Disclaimer: I own nothing of Hetalia. France does make me chuckle, though

In Her

"Seeking to forget makes exile all the longer; the secret of redemption lies in remembrance."

- Richard von Weizsaecker

May 30th, 1431.

Jeanne was sent to me by God. I know she was. She had an innocence about her, a beauty that no war, no battle, could erase from her. Her faith in me was unwavering, no matter the hardship she had to go through.

Us nations are immortal. We live as long as our country, and many times survive off memory alone (like Prussia). Our people mean everything to us, yet it was rare that anyone stuck out enough for us to remember them.

She was different.

Jeanne… I loved her. More than anything, more than even myself – which is saying a lot. She was a lively girl, only nineteen years of age. So young… she had not even tasted true life yet.

And she never would.

I remember the first day I saw her. She was brought before me with my 'boss' at the time. I had been fighting back that bastard Englishman for so long now, and I was tired. So very tired. I didn't want to fight anymore…

She reawakened the passion in me.

"France, this is Jeanne d'Arc," She bowed to me as my men introduced her. I had heard so much of the 'Maid of Orléans'. How she believed she was sent by God to liberate me from Angleterre's tyranny. She was so young, with short cropped brown hair and piercing eyes. In her armor, she looked like one of my soldiers! Like a man!

But there was no mistaking that beautiful face. She was a woman, and a confident one at that.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Jeanne…" I gave her nothing but a nod of the head.

"There is no pleasure in it, France," The men around her froze and my eyes widened. She had just addressed me directly, boldly, in front of my men by name. My 'boss' looked at me anxiously, seeing the shock slowly be replaced by my trademark smirk.

"Oh hon hon hon… you have sass, Jeanne…" I stood up from my chair inside the military tent and walked over to the teenager, leaning forward with half-lidded eyes, "I like feisty women."

That was how we met. The two of us butted heads a lot in the beginning. She was very different from me; strong, willing to sacrifice everything for her country. Yet as time passed, we found comfort in each other. Jeanne was alone in a man's world, just a girl of nineteen thrust into the middle of a war, with a price on her head for the 'blasphemy' she spoke. I was the spirit of the nation she loved so dearly, an existence more lonely than most nations would admit.

"France… does it get lonely?" She asked me one day after a strategy session.

"Does what get lonely, mon chéri?" I leaned back in my chair, staring up at the ceiling of the cold room.

She sighed, folding her hands neatly in her lap and staring down, "Being a nation?"

I hadn't expected that. I flipped back up, looking at the maiden across the table. I smiled sadly, "Sometimes, oui."

She fell silent then, and I very quickly grew bored. I stood and rolled up the map from the table, putting it away in a chest before heading to the door.

"If I am born again, I wish… to be like you, so you do not have to be lonely anymore," Jeanne said. I froze with my hand on the doorknob, shocked.

We knew each other for such a short time, but it felt like forever. She always knew what to say and when to say it, and even my more perverted antics didn't deter Jeanne from me. She was my savior in more ways than one, but I didn't realize just how much the teenager meant to me until it was far too late.

"Jeanne has been captured."

Those words still inject ice into my veins. That bastard Englishman had captured my Jeanne, holding her for a ransom he knew I could not pay. Then he burned her.

I was there.

She was tied to a pole, firewood placed around her feet. I could see her from far off, running as fast as my legs would allow. The crowd was thick, but I battled through them to reach her. I had to help her, help my Jeanne. I wouldn't let her die, not like this!

"Jeanne, JEANNE!" I fought against soldier's arms as they held me at bay, stopping me just short of the steps leading up to my angel's deathbed.

"France…" Her voice was soft, resolved. She knew exactly what was going to happen.

"Let her go!" I roared, trying with every cell in my body to tear myself out of the soldier's grip. I could see England far off, his expression solemn, "Angelterre! Don't do this, you bastard!"

He grimaced, looking away. Two men of the clergy came forward with crucifixes at Jeanne's request, and by my side a third man walked forward and slipped a cross around my love's neck. She thanked them as they moved away, a small smile on her face.

Jeanne's eyes fell on me as the executioner drew closer. He carried the fire.

I fought harder, "Jeanne, no!"

