[ ♔. kill your darlings ]

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxx [ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || victor's study ]

Petyr and his social skills had aided her more than Rosalee would admit to. More often than not, the assassin was a solitary figure, a lone shadow when working on her missions. Apart from Christoph, the only contact she really did have with her assassin brethren was during training sessions. Yes, she worked with them here and there, but she was intelligent enough not to consider any as friends. Colleagues; comrades perhaps, brothers and sisters in arms. Never friends. That was far too dangerous. So, her interactions were often just restricted to a few hums. Then came along Petyr, with his sayings and words, to show her just how easily things could change in a matter of seconds. And well, it had been proven over and over. "So 'avons' when speaking of groups, and 'ai' when speaking of a singular person?" she queried, taking the corrections in her stride, rather than holding back. "J'ai des pommes, as opposed to nous avons des pommes?"

Rosalee crinkled her face at his compliments, dismissing the claim with a shake of her head. "What is the difference between 'des' and 'les'? 'Des' you stated was 'some', so is 'les' equivalent to 'the'? 'I love some apples', as opposed to 'I love the apples'?" it was a strange thought, the way in which another language worked. When Petyr's eyes fluttered shut, Rosie took the golden opportunity to re-arrange the flower crown adorning his shadow-coloured hair. "T'aime les pommes?" It is a rather substantial difference I must wrap my head around. Rosalee's heirloom eyes averted to the side, "Surely you flatter me far too much," she replied, still unsure of how to appropriately respond to all of these compliments. The pain Petyr feigned, inflicted the triple contractions, caused her to laugh incessantly. "But suppose I kept the drawl?" she was quick to grin as she dragged out the words; her voice heavenly sweet.

Red dusted Petyr's face, and Rosie watched on, as his hand raised to press against his cheeks, in the hopes it would leech the tell-tale colour from his skin. It was good to know her own words affected him on the same level as his always had. Never had she claimed to wield words with any power; that training was reserved to weapons, even if it was a skill the assassin wished for. And for Petyr to state this outright: it had her heart beating that little bit faster. "One shan't forget the turncoat, whose own voice is music to my ears," It was a funny thing, how they could sit in the devil's own home, and not bat an eye while in each other's company. It was a marvel. "How very kind of him! High time to redecorate, if you ask me. Do tell: What colour shall we paint the walls of our new kingdom?" Rosalee froze when Petyr swept a wayward strand of her troublesome hair back into it's rightful pin. Pure audacity fuelled her next words. "Avec aucun doute dans mon esprit, j'aime les pommes," Rosie let a beat pass before she laughed, and amended her awful joke into what she was truly dying to say. "Non, non c'est tu, Petyr. C'est tu j'aime avec aucun doute dans mon esprit. Je t'aime." she realised it was more than likely wrong, as she was directly translating phrases as opposed to following the correct sentence structure; and yet, nonetheless she pressed a gentle kiss to the side of Petyr's face when his eyes met hers. "It is you I love without a doubt in my mind. I love you." I will give you my blades, but will never harm you, the assassin remembered.

"You and me, both." Rosalee stole a strange side-glance at him. And a rather suspicious one at that -- she was hiding something. There was always information; you just needed to know where to look, and whom to press. I have, well, let us refer to them as...'sources'. Were you aware that the previous Captain of the Guard often sold confidential files to the highest bidder? There had been a rather lucrative contract placed upon his head, she recalled, and Rosie may or may not have played a part in his untimely death.

Her face was calm; her smile warm and inviting. Petyr's confusion was evident from the disbelieving look on his face, and Rosalee understood. When she'd first been told of this technique as an Initiate, she'd blown it off as nothing but a strategy to give the weak of heart some semblance of hope. Then, Rosie tried it herself, and well-- the results spoke for themselves. A small smile rested on her features as his entire posture relaxed, demeanour now at ease. Still holding his hand, Rosalee lifted her free one to brush downwards across his eyes; motioning for him to close them. Then, she breath slow. "Once more, and focus on nothing other than the soothing rhythm your voice." It would allow them to think straight. A calm mind often saw what a chaotic one didn't.

Together. We shall discover the answers together. Her jaw clenched at his affirmation. Didn't Petyr realise what his permission entailed? But of course he did, and he was allowing her to effectively burn these letters regardless. Rosalee swallowed thickly, her head nodding as though she held the fate of the world in her hands. Though, in reality, she wouldn't be able to affect the outcome of this. It had already been decided for her, whether the letters would reveal any truths, and Rosalee didn't like that. She held no sway in Petyr's ultimate disappointment, or ultimate delight. But it was a chance they had to take. Rosalee turned over the letters and started to scratch at the paper; checking for any trace of the flame-resistant coating denoting hidden words. Dust, in the guise of wax, flew into the air thanks to her efforts; prompting the assassin to sneeze. Once. Twice. Rosalee huffed and steadied her breathing. Good, good. There was something hidden after all. Her attention was diverted from her worries by Petyr's sudden revelation. "Petyr?" she questioned with a raised brow, re-reading the second line that he pointed to. "When I think of a rock, I think of the best way to disable my opponent. A swift hit to the soft spot of the head -- approximately an inch behind the ear." Oddly... specific. But that was Dagenhart's field of expertise, after all. At Petyr's explanation, her jaw dropped. Oh! Where would I be without you? Petyr, you have a way with words. "Everything old, things I class as unused? I would place in the loft of my home, naturally." Rosie paused, as if that was it. The tap on Petyr's temple forced her to rethink -- and it struck her like a brick in the face. "So with your interpretation... Is that where this poem is leading us? Victor's loft?" Oh if it were! At least that gave them something to go on! Rosalee grinned widely at him.

