[ ♔. kill your darlings ]

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

Her nickname was a sweet little thing and when spoken by Petyr, she adored it. In a strange way though, it was foreign to hear her real name spoke aloud. She'd never quite get used to it, the way in which Petyr could pick and choose which name to use in order to connote his feelings and emotions. At least it made the whole ordeal of reading him that bit easier. Rosalee glanced at him from the side, but not his face, she looked towards his feet. "It is no longer black and white, is it?" she'd said it time and time again, but that didn't make it untrue. Undeterred by his defensiveness and murmured words, she threaded her fingers through his. "I know, Petyr. I know. You saved my life, did you not?" Why can you not look at me?

Sharing her world with another was completely worth the struggles it took to get here, Rosie decided. They could build their whole kingdom around those three items that created the centrepiece, the very highlight of the room -- their foundations, if you will. The notion made her chuckle out loud, repeating the action of squeezing his shoulder. She pressed her lips together at his words, holding back her heart. "Grateful for my graceful aerial assault, hmm?" she whispered, not wanting to disturb what the sense of harmony they had created within the broken home. Oh, the different routes their individual lives could have taken looking at the bigger picture. If Rosie walked straight by Petyr that night... it didn't bear thinking about. It would have died in that wretched street, scared and alone. Hardly an honourable death for such a valiant heart -- it was a lowlife's death, that was, hardly a noble one. And what about her, the reckless assassin? She too, would be six feet below without him, rotting away in some mass grave reserved for those with no name. Rosalee had saved his life and subsequently, he had saved her own. They would have both died alone in the streets if not for the other. Him, by a thief, her by Christoph. But it wasn't just a debt repaid; it was something more -- it was a loyalty. It was love. And instead of dying alone, they fought the fate of the gods and they had won. "Have I earnt a translation?" she queried, lifting their hands to level out in the space between them. Rosie admired the radiance in his brightened expression, a smile charming enough to have empires falling at his feet. "Oh Petyr, our home... merci for making it perfect, merci for making our home perfect." she leant forwards and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

We may hold a grand tour another day. Rosie tilted her head to the side, stopping her tread so she could listen to his words and pay her full attention to him. I am sorry, you must think me a spoilt child with such a home. Her eyes glanced to the rafters, high in the sky above their heads. "Grand-m-èr... grand-mère, is grandmother? Oh, so a home passed down the generations, that is a sweet gift. Of course, it is your home. Everyone loves their childhood home, it's the memories that make it, regardless of appearance or luxury." she listened to him continue on and speak of the two-roomed home and the dual-purpose study, which doubled as Petyr and Serge's bedroom. Two rooms? Hardly a house built for four. Well, then three. And all the while they were living in a tiny house, Christoph was living in luxury, surrounded by a great deal of wealth he never even bothered to gift to his family back in France. Shameful of him. Then Petyr chuckled, and Rosie was quick to grin at the thought of his mother laying him down on the blankets after finding him slumped over the desk, captured in a deep sleep. "Little Petyr! You used to stay up and write into the late nights? Oh, you must tell me what you wrote," she gave him a hopeful expression, which shifted into a thoughtful one. "We can walk through the library and to my room, yes! That would work." Rosalee mentally pulled up the layout of the house and began leading him in a different direction, along a different hall with an array of doors.

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence )xx( twenty six )

If Petyr knew the affect that his use of her full name over that sweet little nick-name he knew she adored so, he didn't say anything in regards to it, let alone give anything away. He felt her eyes on him, but he knew they were not on his face. ”It never has been,” he responded. ”Nor will it ever be.” Even Petyr, full of a seemingly unshakable hope, knew this to be true. Because a simple black and white picture would be far too easy for the two, now, wouldn't it? Gods forbid anything came easy to them in this endless maze. He shrugged at her words, giving a single nod. ”You saved me as well.” And yet, he still couldn't bare to face his faults head on. That was why he did not look to her, though accepting her hand.

