Chapter 15: Red Feast
Atalanta leaned on the railing, watching people come and go. Many appeared to be wealthy people, wearing strange hats, almost like peacocks on their heads. Strange custom, not to mention their coats were way too long, being lifted by up servants. What the purpose of wearing such fine linen if they were going to get dirty.
Seemed inefficient. Atalanta hummed as she watched these cocky birds walk around. She could see Jeanne down in the courtyard; she looked like she was waiting for someone. The Maid welcomed the guests but didn't seem too interested in them.
Giving them polite bows, handshakes, and greetings, the guests headed to the main feasting hall, where Atalanta wanted to be.
The evening had come as nobles had come mingle with one another, all making their way to the feast hall. Some lingered by the angelic fountain, enjoying the brisk air of the evening with a bit of wine and horderves.
Looking down at the crowd, Atalanta watched disinterestedly. People were so mundane. Parties were a waste of time. "Why do people get dressed up?" She thought out loud with a bored sigh.
"A proper noble needs to show martial skill and social refinement." Artoria murmured, "Though I will admit feasts and such were not my forte."
Looking down, they could tell they would sorely be out of dress. Men appeared and long flowing robes and dublets laced with golden threads and buttons—the women's free-flowing gowns of greens, blues, and reds with flowers embroidered on them rivaled their male counterparts in pomp and circumstance.
As the number of people coming slowly turned into a handful of people, Atalanta's attention was brought to the black-hooded figures. One of them carrying that cross symbol that these… Christians… seemed to love.
Certainly a strange bunch; she would be lying if she wasn't fascinated by the bunch. She felt a brush of air against her cheek, to know it was Artoria, standing tall and proper. "Who are those people…"
"Jeanne called them Benedictines."
Atalanta raised an eyebrow, "You don't know them? I thought you were Christian."
Artoria said nothing.
Strange, the hunter thought to herself.
The elderly man lowered his hood as Jeanne walked up to him, greeting him with much honor and praise. That was when the huntress noted that he was wearing… a purple scarf…?
"Why is he wearing the scarf?"
Artoria squinted to confirm that the priest was wearing one. "We must go."
"Why?"
"We must not overhear a confession. That is between Jeanne and God."
"What about you…? and the priest?" Atalanta asked, a bit perplexed. Artoria only met her with silence as she pulled the archer along. "Should you not be there to confess as well?"
Jeanne was not a fan. Not a fan of these social interactions. How it would be much easier and more pleasing to her if she could just eat outside. Anywhere but the feast... then again, she had a duty she must fulfill. How she longed to be sitting out by a campfire, stirring a kettle full of her mother's bouillabaisse, a warm and delightful stew of fish, or any other meats, cabbage, onions. Jeanne smiled at her mother's secret, pears… of all things.
The soldiers were astonished at adding fruit to a vegetable dish, but they fell in love with it. Now that was a dish she most certainly missed. Though, she did have an appreciation for lemon tarts.
Looking up, she could a group of Benedictine monks approaching. Led by the elderly head abbot, doubled over and leaning on a cane. Moving to greet them, "Father Tumas! Welcome!"
"Oh!" He looked up with a smile, "Thank you, my daughter."
"Here, let me help." The Maid offered her arm with the elderly priest took. "Thank you, thank you. It's hard to get around these days."
"It's my honor." Jeanne smiled as she escorted the priest, followed by his brothers. "You and your Brothers are most welcome here."
"To be honest… there has been falling out between our order and the courts of Charles VII."
She raised an eyebrow, "How do you mean?"
"We begged the King to rescue you. Duke and I gathered all of our wealth as part of your ransom."
She nodded, listening intently.
"The Duke wanted to launch an all-out assault on Rouen. I cautioned patience and prayer. Neither happened…"
"Well, hopefully, we can mend both, no?"
"Yes, yes." The skeletal man hummed at the thought, "But we have more pressing matters. You wanted a confession?"
Jeanne nodded eagerly, leading the priest to the fountain, and gestured for him to sit. With a sigh of relief, the head abbot took a seat and removed his hood to reveal his balding head and wild beard. He pulled out the purple stole from his belt and draped it around his shoulder as Jeanne dropped to her knees.
He gave her a blessing, tracing the sign of the cross with his hand, letting her begin.
"Forgive me, Father… it has been…" She paused, debating on what her answer should be. In this world, it would be about two years since her execution. But in the real world, it has been over six hundred fifty years. She decided to go with the safer option. "... two years since my last confession."
The priest nodded solemnly, leaning in and taking her clasped hands into his own. "Go on. Trust in the mercy of our Lord."
Jeanne nodded as a lump started to form in her stomach. "I… suffer greatly in doubt. In doubt of myself and in my mission. I accomplished what God wanted me to do at the stake… but now… I don't know. My heart is distraught… I am so easily shaken by the words closest to me. There were several times where I fell into despair and chose to wallow there."