[important]

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

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

xxxxx”Almost. Ai is used when speaking of oneself in the term of had. If you say, you have, it is tu as or, the formal term, vous avez. J’ai des pommes, nous avons des pommes, tu as des pommes. But yes, this is correct.” French was a language with many complications, but it had some highlights and easier sides to it. Hopefully, the two of them would walk through all of them.

xxxxxPetyr noticed how she seemed to shake away his compliments and other good words. It made him frown, but he didn’t dare let that dampen his spirits. One day she might learn to appreciate these words of praise that he gave her. ”Right. ’Des’ can be used as some, but that’s the plural form. Yes, yes. I love some apples, and seeing as the English word some is not necessary, it is shortened to I love apples. You can use both forms, though!” He gave a short laugh, and then smiled. The idea of a different language must be knew to her-- He could tell by the way she was slightly awkward around certain words. He’d been the same way when first learning English. His issue, then, had always been pronunciation. At times he still stumbled, or hesitated. He felt the flowers in his hair moved, and when his eyes opened, he found Rosalee shifting them around, fixing them to better rest atop his head. He shook his head, slightly. ”To make the statement a question you flip it,” he whispered, smiling a little as he gently touched one of the flowers. ”Aimes-tu les pommes?” Oh, he could only hope that Rosie could get a hand of his complicated language, as well as his complicated person. ”There is no such thing as flattering you too much, mon chéri. If anything, I compliment too little.” He shrugged, but still kept a smile on his lips. Then, his eyes rolled upwards to rest on the ceiling. ”Et, supposons que j'ai parlé en rien que tu pourriez comprendre.” His voice was teasing, and he didn’t bother to offer her his translation on that one. Let her piece it together. He smirked a little, the sly smile causing the corners of his eyes to turn upwards.

xxxxxRosalee must have known how much words meant to the turncoat. How much he cherished them, and how much power they held. He smiled just slightly, his expression relaxing a bit-- away from the earlier smirk that he had held. ”Whose voice is only useful in the end of the world,” he corrected her, but didn’t say it with a harsh and clipped tone. It simply served as a gentle reminder to both of them that he didn’t think quite so highly of himself. ”Lavender,” he said, his voice hardly above a whisper. ”Lavender and gold, for our Queen and King.” Petyr smiled, lowering his head a bit. Then, his head tilted at her words, eyes narrowing. He rolled his eyes and lightly cuffed her arm, shaking his head. ”Tu es un cul! Il est pas tu, mais plutôt, des pommes que j'aime, aussi!” He huffed, but he was laughing at her words and how she had taken advantage of the phrase he had taught her. When she corrected herself, he smiled a bit more, relaxing back into his seat. ”Merci, Rosie.” Rosie was picking up quickly, and it made him happier than anything else in the world. She was earning a handle on the words, and on their meanings. The kiss that she put to the side of his face only made that idea sweeter. ”I love you, Rosalee Dagenhart. My mind has no second thoughts and my heart holds no doubts.” And I trust you not to let the flames burn me.

xxxxxHe didn’t catch the first glance he’d earnt from her, but he did feel her eyes. Petyr looked to her, paying attention to every flick of her eyes, every movement of her eyelids. The previous Captain of the Guard? Lord Xzavier? Petyr had been there for both Captains: However, Lord Xzavier had found himself in the grave a bit earlier than everyone else had predicted and wanted him to be. The current Captain was Lord Casimiro-- A man that Petyr knew quite well. None of us were. If what you say is true…

xxxxxRosie’s hand brushed over his eyes, and instinctively, they closed. Once more. ”Rue de l’Église. Rue Neuve. Rue de l’Étroit.” Seconds passed between each street named, and he allowed his mind to focus on nothing more than the letters and sounds that his voice formed. It was soothing, listening to each individual sound as he thought of nothing else. Finally, he blinked several times, meeting Rosie’s eyes. ”Thank you,” he told her, his voice soft.

xxxxxPetyr understood what it meant, and even despite that, he agreed. Of course he agreed. He needed answers, and the letter hadn’t provided any. He watched as she scratched at the letter, and he gave a slight smile at the sneezes that were prompted from something airborne-- something from the letter. Petyr smiled, scooting forward on his seat, sitting on the edge. ”No, no, no.” Of course, she would think of the best way to use that item as a weapon. That was how she was trained to think from day one. ”The loft of your home, exactly. That, well, it may be a shot in the dark, but any shot is better than none, is that not right?” Petyr shrugged, reaching over to the candle that was placed neatly atop the desk and lighting it, bringing it closer before offering it to Rosie. ”The letter,” he prompted, his expression a strange balance between forlorn and anxious.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxx [ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || victor's study ]

The assassin pursed her lips, running the words through her mind in the hopes they would find a home. "Tu as des pommes, as in I currently have, and then J'ai des pommes used as past tense? I had some apples, only, someone stole them." It was a vast amount to take on board, but Rosalee reckoned she'd bitten off the adequate amount to chew. She did adore the idea of learning such a language; and conversing with Petyr even more so.

It was tragic, really, how Rosalee just didn't know how to accept compliments. Petyr's frown caused her to angle her head downwards, pressing her lips together in an apologetic manner. Just because she failed to believe them didn't mean they didn't matter to her. "I like to believe I understand. Oh, the possibilities outweigh the complications of this language! J'aime des pommes. Some, as I only like the French green-coloured apples," she laughed, shoulders shrugging at the revelation of this tidbit of information. "Does the honourable Petyr hold any favourites?" More than likely, it would take the assassin a few repetitions in order to perfect her understanding, as well as perfecting the ability to enunciate the French sounds. Petyr's own pronunciations were improving tenfold -- though the assassin couldn't deny the appeal that the unique accent gave his words. "Oh, that is strange! Aimes-tu les pommes, Petyr? T'aime les pommes, can I say that as a statement, though? Rosalee did hope to unravel her mysterious turncoat, he was still an enigma to her; she had to admit. "Too little, no no! You are far too kind to me, I am no good with compliments," she watched his eyes roll towards the ceiling, Rosalee keeping her gaze fixed on the turncoat. Her brow quirked upwards at the tone of his voice, the knowing smirk on his face flustered her beyond rationality. Damn the man! He knew she couldn't hope to figure that out alone! Breathing a long, irked breath, Rosie could do nothing other than fold her arms and remain silent.

Without altering her demeanour, other than unfolding her arms, she shut her eyes. "It is no matter if the turncoat does not believe in himself, as his reckless assassin will do so for them both." she allowed the smallest of smiles to lighten her otherwise neutral expression. Rosalee would hold onto his self-worth, and praise it whenever and wherever she could, in an effort to show Petyr just how fervently she believed in him. When he moved on to mention her favourite colour, Rosie's attention snapped to him, her face falling into one of awe. "Lavender and gold," she mused, "I think I would like that very much." for such thoughtfulness, Petyr earnt her most charming of Cheshire smiles -- one that would have empires falling at her feet with a glance. Her most trusted clipped her arm, and Rosie burst into laughter, mockingly clutching her arm to her chest as though hurt. She knew enough to somewhat decipher that he was using her joke against her; her heart racing with amusement. "Non, non!" she grinned, shaking her head at the remark she couldn't quite fully decode. Petyr relaxed at her actual words, but Rosie's shoulders tense; and if it were possible, her smile widened. "Jusqu'à la fin." reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder, Rosalee pulled him into a strong embrace, free arm wrapping around his shoulder.

