Chapter 14: Triumph

Jeanne was proud of herself. After a couple of hours of reading, she had passed the children's books, though, to be honest, they were her favorite for all of the colorful pictures. This… Dr. Seuss definitely had an exotic flare to him.

He loves to paint trees full of strange yellows, oranges, and red with violet or blue leaves. It was amazing.

Getting a better flow of sentence structure and starting building her own understanding of reading, she began to read more complicated stories.

I'm so proud of you. Jeanne Emily beamed at her. You're making significant progress!

She blushed at the compliment, "Well, I had a most excellent teacher."

Oh, come now… it was all an effort to build up her confidence to read the transcripts that occurred seven years after death. You're going to be a scholar at this rate.

To read for a living. That was a strange idea that never entered her mind. A scholar reading her about the death of her over six hundred fifty years ago. It's certainly weird. To think this happened after her death. She wondered if she watched it in Heaven. She wondered if she, Jeanne, was in Heaven, or if God had sent her down… or maybe she really wasn't Jeanne. The same her that guided her to the Oriflamme. The same her that endured the flames.

The last thing she remembered seeing was the fire reaching, a blaze of an inferno consuming everything as she called out to the Lord. A bright light came down to her. Then nothing. Blackness.

Then it was like no time and an infinite amount of time had passed. It was the strangest circular reality, what Emily would call a paradox. During that brief minute, she closed her eyes; over six hundred fifty years had passed. At that time, her family, her ancestors reversed the trial. Her family's descendants served under the d'Arc name, until now, she woke up, residing in one of Pierre's distant descendants. How the roles have been reversed. Now it seemed that Pierre was watching over her, now.

All in the blink of an eye.

From her protecting Pierre from the pack of wild wolves to him watching over her now through his descendant. It was poetic, really.

And now, she held in her hands the written and spoken words of her family and friends whom she had known and who have long since passed. Their thoughts recorded for all of history in this small book. A heaviness filled her heart at the thought. Her family was gone.

We don't have to read it now. Emily spoke up; She must have sensed her ruminations.

She looked down at the manuscript. The Rehabilitation of Jeanne d'Arc. She steadied her breathing. "Emily…"

Yes, Jeanne? Her voice was a gentle, reassuring touch in the back of her mind.

"Thank you for being family."

No, Jeanne, thank you.

Her fingers gripped the leather-bound book as she prepared to open it.

*Knock Knock*

"Aahh!" Jeanne shouted at the top of her lungs, practically jumping. Taking a moment to regain her composure, she wondered if it was Dr. Anders or Atalanta. Well, whoever it was, they had impeccable timing. Getting up on her two feet, she opened the door.

"..."

"Hello, Jeanne." A distant, hollow voice greeted her.

Jeanne's high spirit sunk. There stood Artoria, a less confident and less upset Artoria; She seemed smaller. She gave this aura of just… trepidation. A surge of anger arose. 'No… no… let go of the anger.' She had to remind herself as well as Emily.

Shut the door.

"May I?" Artoria asked, rubbing her arm nervously.

An image of Cauchon, the tall, bird-beaked man elderly man, stood before with judgment-filled eyes. The man she wanted to run through with a sword. No... No... No... She chanted to herself. Blinking away the image, it faded; it was regular old Artoria.

Jeanne, without saying anything, stepped aside. Walking around her guest, she took a seat behind a nest of books on the ground. The books, oddly enough, made her feel safe, like a wall between Jeanne and her English guest.

"I see you have taken quite a liking to reading, heheh..." Artoria observed with an awkward laugh.

Jeanne nodded, still hesitant to say anything, only nodding in confirmation. The dagger in her heart started to ooze its venom, causing it to ache with longing for vengeance and self-loathing.

"Jeanne…" The king sat down on her knees, "I wanted to apologize."

"For what?" She couldn't bear to look Artoria in the eye as she fumbled with the book of retrial in her hand. Here she was a peasant, the most esteemed woman in France, unable to look the king of England in the eye. "You were speaking truths."

There was a lengthy pause. A pause that made Jeanne want to escape from this prison cell. Her vision started to blur with tears as the silence deafened. She felt a slight vibration, and noticed a shade of blue in the very far corner of her eye.

"Jeanne….." the sadness in the King's voice paused her heart. "You aren't some peasant."