The priest nodded.
"There were times where I wanted to raise my sword up in anger and strike others down. But… deep down, the largest thing I regret was the lives lost due to my orders—French and English alike. Please, Father, forgive me, for I am weak and prideful. I'm a coward and an icon." She felt tears rolling down her eyes.
The priest wiped away the tears, "My dear daughter, you have nothing to fear." He whispered gently.
"There are so many things I fear."
"Trust in He who guides you."
Jeanne bowed her head in shame, "I… I do… but He doesn't guide me as He did before…"
"That is why you are truly blessed." The old Father smiled, "He blessed you with your visions and voices, but he is now blessing you as He blesses all of us. He is guiding rather than telling. It is okay to have fear and doubts. You're not just the Maid, you're Jeanne d'Arc, and maybe He is giving you the chance to experience that now. Remember, most of all, you're Jeanne d'Arc, his beloved daughter."
She pondered those words. Maybe he was right; perhaps the Lord was giving her a chance to be Jeanne d'Arc, not only the Maid but Jeanne. Doubt wasn't necessarily a bad thing, only a call to trust more.
"What do you do in battle when you've fallen off your horse?" The Head Abbot asked.
"Get right back up…?" She answered, not sure where this was going.
"Exactly, every doubt is a chance to renew your trust. They are, in fact, a blessing."
Jeanne bowed her head as he raised his hands over her head as she received her absolution from the priest. He made the sign of the cross with his hand as she followed along. "The Lord has freed from your sins. Go and proclaim his love and mercy."
Jeanne lifted her eyes up to the sky, feeling a weight off her chest, "Amen." She responded.
"Now, my dear, please stand."
Nodding, she stood up, feeling much lighter.
"Minguet," She called forth.
The young page ran over, bowing. "Please escort Father and his Brothers, make sure they have seats of honor."
The boy nodded eagerly, "My mi'lady." He offered the priest his arm, which he took, "This way, Father."
"Thank you, Minguet." Jeanne smiled in appreciation.
Making her way back to the room, she knocked before entering. Artoria opened the door, gesturing for Jeanne to come in.
Compared to the colorful dresses and suits, there was a stark contrast to the pale-plated armor of the knights and the dark leather armor of the archer. "We are very much going to stick out," Atalanta observed.
Jeanne made her way to the washbasin and splashed some water over her face. After scrubbing her hands, she tried her hands. She made note of what the huntress was talking about. "Not necessarily." Jeanne said, "I often attended balls and feasts in my armor. It was common for people to see me in such clothing. It felt more natural."
"Eh." Atalanta frowned, seemingly unconvinced "I still don't like the feeling of being so… out in the open."
"We could get you a dress…" Artoria offered with a smirk.
"I had plenty. I'm sure I could acquire several for you." Jeanne joined in.
"No… no… thank you…" She nervously waved off the offer. "I don't think that works well with me…"
"I'm sure you'd look fine in a dress." Artoria pushed with an amused smile.
Feeling cleaned, Jeanne grabbed her sword and strapped it around her waist, as did Artoria. The warning still in her mind; she was a bit nervous but lifted her heart up. She had trust in the words of the priest and in the Lord. "Are we sure about this?" Atalanta asked as she looked out the window. "The note was clear to stay away from the feast."
"It would be a good opportunity to lure out our enemies." Artoria countered, tapping her chin in thought.
"I don't have a choice." Jeanne sighed, "I was invited by one of my captains. It would be rude not to come." She wasn't unsympathetic to Atalanta, though, "I don't like these gathering either, so we'll keep it short, though, it still never too late to get that dress for you..."
Atalanta was clearly not amused.
*Knock knock*
"Lady Jeanne, Lady Artoria, Lady Atalanta…" The charming young lad, Minguet, appeared wearing a fine gold-embroidered blue doublet with satin trousers. A rather handsome boy who bowed before the two bickering ladies and neutral party.
"Minguet, perfectly timed as always." Jeanne chuckled with a large smile, sharing a glance over towards Artoria and Atalanta.
The boy tried to contain his bemused towards what appeared to be an unamused archer, "Yes, quite. May I escort you three to the main hall?"
The green-haired woman moved past the two, grabbing the boy by the arm, "Boy, take us there. I am hungry." Whether that was true, or she wanted to get away from their harassment, she could only guess.
Jeanne tried her best as she tried to stifle her laughter with Artoria. Walking down the staircase as the guards saluted, they made it to the empty courtyard. Looking up, it was already dark.
It reminded her of the times she was still alive. The feasts after a grand battle, yet she ate ever modestly, careful not to overindulge or to be overcome with wine.
