Rose of Versailles 1. I Want to Break Free

**Say It's Possible****  
By: Manna

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…_**xOx…**_

**Dedication: **This long, long 'fic goes out to the following people: Xirysa, Loulou.k, Kasia.T, YugiTheOtherWhiteMeat, Qieru, ROV, Nadiyah, Nona, Jen Jen, Bradamante, Nant, Happii, Glottal, The Daughter of de Jarjayes, WhiteTigerLilly, Sara Jaye, Lady Aone, and LunaScorpio. (And of course, to all of the others who have been nothing but encouraging to me as I sometimes struggled to write this.) This is for you guys. For those that love the story of _Rose of Versailles_ almost as much, if not more, than I do.

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…_**xOx…**_

**Chapter One:****  
I Want to Break Free

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…_**xOx…**_

The hard marble hit the side of her face, and as she tumbled down the stairs, finally coming to a halt five steps from the first landing, she wondered what it was she had said. It wasn't that the impact didn't hurt, because it most certainly did; she could feel her body aching where she knew it would bruise later. Her mind was elsewhere, though, still back in her father's study with that ridiculous military uniform.

Quickly, she got to her hands and knees and made an attempt to catch her breath. She could hear her father's loud breathing from the top of the flight of stairs as he did the same; it was good to know that she was not the only one.

She stood as soon as she was able and wiped at the corner of her mouth, feeling something wet there. Maybe it was blood, maybe it was something else. She didn't know, didn't care; she just wanted to get out of there and away from all of the eyes—the staring, prying, accusing eyes.

"Excuse me." It was the polite thing to say, but not in the tone she said it in. She always struggled with being nice when she was angry, even to her own father. A reply from him wasn't something she was going to wait for, and she turned on her heels and started down the stairs, taking them slowly, one at a time.

Running was not an option. She wasn't running away from anything. Only a coward ran from a problem. She would keep her head up, she would walk calmly, and her father would hopefully not notice that her insides were churning violently. His voice followed her, though, and no matter how hard she tried to tune him out, she couldn't.

"Oscar! The match is at noon tomorrow!"

She walked away. It was usually the best thing she could do. The older she got, the worse her temper got, and the more she wanted to shout back even though she knew better. If she talked back to him, it would make him angrier. If she talked back to him in the presence of most of his staff, it would probably be the worst decision of her life.

One didn't make General de Jarjayes angry without a very good reason.

She narrowed her eyes, glaring at her goal—the door—as she made her way to the first landing.

"Keep in mind that His Majesty is coming!"

The king of France, coming to a stupid fencing match? Surely he had better things to do! After what seemed like an eternity, she made it to the floor. Her father said nothing more to her, but his words echoed in the back of her mind as she saw her nanny and her childhood friend, André, standing close to her.

Her heart sank into her chest. She really hated for Nanny to see things like that… The older woman had tried to defend her in the past, but even tears did not move the ever-proud General de Jarjayes. Oscar had gotten every ounce of stubbornness in her bones from him, and she knew it. Perhaps it was because they were so alike that they did not get along, but she doubted it.

She tried not to look at the horrified expression on the old woman's face. It would only make her feel guilty because it was she herself that had put it there. And André…she didn't even _want_ to see his expression. His hand was almost stretched out toward her, as if he thought maybe he could pull her away from whatever problem it was that she was being forced to face.

But she didn't need his help; she didn't need _anyone's_ help. After all, what good would they do when it all came down to it? She loved André and his grandmother dearly, but…

This little disagreement between her and her father was her own; they had nothing to do with it.

Lost in her thoughts as she was, she paused beside them on the way out of the door. Damn it, damn it all! She hurried away before she could let them interfere to try and help her, Nanny's voice calling her name after her.

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The sunset was beautiful, but the air was chilly. Oscar didn't seem to notice as she stood on a little knoll of fresh spring grass watching the oranges and yellows spread across the sky. She supposed that the day had been lovely up until her father had returned from Versailles, and apparently, a meeting with King Louis XV. Suddenly, the day had seemed a little less…nice.

She was glad she hadn't gone to Versailles, though. The last thing she wanted was her father breathing down her neck with that proud look on his face—the closest the man ever came to smiling—that told her that he knew she'd be something great and wonderful some day.

Oh, so she wasn't already good enough? Marie Antoinette… Some silly little girl who was admittedly older than her—by a little over a month—but who probably didn't know the first thing about anything. The King had confidence that she could guard the soon-to-be Crown Princess elegantly and exquisitely?

What was the Royal Guard, then? A bunch of frou-frou, that's what, she decided, glaring back at the sun. She'd gone her entire life thinking she was going to be some kind of military commander of the Royal Guard, only to find out that they only wanted her because of how she looked? Oh, so she made a dashing man, did she? And that was all that mattered?

She was good with a sword, and she'd read book after book on military tactics. She knew how to behave in court—as a man—and she knew etiquette and proper mannerisms. She knew that if she took on an assignment in the military, she would do her best to do it right; failure was never an option. Duty came first. It always did to the Jarjayes family.

But the king… he didn't know any of that. From the way her father was talking, he wanted her to best this Girodelle man to take the spot. Well, she didn't want it! If Girodelle wanted it, he could have it for all she cared. What kind of a man would want a decorative spot in the military, anyway?

For all the king knew, they could both be worthless with a sword, their reputations only talked up by their esteemed fathers. A winner, a loser…it didn't determine one's worth with a sword or whether they deserved a spot guarding Marie Antoinette. Did it really decide anything at all?

Annoyance clouded her vision. Just because she might happen to beat Girodelle didn't mean she deserved a spot in the military at all, let alone a commanding position. After all, she had no experience to fall back on. Would the men even listen to her, the young man rumored to be a woman in disguise?

_Exquisite_…

_Elegant_…

She spat on the ground, a brief flash of a memory trailing across her mind of André teaching her to do that shortly after his arrival at the Jarjayes mansion. Well, she would duel Girodelle all right…whoever he was. But it wouldn't be for a stupid commanding job at the front of the frou-frou parade. No, she was going to best him just to prove to herself—because that was the only person she needed to prove anything to—that she would be the better candidate for the job.

Elegance had nothing to do with skill. Did they think she was going to dress in some prissy uniform and stand in Versailles to look pretty? Hardly! Nanny always told her she was beautiful when it was only the two of them, and sometimes she managed to accept the compliment, but she hardly felt that way about herself, and she was sure that her father didn't, either. A beautiful person did not make a good soldier, necessarily. Of course, she brushed her hair and stayed clean, but… She never went to an extreme to try and look or feel good about herself.

Wasn't learning fencing more important? Wasn't keeping her skills with a bow and arrow or gun more important? This Girodelle might be a perfectly good candidate for commander, she told herself, but if he wanted to be in charge of a bunch of prissy aristocrats who were only there because if they didn't, their families would disown them, then he could just be looking for a well-paying, easy job.

Not that she could blame him. Oh, but she didn't know. How could she know? She'd never met the man, had perhaps heard of him once or twice, but nothing that she could recall off of the top of her head…

She would find out. She had to. She didn't want the stupid job, but she sure as hell wanted to fight him. Would she win? She certainly hoped so, but the reality was that there was a chance she wouldn't. However, unlike most noblemen, she had grown up fencing nearly every day with André, and even though her older friend usually lost against her, the practice had done her good. While others spent more time studying things like manners for hours on end, and how to court a lady, she skipped right around all of that stuff—relaying what she did hear to André, for amusement's sake—and fenced instead.