Petyr laughed at her choice of words, nodding. ”Very much so. Though I still have qualms over your use of the term graceful when describing your attack on my person,” he responded, in an equally soft manner, however teasing. Of course he was grateful for it. He was alive, well, and breathing, wasn't he? Without thinking, his free hand brushed over his side, where his fatal wound had once been; now a scar. Only his second one earned in his entire twenty six years. And Rosalee, she'd have the same fate! Her brush with death was imminent in her clash with her now late mentor. Neither of them have fared well without the other, and both owed each other their lives. At her request for a translation, he offered her a small smile. ”Honoured. I am honoured. ” She meant worlds and heavens to him, did she know this? ”Pour toi, seulement. Que le roi et la reine de rien règne ensemble dans leur château sur la rue de la Régence.” A pause, then his offered translation: ”For you, only. May the King and Queen of Nothing reign forever in their castle on Regency street.” Their house, their castle. Her kiss made him smile a bit, him pulling her into a hug.

I look forward to it, and will hold it to you. It was a simple thing, her stopping to still as he spoke, but he understood the heart behind it. It was so she could listen to his words; when nearly his entire life he'd been told to hold his tongue. Yet, she wanted to listen, and that was something he'd never had before. Hardly so! Your attitude and compassion has proven to me otherwise, Rosie. One's house does not define one's character. ”Grand-mère, oui. Grand...mother, yes. You use the same term in English, ah. A wonderful notion, yes. Serge, hopefully, will inherit it from our mère when he's old enough.” he paused, listening to her explanation with a tilted head. The memories he associated with that house were not all pleasant, but at the same time, not all bad. ”I did. When I was younger, I used to keep accounts. Some part of me thought that as a scholar, I could publish it. I'm… Not sure what happened to them. Perhaps my mère kept them…” he shrugged, smiling at the memory. Her suggestion made Petyr’s eyes brighten immediately, him nodding. ”I would enjoy that very much,” he told her as her direction changed away from the staircase and towards a different hallway.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

Her jaw clenched, the assassin biting down on her teeth. Rosalee focused solely on his shoes, covered slightly by the hem of his trousers. They were nice shoes, she decided in the end. "It felt as though it were in the beginning." it had to her at least. From her perspective, all Templars, all Guards were the enemy. And then she had met Petyr, and the entire world had shifted from it's axis; a whole new viewpoint revealed as though light had been cast on the dark side of the moon. "In a way I did, in a way I didn't," The assassin had no idea what it was that night that made her so eager to throw her life away in order to save his -- perhaps the failure of her mission, or perhaps she wanted to kill a few people during her imminent escapade. Maybe she wanted a guard in her debt, but even Rosie knew there was more to it than a simple favour or toss of the coin. At least Petyr accepted her hand, one step forwards and all.

With a roll of her golden-flecked azure orbs, Rosalee huffed. "Well, I found myself to be quite graceful when assaulting you." she smiled at his teasing tune, resting the back of her hand beneath her chin. Her eyes detected movement, watching as Petyr's hand brushed past the injury he had received that night, from a blade dipped in an insidious poison. She smiled up at him, proud that he recalled the event; the scar, however awful receiving it might have been. "Honoré," Rosie chuckled, repeating the word a few more times over, only pausing so she could listen to his sentence spoken in French, her expression a look of awe. She couldn't even dream to decipher that phrase alone, her mind barely able to pick out the different words, but at his translation, her heart missed a beat. Je t'aime, Petyr. The hug had her grinning all over again, her arms wrapping around him to rest atop his shoulders.

