May 30th, 1431
Rouen, France
Claire ran after the procession of people who shouted and bayed for another woman's blood, terrified she would not make it on time. Breathing heavily, she was not used to so much running as she forced herself to keep up. Her bare feet splashed into a puddle of muddy water from the rain, soaking the bottom if her old brown skirt. Ahead of her she could seen a lone figure gowned in tarnished white cloth being hauled up onto a platform by men, a platform layered heavily in brush, twigs and anything else of the earth that would light when a flame touched it.
Tears came to the North American woman's eyes. She had been sent back in time with the purpose of saving her. Saving Jeanne d'Arc from her fate, it had been her mission from the very beginning when she appeared, ready for battle nearing the end of the Hundred Years War. For over two years, Claire had been in France, trying to save the raven-haired woman from her fate and yet, now, she would be too late. To late to save her. Unless...
The young woman, not fully out of her teens, stopped running suddenly, stilling her feet in a shallow puddle, watching as a torch was thrown on the brush and the fire began to rise around the forsaken woman tied at the stake. Her shoulders slumped, brown eyes looking on in quiet understanding of why she had been sent here. Turning, Claire walked away, pulling a small pocket watch from the loose corset of her dress. Flipping open the silver item, she began to rewind the small clock, watching things change around her backwards as she walked, reaching a building of tall, glorious stone. Pressing the tab down, time stopped moving as she walked, heading down into a dungeon, small smile in place.
Since she was born Claire knew, somehow, she was meant for some great, tragic thing. Her mother had never told her why her hair was black, unlike the older lady's blonde, and eyes a hard, plain brown, unlike her father's gentle sea green. She worked hard outside from a young age on their hardly thriving farm, her mother wanting her to be darkly tanned before the age of sixteen, the age she was two years ago. An age so close to nineteen. Since the age of eight, Claire was taught French as if a second language to match her name, and when she was asked to join the Time Agency, the same agency her father was apart of until retiring to become a teacher and her mother was apart of as a scientist, Claire never knew why all her missions revolved around France, guessing it was due to being fluent it the language.
Now, it all came together as she stood before the cell holding the famous Jeanne d'Arc, the Maid of Orléans known as Joan of Arc in English. The same Jeanne who stopped the siege of France on the eight of May in 1429 and was the younger sister of three elder brothers, two of which followed her even at the possibility of their own life being taken. How could she let this woman die when she did nothing wrong, just doing God's will?
Simple; Claire couldn't let her die.
Starting time up again, Claire called out softly to the other woman her name, voice lowered and soft so the guards outside would not hear. Similar brown eyes opened, looking up from prayer, widening slightly. Rising, the saint rushed over, whispering in a hush, the worry thick in her voice.
"Madam Juilliard, what are you doing here? You may be caught!"
The fellow raven-haired woman smiled, instead bending to begin picking the lock on the cell door with a small pin. Claire knew full well she could have done so before starting time, touching Jeanne's shoulder to awake her from the time sleep and explain what she could, but chose this way. The feeling of urgency would make her work quicker, make her forget, though briefly, that she was doing something she had always been told never to do. Besides, she had been in such a mind-numbing jumble she forgot to grab the keys from one of the guards.
Why was she born to look like Jeanne d'Arc, made to learn French and learn the history of the country backwards and forwards, if she was not supposed to do this? Why make the woman learn such things if not to break the number one rule they were given? She was made- no, born- to do this, because, for some reason, Jeanne needed to live to see past the thirtieth of May. For whatever reason, Claire would never know as the sound of a satisfying click from the lock sounded.
Pulling open the door, the North American woman winced ever so slightly, not expecting the metal to creak. Stopping, she looked back, listening quietly along with Jeanne with bated breath. When no one came with swords drawn, Claire turned back around and opened the door so she could slip through and Jeanne out.
"Madam Juilliard, you must go back. This is not right!" The older woman pursued, serious. Then again, when was not this saintly woman serious?
"I can't." Claire replied calmly, already stripping herself of her clothes to change with Jeanne. "You've done nothing wrong but save this country from being overrun by another country's people and warriors."