If she did win, she didn't want it to be in public, in front of the king of France… He would most likely press her to accept the position of commander, and she didn't think she could bear to hear him tell her what an exquisite officer she'd make. She didn't want to blow her top, so to speak, in front of him, or in front of her father's friends or the noblewomen who were only there to try and figure out if that supposedly dashing blonde with the sword was a man or a woman.

The sun dipped below the horizon, and she turned away from it. Those noblemen and women could wait and wait and wait, she thought, but she wasn't going to show herself, and if she had any say in the matter, Girodelle wasn't going to, either. At least, not as a winner.

Perhaps afterward, they could gawk at a game of _jeu de paume _between two handsome young aristocrats, and they could forget about things that didn't even concern them. After all, the men wanted to watch a rousing fencing match, and the women wanted to watch the men. It really was a big waste of everyone's time.

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He saw the surprise flicker across her face when she looked up and noticed him standing only a few yards behind her, leaning against a tree. He didn't know what to do or say, really, but after what he had seen earlier, he had a feeling that it couldn't hurt to try. Of course, it would help if he knew what was going on, exactly, but perhaps Oscar could answer that question for him…without the danger of being pushed down the stairs.

It wasn't that he couldn't believe that the general had pushed his youngest child down the stairs, but really… he couldn't believe it! Obviously, the man was very angry. He wondered what Oscar could have said to him to upset him so much. It had to be important, at least to either the general or to Oscar.

"André," she said, sounding almost breathless. He wondered if he had startled her more than she allowed him to see.

He nodded. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine." Her words came so fast that they nearly cut his off, and she walked right up to him and tilted her head to look at him. "What do you want?"

"I just wanted to see if you were…" He trailed off and stared at a smear of blood at the corner of her mouth. He pointed in its general direction, "You've got…"

She wiped at it with the edge of her sleeve, and he thanked God that she did because the urge to do so himself was almost irresistible. She probably wouldn't have appreciated such a gesture from him, anyway.

"It's gone, now," he told her, and seemed to forget to speak for a few long moments. He could tell that she had a lot of things on her mind, and none of them were good. "Uh… So…"

He could have slapped himself for sounding like such an idiot, but how did one approach a subject like that?

"Stop beating around the bush, André."

Obviously by not beating around the bush. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck where his hair was pulled back into a ponytail. "You have a match tomorrow?" Well, he thought, it was better than asking her why her father threw her down the stairs.

"Yes." She continued to stare straight at him; it was making him nervous. "Some man named Girodelle or something. He wants the position of Royal Guard Commander. The same one my father thinks I should have." She snorted, but he was still mulling over the name of the man she had mentioned to notice.

"Girodelle?" he asked. "Captain Girodelle?"

"I guess? You've heard of him?"

"A little." He blinked and tried to recall what little he knew about the man. "Captain Girodelle's a captain… Uh…" Sometimes he wished he wasn't such an idiot, and other times, he just wished he didn't make himself look like one, especially in front of Oscar. Laughing nervously, he continued, finding it difficult to keep looking her in the eye, "Of course he's a captain… He's probably four or five years older than me…"

"Do you know if he's good with a sword?" She was getting irritated and impatient.

He knew apologizing would do no good. "A-ah… A few of the maids have talked about him, and they think so…"

"Half of them are still convinced that I am a man, so what do they know?" She seemed to shrug and then started to walk in the direction of the house. After some hesitation, he followed.

"So they want you and Girodelle to have a fencing match to decide who should get the position of commander?"

"Yes."

"You'll win, Oscar." His words were meant to be encouraging, but they didn't seem to have the desired effect.

"And if I do?"

"You'll be a commander of the Royal Guards…"

"Wrong." She stopped walking long enough to enable him to catch up to her, and then continued again at a slower pace. "Tomorrow morning, André, wake me up early. I want to practice."

"Of course I will," he said, knowing there was more to it than just that. He wanted to ask her what else she could possibly have in mind, but his courage fled before he could form the question.

"Thank you."

Well, if that was all of the information that he would get from her, there was nothing he could do about it but accept it. She didn't seem to be in a particularly good mood, but he didn't know why. Hadn't she always wanted to be in the royal guard? Being promoted to a commander was a great accomplishment… So why didn't she seem happy about it?

He would have to ask her later. Maybe in the morning, after she could get a good night's sleep and he could think about how to go about asking her why accomplishing her dream did not make her happy.

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…_**xOx…**_

_I want to break free,__  
I want to break free,__  
I want to break free from your lies,__  
You're so self-satisfied; I don't need you.  
I've got to break free,__  
God knows,  
God knows I want to break free._  
"_I Want to Break Free" –Queen

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…_**xOx…**_

**Author Notes:**

First, thank you for reading!

_Jeu de paume_ is tennis. Not the lawn tennis we know and see most often today, but the original game of tennis played by aristocrats many years ago.

I'll be putting slightly more detailed notes in my journal, which you may comment on if you so desire.

This story is 88,000 words long at the moment. Feedback is appreciated, but I want to stress that it's also necessary. I must thank my very faithful reviewers—Kasia.T, Xirysa, Loulou.k, and WhiteTigerLilly—for their continual support. If this 'fic is for anyone especially, it's the four of you that are constantly behind me, encouraging me, and telling me what you think. I need that. It's that feedback that gives me the push to keep writing even when I'm tired or in (physical) pain. This story isn't finished. 88,000 words is only the tip of the iceberg. I need your thoughts, opinions, criticisms and observations, and believe me, I'd love to hear them. They'll motivate me not only to write more _Rose of Versailles_ 'fics in general, but they'll also encourage me to finish this epic-length story that I know deserves a good, solid conclusion.

Until next time!

Cheers,  
_-Manna_


	2. Almost Like Being in Love

**Say It's Possible  
By: Manna**

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…_**xOx…**_

**Chapter Two:****  
Almost Like Being in Love**

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…_**xOx…**_

The morning dawned bright and clear, and before André went to do his chores, he snuck along the corridors of the soundless mansion until he arrived at Oscar's door. As silently as possible, he let himself inside the foyer before creeping toward her bedroom door. He almost didn't feel right sneaking into her room, but he'd done it hundreds of times in the past. Why would today be any different?

The sun was only beginning to reach the horizon, and the lack of light made it hard for him to make out her small form curled up beneath several blankets. After a minute or so he found the top of her head, and as his hand went down, her ear, her jaw line, and her chin, too. Her mouth was opened slightly, but he could tell that she was breathing through her nose, and he felt guilty knowing that he was about to wake her up. She seemed exhausted even when she slept, he thought, playing with a lock of her hair, twirling it gently around his finger as he thought.

She would be angry with him if he didn't wake her up, though, so he leaned over her and lightly shook her shoulder, calling her name. "Oscar. Oscar, wake up."

Without a sound, she tucked her chin closer to her chest and drew her legs up further.

"Oscar…you said you wanted me to wake you up." He pretended to be annoyed at her lack of a response, but he wasn't disappointed at all. He knew she slept like a rock—well, perhaps like a boulder—and usually he had to drag her out of bed or shout at the top of his lungs to get her to open her eyes. Since he couldn't shout in the early hours of the morning, though, that left dragging her onto the floor.

