Rose of Versailles 1. The Road Not Taken

**Xirysa Says:** My turn for an AU "What if?" 'fic! This was originally going to be letter R of AifA, but… Decided that I wanted to do something else instead. A "what if the roles of Oscar and André were reversed? How would that work out?" Just as a fore wording… Since I have trouble writing long chapters, most of these are probably going to end up being pretty darn short. I hope that doesn't make anyone pissed off or anything…

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Contra  
Chapter One: The Road Not Taken

-x-x-x-

"Two roads diverged in a wood, and I— I took the one less traveled by, and that has made all the difference."

—Robert Frost, _The Road Not Taken_

-x-x-x-

The conversation wasn't something she was unused to. Oscar had, after all, heard it many times before. And, like every time before, she would sit outside the room while the adults talked about her—and her future—behind cupped hands and in whispered voices.

Sighing, Oscar leaned against the wall behind her and attempted to listen to the discussion.

"Mother… was a _whore_…"

"The father…?"

"No one knows, but…"

"Her mother gave her… boy's name … Protect her?"

"Didn't want… same fate… for her daughter…"

It wasn't that their comments didn't hurt, because they did, but… Oscar couldn't understand why they were talking with such _contempt_ in their voices. Really… It wasn't Mother's fault that she did what she had to do to survive, was it? So what if she didn't know who her father was? It wasn't like it meant anything, right?

Apparently it did.

After her mother's death, Oscar had been shuttled around (in the guise of a boy) from one distant relation to another. She couldn't really complain about how she had been treated. It seemed like nobody wanted her, and that was fine. Oscar didn't really deal well with people she didn't know well. As long as she got her space, she was alright. But still… She missed life with her mother.

Mother… Oscar could feel the tears pricking at her eyes and blinked them away furiously. Her mother had been a strong and proud and beautiful woman, but strength and pride did not buy one enough bread to live one.

Oscar was startled out of her thoughts when a man, whom she dully recognized as her latest caretaker, opened the door and told her that she could come in now, and would she please hurry up since he didn't have all day?

Biting back a smart remark that would probably get her into trouble later, Oscar got up and dusted off the seat of her pants before walking into the room.

The scene that greeted her was also familiar—her current foster family, the new family she'd be sent to, and… Wait a moment.

Who was the old lady with the glasses? She looked rich and seemed nice, but then again… You could never tell. Especially with nobility.

Suddenly rather shy, Oscar stood up straight and tall, like the soldiers she sometimes saw in Paris whenever the king decided to travel. It helped her feel more like a boy, and her mother said that that was important and would keep her safe. She stared straight ahead at the old woman in front of her and was slightly taken aback when the woman smiled and kneeled down until she was at eye level with Oscar.

"H-hello," Oscar said before she mentally slapped herself for stuttering like a scared little girl.

If possible, the old woman's smile got even wider. "Hello Oscar." She gave Oscar a quick look from head to toe before continuing. "My name is Marron-glacé Montblanc. I don't know if you remember me, you were very small when I last saw you."

Oscar shook her head, hoping that her swinging hair would cover the blush that was beginning to form on her cheeks. Why was this lady she had mat barely a minute ago acting so familiar with her? "I'm sorry, but I don't…"

The woman laughed. "I knew your mother from a long, long time ago, when I used to live in Paris. She was my neighbor, actually. But then your mother moved away, and I—well, I'll tell you on the way home."

At the mention of the word _home_, Oscar looked up at the faces around her. Everyone else was smiling, but it was evident that the old woman was the only one that was genuinely happy.

"Home?" Oscar was confused. When her mother was still alive, home was where they would sit and laugh and talk and smile together. Now that she was gone, she didn't think that she'd ever have that again. But here was a strange lady who was basically offering to take her in, who was offering her a place to call home again. It sounded too good to be true.

"Only if you want to, Oscar." The woman—Madame Montblanc—stood up, and Oscar winced when she heard the older woman's knee crack loudly. Ignoring the pain that was no doubt coursing through her leg, Madame Montblanc gave Oscar a look that said the decision rested solely upon her young shoulders.

Oscar sighed. In spite of—or perhaps because of—everything that had happened to her, she was a very precocious child. She knew that she could potentially be left on the streets if she continued to drift from family to family, and everything that her mother had done to protect her would be in vain.

