Work Text:
He still remembered how she looked when he first saw her. An avenging angel, one who could finally lead his country to an overwhelming victory against England, against Arthur, his friend, now his enemy. She was small, compared to him at least, a slight frame that to him seemed swallowed by the armor that she wore, carried so well on those slim shoulders, a weight that didn’t slow her in the slightest. She was the fiercest woman he had ever met, a woman who’s flame rivalled his own.
Jeanne d’Arc
Her hair, long before she cut it to wear a helmet, was a golden river. It often dangled loose, to her waist in a cascade that threatened to hold him captive, gazing at it for all eternity. It could only be rivalled by the gold of the paintings and the moulding that lined the walls and ceilings of the Louvre, of the dramatic displays of excess wealth by his aristocracy before their fall. Before his people chose for themselves a new path.
Her eyes, a crystal blue, shone like the Seine River in daylight, drowning him in their depths. They danced when she was happy, a laughter like chimes that disappeared as the battles wore on and on. Battles that seemed to take more and more from them even with their successes, and then more still with their losses.
Jeanne
She was everything he could have wanted. Could have asked for. Fierce and unrelenting, fighting for what she believed in whether it was for France or for getting Francis out of bed in the morning. A veritable wellspring of light and love and inspiration for a man who had never thought he’d deserve anything of the sort. And even then, she was destined to be taken from him, for time was relentless, and not even the countries could escape its thrall.
She was taken from him too soon. Decades too soon. When they could have had a lifespan together, instead they had a mere handful of years. His fiercest flame, extinguished.
He would burn the world for her, instead.