She hugged him for a long while, until she leant back into her chair. It felt like an interrogation, what with Petyr's acute focus on every movement she made. Lord Xzavier... yes, him. "Not skilled in the art of subtly, that one. He held copies of the Guard's confidential files, criminal files and cases alike." The assassin gave away no tells as to her emotions. "I may or may not have held a hand in his death -- believe what you will. Just know, what troubles me most, is that Xzavier's copies were never found. Not by me, nor the Brotherhood. I believe them to be in the hands of another, and who better than Victor to hold these? It would explain many of our questions."

Unbeknownst to the assassin, her own eyes had closed following Petyr's. Listening to his words closely, she found herself breathing along with him, eyes finally opening -- the storm of her thoughts instantly calmed to the point that the oceans of her eyes reflected nothing but tranquillity. Rosie smiled softly at him, eyes searching his, his trust in her something that had her relaxing further. "Je t'en prie." she murmured in reply.

Rosie simply huffed at all the sneezes the dust caused, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand. When her turncoat shuffled forwards in his seat, Rosie rested her hand against his face, sliding her hand into his hair and tapping at the soft spot behind his ear. "Eight seconds. I would require eight seconds to disable you." you'd find her bite far worse than her bark. Her intents were not malicious not at all; her intents were to give him the upper hand with training, to teach him techniques. Dropping her hand, she then squeezed his wrist for comfort. "I agree! Perhaps, these truths are hidden behind something to do with nature, then? Hence the last lines?" it was probably wrong, so she turned back to the letters. Certain sheets did not have the coating and so Rosie was unwilling to burn these, pushing them towards Petyr to keep a hold of. "Not these." she whispered, turning over the remaining two she believed to hold hidden words. The two in question, the letters signed by Cross himself -- or at least, Victor acting as Cross. Sighing at the handiwork, she traced the delicate and distinct letterforms. At the sight of the flame, Rosalee shied away from the sudden flare of it, eyelids fluttering. Accepting the candle from Petyr, she held it to the first of the letters. The muscles in her jaw feathered, her throat quivering as it had fast begun hard to breathe.


Petyr, Serge --
Your father, Christoph Lécuyer, is the famed assassin: Cross.
I am terribly sorry you found out this way.
Great. Tell them something they didn't know. Must've been Victor whom wrote that one. Too dramatic not to be. She passed this to Petyr, moving onto the second sheet. Lo and behold, as the fire scorched the parchment, white character forms started curl across the page. This one, was interesting.


Lower compartment three.
Key to storage.
To that, Rosalee's eyes narrowed. Her first instincts were the box full of wax and their seals. And sure enough, it was separated into specific compartments. Locating the one the note mentioned, the assassin tapped and all the corners, a hollow noise sounding from the base. A hidden compartment. Well, this entire thing was awfully elaborate, even for the Lord. Rosie retrieved her knife, removed the base of the compartment, and to her surprise, found a little brass key. But to what -- they were yet to discover.

[important]

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

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

xxxxxPetyr tilted his head just slightly, listening to her. "Oh, no," he said, his eyes widening slightly. Of course she would be slightly confused. Petyr wasn't a teacher at all-- A horrid one, yet he was still trying to show Rosie. "Tu. It means you." He pointed to Rosalee. "Tu as des pommes. You have apples," he then pointed to himself, "J'ai des pommes. I have apples. In past tense, it is different. I-- am sorry for the confusion." Right hand fingers rested on his left wrist, and his smile was a little strange. Accepting fault-- That was something Petyr was never good at.

xxxxx"The green ones?" He smiled at the information towards her likes-- even if it was something as insignificant as apples. At her next question, he offered a slightly shrug. "Je n'aime pas les pommes." I do not like apples. "Apples have... I do not favour them," Petyr told her. He sat up a little straighter, smiling as she took ahold of the new information that had been given to her. "Non, Rosie. Je n'aime pas les pommes. But, yes, you can use it as a statement. T'aime les pommes. You like apples." Petyr smiled still, giving a soft chuckle at her silent defeat. One day, perhaps, she could be able to both understand and reply.

xxxxx"Then I must thank the assassin, for carrying burdens that are not hers," he whispered, dipping his head slightly. "Merci." Lavender and gold made for a lovely colour combination-- It was the colours of the King and Queen, their reigning hues. "Then it is decided. We will paint our castle lavender and gold." Petyr looked to her smile, and his own expression immediately brightened. It was these smiles that he earnt from her that send him out to recover more and to do anything for her. He then laughed when she did, watching as she cradled her arm to her chest. "I hope that hurt," he teased, pointing to her arm. "Mais, oui." Though his love didn't go out for apples, it certainly went out for her. Petyr reached out, gently resting a hand on her arm. "Jusqu'à la fin." His forever promise to her. When the turncoat was brought into her arms, he reciprocated the action immediately, holding her close to him in her strong embrace that he loved dearly.

xxxxxRosie finally fell back into her chair, and Petyr pulled back from her when she did. He blinked several times as he listened to her go on, her expression completely unreadable. (And, no, he didn't exactly like that. But that was no matter.) "That's how he died," he murmured to no-one in particular. The guard had been scrambling after the Captain's death, struggling to find someone to fill his spot. Until they found Casimiro, that was. "I am sure that Victor holds them... He has money, I am sure he would want nothing more than these files. Plus, Pravda held connections with the Guard. Everyone revered him like a hero there." Whilst they cursed his father's name like the plague. Oh, irony.

xxxxxHer hand was against his face, and it slowly moved back behind his ear, tapping the area. A shudder almost passed through him at the tap, but Petyr willed it to stop. ”Eight seconds?” He questioned, looking to her for a long time before raising an eyebrow. He rose a hand, his finger tapping her windpipe. His finger then moved to the side of her neck, over the bundle of nerves that rested there. He tapped that area, too, smiling. ”Perhaps you fail to understand that it could take me seven.” Of course, it was opposite with Petyr. He spoke highly of himself-- Much higher than he really was. Petyr knew how to disable a man in a blow or even two, but even then, he was hesitant to actually use his knowledge against anyone. ”Perhaps you’re right. I suppose we’ll see to it once we can, and figure it out, yes?” The poem didn’t sit well with him at all. She turned away the few letters that did not hold the wax, and he took them closer to him. It was the one addressed to Serge, written entirely in French. Petyr would have to give it to him the next time he saw his brother. He watched as the flame tore over the page, revealing letters hidden in white.

