[ ♔. kill your darlings ]

[rogue,]

♔ ．ＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx( ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ )xx( ❝ location; victor's estate ❞ )

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My Knight-turned-Assassin. I would have it no other way. They'd have to agree to disagree over this matter. The lines... were no longer clean; they had grown blurred. Rosalee found herself wondering whether there was any line to begin with, or whether it was a figment of her self-righteous imagination. "How does a person such as that even begin to look for forgiveness? Do they even wish for salvation?" Rosalee caught on to his hidden remark immediately; it was all in that flash of his eyes. Honour? Honour? He taught me honour. But what do I know? I fell for his manipulations. Perhaps you are correct. Her throat bobbed, forcing herself to swallow the ice eating away at her composure. What was it worth? A horrible part of her laughed in the face of that. She had believed she deserved to be saved, because a child was an innocent! Innocents did, every last one of them. But now? The heir-turned-killer? Her answer would be no. She shook her head, bracing a hand against the fake ceramic of the basin. Loyalty or a sense of debt? Devoted or simply owing? That's what it came down to. "I said I wish not to be wrongly forced into this. And in return, I will offer you the same mercy." Rosie never doubted that Christoph had once been a great father. One to adore, to act as a role model for this two sons... but now, it may as well have been a different story. They were probably inseparable growing up; Petyr always at his father's side, as both a close friend and mentor. Any other outsider, yes, they would state how similar the duo appeared. Only, to Rosalee; the father and son looked nothing alike. She saw past what an ordinary person would. "If you wish to state something, say so now, because I am none too willing to venture further into this territory." What was he to the assassin? It was simple. Christoph was nothing: Christoph was everything.

Caught up within a world of confliction and afflictions, was Rosalee. If she did notice his wince, she didn't react to it. It was an intimidation tactic of hers, cracking her joints, to gear herself up for a fight. Helped install some form of fear. She hadn't exactly meant to do so, it was simply instinctual. Just to focus on something other that the residual anger resonating in her heart, she picked up the hand-held mirror, and tucked it away back where she had found it. Rosalee would soon figure out what form of creature Petyr was in terms of fighting style. Honestly, she couldn't wait to see her turncoat display his fighting prowess and flair for sword-fighting. Delicately, she twined her fingers with his and squeezed his hand again. You are the best of mistakes. I do thank you for drawing my attention in the first place. You were the only assassin I have seen to walk with their head turned to the skies, and not travel via the rooftops. I must say, you sparked my interest.

How many crimes had the Guard committed in the vilified name of justice? How many crimes had Rosalee committed in the name of justice? It didn't bear thinking about, or even comparing to Petyr's indiscretion. "Jusqu'à la fin," she whispered in response to his unspoken promises. Petyr gave her a form of solace; comfort in a way she hadn't quite understood before. His words were soothing and eased her nerves. "I will fight to stay by your side until the end of my days. You are my world, and I cannot lose my world." she chanced a quick glance in his direction, only to find his head slightly dipped.

Petyr ensnared her attention with his smile. You trust me to do so? You truly trust in me so? Rosie's mouth hung open slightly, her eyes warm and clear. I will give you my fire, and I shan't let it burn you. I will give you my blades, but will never harm you. The poison will glide across your skin, and yet I won't let it infect you. You have my word: That is my vow.

Was France similar to London? Was it industrialised, or was it more rural like the northern regions parts of England? Oh, Rosie would enjoy herself exploring a foreign land; a different culture. And for Petyr to show her, and meet his family! An actual family. It was something she wanted more than anything. "I am holding you to it," she grinned, her smile alighting in her eyes. Skin prickling as Petyr brushed his hand across her arm, Rosie chuckled. "I am glad it is something. I take pride in my skills, skills that are soon to be shared." she made a gesture with her hand depicting a flip. "It will not be easy, but I'd rather it be none other than you as my Initiate."

Orange was a strong colour. A loyal and compassionate colour. Orange depicted ambition. It signified the attributes she often related to Petyr. It was the colour of his courageous spark; the one that dared to strive for an assassin's heart; her fire. A grin tugged at her lips at the thought of her turncoat's molten gold of a soul. "M-mine?" Rosie averted her eyes towards her feet, biting at her lip. What colour was she drawn to? The idea seemed almost foreign territory for her. She gave a rigid, uncertain smile. "Hrm," she paused for a long time. Then, it clicked. "Lavender. My favourite colour is lavender. It... it is the colour of my music box." she offered nothing other than a dismissive shrug. Your words ring true, my Petyr.

Rosie's eyes had already fallen shut, her hand reaching upwards to brush through his dark hair. She only pulled away once her lungs demanded oxygen. But even then, she rested her forehead against Petyr's and didn't step backwards, keeping her eyes shut to savour the moment of time slowing. The assassin could feel the drum of his heart, her own palpitating as if it wished to beat in time with his. Hands falling to rest on Petyr's shoulders, her breathing finally quietened. Rosie had long forgotten the flowers she's placed in her turncoats hair and she chuckled, as one broke free and grazed her cheek as it fluttered by.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate )

xxxxxThe Templar who found the light of an assassin’s heart. It will be a story told for ages, do you not agree to this? To be an assassin was to serve Death. To be a Templar was to serve the crown, the king and queen. Loyalty was a thing that Petyr had always struggled with, something that he was always unsure of. But that was something that he hoped to move on from, to find out and figure out just what was to happen to him, and how loyalty would set his path out for him in the end. And, loyalty was a strange thing. But honour? Well, honour was dangerous where its twin was naught but difficult. ”They don’t, it’s quite simple… Men like that lay down, and they die.” Just as Christoph had, only he did not lay down and accept his fate so simply. He shook his head at her words, turning his head and looking away from her. ”I wish not to speak on this,” he murmured, looking away from her. It did not quite matter what she said, her answer, none of it. He didn’t want to hear it. He liked ignorance just as he much as he liked knowledge. How does it go? La justice est ignorante. Justice is ignorant. Blind.