It is a promise. Rosie enjoyed listening to him, to hear his words and how he spoke of his childhood home. Of France, of anything. She liked to hear his thoughts, worries and memories. Conversing with him was something else entirely, and their silent communication method was a gift. You flatter me, you do. I am glad to hear this from you, it means a great deal to me. Rosie chuckled at him, attempting to picture his home in her mind -- the home with only two rooms. "We are not so different, after all then! Oh, I do hope he will. I like the idea of keeping things within the family. It is lovely." Her lips pursed when Petyr tilted his head thinking through her words. You had to have bad memories, because without the bad memories, how did you define the good? "You were fond of keeping track of your daily activities? Like a little diary? It is something I would certainly buy if published, Petyr, I already treasure your words as is! I do hope she kept them safe," she squeezed his hands, letting one drop so she would pull him in the direction of the grand library. Pointing out a few doors and other adjacent halls, she murmured, "Down there is a parlour room, across from that a dining room, and this side, that room is..." her head tilted. Actually, she didn't know what that room was. Couldn't remember. Maybe a music room, but then again, it could have been a kitchen for all she knew. Oh well, the specifics didn't matter -- they could flesh out the house the way in which they wanted during it's restoration to give it a new lease of live. She shook her head and laughed, standing beside a rather ornate, albeit scorched door, it's purpose written on a piece of décor that hung just above the window of the door. "No matter! This is door to the library, after you, Petyr."

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence; the library )xx( twenty six )

He sensed, rather than saw, when she rolled her eyes, Petyr grinning. ”The only thing graceful about that was my counter attack.” her smiles had never once failed to instill whatever hope he had previously lost. She was unique in that ability, and Petyr was forever grateful for it. So when she turned that smile to him, he reflected it with one of his own, pressing a kiss to her forehead. ”Honoré,” he repeated after she had with a chuckle. ”Je suis honoré, tu es honoré, ils sont honoré.” The knight took careful note of her expression, and though she couldn't understand his words until his translation, she still seemed to have picked up on its message. And her silent words, her je t’aime; the I love you that he adored so. Je t’aime aussi, Rosie. He held her to his chest, put pulled back just enough to look to her eyes, one hand resting on her cheek. ”Thank you for opening your castle doors for me, Rosie.” To serve rather than to rule. She may have called him her King, but he knew he was naught but a knight, bound to serve his queen in sword, shield, and honour.

Those words that were tucked away in the gold of her blue eyes, that was her reassurance to him; a promise as well as her way of telling him that his words meant something, everything. And me! You privilege me just by your willingness to listen. Thank you. When he spoke on that damnable home, he could recall the image of it from memory. The small study, dimly lit by the shrinking candle-- as it had no windows to mention. There had been a small shelf beside the desk Petyr had claimed, and there he had kept his books, ink, pens, and papers. His brother (whom Petyr had on many occasions gotten frustrated over he had refused to take up studies) kept to his side of the room, and didn't touch Petyr’s things. ”I anticipate, then, showing it to you someday. Though not grand or exceptional by any scale, I'm sure you will grow to love it as I have.” Memories had been made in that tiny house in the more rural area of Nice; but only one huge one was made. And it was not something he'd been keen on remembering, however hard it was to forget. ”I was. I helped my mère with a majority of chores, but after dinner was made, I had my time to write.” he then laughed, lowering his head. ”Oh, when we see her, I'll be sure to ask so that you may read them. Granted, I wasn't a poet by any stretch at that time.”

As she pulled him along the halls and pointed out the function of the rooms. ”A dining room,” he echoed, a mix of awe and excitement. (All of their meals had been eaten in the kitchen on a table his mother had built for the family shortly after Petyr was born.) When she reached the room she couldn't recall, Petyr tilted his head and watched it as they passed it. ”We can always choose what it is to be.” he reminded her, squeezing her hand lightly. They made it to the door, Petyr looking over the words written upon a piece that hung on the door. The last letter- the ‘y’- was faded due to the flames that had scorched the surface of the plaque, but it was still legible. Petyr reached out to the handle, taking it and turning it as he opened the door. ”The books, are they all still… In tact..?” he asked as he walked through the doorway, his eyes widening immediately at the shelves that lined the walls, stretching towards the roof and lined with books. ”Rosie...” he was breathless, holding the door still as he looked around, ”my gods...”

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

"I beg to differ, Sir Lécuyer!" she started laughing, a hand steady on his arm to help balance herself out. Rosalee felt privileged, that she held that ability to grant him hope whenever he felt he may have lost it. It was a wonderful feeling, to actually give someone hope rather than destroy it for a change. She watched as his smile lit up his features, eyes closing and face turning downwards when he pressed a kiss to her head. "Honoré, honoré. Je suis honoré," there was no getting rid of her wide grin now. It was here to stay, especially after his silent French I love you. Rosie remained close to him when he pulled back slightly, one arm staying where it was, the other falling so her hand could rest on his shoulder. "And it shall be our castle to rule, jusqu'à la fin." she whispered, dropping her head and pressing her forehead against his free shoulder, laughing lightly in the space between them.