No. No. No. The dagger was being twisted in heart, cutting deeper.

"You're a great warrior and leader born with such gifts."

No.

No.

This had to be some kind of cruel joke that was being played on her.

"The way you don't kill… the way you value all life is so truly inspirational. I wish I could do that as well."

Jeanne's heart stopped as she shook her head, "No… I'm just some… peasant." She spat out the word like a nail in her mouth, "playing at war. I don't want to… I can't take a life…" She closed her eyes, trying to withhold the tears. "I never wanted to fight. But it was thrust upon me… I just want to be home. I wanted to be with my family. Living on my family's farm." She didn't want any of this. She didn't ask to be some kind of savior for her country. Her God asked, and she followed, without reservation. She pushed aside everything she wanted. And she was loved and hated for it.

"Jeanne… do you really think so lowly of yourself?"

The blonde girl hung her head, tears rolling down her cheeks. How could she not?

Artoria's words were the exact words that slapped her in the face by the Inquisition. Question after question harassed her. How could… a peasant girl defeat England? Why would God choose an illiterate fool of a child?

They were the same words she held in her heart.

"They said the same thing…" she murmured, "they said the same exact thing."

"And they're wrong." Artoria countered bluntly.

"Ha, come now… you even said so." Jeanne bitterly scoffed.

She felt a hand upon her hand. Looking up slowly, she saw the deadliest look of Artoria, King of Camelot, and of all Briton. It was the look of her determination. "And I was wrong… I had to be trained at war and leading. You were born with gifts… I am quite envious of your ability. Let alone your tenacity to preserve life, even at the cost of your own."

"I thought you saw it as a weakness."

Artoria seemed to look conflicted as if she were choosing her words carefully. "It's strange that in some aspects, it is your greatest weakness, yet your greatest strength. It's a rare gift, Jeanne, something you should be greatly proud of."

The dagger was slowly retracted, the venom dried. Jeanne wiped her eyes, "I… just wanted to be home. I didn't plan on being a soldier for the rest of my life. I never proclaimed to be greater than what I was… all the attention. I never desired it. I did what was asked of me…"

"I'm sorry, Jeanne… I'm sorry my words affected you so deeply. You have a brilliant mind and a compassionate soul. Never let anyone tell you otherwise."

It was almost out.

"A bit late for that… I was… condemned as such."

"And God will punish them for it. They will be made fools in this life and the next. God makes a fool of the arrogant..." Artoria stated as if it were the law of the universe

"How can you say that…?"

Artoria's laughter died down as she looked away, "I... I just have a feeling…"

Did she say something wrong? "I'm sorry for.. inserting myself… into your affairs."

Artoria shook her head as if she were coming out of a dream, "You cared enough to get involved. I don't know if I can stop her without killing her, but I will try. I will try and not give in to my emotions."

And what felt like a serrated dagger in her heart slowly melted away into the refreshing balm that healed the wounds she had carried.

Jeanne surged forward, nearly tackling the King in an embrace.

"Thank you, Jeanne." Artoria normally stoic behavior caved in as she returned it in kind. This Jeanne…. This Maid indeed does have the heart of a child. And she vowed she would do anything to keep it intact.

Having done her best to heal the wounds she caused, Artoria still felt the guilt of her words. They were so condemning… When the poor girl was already condemned enough. She did not wish to add more pain to that injury.

She left the room in peace, not wanting to take up the Maid's time any further. Of course, she insisted that she wasn't, but Artoria needed the time to sort herself out, in reality.

Ava…

She could feel her master's presence. Silently working and watching from the background.

Mm? Her voice was neutral, calm, and collected. But she could see the colors of contempt flowing in her mind, almost like a nauseous green gas.

"You were right…" Artoria said as she went back to the medical wing.

I know I was.

Artoria frowned as she inspected the room. It was still a mess, to say the least. Picking up shards of glass that were missed, she deposited them in the trash receptacle. "I apologize, Ava, for my unbecoming behavior."

There was a brief silence; the only thing that the King could feel was the heartbeat in her chest.

I can tell you mean that. Ava's voice spoke up, barely noticeable, Just… please.

Artoria felt a lump in her throat as she nodded, "I won't let that happen ever again."

Welcome back. There were warm undertones that filled her heart and mind. Artoria didn't feel like she should have been welcomed back. However, she would do her best to earn her spot. One way or another, this she vowed.

