**Because I had so much fun with France's character while writing "Memories of Ghosts", I've decided to write another fic with him as the main character. He's so fluid and charming and strange and real. I love it ?

Joan of Arc has been my favorite historical figure since I was a wee lamb and so naturally I fell victim to the epically painful ship that is France X Joan of Arc when that Hetalia episode first aired. You know, that one. I wrote one of these before but it's utter trash and I needed to make a new one after deciding to get a degree in history some time ago and therefore know my shit a little better. (But I love information I don't know so please feel free to correct or add anything you might know about Joan or the war or French politics during that time.)

I recommend listening to Aurora's "Warrior" for you to get into the spirit of this fic—I think it perfectly describes Joan and her great mission to save France! So yeah, here we go again!

P.S. Welcome to the Hetalia fandom, ladiestark (hopefully you won't come to regret it as some of us do)! This one's for you ?**

"Jeanette!"[1]

Her head whipped toward her father's voice behind her. She peered out the open front door and into the lush green field beyond, spotting a crouching figure with a small beige cap on. She then turned to her mother who was sitting in a rocking chair nearby, sewing up a new linen shirt for her father.

"Father is calling for me," she said.

"I know," her mother sighed. "Go and see what he wants but do tell him that the house isn't going to clean itself."

With that, Jeanne leaned the broom she had been holding against the wall and then hurried out the door.

As her bare feet pounded against the prickly grass and the warm summer breeze gently pushed through her long, dark hair, she noticed her three older brothers—Jean, Pierre, and Jacques—working with their father. Well, they were supposed to be, anyway. Jacques was testing his strength by seeing how many cabbages he could carry at once while Pierre and Jean, bored with their chores, were battling one another with long, narrow sticks.

She skidded to a stop in front of her father; he was busy milking his favorite cow Gillette.

"Good morning, Gillette," she greeted, running her hand down the animal's neck.

Gillette closed her eyes in contentment.

Jeanne heard her father say "See? I told you she'd come." She looked down at him and saw the little wooden bucket he was holding up to her.

"Could you go fetch some water from the creek? Gillette is so hot, she's licking the grass."

As if to prove his point, the cow bowed her head and Jeanne watched her pink tongue vainly lap at the dry ground.

"Ah! Poor creature!" She took the bucket and petted her neck again. "I'll be quick—"

Her sentence was cut off by something small roughly poking into her side. She glared at the perpetrator who happened to be Pierre with his makeshift sword.

"Pierre!" she whined as he laughed, her reaction fueling his annoying older brother tendencies. She swung the bucket at him and missed him by a few inches, but it was close enough to cause him to stumble back and lose his footing.

"And the brave noble knight falls at the feet of the great and horrifying warrior!" Jean announced a few meters away, swinging his own stick around in wide arcs.

"Jean!"

"Alright, calm down, all of you," their father grumbled. "Jeanne, go get that water and Jean, go help your brother with all those cabbages."

Jeanne faced her father with a raised chin. "Mother told me to tell you that the house isn't going to clean itself."

"Wonderful idea! Pierre, go take your sister's place inside the house."

Pierre sighed heavily and turned to glower at Jeanne, but she was already on her way, running into the crowded wood before her giggles could burst from her throat.

Birds chirped pleasantly overhead, squirrels scurried up trees, and rabbits peeked out of their burrows as Jeanne strolled between the mighty pine trees. She admired the bright sunlight slipping through the pine's cracks and the occasional white mushrooms peeking from behind tree roots and little shrubs. Even though the strong August humidity was settling on her skin, beads of sweat glistening around her hairline, she enjoyed the calm silence, the beautiful scenery, and the simple life that she was leading thus far.

Once she came upon the running creek, she kneeled down and dragged her bucket through the warm water. The bucket instantly became heavier, so she held onto it tightly with both hands, slowly turning around and lumbering back from whence she came. But the rustling noise behind her caught her attention and she stopped to peek over her shoulder.

Nothing in particular stood out; only a few bushes and the running creek filled her vision. She shrugged to herself and continued on her way, but then the noise disturbed her concentration once more.

She looked behind yet again, but still there was nothing to be found. Frowning, she peered at one of the bushes suspiciously, but was startled when the same noise now erupted from the other side.

Gasping, she spun around, some of the creek water spilling from her bucket. Her heart sped up at the vacantness before her. What was making that sound? Was it some animal? Whatever it was, it circled around her pretty fast.

