Francis didn't believe in revenge. He didn't feel as though revenge would truly bring one any closure in life. The dead would stay dead, no matter how satisfied he may feel. That's why he never sought revenge for the death of The Joan of Arc. He loved her very dearly. But he knew in his heart that she wouldn't want him to get revenge on the people who murdered her. But despite the morals that he held tightly in his heart, on May 30th, every single year, he found himself questioning his beliefs. As he downed glass after glass of wine, he questioned whether or not letting Arthur go without consequences was alright. He wondered if he should give him what for. But the worst of all was wondering if it was truly okay to love him. Had he betrayed Joan that way? He wasn't too sure. But it was what he often thought of when he found himself lying awake.

Tonight was no different. May the 30th had come and gone once again and Francis found himself myself staring listlessly at the ceiling as his lover lie sleeping next to him. Francis turned his head, staring at the back of Arthur's head as he listened to his fairly even breathing. He reached out and gently began to stroke his hair. He truly did love, Arthur. But sometimes...sometimes he really couldn't help but wonder if he made the right decision when he asked Arthur to be his lover. He fiddled with a lock of Arthur's locks for a moment longer before bringing his arm back to his side.

He found his eyelids growing heavy and allowed them to fall close. 'I do love him.' He thought. 'But after what he did to her..perhaps he does deserve punishment.' When he thought back, he still remembered Joan's screams of pain and agony as she was burnt alive. His eyebrows furrowed a bit as anger slowly began to boil in his. But alas. He was too fatigued to resolve this anger. Rather, he let his angry thoughts lull him into a restless slumber, his last thought being, 'Perhaps Arthur should be burnt as well. Just so he can fully realize what he has done.'

"Monsieur Francis!" Francis gasped, feeling as though he had been snapped out of a daydream. A woman was grasping his shoulder, her eyes wide and almost looking excited. "What are you doing, daydreaming like that? This is a happy day, Francis!" He stared at her, confused and he glanced about. A crowd was around him, praising him and cheering.

"A..a happy day?" He asked, inside of what to think. "Pardon moi but I do not understand." The woman scoffed in return and grabbed his hand. She began to pull him away from the crowd as she spoke to him.

"How in the world could you manage to forget?" She scolded softly, still smiling. "The gods are smiling down on France today. And Joan must be with him. She would not want to miss this day for the world." Francis raised an eyebrow in confusion. Once they were at the front of the crowd, she smiled. "We shall finally avenge our precious Joan of arc today."

Francis's eyes went wide, and his skin paled. It was just like all of those years ago. And it was happening all over again. A tall cross had been planted in the ground, and a slow rising fire was staring underneath it. It was just like back then. Except for two very distinctive differences. The people surrounding the stake were his own people.

And the victim at the stake was none other than Arthur Kirkland.

Arthur wore ragged clothing that hung loosely from his body. Bruises were on his arms and his wrists and ankles were raw, as though he had attempted to fight against the restraints. His green eyes were wide with fear as the flames licked at the soles of his feet. His was frantically looking over the crowd of people who had gathered to watch his death. And his eyes fell on Francis. They slowly widened even more upon seeing him and Francis could see the tears of fear welling in his eyes.

His mouth began to move, but Francis could not hear him over the rowdiness of the excited people surrounding him. Francis looked at the people around him. "Non! Stop this! This ain't what I wanted!" He cried, trying to find anyone who would be able to cut him down.

"Por quoi monsieur Francis?" The same woman asked, tilting her head a bit. "Did you not say so yourself? Perhaps Arthur should be burnt as well. So that he can fully realize what he has done." She reminded him. Francis gasped. He..he has thought that, hadn't he? He was ashamed to admit it, but now that he thought about it, that was the last thing he could remember thinking before the woman had begun to talk to him. Had he actually revealed those feelings to someone else? He tried to speak again but was interrupted by a cry of pain. He turned to Arthur quickly. The flames had risen, and were burning his feet. Arthur was openly sobbing as his head thrashed about. If it was that painful for only his feet...that how much worse would it get when it rose higher.