xxxxx”Victor’s hand,” he pointed out, looking at the letters with a careful eye.

xxxxxYour father, Christoph Lécuyer. Petyr shook his head and looked away, sighing. The letter never found them, and pain still came to them in the end. But, see, Serge didn’t even know. ”We have to tell him, Rosie. We have to tell Serge.” Which would require a long journey by boat and land alike. He shuddered at his own memory of the long move to England from Canaples. Personally, he had hated it, but he’d been too young to remember everything. That was ten years ago.

xxxxxHe heard the sound of fire taking to parchment once more, and he watched as the second letter burnt. Again, just like the previous letter, white letters were revealed across the page. ”Storage?” he wondered aloud. ”Storage to what? Where? The loft?”

xxxxxThe soon-to-be assassin watched as Rosalee used her dagger to remove a panel to reveal a compartment that contained a key. It caught his eye, and he couldn’t help but to raise an eyebrow. The handle of that key was intricate-- and Petyr had seen one almost identical to it in the desk sitting in the infamous Master Assassin’s study. Oh, he truly did not like this.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxxxxxx [ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || victor's study ]

Impulsively, Rosie's hand lurched towards her own throat, thumb clutching at her neck while her hand grasped around her shoulder. "No, no, it is my fault. I interpreted your words incorrectly," she laughed sheepishly, averted her gaze to the far-off wall. The corner of her peripheral vision caught the movement of Petyr's hands; the way they arranged themselves into that nervous tell of his.

At his confirmation, Rosalee nodded rather enthusiastically, the flecks of starlight in her eyes twinkling in tune with her grin. "The green apples are by far, my favourites." and it was the truth; she liked the distinct tang they gave. Furrowing her brows, she took a double take at him, mouth hanging open. "You do not like apples? N'aime pas-tu les pommes? Or is it, n'aime-tu pas les pommes?" Finding herself unable to think of anyone whom disliked the fruit, she frowned -- but then again, she unable to think of anyone that did. It wasn't necessary knowledge she'd ever needed before, though Rosie had to admit she liked learning about her mysterious turncoat figure. "Then, which fruits does my Petyr like?" she asked, absent-mindedly drumming her fingers against the Will she had yet to sign. It did infuriate her, but she'd simmer away in silence until the day she could understand his words. Until then, she'd settle for glaring daggers in his general direction.

"The assassin does not mind. It is no burden; she is thankful to tend to it." she offered him a soft smile in return for his brightened expression. She was glad for the ability she held in lifting his spirits with a simple smile, it warmed her sorrowful heart. Ah, gold and lavender. Metallic golds to off-set the matte pastel shade. Absolutely lavish; with a strong dash of elegance. A grand colour scheme befitting the King and Queen of Nothing. Perfect in every possible way. The thought of all the possible decorations had Rosie's eyes lulling shut. My home, after all these years, I would love nothing more than for it to be golden and lavender. She kept that idea to herself, for now. A knowing smile replaced the content one. "That we shall, that we shall," she mused quietly. Petyr's laugher gently tugged her in the direction of the present; eyes opening to drink in his smile. Gods, did she adore joking with him. Rosalee plastered on a faux hurt expression, her eyes glistening as though she was going to cry. "I shan't be hurt so easily." she huffed, shoving out her chin defiantly. "Non!" Unfortunately, as Petyr gently place his hand atop her arm, the hint of a smile crept onto her features and ruined the assassin's charade. Jusqu'à la fin. Until the end -- forever and always." she replied on instinct, letting her face soften, breathing in Petyr's calming scent, the one she associated with home. Somehow, he was the one constant, the one shelter in a world of perils.

Seemingly no emotion seeped into her voice. "It... Xzavier, it was not so simple," It was easy to slice her emotions away from this particular assignment. It wasn't supposed to go down the way it had, young and foolish, was the little assassin back then. But, it was her own fault, and the man's blood stained her hands nonetheless. Xzavier -- the man held a powerful co-conspirator, and Rosie never managed to charm her way close enough to the Captain in order to figure out who it was. In hindsight, it could've be none other than Victor. "Connections within the Guard, yes, I did hear something similar. I believe Xzavier's documents wound up in his hands. It is logical." A hero. Victor was no better than the dirt beneath the assassin's shoes, and for them to worship him as an idol? And hate her mentor instead? The thought disguised both her and Petyr, alike, it seemed.

She felt, rather than saw, Petyr's apprehension, even through that steely expression he wore. His hand travelled towards her neck, the assassin pulling in a breath through her nose; that spark quickening her pulse. Her chin lifted at the tap to her throat, and then his finger came to rest above the the essential artery in which her blood flowed. Clenching her jaw, she inclined her neck. A challenge -- her eyes gained that certain, telltale fire. In an instant, her assassin's instincts took over; ever calculating. Rosie had to remind herself that Petyr wouldn't harm her, and yet her primal instincts refused to listen. Awfully calm, was Rosalee, she pinned him with a sharp-toothed grin. "Could. Question is, whom is the fastest? Willing to bet your life on it?" Rosie was focused on nothing other than his eyes. It was a stand-off between them. The assassin's voice dropped, her words slow and precise. "Fifteen seconds," the sound resonated with something akin to gentle ferocity. "Fifteen seconds in which I can work. No blood, no bruises, no traces. Fifteen seconds." It wasn't a threat, no, it was a dare. What else does my Petyr know? The fighter in her refused to relent first, her hand steady against the back of his head.

Even in the end, it was the uncle, not the father, left to pick up the pieces of the latter's mistakes.

Judging by Petyr's expression, turmoil was at the forefront of his troubled mind. "Serge, was he close with Christoph? No, that does not matter here, he deserves to know." Even under these false-pretences, that Victor tried to install, Rosie still wanted to visit Petyr's homeland, meet his family. She just wished it was under happier circumstances. She wondered if Petyr remembered his own journey across the channel. "Petyr...?" she stopped, looking uncharacteristically anxious. A light peach colour highlighted her face, thinning her lips she had to turn away, busying herself with the letters. She murmured, ever so quietly, "Christoph's Will... I planned from the very start to gift my shares to you, Serge and Aimeé. I have no family to look after, so please, will you allow me to care for yours?"