xxxxxWell, then, I am glad that I was out of place enough to grasp your attention, even for a moment. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards to a half smile. Had he really been so out of place? So easy to spot? Then again, Petyr had never been a true assassin. Didn’t know how to act, how to convey himself. He was unsure and had been thrown into a world that he had known naught about (The guard’s fault, not his).

xxxxxJusqu'à la fin. A promise. Until the end. ”You give me a task that I will find hard to keep up with, but for you, I will do this. If I am your world, then you are my universe. Something I am to look upwards to, and wonder about…” Petyr smiled, looking to her, his eyes bright.

xxxxxUnequivocally. Petyr would trust her with his life, with his honour, his future, everything. She was his everything, did she not see? At her promise, her vow, he smiled slightly, lowering his eyes. Merci, then, Rosie. For keeping me here, and alive just as well.

xxxxx”Despite its difficulty, I am always eager to learn,” he told her with a smile and a bow of his head. ”And I would have none other teach me than my reckless assassin.” He gave her a look, then grinned. ”You are quite the teacher.” This wasn’t sarcasm, despite the tone of voice he had used to make it come across as so. Rosalee was good at showing him how to do things, guiding him along towards the outcome he desired. That was what a teacher did, and Rosalee was exceptional in those terms.

xxxxxPetyr chuckled a bit at her delay to her answer, listening when she finally did give a colour. Lavender. ”It is a beautiful colour,” he hummed with a faint smile. ”I would like to see this music box that prize and often speak of,” he told her, eyes watching hers. She’d spoken of this music box before when they were in the home of his father, but he had yet to see it in person. Orange and lavender. Fire and smoke, fire and ash.

xxxxxPetyr kept her to him until his own chest ached for air, him pulling away from her slowly, a light smile on his lips. His eyes kept shut as he attempted to regulate his breathing, which finally fell even after a few moments. The turncoat let a soft sigh out, content and happy. When her hands went had moved through his hair, he had felt oen of the flowers that she had placed there loosen, and it finally fell to brush past her cheek. Petyr grinned, opening his eyes and blinking a few times, looking to his assassin for a long while. ”Rosie, je t’aime. I love you, and… And you are the greatest thing that has happened to me. I thank you for sharing your world with me, and allowing me to stand by your side as King,” he told her, voice hushed and quiet but still audible.

xxxxxThe knight finally pulled back a step from her, bowing his head in gratitude. His spirit seemed to be brighter, him a lot more open than he had been before. Petyr motioned to the door, smiling slightly. ”I know where his study is, as that is where he had me meet him upon getting the invitations to the party. So if you wouldn’t mind to follow me, I would be happy to lead you there,” he told her, offering his arm to her for her to take. The sooner they left the estate, the better it would be. No doubt someone would come looking for the missing lord, and when people looked, they often found.

[rogue,]

♔ ．ＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx( ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ )xx( ❝ location; victor's estate ❞ )

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A little whistle escaped Rosie. They will write ballads about us, my dear Petyr; the turncoat whom found himself a Queen, and the assassin, whom found herself a King. She let herself thin her lips. They say legends never die. Loyalty and honour. Two sides of the same damnable coin. Partners in crime, if you will. They often worked in tandem, working alongside each other as close siblings, for loyalty gave a sense of honour and naturally, vice versa. Though of course, it is never simply black and white, and it was those who had killed one of the pair that you should be most wary of. "Then we are not following in their insidious footsteps." Rosalee commented, watching as Petyr shook his head, as though that could shake off her defiant edge. With his gaze turned away, the assassin look the opportunity to fix the room back to how it had appeared when they entered; cleaning the towels and setting them aside. "Then we are in agreement." Sweeping the powder room with her eyes, Rosie was satisfied that it held no trace of them ever crossing the threshold. They were still working as assassins at the end of the day and had a job to do.

I do thank you for keeping your head held high. Rosalee caught the look on his face, a grin stretching across her own. It was easy to understand his train of thought, especially when it had etched itself across his features. "I know what you are thinking. And yes; you were." Tenderly, she tapped him on the nose again. "The trick, is to blend into a crowd," she chuckled light-heartedly.

Her face fell, heart crying out at the way Petyr glanced to her for reassurance. While the rational assassin side of her still wasn't certain how one person could mean the universe to another, Rosie was starting to learn. Tawny eyes met blue and she smiled. It was those eyes, the colour of rain-kissed bronze, stirring with emotion that she adored. They were bright enough to shine in the shadows. "I give you my sorry heart, in the hopes that you will keep it close, as I do yours." I will keep you safe as I wander by your side, my charming King of Nothing.

Rosie chuckled, shaking her head. "I'm merely rank eight, her fingers drummed idly along the skirts of her dress, "I am no mentor. though, she was smiling still despite the appearance of his feigned sarcasm. And yet they still allowed you an Initiate of your own! You must be on the right track, Dagenhart. "I will do my best by you."

The assassin was rarely sentimental about items, and Rosie could count the things she treasured, on one hand. (Petyr surely was, the top of the list.) But oh! When she was, her attachment was fierce. And her music box was one of those things. "May I inquire as to a request?" she murmured, her eyes flicking away in the instant Petyr look towards her. Rosalee's arms folded across her chest and it looked as if she were trying to make herself smaller; or less of a threat. What is dead should stay buried. But she adored that thing. "...I wish to retrieve my music box," It will require journeying back into hell. Due to what happened last time, she was unsure she wanted to breach the threshold of that particular nightmare again.

