Francis sat alone on the couch, glass of red wine to his side. He sat there in comfort, letting all of the memories rush back, not that they ever left his mind, always there in the background of everything he ever did. She was always there, her beautiful bright brown eyes, silky brown hair, soothing voice, and he could even feel her courage. He sat there looking at the painting he had that he adored the most, one of her smiling next to him.

"Jeanne!" Francis called. She looked at him before giving him a smirk, and running over to him. She hugged her best friend before they set off.

"Francis, what are we doing?" Jeanne asked, he smiled at her.

"Ohonhon, we are going somewhere special." He looked forward to where they were walking too, his home. Francis was very wealthy compared to Jeanne, who was born into peasants. Yet neither of the two ever let that get in the way of their friendship.

Today Francis wanted the two of them get a painting done of them. He knew that he had to before something happened to her amazing and alive smile.

He could remember that day so well, as if it were yesterday. She was so happy, they were happy. By now tears were pricking at his eyes. But he would never let them fall, for she had said many times before battle, if she were to die never cry.

She was so strong, yet he never seemed to even come close to match her courage. She had done so much for him, been there for him in every time of need. Yet he couldn't help her when she needed help the most. When the damn Brits captured her.

Each of them were on horses getting ready to battle. Little did they know, this was going to be the last time they saw each other before Jeanne would be caught.

"Are you ready Jeanne?" Francis asked placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I am. Remember Francis, if this is my time, do not weep." Francis only smiled weakly. Jeanne gave him a reassuring smile before she lead them into battle.

Her last battle.

Francis thought about that day. They fought and fought, they seemed to be winning. Yet through all the chaos, Jeanne had gotten captured by the British. Many noticed her absence and set out to help, but failed in the end. When Francis had finally found out, he was devastated.

He never got to tell her he loved her, more than a friend.

"Damn those Brits! Taking Jeanne like that! I just won't have it, we are going to get her." Francis ranted.

"But sir, we can't go and get her. We don't know where they are holding her." Francis angrily slams his fist on the table. With that he left, and headed to his room to think.

Hot tears clouded his vision as he remembered it all. She was just so beautiful and had so much ahead of her. He wanted her to know how much he loved her. She was his everything, she was the light in his darkness.

He wanted her back like no one could imagine.

Francis and his men had received notice through spies that Jeanne was to executed within days. Francis couldn't take the news and without any warning set off to hopefully get her. Once Francis had arrived in Britain, he soon found where she was to be executed.

In a square he got caught up in the crowd, and found that someone was going to be burned. There was a woman whimpering loudly as she was pulled up toward the area. With another good look, he found that the woman was, Jeanne.

His eyes went wide and he pushed as hard as he could to get ass close as possible to said area. He eyes were filled wit hot tears, that were soon rushing down his cheeks. This heart ripped with agony as they finished tying her to the post.

Finally he got to the front, but not with a bunch of angry villagers behind him. He could barley yell out at her, he needed to tell her that he loved her. He needed to.

"Jeanne! Jeanne!" She finally heard him and looked over. She saw his tear stained face, still wet with new ones. She tried to smile, but tears hit her as well.

"Remember, don't cry. Francis...I love you." She yelled as the fire went up and the flames started to engulf her. Francis held back his tears as much as possible, but that only lead to him whimpering and sounding hysterical. He tried so hard to yell back how much he loved her as well, but by now there was no way.

She was gone.

By now Francis was lying on his back, holding in his tears at the best of his ability. They we pushing at his eye lids, but he held them. The painting of the two of them was lying next to him, capturing one of the most beautiful woman to ever promised her that he wouldn't cry.

A single tear slid slowly down his cheek dropping off his jaw to the painting, landing on her. Jeanne, I'm sorry. I love you so much.