Jeanne sat still in the chair- untethered just as England had promised. She had no obvious marks and only looked shocked to see her standing there. Which was just as well, she was supposed to be back at the palace with Charles now.
England had continued his infuriating walk over to his desk, strutting about like a peacock. He grandiosely plucked a letter from the piles of paper on his desk and held it out to show France. "I assume this is from you," he said, smirking. He snarled immediately after. "France, will you look at me when I address you."
Her eyes snapped to his and stepped into the room, just in front of Jeanne. She tilted her chin up in defiance, eyes flashing.
England scowled and brandished the letter again. "I know you are a heathen, but I'd thought that faux-prince-" he spat the word like a swear- "of yours would have taught you better manners than to ignore a man when he's speaking."
She said nothing, just stared back at him. She thought she heard Jeanne make a noise behind her in disbelief. England was armed. She was armed...but she had no clue how she would wield her sword without injuring Jeanne in this small tent. England would probably overpower her faster than she could get Jeanne out. There was another sword- blood drying on the majestic blade- tossed carelessly to the side of the desk.
"France," England said, hissing her name, "are you listening to m-"
But he didn't get to finish that thought. His eyes had started out blistering on France's, but towards the end, they jerked just to the side and widened. Of course, what happened next went too fast for France to really piece together- she felt a whoosh go by her ear and flinched too late and the next moment, England was reeling away, a hand pressed around the blade of the knife and the growing patch of blood on the side of his ribs. He stared open mouthed as he dragged in a ragged gasp and fell back into his seat. His face was screwed up in pain as he wrenched the blade from his side, biting his lip to keep from howling. He glared at the blade in his hand, and then past France to Jeanne.
France turned to stare at the girl as she stood from her seat, wringing out her fingers and arms as she walked over to the prone figure of England. She leaned right up in his face and whispered, "You really should search your prisoners a bit better than that, Monsieur Diable."
She stood back and shook out her right hand before balling it up. England's eyes widened just before the fist made contact with his jaw. He was out like a light.
Jeanne looked up at her after retrieving the sword on the ground. She hefted it in her hands and smiled cheekily at France. "Well? I suggest we get running."
They snuck out of the camp- well they got halfway until they were spotted and then ran as fast as they could into the surrounding woods, Françoise's hand on his arm, leading him through the trees as though she had grown up in them. Jean couldn't help a giggle from escaping him as he followed her lead. He glanced back at the soldiers following them and the rapidly increasing distance between them.
"Duck," Françoise said hastily as they ducked under a fallen trunk. Then there was a swear and she slipped, dragging Jean down next to her , his armor banging on the muddy ground.
"Merde," Françoise hissed at his side.
Jean giggled.
She turned on her side, her breeches completely covered in smeared mud, breathing hard, almost gasping. "Are you laughing?"
Jean snickered and pressed a hand to his mouth to make himself stop. "C'mon, we gotta get to our side.
He stood up, grimacing at the mud clinging to his armor.
Françoise stared up at him before accepting the hand up. "You are strange. Where did you learn to throw knives?"
He smirked. "Same place I learned to swordfight."
She looked vaguely impressed. Then there was a shouting from behind them and she jumped into action, dragging Jean behind her again in the direction of their fortifications.
"Allistor."
He ground his teeth together and turned his head almost regretfully to look at France by his side. "Françoise," he said and then noticed the equally mud covered woman next to her. "Jeanne d'Arc."
Jeanne nodded her head in acknowledgment. France's face lit up at the obvious displeasure in his tone.
"Why are you...covered...in...mud?"
France waved a hand dismissively. "We fell running away from your brother's soldiers."
Scotland's jaw tensed and he looked up at the sky, praying for a little bit of patience. Jeanne turned to France and tilted his head to the side, silently asking a question.
"Arthur Kirkland is Allistor's little brother- he's the man that you called the devil." Allistor snorted as France gasped and threw her hands up excitedly. "Oh Allistor! Jeanne stabbed your brother!"
Jeanne squeaked. "I-I didn't- Françoise, you cant just say those things."
France shrugged nonplussed. "It's no matter, Allistor has not spoken to his brother since- a long long time."
Scotland frowned at France, but smiled grudgingly at Jeanne. "I probably would have stabbed him too if I had the chance and I would never beget anyone the chance to ram a sharp blade into that stuck-up prick."
Jeanne blinked quickly, almost concerned as Allistor turned his attention to France. The latter was rocking back and forth on her toes, a smile in her very being. She was glowing as she watched the side of Jeanne's face. But then the girl turned to train her attention on France and- if she had been glowing before, she was radiant now.
Allistor felt the breath leave his lungs as he stared at France as she was giggling with Jeanne over something asine. He had been right- she was in love, but not with that boy that she mentioned.
"Franc-Françoise," he said softly. She turned to him, expectant, happiness radiating out from her. "I think it would be best if you and Mademoiselle D'Arc return to our current engagement," he made a motion to the battle still waging behind them. Both women looked chastened, but Jeanne reached out and took France's hand in her lightly.
"Thank you for you help," she said, her voice oddly gruff yet sweet.
France clasped the hand tighter and smiled at Jeanne. "Be safe out there."
"I will, and when I retire for the night, we should talk."
France lit up at the suggestion. "Yes, yes we should definetely."
Jeanne smiled and walked away, her hand hovering in the air after she dropped France's hand, a longing glance over her shoulder as she walked away. France was still smiling distantly in the direction that the girl had left.
"France," he said curtly. Her attention whipped back to him. He raised his eyebrows and jerked his chin back to the battle. "I don't know if you remember, being as twitter-pated as you are, but we are at war."
He turned away, missing France absently mouthing 'twitter-pated.'
A/N: There is honestly not excuse why this is so late and im really sorry about it, but i am being unduated with a ton of school work now, but I should have a little time in the coming weeks if not, well late june.