Thus she made her preparations to be phased back into France. Which, thankfully, would not be too long. From the sounds of Doctor Anders stirring from his mighty slumber.

After a few hours of medical checkups, eating a hearty meal, and more medical checks, Jeanne was shifted back into her beloved France. It only looked as if the night had passed.

The three stood amongst the ruins of the camp. It was morning, the sun starting to peek upward from the battle. The English camp was in ruins. Smoldering ruins, collapsed tents, burnt trebuchets, and charred corpses.

A stark reality from what transpired here a mere few hours. Still remembering how she was ran through by Mordred's blade, on the ground bleeding. She was now back to normal. Her garments and armor even have seemed to have 'healed.'

What hadn't healed were the dead.

The smell of burnt corpses made Jeanne want to nearly vomit. Bringing her arm to her mouth, she had hoped to block at least some of the foul odor. It barely did anything.

A knight rider galloped towards them, "Commander Jeanne!" The knight lifted up his visor. Jeanne turned around to see the knight, "You're alive! And healed..." He said as he looked her up and down, "Truly a miracle

It was the commander of the archer unit sent by the duke, "Jaune?"

The knight nodded with a smile, "Yes, mi'lady?"

"Did we win?"

"Yes, we did." His smile grew more prominent, "All thanks for your plan." He dismounted from his horse.

Jeanne nodded as she looked around the ground; so many soldiers had died. The red banners of the English mixed in with the French's blue coat of arms, scattered among the battle ruins, she found her flag. Broken from the battle with Mordred.

Strange how it wasn't rematerialized. Emily hummed in thought. It didn't matter. They had won the day, however, at a great cost of lives. She wiped her cheek as she made the sign of the cross over the dead as she knelt down in reverence and humility.

"You weep for them?" Atalanta raised an eyebrow. "They are our enemy."

Jeanne wiped the tears away with her gauntlet, "They're still human. They still are our brothers and sisters."

"It's a sign of great respect for the enemy and fallen alike," Artoria explained.

After a few quiet moments of prayer, the Maid stood up, still wiping away some of her tears. Too much blood had been spilled today.

"Please, Jeanne, take my horse."

"But…" She started to protest.

Yet Jaune would have none of this, "I insist. This battle was given to us through your hands…"

"God's…" She corrected with a warning.

"Through you." He added as he offered his horse. "I insist."

Not wanting to argue before the dead, she reluctantly climbed the horse. "Let us carry the banner." Artoria insisted.

Looking down at the broken standard, her heart ached. It was another reminder of how she was bested by pure hate. She slowly handed them over, giving half to Artoria, and the actual standard to Atalanta, who, despite being a pagan, held it very gently with great reverence.

Cur

As daylight rose, the actual damage of the siege could be seen. The walls were battered and bruised—pockmarks leaving reminders of the fearsome trebuchets that had battered the walls. Several stone towers along the wall had collapsed, even the former headquarters of the gatehouse. The gatehouse was partially destroyed.

Scavengers were amidst the dead picking trophies while the birds feasted upon the corpses of the deceased. "Jaune."

The blonde knight who was leading her horse looked up, "Yes, Ma'am?"

"Have the looters rounded up and imprisoned for the night. I want a burial detail for both English and French."

The knight nodded and started to gather soldiers that were patrolling the area. They came out in force and with irons, arresting any soldiers caught scavenging.

"Why care for the dead? They are dead."

"T-t-they still deserve to be treated with respect." Jeanne explained in a shaky voice, "They deserve last rites."

The two noticed how her gaze lingered on the fields, watching as looters were rounded up. A procession of black-robed Benedictine monks, burning incense as a cross, was being carried through the field of the dead. One cowled monk approached, his wiry white-grey beard flowing in the wind, as he brought his boney hand to pin it down, lest it ended up in his aged and wise face.

"Jeanne, this is Father Tumas. Head Abbot of Orleans."

The man knelt on a knee, "It is a true miracle." He said in a hoarse voice. "You do live."

Jeanne got off the horse and knelt beside the elderly monk. "Father, please rise. Your knees should only bow before the Lord."