Rosalee's eyes remained shut, zoning in on his breathing as it evened out, using the steady rhythm to balance her own. She could have stayed for an eternity. It was a few more heartbeats before Rosie opened her eyes, keeping them trained towards the ground. The heirloom orbs picked out the fallen flower almost immediately, allowing herself an endearing smile. "Petyr Lécuyer, known to others as John Snow. Petyr Lécuyer: my Turncoat, my Knight, my Assassin and my King. Je t’aime Petyr, and merci, for fighting your way into my kingdom and slaying the demons." It was then she lifted her head to look to him for longer than heartbeat.

Grinning at his flourishing bow, Rosie twirled her hand. Petyr seemed more alive than before, a new wind beneath his wings fuelling his movements. He had a renewed fire in those pretty tawny-coloured eyes, she noticed, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Glancing around the powder room that was adorned with fake items, the assassin just laughed. She removed the towel from her damp hair, wrung it out a few more times, and finally folded the length of material. A simple act, returning it to where it belonged. Patches of her still-drying hair clung to her head, the assassin breathing out through her nose at the state of her less than socially acceptable appearance. Still, she was light-hearted, retrieving the little blossom and tucking it behind her ear; pretending to parade her hair around. "Now we match," she beamed, gratefully accepting his lead by threading her arm through his. Sooner there, sooner back. "I would be glad to follow my King of Nothing wherever he may go." her head turned to glance up at him, blinking softly. "If we are spotted, we will continue with our earlier act, yes? Simply say we are returning to the Lord's company." she nodded.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate )

xxxxxBallads and stories and dances, perhaps. Legends and tales, if that is what I am to become, then I do not wish to die. Legacy, that was something Petyr had always sought after. Something he’d been taught since a very young age. A strong legacy was important, just as important as blood and family. Only, to watch Rosalee debunk the idea of family so easily made Petyr uneasy and uncertain. What did it mean, to have a family that you relied on without a single question in your mind as to if they could be betraying you? More importantly, what did it mean to not have a family at all? He stopped at her words, lowering his head slightly in agreeance. Agreeance and acceptance, these two things are the same. Yet, why is it so different when someone agrees than when someone accepts? If one is to accept, it is said that they are not fighting, and that they are weak. Yet… If someone were to agree, they are said to be pure and holy, a man to end the battle. Petyr’s eyes turned to her when she began moving around the room, fixing the place up to remove any trace of them having ever been here. She worked quickly yet efficiently, making the room seem as if Petyr had never opened the door for the assassin in the first place.

xxxxxI was told to look up, he reminded her with yet another smile. With her words, his eyes widened slightly and he laughed a bit. ”I would be sorry to say that I couldn’t have done my job better! But, if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” Petyr chuckled slightly, the corner of his eyes narrowing slightly with his smile and expression. He couldn’t help but to wonder as to what would had happened if he had been better accustomed, not been so obvious. Rosie would have never found him, he would have made it to the Brotherhood’s Headquarters, and would have been absolutely butchered. Petyr nodded at her advice and the small tap on his nose, him smirking slightly, the side of his mouth quirking upwards. ”Blending in is a bit difficult, especially if you already stand out enough as it is.”

xxxxx”I wouldn’t let it go for a second, and I will keep it tied to my own in hopes that you may stay with me forever,” he murmured, looking to those bright blue eyes. The blue was the colour of the dawn sky, bright and clear, whilst the gold that swirled amongst the blanket of blue was the colour of the sun itself. Fire allows for better, more beautiful things to grow in the place of the old.

xxxxx”Merely rank eight?” His tone echoed his surprise, Petyr lifting his head and blinking several times. ”Merely?” He laughed a bit, shaking his head and running his fingers through his hair, stopping when he remembered the flowers that rested there. ”Perhaps no mentor, but you were allowed to mentor me yourself, were you not? That has to stand for something, mon chéri. Though you do not believe in luck, I must say that them doing this for you when you are only, and might I quote- “merely rank eight” - is quite a feat.” He shrugged, hoping that his words might instill some kind of courage into her already courage-filled heart.

xxxxxWhen it came to sentimental items, Petyr held none. He needed none. Nothing held sentimental value to the turncoat, and he had lived his entire life moving from place to place, skipping along stones that lined the path of his future and not even stopping once to look back at the blossoms that had poked out from the cracks. That was how the Knight had lived his life, at least, until Rosalee Dagenhart fell from the sky. ”I am always open to hearing your words of request, my Queen,” he told her. He noticed how her eyes seem to avoid him now, her arms pulling around herself. See, now, she needn’t say anything. He knew where this was going, the instant her eyes fell from his. Oh, Rosie, are you truly so eager to return to a place that scares even Death himself away? Rosie… You are brave to return there, but do not let your bravery blind you. ”Then we will,” he said, his voice quiet. He had made a vow to her, to follow her into every pit of hell has she so required it of him. And so he would, and so they shall.

xxxxxHow many names did he hold? How many titles? John Snow, the name he had given the innkeeper back at Dew Drop Inn. The name he had lived under for a short period of time. His birth name, the name he lived under upon killing his own uncle: Petyr Lécuyer. Knight of the King’s guard, member of the Templars, turncoat of that very same guard. Betrayer, liar, murderer. Assassin. Herald. Harbinger. King. But, this wasn’t something Rosalee was using to push him down, no. She was thanking him. ”Je t’aime aussi, Rosie, et je t’en prie. Tu est mon reine, mon assassin imprudente. Je tu remercie, mon chéri.” Petyr looked into those eyes, gently brushing a hand across her cheek. He shook his head for a moment, then allowed himself to translate: ”I love you too, Rosie, and I beg of you… You are my queen, my reckless assassin. I thank you… My darling.” And it was with those words that he captured her lips into yet another kiss, this one shorter, yet no less sweeter, than the last.

xxxxxAnd so, when he pulled back away from her, he watched as she tucked the flower behind her ear. Neither of them looked exactly presentable, what with her still damp hair and the flowers that adorned his own dark locks. His hand rested atop hers when she held his arm, him nodding slowly. ”That would be the best option, I would assume,” he told her with a smile. ”We keep our act,” he reiterated.

