Archive of Our Own ^beta

"Her name is Jehanne, daughter of Jaques d'Arc and his wife Isabelle. Thirteen. Comes from Domrémy in France."

Michael listened intensively as the Metatron fed her basic information on the Lord's latest chosen one, though part of her couldn't help but wonder why the Almighty wasn't telling her this Herself or why Hakamiah—the guardian of France—wasn't getting this assignment instead. Still, a mission was a mission, regardless of who gave it out or who got it.

"And why is this girl so important?" she asked. Technically all humans were important, but ever since the failure that was Saul, she always liked to know what to expect out of potential history makers.

"According to the Almighty, she's destined to aid the French army in driving out the English."

A soldier! Well, now she was intrigued. "Hm. And this benefits us how?"

Silence. Of course there was. The Metatron never said a word whenever he was asked such a question, though Michael was never quite sure if it meant that getting involved in Earthly squabbles was indeed a waste of time or if the Voice of God simply didn't know himself.

God didn't make mistakes, but it was times like these when the oldest of the angels couldn't help but wonder if her former apprentice's current position was one.

Whatever the case, Michael did her best not to let her dissatisfaction show. After all, what sort of precedent would that send to the others if even their own leader was questioning orders?

"Thank you, Metatron," she said after being handed Jehanne's file. "I think I shall ask Uriel to accompany me on this one." She was never that close to the light angel, so it would be nice to spend some time together.

But the Metatron shook his head. "Your companions for this mission have already been assigned."

Michael was never one for surprises, but she forced herself to keep a stern face and simply nodded. But then she frowned as soon as she opened the file.

She'd be working with saints.

"Don't make that face," the Metatron said, as though she were a child that needed scolding. "It'll only be for a few years."

Years. Plural.

It wasn't that Michael didn't like working with saints, but in her experience, so many of them got so attached to their former home that it was difficult to get them back to the spirit realm. And one of her new companions—Margaret—had only been about fifteen when she died; the younger they were, the harder it would likely be to get them to leave.

And those were just the tolerable ones.

Others seemed to be under the impression they knew better than the angels! Just because we weren't born on Earth doesn't mean we're ignorant!

But orders were orders. "Very well," she said at last. "When do I leave?"

"Today."

The girl was sweet, Michael had to admit. Adorable, even. Spirited too, which would be a good trait to have when she was old enough to join the army.

"When will she fight for France?" Catherine asked her, fondly gazing at Margaret and Jehanne as the two girls played together.

"She'll start when she's sixteen," the Archangel said matter-of-factly.

Catherine frowned. "That young? Won't she be married by then?"

Michael shrugged. It wasn't her job to understand human affairs; she was to only make sure they succeeded in whatever it was the Lord wanted them to do. Still, if the girl was married and with child by then, then it would certainly be harder for her to help her country.

Unless, of course, she swore a vow of chastity.

"It's unfair no matter how you look at it," Catherine continued. "How cruel of the world to force children to grow up too quickly." There was a distant look in her eyes, and the young saint was likely recalling her own previous life.

Maybe it wouldn't be this way if it weren't for your ancestors. Michael nearly said this aloud, but held it in. She'd be working with her and little Margaret for awhile, and the last thing that was needed was to bring up old wounds.

"Okay, you pretend to be part of the French army, and I'll be the evil English trying to take over your house!"

Jehanne nodded seriously and immediately gave chase after Margaret with a stick.

Catherine laughed, and even Michael joined in.

"At least she's already practicing," the angel joked. It was unlikely that Jehanne would ever actually fight, but Margaret had the right idea to test her speed and courage.

Jehanne and Margaret chased each other around, shrieking with delight until the human tried to tackle the saint to the ground, only to go right through her and land on the grass.

"Corporeal form, Margaret!" Michael chided and Jehanne began to stand. "We have to keep things fair here."

The saint pouted, disappointed that the angel had ruined her fun, but Michael knew she'd obeyed when she saw a white light flash around her for a quick second. "Better?"

Jehanne took her distraction as an opportunity to try tackling her again, this time being successful.

Michael smirked in response. "Hm. Much."

