A Question Of Trust

by Michelle

Note: An expanded and missing scene from S03 ep 02, 'Hunger' of the TV series The Musketeers. As opposed to this story, Porthos doesn't actually appear in this particular moment of the episode.

"None of us knows what might happen 
even the next minute, yet still we go forward.
Because we trust. Because we have faith."

- Paulo Coelho -

“Sylvie…” Athos’s eyes widened at the sight of her with the pistol in her hand, pointed at Leon.
“I’ll make sure that justice is done,” he promised with a calm, composed voice, his eyes fixed on hers.
“Do you really expect me to believe that?” she asked with gritted teeth, focusing on Leon’s face. “After everything that’s happened to my friends? My own father?!” Anger and pain played tricks on her facial muscles. Her hand, holding the pistol, was slightly shaking.
“Take this burden upon yourself and it will never lift,” Athos continued calmly while moving carefully to stand behind Leon so that she could see his face better. He was hoping to get eye contact and break her resolve. “Revenge yourself and part of you dies with him.”

The tension in the room was palpable, the anxious looks on the musketeers’ faces suddenly changed into shock when a loud shot surprised them all – including Sylvie, for it wasn’t her pistol that had fired.
Athos’s head turned, and his bewildered eyes noticed the smoke clearing away from Marcheaux’s pistol, still pointed at the spot where Leon had stood only a few moments before.
“An honourable death,” the Captain of the Red Guard remarked with a smirk.

Aramis was the first to recover and quickly took the pistol out of Sylvie’s hand.
“What have you done?” She asked in disbelief. “He betrayed us! He betrayed my father, you cannot do that!”
She moved to attack Marcheaux with bare hands, but Athos’s quick arms stopped her, wrapping around her from behind like an iron fist.
“We put this man inside the settlement some months ago,” Marcheaux continued, faking a serious expression and rising from his chair where he had sat down again. “He’s been most useful but too much time in low company must have… corrupted him.”

Sylvie attempted to free herself from Athos, but his arms were uncompromising, keeping her in a tight grip. Marcheaux wanted to complete his fairy tale and, ignoring her, he concluded.
“He obviously saw an opportunity to organise the theft of Beaufort’s grain… Blame the refugees.”

At Sylvie’s renewed attempt to break free, Athos understood he had to get her out of the room.
“It’s over,” he said quietly but insistently to her, leading her away through the back door where she had come from.
She stopped resisting after a few steps, and as they took the first breath out in the street, her chest started heaving. Athos closed the door behind them and watched her for a moment.

Sylvie grabbed her head in her hands, frustrated, releasing it a few seconds later and pacing for a few moments. Suddenly she slammed the window shutter on the wall with such strength that it shook in its frame.
Athos didn’t move at first. However, when she slid down the wall and remained sitting on the cold cobblestones, staring helplessly ahead, he walked over and sat down next to her.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly with genuine compassion when she seemed to have calmed down a little.
“You didn’t kill him,” Sylvie whispered listlessly.
“But I was unable to prevent it. And I don’t mean only Leon.”

She finally looked at him, curiosity reflecting in her big dark eyes. This man had intrigued her right from their first encounter. He may have been in the service of the King, making him the opposition, yet his level of compassion, understanding, non-judgemental nature and desire for justice were remarkable. As she was looking into his expressive blue eyes, she saw kindness but also some deep sadness in their depths.

“Thank you,” Sylvie said quietly, with a penetrating look.
“I only did what I thought was right,” Athos replied, still maintaining eye contact – her eyes, twinkling in the night, suddenly fascinated him.
“You could have arrested me in the first place but you didn’t,” she countered, shaking her head. “You trusted me, a stranger, and didn’t judge me. You helped to prove the innocence of our people, without asking for anything in return. I’ll never forget that.”

Her voice was quiet but resonated with conviction. Athos couldn’t suppress a small smile.
“The musketeers may seem like enemies in your eyes,” he said,” defending a system you oppose, but we are much more than that. We stand for loyalty, fairness, honour, and above all justice. And we don’t always agree with what we are ordered to do… We swore an oath and are bound by it. But that doesn’t mean we are not human too.”

Finally, Sylvie smiled too, touched by his words. She told him before she never really trusted strangers, but somewhere deep inside she knew she trusted him. Looking into those caring eyes observing her, there was no question he would never let her down.
“I hope the King knows what he has in you,” she said with genuine admiration. “France could do with more men like you.”

It was the first genuine smile Athos had seen on her face, and despite her melancholy, he felt the warmth of it reaching his heart. He lowered his eyes at last, humbled by her words.
“And I hope that there will come a day when your voice will be heard at the right places, in peace, without the need for any violence,” he replied and looked at her again.
“That’s all my father and I ever wished for…”

The memory of her late parent brought back pain to her heart. She managed to fight back the tears, although the musketeer noticed the brief tremble of her chin and her glistening eyes.
“He was a master of words,” Sylvie remembered. “He believed that the world can only be changed if everyone desires to do something to make it happen. The more voices, the greater the result. The power of the word was his true weapon. He was not afraid of using real ones if needed, but he also believed in clear and strong but peaceful communication between people, and I share his belief.”

