The Heart Asks Pleasure First
by Michelle
Note: This story is set after the s03 episode 'Brothers In Arms' of the TV series The Musketeers.
Chapter 1
- William Shakespeare: The Two Gentlemen of Verona
Athos downed his cup of wine and put it on the table. He reached for a document he had been reading for the last half an hour. It contained the list of the newest cadet recruits, and he was going over the notes D’Artagnan made about each of them. The Captain watched and took a major part in their assessment daily, but he found his friend’s and one of the best musketeers’ s advice very helpful since he trusted his judgement and impartiality.
The selection process took his mind off the troubling state of Paris that he and his friends found themselves in when they returned from the war. Athos couldn’t ignore the effect that the King’s negligence had on his country and its people, stricken by poverty and hunger on every corner. Especially since the events in the refugee camp, he often ended in a state of questioning the righteousness of his loyalty to the Crown. His head was still strictly set on serving the King to his last breath, but lately, his heart and his honest nature couldn’t fight off the feeling that things should be different. Athos didn’t like being torn; clarity of his direction was what had helped him to keep sane and focused since he became a musketeer. However, since returning from war, he felt that nothing would ever be the same again, and he couldn’t shake off a silent foreboding of a dark shadow approaching Paris and the whole of France.
There was a slither of light cutting through the veil of darkness, though, and it was something the Captain couldn’t shake off either. Ever since he had set foot in the refugee camp, his thoughts had been returning to the face of the feisty, smart, brave and pretty woman, who kept crossing his path ever since their first encounter. It was the first time in years that Athos found an irresistible urge to let a woman into his life. Perhaps not into all of its secret and dark corners. but at least to its wide and sun-lit rooms…
The Captain sighed, shaking his head, his eyebrows knitted with the attempt of trying to focus on the work in front of him again. Wherever his mind might have wandered off occasionally, his sense of duty always prevailed and he was reluctant for anything to change it. Therefore, a sudden knock on the doorframe almost annoyed him as he lifted his head from the list. He forgot he had left the door open when he entered his office.
“Sorry to disturb you,” D’Artagnan apologised, seeing Athos’s tense expression, “but Treville asked me to accompany him at the King’s sword practice. I just wanted to let you know I’ll be gone probably for the rest of the afternoon.”
Athos chuckled, a soft smile lingering on his face. His fondness for the young Gascon had grown almost into a paternal affection. Perhaps it was that D’Artagnan reminded him of himself in his younger years or the values they shared. Either way, their deep friendship was one of the few things that sustained Athos over the years, especially during their time serving in the war. Yet again, he was reminded of how lucky he had been, having him, as well as Aramis and Porthos in his life.
※※※※※
Chapter 2
- Albert Camus -
The crowd in the refugee camp eagerly reaching their hands for bits of food mercifully provided to them was growing bigger each day. It was no exception that afternoon as two young women joined others, patiently waiting for their turn. They only managed to get a few pieces of bread and cheese for breakfast and had no high expectations to receive any more for late lunch or early dinner, for they only got two rations a day. One of the women seemed miles away from the hungry assembly, pushing forward toward the wagon where a middle-aged man was nervously giving out what most people would call food scraps.
“Everyone is getting hungrier every day,” Rochelle said with sadness.
”Hmm,” her friend replied absently, her eyes looking at the crowd but not really seeing it.
Rochelle observed her curiously, unused to such a plain reply, without any hint of heated words accusing the Crown of negligence toward its people.
”All right, who are you and what have you done with Sylvie?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.
Only then did Sylvie’s mind return to the present, and she chuckled.
”I’m sorry… My head was somewhere else,” she said quietly.
”I noticed, like often lately. Somewhere near a tall, dark-haired, bearded, blue-eyed and moderately good-looking musketeer?”
”Yes…What?!” Sylvie snapped from daydreaming, but too late to avoid a subconscious slip of her tongue.
Rochelle laughed. “I may be younger than you but I have eyes.”
Sylvie sighed and tried to regain her focus. She couldn’t help a small smile, though.
”That smile is dangerous,” her friend remarked, the expression on her face combining amusement and worry. “You know he’s not…”
”I know. He’s not one of us,” Sylvie interrupted the girl. “But he’s not exactly against us, is he? Athos is not just an ordinary soldier. He and his friends are honourable men. Or have you already forgotten how he helped to save us and Christophe from death?”