It should've been a joyous day when the girl turned sixteen. Catherine congratulated her and Michael simply saw the occasion as being one step closer to French victory and thus completing her assignment.

Margaret however was surprisingly melancholy.

"Sixteen." The saint's eyes darkened and her hands turned into fists, as though trying to keep herself from crying. Quickly bowing her head, she excused and fled into the woods. Catherine was the only one who ran after her.

"I feel sorry for her," Jehanne said, staring after the saints. "It must be difficult for some souls to see the living grow older."

"She still didn't have to be so rude!" Michael pointed out. She'd had to have a talk with Margaret about her behavior later. "And to question her own death would mean to question God's plan."

"I do not think—"

The angel clapped her hands in interruption.  "Let us not worry ourselves with such morbid details! Rather, we shall need to figure out our strategy."

Jehanne furrowed her brow. Even now, she was reluctant to follow her destiny. "I am but a simple farm girl."

"And the Son was nothing more but carpenter." Michael placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You will do well, Jehanne. Trust in the Lord to help guide your way."

"But my family—"

"—will understand. And you will see them again when this is all over."

At last, she began to relax. "You promise?"

Michael smiled. "You have my word, mademoiselle. Nothing bad will happen to you so long as you have me."

"I still say this is a horrible idea."

"Do you want the Burgundians to spot her?"

"No, but—"

"Then be quiet, Margaret."

It had taken a year and much convincing from Robert de Baudricourt, but Jehanne was at long last on her way to Chinon to meet with Charles. The people of Vaucouleurs had been kind enough to offer her men's clothing and cut her black hair to disguise herself before journeying through Burgundian territory, but Catherine and Margaret were both wary of this plan.

"You two are worrying for nothing," Michael said with a dismissive wave of her hand. "And even if this does get her in trouble for whatever reason, it'll surely be after her task is done."

Margaret glared at her. "How comforting."

Of all the saints God could've paired her up with, why did it have to be these two? "You doubt the Almighty's promise?" The young one was pagan by birth; perhaps her father's beliefs were still with her deep down.

But the little saint shook her head. "Of course not. I simply doubt you."

"Him!"

Jehanne gave a cheeky grin after pointing out the Dauphine, disguised as a courtier among the crowd. There were surprised murmurs among them, until Charles broke into a laugh. He then approached her and welcomed her, and the two went to speak in private.

"Clever," said a voice from behind Michael. "And she did not have Divine assistance?" She turned around to see the speaker being a handsome young man smiling lazily as he approached her. He seemed human enough, but Michael knew better.

"What are you doing here, Belphegor?" she asked in a low voice as the saints looked at him curiously. He's probably spying for the Burgundians. To let her guard down would be foolish.

The demon rolled his eyes. "Infernal ambassador to France, remember?" He nodded in a familiar being's direction, this one talking animatedly to an actual courtier. "Hakamiah is here, too."

"That still doesn't explain why you're here."

He shrugged. "Thought I'd see the latest chosen one for myself. She doesn't seem like much."

Michael growled and placed her hand on her hilt. By underestimating her charge, he was underestimating her.

Belphegor smirked. "Ah, ah, ah. We wouldn't want to cause a scene, would we?" Finally taking notice of the saints, he sniffed in disdain. "But then again, you two don't seem like much, either. What did you do in life, again?"

Both saints scowled.

"Ignore him," Michael told them. "Why don't you two wait outside? I'll collect you both when Jehanne gets back."

They nodded, but neither took their eyes off the demon as they left.

Michael turned back to Belphegor, chin high. "If you're thinking about interfering—"

"Interfering?" He shook his head. "You mistake my intentions, Michel. I'm here to ensure your charge wins."

"It's true, mon cher," Hakamiah said as they approached the two supernatural beings. "Hard to believe I know."

Michael stared at them both. "B-but why?"

"It would appear we have a common goal," Belphegor said.

"And that is to not let the English take over France!" Hakamiah added, a fire in their eyes.

"Well, technically it's to not let Mammon have more power than me, but you know..." He shrugged. "Same thing."

"But what about the Burgundians?" Michael asked.