[rogue,]

♔ ．ＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx( ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ )xx( ❝ location; victor's estate ❞ )

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We will exist as written words to the world. Music and ballads dedicated to us. Nothing is beyond our reach. Rosie held a breath for a while. I do believe I would like to live forever by your side as a legend. What was the Lécuyer name worth to Petyr? Did he see it as something to honour and serve? Was it written in his blood to uphold his family's legacy? Or rather, did he see it as his own start, his own reign starting with his blood? "I am thankful we are on the same page, then." A family stripped away was a terrible thing. How did Rosie ever hope to serve her Dagenhart legacy, when she never really knew how to? What did they strive for? They left no instructions, no code, no rules. Just a name to protect. Oh, family truly was a fraught thing. Rosie had once told Petyr that you chose your family in this life. If a blood-relation had gone as far to hurt you and shatter your trust; then they did not deserve to stand at your side as family. Family was a right you had to earn. Blood certainly did not mean family, and family needn't end in blood. And that was why Rosie considered Petyr as her family. Other than burying herself in thoughts, she'd made quick work of fixing the room.

Rosalee couldn't help but to roll her eyes, grinning up at him as if she could do no wrong. I am still glad you were out of place. The mild shock was enough for a spark of pride to flare in her heart. "Oh, I certainly do not deny it," she watched he edges of his eyes and bridge of his nose crinkle upwards with his enthusiastic expression. "Perhaps I should fall from the sky more often, hm?" Though, she couldn't help but to wonder as to his fate if she hadn't been so observant. Had the former-Templar known the suicide mission he'd been tasked with? The turncoat may have indeed found the headquarters, and perhaps even stumbled upon Cross. What with the diligent assassin sentries, who were more like shadows, she wasn't sure he would even have reached the doors. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought of never having met him. At least his sly smirk soothed her. To his words, Rosie raised her eyebrows, "Are you hinting towards your own dashing appearance?" and began to laugh.

Moving until she stood a mere hair's breadth away, Rosie lifted her hand, touched it to her heart and then took her time to lay it above his; mimicking drawing a thread between them. "May they stayed tethered until the end of time." She looked to her hand, and then snapped her gaze to those shining eyes of his. His unspoken words had her jaw falling and heart fluttering. Her mouth moved, but there was no sound. Igne natura renovatur integra.

Rosie's eyes quickly fell shut to mask any pride resonating in the golden flecks. Rank eight was a considerably larger achievement then she made it out to be. A tiny smile worked it's way onto her features at his tone of voice. "Merely." she repeated, this time it was a great deal quieter than before. She heard the rustle of petals as his hand brushed through his hair. "We will be supervised here and there, I hasten to add. While I'm to be your mentor, I shan't be the only one to train you in combat, but you are mine and only mine to take on missions." Though, most of his time would be spent with her, nonetheless. Finally, she allowed her eyes to open, breathing long and slow; a show that his words had comforted her more than she cared to admit. They had cradled her fragile sense of self-worth and placed it upon a pedestal. For that act of kindness, she extended her gratitude with a heartfelt smile.

If Petyr held anything sentimental, Rosalee didn't know of it. In all of his recounts, she had yet to hear of something he spoke fondly of. Not counting his family, naturally. Other than his dagger, she wasn't sure he was attached to anything. Even then, she didn't know how far Petyr's sentimentality for the blade stretched. Petyr had been quick to dash along the paving stones of his life. She huffed a response, "I would prefer it if you were to remain quiet while we were inside." Rosalee had no quarrels with Petyr, but she still didn't want him increasing her unease. Nothing much ever really made her skin crawl like that Christoph's home did. I am tenacious, far too stubborn perhaps, and I wish not for my music box to rot any longer in that hellish house. Is it truly devotion or is it foolishness that has you follow me? Rosie didn't look to him for a long while, countenance afraid as to his answer.

There was a certain content air to her now, calmed by Petyr's strong heartbeat. It was that same heart that now held claimed to a variety of names. Some reputable, and some not. No matter as to Petyr's own interpretations, whether he was irked by them, Rosie would always use them fondly, with intent to raise his spirits. Rosalee had amassed some knowledge of French thanks to Petyr, and managed to decipher certain words and phrases, but it wasn't enough to decode it as a whole. She met his eyes when hand grazed her cheek, listening closely to each word of his translation. So that is what mon chéri means! Her breath was stolen by his kiss, carefully pulling Petyr close by wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