"Please! Let me go!" Arthur begged as he writhed in agony. "I'm begging you, please! Francis!" He screamed. Francis felt his heart shatter when he heard the Brit scream his name. He needed to save him. He turned to the townspeople, not sure who had tied him up there. He couldn't see his boss in the crowd. Where was he? Didn't he tie Arthur up?

"Let him down now! This is an order!" Francis commended over Arthur's screaming. But he was ignored. No one paid him any mind whatsoever, more interested in the burning of Arthur. He grabbed the shoulders of a slightly taller man who stood near him. "Didn't you hear me? Let him down at once! Écoute moi!" The man turned and looked at Francis, looking elated.

"But Monsieur Francis! You put him up there, did you not?" He reminded Francis. Francis let go of the man and took a step back.

"Q-quoi? Non, you must be mistaken! I would never!" Francis insisted. He turned to look at Arthur again, who was still sobbing as he struggling. The flames continued to rise slowly, coming to his ankles now.

"Faster!" Someone demanded. "It is too slow!" And the flames seemed to obligate. Before their eyes, they rose even higher, engulfing all of Arthur's legs. Arthur threw his head back, screaming at the top of his lungs. His screams rang above all else and Francis could hear nothing other than that.

"Stop it! Arrêtez ça! Why won't you listen to me!" Francis screamed, tears rolling down his own cheeks now. He tried to come closer to free Arthur, but whenever he came close, the flames would burn his skin. Arthur was too high up and too close to the flames to rescue. When Francis took a step back, he gasped. The flames had come to his lower abdomen and Arthur looked nearly dead. His face was pale and his voice was hoarse as he continued to scream.

'Oh god. What do I do now?' Francis thought, nearly ripping his hair out now. The smell of burning flesh now filled his nostrils as he sobbed. But the world seemed to stop turning when Arthur screamed out his final words.

"I'M SORRY!" Arthur screamed out, his head falling back as he let out one final ear-piercing scream. And before Francis' eyes, the flames shot up, and completely engulfed Arthur, head to toe. Through the flames, Francis could see Arthur's face as his head thrashed about. Chunks of burning flesh fell from his face and down further into the fire, exposing the muscle and bone underneath. And eventually his screaming came to a stop, and all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire. Francis stared forward at the flames that had ended the life of his loved one. His legs gave out on him and he fell to his knees. He couldn't feel a thing. It was as though he was floating. A faint ringing was in his ears, but the smell of smoke never left him. He could hear people talking amongst themselves, as though nothing had happened. He felt a hand rest on his shoulder, praising him for getting revenge. Joan would be proud. God would be proud. But he blocked it out. He blocked out everything. And he did the only thing he could think to do.

He let his head fall forward so that his head touched the ground and he opened his mouth wide, letting out an ear piercing scream of his own. And he screamed and screamed and screamed.

His eyes shot open wide, tears pouring from his eyes and sweat staining the pillow. Arthur was directly on top of him, eyes wide and filling with tears of fear and confusion of his own, having suddenly been awoken by his lovers sudden screaming. But that's not what Francis saw. All he could see was the horrifying image once again. One that would haunt him forever. All he could see was Arthur was the flesh sliding from his bones, and down onto Francis. His hair was singed and falling from his head. And tears were streaming down whatever was left of his cheeks.

Francis cried out once more and swatted at Arthur, managing to push him away. He stumbled a bit until he fell off of the bed and onto the floor, where he proceeded to empty the contents of his stomach. He was faintly aware of a hand resting on his back, but he could hardly acknowledge it as he retched, his stomach and ribs contracting painfully.

Arthur meanwhile was confused and afraid. He had been sleeping peacefully when he had suddenly been alerting by the screaming of Francis. He had tried several times to wake him, but Francis had only thrashed about before finally waking up. And now he seemed terrified beyond relief. He watched as Francis coughed and heaved once more, and he could feel the man trembling violently. Once he was finally managed to stop, Francis very slowly lifted his head and looked up at Arthur, terrified of what he might see. But to his relief, Arthur looked just the way he always had, albeit a bit pale. He reached up, his hand shaking as he touched Arthur's face. Everything was still there. Everything was intact Everything was as it should be. But then..why was he still shaking?

