two of them. "I would like to speak to my advisors and generals before I make a decision."
Jeanne hurriedly got to her feet, bowed once. "Yes of course, take all the time you need," she said as she bowed again before rejoining her entourage. All at once, the advisors and generals descended upon Charles. They swarmed around his throne, shouting and bickering over each other.
And France didn't like it one bit.
So she stood up and pushed her way between the shouting men until she reached Charles at the center. "Give her a chance," she said. Charles shook his head and touched his ear. He had not heard her. "Give her a chance!" she shouted, almost bellowing over the meaningless chatterings of the generals behind her.
They fell silent and stared at her, but she only stared back at Charles, who looked slightly amused by the whole situation. "You say I should give her a chance, Madam Françoise?"
"Oui," she said with finality.
Charles smiled. "Very well then."
The advisors around them began to splutter again. "What? You're trusting her judgement over ours?"
"Madam Bonnefoy," Charles said, standing up and staring down the advisors, "has always been an excellent judge of character for as long as I have known her. If she says that Mademoiselle d'Arc has a good chance at succeeding with her endeavours, and is the best choice for France"- here he gave a little wink at France who just shook her head at him, smiling lightly "-then I trust her judgement. And you should too fellows. Mademoiselle," he said as he pushed through the group of men. France followed him smugly.
Jeanne looked up and approached him, but stayed at the bottom of the stairs. She kneeled, her head bent to the ground so her hair fell forward.
"Mademoiselle, I will grant your request." Jeanne looked up, stunned. "Given that you pass a test. If you pass, you will be granted an army to lead to Orléans."
Jeanne seemed at a loss for words. "Th-thank you."
Charles turned away from her looked to France. He motioned to the girl fluidly. "Go on."
France took a deep breath and pushed her shoulders back. She stared at Jeanne, studying her silently. Jeanne met her eyes and her stance. One eyebrow jumped slight, almost as though it was a challenge. France quelled the urge to smirk at the girl. "What did God show you?"
Jeanne breathed deeply and looked up to God for a second before she looked back down. "He showed me ships lining up for battle. There were 204 ships on our side, about 160 ships on theirs. There were two men on our ships, arguing over whether to pull up the anchor. We didn't pull up anchor. God emphasized that. The English arrived. They sent three ships at a time; their archers would shoot at a boat and then the men-in-arms would take siege of the boat.
"There was one man," Jeanne continued, almost breathlessly, but now her eyes were anywhere but France and Charles, "that seemed to wade through the entanglement of bodies as though they were but a field of grass. Oh he killed as he did so, but only if he was attacked. He was looking for someone and continued to search through the waves of people, parting them like a modern day Moses."
Jeanne cleared her throat here. "His clothes were slightly baggy on him, as though he grew rather quickly, but not into the naval uniform he was wearing. He had blond hair peeking out the sides of his chainmail uniform. And enormous eyebrows over dulled green eyes."
As though she had been stabbed, France leaned away from Jeanne, a hand going to her side and resting against the dormant wound from almost a century ago. Yes she remembered this battle, and the wound that spurred her king to keep her away from the fighting from then on. If Jeanne saw that...there was no telling if she had seen the fight between France and England then and if she had seen it, then she could tell that France was-
"God showed him in dark reds and blacks, like the devil. There was a woman standing with us-" here Jeanne paused again and looked to France in delayed curiosity "-she was fighting, but her eyes would scan the horizon line, also looking for someone. Eventually, the man and the woman met up; they had been waiting for each other. The woman spat at his feet and he snarled at her. They started fighting, swords slashing through the air and clanging together in a flurry. His sword caught the edge of her skirts and ripped the hem off. She cut his upper shoulder and he hissed like a cat and jabbed at her stomach, only managing to cut her side. She fell and our soldier surrounded her, protected her, and began ganging up on the man.
"God made it seem as though she had not been back to the battlefield. She...died." Jeanne's eyes flickered to France. "But God told me that I could take her place and win the war and the battle with the man with the huge eyebrows."
The room was silent after Jeanne finished speaking. France really needed to sit down; her head was swimming. Charles was watching her, she knew that, waiting for her input.
"Françoise…?" Charles said softly.
"Oui," France said distractedly, turning away from the court. "Ouais, ouais." She waved a hand over her shoulder as she walked towards her seat. She sat down heavily, staring in no particular direction. Her thoughts effectively drowned out the arguments from the advisors and Charles' defense of her decision. "Take my place," she whispered softly.
She glanced over to Jeanne, standing with a boy from her original train of people. The girl had a big smile on her face as she bounced gently on the balls of her feet in front of the boy. The boy did not look amused as he stared at Jeanne, his head shaking slightly.