There was a smile on her face after she pulled away, eyes searching out his. Rosie was held captive, mesmerised by the whorls of fallen leaves; the essence of cinnamon spice and hot chocolate. Time often slowed when she held his gaze for a while, and she hadn't taken Petyr's word completely on board. "Yes, we will." she replied, snapped out of the trance by the spark of his hand atop hers. Rosie only laughed when she considered the state of them combined. What with her King's crown of flowers decorating his shadow-coloured hair and her, with dapplings of ink in her dampened locks. Quite the sight, were the King and Queen of Nothing! "Lead the way," she smiled, directing her gaze forwards.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate )

xxxxxAnd I trust you to get us there. Petyr smiled gently, his expression soft. Then may the Queen and King of Nothing reign forever, in their kingdom of solitude. The name, his name, it was something he’d been carrying like a burden upon his shoulders his entire life. He’d never been too sure as to what to do with it, where it would take him, nothing. He had often times begged his mother to let him take upon her maiden name, Chevalier, rather than the Lécuyer that he’d been cursed with. That is the name of a murderer, a man who ran from everything. How can I hold that name with pride? Serge had been content with carrying the name, even after their mother formally changed her name back to Chevalier. ”As… am I,” he murmured. Petyr would never beg Rosalee to abandon her name as Dagenhart-- Because such a name held a weight of a million noblemen and women. The name of the heir apparent, someone of importance. A princess, a queen, a goddess. Whereas, in contrast, Lécuyer was naught more than a name gifted to a knight. In its French, it meant ‘sword-bearer’. To say Petyr had lived up to his name was truth! A Knight of the King’s Guard, a Templar of London, a man who served the crown with sword, shield, and honour.

xxxxxHe grinned a bit at the roll of her fire-and-water orbs, the motion sparking something akin to pride in him. And though it wounds me to admit to failure, I must say that I am quite glad that I stood out to you by my failures. He quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. ”So long as the man you plan to fall upon is me, Miss Dagenhart.” Petyr chuckled a bit, nodding once. What would have happened if Cross were to see me? Would he recognise me? Petyr couldn’t help but wonder over that thought, the idea of his father remembering who he was. Petyr had largely taken after his father in appearance, whereas his brother borrowed genes from their mother. Petyr earnt his dark hair and eyes from the Master Assassin, Serge, his light hair and blue eyes from the gentle Frenchwoman. Perhaps Christoph would have noticed him, and Petyr could have earnt what he’d been begging for- his answers- for so long, quickly, painlessly. But, if that had happened, then Rosalee would not have fallen into the equation so easily. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- give Rosie up so easily just to have something as simple as answers. At her words, his head lifted slightly and he shot her a grin. ”Perhaps,” he admitted, blinking several times and raising his chin slightly, tapping his temple, ”though I don’t hear you saying otherwise…” Petyr smirked, lowering his hand.

xxxxxPetyr watched her as she moved closer to him, curious as to what her intentions were. He kept eye on her as her hand rested over her chest, then moved to his. At the touch, his heart jumped and immediately began to beat faster. The turncoat smiled slightly as she mimed the action of sewing, pulling thread from her heart to his. His hand gently rested atop hers, holding it against his chest as he met her eyes. ”And may these hearts allow us to reign forever.” He knew, from the letters that her lips formed, what she was saying. Igne natura renovatur integra. Through fire, nature is reborn.

xxxxxRank eight was an accomplishment that Petyr could only dream of! And, yet, for Rosalee to speak so lowly of it..? Petyr looked to her as her eyes fell shut, a smile forming at the sight of hers. ”You say merely, as if it is nothing. I marvel at your accomplishments, Rosie.” He lowered his head slightly, as if bowing before her. ”Well, if they are to watch, then I ought to tell John Snow that he should straighten his act for the committee to see,” he joked. The Brotherhood would know him as John Snow, as they couldn’t know him under his true name-- The name of a betrayer, the name of the Templar’s turncoat. Oh, his entire new life would only become a lie, and lies are eventually discovered as the truth reveals itself. Hopefully, these assassins would understand just as Rosalee had. Hopefully they would be forgiving.

xxxxxPetyr’s dagger held naught but a tether to his old life. The dagger was a gift from his mother, but it didn’t hold the same value to him as Rosalee’s music box did to her. It was something he’d always kept on him, to serve justice and fairness. It was something to fear, not to cherish and hold close. The Guard had long taught him not to hold things close to his heart, as they could be obliterated easily and could become Petyr’s downfall. ”As you wish,” he told her. He wouldn’t mind staying quiet at all, in honesty. Words is what almost ended them last time. Tenacious and stubborn, mayhaps, but not stupid or rash. When she looked away from him, a brief shot of fear trailed through him. Her question-- He had an answer, but it was clear by her turning away her eyes that she did not seek his answer. Unmoving devotion… Nothing less.

xxxxxWhen her eyes looked to his, it always felt as if she were trying to look past them, just as he did hers. If it had been anyone else, he would have found it degrading. But, with Rosie, he couldn’t look away. Her eyes held him captive, but Petyr never once wanted to escape. Finally, his eyes fell away from hers when she spoke, and he nodded a bit. He gave a quiet laugh at the thought of someone seeing them like this, but at this point, Petyr could care less. So, the turncoat began walked away from the powder room, silently counting his steps and the seconds that beat past as they walked down the hall. Petyr took a left once the hallway split off, glancing briefly over his shoulder to see if a guard happened to be there. There was none, so he continued to lead her towards Victor’s study. The doors to his study were in the French style, the panes glass. However, on the outside, one could not look in. On the inside, however, one could look out and see what was going on behind the doors. It was smart, admittedly. Perfect for a man who did business like Victor did. Gently, the turncoat motioned towards the door, looking to his assassin. ”Here we are, mon chéri.”