He didn't know if he could do it. The dim light filtering in through her window showed him how cute she looked, and he didn't want to ruin that even though he had to.

"Oscar… Come on; get up."

A barely intelligible muffled, "Mmm…" came from her lips, but it was so quiet he wasn't sure if he really heard it or not.

"Don't make me pull your blankets off of you."

No response at all. So he did what any fourteen-year-old would do under the circumstances, and he grabbed the edges of her blankets and pulled them all the way down to the foot of the bed, draping them over the back of the footboard so that they hung just inches away from the floor.

Red stained his cheeks when he glanced back up at Oscar and noticed that her long nightgown had managed to ride up her legs as she most likely tossed and turned in the middle of the night. Nanny would be ashamed of him for looking, but he couldn't help it! Gingerly, while she was still mostly asleep, he tugged down the hem of her gown to cover her exposed calves, sighing with relief when he managed to do so without waking her up.

He took her hand in his and started to tug on it lightly to pull her toward the edge of the bed, but the stubborn girl wasn't done sleeping and brought her hand back to her chest, her fingers curling into a loose fist as she did so.

"Ah…Oscar…" His face felt as if it was on fire, and he tried to untangle himself without ripping his hand away from hers. Only a few inches away, she stopped, and he noticed her blinking sleepily at him. "U-uhm, can I have my hand back, now?" he asked, and, in a delayed reaction, her fingers released the grip they held on his. He got his hand away from her as quickly as possible.

She slowly sat up, her legs to one side of her, and let out a long sigh. He could tell that she hadn't gotten much sleep, but maybe some food and a little exercise would wake her up.

"Sorry," she murmured. "I tried to sleep…light, but…"

"It's okay," he was quick to reassure her.

She blinked a few more times, slowly, and then yawned widely, barely managing to cover her mouth in time. "Why is your face red, André?" she asked, the hint of a sly smile playing at the corners of her lips as she scooted closer to the edge of her bed to let her legs dangle over the side.

"Uh…" He took a step back.

"What did you think I was going to do?"

There was that almost devilish look again. He decided the floor was far more interesting than her face. It was hard to pretend; her cheeks were still flushed from sleep, her eyes dark, and she practically radiated an aura that almost seemed…_content_.

"N-Nothing." He shuffled his feet uncomfortably and moved toward the door. "I, ah, haven't started my chores for today, so… After you're dressed…you know where to find me if you need me."

She barely had time to acknowledge his words before he fled the scene, going straight to the stables to start feeding the horses. He pitched hay into their feeding troughs and managed to calm his furiously beating heart. "I have to stop thinking like that, Chevis," he whispered, running his fingers through his gelding's forelock as the equine started to chew on some hay. "I don't know… I just… I want to…well, you know…" He glanced down at his horse and laughed nervously at himself. "Well, perhaps you don't…"

He patted Chevis's neck and picked up the buckets for their watering trough—it was almost empty. On the many trips back and forth from the pump to the stables, he reflected a little bit about what was bothering him, more than Oscar's lack of cheerfulness.

It didn't hit him suddenly; it came together like the pieces of a puzzle where some were lost, and others ruined so that you could not see the picture on them. He knew what it was, but it was hard to believe it. _Love._ How could that be, though? He leaned against the watering trough and stared at Lena, Oscar's lovely white mare. "But I _can't_ love her," he murmured under his breath, untangling the horse's mane. "Not like _that_. It's just, it's not… It's not _possible_. Is it?"

"Is what?"

"Oscar!"

"I'm not possible?"

"N-no, I just… That wasn't what I was talking about…" His heart was flailing in his chest, and he could swear his lungs were struggling to take in air. How much had she heard? Surely, if she had heard more, she would already be teasing him relentlessly about it or smacking him upside the head…right?

She shrugged and he noticed that she was fully clothed and ready for practice. Her words surprised him, though. "Would you saddle up our horses?"

He nodded and threw her a confused look. "Where are we going?"

When she didn't answer his question right away, he went to the tack room and took down the saddle she always used, bringing it over to Lena; he shook out the blanket thoroughly before putting it on the horse.

He was lifting the saddle when Oscar spoke again, "Do you know where Captain Girodelle lives?"

He almost dropped the saddle in shock. "What?!" he practically yelped, finding his composure as quickly as he was able. "I-I guess I do, uhm… His family's estate isn't far from here, actually. They're a little further away from Versailles than we are, but not by much."

"Good." She had a satisfied smirk on her face that would make the rat-catching tomcat that hung out in the barn envious. "So…you might know how he would get to Versailles from his home?"

He blinked and cocked his head to the side as he fastened the girth around Lena's stomach. "I, ah, suppose that…because the road floods easily this time of the year out that way, that he probably takes the driest route."

"Which is?"

"Through the woods or open meadows."

"Ah."

She said nothing else, and he had finished pulling the bridle over his own horse's ears when she finally decided to open her mouth again.

"I'm not going to Versailles for the match."

He rolled her words around in his head for a while before replying. Here she was, finally opening up to him in a very small way, and he really didn't know what to say because he had no idea what was going on inside her mind.

"You're not? But then…why did you want to know where Captain Girodelle lives?" He tugged on the reins of both horses, leading them outside, and Oscar followed him, trailing slightly behind but not answering. She looked as if she was thinking. "Oscar…"

"What?"

"What are you planning? You're not going to _sabotage_ him, are you? Because if you are, I will not go along with it. I still remember the _last_ time, and—"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, André. I might be thirteen, but I'm no child. And I'm _certainly_ no cheater." She half glared at him, standing on her toes right in front of him in an attempt to look intimidating.

It worked, but it wasn't because she actually looked intimidating. She was making him nervous, and a small part of his mind kept telling him that it was the perfect opportunity to lean down and…

"You should know me better than that. I wouldn't sabotage Captain Girodelle… As far as I'm concerned, he can have that stupid position if it's what he wants."

"Then…why…" He looked back at the horses and the sword hanging at her side.

"So that _I_ know if I'm good enough."

"You're good enough." He blushed, unable to take back his words. Never in his life had he been so glad that the morning sun was glaring in their eyes. "You're very good with a sword, Oscar."

"Good doesn't mean worthy, André." She reached out and took her horse's reins, swinging lightly into the saddle and speaking half under her breath. "Neither does an exquisite, elegant person necessarily make a good commander."

He heard her say it, but he didn't know how to respond. He wanted to tell her that _he_ thought she was worthy, but he knew better. Wouldn't she tell him to stop throwing flattery at her if he did? And wouldn't it be odd of him to say such a thing in the first place?

Of course it would be! He never threw flattery at her casually! When he said it, he wanted it to really mean something.

"André."

"Yes?" He wanted to ask her a lot of things, but it just wasn't the right time… It wasn't… Would it ever be the right time? It had to be. Maybe a little later, when her defenses opened up a little bit. Then he would ask and maybe, just maybe, get a few answers to the questions burning at the back of his mind.

"You'll have to lead. I want to practice near Captain Girodelle's mansion. Not too close, mind you, but along the route he'll probably take to get to Versailles."

"Dear God, Oscar! You're not going to _ambush_ him, are you?!"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes as a smile came to her lips. "No, don't be stupid. You'll see later anyway. Just lead the way."

