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aunt_zeldaTitle: The Problem with Saints
Word Count: 1,046
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Linkara, Jeanne d’Arc, Margaret
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, not Atop the Fourth Wall, not Linkara, not Joan of Arc, not “The Problem With Saints” by Neil Gaiman and friends.
Warnings: Mention of the threat of rape, descriptions of a ghost still becoming corporeal.
Summary: Linkara takes a vacation to England and encounters a ghost in a park.
A/N: So, during the chat tonight, trulyamindlost played a video for The Problem with Saints, a song by Neil Gaiman and friends. I mentioned wanting to read a story about Scruffy British Author Neil getting followed by the ghost of the French heroine, Joan of Arc, as described in the song. rampant suggested Linkara as Neil and Margaret and Joan and I promptly yelped that I’d have to write that now. This is the result. Now please let me get back to exams and final projects, there’s a lot to be done.
This was not, in fact, the weirdest thing Linkara had ever experienced. After years of robots, space invaders, eldritch abominations, evil twins, magic and general mayhem … the ghost of a 15th Century heroine manifesting in a London Park didn’t shock him as much as it had the rest of the citizens.
It was surprising, yes, and rather disturbing once he noticed the burned patches of skin on her cheek and hands, still ashen and gray in places and red and mottled in others. She was healing, though, becoming less transparent and more solid by the hour. A ghost, yes, but perhaps not for long.
She had some kind of hold on the French tourists who’d been having a picnic in the park. They were glassy-eyed and standing nearby, in formation. Several of the park’s English denizens were tied up nearby; the rest had fled in panic. Linkara, having fought against the hypnotized French tourists and even fired his magic gun a few times in warning, had been separated from the crowd and was being interrogated by Jeanne.
Her armor betrayed how ancient she was, but it was very shiny and impressive. So was the sword she held in her hand, which confused Linkara briefly.
“I’ve read about you. You said you never killed anyone. You carried a banner into battle, not a sword.”
She glared at him. The burn down the left side of her face blazed, orange and red patches crackling. He could see her cheekbone, briefly, before her skin grew and covered it up.
“True, I never killed anyone. And yet they imprisoned me, tried me with no scholar to aid me, left me naked in a cell with vile men leering at me … burned me …” she coughed, smoke pluming into the air. “Why should I not kill, with this holy sword? The Voices told me to, when they told me of it. A holy sword to liberate France. But I carried only the banner into battle. I did not wish to kill anyone. Now … now I …” she glanced aside.
Linkara squirmed, the jump rope around his wrists binding him to the jungle gym didn’t give. He could understand her, though he knew she must be speaking French, and old French at that. Some kind of magical telepathy powers, perhaps? TARDIS translations working, despite no TARDIS in sight?
“You wish to be free, Englishman?” the tip of her blade nudged Linkara’s chin, forcing him to look up into Jeanne’s eyes. “I am going to kill your King. You are one of his knights; you will try to stop me. I cannot free you.”
“Not a king now. A queen.” Linkara said before he could stop himself.
“Very well. I shall kill her.”
“She’s in her eighties!” Linkara protested.
“Regardless. You are a knight, bound to serve and protect the ruler of this land.”
“I’m not a knight.”
“You carried weapons,” Joan waved her hand at the array of daggers and guns on the ground. “You fought well, against my soldiers. You are trained in combat. You are a knight.”
Linkara sighed and decided against arguing with the woman who was currently pointing a sword at his throat.
“However, I cannot spare any of my soldiers to guard you.” Jeanne rocked back on her heels. Her skin had knit up almost completely now, there was only a faintly glowing scar down her cheek. She nodded, coming to a decision. “Make your peace with God, Englishman, I am going to send you to his gates.” She raised the sword.
Linkara closed his eyes.
There was a rushing of wind, the sizzling sound of magic, and a flash of light Linkara could see even through closed eyelids.
He heard the sword fall to the ground, heard Jeanne’s armor clanking as she toppled, heard Margaret screaming a battle cry.
Linkara opened his eyes and watched Margaret rolling on the ground with Jeanne, blasts of white light coming from her palms, her eyes set with determination. Though Jeanne was taller and wearing heavy armor, Margaret was quickly gaining the upper hand.