[rogue,]

♔ ．ＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx────── ❝ ＴＨＥ ＨＥＩＲ ＯＦ ＡＳＨ ＆ ＦＩＲＥ！ ❞ ──

A long sigh broke the silence spoken between them. Together. We shall become legends, together. Rosie let a smile grace her otherwise blank features. May the gods shine upon the King and Queen of Nothing. May we go down in Assassin history; with tales of us told for eons to come. May our names be worshipped among them. Both Christoph and Victor marred the name of Lécuyer, despite the latter opting for a different surname (something she hoped Christoph forced him to do). The idea caused Rosalee chuckle audibly. Between the two names of Pravda and Lécuyer, she had to admit Lécuyer had a certain ring to it. Of course, Rosalee had no idea as to the meaning behind Petyr's family name, and didn't know how well the origins of sword-bearer fit the Knight. Unfortunately, Petyr didn't seem to draw any sense of pride from the tarnished name. It made Rosalee disgruntled, how easily Petyr gave up on his name's salvation. Well, perhaps it couldn't be redeemed in Petyr's eyes. In stark contrast, Rosie adored her name, even if it were legacy she was defending so blindly. There were generations to uphold! She had the plaque to prove it, and wouldn't let her Dagenhart name die out so easily. No, the assassin was far too stubborn for that.

Rosalee was staring at him from the corner of her eyes, offering him a simple side glance. She attempted to feign a degree of indifference, only it wasn't as believable as she would have liked. Chalking it down to Petyr's own teasing nature intoxicating her emotions, she let her façade drop. So my famous Petyr admits to it! May I get this in writing so I can use it in the future? It was rather audacious indeed, even if she were teasing him. She wouldn't have minded in the slightest if he were to light-heartedly clip her shoulder. Daring him to do so, even. Her heartbeat faltered when he referred to her by surname. "On the grounds that my King does not mind Miss Dagenhart's graceful aerial assaults," she winked at him. Though, a muscle feathered in her jaw for a split second. He sent his apologises to you, though it is too little too late in my eyes. Rosie pushed her mouth to the side, pretending to debate her answer with furrowed brows. It didn't take long for a smile to creep onto her face. "Oh, I do not think I can argue with that statement." she grinned.

Always the curious one, was her Petyr. His eyes always held that subtle dash of inquisitiveness, she had long since realised. Like that of a scholar, always striving to learn. Rosie breathed, remembering his stories of France and how he did want to become a scholar before fate intervened. "Long may our hearts reign." she agreed as his heart leapt into action at her touch. Rosalee mentally counted the rhythm as to his accelerated heartbeat. It was steady and sure; that of a metronome swathed in a soft cotton. It calmed her, to feel the soft beat. When his hand came to rest atop hers, she let the bricks hiding her expression fall away. "We are the fire, Petyr." she nodded firmly, the spark of his hand lighting the familiar, defiant gaze in her eyes.

She'd began the treacherous climb of the ladder of the Brotherhood in order to please Christoph, Rosie only wanted to gain his acceptance; to show him her life had been worth something. But it was never enough. The assassin always felt as if she were two steps behind what Christoph desired: When she reached one ranking, he already sought out the next. But instead of acting the same, Petyr was here, praising her achievements! Offering her his acceptance! It was such a foreign concept that Rosie didn't quite know how to deal with it. "I am not used to such praise," she admitted, "I have never stopped long enough to see what you do in me. I am sure your own achievements will be so much more than mine." But... you're content? You're pleased for me? There was a look of perplexity in the way she gazed at Petyr. Flustered by his slight bow, her face flushed and she shook her head, as though that would sweep it away. "Do tell Mister Snow to be on his best behaviour, yes?" she replied with an oh-so sweet lilt to her voice. "John Snow and Miss Jones. We shall be at the top of our rankings. Rosalee held a strong sense of loyalty, masked as trust, in her assassins. They were held close to her even if she, begrudgingly, held no ties with them. Any attachment was a weakness that she was taught she couldn't afford. Despite this, Rosalee was certain they would be understanding of Petyr's position if it came down to it. Of course, some would be more hostile, some more accepting.

The assassin didn't look towards him long enough to liberate his answer. Some things were best left unheard. Or unspoken, in their case. There was nothing more for her to say, other than a shrug denoting that she had heard his promise. It was easier to face certain obstacles and yet hide away from others, it seemed. She didn't look to him until they wandered along the hallway.

"I have been in worse conditions," she murmured idly, just to strike a conversation to quell the anxiety gnawing away at her otherwise tranquil disposition. Rosie held onto his arm, using her acute sense of hearing to pick up on any footsteps. She detected none. "I don't suppose you've been in much better either?" she chuckled, watching him closely as he ducked to the left, checking up on the blind spots behind them before moving once more. Petyr would become an assassin, yet! "Merci, my Petyr." Shooting him a grateful grin, she slipped towards the intricately decorated doors to unlock them. Rosie only stopped to let out a low growl of annoyance at the sight of the one-way glass panes. She'd seen them before. Christoph's home held similar ones. Her lip curled back in disgust, checking through for any tell-tale signs of shadows within the room. It was almost impossible to discern any, but with the lock undisturbed, she was sure his study was unoccupied. Muffling the click of the lock with her hands, Rosie opened the door an inch; finding it held nothing but a crack of darkness. "We are fine," she whispered, motioning for Petyr. She carefully held open the door for him to enter.