He grinned good-naturedly and saluted her. "Yes ma'am!"

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Sweat was slowly trickling down her back and face, and she grinned in amusement, sheathing her sword and using her white shirtsleeve to wipe it from her forehead.

"Okay, Oscar…" He sounded out of breath as he flopped down onto the ground without even an attempt to remove the sweat from his face. "You beat me four times already… Are we done now?"

"No. We still have time for a few more."

"We do?"

"Well, the match is at noon, and it's probably not even ten o'clock yet. Stop being such a wuss, André."

"I'm not being a wuss. I'm just tired." He rolled over onto his stomach and breathed in the cool smell of the grass. Spring wasn't his favorite season of the year, but sometimes the freshness of it all was something he really found himself enjoying. "I think you've proved that you can beat me. And either way, do you want to be sweaty and out of breath when Captain Girodelle happens by here?"

"Does it really matter?" Her words sounded cold, and she almost felt guilty for saying them, but she couldn't help it. It didn't really matter, did it? A victory was a victory, no matter if she won when she was sweaty or clean. Of course, that fact went both ways. If she lost, it wouldn't matter if she lost sweaty or clean. "I'll be sweaty by the time I beat him, anyway."

"I know, I know, but still…"

"Still…?"

"Ah, I just mean… I thought maybe you would want to seem perfectly calm and composed when he rides by this way."

She could have sworn that he was sweating more just saying it. "And I can't stay perfectly composed and calm with sweat dripping down my face?"

"I didn't say that."

"You didn't have to." She stopped arguing and flopped down to the ground beside him, letting the breeze that blew threw the clearing cool off her overheated face. "We'll rest for now, but I want at least one more practice match before he gets here, you understand?"

"Yes…" He sighed and closed his eyes, enjoying the last few moments of peace he thought he might be lucky enough to have. "Why do you want to beat him so badly, Oscar?"

She stiffened. It wasn't that he didn't have the right to ask such a question. Well, perhaps, to be technical, he didn't, and she could order him to shut up or drop it…but he was her friend, and as such, he had every right to want to know what was going on. The truth was, she didn't want to answer that question. Or any question.

"Oscar? What's going on?"

She felt guilty again. It was just a little stab that seemed to go straight through her chest, but it was there. She hadn't meant to leave him out, it had just happened that way. Everything had happened so…

So very fast. That was it. She felt like she was being rushed into something she didn't even want to do, something she wasn't even ready for. Would she ever be ready for something so important? Royal Guard Commander…

She didn't even realize that she was spacing off until André elbowed her gently.

"If you don't want to talk about it, Oscar, I won't force you."

_Yes,_ she thought, feeling almost bitter. _You won't force me, but you'll ask and send me those looks that make me feel guilty if I don't tell you. Like you know something's wrong, but you can't figure out exactly what it is._

"I'll tell you." She rolled the thought around in her mind. How to tell him that she didn't want the position in the royal guard that her father had always told everyone she would someday have? Well, perhaps it wasn't the exact same position. It was more important, bigger than she had expected.

But she didn't want it.

He lifted his head and leaned back against the tree, letting the morning sun fall across his face. The smile he sent her way made her feel better, almost like it would be worth telling _someone_ all of the reasons why she didn't want to take up that position. She had always told André everything, so why was this so hard to say? Perhaps it was because she thought maybe he wouldn't understand. And how could he? She was almost certain that if he was given such an honorable position, he would take it without any hesitation at all.

"Father went to Versailles yesterday, and he was granted an audience with Louis XV." She wasn't sure how to proceed with her explanation, so she paused and chewed on her lower lip thoughtfully. "The king said that… Well, you know that Marie Antoinette will marry the crown prince, right?"

"Right." He was paying strict attention to her every word, and she wasn't sure whether to be grateful for that or not.

"He told my father that I had been suggested for the position of Commander of the Royal Guard."

"Well, that's quite an honor," André said.

"It is. But…he also said that he was confident that I would be able to guard Marie Antoinette elegantly and exquisitely." She could feel her face turning red at the mention of those two idiotic words. "Of all the nerve! Exquisitely! Elegantly! What does that have to do with anything? He doesn't know what he's talking about!"

"You're insulted?"

"Of course I'm insulted! I've worked my entire life at getting a position in the guard, only to be told something like _that_?! I don't think so!" She stuck her nose into the air and crinkled it in distaste. "He's going by what he's heard in court, and it makes me mad to think that what's being said _there_ has nothing to do with my fencing abilities or military training."

"I'm sorry, Oscar."

"It's not your fault." She crossed her arms over her chest and huffed indignantly. "Never mind about having another match. I'm going to beat this Girodelle fellow into the dust, and I'm going to enjoy every last bloody second of it."

"I hope by _bloody_, you don't mean literally." He threw her a wry smile. "You'll be able to beat him, Oscar. One of the maids in the house who's absolutely infatuated with him told me that he's nineteen years old right now, and he's rumored to be good at fencing, but you've probably had more practice at it than he since you didn't spend as much time learning gentlemanly court manners."

"I'm not worried about winning or losing. I just want to know if I'm good enough or not. I suppose it doesn't really matter if I would be better suited to the position or if I wouldn't. I don't intend to take it."

"Why not? It sounds like a good position to me." His eyebrows were lowered in something that reminded her of a mix between confusion and concern.

"I never said it wasn't a good position. I only said I didn't want it." She plucked at a piece of grass and played with it as she thought for a few moments. Finally, she spoke, "I don't _want_ to be an elegant, exquisite commander, André. I just want to be a good one."

He smiled sadly at her. "Can't you be both?"

"I don't intend to try and be someone I'm not." She looked away from him and sighed, pulling a few more pieces of new grass from the ground. "I just want to be me. And it upsets me that being myself isn't what they want."

"I'm sure Louis XV doesn't want someone who can't really protect Marie Antoinette. Don't you think, Oscar? I can't believe that he would pick you just because you're beautiful."

She threw him a withering glare. He was just mocking her, and she really hated that! But when she looked closer, she realized that he didn't look as if he was even teasing. He looked completely serious. Her glare fizzled out and died after only a few moments, her angry words disappearing along with it. "He wants a beautiful military, André. I want nothing to do with it."

"The military isn't beautiful…"

"No, of course not. People think that just because the war's over, everything is peaceful now."

"You don't think it will be?" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

"I don't know. The peace treaty is a marriage between two people that have never even met. Marie Antoinette is supposed to be beautiful, but it does not make her a good person just because she's easy to look upon." The grass in her hands fell to the ground and she sighed. "It's like the military is some kind of a joke."

"I'm sure it wasn't intended to seem that way…"

"Probably not. I don't know." She stood up and stretched, making a futile attempt to crack her back before she started to pace back and forth in front of André. "Captain Girodelle can still have the position. I have absolutely no intention of being a decoration in the court."

She wanted to add on that she would feel out of place as an embellishment, and she wasn't exactly "exquisite" or "elegant" in any way, but she had a feeling that André would have a lot to say about that, and she didn't want to hear any of it. She hated flattery, and it wasn't that she thought André would say it just to say it, but she didn't want to seem as if she wanted to hear it, as if her happiness depended on if she felt beautiful or not.

She didn't feel beautiful. She didn't have to feel beautiful. She liked herself, what she was, what she had become, and wasn't that good enough? Did she need to feel like an elegant person to like herself? No! It didn't matter what she thought, what anyone else thought. She was happy as she was.