Yet, she had also been warned about the superficial and conniving ways of the nobility. Her own mother had sometimes broken down crying, cursing the nobles for feasting at Versailles every night while the commoners ate week-old bread and rancid meat.

But common sense forced Oscar to look at Madame Montblanc and say "I'll come with you."

-x-x-x-

The child looked so much like her mother, Marron could physically feel the pain in her chest when she saw how Oscar stood or smiled or tilted her head to the side _just so_ when she didn't understand something.

She felt more than ten years younger when she saw how the girl—because she was, to her trained eye, obviously a girl—bit her lower lip when deciding whether to go with this strange lady to a place she had never dreamed of.

Perhaps it was nostalgia.

Marron, of course, understood what possessed Claire to give her child such a masculine name. Young and beautiful girls such as Oscar were sought after, and no mother would ever wish such a life for her child.

As she watched Oscar place her meager possessions inside the carriage, accepting no help from the footman, Marron could only hope that no one else destroyed all that Claire had done to give her daughter a chance to live as a free person. And hopefully, in time, a free woman.

Oh, Claire…

-x-x-x-

And so, an hour or so later, Oscar found herself bundled up into a carriage next to Madame Montblanc. They were on the path that led to Paris from her last family's home, she realized as she looked out the window.

"Nanny?" Oscar looked up at the old woman, who had insisted that Oscar call her as such before leaving the small house on the outskirts of Paris.

The old woman smiled. "Yes, chérie?"

Oscar blinked—she wasn't used to such terms of endearment—and continued. "You said you had a grandson. What's he like?"

"André?" Nanny snorted. "Why would you want to know anything about that silly boy?"

"Just because." Oscar scratched the tip of her nose with her forefinger. "Is he nice?"

"Hmph." Nanny ran a hand through Oscar's short hair and smiled. "He's nice. Very nice. Sometimes, I think he's too nice for his own good."

A nice boy? She hadn't known very many. One family she had stayed with had four sons who had enjoyed putting frogs in her hair and sticking worms down her pants. Oscar had never met a "nice" boy before. She decided to continue interrogating Nanny about her new life.

"Are André's parents nice?"

"André's parents?"

"The general and his wife."

Nanny looked slightly uncomfortable, and Oscar wondered if she had asked something wrong. Before she could apologize, however, Nanny began to speak.

"The general and his wife aren't André's real parents, Oscar. His real parents, my daughter and her husband, died a few years ago. I asked if I could bring him to the mansion, and the master said that I could."

Oscar was very confused now. "But if André's real parents are dead, then how come—"

"How come General de Jarjayes is raising André as his own son?" Nanny smiled. "Oscar, have you heard of patronage before?" When Oscar said that she hadn't, the old woman continued. "When I brought André to the mansion, the master thought that he would never have a son. Then he saw my little André and had a brilliant idea: why not raise André as his own son, in order to continue the de Jarjayes line of military excellence?"

"So…" Oscar began slowly, "his name is André de Jarjayes?"

Nanny shook her head. "No, it's actually André Grandier. Unless André proves himself to the master in some way, the master won't let André be a true de Jarjayes. For now, the master and his wife are telling everyone that André is the son of a distant relative."

If she had been confused before, Oscar didn't understand anything now. The ways of nobles were complicated. She started when Nanny spoke again.

"That, my dear, is where you come in. Because he's the adopted son of such an important man, André doesn't have many friends—in fact, the only other child who talks to him is a boy named Victor Clement de Girodelle. But Girodelle, I think, is much too old to be around André."

"Why? How old is André?"

Absentmindedly braiding a bit of Oscar's hair, it took Nanny a little while for her to realize that she was being addressed. "Oh! I'm sorry, Oscar! André's a little over a year older than you, I believe. He's eight years old, so… You're seven, correct?"

Oscar nodded. "So we _are_ a year apart. How old is this Girodelle boy?"

"He's thirteen years old, and I think that André's too young to have a friend that old. And so, Oscar, I have a favor to ask you."

Oscar looked out the window a final time. They had veered off the path that led to Paris, and were now following the one that led to her new home at the mansion of General de Jarjayes and his wife and this strange boy named André. "Yes, Nanny?"

