Hello everyone! It's been such a long time! Almost six months! I'm so sorry for such a delay – there was just so much going on. I hope you are all keeping well 3 Thank you immensely for your continued support and constant encouragement, I can't tell you how motivating it is for the writer. This chapter is a slice-of-life centering on Oscar and Andre, so it is more of a bridging chapter and a stepping stone from the previous chapters. I love writing and exploring their daily lives together and imagining what it must have been like to live in the same house together. Slice-of-life chapters also enable me to play around with the writing itself and explore different wordings, which is a fun activity and is less stressful to write than action scenes, albeit slower.
I humbly ask for your continued support and apologies again to keep you waiting! My next update should come in a week or so and I hope to keep up a weekly or biweekly pace until the story finishes (: I look forward to hearing your thoughts!
In the next week or so that followed, Oscar took up the night shift in an effort to capture the man who now evidently and brazenly called himself, "the Black Knight", terrorizing the nobility and sending a bold warning through their ranks.
Unfortunately for her, though, the man in question stood her up on every occasion. A dance date with the Commandant of the Royal Guard, it would seem, held no interest for him. Instead, he had concentrated his efforts on raiding carriages and armories.
Nonetheless, her patrols afforded a mental distraction from the entangled mess that had become her life; and presented the perfect excuse to avoid all the persons in whose webs she found herself caught – namely, Girodelle, Fersen and Andre. Two birds in one stone, she humored to herself one night as she delicately sipped on a wine glass. Or, rather, three.
Yet sooner or later, she would need to face the reality, for she could not keep the night shift forever and Marie-Antoinette demanded that she take a vacation as soon as possible, "for you look absolutely done in and your complexion could use some sun." A kind gesture on the part of the Queen - spoken in even kinder words, for it was true that Oscar had certainly lost some lustre, as Grandmere less eloquently reminded her.
Insensitive comments aside, though, Grandmere proved to be useful in keeping Oscar discretely abreast on Andre's state daily, per the former's orders. Andre had suffered a serious condition, but Doctor Lassone was confident that he will make a complete recovery.
Of course, it was out of the question that she would go see him.
While Andre might not have been aware of what had transpired when she was in his room the night he fell ill, he would certainly remember the argument they had had before. As far as he knew, that had been the last interaction between them.
But there was that rare time, or two, when she could not prevent her legs from transporting her as far as his bedroom door. Very quietly and discretely in the wee hours of the morning when no one was around. She would stand there for a few minutes and fidget. Or pace silently. Unsure, hesitant. Once or twice, her knuckles touched the door, but they never knocked. Her fingers would then gently graze the wood before she turned on her heels and left.
…
The Jarjayes heir(ess) was not the only one who was resourceful in this household; Andre, throughout his recovery, had also kept himself informed of the happenings at Versailles and beyond, as well as the comings-and-goings of Oscar. It pained him more than the illness itself to not be able to be with her, to assist her, to protect her.
He had confessed his love to her. Finally, after all these long agonizing years. And it was not one bit how he imagined it would happen.
Yet far from being disappointed, he had emerged from the depths of fever and disease with a renewed perspective and resolve. The last argument between them had taught him something profound: he had been blinded by his own fantasy to the point that he no longer truly saw the woman towards whom his heart burned. He had been selfish and egotistic. And now that he had been given a new lease on life, he needed to make the best of it.
He felt liberated from this suffocating obsessive feeling that he had long harboured. Instead, his heart was at peace. He loved Oscar. He loved her with all his being, and he will continue to love her until he died. But this time, it would be different. He will no longer attempted to possess her, for she was not his to take. He will no longer lament his non-noble status that denied him a chance at her hand.
And then there was that dream that he had had. A beautiful Oscar dressed in her finest had come to him in the dream. She appeared as pure as an angel and as beautiful as a siren. She had bent down and ever so gently, pressed her lips onto his, her warmth and loving embrace penetrating his whole being. How beautiful it was! How divine! He was convinced that this was the angel whose touch saved him from the clutches of death.