She hesitantly took a step backward but couldn't resist the temptation of looking behind her again. That's when she saw it, the thing that was circling her.

But she didn't know what she was seeing. It was so bright, brighter than the sun. Its head resembled a ring and its glowing figure nearly blinded her, being so close to her. She couldn't make much of it—a star? A sudden fire? Was it the sun?—but then it spoke in a low and booming voice like the thunder before the storm:

"Do not fear."

Yet that's exactly what she did. Her fingers lost their grip on the bucket and it came crashing down to the forest floor, giving drink to the withered grass beneath her. She let out a shriek and twirled around and began sprinting away. She inhaled sharply and screamed, "The English! The English are here—"

The wind was knocked out of her as her foot got caught in a tree root and she fell flat on her stomach. Panicking, she sat up and tried crawling away; the bright light behind her said again in its deep voice, "Do not fear, Jeanne d'Arc, child of God."

How does it know her name? Her head twisted back toward the thing, and her fear somewhat subsided. She could now see it a little more clearly as it slowly made its way toward her. The bright ring still hovered above its head, but she could now make out the torso, arms, and legs of a man. Armor and fine silk adorned its person and a longsword was sheathed by its side. She saw the outline of exceptionally large wings behind the figure which were waving slightly, creating that same rustling noise she heard earlier. It also had hair, long and golden, but she couldn't distinguish its facial features—its aura was much too bright for her to see, yet she somehow knew that this mysterious being was extraordinarily beautiful. In fact, she was so taken aback by its beauty that tears sprung in the corners of her eyes.

"Who-Who are you?" she asked it in both fear and awe.

The shining figure stood above her, its face looking down at her. "I am called Michael, a messenger of God."[2]

Her heart nearly burst from her chest at its response, his response. She got on her knees before him and clasped her hands together. "Saint Michael the Archangel!" she cried. "Forgive me! I ran from you when you told me not to. I feel so corrupted in your holy presence; I do not deserve to be in it."

"God has deemed you, young maiden, worthy of much greater responsibilities. I am here to bestow those responsibilities unto you."

The angel's voice, though deep, was very calm and soothing like a soft wind brushing through a field of wheat or water trickling down a barren of rock and stone. Jeanne found peace settling within herself once again while honor and determination filled her lungs, encouraging her to speak through them:

"If God requires me to carry more tasks in my daily life or to change it all completely, then let me do it in the way He commands me to."

"For now, live your life as you have been," advised the archangel. "Go to mass, obey your parents, listen to the words of the Lord. Follow these orders for they come from the Lord our God."

She nodded her head as fast as she could. "Yes, of course. I will do all that He commands of me."

"Good. Stay strong, Jeanne d'Arc."

As he lifted his face to the treetops, his marvelous wings began fluttering with more speed and more strength. Jeanne's hair and clothes rippled furiously at its affect as if she were in the middle of a powerful rainstorm. She saw him take a step back and, without thinking, cried out: "Wait!"

He paused, aiming his gaze down at her (which she still couldn't see clearly, for it shone brighter than the morning sun). The tears that had lined her vision slipped and fell; she reached toward him and asked quietly, "Will I ever see you again? Will I ever get to fly with you? The place you come from can only be as beautiful and kind as you are."

She could hear the smile in his response: "All will come in due time."

And then he left as quickly as he came.

[1] Jeanette was kind of a nickname for Joan when she was a kid, literally meaning "little Joan". It's kinda like being called Sammy when your name is Samantha or Zach when your name is Zachary. There's actually a French musical that came out a few years ago entitled "Jeanette" and follows Joan's childhood before she joined the war.

[2] There are many references to Michael the Archangel in many different religions (in some he is called Saint Michael the Archangel). An archangel is kinda like one of the top angels of God (Gabriel and Raphael are also archangels) and serve God in any way; Michael is more known for being a general of God's army in the Book of Revelation of the New Testament in the Bible where he is to defeat Satan and his band of demons. He is also known as "Protector of the Jewish People" as he saved several important Biblical figures in the Old Testament like Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. In Islam, Michael is responsible for the forces of nature and angels are created from his tears who then follow him. In short, Michael is a very important (and very badass) character in the Christian, Islamic, and Jewish faith who is often seen as a healer, leader, protector, or messenger.