Linkara dragged the sword close and used it to cut through the jump rope. When he stood up, Margaret had Jeanne pinned down, one glowing hand inches from the woman’s nose.
“Do you surrender?” Margaret growled.
“Surrender? I have had enough of English prisons,” Jeanne spat. “Kill me, English witch, France will free itself from tyranny soon enough!”
Margaret frowned. “I’m not English. I’m American. So is he,” she jerked her head towards Linkara. “You’re still pretty confused after coming back, huh? That happened to me too. It’s tricky, but you’ll get through it.” She rolled off of Jeanne and stood up, holding out her hand. “Wanna go on the swings with me?”
Jeanne looked suspicious. “Swings?”
“Yeah. Let’s swing on the swings. And talk. Linkara will promise to stay here and no try to escape until we come back. Won’t he?” Margaret glared at Linkara who nodded.
“I … uh … I swear on my honor,” Linkara put his hand over his heart. That seemed to satisfy Jeanne, who followed Margaret onto the swings.
They talked for a long time. Linkara occasionally heard snatches of the conversation, raised voices from time to time, but never enough to make out more than a few words. When the girls returned, Jeanne didn’t look angry anymore. Margaret smiled at Linkara, hands in her pockets.
“Release them, and go about your business,” Jeanne ordered the French tourists. They set the prisoners free and wandered back to their picnic, shaking their heads and blinking a lot.
“Sir Knight, recover your weapons and leave this place in peace with your … herald.” Jeanne inclined her head to Margaret, who bowed from the waist.
Linkara bowed as well, gathered up his weapons, and let Margaret tug him away.
“Is she going to be ok?” Linkara asked once they were out of earshot.
“I think so,” Margaret said, jumping up onto Linkara’s shoulders and getting a sort of piggyback ride. “I mean, I’m ok now. She will be too.”
Linkara carried Margaret out of the park, but by the time they reached the gates, she’d melted away and the gun holstered under his coat was thrumming with energy once more.
Word Count: 1,046
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Linkara, Jeanne d’Arc, Margaret
Disclaimer: I do not own anything, not Atop the Fourth Wall, not Linkara, not Joan of Arc, not “The Problem With Saints” by Neil Gaiman and friends.
Warnings: Mention of the threat of rape, descriptions of a ghost still becoming corporeal.
Summary: Linkara takes a vacation to England and encounters a ghost in a park.
A/N: So, during the chat tonight, trulyamindlost played a video for The Problem with Saints, a song by Neil Gaiman and friends. I mentioned wanting to read a story about Scruffy British Author Neil getting followed by the ghost of the French heroine, Joan of Arc, as described in the song. rampant suggested Linkara as Neil and Margaret and Joan and I promptly yelped that I’d have to write that now. This is the result. Now please let me get back to exams and final projects, there’s a lot to be done.
This was not, in fact, the weirdest thing Linkara had ever experienced. After years of robots, space invaders, eldritch abominations, evil twins, magic and general mayhem … the ghost of a 15th Century heroine manifesting in a London Park didn’t shock him as much as it had the rest of the citizens.
It was surprising, yes, and rather disturbing once he noticed the burned patches of skin on her cheek and hands, still ashen and gray in places and red and mottled in others. She was healing, though, becoming less transparent and more solid by the hour. A ghost, yes, but perhaps not for long.
She had some kind of hold on the French tourists who’d been having a picnic in the park. They were glassy-eyed and standing nearby, in formation. Several of the park’s English denizens were tied up nearby; the rest had fled in panic. Linkara, having fought against the hypnotized French tourists and even fired his magic gun a few times in warning, had been separated from the crowd and was being interrogated by Jeanne.
Her armor betrayed how ancient she was, but it was very shiny and impressive. So was the sword she held in her hand, which confused Linkara briefly.
“I’ve read about you. You said you never killed anyone. You carried a banner into battle, not a sword.”
She glared at him. The burn down the left side of her face blazed, orange and red patches crackling. He could see her cheekbone, briefly, before her skin grew and covered it up.