”Of course, I haven’t,” Rochelle admitted, shaking her head. “From the one time I have seen him, he seems like a decent man. I’m just saying you should take things… carefully. At least until you get to know him better.” She paused. “That’s if you ever see him again.”
Sylvie couldn’t help but feel a little stab somewhere inside imagining never seeing Athos again. She had left the door open for him but would he dare to walk through it? At their last encounter, she had a feeling he would, but days passed and there was no sight of him…
Suddenly, she felt a light touch on her forearm.
”I’m sorry, Sylvie,” Rochelle apologised with a guilty look. “It’s your life and I know you’re not stupid. I guess it’s just difficult for me to trust anyone from outside these days, with the way we have been treated…”
”You don’t need to apologise. I understand.” Sylvie smiled, briefly covering her friend’s hand and squeezing it. After her father’s death, Rochelle had been her greatest support and friend.
They went silent, slowly inching closer toward the food wagon, each deep in their own thoughts.
Sylvie’s mind drifted back to her former home in the countryside, far away from the lively and dirty streets of Paris, miles away from their struggles in the camp. Her childhood days brought back memories of her late father, teaching her to read and write, form her own opinions and defend herself with a stick, later with a sword he had in his possession from his younger days. She smiled when imagining herself as a girl, chasing the chickens around the backyard of their small house with a wooden stick, pretending they were enemies.
Her smile faded as she remembered how a child’s game quickly turned into reality when the war forced them to flee their home and seek refuge in Paris four years earlier, sadly losing Sylvie’s mother to a bad case of flu only a short time before. Sylvie wasn’t a child anymore back then, yet apart from the grief, the loss of her mother also meant a new chapter in her life. The innocence of days gone by turned into a bittersweet memory, replaced by the sense of responsibility toward her father and her own life, and with time and a growing struggle for survival, the mission of fighting for a better life for everyone in their new home.
For four years, no one showed any empathy towards the refugees, frequently bullied by the Red Guard, mostly for no justified reason, until a group of musketeers entered the camp and helped them to save not only the refugees’ lives but also their honour. Many things have changed in the short time since then, one of them being Sylvie losing her father. Yet the greatest change was the shift in her heart. By meeting Athos, for the first time in her life, Sylvie felt she had met a man who caught her interest right from the off, made her think outside her well-established box and forced her to try seeing things from both sides of the camp’s wall, not only her own. Something was drawing her to him like a magnet, and her usually sharp focus on all things important was slipping more often than she would have wished. It wasn’t just his handsome face, graceful walk, and his powerful presence that Sylvie found attractive. Athos’s broody yet kind, even playful eyes, his strong sense of justice, calm demeanour and his diplomatic skills in the hour of need were among the qualities that truly impressed her.
Sylvie had met many young men among the refugees since her arrival in Paris. Some of them even tried to approach her in a more than friendly way, but none of them had awakened such interest and above all, feelings in her than the Captain of the Musketeers. It was as if Athos opened the door to a part inside her that was sleeping until then. She was still barely in her mid-twenties, but the harsh reality she had to live in for the past four years gave her a level of maturity she wouldn’t have reached until later years. Perhaps that was why her heart was mute toward the efforts of the men in her surroundings.
And then Athos suddenly appeared, and it seemed she had finally found her match, even though in a place she would have expected it the least. His natural charm and obvious but unobtrusive interest in her since they had met again in Christophe’s tavern was something she couldn’t shake off her mind.
“Do you think my father would be disappointed in me?” Sylvie asked suddenly with unusual insecurity.
Rochelle looked at her and smiled, shaking her head.
“Your father was always proud of you and trusted your judgement. He would be a bit worried, but no… not disappointed.”
Rochelle’s honest words put Sylvie’s mind at ease, and smiling, she relaxed again. She noticed they had almost reached the wagon by now, although more and more people were coming and joining them. All at once, she knitted her eyebrows and shot her friend a side glance.
”Moderately good-looking?” she asked incredulously.
Both women suddenly laughed, lifting the tense atmosphere immediately.
”All right, quite good-looking. That’s all you’re going to get,” Rochelle corrected her statement, chuckling.
”I can live with that,” her friend replied with a satisfied grin.