She was content with herself.

It was what people wanted her to become that she was not happy with.

"I'm not doing this just to spite my father, you know."

When she walked by him, he reached out a hand and grabbed her arm. "I know, Oscar. You've never gone against your father just to make him angry. I _do_ know you better than that."

His smile was gentle, and it almost broke her heart. She hoped that nobody would get into trouble because she had decided to skip out on the useless swordfight. "How many people do you think will be there to watch the match?"

"Oh, probably all of the noblewomen. They've been dying to catch a glimpse of you from what I've heard." He winked at her and grinned. "Though to be honest, there are probably quite a few gambling aristocrats there, too, eager to win a bit of money."

"Good." She smirked and sat back down on the ground, suddenly feeling a bit tired. "They'll have come for nothing, then." For a long time, all she could hear was the sound of the birds singing in the nearby trees, and the occasional nicker of one of their horses. It was getting ever closer to noon, and she was eager to fight this Girodelle just to see if he was more worthy of the position of commander or court decoration.

He was, however, not to be underestimated. As a captain, he couldn't be all talk or all looks. He had to be decent, and as André had said, the maids whispered that he was good with a sword.

It would be an interesting experience to say the least.

"What if he won't fight you, Oscar?"

André's question startled her, and her head jerked around; she blinked at him in confusion, her mouth hanging open slightly. "Uh…" She blinked again and raised an eyebrow. "Do you think he'll refuse?"

"He might. After all, he might prefer to have an official match over an unofficial one." He leaned back against the tree trunk, his arms behind his head, one leg bent slightly in front of him. "Some noblemen are that way. Especially when it comes to something that might mean a job. He might want the satisfaction of beating you in front of everyone." A quick pause, and then, "Not that he has a chance in hell of winning… I'm just saying."

"I see… Well… I don't know, then. I'll think of something, though, I'm sure."

"Just insult him if he won't fight you at first."

"Insult him? Isn't that rather childish, André, even for you?"

He rolled his eyes. "Oscar, I didn't say to call him names. Say something like… I don't know. Ask him if he's afraid to be beaten by someone younger than him, or accuse him of being afraid he'll lose… Or…"

"Or tell him he's afraid of being beaten by a woman?"

"Or that, but I wasn't going to be the first to say it." He bit at his lower lip and looked around; when he didn't see anything, he turned back to her. "I wouldn't say that unless I was certain he knew you were a girl, though."

"I'm a man, André."

"You might try to look like one, Oscar, but rumors are already flying around all of Versailles that you are really a woman who dresses like a man. Nobody knows for certain, though… Except me." He winked and ducked a little bit to avoid the flat of her palm connecting with the top of his head.

"Don't you ever talk about that to anyone!" She threw a real glare at him for his comment, very clearly pissed off. "In fact, I would appreciate it if you never so much as mentioned it again!"

"Okay, okay, Oscar! Stop trying to beat my head in!" He caught her hands and grinned, trying to push her arms away from him. His tone turned serious, "Just do whatever you feel is right."

She stopped struggling against his hold and almost fell on top of him, managing to catch herself on the tree trunk just in time. "I will."

"Good, because here he comes."

"What?! And you didn't tell me? I can't believe you, André!"

Her hand connected lightly with the top of his head and he let out a startled yelp, his hands going to massage the spot where she had struck him. "He's still a speck in the distance, Oscar. Don't get so excited."

"Now, you, stay here with your horse. I'm going to go stand on the side of the little road over there and wait for him. After all, I don't want Father to think that you're involved in this in any way."

"But I kind of am," he muttered, but she ignored it.

"You can probably watch the fight from here, but don't go over there unless I really need you. And I _mean_ that. Only if I _really_ need it."

"I understand." He smiled and held up a hand in a wave farewell. "Good luck, Oscar."

But she was already gone.

* * *

…_**xOx…**_

_All the music of life seems to be__  
Like a bell that is ringing for me.  
And from the way that I feel,__  
When that bell starts to peal,  
I would swear I was falling,  
Swear I was falling,  
Why, it's almost like being in love…_  
"_Almost Like Being in Love" –Nat King Cole_

_

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_

…_**xOx…**_

**Author Notes:**

The first scene might have seemed a little out of character, but seeing as how Oscar and André are both still young and relatively happy, I wanted them to have fun. As far as André looking at Oscar's legs goes, he's most likely embarrassed because his grandmother would smack him upside the head for looking! And he's confused, not quite understanding why he'd even want to look to begin with, and why would it bother him to look?

Then of course, he pieces it together in the stables. Abrupt? I think not. I'm confident André realized his feelings for Oscar in the first episode of the anime, recognizing them for what they really were.

André knowing she's a woman? When she gets angry at him and tells him not to talk about it to anyone? Well, that's a memory that will eventually show itself. So don't worry too much about it yet!


	3. Just Around the Riverbend

**Say It's Possible  
By: Manna

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**

…_**xOx…**_

**Chapter Three:****  
Just Around the Riverbend  


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**

…_**xOx…**_

Waiting for the two men on horseback to draw closer to her seemed to take forever. Could they go any slower? She could tell that they were conversing, but she couldn't hear their conversation, and to be honest, she really didn't want to. From a distance, it was hard to tell anything in particular about the man in the military uniform. His hair was a light brown, long, wavy… He seemed elegant. It didn't really bother her much to come to that realization—after all, Louis XV wanted an "elegant" guard, did he not?

He would certainly get it.

While she waited impatiently—though she put on the appearance of being completely calm and patient—she watched the ground by her feet. It took everything in her not to smirk when she heard his horse come to a halt right in front of her.

When she opened her eyes, she noticed the almost confused look on his face, and, well, his servant looked even more baffled. That was just fine with her. She looked right up at the supposed captain, "I was waiting for you, Captain Girodelle." He seemed… She couldn't tell. Indifferent? Bored? Perhaps annoyed that someone dared to slow him down on his way to Versailles… "I am Oscar François de Jarjayes."

His eyes widened in recognition; she could see the grayish-green tint from where she stood. He wasn't a bad-looking man, she thought, but the moment he opened his mouth, she decided that she didn't really care for him.

"Oh, I've heard rumors, but you are indeed beautiful!"

Beautiful? Ugh! He didn't know what he was talking about, did he? He was _just_ _like_ everyone else in Versailles! Just like them! She felt irritation sweep through her belly at his casual words. She looked back down toward the ground before she could say or do something stupid.

"Let's hurry up, then," he continued. "Those snobs are waiting eagerly to see your face."

Like she didn't know that. It was what irked her more than the fact that she had been ordered to compete in a fencing match against Girodelle. The people that attended weren't there because they cared about who took the position of Royal Guard Commander. They were there because they wanted to see her thanks to some stupid rumor. They just wanted to see this supposedly mysterious Oscar…who never showed up to court even with her father, who may or may not be a man, but who certainly wore men's clothing and looked enough like a man to pass for one.

It really made her sick.

He clucked lightly and his horse started to move forward, but there was no way that she was going to let him go to Versailles without letting her prove her worth to herself.

"Captain Girodelle…"

She didn't wait for a reply from him, but she had a feeling that she had his attention. "…I don't wish to be a commander of the royal guards."

