Fate/Gaia's Counter-Guardian

<<30th of May 1431, Rouen, France>>

The normally quiet streets of Rouen were bustling with activity over the past few days. The excitement in the air was almost tangible as all of the English citizens prepared themselves for the event from dawn. 

At 9 a.m sharp, finally, after a long process and imprisonment of the guilty, a march toward their demise has begun. Through the thin line in the bustling crowd two figures, both wearing a male prison attire, slowly walked, cuffed, towards the central market where a stake awaited them.

First walked a young woman of unparalleled beauty, though presently tarnished with grime, her resplendent golden hair still discernible as her primary allure.

Following her, albeit at a slower pace, was a girl at the young age of seventeen. She was taller than the blonde, but her face was still that of a kid, beautiful yet sharp, golden-brown eyes shone from under her dirty and unkempt hair.

Their slow walk to their deaths was supervised by many soldiers, being there more for a show than to do anything as if the women began to fight, they would be easily overwhelmed. 

The silver haired girl had a solemn expression, her eyes darting from one passerby to another whenever they so much as stepped a bit closer to the blonde saint, although still before her canonization, to warn them off.

Although such processions were commonly accompanied by loud booing, jeers and flying rocks, everyone seemed to be silent, the only sounds being occasional whispers and clacking of the soldiers' armor. 

It was unusual, to say the least, the nobles that gathered to watch the execution watched with rather bated breaths what would happen, as no one expected a normal execution. 

Suddenly, the blonde haired woman began to frantically look for something, she was loudly pleading and asking people around for something, but everyone turned their gaze away the moment she so much as looked their way. 

She was asking for a cross. A heretic. A heretic was asking for a cross. Onlookers in the further rows scoffed and spat on the ground, not wanting to believe in the insolence of the woman.

But in the crowd there was one person that quickly began their way in her direction. 

He was an Englishman, who faltered in his steps for only a moment when his eyes met with a pair of golden-brown ones, but continued his movement and walked up to the saint with tears in his eyes. He gave her a cross that she was so desperately looking for and knelt down, weeping in tears about the unfairness of the world.

They silently made their way past him.

The solemn atmosphere of the event was momentarily shattered by a small giggle escaping the lips of the silver-haired girl. It was short, unexpected and came as a harsh reminder for the people around, as to who exactly is being executed.

Jeanne d'Arc, the fake saint, a heretic that claims to hear the words of God. The bishop found her guilty of all the charges. Whispers of her supposed insanity also went around after she was found donning male garments while in the prison.

However supposed insanity had nothing to do with the other to-be-executed, as their madness was clear as day to everyone present or not. "The Saint's Hand", "The shield of France", "One-Woman army" and "The bitch of Aumont", were the titles that every Englishman that has lived during the conflict was familiar with. 

The right-hand woman of a rather revered saint was rumored to dabble in black magic, heretical alchemy, and was purportedly not fully human, for feats like hers were deemed impossible to accomplish.

The nobles smirked while looking at the now helpless girl. Although she was a monster wearing human skin right now she seemed so… frail, as though abandoned by the God they so claimed to believe in.

But the execution was not the only reason why so many aristocrats had gathered in Rouen. They all awaited the secret auction that would be held, on which the possession of these two girls would be auctioned. Be it the girl's sword, shield, crossbow, or her steed, or the woman's armor, even her so dear flagpole, everyone wanted something.

However, now was not the time to think about worldly possessions. It was time for satisfaction, as each and every one of the gathered watched the duo slowly ascend the steps toward the stake. 

They were tied back to back as everyone waited for their final judgment.

The attending priest finally procured a large parchment and began to recite the crimes they committed. Raging from petty theft (though both girls wondered when that even theoretically took place), to grave offenses like manslaughter and heresy.

With their verdicts read out, it was finally time for the stake to be set on fire. 

Onlookers stepped back, holding their breath as the hay beneath the saint and her companion ignited.

"Hey, Jeanne." The silver-haired girl began, not looking back at her friend. A soft hum was her response to continue, "If by any chance we survive this ordeal or reunite in the afterlife, what do you say about some sleeping in the hay? You know at your parents place." the girl proposed it in a rather not serious tone, stifling a small laugh at the end as the heat of the flames finally went from warm to searing.

"Hahaha." A gentle, melodious laugh escaped her companion's lips "If the Lord permits, then of course." a tired sight left her lips "You never change, Angie, do you?"

"Bien sûr que non." The girl laughed, "Never." 

The remainder of the execution went in silence, no word uttered throughout the ordeal.

The girls did not cry out in agony, nor pleaded for help to anyone around, seemingly unaffected by the flames until their demise. 

Before Angie finally came to rest, her gaze once again met with a pair of gray eyes perched atop the building in front of her. 

The man to whom they belonged was of a darker complexion, looking more tanned than if it was his original skin color, his hair as pale as milk, clad in a tight black sleeveless shirt with silver trimmings, black pants and a red holy shroud, almost a mockery to the girl's beliefs.

He smirked, watching her slowly burn at the stake, tracking her every movement, ready to act at any moment.

Angie knew that man. She had encountered him several times before and knew that in a serious confrontation fight she would be outmatched, him having thousands of years of experience compared to her measly two.

'I swear by the Lord.' she thought in her final moments 'I will wipe that smirk off of your face one day. Mark my words, Shirou Emiya.'

Thus concluded the story of Jeanne d'Arc and Angélique d'Aumont.

Or so everyone thought.

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Hi there! Author here.

This was the first chapter of the rewrite.

I've slightly altered Angie's personality, giving her more silent breakdowns and coping mechanisms that aren't too boisterous.

I've also significantly nerfed her, as she was a bit too overpowered in the original. I'll post her "Status page" once I've finished thinking it through.

I'm proud to say that I've expanded the original 400 words into 1150 in this rewrite.

This was the first chapter of the seven I have prepared, which I'll be publishing sometime in the next few weeks.

So... Yeah, if you have any thoughts or ideas (as I'm open to suggestions), please leave a comment. And if you enjoy the story, a powerstone would be a nice surprise.

Have a great day, and see you around!

Author