"O-o-oh… thank you, my dear lady. You are m-m-most kind." He stammered. She placed a hand on her shoulder, "I…" His voice started to shake, and not from age, "I… I'm… sorry for what my colleagues had done to you in Rouen…"

She brought a finger to his cheek, wiping away his free-flowing tears, and embraced him, "My dear Father…" She did her best to remain composed, choking down her own tears, "I… I accept your apology…"

Her eyes started to blur.

"How could I not…?" Jeanne asked with a shaky smile, "It was your order that accompanied me to Orleans and heard my confessions. I owe you so much."

The man's vitality seemed to have been restored. A certain lively glow emanating from his face, like he became twenty years younger.

"Father, I have a favor to ask?"

"What is it, my child?" He asked, reinvigorated by hope.

"I'd like you to hear my confession tonight," she asked with a warm heart.

The man nodded, "Of course, my child. It would be my pleasure."

Jeanne's smile only grew, "Come to the Duke estate. We will receive you and your Brothers warmly."

Off in the distance, Atalanta leaned over to Artoria, "What's a confession?" she asked.

"It's when a priest hears your sins and forgives you for them," Artoria whispered back.

"Men have that ability?" Atalanta asked, a little stunned.

"Only priests, and it's through God that they can."

Atalanta nodded as she watched Jeanne mount her after embracing the elderly holy man.

She felt a bit at ease upon her horse as Jaune continued to lead the Maid's horse. The click-clack of the horse's hooves echoed through the gatehouse once they crossed the drawbridge.

The fires have been tamed, citizens and soldiers helped to repair the damage. Work stopped when they realized who came across their field of vision. A pair of hands clapped slowly. Another one joining, then another. It was an infection as more soldiers clapped. More and more people joined as people shouted, "The MAID! SHE HAD RETURNED!"

People gathered on the streets, leaving their shops and stalls, stopping the cleanup and reconstruction. "She had delivered us!" More people shouted, much to the consternation of Jeanne. None of this was really necessary.

"It is really her!" A person shouted much to the meekness of Jeanne. She waved meekly in the crowd, doing her best to overcome her shyness.

"Your people seem to love you," Atalanta observed as she walked beside the mounted maiden.

"Yes… well… all I did…"

"Relieve a siege for them twice." Artoria remarked from the other side, "If they were not thankful, I'd be concerned."

"Come on, Jeanne, raise your arms; they are here for you." Jaune encouraged her with a smile.

She slowly raised her hands to the adoring crowd with a reluctant smile before her as they proceed down the main street. Flower petals of roses fluttered down as if raining down upon all of them. Banner unfurled of the fleur de Lis, the French royal coat of arms, the Orleans coat of arms… and a new banner she barely recognized, "That's my…"

"Coat of arms." Jaune explained, "The city proudly replaced their own with yours."

The guards of the city held the crowd back while also chanting. Priests were out, sprinkling the crowd with Holy Water. Freshly baked bread was being tossed in the air mixed in with gold coins as she continued to ride up the road, waving along.

She caught something in the corner of her eye.

"Jeanne! Jeanne!" A frantic little voice called out.

"Jaune, stop."

The knight nodded as Jeanne saw the child.

It was a small child being held back by a guard. "Jeanne! Jeanne!"

She gestured for the guard to let the boy go. A little boy, his arm in a sling, rushed up to her, holding a bouquet of roses. Without a second thought, she hoisted the boy on her horse and set him on her lap. "Hello." She greeted him warmly, "what can I do for you?"

The boy, in return, held out the bouquet, "These… these are for you…" He said, unable to meet her gaze.

Seeing these stunning roses made Jeanne's heart swell.

"Looks like she has a special admirer." Atalanta chuckled.

"Indeed." Artoria with a bemused smile. Though the boy seemed familiar to the King.

Jeanne quickly turned her head around, offering an 'enough' kind of luck, which made her companions zip their mouths. She took the flowers, "These are lovely." She smiled.

She felt the pair of small hands wrap around her, "Read the note…" The boy whispered.

Raising an eyebrow and returning the hug as the crowd seemed livelier, she whispered, "Thank you."

With that, the boy broke away, and Jeanne helped the boy down with the assistance of Artoria. Holding the crimson flowers bound together by a piece of paper. Unscrolling the note, she read, 'Beware of the Bastard's feast. KofC'

Stopping and reading the note a second time, the crowd's sound seemed to fade into nothingness. Was the Bastard of Orleans plotting something? They had been such great comrades while she was still alive. Even today, he faithfully followed her plan to great success. Unless it is one of his courtiers? Even still, the people loved her, did they not? This crowd proved their love of her.

