Sooo...this is just a little side story. I think you'll find it quite amusing... and a little bit sad. Please review. WARNING! Review, or I'll send bigfoot after you! Or werewolves! Didn't mean to freak you out...but yeah.

February 16, 1429 Orleans

Count Dunois's Headquarters

"God damn it!" La Hire slammed his fists on the table. "That son of a bitch, John Stewart, ruined everything! It was supposed to be an easy victory!"

La Hire was standing over a long table in the private meeting chamber of Count Dunois. Sitting to his left, slouched and sober, was Louis de Culen, Admiral of France. Lord Patrick Ogilvy, a renowned Scottish commander, now stood up from his seat.

"Look, La Hire", he said sharply, pointing to the larger warrior across from him."My master is not to blame! It was a case of miscommunication!"

"Miscommunication my ass!",laughed La Hire scornfully. "His itching cock got the better of him, that's what it was! It was his fault for charging blindly into death, dragging one third of our forces with him!"

Ogilvy's face contorted in anger. "Well what was he suppose to do!",he retaliated, poking defiantly at La Hire's breastplate. "Was he supposed to just sit around and wait for you and Dunois while the English were almost past the point of attack?"

"We were getting reinforcements!"

Oglivy's hand were on his hips now. "And why would we need reinforcements?",he scoffed."The English were a force of only three hundred while we were a thousand! What are you all afraid of?"

La Hire drooped and shook his head. "You don't know what they're capable of..."Then his fire came back. "You Scots...once you get some damn scotch in you, you think you're invincible!"

The two men's faces were now centimeters away, the only thing keeping them apart was the wooden table between them. Meanwhile, Louis de Culen was oblivious to all of it, casually sipping his wine.

"Did you just say that my master was drunk...when he attacked?",asked Ogilvy, his eyes narrowed at the rough soldier.

A broad, sadistic smile was on La Hire's expression. "No, insane would be the correct word!",he barked, showering Ogilvy in saliva.

Ogilvy, with as much dignity as he could, wiped the spit of his face with a swipe of his palm. "You spit when you talk", he said coolly.

Then La Hire just lost it. He reached across the table, taking hold of Ogilvy's collar. Just as they were going at it, Count Dunois, other known as the Bastard of Orleans, entered the chamber. He was armed except a helmet, and a lavish cloak flowed elegantly with his movements. "That's enough of you two!", he shouted sternly. "I will not have that kind of appalling behavior in my headquarters!"

Seeing that the Count really meant it, the two men reluctantly released each other. They sat back down with angry mutterings.

"Bastard"

"Doody-head"

Satisfied, Dunois nodded and solemnly took his place at the head of the table. "Very good, La Hire and Lord Ogilvy",he began. "If you ever need to settle something violently, then do it outside, but never in my lodgings."

"Any news from the Dauphin yet?", asked La Hire.

Dunois face turned grim. "Unfortunately, no. I have not received any news from him yet. I just sent a message to him." He then called for his page and whispered something into his ear. The page soon came back with a silver platter carrying a wine decanter and four golden chalices. The Count ordered him away and the page did a quick bow before leaving.

"Here, have some wine",said Dunois as he poured wine into the first chalice and handed it to La Hire. Then Louis, and Ogilvy, and finally himself. "Alright gentlemen, so the plan is that, hopefully...the Dauphin will send supplies and food to us. Once they arrive, we will be able to hold off the siege and the English will give up eventually.

Both Ogilvy and La Hire nodded."Yes, that sounds like a reasonable and effective plan. The English have never been much patient in their conquests",said Ogilvy.

"Good, so we all agree..." He was stopped by the grave and disapproving look of Louis de Culen. "What is it Louis?"

The veteran Admiral stiffened and looked at the others in turn before saying, "By God as if, seven months did not satisfy you!", he said strongly."This whole plan of yours is going to take months to accomplish! Why would the English give up when they are so close?" He waited for an answer and none came. He was now on his feet. "The people, your people, Jean, they have lost all hope. They are demanding that we end this siege soon."