"And you have done the same," Jeanne pushed, arms flat to her sides as Claire reached for the hem of the other's clothes. "This is what God had planned."
The eighteen-year-old stared at the woman just a year older than her, shoulders slumping. "No. Jeanne d'Arc, it is not. I..." Claire swallowed, knowing what she would do next was worthy of being condemned to burn, lying to this woman. "I was sent by God to take your place. Long before this happened, God had sent me to try and save you in the most subtle ways. Now I am to take your place."
Almost immediately the woman dropped to her knees praying and Claire had to stoop to bring the saint back to her feet. Brown mirrored brown as they stared at each other and then, reluctantly but following what the messenger had done, stripped herself into her undergarments and pulled on what Claire had worn moments ago. Claire placed on the pale, course material Jeanne wore, pulling the watch from around her neck to give over to Jeanne.
"This... This is from God, as well. For you. A gift telling time." Fingers starting to fumble, the adrenaline in her blood slowing down, she open the watch to show Jeanne who looked at it in fascination, no one in this time having seen such a sight. Going through the motions of showing Jeanne how it worked, she placed it in the woman's hands. "It's called a watch, and when you push in the button on the back, you will be safe. When you walk out of this cell and close the door, I want you to press it."
Drawing in a shaky breath, Claire smiled at the flummoxed, curious woman, voice wavering when she next spoke. "Jeanne d'Arc, que Dieu soit miséricordieux sur vous."
Jeanne seemed unsure momentarily of doing as told, but then nodded. "God be merciful on you, as well, Madam Juilliard."
The dark haired woman slipped between the cell door and wall, closing it with a soft creak behind her. She looked down at the watch, Claire watching her close to tears, and Jeanne opened the futuristic device with awe, calloused thumb running over the smooth glass surface. Looking back at Claire, Jeanne smiled, closing the watch and pointer finger finding the button on the back.
"Thank you, Angel."
And with that, the saint disappeared in a small burst of golden color, just before guards came down to escort Claire away. Away to where the famous Maid of Orléans was supposed to be burned.
Rouen, France
Claire ran after the procession of people who shouted and bayed for another woman's blood, terrified she would not make it on time. Breathing heavily, she was not used to so much running as she forced herself to keep up. Her bare feet splashed into a puddle of muddy water from the rain, soaking the bottom if her old brown skirt. Ahead of her she could seen a lone figure gowned in tarnished white cloth being hauled up onto a platform by men, a platform layered heavily in brush, twigs and anything else of the earth that would light when a flame touched it.
Tears came to the North American woman's eyes. She had been sent back in time with the purpose of saving her. Saving Jeanne d'Arc from her fate, it had been her mission from the very beginning when she appeared, ready for battle nearing the end of the Hundred Years War. For over two years, Claire had been in France, trying to save the raven-haired woman from her fate and yet, now, she would be too late. To late to save her. Unless...
The young woman, not fully out of her teens, stopped running suddenly, stilling her feet in a shallow puddle, watching as a torch was thrown on the brush and the fire began to rise around the forsaken woman tied at the stake. Her shoulders slumped, brown eyes looking on in quiet understanding of why she had been sent here. Turning, Claire walked away, pulling a small pocket watch from the loose corset of her dress. Flipping open the silver item, she began to rewind the small clock, watching things change around her backwards as she walked, reaching a building of tall, glorious stone. Pressing the tab down, time stopped moving as she walked, heading down into a dungeon, small smile in place.
Since she was born Claire knew, somehow, she was meant for some great, tragic thing. Her mother had never told her why her hair was black, unlike the older lady's blonde, and eyes a hard, plain brown, unlike her father's gentle sea green. She worked hard outside from a young age on their hardly thriving farm, her mother wanting her to be darkly tanned before the age of sixteen, the age she was two years ago. An age so close to nineteen. Since the age of eight, Claire was taught French as if a second language to match her name, and when she was asked to join the Time Agency, the same agency her father was apart of until retiring to become a teacher and her mother was apart of as a scientist, Claire never knew why all her missions revolved around France, guessing it was due to being fluent it the language.