After they finally received their bits of bread and cheese (as Sylvie correctly predicted earlier), both friends parted ways, walking toward their respective lodgings. The quite pleasantly mild afternoon was already nearing its later part, as Sylvie walked through the camp’s labyrinth of narrow passageways, filled with washing lines, playing children and adults engaged in talks together. Seeing the poverty all around, her heart ached all over again, making her even more determined to do everything in her power to change it.
She had just reached the shack she called her home when the sight of a man dressed in black, with a sword attached at his hip, sitting at the bottom of the staircase made her stop, surprised… and thrilled.
Athos smiled at her, his eyes two sparkling diamonds at the sight of her, conveying without words his genuine joy of them meeting again. True to his nature, he let his actions speak for him.
“You like taking your time,” Sylvie teased him with a grin when he remained silent. The unruly waves of his hair framing his face and his leisurely posture made it harder for her to resist the temptation to do something spontaneous.
“I like making sure I make the right decisions,” he replied with an enigmatic smile.
He stood up to let her pass, and as she approached him, their eyes met again.
“And have you… made the right decision?” she asked, hypnotised by the intensity in his blue irises.
Athos’s smile widened. “Only time and you can tell me.”
Sylvie lowered her eyes, allowing herself a moment more before walking up the stairs. She entered the shack with a wide smile still lingering on her face. Athos’s eyes watched her silently until she disappeared from his sight; he knew for sure now that he was welcome. He didn’t want to think about the possible consequences. All that mattered was the present, that one moment in time when their paths collided to create something new, whatever it was to be.
Taking a deep breath, he finally moved and walked up the stairs, following her inside with a strong feeling that his life was about to take a new course.
※※※※※
Chapter 3
It is a wise man's duty to save himself for to-morrow,
and not risk everything on one day.
- Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: Don Quixote
For the second time, Athos entered Sylvie’s room. He had to smile when thinking of the first time – back then, it was Sylvie’s pistol, pointed at him, of which he caught sight before its owner. Was it even possible that only a few weeks had passed since then? And it took only those few weeks that his life had been turned upside down. The newly resurfaced emotions he had buried for years threatened his usually cool and calm equilibrium. The last thing he wanted was to surrender to them again.
This time, you won’t fall into the trap; it’s only a matter of a little pleasure in a nice company. This time, you won’t give all of yourself…
Sylvie shut the door behind her and turned to her guest. Her eyes fleetingly skimmed the small room she had called home for the last four years. The warm afternoon sunrays penetrating the single window on the wall illuminated her living space – a sleeping mattress, pillow and blankets on the floor, a small table with a candle holder and a couple of chairs, a large, old wooden chest, some folded clothes and some bowls, plates, cups, and a couple of clay water jugs. She was about to move to a larger room right next door soon, as a family was moving out after the man found work at one of the town’s blacksmiths – a small miracle since the refugees found it nigh on impossible to be treated with respect and fairness outside the walls of their camp.
Suddenly she thought of her childhood home, outside of Paris, before she had to leave it with her father. Although it wasn’t the house of a wealthy man, it was cosy and welcoming. Sylvie remembered all the books her father had in several bookshelves he made with his own hands. Every evening, they used to pick one and read it together by the fire, while her mother sat nearby and mended clothes or just listened to them with a warm smile.
“Everything all right?” Athos’s soothing voice interrupted her brooding. He had noticed the melancholy and the distant look in her eyes. His penetrating look was too much to bear all at once.
“Yes,” she replied quickly, attempting a smile. “Just… memories… of my real home… A long time ago,” she added and walked past him, reaching for one of the clay jugs.
“I would offer wine but I haven’t seen any for four years so I’m afraid, water will have to do.” She was fully back in the present now and her smile was genuine.
Athos noticed no bitterness in her voice, only a mere stating of a fact.
“Water will do just fine,” he said, adding one of his characteristic small smiles.
Sylvie poured the clear liquid into two cups and passed him one. Suddenly her usual self-confidence was waning, and her eyes dropped to the cup in her hands. She had never had a man in her private space apart from her father. Since his death, she didn’t share it with anyone and used to meet her friends outside, in the camp’s alleys. Realising this was a new territory for her was both surprising and unnerving. Only then did she fully comprehend the consequences of her playful invitation of the Captain.