The smile stayed on her face as the fire twigs burned. The fire moved slowly, oh so slowly, my screams falling on deaf ears. Just before it reached her strong form, I heard my love whisper, "Je t'aime, Francis…" My human name… for the first time, Jeanne called me by my human name.

Then she burned.

Jeanne did not scream as the fire scorched her flesh. She did not make a single sound. The fire moved up her body at a snail's pace, burning her clothes away and turning my angel's soft peach skin charcoal black.

All she did was smile. All I did was scream.

Just before the fire consumed Jeanne completely, she broke her gaze from me to look up at the sky. The sun filtered through the clouds, lighting my angel up in her last moments. One final breath left her lips.

Jeanne d'Arc was dead.

"NON!" The soldier's still held me as men came and desecrated my love, checking for signs of life. The love of my life was nothing more than a charred corpse.

But that wasn't enough for England.

They burned her again. And again. Nothing remained of Jeanne d'Arc when they were done with her. Nothing left for me to bury.

Only when they were done did the soldier's release me. I leapt up the steps, falling to my knees in front of the black ashes that were once the most beautiful person alive. In mind and soul, she excelled above all others. I searched the ashes for something, anything, and my hand closed around a small silver cross.

"Angleterre…" I seethed, refusing to look up at England, who sat in the battlements behind the pyre. I spoke quietly, but I knew he heard every word, "I'll never forgive you for this." I brought the hand clenching the cross up to my chest, curling up in front of Jeanne's ashes.

The people left me alone then. England went back inside, but that bastard could go rot for all I cared. Jeanne was gone, my angel was dead. Dead and there was nothing to bury.

Centuries passed since that time, and I kept true to my word. I never forgave England for what he did. Even now, in the 'modern age', I never let him forget what he did back then. Somewhere deep inside, I knew that England couldn't do anything to stop it. He was a slave to his people just as much as I, and they wanted the 'heretic' to burn.

It was over a century and a half later that I met Seychelles. The island chain had been discovered by my men, but it took a while for me to actually mount an expedition. I was still grieving, even after all that time.

I'm still grieving now, come to think of it.

When I set foot on the island, I didn't know what to expect. It was a truly beautiful place, a paradise on earth. Such an abundance of life, untouched by humanity until my people came.

"Sir, would you like to send out an expedition team?" One of my men asked.

I shook my head, smirking at him, "Non, set up camp here. I'm going for a walk." I wanted to see more of this wonderful place. It was so alive, so beautiful. I almost regretted coming here at all, knowing that soon the touch of man would tarnish the wild beauty of this unnamed island.

I walked under the palms for a while, until something made me stop. I could feel eyes on me, and cocked an eyebrow. The island was reported to be deserted…

There was movement to my left, and I whipped around to see a flash of blue. I took off after it, chasing what seemed to be a small girl through the palms. She was small, but her laugh was loud and rambunctious. Something tugged at my heart when I heard it.

We played a strange variation of 'hide and seek' for hours until I finally caught the girl. She struggle in my arms until she reasoned I wasn't there to hurt her. Once the girl calmed down, I got a good look at her.

She looked exactly like Jeanne.

Her hair, skin, and clothes were much different (Jeanne very rarely wore a dress), but her eyes. She had the same piercing, inquisitive eyes and that air of cautious confidence. I could sense my Jeanne within her. My Jeanne…

"What is your name, little one?" I asked the girl. She tilted her head to the side, a show of confusion on her face. I repeated the question, but her confusion only seemed to worsen.

"France," I pointed to myself, "Francis Bonnefoy, the country of France."

"Fuuu…" She tried to speak, but was having trouble pronouncing my name, "Furan… Furancis… Francis!"

I blinked when she called me by my human name. The last person to do that had been Jeanne… "That's… that's right. Francis-" I pointed to myself, then her, "And you are?"

She pointed at her own chest, smiling with childish innocence. The girl shook her head, then jumped from my grasp and ran around, beckoning me to play with her some more.

I named her Seychelles, and taught her everything I could. She was such a lively girl, and I felt the first true happiness since Jeanne had been burned at the stake. Seychelles became my healer, my ward, and my love. Not a new love… no, for I could sense Jeanne within her.