Never had she believed him to hold a storage separate from his study. "I wish I knew," it was a lie if Rosie claimed that this information had no effect upon her. Frankly, it ticked her off. She should have known this! It was her damned job! At every twist and turn they'd been two steps behind, and she did not like that. Stay ahead, keep up. The thought was prompt herself to re-think and re-analyse. Naturally, Rosie handed over the pretty little key she'd found, once she'd noticed something akin to recognition flicker in his eyes. "You have seen this before, no?" she asked softly.

[important]

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

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

xxxxxAt the sudden move of her hand, Petyr's eyes followed the movements quickly. "You cannot blame yourself," he told her, wishing to reach out to her to offer her some kind of reassurance. However, he refrained. If not for her, it was for him.

xxxxx"I have tried them," he said, reminding himself of the sharp taste they held, and how he had pulled a face when he first tried it. Petyr couldn't help but to give a smile at her reaction when she found that he did not like the fruit. "I don't care for the taste of them, no. Tu n’aime les pommes, you do not like apples?" Lécuyer gave a soft laugh, nodding a little. Which fruits did he like, she had asked him. The turncoat's eyebrows furrowed in thought, then he shrugged, finally answering: "He has a taste for les oranges et les fraises. Oranges and strawberries." Petyr's eyes fell to the piece of paper that her fingers were tapping, and he took a moment to look at the words, or more so, how they were constructed. It looked as if though Victor wrote it himself, with the unmistakable hand of his replicated perfectly by his assassin's own. That caused him to smile, and he met her eye-- which her careful glance had turned into a glare, which caused his eyes to widen, and he laughed. "One day, mon chéri, you will know the answer to your questions."

xxxxx"She doesn't?" Petyr had something in his eyes: something almost akin to disbelief. But it was good, he trusted her, he just hadn't expected it. You will not let me down, and I know this. The fake tears that shone in her eyes caused a strong tug of his heartstrings, and he had to remind himself that they weren't real tears, of course. No real hurt. But that brief flash of concern that tore through his heart did show on his expression and eyes, but soon he replaced it with a roll of those eyes. Oh, you do know how to wound me, my assassin. "I will hold you to that, then." Petyr's facial expression then relaxed, and he nodded-- one movement to show his affirmation. "Even as the world collapses around us, it will be true." The knight had finally found someone, and like hell would he let that slip away so easily. His loyalty was something else-- True and pure and everlasting. Rosie would soon learn the extent of that loyalty that he held, especially towards her.

xxxxxIt was a strange thing, how she was able to leech out the emotions and feelings from her words in order to better explain things. "Victor held a strong hand on every Captain of the Guard we've had." We? Where is your honour, Petyr Lecuyer? After everything-- we? Are you really so audacious? But as soon as he said it, he couldn't take it back. He prayed to his gods that Rosie didn't pick up on that. "Ah- and, I'm sure Lord Casimiro will catch wind of Victor's death here soon. We must work quick."

xxxxxPetyr saw the moment that those heirloom eyes lit up, the gold burning brightly against the azure. Her grin sparked his own, and he met her eyes with his own set of fierce determination. His head tilted to the left just slightly when she spoke, and he offered a soft chuckle. ”I may not have mastered the art of speed, but I sure do have a handle on everything else,” he paused, looking to her and narrowing his eyes slowly. ”Willing to bet my life? Absolutely. I can take care of it quicker. Seven seconds of pressure,” he told her, dropping his hand from her neck, ”and only seven to leave without a trace. Fourteen seconds.” Petyr pointed to the tinted window of the study on the far right wall, which was slightly ajar. ”Through there, and leave the body.” Stealth had never been a thing that the Guard had touched on: So he had learned this from his father-- before he had disappeared when Petyr had been only ten years in age. And here, sixteen years later, he still kept that information close to him.

xxxxx”Serge loved my father until the end of the world, and it was clear that Christoph favoured my brother over me. Serge wanted to fight. I wanted to learn.” Even despite the crushing reality of it, Petyr smiled at the memory. The turncoat sighed, shaking his head a bit as he looked to the poem and the letters that were neatly arranged across the desk. ”You do not have to do that, Rosie. Victor’s… contributions should be enough, truly, it is not worry. But if this… Is what you wish to do, then who am I to stop you?”

xxxxxOf course, with a man as fickle and sneaky as Victor, he can’t keep everything in one place. He must spread them out, because this couldn’t be the holy grail, the treasure chest that held everything. ”I am sure we will find out,” he reassured her, smoothing a hand over the papers in front of him. He sighed, slowly, looking at the key before snapping his gaze up to meet Rosie’s eyes. A bit confused, he nodded. How she knew, he wouldn’t dare ask her. ”I have.” Should he tell her where? ”Christoph’s study.”

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxxxxxx [ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || victor's study ]

It was a strange thing, her vulnerability. Unique, in the sense she was overly sensitive in this state, and it took the form of tactile hyperesthesia -- to the point where touch hurt, and her hand felt like a claw ripping at her throat. She made a small noise in response to his words, but nothing else. Petyr did well not to console her, as she may have falsely lashed out. Rosalee's movements were erratic as she shied away from the overwhelming scene, retreating to a corner. It took her a long while to return to her seat.

The look of amazement was still there. "Tu n’aime les pommes? Even the green ones?" at least her surprise seemed to amuse Petyr. Rosie turned her nose up at the mention of oranges, only to grin when he spoke of strawberries. A shared like. Oh, they'd be fighting over strawberries in the near future -- it was a given. (She'd steal his with no remorse whatsoever). "Surely the turncoat enjoys strawberries and sugar? Or perhaps strawberries and cream?" the assassin watched him with a strange brand of curiosity, his autumn-coloured eyes tracing the letterforms she'd been so careful to replicate. Petyr laughed, and Rosalee's eyebrows raised. "How are you so certain? What if I don't?" it was with a heavy heart she returned to the forged document. "Guess I should sign and seal this so we may move on,"



[ redacted ]

To my nephew, Petyr Lécuyer, I devise, bequeath and give:
[ item one ]
[ item two ]
[ item three ]

In care of Petyr Lécuyer, I devise:
The housing deeds to the Regency Street address.

-- (To be gifted to his fiancée, one Léa [ Lécuyer ] upon the day of their wedding.)