Entering the hall, they were greeted with a great, glittering room, golden tiled ceiling with rich mosaics displaying France's wealth. It depicted a Roman wearing a golden mask fighting an army of Gallic rebels. He raised his sword, declaring victory. Behind the golden figure in Roman armor were the knights of Charlemagne. These conquering heroes brought unity and Christianity to France. Behind that, much to her surprise was fresco in the likeness of Jeanne still being worked on.
Flattering if not somewhat alarming to the humble girl.
Beyond the round roof were ornate marble pillars that snaked down to a polished floor where the king, or in his absence, the Bastard of Orlean would hold court. It also made for a dance floor during special occasions.
Off to the side by a large stained glass fresco, was a long table full of fabulous foods and plenty of wine to go around.
On the floor were two long rows of tables and benches separated by the dance, where nobles danced with one another.
"If you excuse me, I need to acquire some food." Atalanta barged off.
Artoria bowed towards Minguet. "I'll make sure she doesn't do anything too rash." The king excused herself from the two Frenchmen.
With that, the two comrades stood there watching the others.
"Would you like to accompany me?" The man offered his arm. Jeanne rolled his eyes. Chivalrous as always, but it was sweet.
She laced her arm around his. They walked around the edge, trying to avoid large groups.
"So you're back…" he trailed off.
"Indeed." Jeanne nodded, "if I told you, you wouldn't believe me."
"Ha," he let out with a knowing smile, "Yet you heard voices that guided you to victory? With you, I'd believe anything."
Jeanne's smile faltered quickly, "You put your faith in me so readily. When I was alive… and even now?"
Louis turned to face with sorrowful eyes, "Jeanne… I would have done anything for you… I debated if I should have tried to break you out… and I gave into cowardice."
Jeanne shook her head with a sympathetic smile, "No, Minguet. I knew what was to happen. It was a part of the plan. Rouen was a fortress. You would have been cut down the moment you got at the gates."
"Even still… I was wracked with some grief and guilt…" his voice trailed off as they continued their walk. "Seeing you led up the pyre… I'm sorry, I wish I could have done more. I wish I could have joined you."
Jeanne stopped, containing her intense desire to slap him for that grievous wound. "Never say that again."
"But.."
"It was my fate given to me by the Lord. I would do it a thousand times all over, and only me. As you are destined to fulfill your own fate given to you through the Lord. Do. Not. Repeat. That." She scolded the man with a look of righteous anger.
The man pondered her words carefully, chewing over them. He took a minute, gathering himself with slow breathing.
"When I heard you came back… I doubted…. I very much doubted… maybe someone posing you at the very least; at the worst, some kind of demon. Seeing you… hearing you… I'm glad it's truly you, Jeanne. Please forgive me for having doubts..." The young man was clearly distraught, causing her anger to fade into compassion.
She embraced her practical little brother, stroking his head, "I understand, and it's good for you to be skeptical."
"Have you truly returned… are you truly alive…? If you don't mind me asking… I don't mean to give offense.."
That was actually a good question, but she decided now was not the time to debate such philosophical reasons. She barely even understood her own position. "As far as I know…. Yes, Yes, I am alive."
"Well, Jeanne. I'm glad you're back." He hummed in thought. "Life without you has been… difficult.."
"Well, start from the beginning." She urged with a smile as she broke away, looking out the window, watching the moon and stars. 'Thank you, Lord, ' she prayed, being reunited with one of her closest friends.
Artoria snooped around the food while keeping a close eye on the huntress. Yet looking at the food, her stomach grumbled. Her eyes drifted towards a plate with a flaky type of pastry.
Looking up, she could see Atalanta picking away at a roast duck. She really is a lover of meat.
Taking a small bite of the flakish pastry, she was impressed with the flavor the French had. They truly make the best bread.
Taking another chunk of a pastry, she savored the buttery goodness of the pastry.
"Feeling a great many eyes on us…" Atalanta said while taking a small bite out of the duck
"I feel like we're the only one here," Artoria whispered.
"That's because we are…" she replied back, taking another bite of duck. "Not one person has come here for the food."
Artoria looked around and saw that it was relatively accurate. She and Atalanta were the only ones at this table eating. Whether that was because the two scared others away or this food wasn't meant to be eaten, she couldn't tell.
"You two are friends with my beloved Jeanne?"
The two women looked up to see a man with golden fleur de lis embroidered on an azure doublet. Clean and washed coal combed hair with a prominent and well-defined chin and nose.
"What of it?" Atalanta asked, clasping her hands behind her back as well as a knife.
"I wanted to thank the two of you personally; I am indebted to you and Jeanne for saving our city and delivering my city from the hands of the English."
Hearing that was a painful fact to swallow. Her people were the prosecutors of this war. No one ever wants to hear that these people started an unjust war. It was another thing entirely to fight against your people and to see the destruction they wrought.
Atalanta shrugged, "involving citizens in war is cowardly." She bought some time for the King. "Those who do so should be held accountable."