The old woman took the small girls hands in her own. "Will you promise me to be a good friend to André? He's been terribly lonely ever since his parents died, and he needs a good friend to cheer him up."

The look in Nanny's eyes was so pleading that Oscar didn't dare say no. She didn't want to, either. This old woman had appeared in her miserably bleak life and had saved her from an equally miserable and bleak future.

The dirt path gave way to a cobblestone road, and Oscar could feel the carriage shake as it passed over each stone. When she looked out the window, the woods they had been traveling through gave way to lovely gardens and a white house that made her think of a palace. How anyone could live in such luxury and still be lonely was beyond her. But who was she to know? The ways of nobles were odd.

"Of course I will, Nanny."

It was the least she could do.

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**Xirysa Says:** So? What do you think? The title was giving me a hard time, but _contra_ means the same thing as _reverse_, and... Hell, half the things in this 'fic have, are, and are going to be reversed. I think it works.  
André and Girodelle would have been good friends if André had been a noble, and it was common for nobles to become patrons for other, not as fortunate people. (Just look at Jeanne Valois!) I hope everything seemed in character, though. I named Oscar's mother in the story Claire (mostly because I thought it was simple and that it fit) and… Wait—Oscar's mother was a _prostitute_? We'll get into that in later chapters, I swear. But, she's not like DuBarry, which is good. And women were looked down upon. In every culture, no matter where you go, women are looked down upon in some way. So Claire doesn't want her daughter to suffer like she did, you know? That's all.  
Oh, that poem? _The Road Not Taken_? Beautiful. Actually, I like a lot of stuff that Robert Frost wrote. But that's just me—I'm a sucker for good poetry. I've so much planned out for this 'fic it's ridiculous… And if anyone has any questions or anything, please feel free to contact me!


	2. Wayward Son

**Xirysa Says:** _Carry On, Wayward Son_ was our opening piece for our marching band halftime show my freshman year. Honestly, that song is made of epic win. And what's even better is that its lyrics work perfectly. At least, I think so. Plus, the song is just epic win. Oh… I said that, already… Oops. Er, this chapter is more light-hearted and fun... I guess. O.o You decide.

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Contra  
Chapter Two: Wayward Son

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"Carry on my wayward son,  
There will be peace when you are done.  
Lay your weary head to rest;  
Don't you cry no more."

—_Carry On, Wayward Son_, Kansas

-x-x-x-

The grounds of the Jarjayes mansion were everything she had hoped for and more.

Lush and green, they seemed to stretch on for miles and miles, all the way to the horizon and beyond. The mansion itself stood at the end of the cobblestone path, all white stone and simple elegance. Oscar was amazed. How could something this beautiful not be the wonderful Palace of Versailles, where the nobles dined and danced and feasted every night?

Apparently it wasn't.

Even after the carriage stopped, Oscar sat and stared at the house until the footman had to enter the carriage and carry her out. She continued to stare at the palace—wait, not a palace, but a _mansion_—the mansion until her trance was broken by something.

Or rather, _someone_.

He was a rather tall boy, Oscar thought as she rubbed the spot on her shoulder where he had collided into her, and rather muscular looking too. Or maybe it was just because he towered almost a head and a half above her and was storming away rather angrily. Either way, Oscar had half a mind to call after the boy and demand he apologize. Nanny simply looked rather shocked and called after the boy.

"Victor!"

The boy spun around quickly and glared at them for a moment; his gaze quickly softened when he realized who had called his name.

"Madame Montblanc, bonjour." He bowed to the older woman deeply, and his light brown hair fell in front of his face. When he straightened up, Oscar noticed that he seemed to have calmed down quite a bit.

Such a change of emotions was odd, Oscar thought, and it reminded her of the days every month her mother couldn't work. She would be bouncing with joy one moment, a sad and deplorable husk of a woman the next, and complaining and mean in an instant. And once in a while, she'd complain about a mysterious pain in her stomach. It was intriguing, Oscar thought, but she was sure it would not affect her in any way.

Nanny, however, still seemed surprised. "Victor? Where are you going? I thought you were with André." She craned her neck as if looking for her grandson. "He's here, isn't he?"

This new boy, this _Victor_, glared again as his hand tightened around the hilt of the sword strapped to his waist. "He's hiding somewhere on the grounds, Madame. I was just on my way home."