In the event of the passing of the aforementioned beneficiaries, the assets are to fall to the direct next of kin.
My personal lawyer shall be given the rights to execute my above wishes.

Declaration.
I, Lord Victor Pravda, agree that the aforementioned articles are indeed in my name.
I, Lord Victor Pravda, agree that these are solely my own wishes and that I am of sound and disposing mind.


Signed --
V. PRAVDA

Agreeance of the two witnesses.
I, as a witness, agree that I was present during the signage of said documentation.
I, as a witness, agree that the above wishes are solely that of the signing party.
I, as a witness, agree that the signing party was of sound and disposing mind.


Signed --
J. VAN ROTHEAU
Signed --
C. KENSINGTON



The document was signed -- sealed, now for the lawyer to deliver. Her job was complete. "She does not, she will care for it," Rosie confirmed, looking downwards before glancing back up at him. That hint of disbelief, or approximation of it, gave her a view into his world; one where he'd never been shown such loyalty -- one in which he found it hard to believe any truly cared. Oh, but she did, his assassin cared for him. I will do good by you. Rosie caught it; that sudden flash of light, of pure, celestial intent that flickered across his eyes. It was in that moment she saw just how close to his heart she was held. He may have been quick to hide it, but Petyr couldn't conceal the fact it had been there, in his eyes. "As you should." she whispered, voice barely audible. She was too caught up in that dash of genuine concern. "You are my world." Rosie knew loyalty in a sense, but not Petyr's own. She didn't yet know just fearsome his loyalty was, how brightly it burned. He wasn't just a star in his own right -- he was the universe.

"No, every Captain of yours?" Rosie's nostril's flared with a shake of her head. We. We? After all we have fought; you choose we? Though, instead of her trademark volatility, she didn't let emotion affect her. She named her streets, and looked not at him, but past him. "I don't suppose you meant that comment as past tense? Had. As in, you no longer stand with them?" Rosalee's tongue passed across her teeth. The truth was paramount, and Petyr referring to himself as one of the Guard? It sat uneasily with her -- so much so that it hurt.

Rosalee felt that wonderful rush of adrenaline kick her senses up a notch. The determination in his eyes went down well, she wanted him to fight. She watched his head tilt and grinned. "Is this false confidence I am hearing? It will be your downfall." half the battle was physcological. "Are you willing to prove this?" her lips curled. He sure talked a strong game, but how would he fair in training? "Mistake." she grabbed his finger when he pointed to the window, and snapped it to the side. Not enough to harm him, luckily. Petyr was right on the money with the stealth aspect though; she'd give him that. And something told her the Guard hadn't been the one to teach him that.

"Oh, Serge, is he, do you know what his occupation is? Parents are not supposed to favour one over another... What were my Petyr's favourite novels?" she asked, genuinely curious. To her, his response was vague; a do as you wish reply. The assassin was unsure, and was vying for his approval. Family does not end in blood, remember? "Is this wrong of me? Petyr, this is your family. I wish not intrude, or interfere, if you do not want me to. Will you let me offer my devotion to them in the only way I know how?"

As much as she hated Victor, she had to admit -- that man was smart. She grew angry at this revelation; as this was an assassin's trick, storing belongs and information all over London. And that meant that Christoph probably advised him to do so. Petyr confirmed his knowledge of the key, and she waited with bated breath to unveil where. Christoph's study. "Were they identical? If they were," That meant he had access to answers all along. And right beneath their noses, too.

[important]

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

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

xxxxxPetyr was worried for his assassin, watching as she seemed to battle over some internal conflict with herself-- One that eventually dragged her into a corner as she brought herself together. The turncoat had been offered no other choice but than to watch helplessly, knowing that he could do nothing for her. And with nothing better to say, he spoke, voice quiet: ”Désolé.” It took a while, but eventually she returned to her seat beside him.

xxxxxHe nodded. ”Even the green ones.” Based off her reaction, she seemed to not like oranges as he did. The turncoat smiled a little at that, but then noticed how she seemed to have a spark of interest at his mention of strawberries. ”He does. Right along with cakes and bread with strawberries baked into it. Does the assassin share that same like?” Oh, but Petyr’s favourite was definitely the strawberry pastries that his mother used to make. His eyes stayed to the paper, and he offered a shrug to her question. ”You will. When it comes to you, Rosie, I know that it do or do not with you-- And rarely ever does it end in do not.” Petyr nodded, his eyes reading over the page.

xxxxxTo my nephew… That was a family tie that he had been almost desperate to cut off. If Petyr had never found out on his own, when was Victor ever going to tell him what relationship he held to him? Or would he have left it to his will, to tell Petyr the words he never wanted to hear, and to only further complicate everything? Because, now, not only did he have questions about his father, he held some over his now-dead uncle. Too bad he failed to slow down and think of those questions and ask them before his untimely demise. Your loss. Suddenly, he stopped, looking at the two witnesses’ names. His posture straightened, and he pointed to the one on the top. ”I know that name,” he muttered, his eyes narrowing slightly. The second one he held no recollection of.

xxxxxHe watched as she carefully signed the bottom, sealing it with Victor’s wax. Rosalee was damn good at her job-- It looked as if Victor had used his own hands to arrange this together himself. There was no difference between Rosie’s work and Victor’s, as it was identical. There was no way Victor’s lawyer would turn it down. Petyr relaxed in his chair a little more, it was as if yet another piece of the puzzle was gently locking into place. He was able to pick up the fact that she had seen it, and he winced, glancing away from her just briefly. As you should. ”And will always,” he shot back, but there was no acerbic tone to his voice. He then smiled, nodding and looking back to her. ”Then let us hope that it is London that shatters, and not us, for you are mine, too.”

xxxxxYeah, she caught it. He couldn’t quite take a step back from that one, however. Instead, he shook his head, again refusing to meet her eye. ”You know exactly where I stand,” Petyr reminded her, a chilled anger seeping into those words. Honour and loyalty. Those were important things-- Yet, he’d been forced into a life where he wasn’t allowed to think of either. A turncoat life for a man of loyalty and honour both, the gods had cursed him well. And Petyr didn’t like to be reminded of his betrayal and lies. The knight drew his arms in closer to himself, glaring daggers at the doors that led out of the study and back into the hall. Drop it. Don’t rise to it. You’re here for a reason, and that reason is far more important than just how strong your ties are to whatever it is that you choose. His mother’s voice, telling him these words all that time ago. Little had she known that he would actually come to use that information for more than just wondering what he wanted to do with his life. (And, she didn’t know of his life as a turncoat, either. If she had known, she would have thrown a fit.)