"I-It's no problem. We are happy to help." Artoria bowed her head, hoping to dispel her own apprehension.
"Still, I want to thank the both of you." The Bastard said with a warm smile, "Jeanne has a habit of picking warriors of noble character as friends." He said as he poured wine into three chalices. He handed each one to them.
Artoria took her chalice, looking deep into it. "Well… I don't know about that…" Artoria murmured.
"Jeanne, and by extension, yourselves, have a lot of enemies. The English and Burgundians, but also, some of the king's advisors…. I wish I could have stifled the rumors, but I'm sure the King has heard by now." He said as he took a long sip, masking his deep frown.
Seeing this, Artotia and Atalanta looked at one another before taking a sip. Welp, French wine was still the best wine. The archer seemed to take an instant liking to the sweet drink.
"But I want you to know," Jean put down his cup, "That you three will have a steadfast friend and ally in me. My city is your city."
"This is good wine." Atalanta hummed to the surprise of the other two, almost dismissing the token of appreciation.
"I apologize on behalf of my friend. She's not from around here." Artoria bowed, "We appreciate your kindness and hospitality."
The huntress lifted her cup to that to the bewilderment of the king and the amusement of the duke. "Where are you two from?"
"Uhhh…."
"It matters not. It seems to me that… you're either foreigners or sent directly from God. Perhaps both, no?"
The two women looked at one another, unsure what to say.
"Also, for future reference. People don't eat food from this table. It's for the poor."
Atalanta raised an eyebrow, "Why not just give it to them?" It seemed very inefficient to just have all this food on display.
"That is only half of what they will receive." The duke leaned, "Another suggestion. Don't eat your plate."
The archer seemed most alarmed by this… "Y-y-y-you eat your plates?" She stammered.
"You'll see what I mean." He said as he left the other two slightly more confused.
"You people have strange customs." Atalanta sighed
Eat your plates? What does that even mean? "Hey… we didn't eat plates when I was alive."
The green-haired woman nodded, "I would hope so. Wood is most likely not good for you."
Jeanne moved around, greeting the people that spoke to and thanked her as she tried to make her way to her friends. The only problem was there were a lot of people to get through. It was like a pack of wolves hungrily stalking a deer. And unfortunately for Jeanne, she was the deer.
"Thank you. Thank you, yes, no. Thank you." She said as she squeezed herself through the crowd. Finally, making it to the table, to see the charity table and an Atalanta picking her teeth with a wing bone.
"Jeanne, good to see you. How goes the party?" Artoria asked with a smile.
"I'm still hungry." Atalanta sighed as she flicked the bone out the window.
Feeling like she was among friends, she lowered her guard, "To be honest… I just want to be done now. I had my fill of 'socializing.'" Which was true. Exhaustion would be a very light word to describe her lack of energy. It was one thing to fight in battle, but balls and feasts? They were utterly draining.
"Could just leave…" Atalanta nodded towards the door with a pleading tone..
"I can't… you all can, but I can't."
The frown on Atalanta's face only sank in deeper, almost like a child. It appeared that she really didn't like socializing. "Of course, we'll stay, right?" Artoria shot the archer a look that told her that she had better get on board.
Well, the archer didn't say anything. A single nod to confirm Artoria's statement.
"Right well…" She felt kind of guilty that Artoria was strong-arming Atalanta in staying, " we are supposed to be seated at the table of honor with the Duke. There is one more thing."
She waved Minguet over, "My page wishes to join us."
Atalanta and Artoria shared a look.
"I will not be a problem," Minguet bowed lowly. "I will serve you all faithfully."
Jeanne could see Atalanta smiling as she gestured for Minguet to move closer. She took a step forward until Atalanta raised a hand. She dragged her page and Artoria into a huddle.
"So… Minguet…"
The boy looked somewhat nervous, "Y-y-yes milady?"
"Why do you wish to join us…?"
"I… I…. umm… want to be helpful?"
"But why?"
"I… want to resume my service, Jeanne."
"Again… why?" Atalanta pressed harder, not convinced.
"Atalanta… speak plainly." Artoria interrupted.
Atalanta's smile faded to a look that could freeze the blood of a dragon. "Do you have feelings for Jeanne?"
The boy sighed, sweat forming on his brow. "I...love Jeanne with all my heart. Yet, I do not have any carnal desire for her. She is my Maid whom I will gladly follow to my death."
Atalanta leaned in, staring at the boy intently. Yet the boy didn't back down; gaze met with gaze. Almost as if there was a battle of wills.
"I think it's decided then," Artoria concluded, offering her hand, which Minguet accepted.
"Boy." Atalanta finally spoke, "if you betray her trust, I will skin you alive, do understand me. No kingdom, no king, no god will keep you save from my daggers. "
"If I do, I will fall upon my sword."
"Were it so easy?" The archer waved the boy off. She turned to Jeanne and Artoria, "I'm going out to get some air." With that, Atalanta left the group, grabbing two pitchers of wine to the surprise of the others.