"Oh? Is that so?" He almost sounded excited about it, and she couldn't really blame him. That meant that he wouldn't have to fight for a higher position; it would just fall neatly into his lap. "That's very wise of you."

Her eyebrows lowered as she felt anger move in. What did he mean it was _wise_? How was it wise of her? Did he think she was too young? Did he think she didn't deserve a place in the military because she was a woman?

"I'll let them know that Oscar de Jarjayes has declined, then."

She looked up. "I'm not running away because I'm afraid of you." He threw her a confused, completely clueless look, so she half-smirked and looked almost the other direction, letting her eyes close. "I'd like to prove that to you at least…" Her words sounded confident, and that was exactly what she wanted.

He seemed to understand. "Having a match here?"

For a millisecond, she was excited. Would it really be so easy to get him to agree to fight her? But then he laughed heartily, as if he thought what she had said was hysterical.

"Did you hear that!"

He was still laughing when his servant leaned over his horse, a grin on his pudgy face, "Please don't, Mademoiselle Oscar!"

Mademoiselle! Nobody called her that! Don't _what_?! What was so wrong with asking for a match away from the prying, gossiping eyes of Versailles? What did it matter if they fought in front of a crowd or in front of a tree? She didn't want the stupid position, it wasn't like she would come asking for it after telling him she didn't want it!

But no matter how angry she got, she couldn't lose her cool… She glanced up at Captain Girodelle again, trying to formulate a plan in her mind to get him to agree to a match with her.

"If you haven't figured it out yet, let me add one more thing." She wasn't really sure of what she was going to say before she said it, but she remembered what André had suggested to her. Insult the man! She probably would have thought of doing so on her own, of course, but now she had no other choice. He seemed to find her amusing. "I don't want to put you to shame in front of the crowd!"

It worked perfectly. She could see the way his shoulders stiffened at her words, as if he had taken it exactly as she intended it—an insult. After all, why would she put him to shame in front of the crowd and then refuse the position? If she did… If she did, it would make him look bad, but it would certainly make Louis XV want her as the royal guard commander even more!

By challenging him to a match where no one would see him lose, though, he would not be publicly embarrassed and she would not feel obligated to take a job she didn't want.

It probably wouldn't be enough to convince him. After all, the man had said she was beautiful… She felt strange thinking such things. Her parents had called her sisters beautiful. Not her, never her. It was so odd to think that someone she didn't even know might think such a thing.

She could tell that Girodelle was trying to keep his cool, and she smiled. "Or are you afraid of losing to a woman?"

After some hesitation, he dismounted. "If you wish, I'm willing to play with you."

Play? Did he think this was some kind of a game?! Was that how he felt about the position of commander? It was just a game to him? A game that would give him a higher salary and a better pension? Her right hand tightened around the hilt of her sword.

He smirked, though perhaps it was a smile. She couldn't tell. His words were so arrogant they made her sick to her stomach. "But…how could I possibly point a sword at your beautiful face?"

If it had been André, she'd have smacked him upside the head for saying such a thing—not just once, but several times—but it wasn't him, so the only thing that she could possibly do was make sure that he did not continue his life thinking her to be some kind of a joke.

Age, height, gender… It didn't matter in a swordfight. What mattered was skill, and she was confident that she had enough of that to defeat this arrogant man standing in front of her. For his words, he found her sword pointed at his own beautiful face.

After all, she thought vaguely, glaring defiantly at him, he had a face that was more attractive than her own.

His shocked expression and the way his hand accidentally bumped his horse's flank, sending it running off, was more than worth it. He probably hadn't even seen her move closer to him… His eyes had been closed, after all.

Now she had his full attention. "Please! I may be a woman, but I am a warrior!" Admitting such a thing was something she rarely did. She didn't like the way people looked at her when they found out she wasn't really a man. Suddenly, she wasn't good with swords or Latin; when a person found out she was a woman in men's clothing, they thought she was a cute, though surely immature girl who was playing some kind of a silly game. Well, if it was a game, it was one her father had picked out for her, and she had played it her entire life! "This is the only way to protect my honor!"

Honor was important to the de Jarjayes. And by not showing up to the match, surely she would destroy her own…but she could protect it, at least to herself and to Girodelle. And possibly even to André, who was most likely watching, worrying about her needlessly as always.

"I see. I'll fight with you."

She could have laughed in relief. The man was a little arrogant, but at least he understood something about honor. She lowered her sword, and within moments, he was on the offensive. She wasn't surprised, and parried his blows with relative accuracy. It wasn't easy to dodge and move out of his way, but it wasn't difficult, either. He was much taller than her, and he had a lot more power behind his blows than she did.

All she had to do was wait for the perfect opportunity to strike…

He pulled back for a moment to comment on her agility, but she made no move to acknowledge his words. Of course she was agile! She was thin, much shorter than him, and she wasn't hampered down by a ridiculously decorative military uniform.

She stayed on the defensive until he pulled back and swung downward with a blow that, if it managed to hit her, would have dug deep into her shoulder. One step to the left, though, put her out of range, and she swung her sword upward at his chest, cutting through the fabric of his uniform.

With a sense of satisfaction, she pointed her sword—and the lovely little souvenir it had taken from his clothes—at his face. He looked taken aback, almost like he couldn't believe that he had lost to her!

She pulled her sword back and did her best not to smile too widely. "Thank you. I'm satisfied, now." She made to walk away, but she hardly started to turn before his eyes widened and his eyebrows lowered in anger.

"W-Wait!" He took a step forward, "It has only begun!" And before she knew it, he was on the offensive again, despite the wound that she had most likely given him. She could have sworn that he wasn't using his real strength the first time, because his blows were so strong it made her arm ache just to parry them with her sword. He probably hadn't been taking her seriously, assuming that just because King Louis XV wanted an elegant guard, that only beautiful decorations would be suggested for the role of Commander.

After less than a minute, though, she managed to swing upward the moment he seemed to lose his guard, and his sword went spinning into the air. Oh, how she loved using that trick on people… Usually André received the embarrassment of losing his grip on his sword, but now… Now…

Oh, it was worth practicing that technique over and over and over again. He stared at his sword in shock as it came plunging toward the earth, landing hilt-up in the dirt just behind him. A victory for her! She would have to remember to thank André for letting her practice with him so often.

She sheathed her sword and tried in vain to hold back a triumphant smile. She hadn't been worried that she would lose, really… Though she couldn't lie to herself—that first strike of his after she had thought she'd won… It had been a little frightening. After all, Captain Girodelle wasn't André. She was certain that her childhood friend tried his best, but he was only fourteen and he didn't always use his physical strength to his full advantage.

Girodelle, on the other hand, had no reason to hold back since their match was far more than a little practice spar between friends. It was like fighting her father, she thought wryly, only easier.

"Thank you for the match," she told him, inclining her head slightly.

He was silent for a long moment before he turned around and pulled his sword from the ground; he wiped the dirt off of the blade before slowly sheathing it. "Monsieur, Mademoiselle… Whatever you want to go by…" He paused and shifted his weight to his other foot. "By all rights, you have won." Hesitantly, he added, "Twice."

"Take your position, Monsieur," she said sharply. "I do not want it." She turned around abruptly and freed her mare from the tree branch that her reins were tied to.