xxxxx”False confidence from a man of my likes is unheard of and absurd. You know me, Rosalee Dagenhart. But the question is, do you know me well enough to best me?” A challenge. And gods ever did he know how much Rosie loved those. His eyes were alive in hers, taking in every flicker of those gold and blue orbs. ”Without a shadow of hesitation, I am.” Oh, but what if did come down to proving his words? Would he fail, or would he rely on his old training, and pull from that too heavily? It came as a shock when his finger was pulled to the side, which elicited a gasp from him, and he shot a quick glare to her.

xxxxx”Serge wanted to join the Ministère de la Défense. I am unsure if he did. The last I saw him, he was naught but thirteen years old. It’s been ten years, and I’m sure he found something…” But I can’t be sure as to what. His favourite novel? An odd question, but he answered: ”Les Liaisons Dangereuses and Lettres d’une Péruvienne. My two favourites,” he told her, a slight smile on his face. ”Of course it is not wrong, and I would like nothing more than for you to give us your devotion. I thank you, truly. If this is what you wish to do, for me, for my family, for us, then I cannot stop you and you may do as you wish. I will only thank you, but I will not stop you.” Petyr had trouble accepting gifts from others, and didn’t want to say yes-- fearful that he would sound almost greedy. He didn’t want that. But denying it, it would seem self-centred, wouldn’t it?

xxxxx”They were. I’m-- So sorry, that I didn’t pick it up, I should have, but I wasn’t thinking about it, you know? I am so sorry,” he told her, concern and worry obviously dotting his voice, hoping that Rosie wouldn’t pin blame on him for that. How was Petyr to have known about it, or what it was too? Besides, they had this key, didn’t they? His self-reassurance helped calm his worries, but his expression still held the same.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxxxxxx [ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || victor's study ]

The worry in his eyes, accompanied by his murmured apology caused her to shake her head. No, no, it is not you at fault. While sat in the chair, Rosie reluctantly drummed her fingers timidly along her arm; cringing whenever contact was made. Her pale skin flinching -- it felt as though her fingers were needles stabbing into skin. This reaction was the same reason she'd fled from Petyr's reach in the basement, and the same reason she didn't seek out his comfort now, no matter how much she may have wished to. It is an affliction, I am sorry. It happens to us all, does it not?

"Not even apple crumble?" she asked. The sweetness of the crumble combined with the distinct bitterness of the apples was the assassin's favourite. But strawberries were a different fruit entirely, and she couldn't help but to grin. "How could the turncoat's assassin not adore strawberry cakes? She is yet to hear of strawberry breads, though," she mused, resting her chin on her knuckles as though contemplating, eyes flickering from him to the paper and back again. "We far too stubborn to allow this to slip away, and one day, I will find a fierce retort," she laughed, "Jusqu'à la fin, mais les dieux savent pourquoi, yes?"

Rosalee didn't like the look in his eyes as he read it over. She held two ideas as to why Victor never mentioned his ties to Petyr, the first that he never wanted to deal with the responsibilities family held, it would interfere with his work. And the second, Victor did not wish to deal with Petyr and Serge's relentless questions of asking after their father. If it was either, it was more than likely the latter, knowing that sewer rat. And then leaving that crucial information it to be unveiled in his will, so he did not need to explain himself? Oh, the decency of merciful lies! Lies, words you wanted to hear were easier to accept than heartbreaking truth. "You know of that name?" Rosalee tilted her head to the side, and narrowed her eyes. She couldn't say she'd heard of either of them.

Gathering the Will into her hands, she returned the document back to where it was found in the lower drawer of his desk. She worked quick to replace the compartment back into the box, minus the key they now held, and then pushed that towards the back of the drawer, the dreadful sound of wood creaking against wood and causing her skin to crawl. Leaving it how it had been found, Rosie burnt the original Will, and tossed the ashes into the unlit hearth. There. Now no-one would realise those ashes were destroyed documents, mingling in with the remnants of wood and coal dust. Rosie always enjoyed their running jokes, and to his reply, she laughed, gently whacking his shoulder with the back of her hand. "Good!" Tawny eyes met blue and it brought a smile to Rosie's features. "London may fall, but the King and Queen of Nothing's castle shall stand tall."

That ice, such a harsh frost infused his voice, caused Rosalee to bristle. "You stand at my side, and I know your back does not hide a knife," Petyr shrank away, shoulders curving inwards and arms folding across his body. The posture radiated hostility and seething anger alike. But the thing is, he turned his eyes away and opted for shooting bullet holes in the door with those tawny-bronze eyes of his; and the assassin caught a glimpse through his rage. It wasn't just aimed at her traitorous questioning, but at his own person as well -- in equal measure. It was clearly something he wished to forget, and Rosie had gone ahead to drag the darkened depths of his bright soul, and all for what? To question his loyalties? His unwavering loyalties to her? Surely, surely he had proven enough that he was unshakeable in standing at her side? Petyr's honour, Petyr's loyalty far exceeded her own and he'd uphold those strong morals with no hesitations. Well, wasn't she just great at jumping to her conclusions. It what she always did, wasn't it? Search the the worst in people, then they can never let you down. Great for missions, but Rosie didn't want that with Petyr. She wanted to trust him wholeheartedly just as she believed in her turncoat so. Some part of her mind clicked into place -- that little voice of her heart. So, instead, she opted for a light chuckle and a light-hearted joke. "You guards did an awful job with my wanted poster, I must say; strolled right by one and not a single person batted an eye! You do know what I look like, yes?" Rosie didn't reach out towards him, but did rest her hand, palm facing upwards, on the desk next to him. "I should not be so quick to judge a slip of the tongue. Can you forgive me?" What was that? Was that guilt? An admittance to her wrongs? Oh, surely the devil was skating to work on this fine day!

Oh, did Petyr know his assassin! Rosie thrived on challenges, and here he was; offering one up on a silver platter. "Are those more false confidences, I hear? Well, yes, that is the question here..." her hand dropped from the back of his head to the pressure point on his neck, the same one he'd used against her. Such a vicious grin curled her lips. "Do I?" she saw the sparks racing in their eyes, reflecting infinite constellations. "Then I give you the benefit of the doubt." Rosie dropped her hand back onto her lap, her grin still plastered on. She chuckled at the glare he shot in her direction, twirling her hand to represent a bow.

