The air in the French camp was thick with the scent of blood, ash, and sweat. The cries of the wounded echoed beyond the tattered tents as the remnants of Joan's forces tended their dead and dying. The battle had scarred everyone — but none more than Jay and Joan.
They stumbled into her tent, their armor dented, faces streaked with dried blood and dirt, their clothes torn and clinging to their bodies from exhaustion. Their eyes met in the quiet — that raw silence after the storm.
Joan dropped her sword with a metallic thud. Jay's breath was ragged, his heart pounding — not from battle... but from her.
"You fought like a god among men," Joan whispered, voice hoarse yet soft. "But you shouldn't have risked yourself for me."
Jay stepped closer, his hand brushing dirt from her cheek. "I'd do it a thousand times more... because I love you, Joan."
Her fierce eyes — usually filled with divine purpose — softened. Vulnerable. Human. She reached up, cupping his bruised face.
"And I... I love you too, Jay."
The words broke them. The walls they had both built to survive this brutal world crumbled.
He kissed her — not like a soldier — but like a man lost in her soul. Their lips met, tasting blood, dirt, tears — and something far sweeter. It was desperate. Real.
His hands slid through her tangled hair as she pulled him closer, unfastening the leather of his armor, fingertips trembling not from fear — but need.
Joan's battle-scarred hands traced his bare chest — covered in bruises, scars, and remnants of war. Yet to her, he was flawless.
Jay's hands explored her waist, feeling every line of muscle hardened from battle, yet soft beneath the grime. He helped her discard the layers of metal and cloth that separated them.
They stood in the faint candlelight — bodies bare, hearts exposed.
Their skin met — heated, shivering with adrenaline and longing. He laid her down on the cot within the humble tent — rough fabric beneath them, the sounds of distant war fading into nothing.
Every touch was reverent — like worship.
Their bodies moved together, a dance of scarred warriors finding peace — if only for a night. Gasps and whispers of love filled the space between them, lost in the flickering shadows.
When they reached that final moment — it wasn't lust.
It was release. Healing. A promise without words.
And when they finally lay tangled together, their breathing slowed, her head rested on his chest — Jay whispered into the dark:
"No matter what happens... I am yours."
Joan closed her eyes, her voice a fragile whisper.
"And I am yours, Jay... until the end."
The candlelight cast long shadows across the tent, dancing over their tangled bodies. The world outside — the war, the death, the screams — all seemed impossibly far away.
Jay lay on his back, his arm wrapped around Joan's bare shoulders. His fingers absentmindedly traced slow, calming circles across her dirt-smeared back — feeling every scar, every mark the world had carved into her.
Joan rested against him, listening to the steady beat of his heart — the one sound that made her feel safe in a world drowning in chaos.
For a long time, neither spoke.
It wasn't awkward.
It was sacred.
Finally, Jay broke the silence — his voice rough but filled with something rare in this world: tenderness.
"You're not the saint they write about in the future," he whispered into her hair. "You're so much more."
Joan's lips curled into a small, tired smile against his chest. "Is that so?"
He nodded, pulling her tighter against him. "They don't know how strong you are. How human you are. How much you've given... and how much you've lost."
Her throat tightened. No one had ever seen her. Not like this.
"You shouldn't love me, Jay," she whispered, barely able to say the words. "I'm marked by war. Cursed by visions. I belong to France... to God."
Jay sat up slightly, cupping her cheek, forcing her to meet his eyes.
"And I belong to you," he said fiercely. "Not because I have to... but because I choose to."
Her breath caught — not from fear — but because no man had ever spoken to her like that. No man had ever looked at her like Jay did — like she was his world.
Without hesitation, she leaned up and kissed him again — softer this time. Slow. Her lips tasted of salt and earth and something purer than any holy vision.
When they broke apart, Jay rested his forehead against hers.
"I swear," he whispered, "I'll fight beside you until my last breath. I'll burn this world to protect you."
Joan closed her eyes — letting the weight of his vow settle over her heart.
"Then we will stand together," she breathed. "Through blood... through fire... until all of France remembers our names."
Outside, the wind howled through the camp — but inside their tent, in that fragile moment of peace, two warriors had found something worth fighting for beyond duty or destiny.
They had found each other.