Then came the day I had to leave. I made sure to visit often, not wanting to lose my little Seychelles like England lost America. When Rome established World Academy W (how that man was still alive and could vanish for centuries, only to reappear amidst a horde of women with a mandolin was beyond me), I hesitated to send Seychelles an invitation. It was selfish, but I wanted to keep her all to myself. Keep her pure and away from the others. I didn't want my angel to be hurt… again.

When I could not stave it off any longer, I sent her the invite to the school along with a uniform. She came, bless her heart, and I confess that I was excited. It had been a few years since I had seen her for an extended period of time.

When I found out England had claimed her mere moments after she got to the Academy, I was beyond furious.

"You British son of a bitch, how dare you!" I cornered England in an empty classroom, having been informed by my little brother Italy of what the Englishman had done.

He crossed his arms, fixing me with a hard stare, "I got to her first, France. All the nations go through being a colony at one point. You know this."

"Je ne donne pas une baise!" I growled, getting right in the Englishman's face, "I won't let you hurt her like you did Jeanne!"

England visibly flinched. Good. Let the man squirm. He sighed, turning away from me, "I didn't have any choice back then, France. You bloody well know that."

"You could have done something!" I yelled.

He gritted his teeth together, pausing before rounding on me, expression full of anger, "There was nothing I could do, you bloody Frenchman! My people wanted Jeanne d'Arc to burn, so she burned. Don't you think I tried to stop them? I did! I tried to get her to recant, pleaded with her to just submit so I wouldn't have to order her execution. But no. You French just have to be so damn stubborn, don't you?"

I looked away, unable to handle the truth in his eyes. He was right; Jeanne had been stubborn, and that fire in her was beautiful.

"She's dead, France," England pushed passed me, "Humans die every day, leaving us behind. I thought you had gotten used to it."

Before he could leave, I grabbed England's arm. He swung around, words dying on his lips when he saw the seriousness in my expression, "Angleterre… protect her then. Make up for killing the woman I love by protecting Seychelles. Because as God as my witness, if she gets hurt…" I glared at the shorter nation, nothing but dark seriousness in my tone, "I will kill you."

He did exactly that, and it was then I began to forgive the Englishman. He protected Seychelles when I couldn't, in his own way. She grew stronger and more beautiful with each passing day. Eventually, like all colonies, she won her independence from England. I had never been so proud of her, and I knew deep down that England was just as proud of the girl. We both sought redemption through her, and the little island nation changed our lives.

Now I can look England in the eye again. We can work together again, bicker like we used to. England watches over Seychelles when I cannot, and I visit the island every chance I get. She is more important to me than anything in this world. I do not know for sure if Jeanne got her wish and was reincarnated as Seychelles and at this point… I honestly don't care. All I know is that I love Seychelles just as I loved Jeanne before her, and in Seychelles I find the cure to my loneliness.

"Francis! Francis! I caught a fish!" Seychelles giggled, racing up to me during one of my trips to her island.

I chuckled, looking down at the poor creature clutched to the girls chest. I ruffled her hair, and she puffed out her cheeks in defiance, "That's nice, ma chérie. Does that mean you want tuna tonight?"

She nodded her head vigorously, "I like fish, Francis!"

"I know, I know…" I gingerly took the fish from her and put it in a basket with other plants and fish she had collected. Seychelles was a strange girl indeed… thankfully, I cured her of England's taste for food – or lack thereof – but she still preferred the strangest of dishes…

"Francis, come on!" Seychelles grabbed my hand, and I just barely grabbed the basket before she tugged me to my feet and off the sandy Seychellois beaches.

Jeanne, Seychelles. Seychelles, Jeanne.

The two most important women in my long, long life. I lost Jeanne because she was human. Seychelles would never die, and would always have the same confidence and fiery spirit of her namesake.

"Victoria Jeanne Bonnefoy, get back here this instant!" She had grabbed my hair tie and tore it out, dashing into the palms with that roaring laughter.

In Jeanne, I found love. In Seychelles I found that as well, but…

In her, I found redemption.

Author's Note: Nightingale'll have an update soon, but this has just been stuck in my head. I'm a huge fan of Jeanne d'Arc, and love reading about that amazing woman. I'm nineteen and damn… I couldn't have done what she did.

Translation:

French

Angleterre – England

mon chéri/ ma chérie – my darling

Oui - yes

Je t'aime – I love you

Non – no

Je ne donne pas une baise! – I don't give a fuck!