"Well then… we should keep going," Jeanne said in a slightly less cheery tone.

The three followed the long route up past the Cathedral, through several streets, winding streets full of people happy to see their home liberated. They reached a walled-off portion of the city with an impressive fortress built into the city wall—owned by the last male heir of the house of Orleans.

Upon this fortified estate were walls that loomed over the city fortifications. If one were to capture the city walls, no one would face the extensive fortifications that dominated the city—a fortress built within a fortress. The wall's ramparts are guarded well by Italian crossbow mercenaries, comparably good shots compared to the English longbow.

Jeanne wondered if they would stand a chance to Atalanta.

Upon reaching the gatehouse, the crowd seemed to grow increasingly eager to see their Maid. Jeanne tucked the note into her gauntlet as she continued to wave, "Don't make me the only waving."

Artoria started to warm up to the crowd; against her stoic nature, she began to wave to the masses. The Huntress was the only one that seems less than thrilled, giving a short hand in the air.

"She really isn't a people person, huh?" Artoria whispered.

"No, but then again, we all have our quirks, don't we?" Jeanne reminded her as she continued to wave.

Deciding that she and Atalanta needed a break from the crowd of people, they retreated within the fortified manor, the gates closing. Slowly, the crowds dissipated as the guards watched them in awe from a distance.

The four walked through the courtyard, noting the green gardens that were a drastic change from the dreary cobblestone and wooden homes and streets of Orleans. And yet, Jeanne couldn't help but see the ruins that this fort was in back when she was alive. A year-long siege tended to ruin the beauty within cities.

Walking past a round fountain with cherubs shooting water from their bows, Jeanne felt the eyes of soldiers on her. Whether they were admirers or enemies, Jeanne was undoubtedly unsure.

"Where is the Duke?" Jeanne asked as they passed the fountain.

"He and his knights went to harass the English. They should be back by the evening." Jaune asked as he tied up the horse.

From the corner of her eye, she could see Artoria balling her hand into a fist.

"I see." Jeanne hummed to herself as she dismounted...

They reached a large tower with a large spiral staircase that could easily fit six knights. "Is it true about your sword?"

Her eyes drifted down to the sword by her waist as they reached the top of the staircase and found themselves on a balcony that overlooked the courtyard.

"Did you really find it in a church?"

It wasn't just in any church. She heard it call out to her from a church. She felt drawn to the church at Chinon, where the Dauphine held court. Dedicated to one of her patron saints, Saint Catherine, she went to pay homage. There something reverberated; the air was filled with a certain kind of energy. Pushing the altar aside and digging not too deep, an ancient sword was located.

An ancient sword, covered in rust, embedded in the blade were five crosses. The Dauphine requested his own personal weaponsmith to restore the blade, restoring its radiant glory. She remembered the day it was gifted to her, In a golden weaved cloth.

While she appreciated the gesture, she opted for a plain and sturdy sheath, the same sheath that she currently had. She was thankful for the gift but was more than grateful for not using it to kill. In fact, the only time she had used it… She chuckled to herself, was to chase out a group of prostitutes that were following her army. She would not have the army that God entrusted in her care be sullied with women of ill-repute.

"It is certainly true."

"Wow." All three of them said, causing Jeanne to smile shyly.

The knight walked them around the corner and to a pair of large oak doors. Pushing them, the guests were greeted with an extensive suite. Four beds separated by curtains, a small dining room with food already prepared. Even a steel-encased bath with curtains. "I hope these will be to your liking…?"

Atalanta was the first one to inspect the food on the table. Plopping a grape in her mouth, she nodded approvingly. "These will be sufficient." She said as she plopped another grape in her mouth, earning a shake of the head from a disapproving Artoria.

"These quarters will be fine, Jaune, thank you." Jeanne bowed her head to the knight.

"Well…. Um… alright… well I'll let you know the L\lord is back."

The knight excused himself and closed the door behind him. Listening intently as the footsteps fade away, Jeanne took out the note from her gauntlet. "Do you remember that boy in the crowd?"

Artoria nodded, "Ah, your young admirer."

"He gave me a note."

"A letter of affection, perhaps?" Atalanta said with a smirk as she plucked another grape.