Although she was clearly disappointed, Nanny made no move to stop the boy as he quickly walked to where his own carriage was waiting and climbed inside. A few minutes and a couple of terse instructions later, Victor's carriage was gone.

Oscar stared after the carriage for a moment before looking at Nanny. The old woman seemed—well, she seemed rather _angry_.

"N-nanny?" Oscar asked tentatively.

The old woman smiled and looked down at Oscar. "I'm sorry, Oscar."

"It's alright, but..." she trailed off rather lamely, but Nanny seemed to understand.

"That," Nanny nodded in the direction of the carriage that had just left, "was Victor Clement de Girodelle, the boy I was telling you about."

Oscar blinked. "I thought you said he was friends with André?"

Nanny sighed. "I thought so, too."

-x-x-x-

André was tired.

Actually, André was a combination of hot, sweaty, dirty, sticky, _and_ tired, but he knew if he let Victor know that, the older boy would never let him hear the end of it. André remembered the first (and last) time Victor found out he was tired, and it wasn't something he wanted to happen again.

Which was why he sat in the branches of the apple tree by the stable—Victor was much too big and heavy to climb its branches the way André had, and this way André had both the relative safety of his position, the shade of the tree, and the many delectably luscious apples that hung within arms reach.

This was the life… With the general at Versailles and Granny in Paris for some business… There were no rules, no worries…

It was perfect.

Reaching up to pluck a particularly delicious looking apple, André sighed. Now all he had to do was avoid coming down from the tree until Victor left (which would probably be soon, judging from the increasingly vexed shouts he could hear coming from the older boy) and he would be in the clear. No harm done.

Soon, all was silent, and André grinned. No doubt, Girodelle had left. André was thankful—he didn't think that he'd be able to stand the older boy's jabs about being a _baby_, being _scared_, or even acting like—heaven forbid!—a _girl_. That was something he could without for quite a while, thank you very much.

He bit the apple and was savoring the crisp sweetness when he heard a voice call his name. A piercingly shrill voice that he knew quite well.

_Granny..._

André sighed and pulled the branches around him. He didn't really want to be caught yet. If he did, then he would have to actually go for his lessons with the tutor the general had hired for him... How deplorable. And it was such a nice day out, too! Much too nice to be stuck inside writing and reading and doing sums.

A soft laugh from below caught his attention, and André looked down to see a small blond boy smiling up at him.

_What are you doing?_ the strange boy mouthed.

Looking around to make sure that no one was near by, André glanced down at the other boy again. "I'm hiding," he whispered. "Don't tell anyone I'm here."

"Oh." The boy turned to go, but looked back at the last moment. "Don't worry, I won't."

"Thanks," André said to the blond boy's retreating figure before he swung his legs over the branch and proceeded to scramble down as fast as he could.

-x-x-x-

Oscar had never seen a boy like him before—she wasn't even sure if he was a _noble_. His feet were bare, he wasn't wearing a cravate, and he was sweaty and dusty and dirty all over.

But he was, without a doubt, André Grandier, sweet old Nanny's grandson. She remembered when Nanny had first asked her to help look for—oh what were her exact words again? Ah yes. To help look for her "annoyingly mischievous rascal of a grandson who was probably sleeping in the hay in the loft of the stable or playing in the mud at the riverbank like some two year old babe."

At least, Oscar thought as she watched him climb down the tree while she peeped around the side of the stable wall, he fit the description that Nanny had given her.

Curly dark hair, green eyes, and an angelic face that masked the boy's true nature of being a little devil. Oscar was quite sure that Nanny hadn't meant the last part. Entirely, at least. Well... She thought so.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the dear old lady herself stormed across the carefully kept lawn and to the tree and began telling André to get out of that tree quickly, but for heaven's sake don't climb down so fast that you slip and fall and break your neck and _mon Dieu_, did he have a death wish or something?

Oh dear, Oscar thought as she watched the scene before her unfold, poor André!

Muffling a laugh as André fell to the ground from one of the lower branches of the apple tree, Oscar peeked around one of the stable doors in anticipation.

"André Grandier! What did you do?"

"Er..." André looked around, and when his face fell, Oscar knew that he had seen her. He obviously thought that she had told his grandmother. "Nothin'…"

_Great_, Oscar thought bitterly to herself. _I haven't been here one day, and I'm already the enemy_.