"'Tis their own doing." Belphegor looked offended now. "Not everything bad in the world is the fault of demons, Michel."

Somehow I find that hard to believe. But if this granted her one more ally, then surely this situation couldn't be all that bad? And Hakamiah was a capable angel, so they'd be able to handle Belphegor if he tried anything.

God promised that Jehanne would succeed, she reminded herself. The girl would be fine.

"Stance, Jehanne!"

The human sighed heavily, dropping her sword to her side. "Is this really necessary, Michel?" she asked. "I'd much prefer a banner to a sword. And I do not wish to kill anyone!"

Michael bristled. They'd been practicing for about an hour now, and still Jehanne couldn't even master the basics! Where was the little girl from years ago? "You may not have a choice!" she snapped. "Do you want to die before fulfilling your destiny?"

"N-non," she stammered, taking a step back.

"Then try again!"

Catherine, who had been leaning against a wall, shook her head. "Go easy on her, Michael. This is her first time."

"Go easy on her?" The angel couldn't believe what she was hearing.

"Oh, I do not mean to offend!" the saint said defensively. "But—"

Michael stood upright and stamped her foot, willing Catherine to let her speak. "Have you ever fought, Cat?"

"Well, I can't say I have, but—"

"Then what should you do?"

"...be quiet?"

"Now you're getting it!" The angel sighed. "Just... go play with Margaret or something!"

Catherine huffed, but thankfully obeyed and went to search for her fellow saint.

Jehanne frowned. "You didn't have to be so harsh."

Michael shrugged. "She'll get over it." Smiling, she added, "And besides, we need to make sure you become a strong soldier. It's always good to be prepared, and you wish to make France proud, don't you?"

Jehanne dropped her gaze for a moment, as though considering the angel's words. Finally, she looked up again and nodded with renewed determination.

Michael's smile widened. "Then let us try again, mon petite guerrier." My little warrior.

La Pucelle's fame grew over the coming months, aiding the French in winning battle after battle, even after suffering injury. She had the courage of a mighty lion, and Michael couldn't have been prouder.

"You did well," she would say to her after each fight while Catherine fussed over her and Margaret excitedly asked for details of the day's adventure.

But all Jehanne wanted to do was go home. "When will I get to see them again?" she would ask, clearly referring to family.

The answer would always be the same. "Soon."

And that would be the end of that until the next battle's aftermath.

Until, at long last, Charles was officially coronated on July 17, 1429.

The court cheered and gave praise, until the king called for silence. "Please. We could not have achieved this great victory without Jehanne, La Pucelle!" He gestured towards the young Maid beside him, smiling brightly.

Jehanne's face turned red as everyone cheered for her, but she managed a nervous smile as she held on tightly to her white banner. "M-merci, Your Majesty."

The crowd later dispersed, and upon leaving the cathedral, Michael and the saints were greeted by the sight of Hakamiah and Belphegor, their eyes bright. Beside him was another demon wearing extravagant clothes  and jewels, and he had a sour expression on his face.

Michael immediately recognized him as Mammon.

"I suppose congratulations are in order," said the demon of Greed, holding out a hand.

The Archangel never shook it.

"Right. Well, I best return to England, I think."

Belphegor grabbed his colleague's puffy sleeve just as he was starting to walk away. "Not so fast, mon ami! Aren't you forgetting something?"

Mammon sighed exasperatedly and snapped his fingers to produce a small pouch. "Ten thousand livre, as promised."

Catherine's eyes widened as Belphegor took the pouch and began counting. "You two made a wager over this?"

"It was Asmodeus' idea!" The Sloth demon's eyes grew brighter at the mention of Raphael's rival.

"But what do demons even need with money?" Margaret asked.

"We don't ask you about your lives, do we?" Mammon asked. "And don't think this is over, Belphegor! England will become a mighty empire!"

"Sure, in a few centuries, maybe." Belphegor looked like he was only just barely paying attention.

The demon of Greed hissed at him, but soon left. Belphegor followed not long after.

Hakamiah laughed as the two left, and then turned to Michael. "I assume you'll be going back to Heaven now?"