Jeanne shook her head with a grim look causing the other two to share a look, "Beware the Bastard's feast. KoC"

Artoria raised an eyebrow. "Who is KoC? How do we know if we can trust them?"

"More importantly." Atalanta's eye's narrowed suspiciously, "There are enemies among us... And they plan to strike at the feast?" She stopped eating the grapes. You never what could be poisoned.

Jeanne handed Artoria the note as she moved past the two and towards the window. Looking out longingly at the peaceful Loire valley, farmers started harvesting their crops for a long winter.

Off in the distance was a dust cloud that arose from a group of mounted riders. How she wished she were the riders… these court politics were the literal bane of her former existence.

"I guess it's the same anywhere you go." Artoria spat out vehemently as she shook her head at the note.

"What?" Atalanta asked.

"No matter where you go, there will always be those vain ambitions waiting to strike from the shadows."

"Worse yet. We don't even know who our allies are." Jeanne thought out loud as she lifted her broken banner. Easily smashed through by the English commander without a struggle. Just like her beloved France, wounded and broken.

Putting down the banner with a wounded heart, she pulled out the Oriflamme, the gold-embroidered crimson banner that symbolized her home. Even if this wasn't the actual banner, she couldn't believe that she was holding the banner.

Looking down at it, she was touching one of the most sacred relics of her home. That was when she saw etched into the banner, a Latin word. Barely noticeable, it was a golden thread that made up the word.

"...Artoria… can you read Latin?"

The knight walked over with a curious look. The Maiden pointed at the weaving under the golden sun, weaving in and out of the sun's tendrils. "Roman Aurelianum…" Artoria read out. Moving towards the thread's upper right corner, woven in the golden sun, was a single red thread. "Lutetia Parisiorum"

"I might not be able to read or speak Latin, but the first one sounds like "Orlean," Atalanta remarked as she sat down on her bed, sniffing a vine of grapes.

"Then your theory is right." Artoria nodded, taking a closer look at the banner, "Parisiorum was a common name for the Pais back in my time. Odd how a banner would have a piece of the map."

"So our objective is this...Paris?" Atalanta asked as she poked the grapes.

"I believe so." Jeanne nodded, "Let's rest here for the night and set out tomorrow."

Now that she thought about it, it was undoubtedly odd how a banner would have a piece of a map on it. Hopefully, there would be another piece of the map in the city.

The neighing of horses filled the air as the thunderous clapping of horses galloping filled the courtyard below. Folding the banner up, placing it around her belt, Jeanne left the room to see what all the commotion was. A group of knights, bruised and battered. Some of them fell off their horses, crashing to the ground.

Jeanne jumped down the balcony without skipping a beat to the surprise of her comrades who followed behind.

Landing on the ground with a thud, she moved to help one knight out off his horse. Upon closer inspection, his breast blate was caved in. It was a miracle the man was still conscious. "What happened…?" Jeanne asked.

Another knight, wearing a golden helmet with a blue and gold plume, rode and jumped off his horse. Taking off his helmet to reveal the sharp-nosed Bastard of Orleans. "The English commander chased us off the field. I lost about twenty knights to her alone."

"How many of them were there?" Jeanne asked in astonishment.

"Four."

"Four?" Asked a stunned Atalanta.

"Four." He confirmed as he ripped out of his gauntlets, wiping the sweat off from his brow. "We didn't even land a blow."

"Mordred blood lust knows no bounds…" Artoria said through gritted teeth. Sending a look at her, Jeanne reminded her friend to keep her anger in check.

"In the end, it doesn't matter. We managed to break the English back. They shouldn't be back until next season. For now… I need a drink." The duke snapped his finger, and a squire rushed up with a pitcher and goblet. Taking the pitcher, he chugged the wine, red streams falling off his chin.

"Jean…." The Maid warned.

He raised a finger as he continued to chug.

"Jean."

"AH!" He wiped his mouth and put the pitcher down, much to the anger of Jeanne.

"Don't be gluttonous." She sighed with frustration.

"Yeah yeah…" He said with a cheeky grin, "Jeanne, we have much to celebrate! The defeat of the English! Your return! The final defeat of England! Tonight we shall hold a feast! Will you grace us with your honor?" He nodded towards her two companions, "Of course, your friends are more than welcome."