And she had promised him, too!

Nanny put her hands on her hips and gave André a disapproving glare. "Oh really?" And with a speed Oscar did not think was natural for a woman of her age, Nanny pulled a wooden spoon seemingly out of nowhere and smacked the side of her grandson's head with it.

"Ow!" André yelped and clutched at his head. "What was that for?"

"Like you don't know," Nanny replied, and she promptly hit his head once more. "Now, once you get yourself cleaned up, see me in the kitchen. There is someone I'd like you to meet."

Nanny left, and André glared at the stables once before he, too, left. Oscar was left alone in the dark of the stable, wishing she had never decided to come to the mansion at all.

-x-x-x-

He looked presentable, André thought as he scrutinized his reflection. He had washed, changed into a clean set of clothes, and had even taken the time to comb his hair for once. Not one hair out of place.

Of course, knowing his grandmother, she'd probably find _something_ to lecture him about.

Maybe it was an old lady thing.

Honestly, he didn't really know.

He sighed and left his room, but not without a last, longing backwards glance at the window and what lay beyond. It really _was_ a gorgeous day. The sky was the most lovely blue he had ever seen, and it was so pleasant outside…

Inside, however, was a different matter entirely. André was boiling under all the clothes Granny had forced him to wear and was quite sure that he would be soaked with sweat by the time he reached the kitchen which, he realized with a groan, was _hotter_ than any part of the mansion.

Oh, what had he done to deserve such a fate?

By the time he reached the kitchen, André wasn't soaking wet, but his forehead was indeed beaded with sweat.

His grandmother sat calmly at the table, sipping a small cup of tea. That wasn't unusual. But next to her… André glared at the small blond boy who sat next to his grandmother.

"Ah! André!" Granny exclaimed, and André looked at her expectantly.

"Yes, Granny?" André replied, careful to keep his tone as courteous as possible.

"This," she said as she gestured to the new boy, "is Oscar. She's going to be working here from now on. I hope that you two will become friends."

André narrowed his eyes and walked over to this _Oscar_. "Hello, Osc—!" He whirled back to face his grandmother again. "Did you say that Oscar is a _girl_?"

"Yes."

"B-but…" André sighed and glared at the _girl_ again. "Hello, Oscar."

"H-hello, André…" came the tentative reply.

Granny seemed pleased. "Well," she said as she got up and walked out of the kitchen, "get yourselves acquainted. I have to talk to the gardeners." And with that, she was gone.

Waiting until he was quite certain that his grandmother had gone, André went up to Oscar and glared at her as he had never glared before. "What's wrong with you! You said you wouldn't tell the old lady where I was!"

"I didn't. And you shouldn't talk about your grandmother that way."

André didn't hear her. "You promised! You broke a promise, and now my grandmother expects me to me friends with you?"

Oscar spoke again, louder this time. "I said I didn't tell her."

"Y-you…" André snorted. "Yeah right. If you didn't tell her, then how would she know where I was?"

The blonde child shrugged. "She saw me talking to you. That's what she said when I asked her how she knew."

André was sorely tempted to ignore her words, but… She was looking at him, her bright blue eyes begging him to believe her. With a start, André realized that Oscar's eyes were the same color as the sky.

"F-fine," he finally managed to say. "But you're a girl; how can I be your friend?"

Oscar seemed to be offended, and André didn't know what he had done wrong until he closed his eyes when felt her fist connect with his jaw. The force sent him teetering over until he landed on the wooden floor with a loud _thump_.

When he opened his eyes again, Oscar was standing over him with a triumphant expression on his face. She gave him her hand to help him up, and André took it grudgingly. "That girly enough for you?"

André look at her and grinned. "You're alright. For a girl, at least." That earned him another punch, but he was glad that they had cleared up their misunderstandings.

And he could tell that Oscar was, too.

And so a beautiful new friendship was born.

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**Xirysa Says:** Honestly… I've wanted to write André falling off/out of a tree for a really long time. Maybe I'll go into it in more detail later. Another 'fic, perhaps. XD I can also see André pulling an "Ewww, girls have _cooties_" thing, too. André _is_ a bit of a wayward son, isn't he? :B Anyway, feedvack is, like always, appreciated!


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Rose of Versailles, Friendship, Hurt-Comfort