The saint's nodded, but the Archangel raised an eyebrow. "Heaven?"

"Yes. Your assignment is over, is it not?"

Her assignment. That's right. Jehanne was nothing more but an assignment. "Of course I'll be going back soon!" she said quickly.

Hakamiah's eyes darkened. "Michel, you didn't...?" They trailed off, but they didn't need to finish their sentence.

Michael quickly shook her head. "Of course not! Do you take me for an idiot?"

The guardian of France took a step back and bowed their head. "O-of course not, commander! Forgive me, I meant no offense!"

Michael's mouth twitched at Hakamiah's submission; it both somehow managed to delight and disgust her. "You are forgiven. Now, go on Upstairs. Tell Gabriel and Uriel I'll be seeing them as soon as I can."

Hakamiah nodded and immediately took off upward.

Remembering the saints, Michael turned to face them and pretended to not be bothered by their stunned faces. "You two as well. But say your goodbyes, first."

"And what will you be doing?" Margaret asked in a quiet voice.

Good question. What would she be doing? The English haven't completely left, she remembered. And just because Charles had been coronated didn't mean they would stop being a threat. Jehanne still needed her.

"I'll stay here to make sure the English are out of the country," the angel said at last. "Only then will I return home."

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Michael was furiously beside Jehanne, who was staring out the window. The young woman had been captured while trying to attack the Burgundian camp, and the angel was more than ready to fight them all herself.

Soon after, Catherine and Margaret appeared before them.

"We came as soon as we heard!" said the older saint as Margaret gave Jehanne a hug. "Are you alright, Jehanne?"

The Maid didn't answer.

"What happened?" Margaret asked.

"We were ambushed," Jehanne said monotonously. "I was too impulsive, and—"

"This is not your fault!" Michael growled. She would not have her charge blame herself.

Jehanne finally looked at her, glassy-eyed. "Whose fault is it, then?"

"The Burgundians!" Wasn't it obvious? "Those false French will pay for what they've done!"

The human gave her a weak smile, but then went back to looking out the window.

Catherine slowly approached the angel. "What will happen to her?"

"Happen to her? She'll go back to her parents, of course!"

The saint shook her head, and there was sadness in her eyes. "Surely you know what happens to women who break the rules, Michael?"

The angel was still confused. What rules had Jehanne broken?

Catherine sighed and annoyance flashed in her eyes. "You're hopeless," she hissed and went back to comfort Jehanne.

"Did they have hair?"

"It is a comfort to know that they have."

"Was Saint Michel naked?"

"Do you think God has nothing with which to clothe him?"

"Did Saint Marguerite speak English?"

"Why would she speak in English when she is not on the English side?"

Margaret laughed at Jehanne's last response, but was quickly hushed by Catherine, though it was clear she was amused as well. They and Michael were all invisible to the humans, even to Jehanne, and it had taken all of the angel's willpower to not make herself known.

The Maid was apparently on trial for heresy, which Michael thought was completely ridiculous. What did a war between countries have to do with the Church? Who knew humans could be so dramatic?

The trial went on for several more months, with Jehanne giving similar dry responses to them or completely deflecting others; she frustrated the enemy all the same.

Maybe she can annoy them into letting her go, Michael thought during one of the proceedings. But much as she may joke, she knew that wasn't how things worked.

The clergy wasn't going to let the woman go until she either confessed to a crime or was dead. And should it come to that, they were going to have to go through an angel of the Lord first.

The guards screamed when Michael appeared between them and Jehanne. "You will leave this young woman be and return to your homes," she said to them; they stood in a trancelike state. "Forget all about this encounter." It was so tempting to simply smite them where they stood, but no; she'd leave them for the Almighty to deal with.

Oh, the Almighty... She'd surely be angry at her for interfering, but it was worth it.

Naturally the guards obeyed, and the angel knelt beside her charge once they left. "Did they touch you?"

Jehanne shook her head, tears in her eyes while shaking. "N-non, b-but I don't want to wear this dress anymore." Her voice was barely a whisper.

"And you won't." Michael immediately miracled the Maid's regular clothing. "Wear these instead."