"I… well…" She stumbled, remembering the note. "I don-"

"Of course we would." Artoria interjected with a bow, "It would most certainly be an honor."

"You." He pointed to Artoria, "I like you! Jeanne can at times be…. A bit boring…"

"Am not!"

Atalanta snickered.

"By the way, you have a strange accent… You're not from one of our Scottish regiments." Jean raised an eyebrow.

Artoria narrowed her eyes at the word Scots. "Uh…. no, she's actually English."

Jean slapped his knee in amazement. "No kidding?" His hand drifted toward her sword.

"My people have no right in fighting this war. Our land is on the island, not the mainland." Artoria stated defiantly.

Jean seemed to relax at that for a bit. "I see… well… your actions proved this. Just be careful around the Scots. English turncoat or not, I don't think they would hesitate to stab you in the back."

"Indeed." She said cooly.

"Well then, I need to wash myself off and get some rest, but I'm glad you will be honoring us at the feast."

Jeanne watched as the knight stumbled up the staircase. The wine must be starting to kick in. Jeanne shot a quick glance at the severe glare of Artoria. She tensed up at the word of Scots. She knew that the English and Scots had blood running through them. But did that also mean there was a history of conflict with Artoria?

That was something she would have to be mindful of.

As the other riders got situated with the last of them. "OUT OF THE WAY!" A young man shouted as he rushed into the castle, clad in padded armor with a chain coat. He had curly hair, with autumn hair that matched his tired, hazel eyes. He had a slim figure, looking like he barely ate, despite all the armor he wore. He panted loudly as he caught his breath, nearly dropping a shield with a black lion standing on its hind legs.

Jeanne studied the boy, recognizing his youthfulness; she couldn't believe who it was.

Artoria's hand drifted toward her blade.

Her heart stopped seeing a man she didn't think was possible. He was on the ground, panting as he tried to lift himself. Clearly too tired, he floundered on the ground.

She picked up the man, clasping him by the shoulders. His hazel eyes filled with life as he met his friend. He embraced her tightly.

"Jeanne… I couldn't believe it when I heard it."

"Minguet. I missed you so dearly." She smiled with a tear running down her cheek. It was none other than her page. Louis de Coutes, the king's chief baker that was assigned to Joan, was tasked to meet any and all needs of the Maiden. The boy who served her faithfully from Chinon to Compiegne.

She returned the embrace with all her strength. Breaking away, clasping him by the shoulder, "My dear Minguet. Are you doing well?"

The boy nodded, "Indeed, I couldn't believe the rumors that I heard. They said you had returned."

Jeanne nodded with a smile, "Indeed, Minguet."

"How, though?" He asked with a tear rolling down his cheek. "I saw you the day…. At Rouen"

She wipes away the tear with a finger before hugging as the boy started to sob on her shoulder. She patted him on the back. She was back and would do everything to prevent her servant, no her practical younger brother, from experiencing that pain ever again.

"It's alright, Minguet. I'll tell you all about it. Just know that I'm here now."

The boy looked up at her with a hesitant smile. "I'd like you to meet some of my friends."

She turned and gestured to the king, "This is Artoria." The King offered her hand, which the boy took.

"An honor," Artoria said with a faint smile.

"This is Atalanta."

The antisocial huntress merely nodded an acknowledgment.

"Artoeia, Atalanta, this is Louis de Coutes, or Minguet. He was…"

"Is still…" he corrected.

She giggled slightly as his ever-youthful energy, "alright… alright, he is my page. He fought with me… since the very beginning..."

"What's a page?" Atalanta whispered.

"A servant and junior warrior."

"Ah"

"I'm sorry I wasn't able to join you in the battle. I was tasked with tracking and harassing a Burgundian relief army." He said with a slight hint of disappointment.

"Well, I would say you did a grand job. There was not a Burgundian in sight."

Minguet smiled at the praise, " I learn from the best. Will you be joining us at the feast?" He asked eagerly.

Jeanne nodded, "All of us will be attending."

The boy nodded, "Good. Good. I need to rest up and clean myself. Afterward, I'll be ready to serve you like the old days."

So nothing really important to say… I'm really tired, I wanted this out before I went to sleep. On one hand I want to apologize for my historical and preachy rant. On the other hand, I'm totally not sorry lol

Hope you enjoyed so far, leave a fav, fol, and/or review.

Thank you