Then I must thank you for allowing me the opportunity to listen. The assassin thought herself able to picture a number of things in her attuned mind's eye, but she couldn't quite complete the picture of his home, the scale coupled with the interior. Where did the entrance door lead to? The study that doubled as Petyr and Serge's bedroom, most likely. What decorations were present? And the lighting? The lighting was everything for a homely atmosphere. She frowned at her inability to see it perfectly as it was, so when Petyr mentioned letting her see it for herself, she immediately jumped to the chance. "Could I? Oh, Petyr, that would be wonderful! I would adore the opportunity to see this home for myself. It need not be grand for me to love it, Petyr, I will love it for what it is regardless." she sighed softly, eyelashes fluttering. "Diligent and tenacious, even as a child! I do not even deserve someone such as yourself." What did the young little Petyr Lécuyer write about in his accounts of day-to-day like? Rosalee couldn't wait to read his writings. "I will thank you in advance for this. I will treasure them."

The assassin dodged most of the fallen rubble and scattered ash of the wreckage that littered the floor, her hopping and jumping as she went. "Yes, the room behind is sectioned into a kitchen and scullery for convenience. I expect that meal you promised, one day." she chuckled. Petyr spoke the truth, Rosie deciding to allow him to name it's use during the restoration. She didn't let the unnamed room faze her, bypassing it and dismissing it with a shake of her head. He did squeeze her hand, and she gave a little smile, tapping the back of his hand with her fingers. He then proceeded to ask about the condition of the books, her mouth pushing to the side. "In tact? Yes. Legible? No. The books on the first floor fared far better than the books on the ground floor, but there should be the odd handful or two still readable. Take a look around Petyr, don't be shy." It wasn't a complete auto-da-fé of the books, but more of an unintentional libricide. It made her sad, the destruction of the books, but Petyr's reaction to the vast library was well worth it, her gently motioning for him to walk inside, beneath the balcony that marked the first floor; a staircase tucked neatly into the corner of the room. It was an open-plan room, able to see both the ground and first floor from any position -- a walkway above for access to the first floor. Rosie walked along a side, picking out a book. She grinned, holding it out for Petyr to see: the cover depicting a family tree of sorts while the writing was in a German script. Stammbaum der Familie Dagenhart: Eine Familie Genealogie. Burnt along the edges, but the tome itself relatively unmarked. Rosie flipped to a page and pointed out her own name, where the header was her date of birth. The assassin pointed to her parent's names, and then smiled at Petyr, accentuating certain syllables more than others. "Caroline and Alexander. Ca-ro-line, A-le-x-ander. Ro and Lee. Ros-a-lee."

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence; the library )xx( twenty six )

"Oh, then allow me to warn you by telling you that is unwise, Miss Dagenhart." his voice held a warning, yet teasing, air to it, Petyr looking to her and watching her expression in a moment of silence. "c'est moi qui est honoré." Her grasp and vocabulary in his language was ever expanding, and he could only be grateful towards her diligence in learning. As her hand rested on his shoulder, Petyr returned his eyes to hers. "And so it will," he agreed, resting a hand on the back of her head, brushing lightly through the curls of auburn.

Even so, my words are something that I can not help. It is my nature, as you should know. Petyr wished to tell her everything, but, he was horrid at trying to verbally paint the picture for her. It would only make sense for her to see it for herself, to look inside and wander about the place. Her words caused the turncoat to smile, nodding at her willingness towards the idea. "Thank you. It would be an honour, for my family and I, then, to allow you that opportunity." and in instinct, his head dipped. "Far better, I believe," he told her, casting a look in her direction at her compliment. But, yet, he still smiled. "You know, you do not have to thank me for anything ever," he reminded her gently.