"Hear ye, hear ye!" The duke's voice called out. "It time for the feast!"
Jeanne looked longingly towards the direction where Atlanta exited. Was she not excited that Jeanne's closest friends were joining them? Someone so trusted and honorable. It wounded her to see her just abandon the feast like that… then again… Atalanta was not the most sociable. Maybe getting air was the best for her, to cool down.
"She left in a hurry…" Artoria's voice trailed off.
Atalanta sat outside watching the festivities from the fountain. Deciding it was a perfect spot, she sat down, taking a long gulp of wine.
Careful. You can still get drunk.
If she got drunk, oh well. She didn't like this one bit. To be frank, she didn't want any of this. It was hard enough to trust Artoria and Jeanne, but a young man, a man who seems to be gentle at heart. A man who did not live up to his duty by protecting his commander. He should have been there with his general or offering up his life. And she is supposed to believe him?
No.
That was too much. One way or another, they end up tricking or betraying you. That was a part of human nature that disgusted her; she ruminated as she took another refreshing gulp. Wiping her mouth, she concluded that these Frenchmen do make good wine.
Just then, she noticed a man with a ruby-encrusted coat limping towards the staircase. The man took a look both ways to make sure the coast was clear.
Peculiar. The huntress finished off the last of the wine and stood up as she saw another man with the same coat wandering towards the kitchen area. Two men wearing fine doublets, arriving very late to the feast. Very peculiar.
Deciding it was better to follow the one that wandering into a restricted area, she climbed the staircase looking around. She didn't see anyone by the terraces. She continued the climb up the watchtower.
Rounding up around the staircase, her suspicions were confirmed.
Upon reaching the peak, she found two guards slumped over. Putting a finger against their neck, they were dead. Shaking her head, she looked around to see the man was trying to open a window that led to the feasting hall.
Leaping down on the tiled roof, she did her best to stay at a distance, slowly encroaching on the shingled roof; she could see the man prop open the window slightly as he held something in his arms.
Her emerald eyes widened as she saw the man shoulder a crossbow. Dashing forward at a dead sprint, the man pulled back the string. The tiles started to crack as her feet darted through.
He armed the bow with a bolt.
She jumped in the air.
He shouldered the bow.
She soared through the distance.
He took aim.
She collided with her target. Ripping the weapon out of his hand and grabbed his head by his scraggily oily black hair. Without saying a word, she smashed his face against the roof, blood spurting out of his face. A sickening crunch could be heard as several tiles broke from the force.
"Who was the target?" Atalanta asked calmly as the man laughed, spewing blood on Atalanta's armor.
Standing up, she dragged the man up to his feet as guards looked up from the courtyard.
"Who was the target?" She asked as she punched the man. The sickening snap of the man's nose filled the air.
Still, nothing as the man laughed.
She brought her foot down with a sickening pop and a scream of pain. She didn't bother asking again as she brought down her foot again on the other knee. With both knees dislocated, the man's will evaporated.
"...the… ...Witch…." He panted.
Atalanta had enough of this and threw him down on the ground. "You're…. Too late… she's dead tonight either way…"
"You're the man I shot in the knee."
"And I will… have my last laugh…"
Without a word, Atalanta kicked in the head, knocking him out. The crossbow was perched on the window, offering a perfect sight on Jeanne. She sat beside the Duke, with Artoria on the other side.
Think.. think… how else would they try to kill her? Maybe there was another assailant?
The archer stood up, looking down at the assassin with utter contempt.
"Guards!"
Atalanta shouted.
A group of four soldiers approached looked up, somewhat surprised at the huntress.
Dragging his limp body across the tiled roof and lowering him down, the guards caught him. "Hold him." She ordered.
Knowing that she was one of Jeanne's lieutenants, they knew better than to question her.
She peeked into the window. To see another man in the same colors as their assailant. He lurked by the wall, minding his own business. "Not today," Atalanta murmured.
Jeanne sighed, clearly not amused with the feast. She was never one for these extravagant affairs. How she would just rather dine with some friends, surrounded with the intimacy of friendship and comradery, not this dancing in balls and wearing dresses. Artoria seemed more fascinated with the food. Taking a particular interest in meat and cheese developed by bread.
Jeanne looked down and plucked at the fresh greens on her plate. Holding her pinky out, she pulled out a large glob of mustard and dabbed it on her lettuce. Giving a quick mix with her finger, tossing in some tomatoes, and she had her salad. When the chicken was passed down, it was a no-brainer to pick some pieces off to mix in.
Compared to Artorias bread plate, which had meat and cheese.
"I know you never liked these things." Jean leaned over to whisper.
"Last I recall, you were of the same mind. I remember you hating them too."
Jean shrugged, "I like my wine."
"So does Atalanta."
