France x Reader - The other Side
Yells, shouts and jeering came from the watching people. You stood in the middle of the room, once a fine ballroom, now turned in to a court room for the brutal republic, the so called "judges" sitting, sleeping and drinking at their long table. And these people were supposed to decide over your life?! You had known it was unjust, cruel and brutal, but nothing had quite prepared you for this.
One man stood up and started the trial. "(f/n) (l/n), called here for treason to the republic..."
You didn't listen.
Three months ago everything had been fine... You had been living a peaceful life with your father and siblings, enjoying (but not abusing) the privileges of being the daughter of a nobleman, and were soon to be engaged to a rich merchant. ...Well everybody has to sometime.
But then everything had come crashing down around you.
You had been visiting a friend of yours, and were on your way back home, walking through the dirty streets of Paris.
A little boy came running up to you, holding his small hands outstretched. You hesitated, but at a closer look you could see his hollow cheeks and bony thin hands. The boy ran of a second later, a fat coin gleaming in his hand and you continued walking, with the grateful smile of the boy etched in your minde.
You turned a corner and suddenly the smell of smoke was in the air. Sacre Bleu, Something was wrong!
Quickening your pace you rounded the second corner, coming into your street and a horrible sight met your eyes: Your house, along with two or three others, had been pillaged, the windows broken, the door hanging of its hinges and even as you watched smoke began to thicken, obscuring the view of anything inside and making your eyes water. You broke in to a run, screaming the names of your brothers, your sister and your father. Everything was silent from within.
Your breath was painful, the smell of smoke made you sick and the lack of answer from your family was starting to really scare you.
"P-Papa? Philipe?! Luise!" You ran to the door but before you could properly look inside, or even blink away tears, rough hands grabbed you and something hit your head hard, throwing you into deep darkness.
You had no idea whether you had passed an hour or a day in the depths of unconsciousness, but the fact was that you had later awoken in the prison which you had spent the last three months.
They hadn't even let you meet any other prisoners. You had spent the last months in a single cell. Alone and scared...
You jerked back out of your reverie, when, without having even let you say a word, the man who was your judge turned to the other judges and asked: "In favour of clearing the accused?"
Not one hand in the air... That was it then.
There was a roar from the watching crowd that almost drowned the judge's words: "Sentenced to death under the Guillotine! To die tomorrow!"
This evening, the last evening of your life, you were allowed to join the common room, and did not force you to go back to your solitary cell. Still stunned and numb you sat down on a bench at the far corner of the room.
It just was impossible! Any second now you would wake up from this nightmare and find yourself in your warm bead in a peaceful time, far from the terrors of such a pointless revolution.
Lost thus in your reverie, you didn't notice the fair haired, beautiful young man looking over at you and then getting up. With a graceful stride he walked to where you were sitting and sat down next to your fragile, frightened form.
You jumped as he laid an arm around you but the stranger whispered: "Calm, mademoiselle, I will not hurt you."
Something in his voice reassured you and you looked up, brushing your (h/l) (h/c) hair out of your face.
He sat there a while silently emanating calm and soothing the fear inside you. This feeling of safety you had only ever known from your mother, when she had held you as a little child.
"You just came back from your trial, didn't you?" The man asked.
You shuddered, instinctively pressing closer to the stranger and whispered nearly inaudibly: "Yes. Sentenced... for tomorrow."
A sad smile graced those beautiful lips and the stranger pulled you into a tight embrace.
"We can go together then. I too was sentenced."
And he had support to spare for a poor, frightened girl like you?
"What is your name?" You asked.
"Francis Bonnefoy, but you can call me Francis. And yours, Mademoiselle?"
"A beautiful name, for a beautiful woman." He said, making you blush crimson. No man had ever said anything like this to you. But even when you thought of what your parents would have said if this had happened a couple months ago, it couldn't lessen of the warm sensation that was quenching your fear.
"T-Thank you..." You stammered, still red in the face. He smiled and his happiness lit up the dark room around you. You smiled back shyly and Francis began gently stroking your (h/l) (h/c) hair.
You did not know when you fell asleep, leaning on Francis shoulder, but it seemed he had carried you to one of the straw mattresses, for as you turned your head, you saw him, lying on the floor, sleeping peacefully. On the hard, cold stone? ...For you?
Suddenly his eyelids fluttered, and before you knew it you were looking down into the deep blue of his eyes. It was like looking into a well of memories, as if centuries of love, thought, sorrow and loss were stored there.
Francis blinked, the spell broke and you looked away, turning slightly red.
"It's time!" You heard a voice yell and with a strange surreal feeling, you two walked out to the common room.
The beautiful man beside you was only the reason why you could keep your head held high and stand unflinching as a man holding a long scroll, starting calling out the names in an almost bored voice.
"... Pierre Albon, Emilie Tellier, Francis Bonnefoy, (f/n) (l/n)..."
The two of you stood simultaneously and without a word, letting yourselves be roughly shoved into one of the carts, which would bare you through the city.
The two of you were in the second cart, standing hand in hand in the very front.
Your cart started down the dirty cobbled street with a jolt. You last journey, you thought. People in the streets were looking up from their work, dirty hands and faces, malicious smiles, jeering and insults.
"Filthy aristocrats! Serves you right!" One man yelled.
"Look at me, (f/n)." Francis voice at your ear. You looked into his beautiful face, your (e/c) eyes staring into his brilliant blue ones.
"We are almost there..." You could not keep the sadness out of your voice. You didn't fear death, no, but it made you sad to have to leave Francis Bonnefoy so soon. A strange feeling had developed in your chest since you had met Francis. It was indescribable and unlike anything you had ever felt before but it gave you strength.
Francis took your hand tenderly, as though he was holding a fragile flower, and, still looking you in the eyes kissed it.
"(f/n), I... I---" But suddenly the carts came to a halt and the two of you were roughly sized and dragged out onto the square. Men holding bayonets lined the path to the guillotine and you noticed with a jolt that many hands were not only smeared with dirt, but also with blood.
The doomed were forced to stand in a line, held at bay by the bayonets and the jeering, mocking crowd. Most didn't even try to run, knowing it was futile, but one woman, probably cracked beneath the pressure and fear, broke out of the row screaming and began to sprint away.
She was the first to go.
They caught her before she had gotten more than twenty paces away and brought her back. She was forced to mount the steps, sobbing and struggling, and then---
"Don't look!" Francis said urgently, swiftly turning your head towards him, breaking the spell that had kept you mesmerized and your eyes fixed one the woman.
No one else tried to escape.
The next person was mounting the steps.
"(f/n)" Francis said urgently.
"There is something I must tell you."
You pressed his hand and waited. He swallowed.
The line was getting shorter.
Now there was a totally new glow in his eyes.
Only two more before it was your turn.
You were stunned.
A warm and loving smile broke across your face, something that had seldom been seen in this place, since the beginning of this bloody revolution.
You put your arms around Francis and with the next crash of the guillotine he bent down and kissed your lips.
It felt like everything fell away around you, the jeering crowd, the guards, the crashing of the guillotine...
You broke apart, and you turned to see no one in front of you, only the empty distance of red-stained cobblestone between you and the scarlet blade now gleaming in the sunlight.
You began to walk, Francis' hand slipping from your grip.
"See you on the other side"