"You're right,"realized Dunois.

"I'm always right",smirked Louis de Culen as he settled back down.

"If only there was someway to restore morale among the citizens and our troops", wondered Dunois, his chin rested on his entwined fingers. Then all their heads turned to the Admiral, hoping he could provide a solution.

The Admiral cocked his head slightly and answered,"Well, I do have an acquaintance at Valcouleurs. He told me that there is a young girl, who claims to be the virgin in the prophecy."

The others stared blankly at the Admiral, then at each other. Sudden laughter was their reaction. "Hahahah!", laughed La Hire."A virgin! That's a good one, Louis!"

"I'm not kidding", said Louis de Culen seriously. "Think about it...her fame has already reached the people of Orleans and they believe in her! You know how hopeless people are. They're willing to believe in anything, even ancient prophecies."

Dunois signaled for the laughter to cease."Yes, go on."

Louis took in a shuddering breath before continuing. "This girl claims that angels and saints talked to her. She swears that they have told her that God wills that she shall lead the Dauphin's army to victory. I personally, don't believe whether it's true or not, but perhaps if we keep her in the role of a mascot, something for troops to follow, then maybe our men will take heart and fight again. Soldiers always want to follow something beautiful into battle",he added with a wry smile.

Same day, same year

Charles's Castle at Chinon

Charles VII, Dauphin and crown prince of France, sat in his over-sized, elegantly engraved cushioned chair. Spread out before him all over his smooth, wooden desk, were a bunch of papers. There were letters from his subjects, foreign messages, important state documents, and any others that he pretended to read and care about. He didn't even bother to reply to any of them himself, but had servants to do it for him.

Charles managed to let out a stifling yawn of genuine boredom as he skimmed over a letter from some Duke or Lord, talking about how the English are attacking their peasants. Then a knock came at the door and he immediately looked up. "Who is it?", he called.

"George la Tremoille and the Archbishop of Rheims are here to see you, your Majesty."

Charles beamed with joy, for Tremoille and and the Archbishop were his two favorite advisers. Plus, they were rich and could lend him money, which would usually come back to bite him in the neck later. "Allow them to enter."

The great double doors opened and Tremoille and the Archbishop strolled in, looking all high and mighty. Compared to Charles's moth-eaten clothes, George la Tremoille and the Archbishop were dressed in only the finest and costly of clothing with their jewels and their blings around their neck and rings bedecked on their bony fingers. "Greetings, Tremoille and Archbishop, please-"He gestured to the chairs in front of him,"-have a seat."

Both of them acknowledged with a nod and accepted his invitation to sit. As soon as they were comfortable, Charles asked them, "What brings you here to my chambers today, my wise advisers?"

Tremoille cleared his throat before pulling out a rolled up paper scroll from his sleeve. "This came today from Valcouleurs, your Highness", he explained before placing it into Charles's outstretched hand.

Charles broke the seal of the paper and unrolled it carefully. His eyes flitted on the content of it. Then suddenly, a tight smile came upon his face and he chuckled to himself. "What is so amusing about it?", asked the Archbishop puzzled.

Charles laughed softly. "Oh, it's just that this letter is from Robert de Badricourt, governor of Valcouleurs. He claims that a young girl have been pestering him to send her to see me. It says that she claims to talk to angels and saints, and that she is the virgin in the prophecy to save France." He glared at Tremoille and the Archbishop, who were apparently on the edge of their seats, intrigued. "Badricourt wants my opinion on how to deal with her." Ever hesitant and dependent on others, Charles asked his advisers on what he should do.

"Why, tell him to send her home! By force if needs be", said Tremoille flatly.

The Archbishop nodded in agreement, his beard bobbing up and down,"I agree with Tremoille, your Majesty. "That girl is clearly mad, or it could possibly even be a trap by the English or Burundians."

"Or both",added Tremoille cautiously.