"Then you will see it, I promise you that much and more." he smiled. If the ballroom had been large, then the library was massive. There were more books put into one place than he'd ever read in his lifetime. Curiosity- curiousity was what had time and time again pushed him forward. It was that same force (as well as her reassurance that he could look around) that brought him to reach out to the shelves, fingers brushing over the spines of the books. "Oh, Rosie, this is far more than I could have even hoped for... When you spoke of just how immense it was, I was not expecting... this." Petyr shook his head, fingers brushing through his hair. How could anyone collect this mass number of books in a single lifetime? The knight paused from his wandering when Rosalee held up a book to him, opening it to show him the page. At the top, a date was listed, and underneath that, her name. Rosalee Dagenhart. He smiled as she spoke her parent's names to him, listening to the odd pitch she put on certain pieces of the names. It took him a moment, but Petyr finally pieced it together with a gasp. "Rosalee. Caroline, Alexander, oh--"[/color] he cut himself off, grinning. He'd spoken the names with excitement, therefore rushing the pronunciation. The 'x' in her father's name came more as a 's', and in her mother's name, the 'o' that sat in the middle was offered hardly a breath. "You told me, I remember, that your name was a mix of your mother's and fathers. I had wondered, for the longest, how you could pull Rosalee from Caroline and Alexander, oh, but now I see." he chuckled, lowering his head as he looked at the page in the book.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

For a moment, Rosalee contemplated his words, the tones and inflections he had used, a finger tapping on her chin. "Unwise," she pinned him with a sharp-toothed grin, "or reckless?" she taped a snicker to the end of her drawl, her mouth curving into a proud grin. Petyr, the one she always relied on, broke the silence that had settled like a blanket over her senses; and he broke it in the most elegant way. She listened closely, head tilting as her mind worked away to pull apart the meaning from the French words. "It is... me, that is honoured? It is me... who is honoured?" she murmured, unable to differentiate between the two.

Still, I am allowed to enjoy listening to your words, no? Rosie smiled up at him, pushing her chin outwards. She could tell he wished to give her a sense of the home, yet lacked the certain words to do so in such a way. It was written all over those fallen leaf-coloured eyes of his. The assassin adored autumn, the pumpkin spice; the crunch of golden leaves underfoot. She was tugged gently from her thoughts by Petyr's grin, her own creeping outwards to mirror his. His childhood home! To see it and meet his family? She was drifting through the clouds. "No, no, it is me who is honoured! To be let into your family home, it is an occasion I would not turn down for the world. The turncoat's head dipped, and Rosie kindly lifted upwards again. "Ahh, but only you know how to put up with her," she whispered, a silent tease in her added to the words, her referring back to an earlier conversation they held. Rosie then arched a brow,"Then how will I ever let you know how much this all means to me?"

At his promise, she nodded fervently, practically beaming her happiness at him with her expression. She had no idea it was possible to be this happy for a change. Her eyes followed him as his world famous curiosity guided him towards the shelves, gently running his fingers over the poor spines of the books. It was indeed a vast library. It could house all of London's collective books between it's decorated shelves. It was his reaction, that awe-filled expression that brought about her next words. "This library... this is yours, Petyr, to do so as you see fit during the restoration. Solely your own to care for." And she meant it; his to choose the layout, décor and ultimate design for. He could fabricate it in the way in which he saw best -- he appreciated the books and loved them, it was only right this room should be his to choose. Rosie grinned warmly, reaching out to squeeze his hand. "Could even make it three floors, knock out the ceiling there." she chuckled, turning her attention back to him once the pieces of the puzzle clicked into place for him. The assassin's face lit up at Petyr's unique pronunciations, the way in which he almost dropped the 'o' of Caroline and transformed the 'x' into an 's' of Alexander. What she would give to read the entire heritage book; but unfortunately, only a handful of the pages were in English. "I have never had reason to tell another before," she shook her head, "funny, isn't it? That is why it is spelt with 'l-e-e' instead of 'l-i-e'." she breathed a sigh, looking up towards Petyr. Her head tilted as if in thought, her picking apart and piecing together a collection of French to speak to him. She didn't have enough words to correctly speak exactly what she wished to, but she made do. More than likely, parts of it had been translated wrong by the assassin, she only hoped he understood what she was trying to get at. "Pourquoi, je suis honoré, Petyr." often, she would pause and glance towards the ceiling as she worked through the translations in her mind, stumbling over the words. "Mon tenace peu... trans-fuge... Mon tenace peu transfuge," another pause, "t'avons honoré moi, le assassin impru-dente, imprudente. C'est avec aucun doute dans mon esprit... le roi-oi... le roi, et la reine de rien," and another, "règne... en-semble, règne ensemble dans leur... château, parce que je t'aime, Petyr Lécuyer." Pourquoi, je suis honoré, Petyr. Mon tenace peu transfuge, t'avons honoré moi, le assassin imprudente. C'est avec aucun doute dans mon esprit, le roi et la reine de rien règne ensemble dans leur château parce que je t'aime, Petyr Lécuyer.