"The Ministère de la Défense? A soldier, I suppose? Petyr, ten years, you have not seen them in ten years? Do they write to you?" It was a barrage of questions, granted, so she metaphorically stepped back and fiddled with the pins in her hair -- deeming it dry enough to be set free. Rosalee liked the sounds of those novels he named. "Would you tell me about them one day?" she whispered, hair cascading down as she shook it free from it's awnings. Then, she removed her jacket and laid it on the desk. Feeling along the inside seams for the telltale zip, Rosie breathed a sigh. Leather reinforced insides, perfect for the storage and concealment of items. She began to bundle the files they found inside the jacket's seams, in order to smuggle them out of Victor's home. "Merci. You have my word, Petyr. I will offer both you and your family alike my devotion. Je t'aime." Rosie hugged him.

Words tainted with concern and worry. Rosie's anger wasn't directed at him, more so the two brothers whom hid this from them; especially Christoph, that man had some explaining to do from beyond the grave, and she'd set fire to pits of purgatory to do so. He needn't be worried, Rosie hadn't expected him to realise. Hell, she wouldn't have known Christoph held another key if it was not for Petyr! Gently, she brushed her hand through his hair (careful not to displace his intricate crown) and let her palm fall to cradle his face, passing her thumb across his cheek. "I did not expect you to know it would be necessary, and it isn't now we have this one, anyway," she nodded, passing him the key to look after. "You are fine, I promise you."

[important]

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

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

xxxxxTo blame herself-- That was something he never wished for her to do. You cannot possibly blame yourself. Petyr watched her as she winced at each touch she gave herself. His expression was strange, and his heart beat loud in his chest. Oh, he couldn't stand to see her like this. It hurt him. Wounded him and tore him apart and he couldn't do it, he couldn't just watch. That is not who I am, nor who I was raised to be. You must allow me to help you. His eyes, pleading with her as he debated over so many different things. Finally, his hand reached out to her, gently resting atop the hand that had been drumming against her arm, causing it to still. "Please," he whispered, looking at her.

xxxxxHe withdrew just slightly, and shook his head. "Absolutely not. Its taste is something that I have never cared for," his fingers made a circle in the air, "I personally can't stand it." In fact, just the thought of the fruit baked into sweets made him pull a face. But that expression quickly faded at her next words, and he grinned. "She will come to find them soon enough, and hopefully, come to adore them just as much as her turncoat." He nodded, smiling at her still stubborn nature. "Until the end, but gods know why, oui." A reverse translation of her words.

xxxxxPetyr had no clues, nothing to work off of when it came to his uncle. The man was a true mystery-- Something that he'd never wanted to decode until now. His motives were naught but ulterior and absolutely heinous. For him to not have seen it until now! How daft, how blind, did one have to be to not see all this taking place underneath him? The knight frowned, his head tilting just slightly. Not what he wanted to hear. Pety had grown used to lies, as they've been in company with him for so long and for so much of his life. "I do. But from where, I cannot be sure." He sighed, not liking the fact that he didn't know.

xxxxxRosalee placed the will and wax seals back into the box, putting it back together and everything back in place. (Save for the key, of course.) She returned the box back to the drawer of the desk. No-one would know any different. Rosie had well earned her rank eight. She burnt the original document, and he watched as the flames tore through the paper with no mercy, leaving the parchment to nothing but ash. And it was those ashes that she tossed into the hearth, allowing it to rest with the other ashes from previous fires. When her hand hit his shoulder he winced but laughed, raising his eyebrows. A smile easily returned to his expression, and he nodded. "And may they still dance," he murmured.

xxxxxThen why do you doubt me? "Just as well." I do not betray the ones I love. I do what must be done. Petyr would drag the world down with him into all seven hells for her if she did so ask, yet she had the audacity to misjudge a slip of tongue? He caught the soft laugh come from her, and that startled him. Her, laughing, at such a time like this? After that? His gaze snapped to her, but the harsh light softened as she spoke. She's playing at something, his mind told him. However, when her hand rested atop the desk, palm facing upwards, he shoved that voice telling him no away, and allowed himself to smile just slightly. "How could I forget?" He closed his eyes as she apologised, him nodding. "Of course I can, and of course I will. And surely... You'll forgive my own faults?" Rosie had done something he'd only ever heard once or twice: an apology. Something rare, something he cherished without hesitation. An apology that had him smile.

xxxxx"Never," he assured her, watching as her hand fell from the spot behind his ear to rest on his neck. The only reaction Petyr gave was to raise his chin, baring his neck to her with a grin. ”I dare you,” he whispered, keeping her eye. Her grin was something else-- it was alive, and it sparked a genuine fire in his heart. Call it defiance or stupidity, it definitely burned brightly. Her hand then dropped, and he nodded. ”You’d be making the right call then,” Petyr told her.

xxxxx”A soldier, yes. I-- They…” he trailed off, glancing away briefly. Ten years. He’d been sixteen, Serge thirteen. ”My mother used to. Then she stopped.” His voice was uncharacteristically quiet and soft. Petyr’s mind felt over-charged, and he took note of the mental step back that Rosie offered him. She was messing with the pins in her hair. He forced himself to relax, counting seconds, reciting street names. ”Of course, I would love to. Perhaps you may earn the chance to read them, too.” He smiled. Her auburn hair fell from the pins as she pulled them out, the curls falling over her shoulders. She then removed her jacket, and Petyr sat up a bit straighter. The natural pull of his curiosity brought his eyes to her shoulders, where just the slight telltale scarring blazed across her skin. It only made him smile all the more, looking to her as she pulling a zipper free from her jacket, revealing the seams that she pulled apart to store the letters. ”Je t’en prie, et merci aussi. And you mine, Rosalee. Je t’aime aussi.” Petyr met her hug, wrapping his arms around her, hand gently resting on her back.

xxxxxHer hand moved through his hair, and he smiled a little. The turncoat nodded just slightly as her hand came to rest on the side of his face. ”Merci. I-- Is it of true significance, the presence of the second key? It could mean that Cro- Christoph knew of all of this, right?” The possibilities were endless, and he hated that. She gave him the key, and he took it, tucking it into the pocket of his overcoat to care for. Petyr’s eyes passed to the door, and he frowned. ”Should we… Is that all that we were after, in here? Or is it fine to... check the loft?”