From now on, Andre Grandier will love freely and unconditionally. I am glad I am alive. I'm glad I was born, his heart sang to him. For what greater joy there was in the world that to be in her presence? The past, he was ready to put behind, even if it meant he will never be able to touch her again. But loving her, he would never stop, and that made him content. Even if she did not love him in return. **
…
One evening, Andre sat up in bed reading the latest Rousseau pamphlets smuggled to him by one of the maids. The maid, Margeurite, had also informed him earlier that day that there have been robberies on certain noble's households and some armories in Paris were being raided.
He put the parchment down at one point, brows furrowed. It had been more than a week since he had taken ill. It was kind of Monsieur to let him rest for as long as he needed, but he was anxious to return to his duties. He was also anxious about her. This Black Knight business was turning out to be a lot more serious and sinister than he had originally anticipated. And Oscar was out once again on patrol tonight.
Shouldn't he go with her?
He exhaled. Even if he did, would she want him there in the first place? Even though he had found his inner peace and freedom in loving her so, the fact was that they were not actually on good terms.
"Argh!" he groaned to himself, frustrated with this situation. She hadn't even come to see him once. At least, she hadn't made herself visible to him, for he knew that she was coming to his room often. He could tell it was her lingering outside his door from the way she walked, from the rhythm and particular step her boots made onto the wood. Perhaps she, too, had some regrets. Perhaps all was not lost between them. Perhaps…
BANG.
A loud noise startled Andre out of his reverie.
BANG.
He bolted upright, now in full alert, listening.
Nothing.
All he could hear now was the pounding of his heart.
But he knew that something was not right. It was already well past midnight. There was no one awake and… BANG.
The noise was coming from the kitchen, he was certain.
But since the house was asleep and Grandmere had been bolting the doors, then that could only mean one thing and one thing only. His breath quickened, fists tightened and teeth clenched.
They were being robbed.
And Andre knew exactly who would be robbing them.
The Jarjayes household was finally being targeted by none other than the Black Knight himself.
Turning to his left, he opened the drawer of his night table and rummaged for the first weapon that came to mind: Oscar's dagger, which he had claimed from her the night of the servants' ball.
He put on his vest and made his way quietly out of the room and towards the kitchen.
It was certainly dangerous, but he was not afraid.
He would confront the Black Knight then and there and put an end to this once and for all. And in doing so, he would have redeemed himself in the eyes of the woman he loved.
…
The idea had occurred to her several days before.
One early morning, just before dawn, Oscar had come home once again empty-handed, frustrated and annoyed. She kicked off her boots and sat at the edge of her bed, glowering at herself in the mirror. She had rubbed at her chest to assuage that feeling that had become habitual now. The feeling that came about when she looked to her side to find someone and he was not there to be found. You miss him…that little voice would tell her.
Yes, I do, she had admitted to herself. How could I not, when we have been together for so long and seen so much? She missed his camaraderie, his friendship and certainly his humor and ability to make light of any situation, which was so needed at a time like this.
It was then that she had spotted a black piece of fabric dangling from one of her dresser drawers. It seemed to be calling out to her.
Of course! She knew exactly what that garment was, for she had taken it herself from Andre's room the night he had been ill. She had been worried that someone would find the costume somehow and trace it back to Andre. So, she had taken it, and once in her room, had allowed herself a moment of weakness in which she had embraced the garment and buried her nose in it, inhaling his scent. And that was exactly what she found herself doing that very night when the brilliant idea struck her: if the Black Knight was not coming to her, then she must draw him out.
And so, she had tied her hair up, donned the costume, which was slightly big on her, and set out for the next few nights to rob some nobles.