"A-angleterre.." Francis stuttered out. He prepared to get to his feet, but with a choked sob, he fell back to his knees, his head resting on the bed. His shoulders shook as he cried. Arthur didn't know what to do at this point. He slid from the bed, careful to avoid he puddle of vomit on the ground and out his hands under Francis's armpits, helping him stand so that he could sit back on the bed. As soon as he was seated, Francis doubled over, his face in his hands. His chest was constricting tightly and he tried to calm himself, but he just...couldn't. He felt Arthur wrap his arms around him and pull him into his lap.

Arthur was no stranger to nightmares. Hell, he had his fair share of night terrors as well. So he had a good idea of just how terrifying they could be. Especially when they were bad enough to have such an effect whilst he was awake. He could feel Francis become a bit tense before his shoulders trembled once more and he burst into tears, gripping Arthur's shirt as though it were a lifeline. But as he sobbed, he spoke. He said things that didn't make much sense at the moment and greatly confused and concerned the Brit.

"Je suis desole Angleterre! I am no longer mad. Please don't go anywhere. I am begging you!" He pleaded desperately, wheezing and nearly gagging between his horrendous sobs. Arthur's eyes were wide as he stared down at the hysterical man in his arms. What in the world was he talking about? He held tighter and rubbed his back as Francis wailed. He gently rocked back and forth, racking his brain for something to say.

"Francis I'm not going anywhere. I can promise you that. You need to calm down pet." He shushed, hoping to console the Frenchman. "Everything is going to be okay. I promise." He felt Francis quiver as he sobbed once more. He knew he had to wait this out before he could get answers. So wait he did. He rocked and rubbed and whispered and hummed. He never loosened his grip and never once did he scold. He stayed right there and held him.

Eventually, the sobs began to die down and turned to nothing more than sniffles. Arthur gently took Francis's face in his hands and moved him so that they were looking at each other. Francis's eyes were red and swollen from the persistent crying and his lips never stopped trembling. "Breath Francis. It's okay. Now, tell me what happened."

Francis let out a shuddery sigh and began to speak, slowly but softly. He spoke of what he saw. Of what he heard. And about every single small detail. He knew that he wouldn't ever forget about these things and could practically put it all down as a horror story. Once he was through, tears had flooded his blue eyes once again and were streaming down his cheeks. "I'm sorry." He murmured softly. "I've done a terrible thing. I'm so sorry." Arthur was at a loss for words. Such an awful dream it was. It would have traumatized him as well. He looked Francis in the eye and spoke.

"I'm sorry Francis. I'm sorry that you've had to have such a dream. But please understand, it was only a dream. A dream and nothing more. I'm right here. And I'm not going anywhere. I promise." He said softly, kissing Francis on the forehead. Francis didn't answer verbally, but Arthur could see him curl his lips in and nod curtly. "The past is the past. And I know it can still be quite awful to think about. I've had my fair share of nightmares. And I know how awful it can be. But I will be right here to help you through them. Scouts honor." Francis smiled just a tad and Arthur chuckled. "There we are. There's that smile I was looking for." He said softly, adjusting the two of them so that they were lying down.

He grasped the comforter and pulled it snugly around the two of them, pulling Francis close so that he was against his chest. "I love you darling. If a bad dream comes again, I'll be sure to chase it away." He promised, kissing Francis's forehead. Arthur stroked Francis's hair gently as he felt the Frenchman slowly go limp.

"Je'taime Arthur." Francis murmured out, feeling absolutely worn at this point. "I'm sorry for waking you."

"Don't apologize my love. I don't mind. Just be still." He encouraged gently, kissing him once more. He held him tightly, feeling him become still as he fell asleep. And a moment later, Arthur followed suit.

And each dreamt of nothing more for the rest of the night.