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence; the library )xx( twenty six )

Petyr watched as she mulled over his words, laughing softly when she finally spoke. ”Both,” he grinned. ”More so reckless, however,” he tapped his temple, giving a soft hum, ”you seem to know what you’re doing, and the outcomes of both options, though you don’t seem to care about consequences. Truly reckless, indeed, but I must say that I absolutely love it.” And it was that reckless attitude of hers that he fell in love with, and continued to adore. It made each step all the more interesting and worthwhile. As she questioned the translation, Petyr nodded to the second one. ”It is me who is honoured. Qui, it means who. Que is that.” he smiled. ”It will take time for you to discern them, but I’m sure you will take it on quicker than others have.”

Of course. I never denied you that, nor will I ever look to. Though he struggled to pull together the right words, simply offering her that promise seemed to do just enough, if her reaction was anything to go by. The way her eyes lit up, her grin that he cherished, he loved watching as it all came to life. The blues of her eyes seemed to brighten; though it never overpowered the gold that also rested there. Instead, it only brought it out more, contrasting beautifully against the black of her pupils and he could think of nothing better. ”I could say the same thing,” he murmured, smiling when he met her eyes. ”It’s quite simple to do, really,” he told her, ”you just have to get used to being wrong.” and with those words, he grinned slowly, to let her know that he meant it in a good natured-way. At her next question, however, his eyes quickly shot down. ”No matter how much you appreciate it, I will always do it, so why bother..?”

This is yours, Petyr. With those words of hers, his heart could have stopped and he could have died happy right then. His hand covered his mouth as he cast a look over to Rosie, eyes wide in a look almost akin to disbelief. ”Ah bon? Enfin… Merci, C’est… merveilleux, Rosie. Merci, je t’aime pour cette. Je t'aime quand même, mais cette...” He took another glance around the library, staring at the shelves for a long moment and then smiling widely, eyes closing. ”Je ne mérite pas ton honneur. Pourtant… tu faire cela pour moi. Tu m'aimes toujours...” His arms crossed over himself, the knight sighing as his gaze was brought back to her. Saw the smile on her face, and knew that she was not just saying this. It was his. Petyr had caught the title of the book, noting that it wasn't English, nor was it French. It was neither a Latin language nor a Romantic. Eine. What language was that..? None he’d ever seen before, and that troubled him more than he would have liked. ”I am glad that you have told me, then,” he smiled, then nodded as she continued. ”I have never come across the name Rosalee, nor Rosalie. Roselle, Rosette, Rosaire, but not Rosalee. It is very unique, and I love it.” he then paused, smiling. ”My own name, has an odd spelling to it, as you have seen,” he chuckled. ”Rather than ‘e-r’, it is ‘y-r’. My father’s mother, her name was Yvette. My father told me she died a month before I was born, so to honour her, the spelling was altered. ‘P-e-t-y-r’,” he repeated back, putting emphasis on the ‘y’. No-one ever questioned the alternate spelling put on his name, though it was often misspelt. When Rosalee spoke up, Petyr immediately nodded, though it was delayed as she had switched away from her native English, instead speaking his French. He listened, patient as she seemed to be thinking over her next words. Her pronunciations were near perfect, and the hesitations she took were completely understandable. ”Et ils le feront,” he agreed, taking her hand into his, his heart racing over her words and the simple idea of her being able to speak to him, to that voice in the back of his mind, to the small child who still sat in the corner, alone and afraid in a new world. And suddenly, that child was not alone. Rosalee Dagenhart, you are the fire that forced away the darkness and fear that has found its home here. You are the very definition of life, beautiful and pure, yet a capable force of destruction. Do you not realise what you do to me? You keep me here, you keep me alive and you keep me safe. You have loved me when the entire world turned its back to me.

