The sun was warm and bright, reflecting off of her short blonde locks as she sat in the quiet meadow, stroking the soft petals of the lone white rose bush on the slight hill with one hand. The other hand was holding onto a blonde man's, who was lying back in the lush grass, staring at the sky contentedly.

"I must leave soon," she finally spoke, turning to meet his gaze.

"Do not sound so sad, mon amour," the man said with a smile, "You shall return shortly."

"But of course," she said, smiling at his contagious smile. "It should not be long before the war is over for good."

"With you in the lead, it is impossible to lose." He sat up, affectionately tucking a loose lock of her hair behind her ear. "But let us not speak of such things. When shall I see you again?"

"A few months, at the most," she answered evenly. "I am not going very far."

Silence settled between them as the sun began to lower itself in the sky, slowly darkening the meadow.

"I must go," the girl said, standing. She reached over to the white rose bush, and selected a large flower, easily snapping off the stem.

"Keep this and think of me," she said with a light blush on her cheeks, handing her companion the white rose.

He laughed lightly and took the rose, taking her hand and kissing it softly. "You will forever be in my thoughts, ma Jeanne."

She leaned down quickly and pressed her lips against his briefly. "Au revior, Francis. Je t'adore."

"Je t'adore aussi," he replied as he watched her white-dress clad figure run over the hills back towards the town, disappearing into the night.

He awoke then, laying flat on his back looking at the blue sky. His heart sank at the realization that it was just another fleeting dream of a memory, that he was merely sprawled on his lawn instead of in the meadow with her.

He rose and brushed off his clothing briefly. He always had that dream on this day; the last day he ever saw her.

He walked out of the gate and retreated into the woods behind his house, following a well-known path through the dense thicket of trees. He continued on for several minutes before he could see the sunlight peaking out from between the trees, and he finally emerged into a field of white flowers.

He smiled softly to himself as the small wind gently blew the flowers. Hands in his pockets, he strolled towards the little hill in the center of the glade, the only place to not have been taken over by the white wildflowers. Only the white rose bush sat on top of this hill.

The wind became still as he climbed the slope, reaching the top in a few strides. He knelt down next to the white rose bush, gently gliding his fingertips over the fresh petals growing from the centuries-old bush. How it had stayed alive all these years, he could not guess; but the field only grew more full of life, and never lost its beauty.

He reached down the stem of the flower and broke the stem, raising the flower to his nose as he inhaled the delicate floral scent as the wind picked up, blowing his loosely tied blonde hair around.

Think of me…

He smiled in the direction of the breeze, squinting his eyes against the sun. Across the rolling hills, just vaguely, he could see a small figure with a dancing white dress in the breeze.

"I will always think of you, mon amour."


Inspired by an AMV I saw to "Ghost of a Rose" by Blackmore's Night. My first time writing anything other than PruHun! I'm expanding my horizons! XD I always loved these two together, and a different side of Francis. I feel like he is a very dynamic character that's portrayed in a static way as a pervert. Hopefully I did this pairing justice! ^^