She smiled, and her hand found Athos’s gloved hand, giving it a light squeeze before pulling it back again. Sylvie wasn’t exactly sure what made her seek the musketeer’s touch, probably gratitude, mingled with the melancholy hiding in the depth of his eyes, making her want to wash it away. Nevertheless, she felt slightly abashed, her usual self-confidence shaken after the mental strain of the last few days.

Something strange stirred in Athos, slightly disturbing his usual inner balance. The feel of her warm hand reached him even through the leather of his glove, leaving an invisible mark on it. He knitted his brows and looked ahead, attempting to chase the strange feeling away.

Suddenly the door opened again, and d’Artagnan, Aramis and Porthos made their way out of the tavern. One look at the youngest of them revealed he was furious.
“I swear I will finish off Marcheaux one day, “ he stated through gritted teeth.
“Be my guest,” Aramis remarked. “I’ll be more than happy to watch but as I told you, not today.”
Their eyes met, and d’Artagnan finally nodded, returning to his senses again. All three of them turned around, spotting Athos and Sylvie sitting on the ground.
“Everything all right?” Porthos asked with a frown.
“Absolutely,” Athos answered calmly. “We were just contemplating the quality of the Parisian walkways.”
He glanced at Sylvie, seeing a hint of an amused smile on her face.

Aramis chuckled then sighed.
“Well, Marcheaux is as smug as you like. He will not admit anything,” he remarked.
“As if we had expected anything else,” Porthos replied dryly. “Still, we need to tell Feron. They can’t just blame everything on the refugees and get away with it.”
“Treville and I will see him tomorrow. Let’s hope the evidence we have will at least clear the people of the camp,” Athos said and raised himself off the ground. He reached out his hand to help Sylvie stand up as well.

She seemed worn out all at once, all her energy spent on pursuing justice. Accepting his hand, once standing she took a deep breath before speaking to all four musketeers.
“Thank you… for believing in and helping us. I’m really grateful to all of you.”
Smiles appeared on the men’s faces, but Porthos couldn’t help a remark, his face serious.
“Just try staying out of the Red Guard’s sight. We might not be so lucky next time.”Sylvie chuckled as she glanced at him. She felt too tired to reply with a clever remark about what she really thought about the danger to herself.

“Take care of yourself,” d’Artagnan said, patting her arm, deciding there was nothing more to be done that night.
Aramis smiled at her and Porthos gave her a little nod.
“I’ll walk Sylvie back to the camp,” Athos stated, drawing surprised looks from his friends’ faces, including one from the woman herself. “It’s late and I don’t trust Marcheaux,” he added, feeling the need to justify his intention.
Aramis grinned. “Gentlemen, it’s our time to leave,” he said. “The night is still young and the stars are bright, sharing their glow with all the lovers alight.”
Athos shot him an annoyed look but didn’t comment – his friend saw romance behind every corner, so he shouldn’t have been surprised.

Sylvie’s eyes studied the Captain of the Musketeers, who watched his friends walk away. She was perfectly capable of walking home on her own, but she wished not to point that out to him. Not only because she felt tired, but because of a far more plausible reason – she liked being around Athos. Her reason was trying to warn her, ringing alarm almost constantly: He is from the other side; nothing good can come out of this…
And yet, as he turned around to face her again, and she saw those now familiar, serious features, dominated by the big blue eyes, she muted that warning voice and followed him into the night.

They walked mostly in silence, each in their own thoughts but stealing glances at each other here and there – Athos trying to convince himself it was only out of worry for her safety; Sylvie because… well, she’d rather not wish to dwell on the reason.
When they finally stopped at the wooden staircase leading to the shack where she inhabited a modest room, the silence between them seemed to stretch forever.

“I’ll let you know as soon as we know about the outcome,” Athos said eventually, his face still earnest.
Sylvie nodded and observed his face in the dim light of the nearby fire. An incredulous smile appeared on her pretty face.
“You are different…” she said quietly, shaking her head.
“Meaning?” he asked, mildly amused.
“Different than who I thought you’d be when we first met.”

Athos’s amusement brought twinkles into his eyes before he replied.
“And you are exactly what I thought you would be.”
“What is that?” she challenged him, her chin slightly upturned.
An enigmatic smile wiped the serious expression off his face. “Trouble.”

His eyes lingered on hers for a moment, then he walked away into the Paris night, leaving Sylvie alone to her thoughts, unaware of the growing confusion in her heart. As he kept walking, for a good reason, he preferred not to examine his own.