…
Oscar's evening had been largely victorious, as evidenced by the amount of loot she had amassed from the Countess de Montmorency's soiree. She shook her head in disapproval at how easy it had been to sneak into the house and rob the place. She hadn't had much resistance either the night before at the de Brouille mansion. Was there really any wonder, then, at the Black Knight's notorious success?
Not to mention that this had been the most fun I have had in a while… she chuckled devilishly to herself, as she made her way into the Jarjayes kitchen and deposited the bag of stolen goods onto the table. She took off her mask threw it into the bag.
"Now what?" she sighed, the boredom catching up to her. If Andre were here, we would stay up drinking and laughing it off.
She rubbed at her chest. Andre had always known what to do. He knew just the things to say and the things to do. But then he would, wouldn't he? Because he… loved her.
Meanwhile, he had been ill for days now and all she had done was… nothing.
Really, nothing.
Come to think of it, when was the last time she had done anything for Andre? Her cheeks felt suddenly hot and flush, as embarrassment surged through. What kind of a friend had she been all along? How could she possibly even entertain the idea of loving him when she had been extremely selfish her whole life?
And very much blind.
"This changes now," she said to herself, resolved. Even if she could not, would not, confront her feelings just yet, she could at least do something for Andre, couldn't she?
It did not have to be big. Something small, yet symbolic.
Something to say, "I'm sorry, can we maybe move on?", or "I really care about you, can we talk again?"
… And that was how Oscar Francois de Jarjayes, born and bred for the sword and military, found herself in front of a stove in her own kitchen, dressed up as a notorious robber and engaged in a losing battle: making hot chocolate was no easy feat, it turned out. And it was about to get even deadlier.
…
Andre Grandier stood silent, holding his breath, his back against the kitchen door. As he approached the crime scene, his suspicions became confirmed. Judging by the various noises, the clinks and clanks, someone was definitely there, moving erratically and quickly. The earlier bangs, he decuded, were from the successful breaking of the outdoor locks, and now the thief was inside, shamelessly rummaging for things to steal, going through cupboards - looking for the silver, no doubt.
He inched slightly backwards and leaned his neck just enough to be able to peek through the gap in the door, which had been left ajar.
The first thing that caught his eye was a glimmer, which he traced to a large sachet resting on the kitchen table.
Jewelry!
Leaning in a bit further, he finally saw him: the Black Knight, in the flesh.
Should he corner him right here in the kitchen and contain the situation?
Or should he trap him upstairs where he had the advantage of knowing the house better and more space to maneuver? But that could risk someone getting hurt.
Andre hurriedly plastered himself to the wall, clutching the dagger to his chest. His heart was racing.
It was now or never.
…
Oscar brought her finger up hesitantly to her mouth, licking the gooey substance that she had dipped it in.
"Bleurgh!" she grimaced. She glanced at the several pots strewn across the stove, each one a failure in its own right and sighed. Hadn't she gathered all the correct ingredients and then spent a lifetime trying to light this stove?! What was so goddamn difficult about this?!
Was this a sign that her peace gesture for Andre was being rejected by the Gods?
She glanced up at the chimney… were there even kitchen deities? She pondered with a spirit of amusement.
It was precisely then that she felt herself being forcefully pulled backwards as a strong arm imprisoned her from the waist and a cool metallic edge touched the skin on her throat. And for a moment she was convinced that she had, indeed, incurred the wrath of the kitchen deities.
…
"Don't even think about making a move," a thick raspy voice floated into her ear as she struggled to free herself of her assailant. Yet upon hearing him, her panic immediately subsided and she relaxed.
"Oh? And what will you do with me, Andre?" she answered him with mockery.
Eyes wide and utterly bewildered, Andre Grandier withdrew in an instant.
"O- Oscar?!" he exclaimed.
She turned around to face him, a large smirk on her face.
He backed up a couple of steps, almost losing his footing as he took in the sight of her. No, he was not hallucinating. Oscar was dressed in a black cape, black breeches and a black chemise.
"Wha-" he stuttered.