"No!" Catherine and Margaret appeared between the angel and human, eyes wild.

"Have you gone mad?" Margaret asked. "Do you want to make things worse?"

Catherine kissed Jehanne's cheek. "Remember what the Bishop said, mon cher."

The Bishop! Cauchon and his ilk could all rot in Hell as far as Michael was concerned. "Would you rather she be violated?"

"Of course not, but I also want her to live!"

"What sort of life is she having now?"

"You'd rather she die, then?"

Michael was stunned. How could Catherine think such a thing? "So she'll go back to wearing men's clothes! Why should that be a crime?"

Margaret frowned. "You're right, it shouldn't be one. But it is. Things are different for us, Michael." She then glanced at Jehanne and asked her, "You know what will happen, don't you? If you go through with this?"

"I do," Jehanne replied. After a moment of silence, she asked, "Will my family be safe?"

Michael and the saints nodded. She knew enough to know that at least her brother Pierre would leave behind descendants well into the future.

She smiled, a small spark in her eyes; Michael hadn't realized how much she missed it until now. "Then give me those clothes."

The punishment was execution, a burning at the stake. Michael had only been notified by this a few hours before it was to take place.

"She didn't want you to worry," Catherine explained. "And don't even think about interfering."

Why shouldn't she interfere? Why, I could crush Cauchon easily. Yes, she could see it now—the Bishop cowering in fear, begging for forgiveness and letting Jehanne go. And then she would smite him then and there, and send him straight to her brother for him to deal with.

But she was an angel, not a murderer.

The promise she'd made long ago suddenly rang in her ears: "Nothing bad will happen to you so long as you have me."

But she already interfered once; surprisingly, God had said nothing to her the first time, but she didn't want to test Her. Jehanne wouldn't want me to get in trouble. Why did she continue to make promises she couldn't keep? Why hadn't she remembered her own rule? Loving a human only ever leads to trouble!

But she didn't regret it. She would never regret loving Jehanne. Which was why it pained her to realize, I have to let her go.

The white dress didn't suit her at all, neither did the shaved head. And that was the entire point.

Margaret and Catherine each took hold of Michael's hand, and she was grateful for the comfort. I'll need them to hold me back.

"Why can't they just behead her?" Margaret asked, though the question didn't seem to be for anyone in particular. "That would be far more merciful."

But the clergy clearly weren't in the mood for mercy.

Soon, the kindling was lit. Some people cheered while others wailed and prayed, but Michael never took her eyes off Jehanne's terrified face—it would haunt her for the rest of her life, as would the pungent aroma of human flesh. Please come quickly, Azrael.

Jehanne coughed excessively and held onto her little crucifix as tightly as she could, and this seemed to go on for what felt like an eternity until at last Michael saw a shadowy figure just behind the young woman. No one else seemed to notice him but her.

Then, at the age of nineteen, the Maid of Orléans was dead.

Margaret and Catherine returned to Heaven soon after the execution was over, but Michael stayed behind. "As I've said, I'll make sure the English are out of France," she'd told them. She hoped they believed her.

The next morning, she wandered around aimlessly through English territory, her mind still clouded with the memory of Jehanne's cruel death.

I broke my promise to her.

I told her to change clothes.

Does she hate me?

She couldn't even linger too long on that last thought. This wasn't her fault, was it? No, of course not! These things just... happened.

So then why do I still feel so guilty?

She was so consumed by her thoughts, she almost didn't notice she'd bumped into someone. "Sorry," she mumbled, keeping her head down. But as she moved past the stranger, she felt them grab her arm. "Unhand me!" she ordered. Whoever this was had just made a big mistake.

"Michael, it's me."

The angel froze, staring at the familiar dark face. The voice was the same as well. Azazel?

No, not Azazel. That angel was gone, dead! This was someone else, someone evil. Someone who needed to be destroyed immediately. No demon can be fully trusted! Not even her former love.

A closer look, and she noticed he wore dark English clothes as well. So he was now her enemy in more ways than one.

As though on instinct, she pulled away and drew her sword. She was just about ready to stab him, when her attack was quickly blocked with his own blade.