"Oh, speaking of which, where is she?"
Jeanne sighed, "She doesn't like large groups of people."
The duke frowned, "I… see… we could have had a drinking competition." He said with a tone of disappointment. "Speaking of which…"
Jean stood up, clapping his hands together.
Just then, servants entered with pitchers of wine, pouring glasses for everyone.
"Thank you," Jeanne said to the man in a red coat.
"No, milady, thank you." He said as he poured the wine.
Artoria picked up her glass and took a sniff as Jeanne placed a hand over the cup, "There will be a speech first."
Artoria nodded as she lowered her glass and continued to pick away at her cheese.
"Friends," Jean said as he picked up his glass. "Our city is ever thankful to Jeanne, her protector, and warden. Without her, France would have fallen. It has pleased Him to return her so she might finish her mission. So let us redouble our hearts, minds, and bodies and lend her our strength."
He gestured for Jeanne and Artoria to stand, "With Jeanne and her allies, we will free our beloved France!"
"HEAR HEAR!" The crowd shouted as they raised their wine glasses to the Maid and the King.
Jeanne brought the metal chalice up to her lips, as did Artoria.
*PANG!*
A surge force sent Jeanne reeling to the ground as a crossbow bolt was lodged into the cup.
Artoria threw the cup away and drew her sword to cover her fallen comrade with her sword at the ready. "What on…" Jeanne murmured to herself. Blinking away the shock, she could hear the shouts and screams of everyone in the hall. "Jeanne?! Are you alright?" She heard the duke cry out.
Blinking slowly, she sat up and patted herself down to see if she was hit. Nothing.
"Jeanne.." Artoria shot a glance behind her, scanning the room for threats, "We should leave."
Looking down, the bolt completely deformed the chalice, lodging itself deeply within and crinkling it like a piece of paper.
From a small window, Atalanta dropped through an overhead window with a crossbow in hand to the shock of the entire crowd. "She shot the Maid!" Someone shouted.
"What is the meaning of this?" Jean shouted angrily as he rose to his feet, "Guards!"
The huntress seemed disinterested, as if she were scanning for someone.
A boy, the stubborn Minguet, rushed her with a blade drawn. "How dare you, swine!"
"Minguet no!" Jeanne tried to save him.
He swung his sword only for it to connect with the air.
His wrist locked up as he saw the archer behind him put him in an arm hold.
"I don't have time for you, boy." She said with an upward yank. A cry of pain filled the air as the page dropped the blade. In a blink of an eye, the young man was on the ground as the archer walked over him.
"Atalanta!" Artoria shouted, moving down from the platform with heavily armored footsteps, "Stand down."
"GUARDS!" Jean shouted, "SEIZE THAT WOMAN!"
Four guards in the dining hall rushed in with spears aimed at the huntress, who merely shook her head, still scanning the room.
"Belay that!" Jeanne countered as she finally came to her senses, managing to get on her feet.
The guards hesitated, hearing the order of their Maid and former commander. The guards wavered, looking at the Duke and Maiden.
Just then, the door swung in as the outside guards, led by Jaune, drug in the prisoner. "Sir, Atalanta is innocent. She apprehended this scum who was attempting to assassinate the Lady Jeanne."
The Huntress pushed through the crowd, looking for the red doublet. That was when she saw him by the door. The crowd gasped as she drew her shortsword. Taking aim and throwing, the slim sword spun through the air. The blade embedded itself into the man's sleeve, pinning him up against the wall.
Wordlessly, she crossed the ballroom floor as the frantic man, large and short. She grabbed him by the throat and hoisted the man up like as if he were a paperweight. Jeanne rushed down and slid through the crowd. "Atalanta.. What's going on…?"
She hoisted the man up higher as his face started to turn red, sweat pouring down his thick cheeks. She leaned in closely, watching the man's life force slowly slip away. There was no smirk, no satisfaction, no rage in her eyes, just cold ruthlessness.
"Please…" Jeanne pleaded with the huntress.
Without lowering the man, her cold gaze turned to Jeanne, "Assassination attempt." There was utter and complete contempt in her voice. She took her second blade and was about to run it through the man.
Jeanne lashed out, gripping Atalanta's blade, feeling the blade slice through her gloves and into her palms. "We can't just kill him." She pleaded, doing the best to ignore the sharp pain in her hands. Blood dripped on the floor.
She hoisted the man up higher as he started to turn blue. "We already have one we can question. We don't need a second one. Besides, he's a coward. Hades would be too good for him. He deserves the void."
Jeanne held her ground as the Huntress tried to impale the man. "Atalanta. I know you want to kill him." Artoria said as she sheathed her blade, "I do too, but if we give in, we're no better than these petty cowards."
Atalanta's frigid eyes darted from the man to Artoria. "Atalanta… you're better than this… him."