[rogue,]

♔ ––xＲＯＳＡＬＥＥ ＤＡＧＥＮＨＡＲＴ

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxr[ reckless assassin ]xx[ twenty four ]
xxxxxxxl[ the heir of ash & fire ]xx[ location || dagenhart residence ]

Petyr laughed, and Rosie raised her eyebrows in response to this. She listen to his words before offering a response, her steely expression quickly changing into one of triumph. "I seem to know, or I do know?" she chuckled after watching him tap at his temple. "Oh, but I must be truly impulsive in order to be your reckless assassin, no? See, it paid off! Now I have my own tenacious little turncoat, who doubles as my most trusted." His determination, his tenacity had been what drew the assassin to him. Not once had he shied away when things had taken a turn for the worse. With the addition of new French words tucked under her belt, she grinned up at him. "Que est... no no, vowel rule. Qu'est?" is that even a word? "Qu'est pourquoi je t'aime?"

As you should. Her eyes responded, a teasing light glittering in them, her watching him with her own brand of curiosity. (Which wasn't much to go by, mind you.) Petyr seemed to watched her eyes the same way, with the same intensity she did. After noticing this, Rosalee lightly tapped his nose, palm dropping to rest against his shoulder, fingers dancing across the golds etched into his jacket. Her mouth opened to respond, only to quickly shut without a breath escaping. Is that how he felt? As though he were always wrong? "You aren't wrong, Petyr." though the turncoat did smile to ease the words, it left Rosie with a hollow guilt smothering her leaden heart. She hesitated, almost going to retract her hand, and yet his next set of words, those little insecurities, she lifted her hand to rest on the side of his face. "Just because you may not love yourself in the same way in which I do, does not mean I cannot express my appreciation, does it?" her thumb glided across his cheek, "No matter what you may say, I will always give you my kindness and appreciation regardless, just so you may know that you are worthwhile."

Rosie stepped back, to give him space to think, to take in her words. His hand then covered his mouth and a look of disbelief set into his features; his face charming enough to light up the war-torn room. She couldn't help but to nod ardently at him, the air of excitement contagious as it hummed against her skin. Rosalee's smile was something else, eyes looking to his. "Pour tu, Petyr. Pour tu." She couldn't quite grasp the full extent of the words he had spoken in French, yet she understood just how much it had meant to him. This library; his. When his eyes shut and arms folded, Rosie silently sidled up beside him again, murmuring gently, "May I request a translation?" Glancing up at him, she squeezed his wrist with her free hand, book tucked under her arm. She grinned when he met her eyes again, the assassin hugging the book detailing her family tree close to her chest with both arms. "Me neither, if I am honest," she listened to the list of names that rolled from his tongue, her laughing lighting. "Rosaire, I like that one. But merci, for liking my own namesake." When Petyr went to speak of his own name and it's unique spelling, Rosie's eyes lit up like a forest fire. She had wondered about that, since their first encounter, since she'd seen it written upon the documents in the Guard. "Oh! That is wonderful, Petyr! Yvette... I had just assumed the spelling was a French thing," she looked sheepish, shaking her head as he repeated it back to her. "I must say, I do prefer your spelling, y-r as opposed to e-r. Adds a little something to your name. I like it." she whispered, turning to place the book back on the shelve where it resided, her fingers passing along the rest as she returned to his side. Petyr was attentive as Rosalee spoke, something she was ever so grateful for, and his patience -- that too. "Jusqu'à la fin, non?" He held her hand, and Rosalee smiled up at him, reading into those words that swam through the galaxies in his eyes clear as day. Her heart missed a beat at the silent words, her more thankful than ever for their silent method of communication. Rosie couldn't help it; with her heart beating fast she gently captured his lips in a kiss.