Despite their constant support of Charles, he was merely a puppet for them to control and manipulate. He was only an ill-used pawn in their quest for power. They were successful by feeding off of Charles's insecurities and weaknesses, by magnifying them into great proportions. They were also shrewd and cunning veterans in this complex and deadly game, of politics and religion. Yes, because at that time, the Church dominated along side politics. So with Tremoille and the Archbishop of Rheims together, they could get away with anything. All of Charles's other advisers were only cold-blooded reptile minions of theirs. The nobles who supported them were on their payroll, and those who get in their way were immediately eliminated. So in truth, it was Tremoille and the Archbishop who really ruled France. They could not care less if the English are sweeping across the land and that people, innocent people were dying. So could they possibly have been afraid that a charismatic, seventeen year old girl would be a threat to them?

However, there was a third string attached, which is equally powerful and cunning.

Charles took out a new sheet of paper and dipped his feather pen in some ink. "Alright...then I'll reply to him..."

The door opened again, and this time, the third string entered. She was Yolande of Aragon, Charles's mother-in-law and one of his wisest and most trusted advisers. Beautiful, clever, and determined, Yolande has devoted her life to aiding Charles in his royal duties. Apparently, she was the closest to a real and affectionate mother as he could ever have. His biological mother had the nerve to declare him illegitimate and did not want anything to do with him. A heart could only take so much disappointment, you know. She was the thorn in Tremoille's and the Archbishop's side and she won't be the last. Though age have began to take a toll on her body, she was ever still noble and lovely.

Yolande was wearing a fur trimmed dress and matching fur trimmed hat. Following after her, were her ladies-in-waiting, which included only the most modest and mature of women.

"Greetings, mother, you look lovely this evening",he greeted her, pen hanging in midair above the paper. She gave him her hand and he graciously kissed the back of it. "Is there something you need to tell me, mother?"

Ignoring the dirty looks she was getting from the other two men, she asked,"So I heard that you are talking about a girl, are you not, Charles?"

"Oh, so we're eavesdropping now, aren't we?", said Tremoille sharply.

Without turning her head, she gazed sidelong at Tremoille who was smiling smugly. "No, I just have really good hearing for my age", she replied coolly."At least I'm not a deaf rat who has a network of nosy spies to do my hearing for me",she added quickly.

Tremoille scowled and curses her under his breath.

Charles smiled tightly and nodded."Why, yes mother, we were." He held up the letter from Badricourt. "Tremoille and the Archbishop here, have advised that it would be best to reply to him to send her home."

"Yes, because that is the best thing to do!", exclaimed Tremoille triumphantly as he rose from his seat.

"The girl is clearly mad, because only those who are blessed and serve the Church can talk with God", added the Archbishop, stroking his beard.

Yolande disapproved. Unlike Tremoille and the Archbishop who are keeping Charles from important matters, she is actually trying to keep him on track of things. "Nonsense!", she exclaimed, throwing her hands up."Here, give me the letter, Charles."

Charles obeyed and handed Yolande the letter, who read it with great interest. "Why, Charles!", she began. "This girl...she is exactly what you need to put some heart back into your soldiers!"

"Then what are you suggesting mother?", asked Charles, completely ignoring Tremoille's and the Archbishop's presence.

"Your soldiers, Charles. They are demoralized, depressed. They are still moping from that disastrous defeat near Orleans." Her eyes widened and her face lit up."This girl, Charles...she is exactly the kind of divine inspiration that we need to put the favor on our side!"

She then moved to stand next to Charles. She guided his hand to the paper and told him, "Now, forget what they said. Instead, tell Badricourt to go ahead and sent the girl to us. The sooner, the better."

Not wanting to displease his mother-in-law, Charles did as he was told. "There, it's done now." He then put the feather pen away and melted wax onto the empty space below his writing. He then took a stamp and pressed the royal seal onto the wax, creating an image. Tremoille and the Archbishop could only stand idly by and watch.

However, this was not over. Yolande might have won this round, but there will be many more to come. For they are already plotting and finding ways to use the mad girl to their own advantage.

Yolande was satisfied and rolled up the paper. "You have done well, my son",she praised. She then went over to one of her ladies-in-waiting and whispered something into her ear. Then she handed over the letter and that woman curtsied and left the room with it.