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate; victor's study )

xxxxxWhatever motivated her, whatever drove her to make it this far, he appreciated it with a carefully monitored sense of honour. Perhaps that drive was self-motivation, or something close to that of revenge. Who was Petyr to ask and find out? If she wanted him to know, she would have told him. But, she hadn’t, so he didn’t ask. Petyr was proud of her achievements, and more importantly, her. She had a gift, even if that gift was something that not many people sought after. It was something, and that is what drove her to be better. Not many people had that, and it was something that Lécuyer admired. ”Then I would suggest to you that you learn to get used to such praise, because I can assure you that more of it is to come.” He paused, looking to her for a long time before smiling a little, gently taking her hand into his. ”Together, we will learn to slow down and stop, but never for too long. D’accord?” Petyr gently squeezed her hand before letting it go. If she were to be his companion, then she ought to learn to get used to the onslaught of compliments and praise, because Petyr was full of them for his assassin. ”I’ll be sure to send the message right over to him,” he said with a soft chuckle. John Snow and Miss Jones, together they would rule over their own world, whilst Petyr Lécuyer and Rosalee Dagenhart ruled theirs. As much as Petyr detested the idea of lying and creating false faces and names for himself, he knew it was for his and her own benefit. Petyr was absolutely terrified of discovery. For, when lies were uncovered, it costed more than it did to create them.

xxxxxRosalee and Petyr held a system of communication that was able to be exchanged between the two without the need of words. A silent system, a whole new language. However, it was only able to be read and listened to when they looked to each other. Rosie’s head was turned away from him, making Petyr blink twice and look away from her as well. Some things were best left up to luck and destiny.

xxxxxAt her words, his head lifted slightly. ”Certes nous avons tous. Surely we all have. And the man who fails to admit to this is the man who falls…” his expression allowed a smile, one soft and reassuring. ”Regardless, I quite like my conditions now. Flowers adorning my hair, a lovely-- albeit reckless-- assassin at my side… I could not ask for better,” Petyr chuckled. He met her eyes, then matched her expression with his own smile. ”Je t’en prie, mon amour. Anything for you.” When she moved for the doors, Petyr watched her in silence. The doors of the study was always a point of interest for all of Victor’s clients. Never Petyr. That door was something he’d long learned to hate. A door like this was fit for a man like Victor, a man who looked to hide anything and everything. She checked the door before unlocking it, and Petyr held his breath as he waited, just barely flinching at the soft telltale click of the door’s lock as she turned the key. She muffled it well, to the point that only Petyr could hear it.

xxxxxPetyr was almost frightened of the idea of what they would find inside. He lowered his head slightly as she held the door open, and he entered, reaching out to take her hand into his as he stepped into the study. It was dark, but Petyr could tell that nobody was inside. ”We are fine, yes, but this will help us see just how far that extends.” His smiles were a bit forced, stretched and nervous. The fingers of his left hand rested against his right wrist, gently massaging the skin there as he walked up to the desk. It was just as he remembered, but it was different now that Victor wasn’t sitting behind it.

xxxxx”Remind me, again, what we’re looking for here…” He knew that Rosalee intended to find the man’s will and write herself in it. (He couldn’t help but wonder if he himself was included in this. Those things were better left silent, though, he decided.) But, what else were they after in here? More importantly: What if someone walked in on them?

[rogue,]

♔ ．ＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx────── ❝ the heir of ash & fire ❞ ──

The assassin herself, had long fooled herself into believing her motivation was purely legacy-based; to follow her family's footsteps in order to achieve that prized Master ranking. (Even, if it was not what her parents wished for.) But in the end, her motivation had become Christoph's approval. She didn't want to tell Petyr this, however, because she felt weak; seeking the acceptance of a man whom hurt her. It was a vicious thing, his manipulations. He'd tricked Rosalee into believing she was the one at fault; the one whom should feel guilt. And it worked. So, this new view from Petyr was so sudden and different that it frightened her, only she wouldn't let it show. Her arms folded, shoulders lifted, and Rosie gave him a somewhat sheepish smile. "I am not accustomed to truthful praise, you must understand," her head tilted to the side when he reached out for her. "That we shall. Together." Rosie smiled, squeezing his hand back before glancing down. Breathing a sigh, she let it fall back to her side. "It would be wonderful if you could." she chuckled. Welcome to the assassin's game of smoke and mirrors, my turncoat. Her mouth pushed to the side. Veiled identity and false guise run rife here.

Both a blessing and curse, was their communication system. It allowed them to wholly understand one another; to let their emotions known by silent cues and body language. Only, that also took away the secrecy to their own thoughts, where upon one could intrude if they wished to. But of course, they trusted each other enough to hold onto their respective mysteries.

"Cer, cer-tes. Certes nous, ah-von-s, av-ons, avons. Tous. Certes nous, ah-vons tous. Certes nous avons tous. Oh, I do adore French! Even if I butcher your beautiful mother tongue." she laughed, shaking her head. Rosie turned her eyes downwards, chuckling incessantly at herself. "Ever been on a wander through London's underground sewage system? I... my informant, was less than reliable... Petyr's reassuring smile relaxed her, evidence by the way her shoulders lost their tense edge. "A delicate crown befitting of my fierce King, don't you agree? Oh, lovely, you say? Have you and I met the same Dagenhart?" her free had lifted to rest on his shoulder, her starlight-flecked eyes brightening the darkness that hung low like a thick fog.

Her heartbreak vocalized itself as an exhalation through her nose, when Petyr reached out to grasp her hand. He'd done so for his own comfort, she realised; turning to her as his stronghold. Rosie squeezed his hand, holding it with both of hers. "I am here still." she whispered, letting go once Petyr crept over to Victor's desk. It didn't take long for the assassin to commandeer Rosalee's place, and her eyes regained a certain focus to them. Rosalee's orbs pierced the darkness; her mind working to memorise exactly how the interior of the room was arranged. Often, she would appear to tap the air, mapping out each pen and each parchment mentally. She urged Petyr to do the same, in case they were to misplace something. "I am sure we shall learn that, yes." Rosie smiled at him, touching his arm once she clocked his nervous tell. "Think of this as a training mission. You shall start from this corner and work your way around," she pointed to the desk and then gestured around the room in a circular motion. "And I shall work vice versa, your endpoint will be my start. That way, if one of us were to miss something, the other shall pick it up." This was an area of her expertise, and working in a methodical order was key to this operation's success, after all.