“True, I never killed anyone. And yet they imprisoned me, tried me with no scholar to aid me, left me naked in a cell with vile men leering at me … burned me …” she coughed, smoke pluming into the air. “Why should I not kill, with this holy sword? The Voices told me to, when they told me of it. A holy sword to liberate France. But I carried only the banner into battle. I did not wish to kill anyone. Now … now I …” she glanced aside.
Linkara squirmed, the jump rope around his wrists binding him to the jungle gym didn’t give. He could understand her, though he knew she must be speaking French, and old French at that. Some kind of magical telepathy powers, perhaps? TARDIS translations working, despite no TARDIS in sight?
“You wish to be free, Englishman?” the tip of her blade nudged Linkara’s chin, forcing him to look up into Jeanne’s eyes. “I am going to kill your King. You are one of his knights; you will try to stop me. I cannot free you.”
“Not a king now. A queen.” Linkara said before he could stop himself.
“Very well. I shall kill her.”
“She’s in her eighties!” Linkara protested.
“Regardless. You are a knight, bound to serve and protect the ruler of this land.”
“I’m not a knight.”
“You carried weapons,” Joan waved her hand at the array of daggers and guns on the ground. “You fought well, against my soldiers. You are trained in combat. You are a knight.”
Linkara sighed and decided against arguing with the woman who was currently pointing a sword at his throat.
“However, I cannot spare any of my soldiers to guard you.” Jeanne rocked back on her heels. Her skin had knit up almost completely now, there was only a faintly glowing scar down her cheek. She nodded, coming to a decision. “Make your peace with God, Englishman, I am going to send you to his gates.” She raised the sword.
Linkara closed his eyes.
There was a rushing of wind, the sizzling sound of magic, and a flash of light Linkara could see even through closed eyelids.
He heard the sword fall to the ground, heard Jeanne’s armor clanking as she toppled, heard Margaret screaming a battle cry.
Linkara opened his eyes and watched Margaret rolling on the ground with Jeanne, blasts of white light coming from her palms, her eyes set with determination. Though Jeanne was taller and wearing heavy armor, Margaret was quickly gaining the upper hand.
Linkara dragged the sword close and used it to cut through the jump rope. When he stood up, Margaret had Jeanne pinned down, one glowing hand inches from the woman’s nose.
“Do you surrender?” Margaret growled.
“Surrender? I have had enough of English prisons,” Jeanne spat. “Kill me, English witch, France will free itself from tyranny soon enough!”
Margaret frowned. “I’m not English. I’m American. So is he,” she jerked her head towards Linkara. “You’re still pretty confused after coming back, huh? That happened to me too. It’s tricky, but you’ll get through it.” She rolled off of Jeanne and stood up, holding out her hand. “Wanna go on the swings with me?”
Jeanne looked suspicious. “Swings?”
“Yeah. Let’s swing on the swings. And talk. Linkara will promise to stay here and no try to escape until we come back. Won’t he?” Margaret glared at Linkara who nodded.
“I … uh … I swear on my honor,” Linkara put his hand over his heart. That seemed to satisfy Jeanne, who followed Margaret onto the swings.
They talked for a long time. Linkara occasionally heard snatches of the conversation, raised voices from time to time, but never enough to make out more than a few words. When the girls returned, Jeanne didn’t look angry anymore. Margaret smiled at Linkara, hands in her pockets.
“Release them, and go about your business,” Jeanne ordered the French tourists. They set the prisoners free and wandered back to their picnic, shaking their heads and blinking a lot.
“Sir Knight, recover your weapons and leave this place in peace with your … herald.” Jeanne inclined her head to Margaret, who bowed from the waist.
Linkara bowed as well, gathered up his weapons, and let Margaret tug him away.
“Is she going to be ok?” Linkara asked once they were out of earshot.
“I think so,” Margaret said, jumping up onto Linkara’s shoulders and getting a sort of piggyback ride. “I mean, I’m ok now. She will be too.”
Linkara carried Margaret out of the park, but by the time they reached the gates, she’d melted away and the gun holstered under his coat was thrumming with energy once more.