[important]

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

( undercover turncoat )xx( dagenhart residence; the library )xx( twenty six )

"It's getting harder to discern between the two, really." Lécuyer smiled at her expression. "I'm sure you do, though. I'm almost afraid to put anything past you, lest you prove me wrong," he joked. He then tilted his head at her comment, though nodding his agreement with a tuneless hum. "Impulsive and reckless; Yet I would never offer even an air of hesitation if you asked for my life," he reminded her gently. Petyr kept his smile at those words of hers, more than grateful. Her most trusted. Trust had always been he goal, but now, it was for a different reason. Her confidence was always a sure thing, unshakable and difficult to tear down. And even still, the knight feared doing just that. So instead, he offered her a nod and a gentle correction: "You definitely have the right idea, mon chéri. Qu'est-- Ah, que can also mean 'what'. So when you contract them, you can translate it as 'what is' or 'that is', depending on context. But to help others understand your intentions, C'est pourquoi je t'aime. Ce means both 'this' and 'that', and you can follow the vowel rule with est to get c'est. That is, this is." Petyr smiled, gently squeezing her wrist.

And he would hold true to that promise of his. Grinning at the new emotion that tore through the blue of her eyes, the turncoat seemed even more aware, and if it was possible, more curious. Rosalee then tapped his nose, causing him to chuckle and for his intent gaze to relax, it falling from her eyes to briefly rest to her lips, then the floor beneath them. Petyr was quick to notice the guilt that took to her, him taking her hand into his and shaking his head. "No, just not as quick on terms of ideas as you are," he told her, trying to offer her whatever reassurance he could. Her hand then lifted off his shoulder to rest on the side of his face. "I cannot tell you that you can't do this, Rosie. I'm simply... Asking why, and reminding you that you do not have to. I am not telling you to stop," he whispered, closing his eyes as she brushed her thumb over his cheek. I could not tell you to do or not to do anything, ever. "Then I'll have to thank you, in light of that." Gods know I don't deserve even that. Thank you.

Books, walls and walls of shelves lined with nothing but books and dust, and Rosalee had just given them to him. To have, for it to be his to care after, alter, and add to as he did so wished. Was she even aware as to the enormity of the wonderful responsibility she had just bestowed upon him? Petyr was stunned, breathless, and absolutely privileged. When Rosie moved next to him, his eyes opened as he exhaled slowly in response to her request. And, always the one to comply, he did just that. "I do not deserve this... Your honour," he faltered, glancing away from her. "Yet you still offer it to me." But that last sentence, he kept, held onto and didn't give her the translation that she could understand. That was his confirmation that spoke out against his insecurities and doubts. His woes, his wounds, his secret. (Mystery had to be kept somehow, didn't it?)

"Rosaire," he nodded, blinking. "It's French, I think." Petyr shrugged, laughing softly. "Your name is very beautiful. Bien sûr." Of course. "A French thing," he chuckled. "Not a French thing. My family name, however, is. Lécuyer," he told her with a shrug. "What is the origin of yours? Dagenhart?" curiosity. Petyr watched her as she replaced the book to its respectful spot on the shelf. He would remain attentive anytime his queen spoke-- as her words were something to behold and treasure, and the knight would always do just that. "Jusqu'à la fin," he agreed. Until the end. Their promise to each other for a better world, a better life, a future of hope. Something they could build together. It took Petyr by complete surprise when her lips met his, but as always, it was a welcome one. A hand lifted to rest across her scar-torn back, leaning to her to return the kiss as his brown eyes fell shut. Pure euphoria soared in his mind-- a white emotion that he only found when he was with her. His heartbeat was erratic and frantic, but it beat for her, and for these moments that he shared with her. And he held onto her until he physically could no longer, and even then it was with obvious hesitations.