Athos observed her for a moment, strangely liking the less confident and more vulnerable Sylvie. He had no wish to make her uncomfortable, though. Deciding distraction was the best way to settle her nerves, he reached for the book he spotted on the table before.
“Don Quixote de la Mancha,” he read on the spine.
Sylvie lifted her eyes and relaxed. “It was my father’s,” she remarked. “One of the few books we were able to take when we had to leave our home.”
Athos nodded and skimmed through the pages. He was well familiar with the novel – in his early adulthood, before becoming a musketeer, he went through quite a voracious reading phase, and the library in his family mansion was full of literary treasures.
"To surrender dreams - this may be madness. Too much sanity may be madness - and maddest of all: to see life as it is, and not as it should be!" (1) he quoted, then smiled. “Quite appropriate.”
First, her amazement, then the question in Sylvie’s eyes when he glanced at her made him chuckle.
“He often fought imaginary enemies, too,” he elaborated and cast an eloquent look at her.
“Not all enemies are imaginary. He wanted to help people,” she remarked defiantly.
“He craved adventure.”
“He was a good man.”
“He went mad.”
“That bears no meaning. His intentions were good!” Sylvie’s patience reached its limits.
Athos visibly enjoyed their exchange, smiling widely.
“Fair enough, I may as well give him the credit for that,” he stated gracefully. “And in the end, he understood that the reality is not always what it seems.”
Sylvie knew very well he didn’t speak only about the self-proclaimed Spanish knight. Suddenly embarrassed about her outburst, she lowered her eyes for a moment and sighed. When she looked at Athos again, she had to chuckle, seeing his amusement.
“I’m sorry,” she apologised.
“Don’t be,” he replied, grinning, making her chuckle. “It’s refreshing to have someone else than Aramis to… exchange opinions with.”
She shook her head before speaking again. “I guess I find it difficult to see some things differently than I have been used to for so long.”
Athos’s features softened. “There is time for everything in life. Learning is understanding, whether the good or the bad.”
Sylvie couldn’t keep her eyes off his face. As always, there was honesty and wisdom but also an almost regal presence, which could easily be seen as that of a king. She was also struck by something else.
“That’s something my father would say,” she remarked quietly.
Athos lowered his eyes for a moment and smiled. “He was a wise man.”
She wanted to reply but words got stuck in her throat; the pain from her father’s passing was still lurking in the corners of her mind. She put down the cup and walked over to the window to get a little breathing space before gathering the courage to speak out her next thought.
“No other man but my father has ever been in this room while I’ve been living here,” she spoke into the window, with her back to the Captain.
Athos silently mulled over the implication of her words.
“Have you ever… wished for one?” he asked carefully.
“No,” she answered truthfully.
“Why?”
“I suppose no man was… interesting enough.”
The Captain smiled, his eyes fixed on her silhouette at the window. He finally decided to move and took a few slow steps to stand behind her. He saw the shiver that went through Sylvie as she felt his proximity.
“Do you want me to leave?” he inquired softly, not wanting to force her.
“No,” she replied quietly after a pause.
His hands gently landed on her shoulders, and slowly glided down, all the way to her hands, interlacing fingers with hers. Sylvie sealed their hold, pulling their joined hands around her – it felt as if she needed something secure to hold on to. Athos pressed a soft kiss on her temple.
“Do you still want me to stay?” he whispered, waiting patiently for her reply.
Sylvie turned around and looked straight into his darkened eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered as well and refreshed his memory of the first time she had kissed him.
※※
The night had already cast its wings over the refugee camp when Sylvie turned in her half-awakened state, and her hand groped beside her – finding nothing but a crumpled blanket. She stood up, the long, loose white shirt falling down to her ankles. A quick glance around the room, lit by a solitary candle, told her she was alone yet she knew he hadn’t left – his sword and pistol were lying on the table.
Sylvie opened the door and walked out to the corridor until she reached her destination. Walking out of the shack, she spotted the lonesome, standing figure of the man she was looking for. He was fully dressed again, looking out into the distant parts of Paris. His black silhouette reminded her of a magnificent statue.
“Having regrets already?” she teased and stood beside him, her arms folded on her chest.
Athos turned his head to look at her; he was smiling.