Yolande then turned her attention back to Charles, smiling broadly at Tremoille's and the Archbishop's clouded expressions. She pulled out a letter from her sleeve and handed it Charles. "This just came from the Bastard of Orleans. He is greatly in need of food and supplies. I want your permission to organize a relief force to bring them to Orleans."

Charles nodded approvingly."You have my permission, mother, I trust you."

Yolande smiled lovingly and caressed he cheek for a moment before turning away and leaving, her ladies-in-waiting following after.

Charles allowed himself a light sigh before sitting down and resting his head on his hand.

Tremoille and the Archbishop coughed to get his attention. Charles immediately snapped out of his trance."Hm? Yes?"

"Your Majesty", began Tremoille."We highly suggest that in the meantime, we might as well try to negotiate with your cousin, the Duke of Burgundy."

Burgundy

Charles could feel his smile fall from his face. His eyes were now sullen and his expression grim. Along with fighting the English, the French were also caught up in a bloody civil war between the Royal house of Valois, and the fiefdom of Burgundy. One was led by Louis, the Duke of Orleans, while Burgundy was led by their Duke John. It was over the guardianship of the royal children, for both of them were Charles's uncle by marriage. When Louis was assassinated by Burgundian supporters, things got out of hand. Charles's cousin, the current Duke Phillip of Burgundy, hated and loathed him for what his people have done to his father.

To get revenge, the Orleanists arranged for young Charles to meet with the Duke of Burgundy peacefully. The setting chose was on a bridge. The events of that day were pretty vague, but they still haunt Charles to this day. Unbeknownst to Charles, the Orleanists were planning to murder the Duke of Burgundy at the meeting. The next thing he knew the knights that accompanied Charles suddenly rushed upon him with their swords and maces raised. Duke John lied dead upon the bridge, a pool of blood forming around his head and the stump from where his left hand was cut off.

That day would forever live on in infamy. The murder of Duke John turned out to be a really deadly mistake, a mistake that poor France would pay dearly for with the blood of her ailing people. Duke Phillip was furious and formed an alliance with the English. Together, they ravaged the countryside, killing, plundering, and menacing the poor peasants. There seemed no peace in sight.

Charles cupped his face with his hands and slowly brought them down his face. His fingers gripped the table and he drooped his head."Yes, you may." His tone was rigid as he tried to hold back tears. "He then looked up at them with those pale gray eyes of his."Do whatever it takes to bring peace between us and Burgundy. I have always hated how this war have torn us apart."

Suddenly, a feeling of sympathy rose up in both Tremoille and the Archbishop. It was one of those rare ocassions when they felt bad for another living thing instead of themselves. The nodded solemnly and in answered in an almost friendly tone, "Yes, your Majesty. We will do as you wish." Then they left without another word, leaving Charles by himself with his feelings.

So yeah, I felt bad for not updating for so long, so I uploaded 2 at once! Virtual cookies! (::)(::)(::)(::)(::)(::)

Personally, I felt so bad for Charles. Funfact: His father went mad. REALLY MAD! He thought he was made of glass, threw his shit at the window, and wore ridicoulously thick and padded clothing because he was 'breakable'. He was also insanely paranoid and thought that everybody wanted to kill him. He even went as far as assaulting and killing his own servants!

So then his mother cheated on his father with many different men, so her claim that Charles was illegitimate might be true. She was a *beep* whore. She did not want anything to do with Charles or his four older brothers. They all died young, so Charles was the only surviving heir when his father died. So when King Henry V won the famous battle of Agincourt, his mother forced the mad king to hand his kingdom over to Henry. To seal the deal, Charles's sister, Catherine, marries king Henry. They produced a son, Henry VI. Luckily, when little Henry got older, he also went mad! I guess madness runs in the family. "Curse, you grandpa!"

And also coming soon, more wickedness from George la Tremoille and the Archbishop of Rheims. Thank godness for Yolande of Aragon! She will prove to be a big help to Joan and Scathach later.

Ciao! Don't forget to review! :)