France strolled casually down one of the side streets of Paris, his hands in his pockets and his golden hair tied back from his face. To any other observer, he would just look like an ordinary human being on a walk through the city, seeing the sights and enjoying the croissant-scented air. Those observers would probably be surprised to know that he was older than the city itself. And that he was the living, breathing personification of a country. Yes, he believed that it would be reasonable to be surprised about that. If I am walking on la terre francais, does that mean that I am walking on myself? He wondered as he took a turn towards the Eiffel Tower. And is that even physically possible? Hm. I 'ave no idea. Best not to confuse myself.

Joan walked through the streets of Paris, her hand wrapped tightly around her husband's, le Comte de Saint-Germain. As they rounded a corner, chatting quietly about the Elders that were supposed to be hiding somewhere in the city, her foot collided with a pile of horse dung that was lying on the side of the cobbled street. "My God," She muttered, glaring at the horse-drawn carriage that pulled tourists around through the city.
"What is it, Jeanne?" Saint-Germain asked, linking his arm through hers.
"Nothing, it's just this manure on my shoe," She grumbled. "And this is my favourite pair!" For a millisecond, Joan's silver aura flared up around her, and a trace of lavender wound its way through the air. The crap shriveled and fell off her foot. She sighed. "That's better."
Saint-Germain flashed his white teeth at her. "That's good... Say, shall we go to the Eiffel Tower? It's been a while since we last visited."
Joan grinned back. "Sounds perfect." Arm in arm, the two immortals turned down a side street and headed for the familiar spire, rising above the buildings.

As France walked through Paris, he was suddenly and inexplicably reminded of Jeanne d'Arc, the Maid of Orleans. Sudden tears rose to his eyes as he remembered the time that he had gotten the news from England; she had been burned alive at the stake. He turned and glared at a flower stand that had a large bouquet of lavender at the very front. Lavender was always 'er favourite flower, he remembered wistfully as the base of the Eiffel Tower came into view around the corner of a stone building. Shaking his head to dislodge himself of the memories, France started working his way through the crowd towards the landmark.

Joan and Saint-Germain turned the final corner and gazed at the tower, trying to ignore the sweaty tourists that were packed around them. "It seems larger than when it was built," Saint-Germain muttered to Joan. "Do you think so?"
"Really? I always thought that it looked smaller, because of all the people around it."
"To me, the people were what made it look larger."
Hand in hand, the couple began to weave their way through the masses that were sitting around on the grass.

After what seemed like ages of stepping on hands, apologizing, and backtracking, Joan and Saint-Germain managed to make their way to one of the legs of the tower. Saint-Germain had just pressed the 'up' button to call the elevator when a couple of tourists who were lounging around recognized him.
"Germain! Germain! Germain! Ohmygosh it's really you! We're, like, your biggest fans!"
As the two men fangasmed over Saint-Germain, he flashed a smile and waved, then murmured to Joan, "Why don't you go on ahead? I'll catch up."
She smiled back. "See you soon!" Just then, the doors for the elevator dinged and she walked in, pressing the button for the very top.

France finally managed to finish weaving through his people to one of the legs of the tower and punched the button to go up. While he was waiting for the elevator, he entertained himself by watching someone get berated (A/N or so he thinks…XD) by two other people by the far side of the tower. They were obviously talking loudly, with energetic arms movements that meant either extreme rage or extreme excitement. Just then, the doors dinged and France walked into the elevator. What button should I press? He wondered. I do not particularly feel like eating at the restaurant… I may as well go straight to the top.

Joan stood on the small observation deck at the highest point of the tower, leaning on the rail and staring out over the city. Unexpectedly, her mind wandered back to the fifteenth century and the Hundred Year War, when she was first made immortal. "The city has changed so much since then…" She mused out loud as she gazed at the rooftops. Just then, the elevator dinged and someone else walked out. Would it be Saint-Germain? She wondered. No, it couldn't be… Fans usually keep him occupied for at least a half hour…

France walked out of the elevator onto the observation deck, his hands in his pockets. Directly in front of him, there was already a slim woman with dark hair facing away from him, leaning on the rails. Deciding to be friendly in a non-flirty way, he strolled over and leaned on the rails beside her. "It is a beautiful city, is it not?" He asked while gazing out over the buildings. He could feel the woman shift beside him.
"Yes, yes it is… Although it has changed much."
He chuckled. "You 'ave no idea."
"Why? You don't sound…-"

"It is a beautiful city, is it not?" Joan heard a man's voice say. Without looking at him, her mind still on the fifteenth century, she replied, "Yes, yes it is… Although it has changed much."
She heard the man chuckle, as if he was in on some kind of inside joke. "You 'ave no idea."
Joan frowned. The voice didn't seem like it was particularly old. She turned her head to look at him. "Why? You don't sound…-" Her voice died in her throat. Everything about the man, from the long blonde hair to the bright blue eyes to the day-old stubble on his chin screamed familiarity at her. With a jolt, she remembered the last time that she had seen that face… and it was over five hundred years ago. "…Francis?"

"Francis?"
France turned with a start. "'Ow do you know my…."
He found himself staring into sharp gray eyes, eyes that he had known so well and had never forgotten, even after five hundred years. "…Joan?"
France's words died in his throat. He still had trouble believing that the woman that he had loved, over five centuries ago, was still alive. "…'Ow is this possible? You were burned alive... Unless…"

"Unless…" It took Joan a moment to snap out of her stupor. She was still completely awed that Francis was still alive, even after all this time. (A/N She doesn't know that France is immortal/a country) However, he could be immortal as well, Joan mused. Deciding to take a leap of faith, Joan asked, "Are you an immortal as well?"
Francis seemed slightly amused at that. "Yes, that's one way to put it."
Joan grew excited. "Really? Who's your Elder master? Or do you have one? How long have you been immortal for?"

As Joan bombarded France with questions, France grew more and more confused. People can become immortal? And what the hell is an Elder? His train of thought paused. Well, at least I can be assured that she isn't a country. Maybe it's time to tell her. He held up his questions to interrupt the Frenchwoman. "Joan… I can answer some of your questions, not all, but this is not the time, or the place."

Joan paused in her flurry of questions. Upon hearing the words 'answer' and 'questions', she immediately dropped the stream of inquiries and grabbed Francis' wrist, dragging him towards the elevator. Yes, yes you will… She thought determinedly.

Yay! First chapter done... And don't worry, people, the chaos will begin soon! XD This was actually easier than I thought... I was watching the Hetalia episode where Joan of Arc was mentioned, and I remembered that Joan was the love of France's life, and I realized that Joan appears in SotINF (Secrets of the Immortal Nicholas Flamel; it's too long to write out...) And my brain was like, 'connection!'

Honestly, I'm surprised that nobody wrote a fanfic like this before...

Am I ranting? I think I am. -.-'

Anyways, please review, favourite, and follow! Wuvs~