“Not about tonight,” he replied, mildly confusing Sylvie, but his smile reassured her that his regrets had nothing to do with her. When he didn’t elaborate, she decided it was best not to dive into it, for now.
“I half-expected you gone before I woke up,” she remarked, with a smirk.
Athos’s smile faded a little. “Is that who you think I am?” he asked.
Her look softened and she shook her head. “No, not you.”
Was it relief she saw on his face?
“Thank you,” he said, and she knew what he meant.
“Thank you,” she replied, raising her eyebrows.
Athos chuckled. “You are most welcome.”
They both looked at the moon, bathing the rooftops of the shacks around them in soft, white light. They allowed themselves to disappear in their memories of the few previous hours.
It was the night of different firsts for both of them, but it was much more than they both expected before they had met that day. More exciting, more satisfying, more… beautiful.
When Athos felt Sylvie’s lips on his for the first time that day, he was prepared, and his response was immediate and genuine. His hand went into Sylvie’s hair, while his other arm wrapped around her waist, closing the almost invisible gap between them. The locked feelings of desire and physical attraction came onto the light, vibrating in his whole body and awakening it from the dormant state that had overpowered him for years. He didn’t think about what was to come the next day; all he knew was that he wanted to share those feelings with the woman in front of him there and then, and make it memorable for both of them. However, when he woke up next to her several hours later, he couldn’t suppress the alarmingly overwhelming longing for waking up like this the next day, and the day after… and the one after that…
Just as Athos was an experienced yet patient teacher, Sylvie was a quick and eager learner, and they soon found a close and intense connection that surprised them both. She was trying to comprehend why did it almost feel as if they weren’t two strangers who had just recently met and found each other attractive. There was a strong, inexplicable pull beyond the physical drawing them together, making them want to be as close as possible…
“Are you all right?” Athos asked softly, and Sylvie noticed he was looking at her again, his caring eyes revealing the full meaning of his question.
“I’ve never been better,” she replied with a warm smile, which then turned into a grin. “I bet you heard this often before.”
He chuckled but there was a flash of sadness in his eyes. He wanted to reply something, but the words got stuck in his throat. Only once…
“I’m not trying to pry on your… well…” Sylvie suddenly found it difficult to talk about his intimate past; imagining the Captain with other women made her strangely uneasy.
Athos smiled again, this time with genuine pleasure. His hand reached for her face, and his thumb tenderly traced her cheek.
“The past doesn’t matter,” he whispered, more to himself than to her, his eyes studying her moonlit face. Sylvie tried to read as much as she could in his look but she crashed on an invisible wall preventing her from doing so. On one hand, Athos’s eyes were very expressive and gentle, on the other hand, they said, Let’s not spoil this moment…
She smiled, leaned into his palm and placed a feather-light kiss into it. The Captain savoured the moment before dropping his hand and sighing.
“I must go,” he said, reluctance colouring his voice. “We are choosing new cadets from the latest recruits in the morning. I can’t be late.” He omitted that he still needed to go through the rest of the notes D’Artagnan left him on the list of new recruits.
Of course, Sylvie thought with a sharp stab of disappointment. But you expected nothing else when you invited him... Or did you? She nodded.
“This is it then,” she said with a forced smile, attempting to hide her true feelings and not wanting to sound bitter.
His eyes observed her for a moment; then a small hopeful smile appeared on his face.
“For now?” His question was everything but.
The relief and wide smile on Sylvie’s face unexpectedly made his heart leap. He didn’t need words for an answer.
Athos walked back inside the shack, returning soon after with his sword and pistol attached to his belt again. He gazed into her eyes longer than he intended to, finding himself lost in those dark pools, warming him somewhere deep inside. He couldn’t explain it but where just hours ago he thought he would feel fear and doubt, there was suddenly only peace and calm. He dipped his head and kissed her, his hand holding her head in place. Their lips remained joined for a moment, then he pulled away, slowly dropped his hand, and with another smile, he started descending the stairs.
Sylvie watched him walk away into the night until his black figure vanished from her sight. Not once did he turn back but he didn’t need to. She instinctively understood that if he did, it would mean something more, more than what he was capable of at the moment. However, her instinct told her just as well that tomorrow was another day. After all, the reality was not always what it seemed…
(1) Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra: Don Quixote