He smirked. "You seem to be losing your touch."

How dare he! Did he want a fight? It didn't take long for Michael to notice the spark in his eyes; that was all the confirmation she needed, and the grip on her sword grew tighter. If it's a match he wants, she thought, fixing her stance, then it's a match he'll get!

They sparred and sparred and sparred some more, both too stubborn to yield while continuously teasing the other. Though as far as Michael was concerned, it was the demon who was losing.

"Now who's losing their touch?"

"Still you, from where I'm standing."

It felt just like before. I didn't think it was possible to miss someone this much. What would've happened if he hadn't Fallen?

As typical for their matches, their sparring lasted for several hours, and the sun was just beginning to set by the time Michael broke his sword with hers.

"That was new!" He didn't actually seem angry.

Michael scoffed, putting her weapon back in its sheath. "You should've thought of that before challenging me." Did Hell usually have such flimsy weapons? Maybe they won't be much of a threat, after all.

"You challenged me, remember?" He smiled. "But then, you always did."

Michael hoped he didn't notice her cheeks heating up, or hear her heart beating. Damn it! She should've been over him by now. How long had it been since Raphael abandoned him in the desert?

The demon looked her up and down. "I see you are still wearing a French uniform."

"And you resemble an Englishman," she pointed out. "Speaking of, does Mammon really plan to make England into an empire?"

She didn't expect him to actually answer, so she was surprised when he did. "That's what he says. He plans to have it spread the entire globe, I think."

"Including North America?"

He laughed. "Especially North America. He wishes for it to be the next Rome. An ambitious goal, but I must admit, one that is ultimately pointless. Everything about this is." He looked off into the distance with an unreadable expression on his face.

This got Michael's attention. Someone felt the same way as her? And it just so happened to be her former partner. I knew I liked him for a reason. "Indeed," she said. "Pestilence, war... So much suffering, it's a wonder why Armageddon doesn't happen now."

He nodded in agreement. "It's good to see our minds still think alike."

Michael smiled tightly, wishing more than anything she had something to cover her face. Was she always this weak around him? How had she ever gotten anything done when he was still in Heaven?

"Michael?"

She hadn't realized he was still speaking to her until now. "Hm?"

He almost looked concerned. "I'm... sorry for you loss, by the way. I'm sure the Maid meant a great deal to you and I hope you're fareing well."

Fareing well? She almost laughed. How could she be? How could anything ever be well after her brother's betrayal?

After his own betrayal?

After Jehanne's death?

But she definitely couldn't let the demon know that. "Thank you for your condolences," she finally said, forcing out the words. "Now, this has been fun, but I really must be going!"

"But—"

She didn't give him the chance to finish as she rushed towards the nearest inn.

Gabriel stopped by three days later with a letter from Jehanne. "She worked really hard on it," he said proudly. "With some help, of course. I really think you should at least read it."

Michael smiled. "Thank you, Gabriel. But I'll read it when I get back to Heaven. Just place it somewhere in my chambers for now."

The Archangel frowned. "If you're sure..."

"I am, little one." It was sweet that Jehanne had written to her, but it felt too soon. What if she blamed her for her death? No, it was best to look at it once this war with the English was over.

Besides, she still had another letter to get to, first. It'd come to her earlier that morning, finding its way to her through her sigil that was written on a black envelope. It had no name, but she knew it was from Azazel—or whoever he was now.

She took out the letter out of a box from underneath her bed once Gabriel left and simply stared at it. Should she open it? What did he want with her? I suppose I did leave rather abruptly, Michael thought. But would he really try to contact her just for that?

She sighed. There was only one way to find out. She tore the envelope open, and immediately began to read.

Michael read the words over and over again, blushing each time. I'm acting like a young girl, she thought, irritated with herself. She was an ancient angel of the Lord, surely far too old to feel lovestruck.

Especially towards a demon.

Still, she couldn't deny her own longing. She now knew his new name, and beside it was a symbol that she guessed was his sigil.

I can contact him anytime, she realized. And surely one reply couldn't hurt? Just to let him know she'd received his message, and then that would be the end of it.

What was the worst that could happen?