Without prior warning, Rosie allowed the door to lull shut behind them. There was no click this time around; clearly the locking mechanism was not up to par. A show of over-confidence, she believed. "Dirt," she shot Petyr a vicious grin, "we are searching for damning proof of his heinous crimes. And his will, of course." that's when she began arranging the workspace to best suit their search, motioning to where they should place their findings atop the cleared deskspace. "Perhaps we could try and find his wax seals as well, we shall need to seal the forgery." Victor had long since forfeited the privilege of privacy. Thinning her lips, Rosalee took no time at all to tear through his documents. Though, if one were to look closely, they would have noticed the care in which Rosie rifled through the papers; she did not disturb the order in which they had been filed. She would scrutinize the pages with a keen eye, working her way rather efficiently through the masses of paperwork. "Would it have hurt to alphabetise these?" she grumbled, though continued working nonetheless. After she surveyed one pile, she would bundle the papers, tap them against the desk in the name of organization, and then fold them neatly away. Oh, if she weren't an assassin, she would have made for a wonderful thief! It was somewhat frightening, the level at which she worked. The shelves didn't yield much, and so she started working through the lower drawers. And that's where the real prizes were held. Her body twisted to and fro as she liberated the parchment sheets.

A pile of evidence soon began to form on the desk, with Rosie grinning the entire time. The will, though was a different story. Victor was clearly evasive with the document, and she was yet to come across it. Perhaps Petyr would yield more luck in that category.

[I am so sorry this took so long! It's been a fraught day ;A;]

[important]

❝ p e t y rxxxl é c u y e r ❞xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

( role: turncoat )xx( location: victor's estate; victor's study )

xxxxxPetyr had often stopped to wonder what his family’s legacy was. What morals and values did the Lécuyer name uphold? What did the men of the family and bloodline stand for? Oft times he stopped to ask himself this, desperate to find a path for himself in the world. His mother would instead try and reassure him against thoughts like that, and tell him that his name was what he made it. But he knew that it had to stand for something other than whatever he made it out to be in the end. Honour? Diligence? It had to hold meaning. Otherwise, what would be there to defend? An empty name was something Victor had. As a Pravda, this man had nothing. Never a true Lécuyer, his uncle was not apart of Petyr. Even before meeting Rosalee that day he had believed that Victor was no part of him, no blood, no family. After discovering the ties that Victor held to him, he still believed this fiercely. Family is what you made it. Blood does not dictate family if family shames that blood.

xxxxxPetyr was quite fond of their system of silent communication. Within a single glance, he was able to read into her and her thoughts, precisely translating words from something as simple as her body movements and the flicker of those heirloom eyes. It was through those eyes that Petyr could look past those barriers that she had built. But there were things that even he couldn’t find in her through those eyes.

xxxxxCertes nous avons tous. A phrase that could be transcribed multiple different ways. Certainement nous avons tous. However, the one he spoke was sounded out with his accent, which made it sound closer to ‘sahrt new avu too-ss’. Rosie didn’t quite nail the accent that Petyr carried, but of course, Petyr never expected that from her-- Especially considering that before he showed up she had probably never spoken a single word of French in her life. ”Aah, see this. The verb ‘avons’ is plural here, so in written French you would put an ‘s’ at the end of the word. A-v-o-n-s. But, when you speak, the ‘s’ is silent, just as in ‘nous’. Plural, written as n-o-u-s, but the ‘s’ makes no sound when spoken.” Of course, now was not qutie the time for a grammar lesson in French, but Petyr figured he would tell her and she would listen to him. Of course, someone to listen to his rambling was always refreshing. He met her eye and gave a short laugh, shaking his head a bit. ”You do not quite butcher the language! I’ve heard far worse attempts, I can assure you this. At least you look to learn,” he told her, tapping the side of his nose and winking. He tipped his head slightly at her last comment and laughed a bit, nodding. ”I like to believe so. She’s quite the character, that assassin.”

xxxxxPetyr nodded at her words, drawing silent strength from them. I am here. The gods have been good thus far in, and hopefully they would follow through and continue this for the rest of their mission. ”I believe you,” he murmured. Together, they would prevail. That was how it always worked, was it not? They only accomplished things when they were together. Petyr looked over the desk, sighing gently. The wood of it was a dark stain, but it probably wasn’t one hundred per cent authentic wood like the man probably would have liked to claim. Some scrap wood probably made up majority of the desk. There was a stack of papers on the surface, along with a few candles and ink wells with corresponding quills. Even without her saying anything, he figured he ought to memorise the layout of the desk just in case they would need to replace things as they were if they were to misplace anything. He rose his head to look at her when she compared this to nothing more than a training session. That, oddly, seemed to give him a better sense of courage and well-placed sureness. Petyr looked to the desk when she pointed to it, and he nodded twice. Start here, then work my way around. Easy. This was initiate level work, and it was something he could do.

xxxxxWhen the door shut behind them, Petyr didn’t even so much as flinch, as if he was expecting it. Though, it didn’t make a sound. The turncoat watched the door for the longest time, then back to Rosalee. Dirt. ”Can do,” he said with a chuckle. ”I’ll try and see if I can’t find anything to dig him a lot farther down than six feet, if you don’t mind looking for the will?” He smiled slightly, a nervous smile, but a smile no less. For his Queen, his assassin. To show her that he could do this, and that he would do it for her.

xxxxxPetyr opened the top drawer on the far left, where inside there was a stack of papers. Petyr pulled them out and set them on the side of the desk that Rosie wasn’t occupying, looking at the top sheet for a minute before rolling his eyes. It was just a sheet defining his expenses. He held it up, showing it to Rosalee as if to ask if it was of any importance.

[ No need to fret! I’ve done the same to you a million times over! If anything, I owed you this one, haha. ]