"Why don't you want it?" He stepped closer to her, and she swung into the saddle, almost feeling intimidated. She wasn't afraid of this Girodelle—she had beaten him soundly, after all—but it was almost like speaking to her father. No matter how she tried to explain it, she doubted he could possibly understand.

She looked away from him, in the direction she knew André was. Her friend was probably wondering what was taking her so long. She was never one who liked to chitchat with other nobles, preferring the more intense, exciting conversations of the gardeners or stable hands instead.

She wanted to say that it was complicated, that he wouldn't understand even if she spent an hour explaining it to him, that she _just didn't want it_, and wasn't that a good enough explanation?

Her voice was dry, lacking both humor and emotion, "I have no desire to be an ornamental doll of the court."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she didn't want to hear it. Not his excuses, not any more questions. Really, she'd heard more than enough for one day.

"Good day, Monsieur."

Without so much as a glance over her shoulder at him, she kicked her mare forward and headed for the tree she remembered leaving André under. It was just out of sight, and to be perfectly honest with herself, it felt as if it took far too long to get there.

"You did great, Oscar," André said when she made her way back to him. His eyes roved over her body critically, and she glared at him.

"Cut that out, I'm fine. Completely unscathed, even."

He smiled in relief. "He was a pushover, then?"

"Hardly." She snorted and motioned for him to get up. "He certainly sounded like one, though. Calling me beautiful and saying he couldn't _possibly_ point a sword at my face. Hah!" She glared at her hands; they were fisted tightly around Lena's reins. "I wanted to deck him right in that pretty face of his…"

He grinned, and she could tell by his expression that it was at least half amusement. "I'm glad you didn't, Oscar."

"Why? You don't think I could best him in a fistfight, too?"

"Well, it's not that…"

His voice suddenly almost changed, that sometimes-unnoticeable squeak that came out when he was nervous appearing briefly. His voice was still changing—something she was _almost_ jealous of because not only was he a man, he would sound like one, too—and though it had changed almost completely, sometimes it still liked to act up against him. She smiled at his quiet embarrassment and shrugged.

Could she beat Girodelle in a fistfight? She wanted to believe that she could. One of her hands untangled itself from Lena's reins and brushed lightly against a bruise on her hipbone. Out of all the scrapes and such she had gotten from her tumble down the stairs, it was by far the worst. She ate well enough, but she was still very thin, and she hated how her hipbones stuck out. No doubt that was how her right one had managed to get blackish-green. The stupid thing.

The way her father had so casually tossed her down the stairs hurt. Not physically so much as mentally. Well, if she had known he would kick up such a fuss, she'd have just said she wouldn't wear the uniform. Why did she have to say guarding Marie Antoinette was babysitting?

Well, because it _was_.

But he had just dragged her out there by the front of her shirt or her cravat—she couldn't quite remember which—and tossed her down that first flight of steps. It was almost like to him, she weighed nothing. She wondered for a brief moment if Girodelle could do something like that. What about André?

No, definitely not André! She almost laughed at the thought. André was strong—there was absolutely no doubt about it—but she just couldn't even imagine him doing something like that. And Girodelle… Well, André was built better than he and still growing, so there was just no way that Girodelle would have that kind of strength. He didn't lift bales of hay or pitch manure.

"I could probably beat him," she said smugly. "He had a lot of physical power behind most of his sword swings, but probably only because I made him angry. I'll bet I'd have an advantage fighting him with my fists. After all, he probably couldn't even lift a bale of hay."

André mounted his horse and chuckled. "Oscar, you probably weigh less than a bale of hay. I still remember when…"

"Enough, enough! Don't bring that up!" Her face was burning red.

He only grinned wider. "I'm not allowed to talk about anything, am I?"

"Not when it involves public humiliation, no." After a short while, she managed to compose herself and lightly kicked Lena's sides, starting off ahead of André at a fast walk. "Let's get home. I'm sure Father has a thing or two to say to me."

_

* * *

  
_

Oscar was in a slightly better mood after defeating Girodelle. Was that what had been bothering her, he wondered? Or was it something more? It had to be more… There was absolutely no way that she would get so worked up over a fencing match, especially one so easily won.

She couldn't still be sour over being considered beautiful… It was just… That was ridiculous! Despite her better mood, she seemed unsettled for the duration of their ride back to the Jarjayes estate. He couldn't blame her for feeling so conflicted about everything, but at least she seemed to be sticking with what she felt was right. Or at least, what she wanted to do.

She said no uniform, and so far…she had not shown even the slightest indication that she would do so much as _think_ about putting it on. It just made him sick to think that General de Jarjayes had thrown Oscar down the stairs for telling him that she would not wear it. He was certain that there was something she wasn't telling him, possibly more than one thing.

"Oscar, are you okay?"

"Huh?" She blinked in confusion and turned to look at him. "What?"

"You were staring off into space," he told her, removing her horse's saddle before taking it to the tack room to put away. "And you're looking a bit pale, too."

"I always look this way."

It was one of her automatic retorts, but he knew better. He hadn't spent nearly every day of his life with Oscar only to find himself unable to tell when something was different about her. She was definitely pale, and when he squinted, he could see that she was chewing absent-mindedly at her lower lip.

"No you don't."

She ignored him and continued to stare off into space, rolling her lip between her teeth. She looked really… It was hard to describe, he thought. Cute? He couldn't possibly say that to her, though! She would hit him in the back of the head so hard she'd probably knock him out.

"What's wrong, Oscar?" She didn't answer him, but when he returned after hanging Lena's bridle in its special spot in the tack room, he tried again. "Oscar, what's the matter?"

She whirled around to face him, her expression a mixture of a lot of negative emotions. Right off the top of his head he saw fear and anger. "Nothing, okay? Nothing!" She waved her arms a little bit for emphasis and turned away from him. "There is _nothing_ wrong."

Her words were not convincing, but he didn't know if she knew that. He would play along for the time being, he decided, and lifted his own horse's saddle to put it away. On his way back to Chevis to remove his bridle, he noticed that Oscar was still chewing on her lip.

Just as he reached up to take the metal bit out of his horse's mouth, one of the barn doors slammed open. He knew who it was standing in the doorway—he didn't even have to look. Automatically, his gaze went to his childhood friend. _That was the fear_, he thought, remembering what he had seen only minutes beforehand, partially hidden in Oscar's expression.

She had expected a firm talking-to, but perhaps… Perhaps she had realized that words would most likely not be the only things coming from her father.

He didn't see the general step closer to her, but he heard the sound of the man's boots tapping angrily against the cobblestone floor of the stables, and he saw Oscar steel her eyes just moments before her father came to stand in front of her.

She expected something. He could tell that she did. She looked so wary that it was almost disturbing to him. She was on her guard, but she didn't expect the palm of her father's hand to land squarely across the left side of her face. She tried to brace herself, he thought, but it didn't work, and another blow across the right side of her face sent her to the stable floor.

Chevis reared in distress, and he tried to calm the horse in vain, far more concerned for his friend's well being. His heart was thudding in his chest nervously; he hated seeing things happen to Oscar. He hated it. _Hated it_. But after seeing it enough, after seeing her father's disregard for who was watching when he hit her, seeing him order her to his study so that he could do so where people could _hear_ it—which was almost as bad—he almost felt like he could understand her and the way that she was.