Now, it all came together as she stood before the cell holding the famous Jeanne d'Arc, the Maid of Orléans known as Joan of Arc in English. The same Jeanne who stopped the siege of France on the eight of May in 1429 and was the younger sister of three elder brothers, two of which followed her even at the possibility of their own life being taken. How could she let this woman die when she did nothing wrong, just doing God's will?
Simple; Claire couldn't let her die.
Starting time up again, Claire called out softly to the other woman her name, voice lowered and soft so the guards outside would not hear. Similar brown eyes opened, looking up from prayer, widening slightly. Rising, the saint rushed over, whispering in a hush, the worry thick in her voice.
"Madam Juilliard, what are you doing here? You may be caught!"
The fellow raven-haired woman smiled, instead bending to begin picking the lock on the cell door with a small pin. Claire knew full well she could have done so before starting time, touching Jeanne's shoulder to awake her from the time sleep and explain what she could, but chose this way. The feeling of urgency would make her work quicker, make her forget, though briefly, that she was doing something she had always been told never to do. Besides, she had been in such a mind-numbing jumble she forgot to grab the keys from one of the guards.
Why was she born to look like Jeanne d'Arc, made to learn French and learn the history of the country backwards and forwards, if she was not supposed to do this? Why make the woman learn such things if not to break the number one rule they were given? She was made- no, born- to do this, because, for some reason, Jeanne needed to live to see past the thirtieth of May. For whatever reason, Claire would never know as the sound of a satisfying click from the lock sounded.
Pulling open the door, the North American woman winced ever so slightly, not expecting the metal to creak. Stopping, she looked back, listening quietly along with Jeanne with bated breath. When no one came with swords drawn, Claire turned back around and opened the door so she could slip through and Jeanne out.
"Madam Juilliard, you must go back. This is not right!" The older woman pursued, serious. Then again, when was not this saintly woman serious?
"I can't." Claire replied calmly, already stripping herself of her clothes to change with Jeanne. "You've done nothing wrong but save this country from being overrun by another country's people and warriors."
"And you have done the same," Jeanne pushed, arms flat to her sides as Claire reached for the hem of the other's clothes. "This is what God had planned."
The eighteen-year-old stared at the woman just a year older than her, shoulders slumping. "No. Jeanne d'Arc, it is not. I..." Claire swallowed, knowing what she would do next was worthy of being condemned to burn, lying to this woman. "I was sent by God to take your place. Long before this happened, God had sent me to try and save you in the most subtle ways. Now I am to take your place."
Almost immediately the woman dropped to her knees praying and Claire had to stoop to bring the saint back to her feet. Brown mirrored brown as they stared at each other and then, reluctantly but following what the messenger had done, stripped herself into her undergarments and pulled on what Claire had worn moments ago. Claire placed on the pale, course material Jeanne wore, pulling the watch from around her neck to give over to Jeanne.
"This... This is from God, as well. For you. A gift telling time." Fingers starting to fumble, the adrenaline in her blood slowing down, she open the watch to show Jeanne who looked at it in fascination, no one in this time having seen such a sight. Going through the motions of showing Jeanne how it worked, she placed it in the woman's hands. "It's called a watch, and when you push in the button on the back, you will be safe. When you walk out of this cell and close the door, I want you to press it."
Drawing in a shaky breath, Claire smiled at the flummoxed, curious woman, voice wavering when she next spoke. "Jeanne d'Arc, que Dieu soit miséricordieux sur vous."
Jeanne seemed unsure momentarily of doing as told, but then nodded. "God be merciful on you, as well, Madam Juilliard."
The dark haired woman slipped between the cell door and wall, closing it with a soft creak behind her. She looked down at the watch, Claire watching her close to tears, and Jeanne opened the futuristic device with awe, calloused thumb running over the smooth glass surface. Looking back at Claire, Jeanne smiled, closing the watch and pointer finger finding the button on the back.
"Thank you, Angel."
And with that, the saint disappeared in a small burst of golden color, just before guards came down to escort Claire away. Away to where the famous Maid of Orléans was supposed to be burned.