She exhaled and undid her hair, satisfied by his stunned reaction. "Well, at least I'm glad that there is someone here protecting the hens, unlike in the other manors around here."
"Whaa… what other manors?" he glanced at the bag of jewellery, then pointed at her person up and down with the dagger. "What on earth is going on? You scared the bloody hell out of me! Have you been… have you been robbing people?" he hissed, in disbelief.
She only chuckled and turned back to her task on the stove.
"Why are you even dressed like this?! Is that my costu-…" he cut himself off, not wanting to refer to that incident ever again. Speaking of which, he also remembered to put away the dagger lest she noticed it and found out that he knew her identity from the other night. "Actually, forget about the get-up, what in God's name are you doing here, in the kitchen, by yourself?!"
"Nothing," she intoned casually, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for her to be there.
But the odor from the stove that assaulted Andre's nostrils told him otherwise.
"Oscar!" he urged.
Sensing him getting closer to her, she blocked his way abruptly, drawing her cape behind her so as to cover her experiments.
"No!" she warned. "Don't come any closer."
But he did not listen and peeked his head over her cape, to which she responded by standing on her tip toes to increase her height. "Go away!" she shooed him. "I don't want to catch your illness."
"Oscar!" his tone came harsh as he pushed her aside. "It smells like something is burning."
"Ahhh!" she yelled as the edge of her cape caught on fire. Andre quickly and deftly procured a glass of water threw it onto her. As she stepped away from the stove to remove the cape and breathe a few sighs of relief, Andre was acquainting himself with the disaster she had left behind.
"What on earth were you trying to do?" he addressed her, brows knitted as he struggled to comprehend the situation. Two weeks of absence and all hell breaks loose.
"Fine!" she gave in. "If you must know, I was… making something… for you…" she uttered sheepishly.
He stared at her in utter confusion and then back at the five pots on the stove.
"To… poison me?" he cried out. She rolled her eyes and playfully slapped his arm.
"Idiot!"
"Tete-de-mule," he returned. "Grandmere will have my head if she sees all of this!"
"Tell her it's my fault."
He scoffed. "Ah, because that is a likely thing to believe! 'Oscar Francois cooking in the kitchen!'" He broke into a fit of laughter that brought tears to his eyes. "Now, I have seen it all."
She alternated her weight from one leg to another as she looked away from him, embarrassed.
"What was this supposed to be anyway?" he continued in the same lively tone. He dipped his finger in it and tasted it. "Bleurgh! Was this meant to be hot chocolate?!"
"Argh! Never you mind," she threw at him, clearly upset by his incessant mockery. "I was just trying to do something nice for you," she muttered as she came up beside him to help clean up the mess, feeling disheartened by this whole affair.
He gave her elbow a slight nudge. "Why don't I show you how to make it, hm?"
"Andre," she said in a grave tone after a silence that followed some more pleasantries and friendly mockeries passed. She was stirring the pot of dark thick liquid while her teacher dutifully watched over her.
"Oui, Oscar?"
"Have you… have you been unhappy… here?"
She caught him by surprise. "Happiness" was not a concept that one had the luxury to ponder. Least of all someone like him. In any case, he knew she was asking because she felt terribly guilty about what had happened between them. He appreciated it, nonetheless.
"Don't you know by now that I am happiest when I'm with you?" He had nothing left to lose, now that he had confessed to her.
She blushed, did not say anything and pretended to concentrate more on the task at hand. But I have made you miserable, and yet you continue to bear it…
From the corner of her eye, she could tell that he was smiling.
"Here," he said, breaking her thoughts and taking over the spatula from her. His fingers brushed hers for an instant, bringing with it one of those delicious reverberations that transversed her body. She pulled away immediately, reminding herself of the promise she had made to herself to stop engaging in clandestine affairs.
Andre did not seem to notice her reaction. The next thing she knew, he was shoving a mug into her face and saying, with an unapologetic grin, "Here, it's ready. And it's poison-free, I promise."