Her gaze shifted back to the man as her grip tightened, the man flailing wildly. "Please… Atalanta." Jeanne spoke up, not wishing to see anyone die.
"Gah!" She snarled as she threw the large man down to the ground with a loud *CRACK*
The man was on his back, dazed and confused, gasping for air, clutching his chest.
Taking pity on her enemy, Jeanne knelt down and helped the man sit up, "How… and who?" She asked, ignoring her bloody hands
The man heaved, panting heavily as Jeanne placed a hand on his shoulder. "Poison…"
"And crossbow…" Atalanta murmured.
The man nodded as he doubled over. Within the blink of an eye, he drew a dagger.
"Ughhhhh!"
A blade found its way through the abdomen as everyone gasped—blood pooling from the wound. Looking down, she could see the blade—the sword impaling the man's belly. Artoria pulled out her sword and kicked the dying man to the ground.
"Offered mercy, and you still try to pull a blade. Dishonorable." Artoria shook her head with anger. Sheathing her blade, she looked to Jeanne with a composed look as if nothing had happened.
"Thank you…" Jeanne murmured, her eyes still fixed upon her assailant, who lay on the ground bleeding like a stuck pig. Here was a man who tried to take her life only for his life to be taken in her stead. She gave her blood to try and protect this man, only for him to try and kill him.
"Atalanta…"
The huntress cold eyes shifted upward. They were like a freezing blizzard, frigid and unforgiving.
"thank you… for saving my life."
She sheathed her blades and scooped up the body, "It's a part of the job." She said bluntly as she left the crowd. Jeanne frowned as she watched the lone huntress leave the feast hall without another word. "Well… then…" The duke cleared his throat. He nodded to a few servants who cleaned up the blood. "Let's not have our night ruined by such barbarous acts! Our Maid is alive due to the diligence of companions! Let us drink to that."
Everyone raised their wine glasses to Artoria and Jeanne. They both, understandably, didn't partake of wine for the rest of the evening. Jeanne moved to sit back down in her spot of honor with a heavy heart and mind. It was one thing to fight an enemy on the fields of battle… but assassination?
There was something so detestable. Yet, Jeanne would most likely be dead if not grievously wounded if it weren't for the actions of Atalanta and Artoria. Thus the night of what was supposed to be merriment and rejoicing was filled with certain doom and dread that pervade the air.
Having her hands tended to by Minguet, Jeanne sat back down.
"That was foolish, Jeanne..." He lightly chastised, "Look at your hands."
Jeanne watched the bandages get wrapped around, "Maybe, but I tried to save his life..."
"I don't think he really cared. "
A deep frown set in as Minguet finished. She didn't care that he didn't care. She made an effort to save him, and that's what mattered, right?
"Jeanne… I'm so sorry for that…" The Duke turned to face her commander. "You have my word; I will get to the bottom of this."
It wasn't his fault… or was it? That note the child handed him. It warned them about the feast, but there was no way the Duke was on it either? Right? He was… is always faithful to her. "It's… alright… I'm sorry it ruined the feast."
The Duke shrugged with a lopsided grin, "It livened things up, right?"
"That… that it did…" She sighed as she stood up, "If you excuse me… I need some fresh air."
Artoria wordlessly stood up, bowed her head in pardon, and followed behind. Seeing the page approach, Artoria placed a hand on his shoulder, much to his disappointment.
Once outside, she felt she could actually breathe again. Looking around, Atalanta was nowhere to be found. "What's on your mind?" Artoria asked with much concern.
So much… too much. "I never had anyone want to kill me like that…"
Artoria raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised, "Really..? I would have thought England would do anything to... Well, you know…"
Jeanne shook her head. "No… it's one thing on the battlefield…"
"But it's another off the field…" Artoria finished with a frown.
She nodded. "He wanted… to kill me… that look… being so close to that sadistic nature… and so close to death… I would have.."
"Come now. You can handle yourself." Artoria placed a hand on her shoulder. "You survived my daughter of all people, and without Emily. With Emily, that dagger would have been a pinch. Besides, you held back Atalanta's dagger with your bare hands..." Artoria's eyes drifted to her friend's hands, "that is impressive."
Jeanne sighed, "Maybe… I just never came across such hatred for me."
The King nodded as they walked past the fountain. She dipped her hands into the water, washing the blood from her gauntlets. "I know… it's never an easy thing." She spoke with experience.
"How did you deal with it? When you were King?"
Artoria sighed with a frown and a shake of the head, "You're not going to like it… but they were my enemy. I treated them as such. I… I didn't believe in mercy when I was alive."
"That's not something… I can do…" Jeanne closed her eyes at the thought. Even now, she regretted the man's death.
"Nor should you. You aren't that kind of person. I'm glad I did what I did. For you, it would have destroyed your soul."
Did she even have a soul?