It still didn't keep his chest from aching every time it happened. It didn't keep him from wanting to reach out to her, though he wasn't sure what he would do if he could. Hold her, maybe? He doubted she would appreciate it. Something…he just wanted to do _something_.

When he was the stupid silent stable boy in the background holding a horse's reins while his friend was smacked practically senseless, he felt so helpless.

She almost didn't catch herself with her left arm before her father's loud voice shook the rafters—or perhaps it was only the horrific thud of his heart that he was hearing.

Chevis snorted and stomped nervously as Oscar managed to get to a kneeling position and looked up at her father. André desperately wanted to see her face, to see if she was really okay. But he knew that if he saw that false, almost defiant look in her eyes that she gave to her father to try and appear brave, it would break his heart.

"What's wrong with you?!" the general was shouting, but Oscar did not so much as flinch. "Don't you understand your father's concerns?!"

He knew he could not interfere, though he sorely wanted to. Oscar had learned long ago to remain silent when her father was on one of his angry tirades, and André had, too, though mostly by seeing what had happened to her. He shuddered to remember it, and the many nightmares he had awakened to for nigh upon a year after his first time seeing such a thing.

He just…he didn't like Oscar being treated like that! Long ago it had stopped mattering if he saw it or not, because he _knew_ when it happened. He could always tell when she had been yelled at, reprimanded, punished, beaten… He couldn't even explain it to himself. He just _knew_. He could see it in her eyes, and when he looked closely enough, he could tell exactly what had happened to her.

She didn't need to say a thing.

He was dying inside, unable to see her face, her expression, her eyes.

"Listen to me! Whatever His Majesty decides at Versailles today…a traitor like you will not have an excuse!"

Did she have that stubborn tilt to her chin? Were her eyes flashing angrily? Was she scared? Nervous? Was she still looking at her father or at the ground? He couldn't tell.

"Be ready!"

With that, her father stormed out of the stables and André quickly looped Chevis's reins around a post and made his way over to Oscar. He kneeled down on one knee next to her and his fingertips were a breath away from her shoulder when he heard her murmur something mostly under her breath.

"Be ready for what…?"

His fingers closed in and dug lightly into the fabric of her shirt and vest.

She shrugged his hand off. "Leave me alone, André," she said firmly, her tone sounding cold except for the slight quaver that gave her real emotions away. He pretended not to see, not to understand, and put his hand on her back instead.

"Oscar…"

"Leave me be!" she shouted, whirling around to face him, her hands pushing him away from her as she clamored to her feet.

Her words stung, but they meant absolutely nothing. No, her face, red from where her father had hit her and from what he assumed to be humiliation, the way her lips refused to stay still, trembling ever so slightly, and her eyes, almost on the verge of shedding tears… That told him far more than anything she said.

"Oscar," he whispered, his heart still thudding nervously against his ribcage. "Are you okay?"

She took in a lungful of air, and he could hear her breath shudder as she struggled to calm down. She had to know that he was worried about her.

"He didn't hit me that hard. I'm fine." She turned away from him and rubbed at her temples. Her hands were shaking. "I… I just… I want some time alone." Before he could make a move to stop her, she was gone.

Slowly, he stood and looked off in the direction she had gone. He shook his head and walked back to Chevis, petting his faithful steed's neck lovingly before he took the steel bit from his mouth and pulled the bridle over his ears.

"I hope she's not crying," he murmured to himself as he hung the bridle in the tack room and shut the door behind him on the way out. He took a seat on a bale of straw and crossed his legs as he thought. He didn't like the thought of her running off to be alone to cry, and he couldn't be certain as to why.

Perhaps it was because he hated seeing her upset, sad… But no, there was more to it than that. The thought of her off by herself crying made his heart twist sickeningly in his chest. It made him feel jealous, unwanted, unneeded, unnecessary, and…guilty. Why couldn't she come to him like she had done when they were still children? Why couldn't she cry to him, on him?

She didn't have to explain herself, she didn't have to say anything. He would let her cry.

Of course he would wonder, but if she would only trust him that much again, he would never have to know what was wrong. So long as she would come to him, it wouldn't matter…

He was only kidding himself. If she came to him crying, he would want to know everything.

A part of him wanted to go to her and hold her when she looked so distraught, and it frightened him. He had always felt that way, but the urge had never been so strong before, so real. It had never felt so…strange.

He supposed what really bothered him was that she went off alone to cry, and lately, it was something she always did. He rarely had the courage to follow her, and rarer still was a time when she would speak to him with tears running down her face. Didn't she know that she didn't…_have_ to be alone? That it would be okay if she stayed with him and let herself cry?

It wasn't a weakness. It wasn't…a fault.

He would never think less of her for it.

His thoughts were so jumbled that they only confused him more than was necessary. He decided to give the horses their afternoon meal and then to pick up some vegetables from town for his grandmother. Maybe that would take his mind off of his normally energetic friend who seemed to be spiraling into a confused state of despair.

It would have to be sorted out sooner or later, he thought. Her father was angry and had mentioned something about her being a traitor… And all over a stupid uniform! As he pitched hay into the horse's feeding troughs, he sighed and stopped to wipe the sweat off of his forehead with his shirtsleeve.

He would have to get to the bottom of things. He wasn't going to… He couldn't…

He had to try and understand Oscar's decision not to wear the uniform. After all, what would happen to her if the king really did consider her to be a traitor? His chest clenched painfully at the thought, and his stomach suddenly felt unsettled.

No, he couldn't just watch something like that happen to her… He had to say something, had to try and convince her to—

No. _No_. He wasn't going to try and convince her to do _anything_. But he wanted to know why she was being so stubborn about it. Was it that she didn't want to be a decoration? Or was it a lot more than that? There had to be more. It had always been her dream to be an officer in the military. She had talked about it so much as a child, it had been something he had both looked forward to and dreaded for most of his life. Her dream was, in a sense, his nightmare. The last thing he wanted was for her to be taken away from him.

Maybe… Maybe she had a perfectly valid reason for her sudden change of mind. The only way he could find out, though, would be to ask her himself. And he had a feeling that she wouldn't want to tell him.

* * *

…_**xOx…**_

_To be safe, we lose our chance of ever knowing  
What's around the riverbend,  
Waiting just around the riverbend…_

_I look once more,  
Just around the riverbend;  
Beyond the shore  
Where the gulls fly free!  
Don't know what for,  
What I dream the day might send,  
Just around the riverbend.  
For me…  
Coming for me…_  
"_Just Around the Riverbed" -Judy Kuhn  


* * *

  
_

…_**xOx…**_

**Author Notes:**

There are so many notes I can slap to this. Okay, first of all, Girodelle. He's a great character, and Oscar doesn't like him. Not yet. But remember, it's her that doesn't like him, not me. I'm not trying to make him look bad. I'm not going to try and make Monsieur de Jarjayes look bad either.

"Ornamental doll of the court". That's from the manga. I do believe Bernard calls her this. Someone in the live-action calls her a wooden soldier, which is almost the same thing. The difference? A wooden soldier is plain, but a doll is exquisite!

Oscar is still fighting letting anybody comfort her. How long will that last? You'll see. With the word "traitor" comes a lot of other words. Oscar has a lot more to think about now than "_Do I wear that uniform or not_?" Now it's, "_What might the king do to a traitor_?"

Thank you for reading, and please review if you have the time!


End file.

Rose of Versailles, Drama, Romance