…
"So, are you going to tell me what this is all about?" Andre gestured to the cape and the loot with his mug as they sat drinking their hot chocolate at the kitchen table.
She blew on her mug and took an appreciative sip before launching into her narrative and the genius idea that had occurred to her. And what a relief it was to finally be able to tell someone, to have a sounding board! It was beginning to feel like old times and that made her feel a warmth in her chest for the first time in a very long time.
"Perhaps I can help you?" Andre continued on to suggest that he become the Black Knight while she resumed her usual post as Commander.
"No," she shook her head vehemently. His heart sank, fearing that his suggestion came too soon. After all, Andre in a black mask and a cape was an underhanded libertine in her eyes. "Absolutely not, not in your condition," she pursued.
He breathed an internal sigh of relief to have his fear so dispelled. "But I'm fine. Look, I am much improved and ready to resume all my duties."
"That is not what I heard," she went on.
Ah, so you have been asking after me, Oscar? He smiled inwardly as he sipped his chocolate.
"You are still in your confinement period as far as I know."
Eyebrows raised, he returned, "Confinement period?! I'm not a pregnant woman, you know!"
She shrugged. "Well, that is what Grandmere said. If you have an issue, I suggest you take it up with her."
"Oh, I will," he nodded emphatically. "I will," took a generous sip from his drink and gulped it down, "I will… not. No, Sir, I will not take anything up with Grandmere. Confinement it is."
To which Oscar exploded in laughter, barely preventing herself from chortling her drink, which prompted more laughter.
It felt good, so exceptionally good, to be light, to be merry. To be with him. It was then that she realized that she could not imagine her life without him.
They fell into a comfortable silence afterwards that slowly turned awkward as furtive glances passed between them. Each one of them trying so hard not to give in to any affection that threatened to overtake them and sweep them up in the semi-darkness and solitude they found themselves in. But mostly, neither one of them wanted to hurt the other again. Especially when one was not sure where the other stood. There were things better left unsaid for now.
"Fine," she announced, placing her empty mug onto the table. "You can accompany me and I'll cede the role of the Black Knight to you. But only if you're feeling up to it."
"Excellent!" Andre grinned.
She could not help but feel profound relief. He agreed! Maybe he was not so angry with her after all. Maybe this was a fresh start, and she intended to make the best of it this time.
But before that, there was something she needed to clarify.
"Andre…about before… about Fersen…"
To which Andre shook his head and said, "Oscar, you don't owe me anything."
"I know, I just wanted to apol-"
He cut her off with a wave of his hand. "Let's not, Oscar… Let's never talk about any of that ever again. I think it is for the best. In fact, I think it best we forget about everything." I don't want to lose you. I can't lose you… Please understand.
This was enough to send a chill straight into her heart. She gritted her teeth. "You're right," she said, her voice hoarse, tears threatening. "I agree. Bonne nuit, Andre. And, erm, thank you. For the hot chocolate."
"Bonne nuit, Oscar."
…
** The development of Andre's feelings in the manga actually takes quite a long time. That isn't to say that he takes a lot of time to realize he loves her, but the nature of his love for her changes drastically and evolves from an unhealthy obsession to real unconditional love. This was the best thing about Andre and the redeeming point of his character: he starts off with a very possessive toxic version of love that takes him down really dark paths (poisoned wine, anyone? I made a reference to poison in this chapter as a wink to that part of the manga, which was unfortunately not part of the anime) but eventually he sees the light (although ironically, he is going blind) and is content with just loving her regardless of the outcome. In a sense, Andre's journey is very much in parallel with Oscar's. Each of them travels from a repressed state-of-mind towards freedom and enlightenment, much like France. Rose of Versailles really is an intricate work of art that never ceases to amaze me the more I delve into these characters. In this chapter, I accelerated Andre's journey for simplicity and for keeping it light and fun.