"Come on, let's retire for the night. We have-"
A whistle was heard from above. Looking up, they saw Atalanta sitting on the highest tower in the compound, her legs dangling over the edge. "I should have guessed that's where she be off in some remote area," Artoria said with a roll of the eyes, causing Jeanne to laugh.
Climbing the stairs was a tiresome affair. Reaching the very top left Jeanne exhausted. Then again, maybe it was just the entire night that left her tired.
"You know… this bread plate is pretty disgusting." The archer murmured as she took another chunk of it.
"What are you doing up here?" Artoria panted.
"I like being in secluded spaces." Atalanta hummed as she offered a pitcher of what was assumed to be wine. "Don't worry. It's water." She took a sip and offered it to the other two.
Jeanne graciously took a big gulp. It felt refreshing, all things considered. "I never got the chance to truly thank you… I'm sorry that the Duke.."
"Stop apologizing." Atalanta looked annoyed as her eyes drifted from her bread to the Maid, "He and the guards were doing their job. I should be the one apologizing." Her eyes drifted to Jeanne's hands.
"I accept the wounds in trying to save my life. You were trying to protect me, and I greatly appreciate that. You deserve more respect from my people. Instead, they treated you as if you were the assassin."
Atalanta looked up, masking her true feelings. "I had respect. It earned me nothing but woe in the end. I don't need or want it." She said in a subdued tone
"Well…" Artoria interrupted, taking a different approach, "We are thankful for your assistance."
Atalanta shrugged as she looked off towards the distant night. "You would have done it for me."
Jeanne and Artoria joined her on the ledge of the tower. "You know in life… I was a prideful person. I thought I was the smartest, quickest, and strongest person in my homeland. I was, simply put, the best. I wasn't born to it. I wasn't trained for it. I worked for it... an orphan... becoming the best. That never happens, hehe" She scoffed.
Jeanne looked at Atalanta, who was the first time opening up about her life. "And the one thing I hated the most was attention. I wanted to be loved but not be loved. A strange thing."
"You don't want the fame or attention of being loved," Jeanne explained.
The huntress nodded. "That's a good way of putting it. I was a trophy because of my skill… and that was before…" Her voice trailed off sadly as she looked up to the stars of the night, "That was before… my..." The archer's defenses started to crack. Her emerald eyes started to glisten with tears.
Jeanne knew what she had to do.
"Gah!" The huntress yelped in surprise, "W-w-what are you doing…?"
"What do you think?" Jeanne snorted, "It's a hug."
"B-but… I don't… what..?" Atalanta stammered. "A hug… what's that..?"
Artoria raised an eyebrow, "You know… an embrace? Towards someone, you have a great fondness for…?
"I… I never.. Received one…"
"That's.. Oof!" Artoria never got to finish the thought.
Jeanne was not one for leaving others out, as she dragged Artoria in as well. "We might have only known each other for a couple of days, but I consider you two to be good friends."
Atalanta thought about that...a hug… a hug is given to friends…? It was certainly an awkward experience, if not a somewhat endearing gesture. Never having received such a meaningless token of appreciation, she hesitantly returned the gesture. She didn't feel anything, but still, the kindness behind Jeanne's words and...well embrace, was genuine. For the first time ever, for a very long time in her life, she felt like she was valued as herself, not her skill or title, her looks, nor what she represented. It was something that Atalanta never knew. And it scared her terribly.
Breaking away, Jeanne smiled, "You are certainly an odd one, Atalanta, but I'm glad to have met you."
"I as well…" Artoria bowed her head.
For the first time in a long time… Atalanta was at a loss for words. Thus the three sat in companionable silence the rest of the evening.
Off in the distance, a young knight smiled at the three friends that came out alright from the assassination attempt. Satisfaction filled their heart as they prepared for their next scouting mission. They promised the Duke to route out traitors, and getting two of them in one go was acceptable. It was indeed very regrettable that the lives of two Frenchmen were lost in the process. They would redouble their effort as they put the finishing touches on hopefully the last note.
Hello dear readers!
Just two housekeeping items. I apologize for uploading last week, I needed a break and welp, I took one xD I think I'm going to take another week's break, cause I think this has been my longest chapter yet.
2. There was something else… but I forget :/
Oh well…
I like the idea of Atalanta learning bits and pieces of Christianity here and there. She's a good lens to see what they believed and how they believed. And I noticed Artoria instantly noped out when she saw the priest and when Atalanta asked about confession. Hmmmmmmmmmm :o
We also got to see some Atalanta back story, and her being pretty awesome, if not harsh this chapter. It's always a blast to write in her perspective.
Some parts felt rushed, I think… but let me know what you thought.
And the knight who was watching :O Do they have a secret admirer? Lol
As always if you enjoyed the chapter, leave a fav, follow, and/or review. It truly means the world to me and I would love to hear from you!
Until next time my dearest reader. I am and will always be your most humble and faithful of your servants,
LordxSauron